BELLADONNA

From a another multiverse, I’ll belong to them

[garfieldsladybird]

Belladonna. ʚїɞ nineteen. infp-t. bell blog! @ladysbirdy. ‘pass the ganja man. hope your pupils aren’t too dilated [ha]- oh dont mine her, that Jane doe just talks a lot.’

Masterlist. Fic rec’s. Events. Celebrations. Rules. Requesting; Open. Wips. Life updates. Tags.

‎© 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗅𝖺𝖽y𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽 — my works are not to be plagiarized; copied, translated, or stolen.

[garfieldsladybird]

I love it when I reblog something and I opened the app the next day and it has like 30 fucking likes because I reblogged it

[garfieldsladybird]

im about to see supergirl :)

[myladybelle]

the trouble with jimmy

pairing: clark kent x reader summary: when you move from smallville to metropolis, clark thinks he finally has his chance to confess. instead, he ends up with a front row seat to you gushing about jimmy olsen every day. what he doesn’t realise is that you’re trying to set jimmy up with your neighbour, and you’re starting to see clark as more than a friend. tags: smallville!reader, photographer!reader, best friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, comedy of errors type miscommunication (nothing serious or overly frustrating i promise) warning(s): suggestive content (no smut just a lil spicy), gender neutral reader word count: 9.2k note: did i get the inspiration to write this while rewatching smallville for the first time in years? why yes i did 😌

masterlist

You stepped out of the taxi, your new camera bag slung over your shoulder, nerves swirling in your stomach. The Daily Planet’s globe gleamed above you, obscenely big and just as intimidating. Standing by the entrance was Clark Kent, already waiting for you. 

An absurdly large grin was on his lips as he stood there, adjusting his glasses nervously. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was familiar, even under his office suit, but his face wasn’t quite how you remembered it. You knew that behind his black frames, a pair of startling blue eyes shone with excitement.

“Hey,” Clark greeted you when you closed the taxi door behind you. “You made it!”

You broke into a smile, jogging up to him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. Clark laughed, catching you easily and hugging you so tightly your feet left the ground for a moment. “Of course I made it. I couldn’t miss my first day.”

When Clark released you, you took a step back to take him in properly. He held onto the strap of your camera bag like you might run back to Smallville if he didn’t physically keep you in Metropolis. 

Then, theatrically, you squinted up at him. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

Clark rolled his eyes fondly. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

You chuckled. “Clark Kent doesn’t wear glasses. You don’t look like you.”

His mouth tilted into the shy smile you remembered. “I told you, they make my face look different so people don’t recognise me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, but I’ve known your face my whole life,” you teased, leaning closer. “I’ve known it since your Ma gave you a botched haircut in first grade. I’d recognise you in a police line-up in two seconds flat. These,” you reached up to push his glasses up his nose, “Just make you look like a knock-off Clark Kent.”

“A knock-off? Really?” Clark said. The grin on his face made his mock-scolding expression unconvincing.

You nodded, expression solemn. “Discount Clark. Buy-one-get-one-free Clark.”

He ducked his head, but the tips of his ears went pink. You hadn’t seen that look in over a year, and it warmed you from the inside out. “I missed you,” Clark confessed quietly, with a smile. “A lot.”

You beamed. “I missed you too,” you promised. “Who knew having thousands of miles between us would make me finally decide to leave Kansas.” 

After graduating from high school, you and Clark went your separate ways. You stayed in Smallville to help your family, attending community college for photography. Clark went all the way to Delaware to study journalism at Metropolis University. You’d been long-distance best friends for years, and landing a job at The Daily Planet was the perfect excuse to move to the same city as him.

Little did you know, Clark had been in love with you back in high school. 

He would have told you, too, if you hadn’t chosen futures that scattered you across the country. At first he told himself the distance was a blessing. Maybe it would give his heart enough space to cool off, until whatever he felt for you dulled into nothing. But he’d been wrong. No matter how many miles stretched between you, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself it was just a silly crush, he never stopped loving you.

Clark looked at you like he always did—steady, unwavering, as if you were the only thing in the world worth focusing on. 

Oblivious, you adjusted your bag and nodded to the doors. “So, are you gonna show me around? Or do I have to storm the newsroom on my own?

“Pretty sure storming the newsroom gets you fired on your first day,” Clark mused. 

“Then it’d be a record,” you joked. “Imagine the headline: ‘Shortest tenure ever held by a Daily Planet photographer.’”

“Writen by Clark Kent,” he added. 

“Rude,” you muttered, without any real bite. Clark led you inside, making sure to stay close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm with every step. You glanced up at him, speaking in a sing-song tone, “You’re doing it again.”

He looked back, puzzled. “Doing what?”

“The thing where you hover like a worried dad every time I have something important going on,” you supplied. “Your Ma and I call you Helicopter Clark behind your back. She thinks you get it from your Pa.”

Clark laughed softly, a little sheepish. “Maybe I just like having you around.”

You nudged his arm. “Cute. You’ve always been sappy.”

He gave a small laugh, but his chest tightened. If only you knew how right you were. “Yeah, guess I am.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” you squealed as you entered the elevator. “This place is legendary. You’ve been walking into this building every morning like it’s normal, and now I get to join you. It’s crazy!”

Clark watched your excitement with something softer in his eyes. “Yeah. Crazy.”

When the elevator doors slid open onto the bullpen floor, you let out a gasp. It was almost like a cathedral, ceilings impossibly high and crowned with coffered squares edged in gold. The building was a heavy marble and stone, making it feel historic, though it was filled with modern sounds—phones ringing, keyboards clattering.

After introducing you to the receptionist, who snapped your picture and handed over a still-warm badge, Clark guided you forward with a hand lightly pressed to your back. That same quiet protectiveness he’d always had in Smallville hadn’t dulled with distance.

You clutched your new badge, eyes darting around. “So,” you said, glancing up at him with a grin, “are you going to introduce me to your friends, or do I just start shaking hands like I’m running for office?”

Clark laughed, the sound soft but fond. “Alright, alright. Let’s start with Lois—”

“Standing right here,” came a crisp voice behind you.

You turned. A woman with sleek dark hair approached, folder tucked under one arm, coffee in the other. Her eyes narrowed slightly as they swept over you, then softened with the faintest flicker of amusement. She looked like the kind of woman who could save your life and then write your obituary if you annoyed her.

Clark fumbled, already flustered. He knew exactly why she was giving you that look. If there was one thing everyone at the office teased him about, it was the fact that he spoke about you too much. Lois and Cat were convinced Clark was in love with you, and he was having a hard time trying to convince them otherwise. 

“Lois, this is—”

“The famous best friend from Kansas,” she cut in, sticking out her hand before he could finish.

Your brows shot up. “He’s been talking about me, huh?”

“All the time,” Lois said flatly. “Honestly, I thought you might be imaginary.”

That got a laugh out of you, nerves dissolving instantly. “Wouldn’t be the first time Clark invented a friend to make himself seem popular,” you joked, shaking Lois’s hand.

Clark gave you a look, half mock-offended, half helpless affection. Lois chuckled, sipping her coffee like she was watching a very entertaining sitcom.

“You’ll fit right in,” she said, and patted Clark’s arm before she swept off toward her desk.

The moment she was out of earshot, you turned to him. “She seems cool.”

Clark grinned, though his shoulders still carried tension. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll only use it against you later.”

You laughed and followed him deeper into the chaos. 

That’s when you saw him: boyish grin, camera strap slung across his shoulder like it belonged there. Jimmy Olsen. Average height, wiry, chestnut hair that refused to stay put, posture like he’d never once taken gym seriously but always got the last word. He had that indefinable something. Not movie-star handsome, not intimidating, just magnetic. Approachable. Like he could charm a parking ticket out of a meter maid.

Jimmy leaned against a filing cabinet mid-story, making a whole crowd laugh. Then he looked up, saw you, and lit up like you’d just walked in carrying a Pulitzer.

“No way!” he bounded over, hand outstretched, grin wide. “It’s so nice to finally meet Clark’s other best friend. I’m Jimmy.”

His energy was so warm you laughed before you even touched his hand. “‘Other best friend’? Try the original.”

“Clark talks about you all the time,” Jimmy said, deadly serious. “I figured you were either a childhood friend or his nemesis.”

“Both,” you said. “Depends on the day.”

​​Jimmy laughed warmly. The next thing you knew, you were giggling through his wild gestures as he explained how he’d almost been locked in the darkroom overnight. He was ridiculous, magnetic in that paradoxical way of being sweet but charming.

Clark stood a step back, watching. He shouldn’t have been surprised. You were both his best friends, after all. But the way you were already leaning into Jimmy’s orbit, laughing with your whole face, made something in his chest twist. 

You doubled over at the end of Jimmy’s story, tears threatening. “Clark totally undersold you, you’re hilarious!”

Jimmy raised his brows and eyed Clark. “Undersold me? Clark, how could you?”

You turned, expecting Clark to leap to his own defence, but instead of his usual grin, you caught a strained smile, his shoulders drawn tight. Before you could puzzle it out, Jimmy launched into a rundown on the other photographers, earning your rapt attention.

Lois strolled past, a smirk curling on her lips. She nudged Clark’s elbow. “Looks like Jimmy turned on the usual charm for your Smallville bestie,” she commented. “How does he do it?”

She’d said the words casually, but Clark froze, throat bobbing. 

You leaned toward Jimmy. “So,” you asked eagerly, “what’s your favourite lens? Do you stick with prime or—”

Jimmy lit up and dove into an enthusiastic explanation, hands flying as he talked about his 35mm. You nodded along, grinning like you’d just found a kindred spirit. Behind you, Clark’s smile faltered another fraction. He shoved his hands into his pockets, stomach twisting. 

“Okay,” Clark broke in at last, voice just slightly brisk. “You’ve got orientation in five. Don’t wanna be late.”

You straightened, still grinning, and gave Jimmy a cheerful wave. “Catch you later!”

Jimmy shot back a two-fingered salute, grin dazzling. You turned happily to follow Clark, not noticing the tightness in his jaw as he guided you toward the conference room.

“I can see why you like him so much,” you said, breathless with laughter. “He seems great. I can’t wait to work with him.”

Clark said nothing. Because Lois’s voice still echoed through his head, over and over again, about how Jimmy had turned the charm on for you.

For dinner, Clark picked out a diner that looked unchanged since 1954: red vinyl booths, neon buzzing faintly above the counter, waitresses who called you “hon.” He swore up and down they had the best burger in Metropolis, and you believed him—because when had Clark Kent ever lied about food?

You sank into the booth across from him, shrugging off your jacket, cheeks still warm from the day. “Okay,” you said, stabbing the straw into your soda with a decisive jab. “Jimmy Olsen.”

Clark’s brows lifted. “What about him?”

You leaned forward, grinning. “He’s adorable. I totally get why you talk about him so much. He’s so funny, Clark, and he’s actually good. Like, really good. We were talking about lenses earlier and we have the same favourites, can you believe that? And he knows all my favourite photographers. And today, on my first day, Perry actually liked my pitch on the immigration photo essay! Guess who helped me polish it before the meeting?”

Clark’s smile stayed on his lips, but it dimmed a little in his eyes. “Jimmy.”

“Jimmy,” you repeated with a laugh, holding up your glass in a mock toast. “My desk is right next to his, and I think we’re going to get along well. He’s got that… that thing, you know?” Clark knew exactly what you meant. Jimmy might as well have been the most charming man in Metropolis. “It’s magnetic.”

You didn’t notice the way Clark’s shoulders drooped, or how he fussed with the paper wrapper on his straw until it was shredded into tiny curls.

“Well,” he said after a beat, voice pitched a little too cheerful, “sounds like you’ve had a pretty swell first day.”

You beamed. “The best. Honestly, I was so nervous this morning. But between you, Lois, and Jimmy, I think I’ll be alright.”

Clark swallowed, nodded, smiled. All those things at once. It looked effortless if you didn’t know him. Unfortunately for him, you knew him better than anyone.

You tilted your head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, gaze darting to the laminated menu. Clark had never been good at lying to you, but avoiding eye contact might give him a chance. “I’m just glad you’re settling in. Really glad.”

You hesitated, straw between your teeth, suddenly aware of how much you’d been talking. “I’ve been rambling, haven’t I?”

Clark chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “I don’t mind.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Well, for the record, my apartment’s great. A little bare still, but nice. And I get to walk to work now, which feels very grown-up and metropolitan.” You said the last word with mock grandeur, and Clark’s mouth curved at the edges.

“Didn’t you take a taxi today?” he teased.

“That was practicality,” you argued. “You try hauling a backpack and a camera bag full of photography gear on the subway.”

Clark smiled, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I’m glad you like your place. My first place in Metropolis was a dorm, so anything should be a step up from that.”

You laughed. “True. My neighbour seems really nice, too. I think we’ll be friends. But honestly?” You paused, softer now, because you wanted him to hear this part clearly. “The best part of today was getting to see you, and knowing I’ll see you every day now.”

You meant it. The way you said it, so plain and true, made something flicker across Clark’s face. Something you couldn’t name before it vanished behind another of his earnest smiles. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just looked at each other across the booth, soda sweating between your hands, the neon light turning his glasses a soft red at the edges.

“This feels a little like home, doesn’t it?” you said finally, nodding at the jukebox in the corner “Like that diner where I had all my birthday parties growing up.”

Clark’s mouth curved, almost shy. “With the paper hats.”

You grinned. “And the strawberry milkshakes.”

“I remember.” He tipped his head, studying you like he was turning back the clock. “You always wished for the same thing every year.” Then he chuckled, “Three more wishes.”

“Yeah.” Your voice softened as you leaned back. “Last year, I wished for this. For sitting across from you again. Getting to see you every day.”

Clark’s smile faltered, just slightly, like your words pressed against something tender inside him.

You ducked your gaze, tracing the menu with your finger. “I can’t wait to hang out at yours or mine soon. So I can see your face properly again, without the hypno-glasses.” You said it with a little laugh, but the truth slipped out in the quiet. “I just… miss seeing you. Not Superman, not the glasses. You.”

His throat worked around a swallow, glasses slipping a little down his nose. For a heartbeat, you thought he might actually reach across the table for your hand. Instead, Clark gave you one of those soft, heart-aching smiles that belonged only to you. “I’d like that.”

When you’d told him you were moving to Metropolis, Clark had been elated. You were the first person he’d ever trusted with the truth back in high school—his heritage, his powers, the fear, the whole mess of being different. Having you here felt like a gift, as if he could finally stop feeling so alone.

“Speaking of gifts,” you said suddenly, rummaging in your bag. “I almost forgot, your parents sent me with this.”

You pulled out a small pot with a leafy sprig of green, wrapped in brown paper and twine. Clark blinked at it, recognition dawning. “Is that—?”

“Native milkweed,” you declared proudly. “Your Ma said it’s good for butterflies. She wanted you to have a piece of home on your windowsill. She told me to tell you, and I quote, ‘Tell Clark to water it, because Lord knows he won’t remember without supervision.’”

Clark chuckled fondly, the sound easing out of him in a breath. “That sounds like Ma.” He reached out, fingers brushing yours as he took the plant, and you felt the warmth linger longer than it should have.

“She also packed me a pie for the trip,” you added slyly. “I already ate it.”

His mouth fell open in mock horror. “You ate a whole pie by yourself?”

“Don’t look so shocked, farm boy,” you scolded. “You’ve seen me at Thanksgiving. Besides, it was a four hour plane ride! I got hungry.”

That made Clark properly laugh, his head tipped back, clutching his stomach. The sight made your chest tighten unexpectedly. It was like catching the memory of summer sunlight on your skin.

The two of you fell easily into swapping stories after that. Your first terrifying photography professor, his late nights at the college paper, how you used to sneak into the Kent barn loft with a thermos of hot chocolate and talk about the future like you had any clue what it would look like.

“Do you remember,” you said between bites of fries, “when I told you I was going to be the next Annie Leibovitz and you said you’d write all my captions?”

Clark grinned, fork hovering in the air. “Still will, if you’ll let me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the fondness in your eyes was painfully obvious. “Such a nerd.”

His smile softened. If there was no red thread binding you together, he would grab a string and tie it himself. Clark Kent had been yours since the moment you’d leaned over the lunch table in middle school and whispered, Don’t worry, I think you’re normal even if you don’t.

You caught him staring and raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Clark said, though it came out tender, almost adoring.

And you thought, God, what a nerd. My best friend is such a nerd. You refrained from saying it with barely controlled affection, hiding the way your stomach had gone hot under his gaze.

You found your rhythm in Metropolis faster than you thought you would.

The first week at The Daily Planet had been an exercise in clinging to Clark’s elbow like a human lifeline, smiling a little too hard at every person who passed, and trying desperately to memorise names and desk locations before someone caught you looking lost. But by the second week, you’d figured out how to blend in with the controlled chaos of the bullpen.

You were still “the new kid.” The one who double-checked the coffee machine instructions before daring to press a button, the one who made Jimmy sign off on all your captions even though he kept insisting you were fine. But you were speaking up more in meetings. 

You’d made Cat laugh once, actually laugh, a sharp bark followed by an appraising look that made you feel like you’d just earned a medal. Lois was harder to crack, but there were moments when she’d pass you a file without comment or murmur a quick, “Good work,” and your stomach would flutter like you’d been given a blessing.

And then there was Jimmy. Going out on assignment with him was like being caught in a whirlwind. He walked too fast, talked too fast, gestured so wildly you half-expected him to topple into traffic. But he was brilliant with a camera. He’d see a shot before you’d even raised your lens, point it out with the kind of enthusiasm that made you laugh even when you were gasping to keep up. 

The first time Perry ran one of your photos on the front page, Jimmy dragged you into the middle of the bullpen and announced it like a town crier.

The second time was even better. You’d somehow managed to snap a clean, perfectly framed shot of Superman mid-flight, cape fluttering against the light, looking every bit the hero of Metropolis. Perry slapped the proof down on the table and growled, “Front page.” You nearly fell over.

That night, you showed Clark, holding up the paper like a trophy. He nearly spat out his tea.

“You’re kidding me!” He was laughing so hard he almost fell off your sofa. “You—you got the Superman shot? After all the times Jimmy’s tried—golly.”

“Golly?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “What are you, a cartoon dad?”

“Don’t care,” Clark said, still grinning. “You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

If you thought about that too long, you got a little lightheaded, so you mostly didn’t.

Metropolis itself was trickier. You’d been before to visit Clar, but living here was different. You’d grown up in Smallville, where everyone knew your name, your parents, and exactly what your dreams and goals were. 

Here, you could be surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel invisible. The noise was constant: horns, chatter, music being blasted at ungodly hours. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d stood still without someone brushing past with an annoyed “watch it!” 

The small-town friendliness didn’t exist here. No one waved when you crossed the street. No one offered to help carry your shopping up the stairs. People were in a rush, and you were in their way. But it wasn’t all bad. 

It was exhilarating sometimes. You could wander two blocks and find ramen at midnight, or tacos from a cart parked beside a glittering theatre. You’d gone to a Metropolis Meteors baseball game with Cat and Lois last weekend, sat in the nosebleeds with a hot dog, and felt more alive than you had in months. 

And you weren’t entirely alone. Your neighbour, Poppy, a Metropolis local your age, had practically adopted you. She showed you the best bodega for late-night snacks, where to avoid taking the subway after dark, and which coffee shops didn’t overcharge for lattes. She was sharp and kind and exactly the sort of friend you needed in a new city.

You caught yourself smiling one evening as you told her, “I might have the perfect guy for you.” You hadn’t said Jimmy’s name yet. You wanted to do your homework first, find out if he was single, or at least willing to be set up. But the idea stuck. Poppy’s easygoing nature and Jimmy’s goofy brightness would balance each other out perfectly. 

Besides, wasn’t that what starting fresh was supposed to be about? Building connections, finding your place. Creating a home for yourself in the middle of all the noise. And maybe, just maybe, realising that the best part of your day was still the same as it had always been: sitting across from Clark, laughing until your sides hurt, wondering how you’d ever gone so long without seeing him every day.

It started casually.

You were leaning on Clark’s desk one afternoon, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to panic about your deadline, when the words came out: “So… Is Jimmy seeing anyone?”

Clark almost gave himself whiplash from how quickly he turned to look at you. His eyes were wide behind his frames, his mouth slightly agape like he couldn’t believe what you’d said. “Uh—what?” 

You tilted your head. “I just wondered. He’s cute. And funny. And I thought maybe—”

“He’s dating a model,” Clark blurted, too quickly. “Pretty sure. Yeah. Definitely dating a model.”

Across the bullpen, Lois didn’t even look up from her monitor. “He hasn’t had a girlfriend in months, Smallville.”

Clark blinked, red blooming in his cheeks, while you filed that information away with a pleased little hum.

A few days later, you sidled up to Lois at the coffee machine. “Does Jimmy like Italian food?” 

She gave you a sharp look. “Are you asking because you’re planning a date?” 

“No,” you said, too fast. “I’m just curious.” 

“Jimmy likes any food. If it’s edible, he’ll eat it.” Lois stirred copious amounts of sugar into her mug, smirking. “If it’s not edible, he’ll probably still eat it. Man has no culinary standards.” 

When you glanced at Clark’s desk, he was staring fixedly at his computer.

Later that week, you caught Clark in the elevator. “What’s Jimmy’s type?” you asked casually, as if you were inquiring about the weather. 

Clark’s glasses nearly slid off his nose. “What?” 

“Women,” you clarified. “What kind of women does he usually go for?” 

Clark fumbled. “Uh—uh—tall? Or maybe short. Definitely one of those. And, um, brunette? Or blonde. Or—” 

Lois, who’d slipped in just before the doors closed, rolled her eyes. “What isn’t his type?” she said dryly, and you laughed all the way up to the newsroom floor.

It became a running theme. 

“Do you think Jimmy likes jazz?” you asked Lois one morning. 

Clark dropped his coffee stirrer. 

“Does Jimmy prefer dogs or cats?” you asked Clark the next afternoon. 

He stammered something about fish before fleeing to refill his mug. 

“Would Jimmy ever date someone who wasn’t in journalism?” you asked Lois the following week. 

She sighed. “Kid, Jimmy would date someone who breathed near him too enthusiastically.” 

By then, Lois had decided you were developing a crush on Jimmy. She gave you amused little glances whenever you brought him up, while Clark looked like he was one misplaced question away from combusting. And you, completely oblivious, just kept making notes in your mental file.

Jimmy Olsen: Not currently seeing anyone. Likes all food. (Easy win.) Has no real type, possibly open to anything. Jazz: inconclusive. Dogs vs cats: also inconclusive.

Perfect. Operation: Matchmaker was right on track.

Meanwhile, Clark Kent was wilting in slow motion at his desk, trying very hard not to imagine you and Jimmy in a romantic-comedy-style date montage. The thought of the two of you sharing a milkshake with two straws made him nauseous.

Friday nights had always been for movies. Back in Smallville, the tradition had been sacred. Every week, no matter what farm chores Clark had been stuck with or how swamped you were with homework, you ended up curled together on the worn sofa at the Kent farmhouse. Bowls of popcorn, one light left on in the kitchen, a stack of DVDs you rotated through endlessly. 

Now, in Metropolis, the ritual lived on. Your new apartment wasn’t much, a little nest of mismatched furniture and thrifted lamps. On your third Friday in the city, Clark showed up at your door with takeaway and a grin. The moment you pulled him inside and saw him plop the food onto your coffee table like it was the most natural thing in the world, you felt the old rhythm sliding right back into place.

Tonight, you’d chosen The Princess Bride. Nostalgia wrapped around you like a blanket as the familiar dialogue filled your little living room. You half-watched, half-stole glances at Clark, because it was different now. 

Clark looked domestic, comfortable in a way that made your chest ache. He’d taken his glasses off the second he walked in, setting them on your bookshelf like he always did when it was just you. His hair, usually in messy curls for the office, had softened through the day, a little wave falling into his forehead. He was in a simple white button-up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and it hit you in a way it hadn’t in high school. 

Clark Kent was handsome. Stupidly, unfairly handsome.

You remembered girls whispering about the “Kent charm” back then, how his smile made them blush. You’d never noticed. He’d been Clark, your Clark, the boy who stayed up with you until dawn studying, who carried your tripod when it was too heavy, who showed up at your window when you were sad. He’d been so close that romance never even crossed your mind. 

Now you saw the way his shoulders filled out his shirt. The warmth in his cobalt eyes when he laughed at a joke you made. The gentleness of his hands when he handed you a napkin before you even realised you needed one.

You could picture him in a domestic life so clearly. Carrying groceries up your stairs, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passed, leaving his slippers by your door. The thought startled you, but it didn’t leave.

And then there was Superman. You’d grown up knowing Clark was different, but you hadn’t realised what that difference meant until years later. Since moving to Metropolis, you’d seen it all up close: the rescues, the headlines, the world depending on him. He was extraordinary, and yet here he was on your sofa, eating dumplings out of a carton and laughing at Cary Elwes’ line delivery. 

You found yourself wanting to memorise him. The lines of his jaw softened by the lamplight. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The dimples in his cheeks when you reminded him of that one time he tripped chasing you through the cornfield when you were kids. 

He was beautiful, and he was yours; not in any official way, but in the way that mattered. He was your best friend.

Across the sofa, Clark was having his own crisis.

He’d thought, once, that sending you postcards from Delaware and calling you every Sunday would be enough. That maybe the distance would dull the sharp twinge of wanting you, that maybe one day he’d wake up and feel free of it. He’d been wrong. 

Now you were here, right next to him, laughing at the same movie you’d watched a hundred times, and he was so in love he thought it might undo him. He’d always admired you; your eye for photographs, your fire, the way you cared for people so fiercely. But seeing you here had floored him. 

And yet, every time you mentioned Jimmy, his chest tightened. Lois’s teasing echoed in his head. He wanted to tell you everything: that he’d been in love with you since high school, that nobody could ever measure up in college, so he’d stopped trying altogether. But then you’d smile and gush about how funny Jimmy was, and Clark felt his courage crumble.

Still, as you leaned closer to him now, curled up with your knees tucked under you, Clark thought there was no way he could ever love you more than he did in this moment. You were his first thought in the morning, his last thought at night. And watching you glow in the soft lamplight of your new apartment, he realised something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He could spend his whole life like this. Just being near you.

“You’re not even watching,” Clark teased, voice low so as not to disturb the cadence of the movie.

You flicked your eyes back to the screen, caught Buttercup mid-swoon, and shrugged. “Sure I am. True love, sword fights, Rodents of Unusual Size.”

Clark chuckled, but when you glanced at him again, you caught him looking at you instead of the TV. Heat crept up your neck. You reached for the popcorn bowl as a distraction, only to find it empty.

“You ate all of it,” you accused.

His brows shot up. “Me? You were shovelling it like you hadn’t eaten in a week.”

You smirked. “Well, at least I don’t hide behind hypno-glasses to trick everyone into thinking I’m some ‘well-mannered farm boy.”

Clark groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “You know that’s not why I wear them.” Then he smiled, almost shyly. “Are you saying you like me better without glasses?”

“Of course,” you said, not catching the way his chest tightened at your answer. “I missed your face.”

Something fond flickered across his expression. He reached for the remote, muting the TV, and you didn’t even notice until silence fell. You were too caught in the moment, too wrapped up in the ease of talking with him.

“You know,” you said, leaning back into the sofa cushions, “this kind of feels like we’re sixteen again. Friday night, bad lighting, too much sugar.”

Clark’s lips quirked. “Except you’re not falling asleep halfway through the film this time.”

You gasped. “That was one time.”

“Three times,” he corrected gently. “And you drooled on my shoulder once.”

You laughed, tossing a cushion at him. “Traitor. I trusted you to never bring that up again.”

Clark caught the cushion easily, hands big and sure, and hugged it to his chest with mock innocence. “Your secrets are safe with me. It’s part of my Kent charm,” he said, all faux swagger.

You snorted. “‘Kent charm.’ God, you really are a nerd.”

The words came out playfully, but there was something behind them you weren’t quite ready to name. Because, yes, he was a nerd, sitting here quoting his own reputation like it was a joke. But he was also, God help you, gorgeous. His hair falling into his eyes, his shirt stretched across broad shoulders, every inch of him radiating warmth and steadiness.

Clark shifted closer on the sofa, the air between you charged with something softer than electricity. “Do you ever think about it?” he asked quietly.

“About what?”

He hesitated, then shook his head, offering another smile instead. “Nothing. Just how lucky I am you’re here. Metropolis feels more like home now.”

You reached for his hand before you could think better of it, letting your fingers brush his knuckles. “I get it. Living in a new city with you feels more like home than living in Smallville without you.”

Clark stilled. You didn’t notice, too busy tracing the shape of his hand absentmindedly, like you’d done a thousand times back in high school without thinking twice.

“You really mean that?” he asked, voice rough.

You looked up at him, startled by the weight in his tone. “Of course I do. You know I wished for this; that I’d get to live in the same city as you again.”

Clark’s heart thudded in his ears. He wanted to say that he’d wished too, every night, for years. Instead, he swallowed and squeezed your hand lightly.

“You’re—” He paused, trying again, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

You blinked at him. “Clark—”

“I mean it,” he said quickly, earnest eyes shining. “I’m really glad I get to do everything by your side from now on.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, cracking a smile. “Me too.”

“Good,” he murmured, voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but a little heavy. You found yourself studying Clark, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the way his chest rose and fell.

Before you could stop yourself, you whispered into the quiet, “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, too.”

Clark’s breath caught. He ducked his head, cheeks flushed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You smirked, leaning in just a little. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll go back to calling you a nerd tomorrow.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and thought, I could spend forever like this. And you, ignorant of the full weight of his gaze, thought, God, I think I’m in trouble.

Jimmy bounded into the bullpen like he’d just won the lottery, camera bag slung over his shoulder, grin wide enough to blind someone. 

“Guess what?” he announced, leaning on the edge of Lois’s desk, practically glowing. “I’ve got a date tonight.” Jimmy’s grin stretched ear to ear.

Clark looked up from his notepad, a smile already forming. “Oh, hey. That’s great, Jimmy! I’m happy for you.”

Lois didn’t even glance up from her screen. “With a human or another one of your cameras?”

Jimmy clutched his chest. “Wow, Lois. For your information, yes, with a human.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, dry as desert air. “Let me guess. Five-foot-ten, legs up to here, and absolutely no idea you existed until five minutes ago?”

Jimmy smirked, playfully kicking Lois’s desk chair. “Not giving away any spoilers. But let’s just say, I’m pretty excited.”

Then, he glanced across the room, caught your eye, and gave you a wink. It was playful, teasing, nothing more than the kind of exaggerated gesture Jimmy made a dozen times a day.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, already used to his theatrics, but Clark froze mid-keystroke. The cursor blinked accusingly at his half-finished sentence. 

A wink. Jimmy had winked at you.

Clark’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it lodged there stubbornly. He bent closer to his computer, pretending to type, though the words blurred into nonsense.

Lois didn’t miss a thing. Her gaze slid from Jimmy to Clark, and then slowly, knowingly, to you. She sipped her coffee like she was watching her suspicions confirmed in real time. “Well, well,” she murmured.

Clark forced a smile. “What?”

Lois tilted her head. “Guess we were right about Jimmy having a thing for your other best friend.”

His pulse kicked in his ears. “Oh—uh, well. Good for them, right? They’d—they’d make a great couple.” It came out so flat it could have been mistaken for sarcasm. 

Lifting a brow and leaning back in her chair, Lois drawled, “Sure. If you say so, Smallville.”

Clark tried again, fumbling for enthusiasm. “I mean, Jimmy’s a good guy. You couldn’t ask for anyone more dependable.”

Lois hummed around the rim of her coffee cup, unimpressed but mercifully silent.

Clark turned back to his screen, jaw tight. The words on the page stubbornly refused to fuse together into sentences. Every time he glanced up, he saw Jimmy’s grin, your smile, and that wink. It was like a spark caught in his chest.

He should be happy for you. If that’s what you wanted, he should be supportive. He was supportive. But the thought of Jimmy leaning across a table tonight, making you laugh the way Clark always did, maybe walking you home—Clark pressed his palms against the desk until the wood creaked in protest.

Superman could stop trains, but Clark Kent couldn’t stop his own jealousy from eating him alive.

By the time Clark was back in his apartment that night, he’d tried his best to convince himself that you and Jimmy dating was a great idea.

Jimmy was kind, funny, and loyal. He’d never dream of hurting you. He was the type of guy Clark would trust with his life. But the thought of trusting him with you left something bitter and restless clawing in his chest.

He dropped his keys on the counter and sat heavily on the couch, elbows on his knees. 

If only he’d just told you how he felt in high school. That thought circled him like a hawk, again and again. He’d been eighteen, hopelessly in love, and terrified of what that love might do to the best friendship of his life. You were already looking toward photography programs, weighing colleges and scholarships, and he’d known even then that Metropolis was calling him. 

Different cities. Different dreams. He’d told himself it wasn’t fair to ask you to tie yourself to him. So he’d swallowed the confession. He’d chosen friendship because it was safer, and because it meant never losing you. For years, he’d told himself he didn’t regret it. He’d repeated it until he believed it.

But tonight, sitting alone in his apartment while you were out with Jimmy, regret slipped its way in. What if Clark had said something back then? What if you’d smiled that radiant, disbelieving smile and told him you’d always felt the same? 

Maybe you would have tried the distance. Maybe it would’ve worked. Maybe you’d be here now, living together, ordering takeout on the couch, falling asleep during a movie. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here with an empty living room and a chest full of longing. 

The fantasy was so vivid it almost felt real. The brush of your knee against his, your laugh spilling through the room, the easy certainty of a life where he hadn’t hesitated.

And then, as quickly as it came, the other side of the coin flipped. Maybe if he’d confessed, you would’ve said no. Maybe you would’ve told him gently that you didn’t see him that way. Maybe it would’ve shattered everything, left him without a best friend and without you. The risk had been too high then. It was still too high now.

Clark pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to will the images of a domestic life with you away. His heart was pounding too loudly, beating against the silence of his apartment.

Then, the faint metallic click of a key sliding into his lock sounded through his apartment. The knob turned. The door opened.

Clark’s head snapped up, throat dry.

You stepped inside like it was the most natural thing in the world, balancing two pizza boxes in your arms, hair a little windswept from the cold night air.

“Hope you’re hungry,” you called, nudging the door shut behind you with your hip. “They gave us extra cheesy bread.”

For one impossible second, Clark thought maybe he’d fallen asleep and the fantasy had followed him into a dream. But you were real. You were here.

Clark stayed frozen on the couch, still hunched forward, but his whole body was taut now, like a bowstring drawn too tight. You breezed in, the smell of garlic and melted cheese following you, chattering like you always did when you were excited.

“So, I placed a pickup order at Mario’s and somebody else must’ve grabbed it by mistake because when I got there, it was gone,” you explained, setting the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and hanging up your coat. “Totally vanished. But they felt bad, so they remade the whole order with extra cheesy bread.” You grinned, holding up the little box for emphasis. “Free cheesy bread, Clark! If that’s not divine intervention telling us it’s a Ratatouille night, I don’t know what is.”

You were grabbing plates from his cupboard when you finally glanced back, words slowing. “Wait, what’s wrong? Why are you sitting like you just gambled away your life savings?”

Clark blinked. He hadn’t realised how pathetic he must look, folded in on himself, hands dangling between his knees.

His heart surged at the sight of you standing there in the doorway, but the words that came out weren’t the ones he wanted. “What about your date?”

You stopped in your tracks. “My what?” Then, your eyes lit up. “Oh, speaking of dates! How do you think Jimmy’s is going?”

Clark frowned, confusion doubling back on him. “I mean… Not very well if you’re here instead of there?”

You tilted your head, blinking slowly, like he’d just started speaking in Kryptonian. “What?”

Clark’s brain stuttered. “Wait—what?”

You stared at each other across the room for a long, disbelieving beat, until your expression shifted from confusion to dawning realisation.

You set the plates down on the counter, hands braced on either side. “Hold on. Did you think Jimmy was going on a date with me tonight?”

Heat crept up Clark’s neck, and he could feel his ears burning. “Well—I—he winked at you in the bullpen, and then Lois said—”

“Oh my god.” You dragged a hand down your face, groaning. “No, no, no, Clark. No. Jimmy’s on a date with my neighbour, Poppy. I’ve been trying to set them up for weeks.”

Clark just stared. His brain scrambled for purchase, trying to rearrange the facts into this new, blessed reality. “Poppy,” he echoed, words coming out slow and low. “Your… neighbour.”

“Yes. Poppy,” you confirmed. “She just got out of a long-term relationship when I moved to Metropolis, so she was hesitant at first. But I kept talking him up, and I showed her a couple pictures he took, and finally she agreed. Tonight’s their blind date.”

Relief surged through Clark so quickly that it made him dizzy. His hands twitched uselessly on his knees. He wanted to do something, say something, but all he could think was Thank God. 

You didn’t notice the way his shoulders uncoiled, the way his chest expanded with a breath that felt like it reached his bones. You were still talking, animated now, explaining how you’d been stealthily gathering intel on Jimmy—his favourite food, his type, what kind of date he’d enjoy.

But Clark couldn’t hear half of it.

All he could hear was the rush of his own pulse. All he could feel was the giddy, impossible joy of knowing the future he’d been mourning just minutes ago wasn’t lost after all.

“Anyway, why—” You trailed off mid-sentence, really looking at him.

Clark wasn’t just listening. He was bracing, shoulders hunched like he’d been carrying the world on them and only now set it down. His breath came out ragged, too loud for the quiet of his apartment, and his eyes were fixed on you like you’d just saved him.

“Clark,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes. “You okay?”

He swallowed, trying for casualness and failing spectacularly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… relieved, I guess.”

“Relieved,” you repeated, folding your arms. You couldn’t stop your mouth from twitching into a grin. “What, did you really think I was sneaking around on a secret date with Jimmy Olsen? That I’d just, what, show up tomorrow morning and be like ‘oh hey Clark, by the way, I’m dating your best friend now, pass the sugar?’”

He gave a strangled little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. You caught the flush spreading across his skin, the way his broad chest rose and fell too fast. Not embarrassment exactly, but something warmer.

Your grin softened. “You were panicking. Weren’t you?”

Clark shook his head, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “No, I just—I didn’t—”

“Uh-huh.” 

You leaned on the counter, resting your chin in your hand, studying him. He was sitting forward on the couch like he might spring out of it at any second, like if he relaxed, something dangerous would slip loose. His big hands were clenched on his knees, the tendons in his forearms flexing as though he was holding something back.

And for the first time in your life, you realised maybe he was.

The thought made your pulse jump, heat curling in your stomach. Because now that you were looking, really looking, you saw how beautiful he was in that soft, undone way only you ever got to see.

“Clark,” you said again, softer now. “Why were you so panicked?”

He lifted his gaze then, finally meeting your eyes. And the look in them nearly knocked the breath out of you. Relief, yes, but threaded with something hotter, deeper.

You stayed by the counter, watching him. And then Clark stood—too fast, like he startled himself with the decision—and rubbed his palms down the front of his slacks.

“I—Golly, I don’t know how to…” His voice was low, rough. His eyes skittered away, then dragged back to yours like they couldn’t help it. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for years. I wanted to tell you when you first got here. But then Jimmy and—and then Lois, she joked, and I thought…”

“Thought what?” you asked, breath catching.

Clark hesitated, fists clenching like he was physically holding back words. Then, quieter: “That maybe I’d already lost you.”

You blinked. “Clark—”

“No, let me—just let me say this.” His hands came up helplessly, almost reaching for you before they fell back to his sides. “I’ve been in love with you since we started high school.” 

The words hit you like a struck match. Excitement coiled tight in your stomach, dizzying, almost unbearable. You wanted to laugh and cry and throw yourself into his arms all at once, but all you could do was stare at him, wide-eyed.

“I wanted to tell you before graduation,” Clark confessed. “But you were staying in Smallville, and I was moving across the country, and it felt like I’d ruin the best thing in my life by saying it out loud. I told myself distance would fix it. That maybe I’d get over you.” He laughed shyly, shaking his head. “But I never did.”

“Clark…” Your voice cracked, and you had to take a step forward.

He mirrored you without thinking, until there was barely a foot of air left between you. His chest was warm even at this distance, heat rolling off him like a furnace.

Clark took a shuddering breath. “You remember the milkweed my folks sent with you? The one Ma insisted you bring to the city?”

You managed a nod.

His mouth quirked, but his eyes were still raw, desperate. “She told me once, if you care for it right, the monarch butterflies will come. Doesn’t matter where you plant it—in Kansas, in Metropolis—it’ll bring them back. And I thought… that’s us. I thought, if I just kept caring for what we had, even if it wasn’t what I wanted, I’d get to keep you in my life. And that would be enough.”

He swallowed hard, adding, “But it’s not, and I can’t pretend it is anymore.”

You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing the back of his hand. Even that ghost of contact felt like a jolt of lightning. He froze, his breath stuttering, before his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to entwine them with yours.

“Clark,” you whispered, heart hammering. “In high school, I never… I never thought about you like that. Everyone used to talk about your dad’s ‘Kent charm’ like it was this thing you inherited, and maybe they saw it, but I didn’t. Not then. You were just Clark, my best friend.”

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, but gentled by the way he looked at you, as if he’d take even this.

You let out a shaky laugh. “But then you left. And you were still the one I called when I had a bad day, or when something amazing happened, or when I just wanted to hear a voice that reminded me I wasn’t alone. And then I came here, and I get to see you every day, and Clark,” your voice wavered, but you pushed through, “I’m falling in love with you. The reporter, the farm boy, the man who saves the world, the one who waters milkweed because he hopes butterflies will come home.”

Clark’s composure broke on a ragged breath. He surged closer, finally tangling his fingers with yours, gripping tight like he’d drown without it.

“You can’t just say that to me,” he rasped, forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot on your lips. “You can’t say that and expect me not to—”

Your laugh hitched out on a sob. “You don’t need to hold back anymore.”

And he didn’t.

His mouth found yours with years of pent-up longing, searing, desperate, and impossibly sweet. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he gathered you into his arms like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission. Every brush of his hands over your back, every slide of his lips against yours, burned like fire meeting gasoline.

When you broke apart, breathless and clinging, he pressed his face into your hair and whispered, hoarse and unsteady, “You’re it for me. Always have been.”

For a heartbeat, you just stood there, staring at him. Some invisible red string between you snapped taut, pulling you forward before you’d even decided to move.

Clark’s hands came up, hovering like he was terrified of scaring you off, and that hesitation alone undid you. You closed the distance. It was years of unsaid things pouring out at once, your fingers clutching at the broad line of his shoulders, his hands finally claiming your waist like he’d been dying to all along. 

He kissed you like he already knew every contour of your mouth, and in a way, he did. He knew you, every laugh, every secret, every sharp retort and soft glance, and now he was learning you like this, too.

You tilted your head, and Clark followed, perfectly in step, as though you’d rehearsed this in another life. Heat flared where his palm slid up your side, leaving you breathless, but when he slowed—just enough to press the gentlest kiss to your bottom lip—you felt the tenderness layered inside the urgency.

When you finally tore back just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched, his breath ragged against your skin.

His thumb traced your cheekbone, a shaky little caress that steadied itself as he whispered, “Been wanting to do that for half my life.”

Your laugh came out uneven, breaking against the swell of emotion in your throat. “Took you long enough.”

Clark smiled against your mouth, and then you were pulling him down to you again, hungry this time, eager.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer like you couldn’t get enough of him. His mouth moved against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak, but there was still that softness beneath the hunger.

His fingers trailed down your back, sliding under your shirt, and you shivered against him. Every brush of skin was electric, and you found yourself gasping and moaning into his mouth, both of you laughing breathlessly when the heat of it was too much to contain.

Clark’s hands roamed freely now, memorising the curves of your body as if he were trying to burn them into memory. Your own hands were relentless, exploring the strong lines of his chest, the sweep of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he tilted his head. 

You were discovering each other in a way you’d never imagined; familiar yet entirely new, and it made every touch searing.

The sofa became your anchor. Clark guided you down, careful but insistent, until you were sprawled together, limbs tangled, breaths mingling in the small space.

Clark’s lips left yours only briefly, just enough to whisper against your temple, “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this.”

You smiled and whispered back, “I’m always happy to be in the business of making your dreams come true.”

His hands were everywhere, sliding under your back, across your hips. When you shifted slightly, sliding against him, Clark groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent shivers racing up your spine. 

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned into him, biting gently at his lower lip, and he caught your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you with desperate hunger.

You both collapsed together fully, tangled and warm on the sofa, breathing hard, hearts hammering. Clark’s arm wrapped around you, holding you impossibly close, and your hand found his chest, fingers splayed against him, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt.

“Finally,” you whispered, breathless, against his collarbone.

Clark chuckled low, a deep, vibrating sound that made your stomach flutter. “Finally,” he agreed, resting his chin on top of your head.

[garfieldsladybird]

oh my goodness this was so cute thank you

[garfieldsladybird]

what makes me so happy about the Superman movie is that Jimmy Olsen, the actor Skyler Gisondo, I recognized him instantly because I literally grew up watching his face on my childhood show psych, he plays the young version of Shawn from season five to season six I guess I thought he was in it for longer but either way it’s still really cool to see that he’s all grown up, like awwww

[writinginthenameof]

Hi! I don't usually make requests, but I saw you write for Clark. I want to ask a story where Clark breaks up with you (the reader) because he's Superman and he thinks it's dangerous for you to date him.

Thank you for the request, anon! This sounds like some angst and you came to the right place for it. Hope you enjoy the story.

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Genre: Established relationship, angst, hurt Warnings: None that I'm aware of, but Clark's an idiot sometimes. Word Count: 1.9k Links: Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 Author's Note: This is my first request. I couldn't be more thankful, anon, and I hope you enjoy it. I really needed to write something shorter, tho.

Clark had rehearsed the words in places where they could do no damage.

He had spoken them first to the vast, hollow crystalline vaults of the Fortress, where the sound did nothing but rebound off the cold ice and fade into the silence of the Arctic.

He had muttered them in the quiet of his apartment, practicing the cadence of a lie until the syllables felt smooth against his tongue and didn't make him choke on them as much.

He had even tried saying them on empty rooftops overlooking Metropolis at three in the morning, letting the wind carry his cracking voice out into the void where no human ear could hear. But every version sounded cruel. Every version sounded like a lie... Because they were.

Between your hands, the stoneware mug had gone entirely cold. You noticed the loss of warmth first, your fingers curling tighter around the clammy ceramic while Clark sat beside you, staring at a point just past your left shoulder as if he was looking through the solid drywall of the kitchen. Something felt wrong.

Something about he held you tighter these past weeks, or how his hands wandered on your skin. Clark has always been the type to touch you at any given chance just for the sake of touching, for the sake of running his lips on the back of your shoulders, his fingers tracing patterns over your clothes like a second nature.

And while his touches have been constant as they always were, something had changed. It wasn't just touching, it wasn't about running his fingers absentmindedly on your skin, or his lips. It was about holding you. Making sure you were there, keeping you tightly against him and letting go when he had to without seeking another touch.

You found it odd, how could you not after dating this man for nearly two years, but Clark was the type to keep things to himself until he was ready to talk and you felt like he would when he wanted to. You did what you could; you stayed.

Touching him as he touched you, held him as he held you. Kissed him often and felt him kiss you deeper, hold you tighter. But held back on the 'I love yous'.

"You've been staring like that for five minutes," you said, your voice a quiet and gentle suddenly shifting the heavy stillness of the room.

Clark blinked, the haze slowly clearing from his eyes. "Oh." He looked down at his hands, his fingers loosening slightly as though he had forgotten he his hands. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for everything, Clark."

Normally, that gentle teasing would have earned you a very specific, domestic routine; one of his sheepish, crooked smiles, followed by a flush of pink on his ears as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Tonight, there was nothing. Just a flat, sterile quiet that seemed to pool in the space between you. There was a smile, something sad that trembled at the corners of his lips as he looked down at his hands yet again.

It wasn't unusual seeing him quiet, but this strange stillness was an unsettling thing to see. He wasn't a loud man by any means, but he always filled a room with a soft, physical warmth, a constant hum of being present, a question about your day, a light brush of his thumb against your wrist.

You kept expecting for him to reach for you over the counter despite knowing by now, he wouldn't. Tonight, the silence felt as if a window had been left wide open in the dead of winter.

You couldn't help but notice tell-tales on Clark. His glasses sat perfectly straight on his nose. His hair was combed back, not a single dark strand out of place. His blue button-down shirt was meticulously ironed, the collar stiff and neat. Everything about him was too perfect. Clark only became this meticulous when he was trying very hard not to fall apart.

Reaching over the counter, you laid your hand over his.

His fingers twitched instinctively beneath yours, curling upward for a fraction of a second a subconscious muscle memory of wanting to hold you. Then, he pulled away. He didn't do it sharply or rudely; he just slowly slid his hands back out from under yours, until they were folded tightly on his lap. The motion was so subtle, careful but left a clear message.

Something tight and cold coiled in your chest. "Clark."

He swallowed hard, his throat moving convulsively. "...Yeah?"

"Talk to me."

Those three words almost broke him. You saw his throat working as he tried to swallow hard as if something got stuck in his throat, then, slowly, he finally looked up, meeting your eyes, and in an instant, his mind took a devastating inventory of everything his heart had memorized without his permission.

He saw the tiny, anxious crease near the corner of your eye. He saw the soft, oversized sweater he’d bought you last autumn because you’d stopped to admire it in a shop window but refused to spend the money on yourself. He smelled the always present scent of your body that clung to everything he own, including his own skin for days on end, it doesn't matter if he was at home, at the Daily Prophet or floating in Earth's orbit. You were always there with him. It clung to Superman's suit.

Home. Everything about you was home.

His throat burned. He had survived collapsing buildings, alien invasions, world-ending machines, and the suffocating vacuum of space. But nothing; absolutely nothing had ever terrified him like this.

"I..." he began, the words dying somewhere between his lungs and his teeth.

You waited with the patient, quiet dignity he loved and hated in equal measure. You trusted him implicitly, and now he was about to use that very trust to destroy the only sanctuary he had ever known.

"I don't think..." His voice was rough, scraping against his throat until he cleared it to try again. "...I don't think we should do this anymore."

You frowned, the words failing to compute. "What?"

"This." He gestured vaguely, a weak, empty wave of his hand between the two of you. "Us."

The silence that followed wasn't the quiet of a paused conversation, but the sudden, violent vacuum of an interstellar explosion. You simply stared at him, your eyes searching his face for the familiar crease of a joke, because your mind flatly refused to associate that sentence with the man sitting in front you.

A small, breathless laugh escaped your throat, dry and hollow in the cold room. "That's not funny, Clark."

"I know."

"Then why would you—"

"I've been thinking about it for a while," he said. Every syllable felt like swallowing shattered glass.

You searched his face, desperate for a tell. You had spent months studying his expressions, learning the tiny, invisible shifts in his eyes when he was hiding amusement, or the subtle tightening of his jaw when he was trying to pretend something didn’t hurt him. But right now, his face was a mask of cold stone. He refused to meet your gaze, focusing instead on the salt shaker, the wall, the floor—anyway but at you.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. "Did I do something?"

No. God, no.

You had done nothing but love him with both hands open. You had learned every scar he carried without ever demanding to know where they came from. You had waited through countless late nights, cold dinners, missed holidays, and half-finished conversations interrupted by "emergencies" you never questioned. You had asked for so little, and yet, he was still standing here, failing you.

"No," he said, his voice flat to keep it from shaking.

"So talk to me," you urged, leaning forward, hands clasped in front of you on the counter desperately trying to catch his eyes. "We can fix it. Whatever it is, Clark, we can fix it."

For a split second, his body betrayed him. His hand actually lifted from his lap, rising toward the counter to reach for yours. He wanted to squeeze your fingers, to pull you into his lap and tell you how sorry he was.

But then he remembered.

Lex Luthor’s cold, calculating eyes lingering on you for three seconds too long outside your office yesterday. He remembered Amanda Waller casually asking Superman if he had any civilian family she should clear for protection.

He remembered the dossiers, the patterns, the terrifying realization that his enemies were starting to look for his heart. Every kiss goodbye had become a countdown. Every heartbeat he listened to inside your chest had become another thing the world could tear away to break him. Loving Superman was a death sentence. And loving Clark Kent was impossible while Superman existed.

He curled his hand into a tight fist, keeping it on his lap.

"There isn't anything to fix," he said, forcing his voice to remain utterly devoid of warmth.

"Then why?"

He looked you in the eye, and he told the most absurd, cruelest lie he had ever spoken.

"I just... don't feel the same anymore."

The words landed between you like shattered glass.

You didn't cry. Not right away. If you had screamed, or thrown something, or sobbed, it would have been easier. Instead, you just sat there, looking at him with a quiet, devastating hope, as if you were waiting for him to smile, apologize, and tell you he had just made a terrible mistake.

He almost did. He wanted to fall to his knees and confess everything. He wanted to tell you about Krypton, about the Fortress, about the suit we always caried folded in his bag, folded beneath his civilian clothes. He wanted to give you every secret, every fear, if only to keep you from looking at him like this.

But he stayed silent. He sat there, a coward in his own skin, watching the light leave your eyes one agonizing degree at a time.

"...Okay," you whispered.

Just one word. No shouting. No accusations. No begging. The quiet dignity of it hurt infinitely more than any scream.

You stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor. You walked around the counter and stopped right beside him. Clark couldn't breathe; his chest felt tight, his lungs seizing as if the atmosphere had been sucked from the room.

You reached out, resting your hand against his cheek one last time. Your thumb brushed beneath his eye, your skin warm and incredibly tender.

"I hope," you said softly, your voice finally trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady, "that whatever convinced you this is what you need... lets you sleep at night."

Then, you leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his hair. Clark felt his chest being squeezed so tight, he felt weak in every sense of the word, something couldn't even be emulated by Kryptonite.

This was the exact kiss you always gave him when you knew he was carrying too much of the world on his shoulders. Even now, while he was breaking your heart, you were trying to comfort him.

Clark closed his eyes, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.

Please don't, he thought desperately. Please yell at me. Please hate me. Just make this easy.

But you didn't.

Clark could almost feel his own heart breaking as you let go off of him, how it punched in a tumbling rhythm against his chest in protest as you walked away. The apartment door opened, and then closed with a soft, definitive click.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Only then did the man who could hold tectonic plates together through sheer brutal force, the man who could withstand the heat of a star finally break. He buried his face in his hands, and he sobbed.

Copyright © by writinginthenameof. All rights reserved. Do not copy, repost, or translate this work.

— if you like my work, please, consider relogging, leaving a reply or a feedback. that'd mean the world to me. ty💕

— let me know if you'd like to get tagged in the future for Clark x reader fics...

[garfieldsladybird]

okay gangy I lost a fic.

all I can specifically remember from it was that it was a Clark Kent x reader

I remember the description specifically saying something like, “Clark got tired of living his double life and he took it out on reader”

and I remember it started with the reader and Clark meeting at the Daily Planet where he bumped into her and then asked for her coffee order and the next day gave it to her and they just became really good friends after that.

if you can, please help me find this fic!

[midniqhtt]

CLARK KENT • SUPERMAN RECS SIX .ᐟ

꒰ MASTERLIST I DC I D. CORENSWET I 09/26/25 ꒱

a collection of fics i’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed all in one spot! read each warning before diving in and please give writers some appreciation for all their hard work by reblogging and/or commenting! ꨄ

A: angst F: fluff S: smut C: comfort HC: hurt/comfort

go save the world, i’ll be around I @honeypiehotchner I A + F I You and Clark are childhood best friends, growing up just across the field from one another. When he moves to Metropolis and announces himself as Superman, it causes a rift so large that you aren't sure you'll ever cross it. Until Superman comes home, sick and out of his mind, and only two things can help: sunlight and you.

you hide your injuries from him I @staseras I A + F I you’ve been asking your boyfriend to take down a bookshelf for months, but every time he gets to it, something comes up and the world needs your boyfriend. you decide enough is enough, so you decide to do it yourself. it’s going well until you fall and get hurt, and you hide the injuries from him because you don’t want to worry him. he finds out anyway.

office gossip I @blank-potato I S I You have a big crush on Superman, and the whole office knows it, especially Clark. When you can't seem to stop thinking about him or talking about him, it has you asking yourself (and the office): Is Superman good in bed?

that’s so clark kent I @/blank-potato I F + S

clark is jealous of himself? I @glassmermaids I F

blister in the sun pt2 I @moonlight-prose I F + A I the daily planet was the home of gods in a city you never thought might see your presence. a newspaper that won awards, that held the hearts and minds of the best and brightest to exist. yet your boss handed over a job that only a reporter from gotham could do.

broken down and hungry for your love I @/moonlight-prose I F I a conversation leads to kissing him on his couch until oxygen becomes secondary.

everything is meant to be broken I @/moonlight-prose I A + S I there would be no world in which you could live without him. future where he could exist without you. the both of you were intrinsically tethered. and you found that finding yourself beneath him in his bed was inevitable.

stupid glasses I @snooperzz I F I She hadn’t found out the way that he wanted. Not that he ever really had a plan, but he certainly hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.

the dint I @imagines-all-day-everyday I F I when clark kent stumbles into a 24 hour vet clinic with his unconscious side-kick, the last thing he expects to find is maybe the only person in metropolis who can handle krypto. It’s an extra bonus that she’s beautiful too.

12 to 12 I @/imagines-all-day-everday I A + F + ~S I clark forces himself to go to a work party with only one purpose - to find you in the crowd. he has no idea if you want to be found or want to avoid him at all costs. the only problem is, neither do you.

the mystery of love I @rosesaints I F + S I 4 times he showed you he loves you + 1 time he says it

knowing clark’s coffee order I @/rosesaints I F I clark's no stranger to doing the grunt work around the daily planet.

i’ll crawl home to her I @se7entyrell I F I You and Clark just got married four months ago. That's barely enough time to settle into the house, and your new life. So when you take a pregnancy test in solidarity with your friend, the last thing you're expecting is a positive.

put you in a bodybag or in my bed I @bodhiscurls I A + F I clark kent is your mortal enemy; it's been a constant battle between who's going to get front page privileges and clark always manages to top you with superman. when you both get a little too drunk and repressed feelings rush to the surface- surely it can't be real? how could it be real when you wake up naked in his bed, unsure of how you ended up there? when you've accidentally sent the department the doc you made in a rage listing all the reasons you hate clark kent? it can't be real so why does it hurt so much when he calls it quits- when you cry to superman of all people- when everywhere you go reminds you of him?

cause i can see you I @myladybelle I F I it’s been a couple months since you started working at the daily planet, and you’re beginning to suspect that your awkward, mild-mannered coworker might be hiding a much bigger secret than his crush on you

just a super dog I @idk-imjustanerd I F I Clark is trying to get Krypto acclimated to city life when you unexpectedly knock on his door.

enough for you I @teascorner I A + C I Plagued by insecurities, you can't imagine that Clark Kent would ever return your feelings. After weeks of pining, weeks of feeling your heart break more and more, it all comes to a fever pitch. Can you and Clark work it out?

purpose I @wwinterwitch I F I you get back from work to find clark preparing a little surprise for you

virgin!clark I @audreyownsdiamonds I F I making out with you for the first time

bury the lede I @levanswrites I A + F + S I clark kent runs on compassion the way most reporters run on espresso. he is, by all observable metrics, the most principled man you know. so when your hard-won article gets pulled without explanation, the softest man in metropolis is suddenly ready to raise quiet, righteous hell. because when something’s wrong, he never lets it slide—especially when it comes to you.

i can see you I @stargazsblog I F I you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

companion I @murdockparker I F I You were an adult, with adult money. You can buy things that bring you joy! Hopefully your boyfriend never finds out about it.

theory of goodness pt13 pt14 pt15 I @messylxve I F + HC

mornings with you I @writing-for-marvel I F + S I The morning after your first night together, Clark still can’t get enough of you.

i never was the good samaritan I @supershit-hits I A + F I a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?

the tantrums and the chilling chats, i promise I @/supershit-hits I A + F + C I clark takes a picture of you and it leads you to spiral. the last thing you want is for him to see you crashing out, but he’s determined to be by your side no matter what.

villian!reader pt2 pt3 I @maiamore I S I clark meets another super, who he can fuck the way he really wants to.

metahuman-telepathic!reader pt2 I @/maiamore I S I Clark has to enlist the help of his metahuman ex for an interview.

please? I @/maiamore I S I Jealous!Clark Kent finds his mutant!telepath ex on a date.

girl next door I @/maiamore I S I Clark takes care of his neighbour.

manchild! pt2 I @/maiamore I F I Clark saves the life of one of Lex Luthor's lab techs — but doesn't realise what he does cost her everything.

the ‘yes’ list I @/maiamore I S I You get to fulfil your 'to-fuck' list with Superman.

killshot I @/maiamore I S I Clark Kent scores an interview with Bruce Wayne's infamous sister — you. Except you don't make it easy for him.

to good for me I @lomlsatoru I A + F I everytime you remember your life, clark is always there, and now after everything came crashing down, clark thinks he has loved you from the very start.

blurb I @daenysx I F I you wash clark's hair and praise him until he turns red

all pent up pt2 I @honeybunnyale I A + F + S I Clark has been utterly perfect, smart, kind, cute and witty. But a woman has needs and doubts were starting to lead you to a detrimental decision. A breakup. But this Clark guy shows you that he fucks hard and checks all of your boxes.

the way he waits for you I @danitcx I F I You’ve always been shy. Quiet. Invisible, even. But working at the Daily Planet gave you a badge, a desk… and a seat across from Clark Kent. What starts as silent glances and white chocolate donuts turns into a walk, a bar, a moment —where maybe, just maybe, your heart begins to hope he sees you too.

sue me I @fatherjohnmistake I A + F + S I after a nasty breakup, you find your name plastered on the front page of the daily planet, courtesy of no other than your ex, clark kent.

leftover frosting I @navybrat817 I S I Clark bakes you a cake and has a plan for the leftover frosting

undress I @/navybrat817 I ~S I You put on a little show for Clark.

10 things you hate about clark kent I @bitterballad I S I You had just moved to Metropolis from Gotham after quitting the Gotham Gazette. You thought it would be a breeze. But there's 10 things about your coworker that irk you more than you ever thought.

just clark I @larkandpen I F I You live in the same building as Clark Kent. You think he’s sweet but awkward, he carries your bags, helps you build things, fixes issues in your apartment. You joke he’s “like a superhero” for doing the chores your ex never did, and he panics and runs off

best to you I @sunsburns I F + C I clark loves being superman, though he can be away for hours and sometimes days on end. you tend to miss him more than you admit, and you find comfort in wearing his clothes and... his spare superman suits.

baby, it’s just you I @eupheme I S I the suit stays on

clark’s super secret I @celestiababie I F I In which Clark Kent has to face the truth if he wants to get a good night's sleep...

heartbeat I @maikorian I A I clark adores the little thing about you, now he'll never get to experience them again.

superbanned I @arkofangels I S I After one too many, ahem, “incidents,” the Justice Gang slaps Clark Kent with a temporary sex ban. He promises to behave—until one look and a little teasing from you has him breaking every rule he promised to keep.

kanas anymore pt3 I @junleb I F + A I you're bruce wayne's date to a gala and clark starts feeling under the weather

the one with the broken printer I @heartburriedinvenice I F I the five times in which clark made your head spin and the one time you finally got him back. and it all started with a broken printer.

super shy I @fhrlclln I F I in which you’re trying your best to tell him you like him in your own quiet and shy way but clark kent is an oblivious fool when it comes to these things.

adrenaline junkie!reader I @hexedlover I F

hardly discreet I @hearts4hughes I A + F

drabble I @souliloqui I F I you'd like to hear clark curse.

drabble I @/souliloqui I F I you meet krypto

drabble I @/souliloqui I A I you find out clark's secret.

drabble I @/souliloqui I F + A I a building falls with you beneath it. superman calls out your name despite never having met you.

drabble I @laceyfaeryy I S I clark kent is a big titty lover

superman and ultraman I @idksmtms I A + C

4 + 1 I @beentainted I F + S I four times clark kent almost said he loved you, and the one he actually did.

front page I @yasministration I F I clark doesn't care about anyone's opinion more than yours, so when you flick over to the crossword puzzle without telling him what you thought of his article, he worries for a minute.

a cozy interview I @/yasministration I F I when superman is married to an award winning actress and filmmaker, it's no surprise to see him crashing her interviews, and despite keeping his identity a secret, he doesn't keep his affection for his wife a secret. if anything, he flaunts it.

i’ve got a crush on you I @coquettefrancaise I F I oblivious to your coworker, Clark Kent's, obvious feelings towards you, you spiral in self-pity when he brings you flowers and you chalk it up to him being a good friend

tolerate clark, ignore superman I @catbayunthestoryteller I F

shy!reader I @inkdrinkerworld I F

request I @/inkdrinkerworld I F

drabble I @corensology I S I clark eating reader out

mr. superman for the ladies I @vitoriadior I F I Where you, preschool teacher, get the incredible Superman (aka your boyfriend) to come to your classroom for Jobs and Careers Day.

[rosierecs13]

𝜗𝜚 Clark Kent Recs 7

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 06/26/2026

⭒ Clark Kent ⭒ Part 02 ⭒ Part 03 ⭒ Part 04 ⭒ Part 05 ⭒ Part 06

⭒ Detective Comics (DC)

Masterlist | @staseras

Masterlist | @snoopysupe

table for two | @hearts4hughes

meet the kents | @/hearts4hughes

wanna be yours | @/hearts4hughes

the trouble with jimmy | @myladybelle

when you move from smallville to metropolis, clark thinks he finally has his chance to confess. instead, he ends up with a front row seat to you gushing about jimmy olsen every day. what he doesn’t realise is that you’re trying to set jimmy up with your neighbour, and you’re starting to see clark as more than a friend.

front page crush | @/myladybelle

everyone at the daily planet knows about your hopeless crush on superman. what nobody expected was for him to save your life, agree to an interview, and maybe even flirt back. least of all clark, who’s had a crush on you for years.

yes, ma’am | @night-scare

Clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him. 

IN PLAIN SIGHT Masterlist  | @anon-188

you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.

Will you marry, kiss or kill me? | @vitoriadior

Where you decide to kill Oliver Queen, kiss Clark Kent, and fuck/marry Bruce Wayne. Clark hears you and can't stop overthinking about it all day—why would you want to marry or even fuck Bruce Wayne and not him? You don't want to marry him? To fuck with him?

Soup Deliveries |  @starluved

You don't come to work for a while, Clark worries about you and brings you soup.

DOPPELGANGER |  @clarktologist

a night out goes a bit awry when you forget your boyfriend is both superman and clark kent.

Field Trip Savior | @caoimhewritesfics

Your field trip gets rudely interrupted by another inter-dimensional monster. Superman saves the day and steals your heart

Imagine | @siriuslylantsov

using clark as your own personal heater, or rather a blanket.

things my chronically offline bf does | @staseras

clark kent thinks tiktok means the passing of time, you’re a (wannabe) influencer. what could possibly happen? answer includes but isn’t limited to thirst traps, using your hot bsf to go viral, online anonymous confessions, and one really old cat named bean.

My daughter doesn’t fly | @orobaxis

Bruce has to watch Leia and Damian for a night. It was doable, until Clark Kent’s daughter started flying around the batcave.

My daddy is Superman! | @/orobaxis

Leia tells her kindergarten class that her dad is Superman. When mild-mannered reported Clark Kent comes to pick her up, the entire class is disappointed.

Your Favorite | @caoimhewritesfics

Clark makes you his your favorite food for dinner. Based loosely off the scene between Clark and Lois

Field Trip Savior | @/caoimhewritesfics

Your field trip gets rudely interrupted by another inter-dimensional monster. Superman saves the day and steals your heart

guilt of the quiet one | @fromsil

your life was unraveling, little by little. bored and drained by your job, terrified of your brother, and silently denying the weight of your own depression. nothing made it easier, especially when one of metropolis’s most persistent reporters began digging into places he definitely shouldn’t have.

Masterlist | @finelinevogue

bare minimum or princess treatment | @/finelinevogue

you ask clark the tough questions; whether something is the bare minimum or princess treatment

come home, smallville | @/finelinevogue

you’re in a car accident, your boyfriend is living in another city and it all gets too much

i’ve got you  | @/finelinevogue

clark saves you just in time, but you don't make him aware of the extent of your injuries

FROM GOTHAM, WITH LOVE | @mcumorningstar

you meet clark when he's on red kryptonite and, even though he's back to his "normal self", you can't stand him and his nice guy act. things come to a head at the school dance.

the clark kent problem | @hexedlover

Your washing machine breaks, and Clark Kent—perfect, helpful, devastatingly kind Clark Kent—immediately offers his. The same Clark you’ve been pathetically avoiding because being around him hurts too much when you’re this gone for him. But it’s late, it’s raining, and he’s being so characteristically sweet about it that you can’t say no. What could go wrong?

Smallville, 11:59 | @/hexedlover

You’re a little tipsy on your mom’s Riesling and hiding from a house full of family. He’s the boy next door who smells like safety and saves the world in his spare time. You’ve been in love with him your whole life, and tonight, with the New Year about to dawn, you get the feeling he might just feel the same way.

Masterlist |  @maiamore

KILLSHOT| @/maiamore

Clark Kent scores an interview with Bruce Wayne's infamous sister — you. Except you don't make it easy for him.

MINDS OF MEN | @/maiamore

Clark gets more well-acquainted with Bruce Wayne's sister — covering a gala following the death of Gotham's mayor.

you overhear something, clark defends you | @headkiss

you’re shy and not the best flirt, clark likes it (and you) | @/headkiss

find me somebody to love | @supershit-hits

clark has the perfect plan to get to know the love of his life. it consists of eight dates, eight carefully crafted steps, and if all goes well, a happily-ever-after. but when jimmy sets him up on a blind date with you, sticking to the plan turns out to be a lot harder than he thought.

mysteries of our disguise revolve | @/supershit-hits

you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.

i never was the good samaritan | @/supershit-hits

a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?

work wife | @clarkkentluvr

baby daddy | @/clarkkentluvr

superman reveal | @/clarkkentluvr

Can't Lose You | @pellucid-constellations

Clark always made you promise to run at the sight of danger. You listen to him—usually.

The Weight of Us | @/pellucid-constellations

You find out Clark is Superman, and he finds out what it feels like to lose you. In more ways than one.

clark’s got a crush! | @peachyparkerr

jealousy, jealousy | @marwrite

superman doesn’t get jealous- but clark kent does. he lets it linger, lets it fester, lets it shape months of almosts and maybes- until a harmless lie turns into shared routines, soft touches, and feelings neither of you were meant to fall into.

figure it out | @/marwrite

clark shows his love for your friendship in many ways. fetching your lunch, carrying your things for you, always being there when you need him- but who could have imagined it would include kissing you on the lips? every casual peck makes your head spin, your heart stammer; until one night, one lingering kiss finally answers all your questions… and then some.

sweet mr kent | @/marwrite

clark found every excuse to be near you; fixing, helping, pretending it was harmless. but every smile, every soft thank you dragged him toward a line your youth made unforgivable. you were temptation itself, and even the good men fall.

the one thing clark can't do | @/marwrite

it’s no secret; superman can do anything. save worlds, stop disasters, even play the role of a clumsy reporter. but after the day he saved you, there’s one thing he can’t do: forget you.

Companion | @murdockparker

You were an adult, with adult money. You can buy things that bring you joy! Hopefully your boyfriend never finds out about it.

Cat Got Your Tongue? | @/murdockparker

Your cat is your life, lovable and sweet... to you. She seemingly is allergic to strangers—all but one in a red cape, it seems.

just one | @geminiwritten

you and clark have been best friends since college, and you know everything about each other—including his superhero identity—but tensions have risen since you started working with him at the daily planet, and after superman is exposed to a 'truth telling toxin' you decide to take a little advantage of the fact that he can't lie.

Complicated | @/geminiwritten

you've been best friends with clark since high school, but moving to metropolis—and crashing at his apartment until you get a job and find your own place—is stirring up old feelings you thought you'd buried for good. so you accept the only job offer you've gotten... at luthorcorp, which somehow turns into a date with lex luthor, and you're left praying for someone super to swoop in and save you.

e.t.  | @aliendickrocks

You are a scientist that is assigned to a top-secret government facility that houses an extraterrestrial subject to learn more about where he came from. In this he is not Clark Kent or Superman, just Kal-El. Martha and John did not find him, but the government did.

yes, ma'am, part 2 | @night-scare

clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him.

family album | @/night-scare

clark doesn't want to ruin what you both have.

Superman | @pretty-little-mind33

Lois and Jimmy have a theory that Clark likes you, which has to be ludicrous, right? Why would Clark Kent like you of all people? You don't understand…well, until Clark tells you himself.

some protector | @eulogiez

it had months since you and clark had broken up. months of mutual heartbreak and turmoil, whether either of you knew or not. little did you know, clark had been watching you for months now, even in your distance wanting to make sure you've been okay. miraculously, superman's there when you experience a little run-in with the wrong person at the wrong time.

loving is easy, | @/eulogiez

clark is so easy to love, and he’d like to say he tries to make you think the same of yourself. maybe his efforts have been futile, because you don’t feel any less motivated to break things off one random saturday; but he’s not willing to let you go that easily.

a simple kiss, kissing clark headcanons, | @/eulogiez

tabloids and toothache,  | @/eulogiez

you’re nothing if not committed to your work. so you’re saying yes in a heartbeat when your boss prompts your suggestion that you get an inside scoop on clark kent, renowned daily planet journalist, on his ties to superman. but one thing leads to another when the relationship that kindles between you becomes something more, something real. needless to say you’ve become committed to more than the bit.

silver springs | @dumbbandpoetic

clark loses the girl he loves more than anything in the whole world, so his solution is to pine and yearn and wait for her, with no real clue as to what he's going to do when he gets her back. basically, clark kent gets haunted by his ex-girlfriend.

first day | @/dumbbandpoetic

in which clark kent and his wife haven't had a quiet day in their house since their daughter april was born, but now that it's time for her first day of school ever, they're both a little upset by the silence.

heat vision | @/dumbbandpoetic

in which clark kent has a little problem he can't control. specifically, every time he gets just a little turned on, he sets something on fire with his eyes. pair that with a beautiful girl who's already onto his secret? not a good match...

Surviving Kent @lo-vearchive

You spoke to the cute reporter from the Daily Planet for the first time at your local coffee shop. You had seen him many times before. He was hard to miss with how he towered a foot over everyone else, squinting through his thick glasses to see the menu on the wall. Then one day he asks you out to dinner only to not show up. Life in Metropolis was just great! You just loved being clowned by a boy you liked. You hope that Superman beats the shit out of him for breaking your heart.

Big Blue | @/lo-vearchive

You think your coworker Clark is actually Superman. You ask him out to dinner to determine the truth, only to hurt his feelings. One bad confrontation and two sexually charged encounters later, you decide to stay clear of him at work. Except you really can't, especially not when you know he wants you just as bad, too. That's okay. You'll just have to seduce him into giving in.

Cherry Coke | @/lo-vearchive

You’re not sure when the hating game between you and Clark Kent began, but you did know you were going to win it. He was unprofessional, perpetually late, blatantly disrespectful, and just too average to be promoted to senior journalist. So when you get an opportunity to ​interview Lex Luthor, you jump at the chance to drag Kent’s face through the mud with a high-profile article of your own. Too bad you both don’t seem to understand that love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

leave a message at the tone | @simplyseveredslut

in which Clark becomes very familiar with your voicemail after choosing work and Lois, once again. when you finally call, he’ll drop everything for you.

Rock Me, Sway Me | @bowandlacy

superman accidentally reveals his secret identity through a hug.

Neighbourly | @little-miss-dilf-lover

Cocktail Umbrella | @kitywrites

Reader is a field photographer for the Daily Planet, specifically tasked with photographing Superman. You’re always getting into strange and dangerous situations for the perfect photo, knowing that Superman can save you. Unfortunately, Superman doesn’t have time for selfies, but Clark will always make time for you.

Is there an application process? | @/kitywrites

You comfort Clark (your best friend since college) after the news of his secret harem gets out.

What you don’t know | @mayfieldss

In which the reader has a crush on Superman and Clark at the same time, unaware they are the same person.

dating Clark Kent headcannons | @/mayfieldss

What Everyone Knows | @tw1sters

Your not-so-tiny two-year crush on Clark Kent is an open secret in the office, hopefully one that he still isn't privy to. However, the holidays have a way of bringing feelings to the surface, regardless of whether you’re ready or not. 

tow your heart away | @theworstwolvie

you were just doing your job. how were you supposed to know superman would fall in love with you?

All's Fair in Love and Tug of War | @kaciidubs

You really couldn't fault Krypto, you knew his favorite game was tug of war - you just didn't think he would try to play it with you... or your towel.

Sleep Alones |  @/kaciidubs

You leave Clark alone after a shared nap, and he's quick to let you know how he feels about it.

Little Things, Big Things | @froggibus

after cancelling date night yet again, Clark reminds you that you are the most important thing to him

Should’ve Said It | @tbyfandoms

after having a fight at work with your boyfriend, clark, you go to his apartment in hopes of making amends. what you don't expect is to find out he's been keeping a big secret from you, leaving you with a mix of emotions

pillow talk | @littlemissmanlykink

No. of fics: 77

[zativertz]

O Sol e a Lua

pairing: Superman x Wolverine-esque fem!reader

wc: 12.3k

song rec.: the cure by Olivia Rodrigo & O Sol e a Lua by Pequeno Cidadão

Incident Report: (heavily inspired off of Last Stand) You thought a few years in mourning was enough to dull the memory, drowning yourself in alcohol and cigar smoke to calm the pain in your limbs and the ache in your heart. Jean had killed all of them—and you had killed Jean after it was far too late. Wanting a fresher start, you’d packed your things and moved to Metropolis, holing up in a shabby apartment in Hob’s Bay. Your debut as Wolverine took the Daily Planet by storm, catching the attention of Superman as he tries to soothe those wounds that still ache beneath the surface.

warnings (pls comment if I forgot any): smut, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, blowjob, reverse cowgirl, squirting, improper use of pheromones and erogenous zones, r is aggressive like a wolverine, yearner clark kent, r is emotionally shutoff, LOTS of plot, tons of angst and mourning, all the x-men are dead except r.

Superman, if described in one short word, would be called kind. He protected Metropolis with his life, sacrifices himself for the biggest and even the smallest of creatures. That farm-boy from Smallville, Kansas developed such a sense of love for the Earth he wasn’t even from.

People adored him, that golden boy drenched in sun with sparkling dimples in his cheeks. Children dressed as him for Halloween, news reporters fawned over each piece thrown together by journalists, and generally, most admired him—well, all except one.

This other superhero who went by the name of Wolverine, drenched in royal blue, gold, and pure brooding.

He’d first spotted her chasing down a man who’d ripped the bag out of an elderly woman’s hands, mid-flight and ready to serve justice—only for the thief to be brutally tackled and sent to the hospital with a busted nose. Press went insane, speculations arising regarding who this new superhero was and if she’d join Justice Gang.

Clark received stories about her constantly at the Daily Planet, sightings, tons of critique, and equal amounts of support (which included Clark himself). Admittedly, he was fascinated—not by the fact that there was a new superhero but because he had not spoken to her once, not even a quip in passing. She kept to herself, apparently had told Guy Gardner to fuck off after he offered her a place in the Justice Gang—which ended those speculations pretty quickly.

In three weeks, Superman was actively seeking out Wolverine like a lost puppy—though he denied it when Guy would comment on the way he hovered farther and farther from central New Troy into Hob’s Bay.

Hob’s Bay was Wolverine’s most frequented district, the large skyscrapers of New Troy transitioning into rundown apartments and lopsided infrastructure. It wasn’t as glamorous as Hell’s Gate or Queensland Park, but the people who lived there needed help the most.

Hob’s Bay, otherwise known as Suicide Bay, had been infamous for its high crime rate and its low police activity. The mayor turned a blind eye to the people’s suffering, focusing funds on LuthorCorp, which backed majority of the infrastructure projects in the city. If there was one thing the Wolverine despised more than the crappy police department in Hob’s Bay, it was LuthorCorp.

Maybe that’s why on a random Saturday evening, she finally left Hob’s Bay as a giant machine tanks were trampling New Troy. Clark had been caught up with work at the Daily Planet, balancing his secret identity with his work life had grown tough over the past few months with the influx of stories entering and leaving their hands.

Rumbling in the streets were the first thing that alerted him of something being wrong, next was the sound of screams—then an explosion, fiery hot and angry. He’d managed to pass it off as journalism work, slipping out the back of the building as he stripped himself of his work attire into that familiar scheme of red, blue, and gold.

The ground shook with the each rotation of those heavy metal wheels, cracks in the concrete deepening as their engines burst alive and released exhaust. Soon, the tanks stalled—stilling head on at something that was at first blocked by jagged edges and oxidized bulk.

Superman’s cape billowed as he shot up into the sky, air curving around him as he cut clean through until he was finally able to see what was ahead. That familiar royal blue and gold caught his eye immediately, then that sickening red.

Wolverine swayed slightly as a small child, no older than six, stood tucked away behind her. Blood dripped down her left arm, or moreso her lack of arm. The right was burned crisp, caught in crossfire and the flesh was an angry red beneath the cracked skin. Three blades stuck out from between reddened knuckles, breathing ragged within her chest as her teeth were gritted together painfully tight.

Clark had seen violence before, had seen the wounds that formed when LuthorCorp was allowed to push the boundaries of humanity. He’d felt the anger, the sorrow that cuts deep and sits in one’s chest, festering. He could see that same anger within Wolverine’s eyes as she stumbled back for a moment, steadying herself on an ankle too twisted and mangled to be stable.

“Golly, are you okay? You need to get out of here, you’re hurt—.”

“You’re late, Supershit.” Her teeth were remained gritted as she spat out the annoying nickname, not full of hatred but not exactly fond either. Wolverine’s eyes flickered down behind her, taking in the little boy’s shaken state—far too young to truly process the danger he was in. There was a pause in her voice as she coughed, blood dribbling past the corner of her lips before she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Get the kid out of here.”

The words were spoken more in a rasp than an actual sentence, but Clark took one look at that little boy and knew. His voice was as gentle as the breeze as he kneeled down, heart tugging and clenching at the shaky hands that quickly grabbed onto his own.

“Let’s get you home, buddy.”

Superman shot off into the sky with that tiny form burrowed between his arms, heart beating double the speed of his own.

A street over, a mother stood in her front lawn—heart hammering within her chest as she searched both ends of the street. Her lips parted in a shout of a name the child in his arm’s immediately recognized, scrambling to touch that familiar freshly mowed grass the moment Clark’s feet grazed the surface.

The mother’s eyes fell upon that little boy and relief flooded her face, feet stumbling over themselves as she scooped her son into her arms. Her mouth spilled out words of appreciation, scolding her son in between each phrase.

Superman remained just long enough to watch them enter the safety of their homes, door swinging shut against its frame before he rose into the sky again. He hovered through the clouds, weightless as he soared—eyes endlessly scanning for the tanks, but the further he flew, the more he was unable to sense them.

Guy Gardner stood in the center of a ring of journalists and paparazzi, a sea of cameras snapping angles to shove into their latest story. Superman hovered for a moment before landing beside him, Guy’s words lost in his ears as he spoke to one of the reporters. “What happened to the tanks?”

Guy didn’t look at Clark as the paparazzi continued to snap photos, simply just tilting his head toward Hobsneck Bridge.

“Why don’t you go ask wolvy over there?”

Charles would’ve scolded you for smoking after a mission, would’ve told you it was a bad habit in some philosophical way that made you question the world. You didn’t give a damn, never did—but ever since moving to Metropolis, you’d begun to miss the way he’d scold you.

Your arms and legs hurt like hell, freshly healed skin stretching thin over aching bones. Your mask clung to the sweaty skin of your face. The sun was too bright, reflecting off the water and directly into your eyes but your ankle was too fucked for you to actually stand—so you sat, legs spread out upon piles of junk metal that were once tanks.

You blinked once, then twice—eyes watering as a cloud that blocked the sun floated out of the way, blinding you once more. After the second blink, you’d given up, opting to lean back against that rather uncomfortable cushion of bars beneath you as your eyes closed shut. Birds chirped as they floated to their nests atop the bridge, waters swaying and splashing against the posts. If you weren’t in so much pain, you might’ve found it relaxing—hell, you’d been in pain so long with this damned mutation that having your arm exploded off was the least of your worries.

A shadow, one far too deliberately placed, suddenly blocked the sun from your eyes. Opening your eyes rather reluctantly, Superman stood in front of you—tall bulking figure working as the perfect reprieve from the sunlight, except now he looked like a damn comic book cover of a superhero. His hair was perfectly curled, dimples etched into his cheeks as a smile was wedged into his lips.

For such a large guy, he seemed weirdly small just standing there—waiting for you to notice him like a puppy needing attention. You snuffed the cigarette onto the pile beneath you, shifting as you released an almost ungodly groan for your age, rolling up to sit straight. As much as you wished you could’ve sounded nicer, which you didn’t, exhaustion had already ate away at your body and you had a shift that started in approximately… half an hour, and you were covered in blood and shit. “What?”

“Hi,” He seemed to become brutally aware of how eager he sounded right after he spoke, clearing his throat as he tried (and failed) to shift into something more casual. “Uh… Hey. You’re really good.”

“…thanks.”

“No—like shockingly good.” Superman shifted side to side, his words growing less confident by the moment as if you were going to punch him for just breathing wrong—which you might for that comment.

You were quick to raise a brow, a chuckle catching in your throat as you watched his face drop, panic flooding his oversized form. “Surprised I can keep up with you, Superman?”

“No, no—! I’m sorry, I apologize. Uhm, I just…” Superman trailed off, brows furrowing as he thought of what to say—what words would remedy the apparent wrongdoing he’s committed. “I haven’t spoken to you at all since you started patrolling Hob’s Bay.”

“Yeah, you haven’t. Didn’t think that’d be a big deal to you, Wonder Boy.” Your ankle was almost fully healed, pain subsiding into an odd tingle as you crossed one leg over the other—eyes tracing from his boots up to his face, to those eyes as clear as the ocean. Fuck, he was perfect.

“I like to know who I’m workin’ with.”

“We aren’t a team, bub.” You were quick—far too quick to answer. You didn’t like teams—hadn’t liked them since the incident, since… you quickly blinked away the memories that ate at your mind.

The words were grossly sincere leaving his lips, eyes softening far too much. Meeting his gaze with your own, you began to understand just for a flicker of a moment why people loved him so much—why he was the comforting presence that blanketed the city and not someone like Guy Gardner. “I know, but I’d like to think we could be.”

That softness seeped into your bones, tugging your heart in a way that made you nauseous—biting back the feeling with a sharp drawl of air into your lungs. “Yeah… uh, you know, I’m not exactly big on the whole chit chat thing. So… I’m going to leave now.”

You stood, rolling your ankle once before applying your weight onto the limb. It felt fine, a little bit sore but stable enough to carry your ass back home and through your shift at the Ace O’ Clubs.

“Oh,” His posture hunched like he was mentally scolding himself for scaring you away, voice slipping into an almost pathetic pitch. “Okay, well… bye! See you soon!”

“Yeah…” You began, carefully navigating past jagged pipes and slabs of various metals. Hobsneck bridge, though connected to the technical slums of the city, had one of the most gorgeous sunsets you’d ever seen—the glow reflecting across the minimal amount of skin your costume showed. “No thanks.”

As much as Superman seemed nice, you weren’t exactly big on the idea of Big Blue tagging along with you for missions—in fact, you want him to stick to New Troy where he belonged. He was a superhero—you weren’t. You never considered yourself that beautiful beacon of hope, you were just a mutant, someone unfortunately born with powers—someone whose team died because of those powers.

The whole situation at New Troy had set you back twenty minutes for your shift, still stuck at your apartment scrubbing dirt, blood, and whatever the fuck else off your skin before messily throwing on your dingy polo and slacks.

The bar was exceptionally busy each time there was a Superman sighting, the owner himself probably being one of his biggest fans. You had regulars, of course, a couple who was too damn touchy but tipped you too well for you to say anything, a group of women who always left more sober than when they arrived somehow, and Jimmy fucking Olsen.

You don’t know how Jimmy did it, but each weekend he’d show up to the Ace o’ Clubs with a girl on his arm that was an absolute smoke show—so hot it burned and he was just… there. Then he’d come back the next day, have one too many shots of vodka before telling you all about how the last girl was sweet but “too much for him”. It was like clockwork at this point, but at least he tipped decently and genuinely thought of you as friend.

Hell, sometimes he’d even ask you about your own life—as stagnant as it was besides the whole mutant gig.

“Nothing much, just been dealing with work.” You swiped a towel over a freshly cleaned glass, soaking up droplets as Jimmy rested his head into the palm of his hand.

“You say this every damn time.” Jimmy groaned out before taking a long sip of a vodka cranberry you’d made half an hour ago. “Keep your secrets, but you’ve gotta be getting laid at least once in a while.”

“Maybe I don’t stick my dick in everything that moves. Seriously, these chicks are too pretty for you.”

Swinging the towel over your shoulder, you put the glass into its designated spot. Admittedly, working as a bartender wasn’t exactly ideal but there was a flow to it that you appreciated. As you took the order of the next group, Jimmy continued to whine and complain about his romantic life.

“I know—I know, they’re like, goddesses. And they get so attached after like, one date.”

The look that came across your face was nothing short of peeved as you slid the man beside Jimmy his drink. “Holy shit, you’re literally just bragging right now.”

Jimmy hands raised as his shoulders shrugged. “I’m not! Imagine how it feels to have someone obsessed with you after just talking once!”

Embarrassingly, your mind immediately drifted to that familiar Wonder Boy drenched in red, gold, and blue—how his eyes were so keenly focused on you. It wasn’t rocket science to know he was at least minimally fascinated by the Wolverine, but it was just that—a childish fascination with a fantasy ‘hero’.

When you snapped back to reality, and to a rather annoyed Jimmy, you turned on the glamour—fanning your face dramatically as you plopped olives into martini glass. “Oh, my name’s Jimmy, life is so hard having so many women fawn over me.”

“Dude.”

“What? That’s literally how you sound.” You didn’t even try to feign innocence as you served your last order for now, shifting to where your hip was resting against the counter across from Jimmy.

“Whatever.” The Ace O’ Clubs never failed to be busy on a Saturday night, but especially not after Superman’s arrival earlier. You’d be raking in tips till three AM, but for now, it was nice to feel like it was just you and Jimmy—talking like friends, even if he’d never know everything about you. “By the way, I invited a friend along tonight. Try to be nice to him.”

A friend? You were tempted to remark that Jimmy didn’t have friends and this guy surely had to be a hallucination, but there was a certain sincerity in his posture as he spoke—like he was scared you’d tear his friend to shreds like a pack of hyenas.

You scoffed out, turning your back to Jimmy as you got to work once more. “I’m always nice.”

Thirty minutes later, a man came awkwardly pushing through the drunken crowd. Jimmy introduced him to you as Clark Kent, the Smallville farmer’s boy with a heart too big for his body (which was admittedly, also massive).

“And this here, is the worst bartender in Metropolis.” Jimmy chuckled as he downed his second glass, cheeks rosy and flushed in the dim lighting of the Ace o’ Clubs. “But she listens to me, so we tip her well.”

A grunt left your lips as you eyed Jimmy, gaze soon tracing up to meet Clark as he sat down—hands clasped together far too politely for the type of place he was in. You flipped your towel over your shoulder once more, gliding over to the countertop as you jutted your finger out towards the most flowery drink on the menu, something in your gut recognizing that look on his face, that familiar furrow of brows as he thought too hard as his tongue pushed against his cheek.

“Try the Dirty Shirley.”

Three drinks later, Clark was still sober as ever and Jimmy was passed out on the countertop.

“So, you work at the Daily Planet with Jim-boy over here?” Your hip was slotted comfortably against the wooden surface, elbow supporting the weight of your upper body.

“Yep.”

“Is he also a mess at work, or does he just reserve that for me?”

Clark took a moment to think, lips puckering around the bright red straw before releasing—arms coming to rest up on the countertop parallel to yours. “He’s a mess, but maybe less of a mess during day hours. Lois tells him to zip it all the time.”

You snapped your fingers as if you had just solved a mystery. “Damn, so that’s why he tips me so well.”

“You’re also just a good bartender,” Clark chuckled beneath his breath, stirring sweet syrup within his cup. He was weirdly sincere almost all of the time, voice far too soft spoken like he was overly conscious of his existence. “but you listen to his guy-talk, so I guess he’s biased.”

“Bub, I have no problem with bias if it pays my bills.”

The bar had begun to clear out as it got later in the night, the regulars already drunk off their asses and stumbling out the door while the last few remaining customers had gravitated toward plush booth seats rather than the hard wooden bar stools.

Clark took a glance around, blue eyes still somehow extremely striking even with the glare of lights upon his thick rimmed glasses. Something about his mannerisms and his scent was familiar, right on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t quite place it. “You work here full-time?”

“Yeah, for the last year.” You pushed yourself from the counter, grabbing a glass you’d already cleaned but figured what harm could one more scrub do. “How’s work at the Daily Planet?”

He drank down the last few sips of the Shirley, red liquid disappearing between puckered lips before that familiar empty noise filled the space between. You were quick to hand him a napkin, eyeing the bit of grenadine that had pooled at the bottom of the cup and stuck to his lips like a gloss. Clark wiped his face, gaze following yours with a terrifying accuracy that made you break eye contact almost immediately before clearing his throat.

“Honestly? Stressful, a bunch of deadlines and with all this Wolverine content coming in, it can be difficult to keep up.”

“People are talking about Wolverine?” You stilled, hand tightening around the slick glass in your palm.

“Yeah, all the time! Everyone wants to know who this new superhero is. I mean, she is pretty cool—and strong… and amazing.” Clark spoke with this almost dreamlike cadence, like she was his school crush. You swore you saw his eyes visibly sparkle just at the mention of your hero persona, shoving down the urge to roll your eyes.

“I don’t think she’s that cool.”

His posture straightened, brows furrowing once more as his once starstruck look was replaced by skepticism. “Really? I mean, she took down a bunch of tanks without any help.”

“Someone like her should be helping people who can’t help themselves, it’s not rocket science. It’s not something that needs an audience.” Charles had always emphasized how, as someone with… special abilities, it was your job to help those in need the most—to be the hero people needed. Shit, even six feet in the grave, you still heard his voice telling you about how you needed to stop hiding yourself. In truth, you fucking hated these powers—despised them. Not because they made you different, because you were too damn weak to control them even when your team needed you most.

“Where I’m from, people like her… they’re shunned—mutants. Some of them manage to hide their powers, but the ones like her… they parade around showing off their abilities, and someone always gets hurt as a result.”

Maybe that’s why you’d quit the idea of teams after they’d died. Because you knew deep down that you were scared of what could happen if you let someone get close to you like that again—if you let someone truly know you.

“…wow.” There was a dense silence that settled between the two of you, your hands moving just as quick as your mind—grabbing Clark’s glass and refilling it. “Well, in Metropolis, the people need someone to look up to.”

“They need someone to rely on, whether it’s the Justice Gang, Superman… or Wolverine. Just a single light of hope can really make a difference.” A warm bubbled within your chest at those words, your movements stilling as they wormed into your mind—tugging somewhere deep in your heart that you’d locked away. Unfortunately for Metropolis, feelings had never been your strength—so you shoved down whatever you felt and sent it with a chaser of vodka.

“Holy shit, you really are a journalist—almost inspired me to go change the world there.” You laughed in a way that felt just a bit too pitchy to be real, too strained, but Clark didn’t say anything, even as his eyes narrowed for a moment.

Instead, he chuckled. “Yeah.”

As much as you’d love to say that Clark’s words rolled right off your shoulder, you’d spent the last three days thinking them over—mulling through each syllable like they held the answer to the universe, like they’d explain why your teammates were gone and you were the last one standing like some fucking war hero. Except you never felt like a hero, no matter how much you wished you could.

It didn’t help that Superman also was hovering in Hob’s Bay more often than not, that dopey smile of his etched in sunlight as his shadow cast down from high above. He was really convinced about this idea of teamwork, trying to include you in Metropolis affairs that you truthfully didn’t give a damn about—but it was kind of cute hearing the way he’d stutter over his words, how he’d invite you on his next mission or offer to help you on your patrol.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you started to grow fond of Superman in some sense—a routine forming like clockwork. During the day, you’d go through your patrol with that massive kryptonian form hovering nearby, talking your ear off and for some reason, you’d listen. Then, when the sun finally set and your shift at the Ace O’ Clubs started, then you’d spend your time talking with your newest regular, Clark Kent.

Clark was an oddball, those blue eyes piercing your own and captivating your attention with a ridiculous effortlessness. He spoke in a way that inspired you, and you hated it—hated the way you wanted more for yourself just based on a few words that left his lips, and he always spoke with this sincerity that made your stomach feel heavy and your heart stir after it’d felt cold for so long.

Fuck him, fuck Superman—fuck them both for making you feel needed, for feeling wanted in a world that you didn’t actually belong.

You were following your regular routine, except instead of meeting Superman in Hob’s Bay, you found yourself in the middle of Metropolis Park with a splitting headache and a giant fucking squirrel-demon thing that was attempting to swallow the only decent burger joint in Metropolis. Green Lantern had put a muzzle on the anomaly, only for it to get immediately ten times more irritated as it threw a tree at that very same green beacon of light—effectively wiping out himself and Hawkgirl in one go.

“On your left!” Mr.Terrific cut through the air, filling in for his teammates mildly embarrassing wipeout.

“Watch out for the paws!” Superman soared past you after Mr.Terrific and you mentally cursed both of them for being able to fly as your boots pounded against the concrete, claws extending out of your knuckles, a burning heat soaring through your nerves as a result.

The tree’s trajectory was in line with a group of bystanders, panic filling their eyes as they scrambled to move from its path. Some were quick enough to be just behind the radius of its massive bushy branches, but the few that were incapable would die from the impact—a painful and slow death. You shouted for them to clear out of the area as you sprinted, legs burning as they tensed.

Swinging your body in front of the remaining bystanders, you angled your fists toward the tree and its branches—blades slotting into the woods like a knife holder. Branches and twigs scratched against the material of your suit, tearing at the fabric that you’d just freshly sewn back together. The force of the tree brought you to a knee, bracing against its heavy weight as all your muscles tensed so that you wouldn’t immediately collapse. Your vision was filled with a flurry of green shit and twigs, completely encompassed until the momentum of the tree had finally died out and you were able to swing it safely to the side.

You’d told the pedestrians to clear out, to get away—you expected all attention to be focused on Superman as he landed a well placed punch onto the demon-squirrel. But as you shook the remnants of wood from your blades, one clap filled the air, then another, and another after that until the people you’d just saved were cheering and screaming for you.

“We love you, Wolverine!”

It was weird—being celebrated like this, left your chest feeling tight.

The sun peaked out from the clouds, casting warm rays down on your face that for once didn’t feel blinding—they felt like they were meant for you. For the first time, in a long time, you’d felt like a hero. The wave you gave to them was meek, far too unconfident for someone who had literal blades for hands, but it was yours—swinging around on your heel as you began to sprint back into the battleground.

You felt lighter, but definitely not light enough to not feel the metal wall of a fucking bus hitting you.

“Shit.”

The first sensation that greeted you was the cold, chilling through you to your adamantium bones. Then hands, ones that didn’t exactly feel soft like a humans, prodding your abdomen and side—and a feminine robotic voice that followed.

“She is gaining consciousness.”

The blue fluorescent lights were blinding as you jerked your eyes open, squinting at your surroundings. You felt more like you were in a weird ass winter wonderland with the way crystals protruded from the floor and coated the ceiling, snow piled up in the corners of the fortress. A groan left your lips as pain flooded your body, whatever was broken slowly mending itself again.

Then, teal and silver colored robot leaned over you with the engraving twenty six on its chest.

“What the FUCK.” You jolted, claws slotting themselves into what you could only describe as the robot’s stomach.

“No, wait! Don’t—!”

Superman rushed out from around one of the crystal structures, but it was too late as you’d already flipped the robot over you—slamming it down into the table as it released a loud metal clang. You must’ve looked insane with the way Superman put his hands up in the air, eyeing you like a feral animal as you hopped down from the examination table.

“Where the fuck am I?” You didn’t retract your claws as you approached him, his feet tracking backwards until he was pressed against the edge of a large panel that’s technology was far too advanced to be from Earth. “What the hell were your little freak robots doing?”

“Woah—woah, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down—Jesus, that’s literally the last thing you tell someone who’s freaked out. Where the fuck am I, Supershit?” The blades drew closer to his neck, Superman’s head tilting back to avoid getting nicked. Your fingers found purchase in the cloth across his chest, balling the fabric tight.

A small pout pulled at the corners of his lips, unable to be bitten back as he huffed out. “I don’t exactly appreciate that name.”

“I don’t appreciate being kidnapped.”

“Jesus, you weren’t kidnapped!” That’s when he said it—said your name, not the persona but your true identity. You bristled, blades drawing even closer as Superman’s hands scrambled for something behind him.

“Where did you hear that name?” The words were hissed out, warning bells screeching in your wind as everything in your body told you to attack. Turns out being a mutant who grew up in a world that hated you will do that to you.

Superman’s hand swing from behind him and you visibly flinched, eyes closing shut tightly as you braced for impact.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t open your eyes immediately, instead slowly squinting them open.

“…Clark?”

Superman—or well, Clark—was leaned back, thick-rimmed glasses hanging low on his nose as his curls were messily strewn across his forehead. God, you knew something was familiar about him, the scent, the way he fumbled with his hands. It all screamed in your face and you were too blinded to see it.

“Surprise?” The words were delivered with a shrug, those familiar blue eyes flitting behind you for a moment—causing you to turn your head. A ring of robots had formed around the two of you, staring—waiting and watching for your next move. Your fist slowly withdrew while your blades retracted, taking one large step back before raising your hands in surrender.

“Take me home. Now.”

Yeah, you were pissed.

The Ace O’ Clubs was extremely busy tonight, like somehow double the amount of business it’d typically get. Jimmy had gotten food poisoning and texted you mid-vomit that he wouldn’t be making it tonight, which soured your mood even more than it’d already been.

You were engaged in a dull conversation with your regular couple, hands draped in placed you did not care to see or think about as you poured their drinks. They didn’t make you laugh the way Jimmy did—the way Clark had, but you still gave that signature costumer service smile and the occasional giggle.

Your sense of smell was blinded by layers of perfume, ears boxed in by the sound of chatter all around. Wiping up the back counter, you’d begun to drown out all the noise around you—mind wandering to a different place, a different time.

“Could I have a Dirty Shirley, please?” That voice—his voice, always managed to draw your attention.

The glare you sent his way felt intended to kill even if you were throwing together one of the sweetest drinks on the menu, practically candy in a cup. You added too much grenadine this time, watching it pool at the bottom before topping it with lime and ginger ale.

You slid the cup toward Clark. “Here’s your order, sir.”

He took one sip from that vibrant red straw, brows furrowing as his lips drew tight together. “That’s… that’s good.”

Clark was just trying to be polite—trying to put you in a good mood after you’d really considered killing him, or at least trying to, earlier. He continued to sip the drink in silence until it was down to the last drop, syrup sucked through the straw and all. When he ordered another one instead of leaving, that’s when you finally snapped at him—placing your rag upon the counter with more force than needed.

“What the hell do you want?” You hissed out, leaning forward onto your forearms.

Clark’s hands rested on the counter beside your arms as he whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have taken off your mask, but you were hurt—.”

“I’ve been hurt plenty of other times. I was fine—.”

“Yes, but I was there this time.” The words were scoffed out, Clark’s thick brows drawing together as his eyes began to swirl with an emotion too familiar and too painful for you to delve into. “I wasn’t going to just—just leave you there!”

“Why? Why is it so important to you if I’m injured—!” You shot back, fire filling your veins.

“Because you’re a good person, and a good hero. You’re one of the things I swore to protect.” Clark’s voice was more resigned now, spoken like a definitive truth rather than a claim. He’d taken on this duty to protect all living creatures on Earth, and that included you.

You wanted to believe it was less about you personally, but with the way his fingertips shifted—grazing your arm so gently under the lamplight of the bar, you knew he’d felt more than just duty toward you. In the past month, you’d wanted to despise Superman—wanted to turn him away and shut him out just like you had to the rest of the world. But now, with your face’s so close, and his fingers tracing patterns along your elbow, you were unsure if you could.

“God, I need a fucking drink.”

One too many drinks sent you stumbling into Clark Kent’s apartment, palms braced onto the broad plane of his shoulders as your lips sucked on his neck ravenously. He fumbled with the door as your hands began to wander along his biceps, squeezing the firm muscle as it encircled your waist.

Maybe it was the tequila, but you’d gone from wanting to tear Clark’s head off to wanting to rip his pants off with your teeth—and in your defense, Jimmy did say you needed to get laid.

“Take your clothes off.” The words were hot leaving your lips, body pressed flush against Clark’s as he guided you deeper into his apartment.

“Jesus,” Clark sighed out as your tongue slipped along his jaw, nipping at his ear. Your hands left his arms, moving to his belt only for him to swat them away quickly. “let me get you to the bed first.”

Instead, your hands went to your own clothes, pulling your polo over your head and tossing it into some obscure spot where you’d struggle to find it later. Clark had taken off his glasses, big blue eyes soaking in the sight of your cleavage and bra. His hand slipped from your waist, finger tips lifting to trace along your collarbone up to your cheek—and you hated the way your breath hitched at how gentle he was as he cupped your jaw.

Clark leaned down to seal the space between you in a kiss, light as a feather against your lips. Your fingers wound tight within his hair, mouth meeting his in a more heated embrace—nipping at his bottom lip and matching his groan with one of your own. “You like that, Big Blue?”

“Maybe.” Your suspicion was confirmed by the throb of his bulge within his trousers. His unoccupied hand went to your bottom, scooping your legs up before wrapping them around his hips comfortably.

Clark hobbled into the bedroom, kicking the door closed with his heel before swaying toward the bed. He put you down carefully, eyes fluttering downward to check that your feet had actually made contact with the ground before letting go. His back turned to you as he pulled the string to a small standing lamp, casting the room in a golden glow.

The walls of his room were a dark shade of blue, his bed shoved in the corner with a neatly tucked plaid duvet cover. There was a desk with a computer on top, plus a bookshelf full of comic books and some obscure critique pieces. Overall, a pretty basic room for a guy who practically saved the world every other weekend.

“Wow… you’ve got it nice, Superman.” You whistled as you began to wander around the room, fingers tracing along the bookshelf mindlessly—gaze flicking backwards to look at Clark as he watched you move, watched you fill the space of his room like you belonged.

“Clark.”

“Yeah, my bad. Clark.” You corrected yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you pivoted on your heel to face him. “So… are you gonna make me ask for you to fuck me?”

“Oh—oh, yeah. Sorry.” Clark sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, foot falls creaking against the wooden planks below as he approached. His hands slid comfortably along your waist like they’d belonged there, pinkies thumbing your belt as if he couldn’t decide to take it off or not. A small smile cracked your too-cool facade, your hands finding your belt as you undid the buckle and tossed it to the ground haphazardly.

Your hands found his soon after, fingers gently wrapped around Clark’s massive wrists in a way that felt too gentle for your violent nature—guiding him to zipper on your pants. He fumbled with the tab for a moment, eyes continuing to shift between your own and the zipper beneath his fingertips. A small nod of your head urged him to continue, a confirmation that you weren’t glass—that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

The minute your pants had been unzipped, you shimmied out of them—kicking them along with your belt across the room. You stood in your bra and underwear, a dark spot having formed in the center of the fabric.

“Golly…” God, Clark was so cute with the way he took you in like a masterpiece—pupils dilating as they found traced along your body. “You look amazing.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, bub.” Your hips swayed as you approached Clark, a hand finding his belt in a teasing glide while the other moved to his jaw. Your fingers traced along the cool metal of the belt buckle, watching the way his hips jerked to meet the lightest graze along that hulking mass within his pants.

His belt hit the floor with a loud clang, your foot immediately kicking it away as you slowly lowered yourself to the ground. The wood dug into your knees, but it was nothing compared to the way your mouth watered—begging to be wrapped around Clark’s cock and stretched wide. Clark’s breath hitched as he looked down at you, watched you slowly unzip his pants inch by inch until they were loose around his hips and easy pulled down. “You don’t have to do that—“

“I want to,”The eagerness in your voice seemed to calm a bit of Clark’s nerves as your fingers dipped beneath his waistband. “Unless you don’t, I’ll stop.”

“No, I do—god, I do.” The tips of your fingers ghostsd over his tip, his hips jerking toward you frantically to meet the touch. A small breathy laugh left your lips, gaze shifting from his bulge up toward his face, watching the way Clark’s cheeks were flushed and his ears were painted in pink. “You’re so pretty and sweet, god…”

Your thighs ground together involuntarily at the compliment, that wet patch between thickening with need. Sliding his boxers down, your eyes widened at the sheer size of Clark—the way he was hung like a beast in human clothing. Heat flared inside your belly, dripping down to your pussy as it clenched around nothing.

You gripped Clark gently, handling him as his member twitched and bobbed eagerly. Your tongue darted from your lips, flicking along the tip like you were taste testing a popsicle—only to hum out in agreement before opening your mouth wider to take even more. You kissed and sucked on the tip of his cock, worshipping it between lips already stretched thin.

“God dang—oh, Jesus…” Clark gasped out desperately, stomach flexing underneath his undershirt as his hands found purchase in your hair—hips mindlessly pushing forward before he stopped himself. “Your mouth feels—oh!”

One hand remained steady on the base of his cock, shifting to fondle his heavy full balls while the other dipped between your thighs. Shoving your panties aside, the wetness that had formed around your slit made it easy for two fingers to slip inside—caressing and curling in a way that made your spine tingle and a groan vibrate within your throat.

Clark’s hand tightened in your hair, hips pushing forward, causing you to gag around him. His grip immediately loosened as he panicked. “Shoot—sorry. I’m sorry.”

A chuckle left your throat, the vibration alone sending Clark into a spiral as his head tilted back to reveal the long column of his throat. You opened your mouth a bit wider, hollowing out your cheeks as you took his cock deeper into your throat—swirling your tongue and sucking loudly. Your hips had begun to buck along your hand, swollen clit needing gliding along the heel of your palm.

The hand on Clark’s balls quickly grabbed his within your hair, helping him find a rhythm he was comfortable with as his fingers tightened once again—flexing and curling. The more confident he grew, the deeper you took him—pubic hairs tickling against the tip of your nose as you gagged around him again. Clark immediately let go once more, whispering out another apology.

You pulled your mouth away from his cock suddenly, the loss of contact and the sudden cool air causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Stop apologizing. I want you to fuck my face, is that direct enough for you?”

If he wasn’t already red enough, he was matching his suit now.

“Okay—okay… just tell me if I’m hurting you, yeah?” Even as your lips wrapped around Clark’s cock once more and he groaned out, there was a hint of concern in his gaze—watching how your throat expanded around his twitching member as you sucked him off like your life depending on it. The hand in your hair began to guide you, slow at first as his hips slowly moved to meet the pace set—then quicker, your nose meeting Clark’s pubic bone as he released shaky moans past chapped lips.

“You’re so good—Jesus…. So, so pretty. Mmm—oh god!”

Your thumb began to circle your clit in a pace that matched his, hips shifting and grinding into the friction as your throat expanded and contracted eagerly. Your hand left his as it moved back down to those heavy balls, grasping the skin and massaging along them—taking in the way they contracted and tightened momentarily.

“Oh—oh, god! I can’t—ngh!”

There wasn’t much of a warning when Clark came, shooting his load down your throat beyond a startled cry leaving his lips—hips pushing forward as your nose was shoved against his pelvis. You gagged around the load, salty hot sperm seeping down your tongue and into the pit of your stomach. Your lips left his cock with a loud pop, still pulsing with life as tiny ropes of cum dribbled from the tip onto your tits—Clark’s head lulled off to the side beneath his arm as he caught his breath.

There was a moment where it was just the combined sound of your breath and his, hot and steady.

“You okay, Clark?” Your hand finally left your slit, covered in slick and need.

Clark’s nose flared at the scent of your arousal as he moved his hand from his face finally, blue eyes darkened and dilated like a ravenous animal. “Mmm… yes, really good.”

When you rose onto your feet, Clark’s hands were on you immediately—grabbing your ass, your waist, everything as his mouth latched onto yours. He could taste himself on your tongue, the salty tang left behind as his mouth enveloped yours. Clark’s fingers found the wet patch of your panties, a low groan leaving his lips as his index finger hooked beneath the fabric—pulling it down in one quick swipe.

“Let me make it up to you—let me make you feel so good, please.” He whispered against your lips, thumb finding your clit with surprising precision. A mixture of a moan and groan forced past your lips, drawing tight as your arms quickly grabbed onto Clark’s shoulders—pushing him away as he released a pathetic whimper at the loss of contact.

“As much as I’d love that, Clark,” You tilted your head toward his bed, eyeing the way it was a little bit too… perfect, too clean right now. “I really want you inside me.”

“You’re so direct—it’s embarrassing…” He groaned out as his hand dragged across his face, but that didn’t stop him from plopping down onto the edge of the bed with that signature overly eager expression. Your legs were spread onto other side of his own, back pressed against his chest as your hand dipped between the two of you. Fingers grasped his cock, fisting once, then twice as Clark released a gentle sigh.

He was big—you were aware of that, but god, that didn’t stop you from wanting him hot and burning inside you.

His tip glided along the slick of your pussy, dripping down onto the head until it was shimmery and coated in it. The stretch was immediate as you sunk downward, tip splitting past that first ring of muscle. A choked noise caught within your chest, eyelashes fluttering shut as all you could do was feel.

“Holy—you’re so tight… oh my—god..” Clark’s head fell into your shoulder, heat pants of breath beading across your skin.

Each inch felt like you were experiencing a new degree of heaven, walls stretching wide just to accommodate Clark’s size. He was nudged up against your cervix in mere minutes, a few inches still waiting to be taken but you were so snuggly tight that it felt impossible. Clark’s hands grasped your waist, kneading the skin as you just breathed him in—took in the way he stretched you more and more with each tiny roll of your hips.

“Fuck—you’re big, like… super big.”

You gave an experimental roll of your hips, Clark’s mouth opening in a wet gasp as his own hips stuttered. One roll turned into another, your thighs stretching and aching as you adjusted your position—feet planting themselves onto the edge of the mattress. Your hands found purchase on Clark’s knees, hips rising until just his tip was snug inside before slamming down with a ferocity that knocked the wind from both yours and Clark’s lungs.

You began to ride him, ass slamming against his pelvis as your pussy clenched and strained around his cock—member twitching within your walls every few pulses. Clark’s fingers tightened their grip on your waist, digging into the flesh as his hips lifted to meet your own movements. The bed beneath you both rocked, wet gasps and groans filling the air along with the scent of sex and sweat.

One of the hands on his knees found its way to Clark’s hair, gently tugging at the curly locks—a whine leaving Clark’s lips as your pussy swallowed him up so eagerly.

“You like this—mmph… like the way this pussy fucks you?” Your ass jiggled with each bounce, grinding deeper and deeper onto his length as your clit throbbed needing for attention.

“Yes—yes, oh…mph…” Clark’s mouth latched onto the flesh of your shoulder, tracing kisses up your neckline until he reached raised bump near the back of your ear—that’s when he smelled something, pheromones seeping from the skin. His tongue traced along the spot and your mind blanked for a moment, hips stuttering as you clenched around him hard.

“Fuck—that felt good… what the hell.” One of Clark’s hands shifted in front of you, applying pressure onto your tummy as his thumb swiped languid circles against your clit. The other, found a place on your jawline—tilting your head as his mouth latched onto that precious little spot.

He sucked, and for the first time, you whined—genuinely whined out pathetically. Your pace grew sloppy as his tongue darted across the raised bump, pussy sucking him in to the hilt as your body shuddered and spasmed with each wave of newfound pleasure. Clark gutturally moaned into your neck, teeth grazing along the skin before nipping in a way that caused your back to arch as your legs were rendered into jello.

“Oh—you like that, sweetheart?” Clark mirrored your own words, his hands shifting to your hips as he took over your pacing—lifting your body before slamming it right back down onto his throbbing cock.

“Mmph—oh, fuck.” He managed to hit all those sweet spots inside you and outside as he alternated between sucked on your skin and nipping at your ear—legs shaking with incessant heat the longer he bounced you like a ragdoll. As much as you wouldn’t admit it to him, you were getting increasingly wet just because of the way he was manhandling you so sweetly—hips bursting with force up into yours as his hands slammed you down once again.

A heat began to form within the pit of your stomach, but it was different this time—building too damn fast and way more intense than you were used to. Your hands began to clamber for anything to hold onto, anything to ground yourself as Clark’s languid thrusts turned into quick ruts as his balls began to draw tight. Heady gasps left your lips along with the whines, swollen clit twitching and throbbing as your fingers began to draw fat mean circles across the sensitive nub. “Yes, yes, please… I’m gonna—!”

“Come with me—please, oh god—I’m…” You both crested at the same time, walls tightening and pulsing to life as your orgasm swept over you. Clark’s hips bucked mean thrusts into you as he spilled his seed deep inside the warm expanse of your pussy, costing you from the inside out.

You’d blanked as you came, a scream tearing itself from your throat as your back arched and your fists strangled his duvet sheets, a tingling sensation forming in your knuckles. A sudden wetness coated your thighs and his, your mind taking a moment to truly register what had happened. When you were finally able to think past the pulsing of your pussy, you had realized you’d squirted all across Clark’s bed and thighs, coating them in clear fluid and cum. On top of that, the fists you’d burrowed into the sheets had daggers protruding out of them.

The Clark Kent had not only made you orgasm so hard you squirted, but also had managed to make you stab his bed.

His hands smoothed along your sides as you breathed, body going slack against his chest as sweat beaded and dripped down your bodies. Even though you couldn’t see Clark, you could feel his smile pressed against the crown of your head—arms sneaking around your form as his cock stayed nuzzled inside your walls. Your chest rose and fell with his, sweaty bodies clung together like a set rather than two individuals.

Part of you wanted to stay like this, in his arms, safe and warm—but the louder sort of you, the part that had seen cruelty and shown it yourself, told you that this was just sex, that it was only going to be just sex. So, you pushed away from Clark—cleaning yourself up in the bathroom before slipping on one of his shirts and your discarded (and clammy) underwear.

But as you walked down the hallway toward his bedroom, your chest felt tighter than it had in years of being Wolverine. Clark had already made you a cup of tea in a mug that had Green Lantern’s face plastered all across it, a mixture of a scoff and a laugh bubbling in your chest as he handed you the cup with this ridiculously beautiful smile etched on his face. You sometimes didn’t think this man was real with how perfect he is.

“It was the last mug they had.” Clark’s voice was soft as he answered the question held your expression, hand slotting itself on your lower back to guide you toward the bed. Somehow, he’d managed to change the (ruined) bedsheets, clean the duvet, and clean himself up while you were in the bathroom which admittedly really made you question how long you were in there—but those thoughts melted from your brain as Clark’s fingers curled around your waist, guiding you onto the plush mattress.

It felt impossible for a bed to be this snug and comfortable as you laid down beside Clark, sheets pulled snuggly over your barely dressed bodies. The tea was hot within your hands, steam curling in the air as you took a long sip. The warmth soothed the ache of your throat, which was still definitely going to be sore tomorrow—but for now, tea was a good remedy.

Your side was wedged against Clark’s, his arm draped behind you in a half-hold like he was nervous even in your post-sex haze that you’d try to rip his head off. The tug in your heart wasn’t helped by the fact you’d curled into him, head slotting itself onto his shoulder as you simply just got the chance to be.

Your legs were shaky, but it wasn’t from pain. Your lungs ached, but it wasn’t from being Wolverine. Your mind was hazy, but it wasn’t from drinking yourself into a coma. You felt alive, and for once, it wasn’t because of the pain your mutation caused or because of your past.

You don’t know when you had fallen asleep in Clark’s arms, but when you awoke, it was still dark outside and unbearably quiet within his apartment. The air was cold on your legs as you crept from the bed, shocking you into a state of awareness. You winced as your feet fell upon creaky wooden planks, casting a gaze over your shoulder only to find Clark Kent in a deep sleep, curls strewn across his face.

A cigarette was wedged between your lips as you wrenched open one of the apartment windows, taking in a deep suck of nicotine before releasing a puff of hot smoke from your mouth. The sting was a familiar comfort to you in times where your heart felt too real for your chest, throbbing in tandem with that sleeping man’s breath in one room over.

The window sill was cold against your arm as you rested your elbow, moonlight streaming past the blinds eagerly, coating your face in its fluorescent glow. Metropolis felt quiet for once, the world having finally fallen into a peaceful slumber—no late night missions tonight.

You smelled and heard Clark before he’d even entered the room, vibrations of his feet padding against the floor in your direction. The heat that radiated from his body was tempting as he stood behind you, arms slinking around your waist as his hands squeezed your hips affectionately.

“Hey.”

Shit, you weren’t already starting to feel sore, his sleep-ridden voice would’ve made you want to go another round. Clark buried his nose into the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair—of you.

“Hey, Wonder Boy.” You took a long drag of the cigarette between your fingers, puffing smoke from your lips. Clark’s nose scrunched at the scent, lips planting a gentle kiss against your temple.

He pulled your form a bit tighter against his, body going slack in a way that made you feel weirdly domestic—like this could be your life if you allowed it, like you could actually find acceptance. Bullshit. “Those things’ll kill you.”

“No shit.”

Clark’s movements were too quick for you to react as he plucked the cigarette from your mouth, snuffing the lit bud in between his fingers before tossing them into the nearby trash can.

“Seriously, Clark?” Brows furrowing as your arms pulled across your chest, expression shifting into one of obvious annoyance. He hummed out, mimicking your body language with his own—biceps flexing before he crossed them over his chest. Your eyes rolled so hard they were tempted to roll out of your head. “Whatever.”

You’d begun to quickly gather your clothes, each item strewn across his apartment in different directions. Clark followed you, hovering from behind like he always did on patrols—but there was this energy about him, a nervousness that crackled beneath the surface.

“Are you… are you going to leave?”

You paused in your track, hands stilling upon your belt. The question was resigned, like he already knew the answer but was holding out a bit of hope for you—for this to work. Things never worked out for you, though.

You cleared your throat, tossing the belt into the crevice of your arm. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, to see those gentle blue eyes begging you to stay—to admit that you felt something for him that wasn’t just a fleeting touch. “Clark, you know this is just sex, right? This isn’t supposed to be like—something meaningful or anything. We had our fun, now we go our separate ways.”

“But—what if I don’t want to go separate ways?” His body moved to block yours, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but was unsure.

You hated the way your voice came out sharp, hurt registering within his eyes at the sudden harshness. “Then that’s real tough, bub.”

Clark’s brows furrowed as you weaseled around him, slipping your pants back up your legs in miniature jumps.

“Tough? That’s really all you have to say?” There was a thinly veiled danger beneath each syllable, like he was holding himself back from finally snapping at you and tearing into you. He was peeved and it was evident with the way he began to approach you, always remaining in your line of sight no matter what you did to avoid looking at him.

“What the hell am I supposed to say? I thought we were on the same page—.”

“Same page isn’t having sex with someone after they pour their heart out to you, then leaving like it’s nothing.”

You jerked your head upwards, finally meeting his gaze with your own—and you regretted it immediately. Clark looked hurt, not in the way that someone gets injured on the battlefield, but in that love struck way when you realize you never had a chance. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ blame me. I told you before, I don’t do the whole teamwork thing.”

“Why?” You turned on your heel only for Clark to weave around you, blocking you from approaching his apartment door. That pissed you off—bad. A grunt left your lips as you attempted to push past him, his bulking mass remaining rooted in the ground like a tree. “What’s stopping you from just staying—from connecting with people?”

“That’s none of your business, Supershit—!” A hiss left your lips as you stopped attempting to run, finally facing him head-on with your own rage boiling in your veins.

“Jesus, I told you not to call me that! What’s your problem?” Clark waved his hands, emphasizing his point so vividly with each word that was spat out—your hands growing cold and clammy while your face heated in embarrassment. “You’ve been so hot and cold since we’ve met, I don’t even know which part of it is you anymore. One second you’re threatening to punch my face in, the next, you’re ripping my damn pants off—!”

You interrupted, shoving your finger into his chest in a way that made Clark’s nose flare. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even noticed the tears brimming in your waterline, stinging as they threatened to spill. Your voice began to raise in decibels quickly. “You want to know what my problem is? Do you really want to know, Clark?”

“Yes, god, maybe then I could understand what’s wrong with you!”

“My teammates died because of me—because I was too damn weak to finish a job I should’ve years ago! I let them get close to me, and I couldn’t fucking protect them. There, does that make you happy?”

There was a pause of silence as those tears finally began to spill over, dripping down your cheeks in a steady warm stream. Clark’s expression shifted, anger melting away into something softer, sympathetic—but the damage was already done.

“I—… I’m sorry—.”

“Don’t you think I know I’m an asshole—that I’m fucked up? I’ve lived my entire life being a mutant fuck-up.” Your fist made contact with the hard plane of his chest, pushing hard before dropping to your side weakly. “My parents died and I wasn’t able to stop it, my body is constantly on fire because of this fucking adamantium, and I’m being lectured by the perfect superhero dipshit of Metropolis!”

You gestured wildly toward the window—to the city that adored Superman, to the city that you wished you’d never come to.

A short, strained breath filled your lungs as you quickly wiped away the tears from your face, determined to regain that calm facade you’d kept on for so long. A small sniffle left your lips, and you mentally scolded yourself for looking so pathetic—for feeling so small in a world so big.

“So,” Another sniff followed. “do you have any other questions or statements before I get the fuck out of here?”

Clark’s mouth was formed into silent words as he stood there, no longer making a conscious effort to block you. Your shoulder collided with his harshly, not enough to knock him over but enough to sting as you moved toward the door. The palm of your hand came into contact with the cool brass of the doorknob, twisting and squeezing tightly.

“I love you.”

The words were a whisper in the darkness as the door hinges creaked, barely carrying over the loud noise. Your heart jumped into your throat, because he’d just confirmed everything you feared. The palm of your hand traced along the wood grain of the door, unable to bring yourself to look into Clark’s eyes as you stabbed his weeping heart in two words.

“I know.”

The sound of the door closing behind you was more akin to a death knell.

Life without Superman was weird. You did your patrols, but there was no figure hovering nearby to ask about your day or to talk about how he’d had the best hot cocoa of his life. Clark stopped showing up to the bar. Jimmy said it was because he was swamped with work, but even Jimmy delivered the words with a certain skepticism.

There was a pit nestled into your stomach, an unease that you couldn’t shake with booze and cigarette smoke. You continued your work as Wolverine, but the weight remained, suffocating you from the inside out. It wasn’t like you had always been around Clark, getting lost in those expressive eyes and shining dimples, you’d been alone before. You could do it again, at least that’s what you’d like to believe.

But as days stretched into a week, then another, the feeling began to eat you from the inside out—tossing and turning in your bed as you began to mourn someone who was still alive and well. You thought more sex would fix the problem, but it turns out that meaningless sex was just that, meaningless.

Superman remained the poster boy of Metropolis, working double as hard to defend the city from ruin. He was practically unstoppable—until he wasn’t.

Turns out Wonder Boy was immune to many things, but magic wasn’t one of them as he was sent flying from New Troy into Hob’s Bay. The sheer vibration alone alerted you that something was wrong, weaving through alleyways to find the source. A blur of red, gold, and blue shot past you just as your boots came into contact with the sidewalk—bursting from the darkness.

“What the—.” You traced the path to the source, a figure floating in the sky in the sky with a black suit and an obviously extraterrestrial appearance.

The men landed on the ground, boots so heavy that the vibration was felt from all around. Sucking in a deep breath, pain shot through your wrists as your claws slowly extended past the layers of your skin. Your walk quickly transitioned into a sprint as you bolted into battle, only to have a hand grasp the back of your neck like a dog.

A startled yelp escaped your mouth before it could be stopped, legs swinging beneath you as the ground you had become to comfortably familiar with was growing further away in distance. Looking up, Clark was holding you steady—grip firm as he swung you down onto a nearby rooftop. “Stay here.”

“What? Why—?” The words were quick as they left your mouth, legs wobbly beneath your body for a moment as you reestablished your footing on solid concrete.

“You’ll just get in the way.” The words were bitten out in a way that betrayed any facade Clark was putting on.

“You need help.”

“Not from you.”

“Well, I don’t see Green Lantern or Hawkgirl anywhere nearby. So, I think I’m all you’ve got.” You began to move toward the fire escape of the building, only for Clark to pull you backwards quickly—your boots catching on themselves as you stumbled backwards. His hand moved to your back, stabilizing you as he spoke softer now, far too soft for the circumstance.

“Can you just—can you listen to me for once? This guy will hurt you, if he doesn’t find a way to kill you.”

“I can heal.”

“But I can’t let you get hurt.”

There was a pause in your argument as you met Clark’s eyes, took in the way he looked stronger now—set in his resolve and unwilling to let you into the battle. Your hand cupped over his own with a gentleness that was shocking, a spark shooting through your fingertips. Your other hand mindlessly moved toward Clark’s face, cupping his jawline with that same gentleness as your expression shifted to something unreadable, the depths of your eyes swirling with conflicting emotions.

“I can’t watch you get hurt either, Clark.”

Your words were soft, eyes tracing along his face tentatively before finally meeting those big blues sculpted from in aquamarine and love. Clark’s resolve crumbled a bit as you pulled away, hand slipping around your waist as he shot straight into the air. Silently, you both agreed on one thing: that you’d do this together, as a team.

The figure stood in the middle of the street, crushed and destroyed chunks of concrete floating in the air around—cutting through the air as they soared in your direction. Clark’s hand moved to brace against your head, drawing you tight into his chest as he took the brunt of the blows. Your landing was a bit rough, but you managed to catch your balance quickly.

“You go left, I’ll go right.” You spoke, slipping back into that commanding position you’d once taken in the X-Men. God, you missed this.

Clark nodded, turning to look at you one more time. “Stay safe, please.”

“I will. You better stay safe too, Wonder Boy.” The familiar nickname caused his dimples to etch deeper into his face, a chuckle bubbling up past his lips.

The way you both moved was more of a whole rather than two individuals, bodies synced as you fought. Superman would land a punch and you’d follow with a stab of your own. When he would be knocked away, you would cover him in your own way—and when you’d be kicked down, Clark would defend you with his life.

The sun shined the brightest it ever had as you both worked together. It wasn’t long before the figure was sent flying back into the atmosphere thanks to Clark’s inhumane strength.

You were sitting on the curbside, knees pulled up to your chest as sweat dripped beneath your costume. Your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed out hot pants of air, sun shining bright upon your eyelids. Just as you were about to move into the shade, a bulking figure stood in front of you—a shadow casting down upon your face.

“Turns out we make a good team.” The cheesy comment made a smile slither its way onto your face, scoffing out a laugh as your eyes opened to see a messy-haired Clark. His hand was extended towards your own, and you accepted it graciously.

“I guess we do.” He tugged you from your spot on the curb, legs protesting in exhaustion as you stood.

There was a silence that formed between the two of you as Clark shifted to stand beside you, both of your eyes set upon the sunset over Metropolis. It wasn’t an angry silence, it was one full of unspoken words that were waiting to be spat out.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You were first to break the silence, eyes remaining on the warm yellow hues of the sun.

Clark didn’t say anything, just slipping his arm over your shoulders before giving your arm a firm squeeze.

The words came up like word vomit as you finally broke your lifelong stare with the sun, instead choosing to watch the way the yellow and orange hues reflected in Clark’s eyes and illuminated his skin.

“I love you, too.”

Your words were punctuated with the weaving of your fingers through Clark’s, holding firm and steady. Mentally, you promised to never let go—to hold onto him forever and let him hold you in turn. Clark wasn’t in love with the perfection, he was in love with the mess and the pain, he saw it all and loved you in spite of it.

His smile deepened, his own eyes breaking from the sun to look down at you—and god, somehow he always made you feel like the prettiest person in the world.

“I’m sorry. And I love you too—mmph!”

Clark wasn’t able to finish his sentence as you practically jumped into his lips, fingers weaving through his curls so sweetly as his arms enclosed around your waist. Your noses were messily smooshed together, but it was nothing compared to the warm fuzziness that bubbled in your lungs and chest, filling your heart with joy. Your feet had lifted from the ground as your lips imprinted on one another, bodies swaying in the air as Clark conveyed his own thoughts in a less verbal way.

And the longer he held you, the more you were sure he’d never let you go.

SUPERMAN AND WOLVERINE: SUPER SECRET RELATIONSHIP GONE PUBLIC.

Headlines were crazy for a month and Clark was bombarded with articles to read and annotate, filling the margins with critiques and compliments that were probably too personal to be simply a journalist’s take. But Clark didn’t care, not when he’d been coming home to you in his apartment everyday.

“Do you think they know each other’s identities? I mean, it wouldn’t make sense if they didn’t.” Lois was leaned against Clark’s desk, speculating aloud as Clark scribbled into his notepad.

“I think they would, Lois.” Clark mumbled beneath his breath, ink smearing beneath his fingers every few words. “A relationship is about trust, and I just can’t see how they wouldn’t trust each other.”

“Hey, Clark! That bartender from the Ace o’ Clubs just dropped by, she asked me to give this to you?” Jimmy walked in with a white paper cup and a note neatly taped to the side of it, covered in your handwriting. Clark’s hand encompassed the cup before he popped off the lid, his senses immediately being assaulted by the smell of too much cocoa and just the right amount of milk—just how he liked his hot chocolate.

He peeled off the note on the side as Jimmy plopped into his chair, wheels creeping as he wheeled himself closer to Clark nosily. The smile that Clark had tried to hide originally became obvious the longer he read the note, dimples etching into his cheeks in this cheesy grin.

“Ran a few errands and thought you’d like a cocoa. Tell Jimmy I said hi and to fuck off.”

Just below that in smaller text it read:

“P.S. it’s your turn to make dinner.”

“No way…” Jimmy’s mouth was agape as he wheeled a foot away from Clark in shock, snapping him back to reality as he folded the note and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re totally having sex with that bartender!”

“Jesus, Jimmy! Keep it down.” Clark’s ears flushed a bright red, neck heating up quickly and unforgivingly. Jimmy wheeled himself back over quickly, placing his hands onto the desk as he readied himself for possibly the gossip of the century.

“Tell me everything—not like, the sex, but I thought she hated everyone.”

Clark Kent, if described in one word, would be called kind. Not just because he was Superman, or because he was a hero, but because he saw the flaws in people and things, and chose to love in spite of it. He chose to love Earth with all his heart, even when it turned its back on him, even when he saw the nastiest pieces of humanity.

He saw your flaws, saw your weaknesses, and instead of turning his back on you, he pulled you into his arms and wiped your tears like you were porcelain. Clark Kent loved your flaws, loved your strengths—Clark Kent loved you.

[supermenz]

if you're done with your ex, move on to the next!

summary: Being rejected from Metropolis University? Humbling. Your boyfriend of four years dumping you a year later thanks to his dead parents? Even worse. But when your friend tries to get you out of your dorm after two weeks spent bed-rotting and takes you to a photoshoot audition — "Just to try something new!" — you find yourself with a lot of attention you didn't want and a billionaire playboy on your tail.

pairing(s): bruce wayne x reader, (ex) clark kent x childhoodsweetheart!reader

word count: 21.7k (my longest fanfic yet)

warnings: inaccuracies regarding the position of the towns (used this map for reference) and college admissions, if you don't really understand why reader is beware of bruce then you might want to go and read a little sumsum about epstein island (my girl is right not to want anything to do with a billionaire), bruce is so not nonchalant, he's also kinda bi (OF COURSE HE IS HE'S A SLUT!!! AND OF COURSE IT'S WITH HARVEY), no trouple sorry, blood, one (1) gunshot as well as one (1) scott pilgrim reference, bruce and reader trauma bond over their weird exes, merry christmas/please don't call trope, suggestive maybe, swear words, angst and fluff, dick makes an apparition at the end (if there's anything I'm forgetting pls lmk)

author's note: credits to @lovingyoulovinme for the concept, taken from this post! bruce and clark can be imagined as any transposition of their characters, but honestly I tried my best not to think of david corenswet while writing this cuz I'd NEVERRRR let that man go. EVER. english isn't my first language so construcitve criticism is always welcome!!

dividers from @uzmacchiato! <3

You’ve known Clark Kent all your life. 

That happens when he’s the only kid in a three-mile radius near the house you were raised in — and that also happens when your mothers have been best friends for more than twenty years. There are pictures of him, barely one year old, sitting on the couch of your parent’s living room while cooing at the pink bundle in your mother’s arms — you. From then on, it’s unusual to see a photo of the two of you not together. 

He’s there when you start crawling, clapping his hands in encouragement, a picture showing him smushing his cheek against yours in triumph as you smile with the only two teeth you have. He holds you steady as you take your first steps, a bit wobbly himself, and you both fall into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as you crumble down to the floor. He teaches you his name as soon as you start talking, and when he’s over to your farm you end up following him like a lost puppy, chanting ClarkClarkClarkClark! loud enough for your father to take a peek out of the living room to make sure you’re okay. 

You’re four when you participate to your first dance recital, grinning wildly while wearing the pinkiest tutu your father could find at the only costume shop Smallville has, and when you get off stage after a choreography only the parents of the kids doing it could enjoy, you find a red-cheeked Clark holding a bouquet of flowers almost bigger than him. Your parents watch with knowing smiles as you squeal and topple him to the ground, smooshing your cheek against his. 

“You shouldn’t have, Jon,” your mother whispers to Pa Kent, “I know flowers are getting expensive these days.”

He barely brushes her comment aside, “Oh, shut it, woman, he wanted to. ‘Sides, Eleonor from the flower shop already owed us a favour.” he chuckles quietly, “Why, you tellin’ me it bothers you to see her so happy with her itty-bitty pink tutu and her bouquet?”

By this point, both you and Clark are back on your feet, and you’re jumping around — showing off your flowers to the friends you’ve made in the dance class while dragging Clark along by the hand. The kid is as red as a tomato, shuffling his feet awkwardly as you hold the bouquet like it’s an infant. 

Safe to say, you and Clark are thick as thieves growing up: it’s rare to see him around without you and vice versa, aside from school hours — and even then, you’re always together during breaks and such, and given that you take the same school bus and even get down at the same spot there’s never a day where the seat next to you or next to him is empty. 

Since the Kent farm and yours aren’t that far away you’re both often found wandering in the fields between your houses, sometimes even bringing your lunch lovingly wrapped in an embroidered cloth by your mum, who — same as Ma Kent — always packs not one but two meals; one for you, one for Clark. Of course, you both take advantage of the situation and always end up eating the whole feast without leaving a single crumb, only to then pass out for usually two or three hours after the ordeal on your little beaten up blanket. 

When everybody starts picking on him when he gets glasses — horrendous, thick-lenses ones — you just hold his hand while laying together on the hammock that hangs on two of the trees outside his farm, probably older than Pa Kent himself. “Who cares?” you mumble over his muffled sobs, hugging his side tight. “They all suck anyway. Besides, if they think the glasses look bad on you, maybe it’s their eyes that need fixing.” 

You’re nine when you first see him fly. It’s an accident — he thought you were in town with your parents, but opted to stay home instead and went to the Kent farm for a surprise visit — and he doesn’t talk to you for a week, too scared of confrontation. Things slide back in place as soon as Martha understands what happened and gives him a stern talk about friends and secrets; not even an hour later you’re aware of all his history — the meteor shower of ten years ago actually being his space pod entering the atmosphere, him coming from another planet and having freaking superpowers. 

You’ve always known Clark was special — always thought that he was one of a kind, a boy too gentle to be like everyone. You just didn’t know that special would have meant from another galaxy. 

Not a lot changes by the time you start going to middle and then high school — Clark’s one of the few boys in town that growing up didn’t have a phase or permanently turned into a dickhead. The Kents raised him well, making sure he never disrespected anyone without a good reason to, and even then he’s often too nice to act on it — unless it involves someone other than him. If there’s someone who’s being given trouble at school, he always finds a way to help — even if he himself isn’t really one of the popular kids either. 

That’s what you like about Clark. The ability to look bigger than he is if needed to and a heart of gold that would make the nicest man on Earth look pale in comparison. 

Of course, it’s not a surprise to anyone when you two start dating — it was just a matter of time, clearly. The only visible change is the hand-holding and kissing; when you tell the Kents, as Martha squeals and jumps up to hug you, Jon just sits there with a confused look on his face while scratching his chin. “You tellin’ me you two weren’t together this whole time?” 

Those are definitely the best years of your life, you think one summer evening as you lay on the same battered blanket of ten years ago in the same tulip field with the same boy. It’s just that this time he’s double the size and officially your boyfriend, who holds you tight against his chest while basking in the blazing sun. 

“Will you ever take me flying?” you ask, eyes barely open — just what you need to look at him, golden and smiling. He chuckles, “You’d like me to?”

You nod enthusiastically. You’ve rarely ever gotten out of Smallville, aside from school trips and a couple of vacations with your parents, so it’s safe to say that you’ve never even gotten on a plane in your entire life, with the closest airport being in Metropolis. Clark, you guess, is the next best thing you have to a plane. 

“Dunno, sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, “If Pa saw me fly with you, he’d yell at me to get down and start a long lecture about being seen and the dangers of it. Maybe when they’re out of town, mh?” 

You hum, almost half asleep, lulled by his hand gently caressing your back under your shirt and the warmth of the sun. “I’ll hold you to that one.” 

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end — and just two years after that conversation in the field you find yourself in Clark’s room, holding back your tears as you help him pack his things for college. You should be happy for him — he’s been accepted into the Journalism course, which has been his dream for years — but you just can’t shake the thought of him being so far away in the big city while you’re still stuck here for another year. 

You like Smallville — you love the farm, the animals and the constant fresh air — but there’s basically nothing there aside from fields and the school. You and Clark have never been so far away from each other for so long — you honestly don’t know how you’ll manage without him around. Sure, you have other friends, but nobody could ever make up for his absence. 

And that’s why you’ve been spending the last two weeks tied to his side — helping him get ready for his move and packing old shirts and jeans. You almost burst out in tears when you see him sneaking an old picture of you in a tutu and a bouquet in one of the boxes. 

He notices you staring  — of course he notices. He’s already noticed how on edge you’ve seemed in these last few months, and if he’s right the dam is about to break in a million pieces right in front of him. 

Clark gets up from his place on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans, “Everything alright?”

You look at him– really look at him. Your lips tremble, tears begin to form in your waterline and judging by the rapid beats of your heartbeat you’re about to have a complete breakdown. Finally, you whimper, “I don’t want you to go,” 

The dam breaks. You start ugly crying, full-on sobbing as Clark hugs you and holds you tight against his chest, “No– I mean– I want you to go, it’s– it’s a great opportunity– but I don’t want you to leave me here all alone–” your sobs rattle against his chest and your words are barely understandable, but for someone with super empathy — you’re sure that’s a real thing and an actual true power of his — and super hearing it’s pretty understandable. 

His eyes soften. “I wouldn’t leave you here if it was my choice,” he murmurs, “I’d take you with me in a heartbeat, but we’ll have to start somewhere if we want to eventually move out of here together. In a year you’ll finish high school, and until then I’ll still visit constantly.” he smiles sweetly, “You could come to visit me too. Did you know that they just finished building the railway connecting Midvale to Metropolis? How convenient is that?” 

His heart breaks even more when you don’t stop crying. His shirt is damp by now, and you are starting to hyperventilate — sobs becoming more drawn and hoarse. “Hey, hey,” he takes your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, “we’ll be okay, alright? Nothing will change. We haven’t been friends for seventeen years only for things to change because of– what, a hundred miles of distance?” he starts peppering your damp cheeks with kisses, managing to get a strained laugh out of you. “I didn’t come all the way here from another galaxy just to forget about you the second I move out of town.”

You’re back in the Kent’s farm two days later to say goodbye to Clark along with some close friends of his, and you cry more than you’d like to admit — but for now it doesn’t matter, because he’s still here and still able to wipe your tears with a gentle hand and dry the dampness on your cheeks with kisses. The real problems will arise when he won’t be able to do that anymore — and it happens soon after: he and Jon get on his truck and start driving towards Metropolis.

You stay seated on the Kent’s porch until Clark’s truck isn’t visible anymore, and Martha gently puts a hand on your shoulder. “Want a slice of pie? Lemon blueberry tart, your favorite. I made it… well, I kind of knew this sadness was coming.” she gives you a tight-lipped smile, teary herself. “I’ll miss him too. But it’s not the end of the world, is it? It’s just a new beginning. Besides, a couple of months and it’ll be Christmas. And you know we always spend Christmas together, hun.” 

The next few months are spent between your studies for the admission tests for University and hours-long calls with Clark, who’s enthusiastically adapting to life in the big city as you try not to give away too much that you’re rightfully sulking back at home. Christmas is a nice break from your longing, and you barely spend any time apart from each other, but after that it’s back to square one. 

Much to your displeasure, the calls start to become less and less long — and you really don’t want to be the type of girlfriend that stalks her boyfriend’s every step, but you really miss him, and it’s hard staying in Smallville without him when you’ve only known the town with him in it. He’s just starting to make new friends and getting to know the city, and you know that, but you wish you could be there with him instead of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. 

Spring break comes, and with it your train ticket from Midvale to Metropolis and your hunk of a boyfriend waiting for you at the arrival station. You nearly tackle him to the ground — and that says something, because he played football in high school — and kiss him fervently right here and there, not really caring about being in public. He takes your luggage like the real gentleman he is and tries not to laugh when you take his hand and start skipping like Heidi as he leads the way to his apartment. 

It’s definitely the shortest week of your existence — you get to have a preview of the life you’ll have with Clark in Metropolis, but not really the whole thing. You try to forget about how soon you’ll have to be back home as he shows you around and introduces you to his friends, and try to ignore the fact that while you’ve been wallowing in your own pity and having breakdowns weekly he seems to be just fine — peachy, even. As you barely manage to adapt in an environment without him, he’s thriving without you — and you know it’s not specifically because of your absence, but still. It drives you crazy, the way you seem to cling on him for everything as he manages to handle even the most complicated things alone. 

The week ends, and you go back home — maybe it’s for the best, you try to reason with yourself. You’re not sure of how much you could go on without going crazy while seeing him being perfectly fine without you as you’re spending every day missing him, and you’re starting to doubt yourself. Maybe he just doesn’t need you as much as you need him, and that hurts, because you’ve spent all your life by his side and don’t really know how to change that.

You still try to put up a brave face when talking to him on the phone, even though you’ve been counting the days that remain until your graduation — and thus Clark’s next visit — and try to hide your anxiety about your college applications. Veterinary Science, you’ve chosen — pretty predictable for a farm girl who was raised around animals, really. Metropolis is your first choice, of course, but what you haven’t really told Clark are the other options — Gotham University, Central City College, and countless others that you don’t really want to mention to him. 

Truth is, you’re not sure you’ll be accepted into Met U, and even if you did — you’re still not sure it would be the best option. Clark seems to be holding up the fort just perfectly without you — and since you’ve visited him in Metropolis, you’ve had this horrendous itch that you just aren’t able to actually scratch. Would you be able to create the life he’s having, alone? Are you melancholic just because you’re in Smallville, and to you Smallville has always meant Clark Kent? Would it be the same if you weren’t here but somewhere else, like Gotham? 

Graduation day comes and goes, and not even Clark’s presence is able to bring you out of the existential crisis you feel you’re living in — because the thing is, you don’t really know how you would manage in a new city alone. You’ve never explored the idea because you’ve always taken for granted that Clark would’ve been there for you, but seeing the acceptance rate at Met U really gave you a reality check. 

You spend the day throwing mostly fake smiles at everyone that congratulates you and going back to frowning at your shoes once they notice Clark at your side, not able to ignore the pit that’s formed in your stomach at the thought of not being accepted at Metropolis University anymore. But why do you really want to go there, anyways? Because there’s Clark? As much as you love him, you don’t want to live your life tied to his side only to then discover you can’t actually function without him. 

And when, inevitably, the admission letters come back in, you try to act like you can keep it together — like you’re not nearly combusting at the mere idea of opening them. Clark comes over in the evening and you open them together, hearts thumping and feet tapping nervously against the ground. The first one you open, of course, is from Met U. 

Dear miss, this is in regard to your application to the Veterinary Science program at Metropolis University, Delaware; we regret to inform you that… 

You don’t even want to read the rest of the letter, immediately dropping it on the table and getting up from your seat to go take a breath of fresh air on the porch — trying to avoid the inevitable nervous breakdown waiting for you if you dare to look into Clark’s eyes. You don’t want to see the disappointment in them — you know he’d never really blame you, but you’ve been waiting for this moment for a whole year, and despite all your doubts you still wanted to be admitted. It’s, honestly, so humbling. 

Clark is smart enough to give you a couple of minutes to yourself, coming to sit beside you on the porch when he’s sure you won’t burst out crying as soon as he mentions the subject, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s not the end of the world,” he hushers, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you’ve been accepted to GCU, which is still closer to Metropolis than Smallville. Or– or Star City, too, even if that’s a bit far– whatever makes you happy, I’ll support that.” 

You sniffle, rubbing the palm of your hand on your face. “You opened the other letters?” 

He chuckles quietly, “Wouldn’t rob you of the experience. X-ray vision, remember?” 

A small, broken laugh escapes you. “Oh, you and your outer-world powers.” he shares the laugh with you, the air lightening for just a moment before it goes back to heavy. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

He flinches. “You– oh, sweetheart, no,” you can tell that he’s, for maybe the first time in his life, at a loss for words. “It’s… it’s just a mishap. They happen. It’s not your fault.” 

You hide your face in your knees and hug them tight against your chest. “I was already imagining us two happily living together in Metropolis.” you're now imagining yourself not able to live alone without him and ending up all alone in the new city, whatever one it’ll be. 

“And it will happen,” he assures you, “just, in… a couple of years. As soon as they let you transfer to Metropolis University.” 

Life goes on. You choose to pursue Gotham University, even if your parents are a little worried about the percentage of violent crimes there, and find a little apartment near campus in a complex that’s owned by the School Department and offered to the students for a modest price in one of the relatively safest areas in town. Clark helps you pack and even drives you all the way to Gotham when it’s time for the semester to start, unloading all your things in his truck and carrying them up the stairs to your unit. 

That being said, your roommate’s already there when you enter. “Jenna,” she introduces herself, enthusiastically shaking your hand as you let Clark do all the work in the background. She’s got a shirt with the drawing of a bat on and looks already settled in. “Heard you weren’t from around here, so I got you a little welcome present!” she passes you a glittery pink box with a bow on it, smiling excitedly. 

You blush, hesitantly accepting the gift, “Oh, there was no need–” 

She brushes you off with an easy smile, “Nonsense! Now, open it and tell me if you like it,” she’s buzzing with joy, and Clark curiously joins your side while wiping inexistent sweat from his forehead. You cautiously untie the ribbon, then open the box to reveal the gift, “It’s a…” you’re trying your best not to seem rude, but you’re really confused. “...A weirdly shaped bat?” Clark tries, not unkindly. 

Your roommate doesn’t seem too disheartened by the inexistent recognition of her gift. “It’s a Bat-taser!” she says it like there could be no doubt ever about it. “They’re really popular these days. Trust me, you’ll need it.” a fucking taser. Shaped like a bat–

Clark perks up, “Oh, yeah– is it from the guy that goes around dressed like a bat?”

Jenna claps like he’s won the lottery. “Batman, yeah!” 

You frown, “I’ve heard of him. Guys playing dress-up are getting really popular these days, aren’t they? Heard about a guy floating around in a horrendous green suit in Star City.” you lower your voice, making sure only Clark can hear you, “You sure he isn’t from your planet?” 

“I sure hope not,” he whispers back, “would really taint the whole mysterious thing about being from an unknown planet, you know?” 

Bat-taser aside, you find out pretty soon that Jenna’s actually really cool. She was born and raised in Gotham, apparently, and lunged at the idea of moving into a safer area of the city when given the opportunity. “Things are actually crazy around here,” she tells you as soon as Clark leaves — thank God, because the last thing you want is a far-away worried boyfriend that shriekes in fear every time you have to go out. “Got even crazier when Batman started going around. We’ve got so many insane criminals that a whole island’s basically dedicated to them.” 

“You mean Arkham,” you recall, slouched on the couch beside her, “so the stories about the asylum are true?” 

“Probably even watered down,” she muses, “the city’s had more lockdowns than sunny days these last few years.” 

Well, isn’t that exciting. Something tells you that soon, you’ll learn exactly why Bat-tasers are so popular these days.

You adjust to life in Gotham pretty well — to be back home before the sun sets, to use all the locks on the door even if it’s still just noon and never ever leave a single window open. You and Jenna have the disadvantage of the balcony — a tiny little crane that looks onto the street below —, disadvantage, you learn confusedly, because apparently Batman and his friends (aka the lunatics that he follows around in the city) often swing by those and either break the rails (in Batman’s case) or straight up break-in (in the lunatics' case). 

Adapting to Gotham is hard — but still easier, you must say, than adapting to a Smallville without Clark. It’s a new city, after all, void of any memories and full of new things, and soon enough you’re too immersed into your studies and the new city to constantly miss your boyfriend's presence. 

It’s not that you don’t miss him — you do — it’s just different than in Smallville. It doesn’t feel like something — someone — is constantly missing, and you have enough things on your mind to keep Clark’s absence out of your mind until mid to late evening, when usually one of you calls the other to talk about how things are going. 

Jenna helps, too — you find yourself being more close to her than you could ever imagine. It’s more like having a sister rather than a roommate, really. She manages somehow to get you a job at the same animal clinic she works at, and you've discovered more things that people can do in the last few months in Gotham than in your eighteen years of life, and that’s probably where farm life has stunted you. 

She offers you your first cigarette — not really a cigarette, she specifies, it’s made out of natural herbs that should taste like strawberry or something like that — and soon enough you purchase two ten-dollar fold-in chairs from Target just for the thrill of sitting in your little hazardy balcony while gossiping about the other students or one of her fifty family members. 

“And you?” she asks during a Saturday night in October, spent happily freezing outside while bundled up in a blanket each, “I bet at least one interesting thing happened in your eighteen years spent in your little farm town.”

You think about Clark flying and holding up cows and tractors like they’re berries, “The most interesting thing that can happen in Smallville is a particularly nice harvest. Even though I do recall that the milkman’s wife cheated on him with the mailman a couple of years ago.” 

For Christmas, obviously, you go back home. Jenna tells you that she’ll take care of the plants and make sure that nobody dares to break in, even if she’s back to her parents in Chinatown. Clark picks you up at the Metropolis' train station, greeting you with a tight hug and a loving kiss, and you make the two-hour drive to Smallville together, chatting quietly about how the last few months have been. Not surprisingly, even with the distance between you two shortening to eighty-seven miles rather than the hundred from Smallville, you haven’t really had the time to see each other. 

Something’s going on with Clark. You’re not really sure what it is, but the look in his eyes troubles you. He looks dazed, almost dull, and he isn’t anything like your usual loverboy Kent is. 

“Hey,” you whisper to him on Christmas Eve night, as everyone chatters happily while waiting for midnight to open the presents, “everything alright?”

“Mh?” he looks taken aback. “Oh, yeah, I’m just…” he sighs, slumping his head against your shoulder, “lost in my own thoughts, I think.” 

“Well, what about them?”

His brows furrow. “Not sure yet.” he looks up at you, pretty blue eyes shining under the dim light of the living room, “Do you ever think that my powers should be used for good?”

You stay silent for a moment. “I think you’re too kind to use them in any way but for good. Why?”

“I don’t mean ‘helping my parents in the farm’ good,” he nuzzles his nose on your shoulder, leaving a faint kiss there. “I mean, like, ‘helping citizens during a crisis’ good.” 

You blink. “You’ve got a heart of gold, Clark Kent,” you hush lovingly, pressing a kiss into his curls, “but as much as I love that about you, I don’t think you should put that burden on your shoulders. If you could, you’d help everyone, but that can’t really be possible. There’ll always be an old lady you couldn’t help walking the street, or a girl you couldn’t save from a mugger.”

His eyes are so soft that they might melt you too. “Why are you telling me this?”

You frown in the most gentle way possible. “Because I’m worried that if you start being like Green Lantern or– or Batman, you’ll never be able to come to terms with the people you weren’t able to help.”

“I still could try to help,” he argues without any spite. 

You study his face — oh, your sweet, sweet boy… “Jenna told me stories,” you murmur, “about Batman having to crawl back to his car, bloodied and barely alive, and sometimes even fainting in some God-forgotten alley — saved only because of some good samaritans that helped him get back up on his feet. I… I know that you might feel like you have a mission, Clark, but you have to consider the downsides of it.” you shake your head gently, “I don’t want you to be the man lying half-dead in a dark alley while I wonder why you’re so late to dinner.” 

Of course, none of you knows the true extent of Clark’s powers — that happens when someone has to hide them for all of his life. When the winter break comes to an end, you go back to Gotham with Clark like always, but this time the car ride is silent. He drops you off at your apartment, carries your luggage up the stairs and kisses you goodbye like nothing’s wrong — like the air isn’t heavy with something. 

Your days go on like always — you listen to your lessons, study, have a half-decent lunch with Jenna, listen to some more lessons, do your shift at the animal clinic and get back home before the sun goes down. The calls with Clark have slightly lessened, and you’d like to think that the blame can be put on the shoulders of the exam season, which — you are sure of it — is kicking both of your asses. Everything continues just fine until April comes. 

Clark calls, which by now it’s unusual because it’s always you that calls him. “Hello?” Your reply comes after a few rings, because it’s 10 a.m. on a Sunday and you sure as hell weren’t thinking about getting out of bed before it was time for lunch. Silence meets you on the other end. “I said, hello?”

“Hi,” Clark’s voice is the tiniest squeal, a very unusual thing for him — he’s never insecure about something, and when he is, you talk it out like the responsible people you’d like to think you are. 

You sigh softly on the phone, already fighting back sleep, “Hi, baby,” you yawn loudly, “what’s up?” 

“I, um…” he stutters for a bit, maybe unsure of where to start. “I’m in town for a couple of commissions. Are you up for a coffee?” 

Well, if that doesn’t wake you up, you don’t know what would. “You’re here? In Gotham?” 

“Yeah.” you do hear the ever persistent GCPD sirens screech on his end of the line. 

“Not that I’m mad about it, but why?” 

Another weird silence. “I told you, had a couple of commissions to run.”

It confuses you — what kind of job would Clark have to do in Gotham, and why didn’t he even tell you about it before coming here? — but you just shrug it off, taking for granted that he’ll explain everything about it when you see him. You get ready to meet him downtown quite happily, thinking about maybe a surprise, but nothing could really prepare you for what’s about to come. 

“I think we should break up.” 

The words ring in your ears. You’ve never pondered about the option of Clark and you breaking up — honestly, you’ve known him for so long that it just wasn’t even a thought in your head. Ever since you were little, you’d dreamed of the day you’d finally be able to marry Clark Kent and have the life you’d always fantasized about with him. 

The café he told you to meet him in is nice. Not one of the fancy ones in uptown Gotham, but not even one of the worst ones down in Crime Alley. You’re pretty sure you’d actually be able to enjoy it if it wasn’t for the fact that your boyfriend of four years is dumping you in it and you have no idea why. You can’t even form an actual thought, let alone an intelligent one, so the only thing that escapes your mouth is, “Uh?” 

He doesn’t look so comfortable either. It’s your first time getting dumped, but it’s also his first time dumping someone, you guess. “I just think it’s not working anymore between us. That we may need some time to figure things out on our own.” the shock must be written on your face, because he almost flinches. “Don’t look at me like that, please.”

“A cappuccino, an espresso and a croissant,” the waitress pretends not to listen as she brings you guys your order, but you saw her staring earlier. You shake your head in disbelief as soon as she leaves, pinching the bridge of your nose to try to make sense of anything that’s happening right now. “So you mean to tell me that the commission you had to do in Gotham… was to break up with me?” 

He grimaces. “Don’t say it like that,” 

“How else should I put it?” you hiss, “Clark, we’ve been together for four years — friends for all my existence even before that. You’ve been in my life since I can remember and you want to break up with me with the whole ‘I don’t think it’s working anymore’ bullshit? No, my guy, you’ll have to tell me a lot more than that. What is up with you?”

He presses his lips together for a brief moment, “I managed to get my degree earlier than I expected,” he almost stumbles over his words, “I… it was always my intention, but I didn’t think I’d actually manage to do so in such a brief period of time.” 

You blink. “You never told me that.” 

“I– I never told anyone, actually.” now he’s actively avoiding your eyes while nervously playing with his fingers, “Clark, it’s not a thing you just casually avoid to mention. You turned a three to four year program into a year and a half course. That’s a big thing. You should’ve told me– I would’ve done my best to support you.” 

His eyes are shiny, and it’s not just because of the light hitting them in just the right way. “I’m leaving.” 

You blink. “What?” 

He gives you a sad smile — and that makes you shudder, because in your entire life you’ve never ever seen Clark Kent smile like that. It’s honestly scary; he’s made for happy smiles, not for sad half-crapped ones. “I’m leaving,” he repeats gently, “I want to find out more about my biological parents — about my home planet. I think I’ve just found a way to do that, and I don’t know exactly for how long I’ll be gone.” he blinks away the tears, “And I can’t leave if I know that I’ve left you behind waiting for me.” 

“How long will you be gone?” you almost don’t hear yourself asking — it’s like that’s not even your voice. You have no idea how you still haven’t started crying. 

His voice is almost as little as yours. “I don’t know. I’d like to think it could be just a few months, but… something tells me it’ll be years.” 

You’re not sure how you get back home, but you somehow do. Jenna is on the couch, eating ice cream for breakfast, and chirps happily when she sees you. “Hey, I was getting worried! How did it go with Prince Charming?" you make it to your room before you throw yourself on the bed and start ugly crying uncontrollably. 

You don’t know life without Clark Kent. You’ve been inseparable since forever, and you always thought he’d be one of the only constants in your life — turns out, he had other plans. Yes, it’s true that you wanted to experience life in the big city without him, but that doesn’t mean you wanted him completely out of your life — you just wanted to see how well you’d do. (Ditched for unknown and dead parents, by the way? That has to be a new low.) 

Jenna tries her best to boost your morale — even buys you that one Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream that she hates with passion but that you love— but in the end, everything proves to be useless, and you end up going on with your life while trying to pretend that you have it all together. 

Class. Study. Lunch. Class. Work. Back at home. Repeat. 

Of course, you barely manage to keep it together. Every hour not spent doing the things you have to do is spent in bed contemplating your life and the exact moment where it got real shitty. Somewhere along the first week Ma Kent calls, probably alerted by your mother about the break up, but you really don’t have the heart nor the strength needed to respond to her call. You’re relieved when she avoids calling a second time — probably knowing that you need some space and that she’s not the first person you’d want to hear after something like this — because you don’t really know how you could’ve avoided to reply for a second time while watching her name grace the screen. 

Week two passes and things get even worse for you, so much so that you have to call in sick to work thanks to the sore throat that you find yourself with after crying uncontrollably for almost all night every night. You can tell Jenna’s fed up, because even with all her strength, it seems as if she can’t help you at all. 

“You know, I once broke up with an italian guy over distance,” she tries to reason, sprawled on your bed as you lie face down as if dead — you have yet to actually explain to her why you and Clark broke up, so she’s still thinking that it was because of all the miles separating you. “He has yet to tell his mother– and it’s been two years. She still sends me a whole box of Italian cheeses for every holiday.” she suddenly perks up, “Maybe I’ll be graced with some of the famous Ma Kent pie one day. I hope she sends a piece for your birthday.”

Your hiccup is muffled by the pillow. “Right, yeah, sorry. Not the best thing to say right now. You don’t need to mourn Ma Kent’s pie too. You’ll do that once you’re ready.” 

“I’ll never be ready to mourn Martha’s pie,” you groan. You could get over Clark Kent, but not his mother's pies. Your ma's still friends with her, so you doubt that you’ll never eat it again, but you’ll have no reason to come over to the Kent’s farm as much as you did before. 

Two days later, entering the third week post break up, Jenna has had enough — and she barges into your room with a plan. “We’re going out.”

As always, your reply comes out muffled, “Ion wan’ to.” 

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to,” she tears off the duvet from your body and takes a hold of your ankles, literally dragging you out of bed as you shriek, “I just said that we are going out!”

She makes sure you dress up decently before dragging you out of the house and into her car, making sure the child lock is on — wouldn’t want you to jump out of the vehicle as she’s driving — before starting the engine. “I signed you up for an audition.”

You look at her, frowning, pretty sure your ears have betrayed you and made you hear wrong. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her smile is so genuine that it would be hard to find the will to smack her. “I signed you up for an audition,” she repeats without any sign of remorse, “you know Flowers n’ Kisses? The shop uptown? They’re looking for new models to renew the brand, make it younger. And you, my dear, with your little sad eyes and red cheeks from all the crying, will be perfect.”

You stare at her, bewildered. “Are you well?”

“What? It’s true that you look your best right after crying!” 

“Are you saying I should be sad more often?”

“Of course not! I’m just saying that at least one good thing should come out of this situation — besides, don’t look at me like that, you know you’re already sad all the time. I just think that we should take advantage of your puffy, irritated, cute face. Besides, it’s just to try something new! Who knows, maybe you’ll like the lights of the camera and having to pose and all the pretty dresses they’ll put you in.” you highly doubt that, but you let it go in favour of your remaining sanity.

There’s at least twenty other people at the audition when you arrive to the location — and this is only the three PM slot, Jenna whispers to you conspiratorially — and you raise an eyebrow when you see the other girls there, because they’re gorgeous and you’re starting to wonder if there were any demands for this interview. “Jenna, are you sure there aren’t any requirements for this kind of thing?” 

“Oh, there were,” she assures you, “I had to put a couple of your pictures in the form before they gave me a time for your audition. I tried to apply too, but they rejected me.” she sighs dramatically, clinging to your arm, “But if I can’t chase my dream of marrying a ninety-year-old multi-billionaire and living the rest of my life filthy rich, then you might as well follow up for me! And don’t forget about me when you’re going on vacation to Tenerife with your boyfriend’s super expensive and huge yacht…” 

“You’re sick,” you mutter, completely fed up, “and not in the good sense. I’m sure there’s people in Arkham down on the worst levels that are much more reasonable than you.” you sigh, feeling the by-now familiar punch to the gut that follows every single thought about him, “I don’t care about yachts. I would’ve been just happy with a little apartment in Metropolis with Clark.”

She groans dramatically, “Oh, please! What was so great about this guy? Was he the genie of the lamp or something? Was he that good in bed?”

You sniffle. “You’re so cruel. He was my everything.”

“He’s a guy! An average one, at best!” 

“You take that back–” you’re about to strangle her because Clark Kent is definitely above the average male population but get conveniently stopped by the call of your name. It’s the PR manager, you assume, and he smiles kindly at you when Jenna takes your hand and raises it up like he’s a teacher making a difficult question and you’re a student eager to reply. “Please come with me, this way.” 

You find out his name is Roy and he’s better at make up than you are — you stare at his perfect eyeliner with envy as he leads you to a room with a camera set up and a table with other people quietly chatting. You already feel awkward just by standing there, and you’d be lying if you said that you were ready for this thing, so you find yourself thinking about Jenna’s dreams to force yourself to go on. Think about Tenerife and a yacht. Think about Tenerife and a yacht. Think about– 

“So, miss,” a redhead at the center of the table smiles at you, leaning her chin on her intertwined fingers, “are you ready to start?”

You'd be lying if you said that you got out of there without feeling stupid. They made you walk into a straight line with music in the background, asked you to pose, took a few pictures and then just started asking questions about your life, saying something about wanting to know the personality of the candidates. You feel so relieved when you walk out that room that suddenly being single doesn’t look as bad as staying ten minutes more in that hell hole. 

Jenna doesn’t seem to be too worried about your relief about being out of there. “So?” she asks excitedly, “How did it go?” 

“I doubt they’ll call back,” you weren’t that terrible, but you’re sure that much more qualified people auditioned for this thing — and even if they didn’t, you’d seen at least fifteen girls that look like they could rock the style of Flowers n’ Kisses way better than you, “but if they do, I’m not replying. Please don’t make me do that again, like, ever. We don’t need an ancient husband to have a yacht, we can just steal one. Seems way more doable to me.” 

Except that they actually call back. And you hadn’t put into the equation the fact that while registering you for the audition, Jenna was smart enough to put her cellphone number in it instead of yours. 

“You signed me up for another thing?”

“I had to! They were happy about your audition and wanted to schedule the day for the shoot of the campaign!”

“What campaign–”

“The one for the summer collection! Aw, c’mon, they’ll pay you eight hundred something dollars and give you some free clothes too–” 

You want to smash your forehead into the wall — but then again, she wouldn’t let you do that, because your forehead is on your face and your face will be on an ad of some kind. “I wouldn’t risk having a restful sleep if I were you,” you hiss, “because I think that one of these days I’ll become one of the many maniacs that help the violent crimes rate be so high, and rest assured that you’ll be my first victim.” 

Jenna doesn’t seem to worry about that, and as it turns out she’s right to be — because on the day pre-established you still make yourself presentable and head to the studios where the photoshoot’s supposed to be at 7 a.m. sharp like requested. 

The same PR guy you met at the audition greets you first with a smile and a hand shake, “Roy Chamler,” he introduces himself — you only notice you didn’t know his full name when he says it. You were so nervous at the audition that you barely introduced yourself, let alone asked the name of the other people there. “PR manager and guy in charge of the campaign. Is this your first time participating in something like this?”

You cringe. “Yeah, is it that obvious?” 

He shrugs, smiling at you. “I’ve made it work with worse in my hands. You were chosen in the end, weren’t you?” 

The day starts with a worryingly high stack of paperwork in need to be signed. “Your contract,” Roy explains, patting it, “the rights for your image and copyright, parties involved, payment times, everything.”

You frown, “Is it normal for employees to sign their contract on the first day of work?” 

It’s his time to cringe. “No. It’s just that… the owner of the brand — Mrs Livvie, she was at the audition — is a very demanding woman. She called me a month ago about making the campaign and I have barely a week left to organize the rest. So, please, even if the conditions of this job are weird, please bear with me.” 

You sigh. “Alright. Where will the pictures of the shoot be exposed, exactly?” 

He cringes even more. “I… it’s all in the contract. You know, before Mrs Livvie, it was her father who thought about the brand. Then it was passed down and she wanted to do a lot of things, but it’s clear that she still doesn’t really know her way around. So, the thing is, it will depend on how much her and the other owners like the shoot.” he tilts his head, “I wouldn’t say more than a couple of posters around town and maybe some internet ads, though.” 

You sign the contract while not trying to overthink too much about your face being splattered around the internet, and as soon as Roy gets his hands on the paperwork you’re dragged into a room that positively looks like a spa. A girl gets immediately around to work on your hair as another worries about your nails, and you have to admit that if submitting to this thing meant a free manicure and hairdo you’d have gotten here even earlier than needed to. The make-up is the last thing on the list, right after the clothes, and then you’re ready for the shoot.

The whole ordeal lasts about five hours — five grueling hours, during which you have to change outfit, make up and hairdo one time too many for the day to still be considered relaxing. You go back home with your hair still in the last slickback they gave you, mascara a little smudged from all the times you rubbed your eyes during the train ride, and a bag full of clothes to wear this summer. Roy tells you that the ads should be up somewhere between next week and the one after that, takes your actual phone number and promises to call you if any problem with the campaign emerges. 

Meanwhile, you're surprisingly starting to accept the fact that Clark dumped you and probably will never get back with you, that he’s now who-knows-where doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who. Actually, you’re starting to get mad — how dare he not tell you about his plans? For how long was he thinking about just disappearing? You were out there dreaming about a future with him and he just–

“Yo,” oh. Is your mental health that bad that now your dreams are angry about Clark, too? Because you’re in bed, it’s been a little over a week since the shoot and Jenna is shaking you awake. “Yo. You did not tell me the campaign was so serious.” 

Still groggy, you barely find the strength to raise your head from the pillow, “Whatcha mean?”

“The billboard,” she hisses, “you didn’t tell me they were going to put your pictures on a billboard.”

That wakes you up instantly. “They what?” 

Sure enough, there’s a big ass billboard with a picture of you in a strawberry shirt and a pair of low-rise jeans while subtly smiling at the camera from the side (under the brand’s name and motto, of course) right in the middle of Union Square — literally the most trafficked place in all of Gotham. You’re about to slap yourself in the face because there’s simply no way they actually put a whole billboard of you when they said it was gonna be just a couple of ads online and maybe some posters around town. You suddenly fear what they’ll do with the pictures of you in that one blue tankini.

“Dear God,” you utter in disbelief. 

Jenna blinks. “If it reassures you, you do look good. It’s the sad eyes, I think. They give you depth.” 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to show my face around ever again,” you’re on the verge of tears, “how will I manage to get around on campus again? No, Jenna, I’m finding a house in the Appalachians and hiding there for the rest of my life–” 

“But you can’t! This is one picture and you’re really shining in it– why can’t you embrace this? Maybe it’s a good thing! Do you know how much models make–”

“Jenna!” you shriek, “My photo is on a fucking billboard right in front of Wayne Tower! Can’t you understand I just want to bury myself in the ground and die?”

“Well, maybe it’ll make Bruce Wayne fall in love with you as he’s forced to see your face every day.” she jokes, “And then I’ll be able to get my vacation on a yacht–”

“We are not going on vacation with Bruce Wayne,” you hiss, “have you seen one footage of him with any woman? God knows what he puts in their — and his — drink to act like that.”

“I think of him as someone who’s actively drunk all the time without even drinking, and his company is surely not better than him.” she shrugs, “Besides, he’s not that older than you. You would be happier with him rather than with the ninety-year-old billionaire."

You blanch. “I’ll be happy if they both leave me alone.” 

They will, unfortunately, not leave you alone, you find out soon. Because thanks to the spike in sales, not even two weeks after the ads are made public the management of Flowers n’ Kisses organises a gala with all of its associates and investors, and you — just like the other models who do runways and are the face of previous campaigns — are contract-bound to participate, because– well. Your face is scattered all over the city while wearing their clothes — it would be weird if you didn’t show up, no? 

And guess who is one of the biggest associates of Flowers n’ Kisses? Exactly. Fucking Wayne Industries. Guess your dream of not becoming one of Bruce Wayne’s victims as the latest coming model — not that you would describe yourself as one, but you guess that his definition of model is much more wider than yours — in Gotham may be a little more difficult to achieve, since if they could talk, he would probably try to have one-night stands with walls too. 

Roy calls again to arrange for you to get a dress, one from the newest collection that you hadn’t had the chance of trying out, and thankfully he doesn’t seem too mad about the last time you called him — you had insulted him so much about the billboard that you almost discovered new curse words. “You know, I got a few calls about you,” he says, ecstatic, “people love you! I’ve got the list of a few other brands that would like a contract with you–”

You shut the idea before it gets a little too deep into his head. “No. Bye, I have an exam to study for.” 

The event’s in some fancy, fancy rented mansion’s ballroom — incredible that they still have those, by the way — and the timing’s just right, because tomorrow morning you have a test, and you’re already mumbling names and descriptions under your breath before they even get you in that evening dress. And about the dress– it’s dark blue, with little embroidered silver stars around your hips, tight where it needs to be and softer as it reaches your legs. They give you a pair of silver kitten heels to match the stars around the dress, and even if they do kill your feet a little, you have to admit that you look good. 

Getting out of the room where they dolled you up, you immediately notice another woman at the end of the hallway — probably one of the other models of the brand, hopefully one more experienced than you. She seems to notice you too, and waves a hand up to catch your attention, “Hey! You must be the new girl they told me about,” 

She’s stunning, with chocolate skin and honey eyes and a dress that — you guess — is made to be worn right next to yours, because while your gown resembles the night, hers resembles the dawn, with an embroidered red sun on her waist. She offers you her hand, which you shake without any questions, “I’m Kelly,” she introduces herself, “Roy asked me to keep an eye out for you — didn’t want you to feel lost. She knows these types of gatherings can be scary, and I’m happy to help a new recruit out.” Kelly does look a bit older and experienced than you — early thirties, at most, even if she does carry them well. 

“Thank God,” you can’t really hide your relief, “I was afraid I had to do all of this alone.” 

She giggles, “I remember being this scared too. You’re doing it well, though, from what I have seen — you came out perfect in the pictures, I really couldn’t believe it was your first shoot,” 

You feel your face get hotter at her words, “Thanks,” you manage to squeal out as she guides you into the ballroom, where the main event is held, “It’s the sad eyes, I think.” she adds. You’re one more comment about your sad eyes apart from imploding. “I don’t tend to like these events, but usually the food is pretty nice, so that’s a plus. I’d avoid any drink already served if I were you, though,”

Thankfully, you soon find out that you two were put at the same table — great thing for you, because you really don’t want to socialize more than you actually need to. The other people around the table are mostly boring investors and owners of shares, who don’t seem interested in asking anything more than what’s expected in a common conversation — your name, age, what do you do in life. One kind old lady asks you more about university and looks actually interested in hearing you repeat the subject of your exam tomorrow, until you are rudely interrupted by a voice calling out for you just as the dessert is being served. 

“Oh, there she is!” you’ve only seen her once, but you do recognize Mrs Livvie from the audition — you did not forget those striking red hair of hers. Beside her, your latest possible obstacle: in all his striking glory, Bruce Wayne. “This is our latest golden girl, miss…” it’s clear that she has forgotten your name, which you kindly suggest to her, “Right! A real sweetheart. Anyways, this is Kelly Th–”

“I know Kelly,” he interrupts her, giving her and your — hopefully — latest friend a kind smile. “I remember her from the runway for the autumn collection.” he turns his gaze to you, “I’ve never met you, though, which is really a shame because you’re stunning. You know, the billboard with one of your photos is right in front of my office, which is the motivation to get on time around the office I just needed.” well, if this isn’t your nightmare come true. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Mrs Livvie looks at you, “this is Mr Wayne–”

“Please,” he looks directly at you in a way that would normally have you swooning, but that from him just makes you quite worried. “Just Bruce will go.” 

You give him a tight-lipped smile, “Sure.” 

“Weird that I have never seen you before,” he continues, “usually models start young, but I’m happy that Nina found you — you’re a real jewel, miss. May I ask why you — or your parents — never thought of putting you out there?” 

“Well, I never knew about this talent of mine until now.”

He smiles, chuckling quietly, “Well, you don’t sound like you’re from around here, either, am I right?”

You nod. “Yessir — I’m from Smallville, a little farm town a couple of hundreds of miles from here.” you hope that being the daughter of farmers will scare off a playboy that is known to socialize with rich people. It doesn’t. 

“Well, if you ever need anything,” he takes out a business card from his breast pocket with a pen and scribbles something on it, then gives it to you, “please don’t hesitate to call me. I’m at your disposal.” 

You don’t reply, getting a weird look from all the people on the table before Mrs Livvie quickly brings his attention elsewhere — hopefully away from you. Kelly looks at you, delighted, “Well, miss girl, that is the offer of a lifetime.” 

You snort, looking unamusedly at the private number scribbled on the card. “I doubt I’ll ever use it.”

Summer break comes a lot faster than you’d expected. 

You’re not sure it’s a good thing. You still haven’t exactly come to terms with what happened with Clark now almost three months ago and the thought of seeing your parent’s farm draped with pictures of you and him from when you two were kids nauseates you. Besides, you just know that your mother talked to everyone who willing to listen about your newfound talent as a model, even if you only did one shoot. It’s also your first time doing the trip from Gotham to Smallville alone, and you opt to just use the train after seeing the whopping prices for a taxi.

Your father picks you up at the Midvale train station, teary eyed and with arms wide open to hug you. “My baby,” he says trembly, once you are in his arms “oh, it seems like it’s been years since Christmas,” 

You laugh tearily. “Oh, trust me, I know.” 

The car trip is filled with conversation and love. “Oh– did your mother tell you we adopted a dog?”

You perk up. “Oh, did you, now?”

Your father nods, “Dunno what kind o’ dog he is. All I know is he’s yellow. We found him on the side of the road to the farmer’s market a coupla’ weeks ago and he won’t leave your mother's side since then. We tried to ask around, see if he was someone’s dog — nobody knew anything, so her resolve was just to take him home.” he looks at you, cracking up with laughter. “You wanna know what she called him?” 

You grin, loving to see your father so serene. “Do tell me.” 

“Batman!” his laughter gets even louder, “Batman, you get it? Said, it’s after the psycho that runs around in a Halloween costume and makes sure that my daughter’s city doesn’t burn down. I really owe him. Have you ever even seen him, or is he just some kind of urban legend?”

You crack up with laughter too, half from hearing him laugh so openly, half for the actual story, “No, no,” you wheeze, “never seen him, but I do know people that have. I just don’t get out late enough for him to be running around yet, I fear.” 

It’s with relief that, once you enter the farm, you notice that all the pictures of you and Clark have either disappeared or been replaced. You know your mother’s too much of a sentimentalist to get rid of them, so they’re probably carefully hidden in some drawer — but that doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate her gesture. She hugs you tightly and kisses you on both cheeks before calling out for the dog — which you find out is a golden retriever — to meet you. 

The next three weeks are spent helping your parents around the farm and bringing Batman — or, as your mother calls him, Battie — in the fields so that he can run as much as he likes. You gotta admit that you also do it to try to form new memories of the place — because you simply can’t spend the rest of your life brooding as soon as you go back there to visit your parents. 

You avoid the old classmates to prevent any questions about Clark. You don’t visit the Kents. You’d like to, but honestly, you are ashamed — ashamed because Martha had called back when you and Clark had just broken up, and yet you never called her back or replied. Or sent a message. Or a postcard. Did you really ghost a nice old lady? Because that has to be some kind of new low.

It’s your mom that tries to get you back to sanity. “Martha and Jon did nothing to you,” she tells you, angered, when you refuse to take the muffins she’s just baked to their farm, “and you are going to say hi to them because they’ve always been nothing but nice to you!”

That’s how you end up at the porch of the Kent’s farm, a tray of still steaming muffins in your hands as you anxiously wait for either of them to answer the door. You almost burst out in tears when it’s Martha that greets you — because, you have to admit, you’ve missed them too. And as she invites you in and calls Jon down to say hi to you too, not mentioning that call you had completely ignored — you thank the universe that at least you didn’t lose them too with Clark. 

You return to Gotham feeling shittier than ever, but, hey! At least you got some nice pie while you were in Smallville, since you can’t really say that you and Jenna cook real food when you have to eat. The University’s not back open just yet, so you spend most of your days picking more shifts at work so that people that actually go on vacation can do it without any remorse or trouble. 

You’re worrying about getting every animal at the clinic fed when the bell of the door rings out in the waiting room. “I’ll be there in a minute!” you call out, petting a cat and putting him back into his carrier as he meowles happily around the meat stick you just gave him — a good enough treat in exchange to being neutered, you hope. 

You exit the backroom and go back to the front desk, “So, how can I help–” your eyebrows raise. “Mr Wayne?” 

In all his glory, surely. He’s right in front of you, smiling, hair slicked back and sunglasses hanging from the neckline of his shirt. “I thought I asked you to call me Bruce,” he says, not unkindly. 

You try not to grimace. The last thing you wanted for him was to find out where you worked. “Yeah, sorry,” you press your lips into a thin line, “how can I help you?” 

“I was thinking about adopting a dog.” this actually surprises you, because you didn’t think billionaires had the time for animals — and even if they did find the time to get them a petsitter, you’d taken for granted that they would buy the fancy breed ones. “I was thinking about getting a german shepherd, I told your friend Kelly at last week’s Prada runway and she suggested coming here since apparently this clinic collaborates with the local shelter.” 

“We do,” you nod, “they’re running out of space and we have a decent sized backyard for them to play in and some rooms for the animals to stay in.” you open a drawer on the desk, taking out a folder with all the registered pets, “We mostly have the injured ones that are recovering, but I’m not sure about german shepherds. I do think there’s a mixed one though– there!” you stop at one of the pages and turn the folder for him to see the picture of a dog with brown fur and a star-shaped white patch on his forehead. 

“This is Ace– he’s a retired K-9, mixed german shepherd. He’s just two, but was shot during an inspection and has been limping ever since. Nobody in the police department could adopt him, so we took him in. He’s been doing well with the recovery and we’re trying to rehabilitate him to normal as to our best abilities.” 

He nods,  “Looks like a cute dog. Can I see him?”

You show him the way to the backroom with all the strays, stopping at Ace’s crate. He immediately raises his snout from his paws, tail wagging as he sees you, “Well, this is him,” you sneak a hand between the rails to give him a pet, “one of the nicest dogs we have here — if you want, you could take him on a walk today or when you want. Usually we ask for at least four outings before permitting the adoption — to see if the owner and the pet are compatible, y’know.” 

He nods, “So, I can take him out today and then come back in the next few days to later on adopt him?” 

You lean your head, “If everything goes well, yes.” 

“Perfect– I’d like to take him on a walk right away, then, if possible.”

You get a collar for Ace and a leash for Bruce after getting the dog out of its crate, then put a couple of treats in a little paper bag with some toys. You attach the leash to Ace’s collar and give it to his aspiring owner with the paper bag, “Wait a moment, I’ll tell my coworker that I’m going out and then we can go,”

Mr Wayne perks up, suddenly interested in something else rather than the dog, “You’re coming with us?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Of course. The outings before adoption are always supervised.” 

You come back after alerting your coworker that you’re going out, then exit the clinic with Bruce — who's handling a definitely too excited Ace — on tow. It’s weird seeing a blue Rolls Royce parked right in front of where you work, as usually the most expensive thing that’s parked there is a FedEx van. “There’s a dog park just around the corner — we often bring customers there for supervised outings.” 

Bruce Wayne looks so out of place in such a funny way at the dog park that you barely manage to keep your laugh in; in his Armani tailored coat as Ace, finally without a leash in the dog fence at the park, looks thrilled to play with him, it’s so obvious that he’s never been in this kind of situation. “Are you sure he’s still in rehab?” he squeals, as the dog tackles him to the ground and licks his whole face clean. “He’s– aargh!– definitely in better shape than me!”

Your laugh finally blesses his ears. “That just means he likes you, Mr Wayne! Be nice to him, or he’ll think you’re friendzoning him.” 

Ace is a good dog. It’s like he’s got a sixth sense for bad people — he never barks at kind customers, only at the rude ones, so you guess that’s kinda his talent. And since it’s never betrayed you, you admit that maybe — just maybe — Bruce Wayne isn’t that bad of a person as you thought he would be. 

He comes back to the clinic for three days in a row, just what he needed to be able to adopt the retired K-9. He always suspiciously shows up during your shifts, with mysteriously not a single paparazzi on sight and always the same Rolls Royce. On the second day he got there with brand new toys — some for Ace, some in donation for the other pets awaiting a loving owner — and a new collar with a bone-shaped metal tag with a bold ACE engraved on it.

Saturday’s the last day of the supervised period, and just as the last three days, you find yourself leaning over the railing of the fence that limitates the unrestrained dog area, watching them play like they’ve known each other for years. It’s a rare connection to see forming with a guard dog — they usually need time to adapt to new people, but apparently Ace didn’t. He took one look at Bruce and thought yeah, I want to munch on his atelier shoes for the rest of my life. 

“You know, I think it really was love at first sight,” you tell him as you walk back to the clinic.

Bruce looks at you like for a second he forgot you were talking about his dog. “You really think so?”

You laugh, “Yeah, I mean, have you seen him? He’s wagging his tail like crazy and he met you three days ago. It’s like he knows you’re taking him home today.” 

His shoulders deflate a little as he understands that you’re talking about him and Ace. “Yeah, well, I’m happy that he’s happy.” 

“Why do you want a dog, by the way?” you realise just now that you hadn’t asked, having taken for granted that he just wanted one for show, but now it’s clear that it isn’t. 

He shrugs, “To keep me company. I guess I just want someone other than my butler greeting me at the door when I get home. Besides, I liked playing with him — it’s a win-win: I get to destress about work and he gets to play catch.” he pets Ace’s head as you reach the clinic, “Don’t you, boy?” 

You go behind the desk and immediately get to work, preparing the paperwork for the adoption, “So– here, fill out this form and this one. There’s a ten dollar fee on every adoption, but I guess it shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

He chuckles. “I should have a fifty dollar bill in my wallet — you can keep the change.” he coughs a bit as he starts to fill out the paperwork, “You know, I, uh… I didn’t come here just because I wanted a dog. I wanted to talk to you.”

You square him up and down. “Yeah. We talked the last three days.”

“Oh, no, I mean–” he looks honestly embarrassed, “I was… I was wondering why you didn’t call me back after the event.”

You blink — you had completely forgotten about the business card rotting in your bedside drawer with his private number written on it. You must be the first girl that doesn’t call him back after receiving such an opportunity. “Well, you told me to call if I needed anything, and I have yet to be in need of anything.” 

“I–” he sighs, “I was hoping I’d see you at the following Flowers n’ Kisses event, but you weren’t there.” 

You raise an eyebrow in the politest way you can muster up. “Yeah. It was a lunch on a Monday. I had an exam.” you actually started ghosting Roy as soon as he started suggesting coming to events not included in your contract, but that’s a story for another time. 

It seems you aren’t really getting what he’s trying to say, Bruce understands. He takes a deep breath, “What I meant to say is… that I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee one of these days.” 

You stare at him, bewildered, then point to yourself. “Me?” 

He looks even more bewildered than you. “…Yeah. Would… would you like that?”

“I mean, I,” you aren’t really understanding if he’s interested you in a romantic sense — which would be absolute bonkers, by the way — or if the conversations of the last few days just made him want another friend. “Sure. As… as friends, right?” 

He winces. “Yeah, of course.” he’s losing count of how many awkward yeahs he’s mumbling. Alfred’s right; he, terrifyingly so, has a crush. 

“Wouldn’t, like, paparazzi follow us?” you really don’t want your face splattered all over the news again. 

“I honestly doubt it.” he wouldn’t waste his little chance because of a couple of gossip-hungry journalists. “When I don’t want to be noticed I use my butler’s car, so that if anyone passes by they think it’s him around rather than me, and the staff of the places I frequent can be very discreet.” he looks down to Ace, “Besides, could you really say no to seeing this cute face again?” 

No, you couldn’t. You do raise an eyebrow, though, “Your butler… owns a Rolls Royce?” 

He nods like it’s the most common thing in the world, “Yeah, it was my gift for his fiftieth birthday.” 

And that’s how you end up having coffee with Bruce Wayne in some high-end uptown cafè two days later. Then two days later after that. Then, someway, somehow— fucking everyday. And thank God that he’s the one paying, because you doubt you can even afford one of the smallest macarons they have on the menu. 

You have to give it to the man — he’s trying really hard to be nice. It’s clear he’s not good at courting — not the kind that doesn’t let him bring a woman into his bed an hour after he met her, at least — but he’s doing that while also doing his best to respect your boundaries. 

“I don’t think it’s really a great time for a new relationship as of now for me,” you explain, a little embarrassed, over the first coffee you share. “I just got out of… one of the most important connections I’ll ever have in my entire life.” 

Bruce isn’t one to give up easily, and surely not on the first person he’s actually interested in since years. Even if it will take decades — and he’ll be just as happy being just a friend during those — he won’t give up. Even if he has to be just a friend for all eternity — you and your accent really did a number on him. 

Just as he promised, no articles come out about you two, even if a couple of curious waiters do ask if you’re that one girl from the billboard in Union Square — much to Bruce’s sincere delight, because it’s probably the first time in his life that he gets overlooked in favour of his date. What’s so special about your ads to overlook a billionaire, you’ll never really understand. 

It goes on for months, and before you can really assimilate it, It’s November and it’s been eight months since Clark broke up with you, seven since the terrific Flowers n’ Kisses campaign and four since you started seeing (you’re not sure how to actually describe it, because you’re kinda warming up to him despite everything) Bruce. 

You cave in to Kelly’s constant nagging, and finally accept her invitation to go out for dinner, just the two of you, to her favourite Thai restaurant down the street from her apartment — even after almost a year in Gotham, you’re reluctant about going out at night, still a bit scared after Jenna’s horror stories about her outings during the evening. 

It’s a fun night — you chit chat about anything and everything and she makes sure you’re updated about the latest rumors going around in the modeling world (apparently, Linda Reynolds is pregnant, and the father is supposedly the son of the sixty-year-old CEO she should be marrying in a few months). You both laugh as a teenager from one of the other tables comes over and asks you if you’re the girl from that one Flowers n' Kisses photoshoot, and you almost forget about the dangers of going out at night as you exit the restaurant because — c’mon, you’re with Kelly, her car’s just a few feet away from you two and she’s Kelly, she just knows how to deal with things. That is, until–

There’s a man. He’s in front of you. He has a gun. You barely even register all that happens next. 

She pushes you behind her as he screams to give him all the valuables you have, gun trembling in his hands — is he drunk or just a schizo? — and just as she reaches for her purse — to take out her wallet, she says as she feels around for her taser — he panics and pulls the trigger. 

You don’t know when you start screaming, nor register your hands pressing on her bloody shoulder, nor the cashier from the Thai restaurant going out in the street after hearing the shot and calling the police. You barely feel Commissioner Gordon’s hands around your shoulders as he gently pulls you away from Kelly and gets you to his car while two paramedics get a stretcher ready and lift her into the ambulance, nor notice when he pulls a blanket over your shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate into your hands at the police station. “You’re trembling, kid.” you think you started when the man took out the gun, but it could be when he shot Kelly. You’re not sure. 

“Can I call anyone?” 

You snap out of your trance, looking at Commissioner Gordon with eyes that could only be described as haunted. “Huh?”

He presses his lips into a thin line like he’s been in this situation one too many times. “Can I call anyone?” he asks again, not unkindly. “To come and pick you up and stay with you for the night? It would be better for you not to be alone.” 

You blink. “Is Kelly okay?” 

Gordon sighs. “The paramedics said she should recover without any trouble. You can go visit her tomorrow, if you want.” he leans forward, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Can I call someone for you?” he asks for the third time. 

You sniff — you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying. You can’t call your parents — you know they’d drop everything and come here, but you don’t want them to worry. Jenna’s out of the city for a week, having gone to visit a cousin in Blüdhaven, and terrifyingly so the only person who comes into your mind is Clark Kent– wherever he is, he does know how to fly, and if he wanted to he could just zap here. You manage to scribble his number in the post-it that Gordon hands you, and then he’s off to make the call — only to return defeated ten minutes later. 

“I’m sorry, nobody’s replying. Can I call someone else for you or would you like to try to make the call yourself?” 

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Can I try? With my phone?” Clark’s never ignored your calls. And, sure, you haven’t heard from him in months, but you don’t think he’d actively avoid you — he has to know that you wouldn’t call unless it was strictly necessary. Besides, he’s never turned you down in the time of need. 

Gordon nods, “Sure. I think I left your bag in the car, though, so I’ll be right back,” 

He brings your purse, and as soon as your phone’s in your hands you press onto Clark’s number and try to reach him. The Commissioner leaves you in his office, probably to try to give you a bit of privacy, and you’re quite thankful he’s not there to witness you start crying as Clark not only doesn’t reply to the first call, but also to the next five you make. 

“Clark, I know that maybe you don’t want to hear from me but — could you just please, take up the phone?” you try not to sob as you leave what must be the third message in a row, “I wouldn’t call unless I really needed you and– and I’m trying my best not to sound hysteric but please, just pick up the fucking phone.” 

You try and try and try, but lo and behold, it always goes straight to voicemail. Gordon knocks on the door of his office, opening it hesitantly when you don’t reply, “I– it’s been twenty minutes.” 

“I,” you huff tearily, slamming your phone on your thigh, “he just won’t reply.” 

You don’t want to look Gordon in the eye, because even now you can feel the pity in this voice. “Is there anyone else you can call? If… if there isn't, I could have an agent escort you home,”

“No, I–” you really don’t want to cry in front of him, even if your cheeks are already tear-streaked and your eyes are puffy, “I guess I could call someone else.” 

You hadn’t even thought about calling Bruce, having taken for granted that Clark would have replied and knowing about the late hour, but it’s not like you have any other choice. Besides, he did say to call him if you ever needed anything. You dial his phone number and have to hold back a sob as he replies in two rings, voice hoarse, “Hello?” 

“Hi, um, I…” you stumble over the words, not managing to hold the tears at bay anymore as your voice breaks. “Hi, Bruce, could you…” a hiccup interrupts you. 

“Hey,” his voice is alarmed even if it’s clear that he either just woke up or is hungover from the roughness of his voice, “is everything okay? Did something happen?” 

“I…” your throat betrays you again as you let out an embarrassingly loud sob. You hear Bruce’s worried questions on the other side of the line, but you aren’t really able to respond to any of his questions, and Commissioner Gordon holds his hand out for you in a way that says ‘If you want, I can talk to him for you,’. You don’t ask many questions and just pass him the phone. 

“Hello, this is Commissioner Gordon from the GCPD…” 

Not even twenty minutes later Bruce rushes into the office, accompanied by Gordon, and holds you tight as you rise from your chair and crash into his arms. You’ve never hugged before, but that doesn’t really matter as of now, because he’s rubbing your back and pressing his cheek on the top of your head and suddenly you feel safe. “I was so scared,”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and something on the back of your mind whispers that it’s not fair to cry to him about your friend getting shot but surviving when he had to watch his parents die when he was just a kid, but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds you tighter, thanking Gordon and leading you to his — his butler’s, technically, as it’s still the blue Rolls Royce he came here with — car. Well, if the media didn’t know you two were seeing each other before, now they probably know, because Gotham’s cops are the most gossip hungry people in the city. 

He helps you get into the car as you sniffle, making sure your seatbelt is on before jumping on the driver’s seat and going back to look at you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “He shot Kelly on the shoulder. Looked crazy, like a schizo maniac on drugs.” 

He sighs, a bit disheartened, “I mean, does a schizo maniac need drugs to look crazy?”

“I guess he doesn’t.” a beat passes before he reaches over to your side, opening the glovebox and reaching for wet wipes — the kind you use for babies’ butts. “Here,” he murmurs softly, “you might want to get the blood off your face.”

You didn’t even know you had blood on your face. You look at the picture of the newborn on the wipes pack, puzzled, “Is there anything you might want to tell me?”

He chuckles and starts the car. “I told you this was my butler’s car. He carries a pack of those anywhere.” 

You look at yourself in the sun visor mirror, acknowledging the fact that you look like absolute crap and definitely have splatters of blood as well as smudged make up all over your face. “Sorry I made you come all the way here so late,” you mumble, trying to wipe the now dried blood off of your face. 

“Nonsense,” he assures, “Commissioner Gordon said it would be best for you not to be alone tonight — would that be okay for you?”

You nod. “Yeah, my place’s a bit cramped but I can sleep on the couch.”

He frowns, “That’s not a problem, I’ll take it. You need a good night’s sleep. We could always go to the Manor if you want.”

You shake your head, “I need a shower and to eat the leftover ice cream in my freezer.”

Bruce smiles the tiniest bit. “Okay. Where to, then?” 

You wouldn’t say the apartment’s cluttered, but you weren’t expecting any guests over so it’s a given that it’s not tidy either — if Bruce notices it, he doesn’t mention it, something you’re grateful for. Instead, he puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling softly, “You should go take that shower. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.” 

You take a good look at yourself in the mirror and almost start crying again. You had seen that you were covered in blood, but you also didn’t think it was so much blood — the cardigan your poor mother had hand-stitched for you is awaiting a brilliant future in the trashbin, because there’s no way that the stain will ever wash out. 

The water is soothing, even if it takes you a good half-hour to scrub away all the dried blood from your hair and neck — so much so that the skin is left red and sore. It’s your first time witnessing one of the violent crimes Gotham’s so famous for, and you gotta say, it’s even worse than you thought. 

You put on an old ratty sweater — that after a year of living together neither you nor Jenna are too sure of who it belongs to anymore — and a pair of cozy sweatpants that are definitely Jenna’s, because you would never buy such a thing as yellow pants with the bat signal print on them. 

You exit the bathroom with your damp hair still wrapped in a towel, eyes barely managing to stay open thanks to the aftermath of the shock you had been in. You find Bruce sitting on the sofa, maybe a little too interested in the news broadcast playing on the TV. “And it’s game over for Harvey Dent, also known as Two Face, who was arrested just yesterday by the GCPD thanks to an ambush coordinated by none other than Batman…”

“Wasn’t Dent the district attorney?” you’d lie if you said you were informed about the latest coming criminals of Gotham City. “Man, in Smallville the craziest guy we’ve had was Samuel Comell and that’s just because he ate nothing but corn. We’ve got clinical psychos guiding the law here.” it actually would’ve been Clark if anyone knew he was an alien, but you avoid talking about that. You aim for the refrigerator and take out the ice cream, bringing it and two spoons with you to the couch. “Ice cream?”

Bruce grimaces as he takes one of the spoons, “You couldn’t be more right about madmen in Gotham, but Harvey wasn’t one of them until less than a year ago.” 

You raise an eyebrow at his soft tone. “You knew him?”

“We grew up together.” his face falters, “He was my friend– still is.” 

You blink. “Man, the universe must be laughing really hard right now, because the boy I grew up with is also kinda weird.” sure, not a mass-murderer type of weird, but a little weird still. 

He leans to take a spoonful of ice cream from the tub you’re holding, “What do you mean, kinda weird?” 

“Oh, you can’t even imagine,” you can’t even tell him — you swore to Clark that you wouldn’t have told anyone his secret, and you don’t plan on breaking that promise now. “Remember the guy I told you I was trying to get over?”

“It was him?” 

“Yeah,” you try to laugh it off, “Clark was… pretty much everything for me. Then he dumped me to, I don’t know, disappear to find himself or something like that.” it’s much more complicated than that, but you can’t just tell him that your ex-boyfriend is an alien — he’d freak. 

Bruce’s eyes soften a bit. “Well, it’s always more complicated than that, isn’t it?” this time you can’t exactly handle your emotions well, and sputter as your eyes widen. Did he just read your mind? He laughs, “What? I know a thing or two about relationships. Well, about how they end, at least. You know, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, “I haven’t really said this to anyone, really, but me and Harvey… let’s say we were more like you and your old friend rather than simple friends.” 

You squint, then force the ice cream tub in his hands. “Here. You probably need it more than me.” 

He stares at the tub. “It’s been years. I’m sure you need it more than me.” 

“Well, my ex hasn’t just been arrested,” your face drops, “for what I know, at least.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at you. “He really just disappeared?” 

You shrug. “Could be in Alaska right now and I wouldn’t know about it.” 

The night starts off easy. You finish the ice cream, then put away the towel you had around your hair and get a blanket because it’s getting a bit chilly, then one thing leads to another and suddenly your cheek is resting on his shoulder as Criminal Minds is playing on the TV. 

“You know,” you mutter at some point, almost half-asleep and too cozy to muster an actual, coherent thought. “You should be detestable. You’re ugly rich, live in a mansion up on the hill and have a butler that has a car that’s probably worth more than my parent’s farm.” you poke his cheek as he turns his head to look at you properly, his arm going around your shoulder, “And instead, you’re nice — and worst of all, relatable.” you raise a hand to curl a lock of his hair around your finger, and he makes that face that men do when they’re about to kiss you — the blank stare that makes them look dumb in the head. “Now, one evil ex’s down. Do I have to defeat the other six or can we just get this over with?”

His lips slosh over yours with unexplainable easiness, like they’ve wanted nothing but to do this their whole life, and maybe you should feel a little guilty about eating Bruce Wayne’s face in your little beat-down couch, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s the first time your mind finally manages to shut down — to stop worrying about anything and everything, and think about just one thing: Bruce. 

Tomorrow, he’ll worry about catching the guy that shot Kelly, he says to himself. Tonight, he worries about you and tries to make sure you’ll be alright. And he does. 

You wake up the next morning with an absolute sight — infamous Bruce Wayne, untouchable playboy and known for his one night stands, standing in your small ass kitchen in a pair of hot pink pajamas — the only thing you had that vaguely fit him — trying to cook pancakes. Key word: trying, because you weren’t woken up by the birdies singing outside of the window, but by the smell of burnt food. Badly burnt food. 

You come up from behind him, hugging his back, “Have you ever even made pancakes?”

He purses his lips like a kid. “No. What is so terrible about wanting to try?” 

You chuckle. “Nothing, nothing,” you tug him down to kiss his cheek, “I just think it’s really funny of you to try to cook when you’ve clearly had problems just with getting the stove on.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay, I wasn’t that stunted.” 

He turns to take a good look at you — and apparently, notices your pants just now. “What’s with you and Batman?” he asks, amused. You shrug, ”More like, what’s with Jenna and Batman. When I tell you she’s obsessed with him, dude. She keeps a med kit in the bathroom just in case he falls on our balcony and we have to stitch him up.”

He shudders. “That does sound a bit manic.” 

After a definitely too cheesy breakfast and quickly getting dressed, Bruce accompanies you to the hospital — not before going to the flower shop, of course, to get the biggest bouquet you’ve ever seen and a couple of Get well soon! balloons. 

“What?” he asks. You’re not saying anything, but still clearly judging him, “I thought Kelly was your friend. She has to enjoy the flowers, especially since they’re from you.” 

“Technically, they’re from your wallet,” you retort. He shrugs, “Same thing.” 

Kelly’s still a bit pale, but happy to see you and Bruce. She gives you a look as you apologise for what happened, eyes teary as you remember that she got shot while protecting you. She swats a hand in your way, laugh full of not suggestion but knowledge — absolute certainty. “Honey, if what you two needed to get it on with was me getting shot, I’ll get shot another hundred of times.” she lowers her voice as your face burns red, “Besides, you might want to raise a little that scarf you’ve got — a hickey’s still showing. Just remember me when you’ll go on vacation with his big-ass yacht.” 

What is it with your friends and yachts? You really need to make Jenna and Kelly meet — just kidding, you take that back, the consequences of their team up for your psyche would be devastating.

Time passes quickly when you’ve got one exam after another, and suddenly — before you can actually register it — it’s December, you and Bruce have been together for a month and it’s time for the Christmas holidays. While Jenna goes as soon as she can back to her parents in Chinatown, you, of course, need to go back to Smallville — without Bruce, as it’s still too early in the relationship to meet the parents. He doesn’t look too beaten up about it — just before you told him you wanted to go visit your parents, he had suggested a skiing trip in the Alps in an all-paid-for resort. Poor him, having to go on an exclusive resort with all the comforts in the world all alone! How will he manage without you, you wonder? How will he thrive? 

(Just kidding, of course. You’re pretty sure it’ll take all of his restraint not to go back to his old playboy ways and try to seduce the first female that approaches him. He’ll be just fine.)

There’s two trains for Metropolis on the 22nd of December: you plan to take the first one, the one that leaves Gotham’s station at 8 a.m. sharp — and so you tell Bruce, who unfortunately has a plane to catch and can’t give you a ride — and of course, you just had to miss it. You wake up twenty minutes too late, and by the time you’re at the station the train has just left. 

You go back home to take a nap while waiting for it to be time for the 4 p.m. train, and wake up just two hours later with an emergency broadcast for all Gothamites going off on your phone — God forbid you have a happy holiday in the arms of your loved ones, because the corridor that connects the prison’s main structure to Arkham’s left wing — the one holding captive the major crazed maniacs — has just blown up, and now years and years of captures and police operations have ended up in a massive breakout that will probably pulverize the city in a matter of two days. You’ve never been happier to not be a police officer than now. 

The downside is that the whole city’s on lockdown. Commissioner Gordon appears on TV, warning all citizens to remain home unless strictly necessary and inevitable. A quick call to your parents later you’re fuming about your own stupidity while laying on the couch, wondering why you didn’t just wake up earlier — because now you’re condemned to a Christmas and probably New Years all alone, as all trains and planes are canceled to avoid the passengers turning into hostages or worse, victims. 

Later that night you receive a call from Bruce, voice unusually rough, who says that he’s grateful that you’re already back at home in Smallville and not in Gotham because, if you hadn’t heard, a massive breakout happened. You really don’t want him to worry, so you lie and tell him that you’re relieved too that you took the 8 a.m. train — that your parents say hi and hang up. 

The following days are weird. There’s barely anyone but cops in the streets — you wonder why — and your only interactions with a human are the ones with Nelson, the guy that works at the 7/11 right beside your apartment, and you both try your best to ignore the shotgun he’s keeping behind the counter as he scans your items and wishes you a happy Christmas. 

You spend Christmas Eve eating instant noodles and watching the old Harry Potter DVDs that Jenna left behind — Ron’s just been dragged into the Whomping Willow by Sirius when your phone starts ringing. 

You pause the movie and frown — because you’ve already heard both your parents and Jenna, who could be the only people calling at such an hour. It could also be Bruce, you guess, but you haven’t heard much from him considering the six hour difference between Gotham and wherever he’s staying in the Switzerland Alps. Except when you take your phone, you see an unknown number on the screen. 

“Hello?” you reply tentatively — you really don’t want to be blackmailed by the Penguin or one of his friends on Christmas Eve. No one responds to your hesitant greeting, so you try again, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

You’re about to close the call when you hear it — barely there, the whisper of your name by a voice you know too well. You put the phone back against your ear, eyes already twitching, “Clark?” 

“Hey,” his voice is the tiniest you’ve ever heard from him, “I, uh… wanted to know how you were holding up.”

Your hand starts trembling — if in anger or disbelief, you’re not sure. “You know, you’ve got some fucking audacity calling me now,” you manage to keep your voice steady only by some weird miracle, “when just a month ago I called you about twenty times and cried in the voice messages begging for you to come and get me.” 

He doesn’t reply, but you can almost see him grimacing. “I… I got busy. I’m sorry about that.” 

You pinch the slope of your nose, “Clark, I get it. You need to find yourself and all that but– but I needed you. Like, really needed you. Even if we broke up, I thought you would’ve always been there for me.” a grumble escapes from your throat, “I would’ve always been there for you. But you weren’t there, even with your flying abilities and supersonic speed.” 

He sniffles. God, is he crying? “I just… I thought you would’ve been able to handle it alone. I know you’re strong enough to.” 

“Well, if I call you at an ungodly hour an ungodly number of times then maybe I’m not able to handle it alone. Where are you, anyways?” 

You hear a shuffle on the other end, “Somewhere in the Arctic. Not sure I can exactly tell you where.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure your dead parents would be really offended if you did.”

Ouch. That was a low blow. He says your name as if to try to calm you down, but you shake your head even if he can’t see you, “Why exactly did you call, Clark?”

“I told you, I wanted to see how you were doing–” “Please, we both know that’s just an excuse you invented right here and now. Why did you call me, Clark?”

Silence meets you on the other end. “I… it’s Christmas. We’ve never spent a Christmas apart.” 

You check the hour on your phone, and it’s true — it is Christmas. Has been for only a few minutes, but still. “So what, Clark? It’s not like it was me who decided to break it off between us.”

Another sniffle on his end. “I guess I… I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas.” 

You sigh. “Merry Christmas, Clark. I loved you, and I’ll always love you– but I’m trying to get over you, and you need to understand that. I can’t do that if you call me just now after ghosting twenty of my calls and voicemails. I’m sure we’ll find a balance in some years when you get back — maybe even be friends again — but please… don’t call.” 

You press the red END CALL button almost as soon as a crash comes from your balcony. You shriek and jump up from the couch, running from your purse and the Bat-taser — finally, his moment to shine. Jenna’s hard earned ten bucks will serve their purpose, maybe. You also eye the metal baseball bat sitting beside the entrance in case you’ll need it, but choose against it in case your opponent is way too strong for you to kick him out. 

You try to peek outside and see nothing but darkness. So, you do the only thing you can think of: hold the Bat-taser in front of you like it’s a gun, slowly open the door to the balcony and yell (probably sounding more shrill than you’d intended to): “GoawayorIswearI’llcallthepolice!” 

A pained groan comes from the ground, “Please don’t.” 

You have to hold onto all the self control you have not to shriek again, “Batman? Is that really you?”

Another pained groan — from the dim light, you notice him holding onto his side and trying to get back up– and also that he crashed one of Jenna’s beloved flower pots while falling here. “The one and only.” 

Now, Jenna had told you about him ending up on civilian’s balconies, but you didn’t actually think he did it. You let the taser fall from your hand and rush to his side, helping him up and then inside the apartment. “What the hell, dude? You scared the shit out of me.” 

He slips from your grip pretty easily — he’s built like a tank, of course he does — and maybe you should worry about getting him back up to his feet, but rather think about closing the balcony door behind you. “Well, my guy, I sure hope you haven’t dragged one of your nemesis right here in my poor little apartment — because I might just lose it.”

He just groans — again. He must be a real sweet talker. “You don’t happen to have something to stitch me up, do you?” 

And that’s how you end up hunched over Batman’s limp body on the tiles of your bathroom floor — you had begged him to at least get there before the living room’s carpet was ruined without any means to salvage it — with an All That You Need If Batman Crashes Through Your Window! medical kit — a wonder that they make these and that Jenna paid a whopping thirty bucks to have it — while watching the shortest video you found on Youtube teaching how to stitch an open wound. Because while you’re a vet student, you still haven’t exactly gotten to this part of the practice just yet. 

“It’s scary that you haven’t even flinched since I started sewing your side close,” you murmur — the first thing you say to him after managing to get him laid down decently. You say it just to try to break the ice, feeling kinda pressured by the awkward silence. “Sorry, man, I’ll have to cut your suit open again. You’ve got a nasty cut on your ribs.” 

“What’s scary is that you’ve got all these Batman themed things,” he replies curtly. “The Bat-taser? The Bat-signal pants? This… abomination of a medical kit? I didn’t even know they made those.” 

You would’ve laughed loudly if you weren’t trying to make the stitches as even as possible. “That’s not on me– that’s on my roommate Jenna. She’s a big fan of yours. I’ll need you to sign her limited edition iridescent Bat-popcorn-bucket before you go, by the way.”

He blinks. “A Bat… what?”

“Bat-popcorn-bucket. It’s iridescent. It makes it look like you’re wearing a rainbow and she keeps it in a display box in her room just in case.” 

You take the scissors and cut away some more fabric, only to stop and squint at his abs. Now, don’t they look familiar… “So, Batsy… how are you holding up in these fantastic days of freedom for all the Arkham prisoners?”

He grunts — does this man know how to start a phrase without an animalistic sound? “Just what I needed for Christmas.” 

You hum, scanning his abdomen as if to understand how to better close the rib wound while you try to understand if your mind’s playing some trick on you or not. “It was just so nice of them to ruin Christmas for everyone, wasn’t it?” 

You dab some hydrogen peroxide on the cut on his ribs, “Don’t you have someone to spend Christmas with, anyway?” his response is kinda quipped, and if your suspicions are true, you might just know why — after all, Bruce does think you’re in Smallville as of now. Who knows what he’s thinking right now. 

You decide to test your theory. “Oh, yeah. My boyfriend’s in the bedroom, he was so tired from cooking all day that he just collapsed after dinner.”

His entire body freezes, and as he tries to sit up, you get your answers. “I have to go,” he mumbles hurriedly, “Scarecrow’s still out there–”

You place a firm hand on his chest, smirking as you inch closer to his face. “Huh-huh,” you tut, his eyebrows twisting in confusion, “where do you think you’re going, Bruce? I just started stitching this cut right here, and you’re not getting out of here unless you take a good nap.”

He raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

“Please,” you push him back onto the floor, “I would recognise these abs anywhere. By the way, the only thing sleeping in the next room is Jenna’s elderly hamster. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t even have the social skills needed to cheat on someone if I wanted to.”

He sighs, then presses a hand to his forehead and decides to drop the act. “What gave me away?”

“I told you,” you tap his abdomen, “those abs don’t lie. Besides, the way you reacted when I told you my boyfriend was in the bedroom sleeping? Whoof, you slipped right into my trap. Now, can I look into your baby blues or will I have to converse all night while looking at those ugly white lenses?”

He rips off his cowl, rising to his elbows  — and there he is, your handsome, so-tired looking loverboy. “I’m mad at you, by the way,” he says while glaring in your direction, “you told me you were in Smallville. I thought you were safe, and here you are — do you know how many home invasions I had to stop just these last two days in this area?” 

You blanch. “I’d prefer not to, thanks.” but you also raise an eyebrow, because you’re not about to lose an argument to a guy that outed his real identity because of abs and jealousy, “You told me you were in the Alps, by the way. In Switzerland. About… what, four-thousand miles away?” 

Bruce sighs, resigned. “I received word of the breakout just as I was flying above the Atlantic.” 

You tie the last stitch and cut the excess string, pressing a kiss on the wounded skin. “Well, I lost the 8 a.m. train but was too embarrassed about it to tell you. I guess we’re even.” 

You lean down to his level as he holds out an arm to brush your hair off your shoulder, “Oh, sweetheart, we’re always even.” his hand rests on the back of your neck as you two kiss hard, all spit and tongue — so much so that you lose yourself in the moment and press your side a little too hard on his cuts. 

He jumps, yelping in pain as you stare bemused. “Oh, so you do feel pain,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Thought you were some kind of robot programmed not to feel soreness for a second.” 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I’m still mad at you. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Thank goodness then that the guy crashing on my balcony wasn’t one of the Joker’s henchmen, no?” you frown, “Besides, why did you come here? For all you knew I wasn’t home.” 

“Well, missy, I wasn’t looking for you,” you feign a gasp of disbelief, “I was hoping to find that horrendous medical kid you told me about.”

You pinch his side — one of the parts not wounded, at least. “You were thinking about breaking in? What are you, a criminal?” 

He purses his lips. “I would’ve forced the lock, but I would have repaired it before you got back.” 

“Is that how you spend your fortune?” you murmur, defeated. “Fighting bad guys in your free time? That’s a pretty expensive hobby.” you suddenly remember something you had said to Clark — I don’t want you to be the man lying half-dead in a dark alley while I wonder why you’re so late to dinner. Would you look at that — you ended up with the same guy you told your ex to please not be. You’re not even too surprised about it — because sometimes, it does feel like Bruce is faking being dumber than he actually is. 

You let him go as soon as the sun peeks out from the horizon with a kiss on the lips and the promise of coming back later in the day, to autograph Jenna’s popcorn bucket, and while he later on keeps his promise, he makes sure to make you another Christmas gift other than the too-expensive necklace he already got you — and somehow manages to get all the criminals back in their cells by the time New Year’s Eve comes around. 

The lockdown ends, but all means of transportation are still off-limits thanks to a few well-placed explosions that went off in the last few days. That’s why you’re confused when Bruce tells you to pack a bag and come with him to the Archie Goodwill International Airport. “I mean, Bruce, we should be somewhere opening champagne bottles — not in a completely deserted airport looking for– what exactly are we looking for?” 

He chuckles, going for one of the hangars present at the launch track, the number 18 plastered on it. “Have you ever flown on a helicopter?”

You frown, “I’ve never flown like, ever.” you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s because your ex-boyfriend knew how to fly and you’d always hoped he would be the first one to take you flying. 

He takes out a key and opens the sliding door of the hangar — revealing, surprise surprise, a helicopter. “Well, get ready for your first flight, then.”

Flying is much more scary than you would’ve thought — especially because you really don’t know if you should trust Bruce at the wheel. All you know is that you’re holding onto the armrest for your life, hoping that he actually got the licence for flying and didn’t randomly purchase it one day. “Wh– where are we going?” you ask him, trembling, not even managing to look down from the window. 

He sends you a look, “Don’t worry, I would never crash the helicopter with you in it. About the place where we’re going, however– it’s a surprise.”

Barely an hour up in the air later you look out the window to see the helicopter landing in a familiar — too familiar — field, with the grass cut weirdly low. “Bruce, are we–?”

“In Smallville? Yeah, we are.”

Your whole face lights up. “No, you didn’t,” you jump on him, kissing everywhere you can reach, “oh, Bruce, thank you, thank you, thank you– mwah! You’re a real sweetheart, I don’t know how I ever managed to think that you were any less of a person than you are–” 

Needless to say, your parents are elated to see you — they did know about Bruce’s plan, hence why the grass was cut so short where you landed: they were his accomplices and made sure the soil was decent to land on. You’re so happy when you take a bite out of your mother’s pie that you could cry, and your boyfriend — is he? You still haven’t really talked about labels and such — looks not too far away from tears either. 

You spend at least two hours chatting away happily with your parents before Bruce coughs, taking his coat back from the hanger at the entrance. “Well, I think it’s time for me to go.”

Your mother raises an eyebrow, “Oh, but you can’t go! I’ve just put the sweet potatoes in the oven– besides, it’s already dark out there, you seriously wouldn’t want to fly that thing in complete darkness!”

Bruce looks at you, waiting for your approval — well, it was you who said that spending the holidays together at your parents’ was a step a little too big for just a month-long relationship — but you nod, smiling. “You were the one who brought me here, Bruce. C’mon, you gave Alfred the week off– surely you don’t want to be all alone during New Years’ Eve?” 

He relents, “Well, if you say so,” 

That’s how he ends up staying at your parent’s house against all predictions — and you won’t forget the kiss he gives you when the clock strikes midnight for a long, long time, that’s for sure. 

You two spend one week at the farm and another one in the Alps’ resort Bruce had planned to spend Christmas in, spending your time either skiing — tripping over the snow, in your case — or, an activity you appreciate much more, cozied up in the jacuzzi of your private suite. It’s also during this vacation that your relationship gets leaked, but surprisingly — apart from a call from an absolutely fuming Jenna (you had somehow managed to keep the relationship a secret from her) and one from a triumphant Kelly — you take the new wave of publicity suspiciously well. 

Because for the first time in months, you’re truly happy.

It’s the summer of the year later when he appears again. 

You’re on one of the Wayne's biggest yachts in Tenerife with Bruce, Kelly and Jenna — just as the prophecies predicted!, the latter had shrieked when you’d shared Bruce’s invite with her — sunbathing on the boat’s deck as your friends play mermaids in the water when you notice an unusual silence from the upper deck. 

You get up from your sunbed, raising your sunglasses up to your hair as you look for your boyfriend. “Bruce? Honey, is everything alright?” 

You find him seated on the plush couch of the lounge room, staring intently at the TV; you hug him from behind, leaving a kiss on his temple, “Did something happen in Gotham?”

He takes the remote and raises the volume, turning to look at you with a puzzled face. “Not exactly in Gotham.”

Looking up at the screen, you frown when you see the broadcaster. “DPN? Isn’t that the Daily Planet News channel?” 

“And things apparently just keep getting weirder in Metropolis, because after scarce apparitions and helping for some minor crimes the man that the citizens have lovingly dubbed as ‘Superman’ has just shown the public what he’s really capable of by preventing a building from falling onto the passers-by after an explosion cut the structure in half…”

Your heart skips a beat, and suddenly you begin to wonder what you must have done wrong in your life to end up not only with a vigilante boyfriend, but also a vigilante ex-boyfriend. You have to hold back not to slap your forehead in disbelief — really, Clark, and the glasses should be your mask? It’s the stupidest disguise you’ve ever seen, and you have no idea how no one connected Clark Kent — just starting his career as a reporter in the Daily Planet — and Superman — just starting his career as… you don’t know what he’s trying to be. 

You seem to have a magnet for too good-hearted guys, apparently. Bruce presses a kiss on your cheek, “I’ll worry about it when we get back. Don’t think too much about it, okay?”

You’re not ready to tell him your ex-boyfriend is the guy saving old ladies from having to carry their groceries alone — that would be a conversation for almost six months later, when the Justice League is formed — so you just smile at him and pretend to your best abilities that you don’t know anything.

The first time you see Clark Kent again after that morning at the cafè is five years after the start of his crusade as Superman. 

He’s one of the six reporters who were granted permission to be inside of Wayne Manor during the engagement party, briefly interviewing anyone he can talk to and taking notes of everything he thinks valuable on his little notepad. 

You? You’re the one who’s getting engaged. 

You’re wearing a silky white dress that fits you like a glove as you stand next to Bruce, talking to some WE associates, Dick patiently waiting for the conversation to end as he stays glued to your side, hugging your waist and pressing his cheek into your hip as you gently run your hands through his hair. Clark is expecting a one-of-a-kind rock on your ring finger, but is instead surprised with a simple white pearl adorned with two smaller ones on its sides — he did hear something about Bruce proposing with his mother’s ring, now that he thinks about it. 

Lois’ gone off to interview Lucius Fox when you notice him standing awkwardly to the side, scrambling with his notebook and looking around. You excuse yourself from the conversation, giving a little smile to Bruce, nudging Dick with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to come and meet an old friend of mine, bubba?” he nods, eager to please, and lets your waist go in favour of your hand. 

You approach Clark with the confidence of someone who doesn’t hold any grudges when they should. “Hi, Clark,” you greet him like you two are old friends that meet again — and even if you technically are, you’re also so much more than that. You hold out your hand — again, like you were just good old friends catching up — and he has to force himself to shake it instead of tackling you into a hug. “Have you seen my parents? I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you– it’s been a while.” 

You nudge Dick from behind you, gently holding him by the shoulders in front of you, “Dick, this is Clark, the old friend I was telling you about. Clark, this is Dick, my son.” 

As the child holds out a hand and excitedly says “Hullo!”, Clark tries not to think about how weird it is that he’s still trying to figure out his life while you just have a whole ass kid — adopted, but still. It’s clear how much you have taken into the role of mother. “Hi, Dick,” he says as kindly as possible, not really believing that the Robin who beats up criminals during the night beside the fearsome Batman is the same kid who hides behind his mother during formal events. 

Said kid raises his eyebrows in curiosity, looking up at you, “What kind of friends are you, anyways?” he asks, knowing all too well about your distaste for reporters and journalists alike. 

“The kind that goes way back,” you reply easily with a chuckle, “me and Clark grew up together, bubba.”  

“Oooh,” he ushers, “does that mean you also know nana and gramps?”

Guessing that he’s talking about your parents, Clark chuckles a bit before nodding, “That I do, champ.” 

“Aren’t they the coolest people you know?” Dick rambles excitedly, “last time gramps took me a ride on his tractor and it was so fun! Besides, they have this dog–” he turns to look at you, “Batman’s here, isn’t he?”

Clark’s eyebrows shoot up to his airline. He knew the kid was talkative, but he didn’t think he would be able to out Bruce like that. You laugh, “Yeah, I think I saw him earlier somewhere in the garden with Ace. It’s a miracle the both of them still have their tuxedo collars.” you then look at your old flame, a playful smirk on your face, “Don’t worry, Batman’s my parents' golden retriever.” 

“Ooh,” he sighs in relief, “for a moment there I wondered why Gotham’s most famous vigilante was playing with Bruce Wayne’s dog, and how exactly to phrase it in my article,” a terribly awkward silence follows. 

You shift your gaze to Dick, “Hey, Dickie, why don’t you–”

“Hello! Good evening!” a man with blazing red hair and a whole lot of freckles on his face runs up to the two of you, nudging Clark with an elbow as if clearly saying, please please pleaseeeee introduce me. He’s one of the reporters, you notice, with the press pass and a Canon slung over his neck. He kinda looks like a kid in a candy shop — eyes shining with excitement and almost jumping up and down on his feet. 

Clark sighs, “This is Jimmy Olsen, one of my coworkers from the Daily Planet,” 

The guy grins and holds out his hand, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” his fingers are a bit sweaty, “I’m a great fan.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid bursting out in laughter, “Oh, I’m flattered,”

“May I take a picture of the two of you?” it’s clear it was what he had wanted to ask since he saw you and Dick talking to Clark. You look at your son, and he grins up at you with glee. You smile, “Of course,”

You lower yourself a bit and cross your arms over his chest while pressing your chin to the top of his head, smiling widely — and you don’t doubt that he’s smiling with all he’s got too, hands holding your forearms, showing the window his last canine that fell out left. Jimmy snaps a little more than one pictures, but gets interrupted by a voice from behind you, “I hope you aren’t hogging the missus too much, boys,” 

It’s Bruce — of course it is, he’s been staring since you got out of that conversation twenty minutes ago — and he slings an arm around your waist as you rise from your position. Jimmy sits up straighter like his drill sergeant just entered the room — you’re surprised he doesn’t do the salute. “Sir,” he starts, “it is an honor–”

“Clark,” Bruce casually shakes the man’s hand, to his coworker’s utter disbelief. Technically, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne don’t know each other, but it’s another story for Batman and Superman. “A pleasure to meet you — this pretty girl right here told me a lot of stories about the two of you growing up together."

Jimmy’s mouth falls open. His gaze turns to his coworker with an accusation that could only be described as treacherous. Clark smiles awkwardly, “Yeah, well–”

“You’re a photographer, aren’t you?” the Brucie Wayne persona isn’t trained to hold his attention on just one person at once, so he immediately switches his charming smile to Jimmy, “Why don’t you take a few photos of us? We’re a real nice picture to see,” he draws you closer to him by the waist, “Especially my soon-to-be wife.” 

Jimmy doesn’t let him repeat that, snapping a couple — more like a dozen — of pictures of Bruce holding you close to him while his other hand is as occupied as yours, sitting on Dick’s shoulder as he stands between the two of you, grinning ear to ear. 

“So, Clark,” you start when Jimmy stops snapping pictures, eyeing the other reporter from the Daily Planet — was it Lane? — from the other side of the room, “is that your girlfriend? You two looked pretty close earlier.” 

It’s meant to be a friendly remark, said with nothing but a happy tone, but Clark almost chokes on his saliva. “Oh, I mean–”

You raise an eyebrow, “Please,” you laugh out, “Don’t tell me she’s just a friend, because I’d be nearly as devastated as she would.”

He huffs with a little smile. “I’m… working on it.” 

You smirk. “That’s a good thing. Bruce here has got something for you that could help in your romantic quest.” you nudge your fianceè with your elbow as Dick snickers, “Don’t you, honey?”

He grumbles, looking with a frown at Clark — it’s not that their relationship isn’t good, it’s just that… he wasn’t really the happiest with your decision. “I do, actually,” he takes out an envelope and passes it to Clark with gritted teeth. “I’m… delighted… to invite you to our wedding.”

“As a friend, and with the possibility to bring a plus one,” you add, hand squeezing Bruce’s bicep, “not as press– there won’t be any, by the way.” you roll your eyes towards your boyfriend, “He’ll insist on making you sign an NDA, but I’m sure that you wouldn’t write anything about it nonetheless.” 

He blushes deep red, “Oh, no, no, I would never–”

“Clark.” you giggle as you interrupt him, “It was a joke. Nobody’s going to make you sign an NDA,”

“Yet,” Bruce grumbles. 

You ignore him. “It was a joke between friends,” you aren’t implying anything in your words — you’re sincere. After all these years, that’s what you see Clark as, and it would be sad not having him or his family at the wedding. You’ve already sent the invites to the Kents: only Clark was missing. 

You hold your hand out to him, hopeful. “We are friends, aren’t we?” 

I loved you, and I’ll always love you– but I’m trying to get over you, and you need to understand that. I can’t do that if you call me just now after ghosting twenty of my calls and voicemails. I’m sure we’ll find a balance in some years when you get back — maybe even be friends again — but please… don’t call.

He takes your hand and shakes it with a soft smile. “Friends.”

if you've managed to read all the way down here, congratulations! have some memes:

[neteiam]

BESIDE ME

you aim to become the olo’eykte, but your rival wants you as his tsahik when he becomes the olo’eyktan instead.

warnings : (18+ MDNI), neteyam x omatikaya fem!reader, mature themes, explicit s3xual content, strong language, violence, rivals to lovers, he fell first she fell harder, SLOW burn, power struggle, secret identity (mangkwan), injury, panic attack, egoistic & sassy (naive) reader, sensual massaging, misunderstanding, softdom!reader, sub!neteyam, begging, MANYYY smut (P in V), both are freaked out, dry hmping, oral (f receiving), neteyam is a desperate 😺 eater, and LOWKEY a pervert man, riding, light choking, edging, fingering, handjob, overstimulation, praise k1nk, dirty talk, he talks u thru it 👅, pet names, jealousy, light possessiveness, light degradation, teasing, marking, risk of getting caught, etc. I NEED TO SHUT UP

a/n : ok that was a lot anyways i had to somehow insert mangkwan neteyam, just take this as ur reference. this was originally supposed to be around 30k words but i didn’t wanna overwhelm anyone so i removed some parts 😖 i was a bit nervous about posting something that long esp since it’s a slow burn, hopefully the smut partS made up for it 😩

wc : 24k imsorry (no proofread)

Ever since you were a child, you only had one goal in mind, to become like your father.

An Olo’eykte, that was what you wanted to become, as when you were younger, your father would often tell you about his story. How he once aimed to become Olo’eyktan of the clan, but was not strong enough to reach that position.

From that on, you decided you would continue what he couldn’t.

There’s even a motto you dedicated yourself to: carry forward what your father began.

Your parents were always as supportive, especially since you were an only child. They gave you praise freely, often reinforcing every step you took without doubt.

And that kind of attention turned you into who you are.

Now, you’re known as one of the most capable huntresses in the clan. People speak of your name when asked about skilled ones, those who can do both hunt and treat wounds.

You can track, fight, and heal when needed, moving between roles depending on what the situation demands.

Because of that, praise has followed you for most of your life. It became expected even, and over time it built the attitude you now carry.

“Y/n, that’s your eleventh cup already. Stop before your father drags you out of here himself.”

You only grinned wider, slamming the wooden cup back down on the table and asking for another pour. “Pey’, what are ya sayin’? Thiz is greatuh!” The elders around you laughed along, more excited than concerned as you kept going.

You just returned from a successful mission and the celebration quickly turned into something louder than expected when Jake approved of it. Praise kept coming from every direction, and you just stood in the middle of it.

“Don’t mind them, y/n!” One of the elders said, making Peyrral let out a tiny gasp.

“The mighty huntress!”

“Drink! Drink! Drink!”

Peyrral groaned as she stood nearby with arms crossed, watching the entire scene with annoyance, Vetxo just stood beside her.

An elder lifted you onto his shoulders, cheering and praising you like it was a ceremony. Your face had turned flushed, your smile stuck in that exaggerated pleased expression you always made when praise piled up too much.

“These old hags need to stop feeding her ego like this,” Peyrral muttered, glaring at the group. She uncrossed her arms immediately when an elder bumped her shoulder while passing.

“Yer jus’ jealous, lil one! Let ‘er enjoy ze moment. She earned it, did je nah?”

Peyrral scoffed, “Unbelievable, can barely even understand a word…” Vetxo tilted her head, before clearing her throat to speak. “He said we’re jealous of Y/n. That we should let her enjoy herself while it lasts.”

“I am NOT jealous of y/n! Mind you, I only had two cups. I would never let myself turn into that.” She gestured toward you. “Look at her. She has training tomorrow, right? Enlighten me how she’ll function!”

“She just usually does.” Vetxo shrugged. “Let’s just wait until the noise settles, then take her home after.”

Peyrral pouted, but didn’t retort. Both of them stayed where they were, watching over you as the celebration continued a little longer.

It only grew louder as more elders fed into the atmosphere around you. Drums echoed again, voices overlapping, the whole clan caught in the energy of your success.

“Enough.”

It was a voice that carried immediately, cutting through the fun. The drumming stopped mid-beat, and the noise began to settle as everyone turned toward the source.

There, Neteyam stood at the edge of the gathering. “It’s already past midnight. Please lower the noise as others are resting.”

The man holding you on his shoulder quickly lowered you back down. You stumbled when your feet hit the ground. “Hey!” You hit the old man, before preparing yourself turning toward Neteyam.

“There he is,” you said, tilting your head with a smirk. “The party-pooper. Why do you always do this, man? Afraid I’m getting more attention than you?”

Neteyam gently took your hand and lowered it away from him without hesitation. “No one is envious of you. I am simply asking for respect toward those who are already taking a rest.”

“So yes,” you added, turning back to the crowd, “he’s a party-pooper!”

The crowd laughed along, Neteyam exhaled through his nose, used to you pushing boundaries like this.

“She’s not entirely wrong, Neteyam,” one of the elders called out. “Come join us. You worked the mission as well.”

“C’mon, Neteyam!”

“Drink with us!”

Neteyam gave a small, respectful bow of his head. “I do not drink. I apologize.”

The reaction was immediate. A mix of laughter and disappointment spread through the group. “Boo!”

“Excuse me?” Neteyam asked, taken aback as the crowd reacted like that.

“One night won’t kill you!”

“You’re with the clan’s finest tonight. Do not refuse it!”

You crossed your arms, watching him with amusement. “Wanna see who can handle more drinks, pretty boy?”

Neteyam looked down at you for a moment, expression unreadable as you smirked confidently up at him. There was a pause, like he was considering it only long enough to make a decision.

“No.”

You flinched. “No?!”

“I will not participate in a drinking competition. Especially not when we have training tomorrow under the Olo’eyktan. You should also be resting instead of prolonging this gathering.” He glanced at the crowd, then back at you. “It would be wiser if you returned as well.”

You stared at him for a second, like you were processing what he just said and deciding which part annoyed you more.

“‘WiSeR’?” you mocked. “Are you insinuating that I can’t handle a night out, Neteyam?” A few people nearby quieted a little, sensing the shift in your tone. “I just came back from a full mission wherein I led, fought, healed people on the way back, and you’re standing here telling me to go rest like I’m some child?”

Neteyam didn’t react, only watched you like he was waiting for you to finish before responding properly. “That’s not what I said, Y/n. I am simply saying you’re overextending yourself unnecessarily.”

You scoffed. “No, that’s exactly what you’re saying. You always do this. You talk like I need to be managed. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

People exchanged looks, unsure whether to laugh or stop the argument.

“You think I’m incapable of deciding for myself just because I’m not standing here acting all stiff like you?”

Neteyam frowned as he lowered his voice enough for you to hear. “That’s not what I think. You’re not making a proper decision right now. You’re not sober, at least drink water, there are children nearby watching you speak to me like this.”

Your eyes squinting at that, “Then stop making this difficult. If you don’t want me to be celebrated, then go back to whatever duty you have and stop trying to act like you’re competing with me for the position.”

Neteyam’s eyes widened at the accusation. “That’s not—”

“You don’t have authority over me,” you cut in instantly, stepping closer without hesitation, whispering next to his ear. “Just because you’re the Olo’eyktan’s son doesn’t mean you can order me or my people around like this.”

Peyrral leaned toward Vetxo, lowering her voice. “Should we stop them?” Vetxo watched the two then shook her head once.

“Let’s not.”

-

That night did not end well. The news of your argument reached the Olo’eyktan faster than either of you expected, and by morning, both you and Neteyam were kneeling in front of him.

The punishment was simple: clean the village, no ikran flying, and assist with any work for a full week.

For Neteyam, it wan’t harsh. He had endured stricter consequences before when a clan discipline was involved. He assumed this would pass quickly, he also thought you’d treat it the same way.

You didn’t.

“But sir—”

“No buts, Y/n,” Jake cut in, “One complaint and I will extend it to a full moon.”

That shut you up, your mouth closed. You stayed still, arms tense, glaring down at the ground.

Jake looked between you both, “If I hear another issue from either of you, involving each other, I’ll deal with it more strictly next time.”

He sighed, palming his face. “I’m being lenient as we have active missions and need capable hands. So, for now, your usual duties will be redistributed. The people will compensate for your absence during this period.”

The two of you nodded along.

“Your punishment starts tomorrow. If there are no questions, and there must not be! Then, you’re dismissed.”

You stepped out of the kelku, and your hands were still fisted at your sides. You were clearly sulking, irritated with energy spilling out with every step while Neteyam followed behind with distance.

“Y/n—”

“Do not.” You turned the moment he said your name, cutting him off. “As you can see, I’m very much livid. This punishment wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t acting like an asshole.”

Neteyam stared at you. “Listen. We received this because we were both involved in that argument.” He took a small step closer. “We can still complete the tasks efficiently if we cooperate…”

“I don’t know, Neteyam,” you said, “I do not think ill be able to focus with you nearby. I’d rather complete this alone. No offense.”

No offense taken… Was what he wanted to say, right before he watched you walk away from him without looking back.

Neteyam understands that you view him as a rival for leadership, but he never saw himself as competing against you. While he once pursued the role of Olo’eyktan out of duty to his family and clan, his feelings eventually changed, and he began imagining a future where the two of you would lead together, with him as Olo’eyktan and you as Tsahik by his side.

It wasn’t something he planned, and definitely not something he would say out loud just yet. Because if you ever heard him say that, you would laugh at his face.

Because truly, how could he fall for someone who has always made it clear she cannot stand his presence?

But despite your behavior toward him, Neteyam had always admired your strength, beauty, and ability to stand alongside the best hunters of the clan. Because the two of you were constantly paired together throughout your training, his admiration deepened into something far more personal.

But things didn’t turn in his favor.

You didn’t simply dislike him, you seemed to want him out of the way entirely, beneath you, and no longer a threat. As far as he understood, the reason was that you knew he was pursuing the same leadership position you wanted for yourself.

-

“This is what you get for arguing with the golden son.”

You groaned, letting the broom drop to the ground. “Drop it already, Pey’. I’ve had enough scolding entering my very smart brain today.”

“How long does this punishment even last?”

You crossed your arms right back, mimicking her stance without thinking. “A whole week! Which means I’ll miss the exchange with the Tawkami clan, and I won’t meet the Tsahìk of the Metkayina.”

You panicked over the possibility of missing two major once-in-a-lifetime events and started spiraling, only for them both to point out that you were already losing your mind over it.

“Please, you guys have to help me get out of this!”

Vetxo glanced at you, leaning back against the rock. “What can you do?”

“I can like… clean the village, take whatever job they throw at me, and I’m not even allowed to see Seya.”

Peyrral dismissed your complaint about your ikran, questioning why it was even part of your punishment, you agreeing as fast, then she suggested you spend your time helping the healers since it was one of your strengths anyway.

Vetxo looked at her, then back at you. “No. I suggest you try something else.”

“I already know everything, Vet.” you scoffed, flipping your hair. Both of them stared at you, judging. “…Continue.”

“There’s one thing you’re not good at.”

“Yeah? Name one!”

“Weaving.”

You froze for a second, you slapped your knee then laughed like she had just told a ridiculous joke. “Right. Okay. So I think I’ll go with Pey’s idea. I’ve always said she gives better ideas than you anyway. So Im definitely doimg what she said.”

“Actually, I agree with Vetxo.”

You quickly rejected the idea of weaving, insisting that you despised it, but Vetxo said that you’d have to learn it eventually considering it’d be necessary for making your future children’s loincloths, you shut the idea down entirely, insisting that you weren’t having children.

Peyrral watched you with mild irritation, “But you want the Olo’eykte position. You’ll have to… continue your line.”

“Then I’ll be the one to end that tradition.”

Peyrral threatened to extend your punishment if you kept babbling, forcing you to bite back your tongue. Reluctantly giving in, you agreed to go before your frustration got any worse.

You headed toward the weaving kelku with Peyrral and Vetxo, continuing to complain on the way. Convinced that nobody actually enjoyed weaving, you tried to persuade them to stay and suffer through the work with you.

“Girls? What brings you here?” one of the women asked, hands pressing against her cheeks. “You’ve come at a fortunate time, we have very few commissions for this week.”

“Good day! and that’s wonderful to hear, ma’am,” Peyrral replied, “Though we’re not here for an accessory.”

Vetxo nodded. “We’ve come to offer our dearest friend to your care, if it’d please you of course. She has been… quite eager to lend her hands among your work.”

“Is that so?”

“She even insisted that we bring her here ourselves. She said, and I quote, ‘I’m rather shy to ask the kind women on my own…’”

Peyrral and Vetxo shamelessly exaggerated your reputation in front of the weavers, much to your annoyance. When the weaver asked who you were, the two presented you to her, leaving you no choice but to put on a sweet smile and introduce yourself politely.

“Oh my… Y/n?” the woman gasped, covering her mouth as the others turned toward you as well. “Don’t youhave training today?”

You tried to answer but Peyrral stepped in and claimed your training had been rescheduled, adding that you were so dedicated to serving the clan that you couldn’t rest without finding another way to contribute.

The woman was convinced by her explanation and assumed you came to help for the day, but before you could confirm it, your friends eagerly volunteered you for an entire week instead.

“Oh my,” the woman beamed. “That’s very generous of you, Y/n! I shall make sure the Olo’eyktan hears of this.”

“Yes…”

“Thank you so much, Lady Ka’li,” Peyrral hugged the lady, then bowed her head. “We shall leave her. We trust she will be of great help to your hands, especially as she prepares to serve our clan in the future.”

Before you could protest, Peyrral shoved you toward the weavers and dramatically bid you farewell, teasing that she and Vetxo would miss working with you.

After that, you watched the two walk away from the kelku, even humming to themselves as if they hadn’t just abandoned you.

You stood there for a moment, jaw tight, before turning back to the women who were still smiling at you with clear fondness. “Please, do tell how I may be of assistance.”

The weavers explained that there was little work available due to a lack of recent commissions which gave you hope that you’d have an easy week. Unfortunately, thanks to your friends’ exaggerated claims about your eagerness to help, they decided to keep you occupied anyway.

‘Those bitches…!’

“We would rather have you stay with us!”

“Let us get to know you better.”

“That’s right!!”

Your relief vanished as the weavers immediately overwhelmed you with endless questions. Though internally frustrated, you maintained a polite smile and composed posture while enduring the interrogation.

“Tell us, dear… has anyone ever caught your eye yet?”

Another leaned in right after. “Or are you already looking for a mate at this time?”

When the conversation turned toward courtship, you insisted that finding a mate wasn’t a priority, emphasizing your ambitions as the future Olo’eykte. Even when asked about the upcoming courting moons, you made it clear that you would only participate if it didn’t interfere with your responsibilities.

Then they brought up having children which you dismissed the idea, explaining that your priorities were centered on serving the clan.

“And the Tsahik path? You’re skilled with healing.”

“My father taught me what real duty looks like. I won’t settle for less when I can do more.” You smirked.

“...What do you think of Olo'eyktan's son?”

You answered. “Lo’ak is… hardheaded. He acts before he thinks. But I guess he can do well if scolded enough.”

“And Neteyam?”

“He follows his duty well, it’s commendable.”

“Do you find him… attractive?”

The question carried more weight, but you answered honestly anyway, confused as to why it was being asked. You described Neteyam as a constant obstacle to your focus, viewing him primarily as a rival because the two of you were pursuing the same leadership position.

You shrugged again, “Although he’s strong, sure. Not useless like most of the boys.” The ladies nodded watching you lean back. “So I’ll say this… he’s competent. But I’m still better at what I do.”

You looked at the ladies, seeing them still waiting for an answer. “But attractive? I dont think about it that deeply. If someone’s worth noticing, they usually know it already. Like me, I know I’m strong, so I believe that I’m attractive!” You grinned, touching your cheeks.

When the weavers mentioned that your admiration for strength meant you found Neteyam attractive, you rejected the comparison, insisting that no one, including him, operated on your level.

“Kindly answer straightforwardly!”

“Listen. If I call myself beautiful, which I already am, that doesn’t mean I’m strong. But if I call myself strong, then it naturally includes being beautiful, because in my vocabulary, strength is part of what makes someone appealing. So yes, I’m attractive because I’m strong. That’s the baseline, and it doesn’t extend outward. Other people being strong doesn’t automatically place them anywhere near my level of attractiveness.”

The lady gasped, “But you said you find yourself attractive because you ARE strong, and you said he’s strong too. So technically—”

You argued that strength and attractiveness were separate qualities, insisting that acknowledging someone else’s strength didn’t mean you viewed them as equally attractive as you. Confident in your own beauty, you ended up questioning the matchmakers if they doubted your attractiveness.

“Oh no, Y/n, you’re attractive!”

“There’s no doubt about that!”

“Do you find him cute at least?!”

“He’s… alright.” You nodded.

The ladies finally let out a sigh of relief as they had finally extracted something usable out of you after all that vague logic.

“But I’m the cutest, so I couldn’t care less!”

-

It has been four days since you and Neteyam began serving your punishment. Since then, you’ve only been allowed to watch your people enjoy themselves during evening gatherings while you’re assigned to cleaning duties, with the elders teasing you as they pass by and you snapping back at them.

You’re also growing aware of Seya, your ikran, whom you haven’t seen in days. The absence sits in the back of your mind, but you take some relief knowing Peyrral and Vetxo have been taking it upon themselves to feed and check on her while you’re occupied.

“Yeah, and just so you know, Seya is pregnant.”

“What?!”

You dropped the stick holding one of the finest meats within the clan, the food falling against the ground as Vetxo spoke. Your head snapped toward her, completely thrown off by the statement.

“I said… Seya is pregnant. Your ikran?”

You were shocked that everyone seemed to know something you completely missed, saying you would’ve noticed if there had been signs. Vetxo pointed out that while you noticed the anger, you failed to understand what was actually causing it, leaving you demanding to know who the mate was.

They exchanged a look, confirming something without words. Vetxo gave a small nod, letting Peyrral speak instead. “We’re guessing… Neteyam’s ikran.”

You sat up fast, already pacing. “When did this even happen? I shouldn’t have left her alone with his… that bird in that cave weeks ago. I knew something was off. Neteyam must’ve planned this.”

“Are you serious?” Both of them spoke at the same time.

You believed he had been trying to compete with or undermine you, complaining about how much he had irritated you over the past weeks, that eveb his suggestion that the two of you work together sounded like a move, leaving your friends stunned by how you actually misunderstood his intentions.

“What are you going to do then?” Vetxo asked.

“I’m going to put some sense into that golden son’s brain.” You clenched your fist, deciding the outcome of the conversation in your head.

“Y/n, shouldn’t you check on Seya first and see how she’s doing?” Peyrral asked. You scoffed and turned away. “I am going to see her.”

Except you didn’t.

You had only one goal that night, and it was to find Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.

It didn’t take long for you to find him helping the cooks prepare food for the clan. You then marched straight up to him, knocked your shoulder into his to get his attention.

“Follow me. Now.”

Noticing your mood, Neteyam followed you into the forest, but you stopped him before he could get too close. Turning to face him, “Haven’t you heard my ikran is pregnant?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened before softening, a small smile forming as he looked at you. “That’s… a good thing. Congratulations.”

“What do you mean congratulations?!”

“Did you not want your ikran to be pregnant?”

“Your bird impregnated mine!”

“W-what do you want me to do then?” Neteyam stiffened at your grip on his wrist,

You demanded that he have your punishment removed, but he told you that he couldn’t just ignore clan protocols. But you pressed him further, frustrated by the restrictions and especially by the fact that Seya is still with her ‘pervert’ mate.

“Teyu isn’t a pervert,” he defended, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at you when you insulted his brother.

“I don’t KNOW, Neteyam!” you shot back, tightening your grip on his wrist. Before he could argue again, you yanked him forward, dragging him along the path.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, trying to match your pace without actually resisting you too hard.

“To your father’s kelku.”

“That isn’t something we just walk into—”

“It’ll be!”

-

“What’s this?”

You straightened, stepping forward with way too much confidence for the situation, “This is our offering. Mine and Neteyam’s. Mostly mine, let’s be honest.”

You pressed a hand against Neteyam’s arm, “In exchange to lifting our punishment, because clearly there has been a VERY serious incident involving his bird and mine.”

Neteyam sighed as you continued, “She’s pregnant, sir. P-reg-na-nt. And I demand, respectfully, the mother be allowed to see her child.” you crossed your arms.

Jake just stared at you. “Say that again.”

A sudden breeze made your confidence falter, so you shoved Neteyam forward to deal with his father instead.

“Dad— Sir,” he corrected, clearing his throat as he tried to gather himself. “Teyu and Seya… they mated without me and Y/n knowing. I was also surprised when she told me, as I didb’t sense anything from my ikran that suggested… this.”

Jake questioned how either of you knew about the pregnancy if you were forbidden from seeing them. You stepped in to defend yourself, insisting that the information came from your friends and that you had followed the punishment without breaking the rules.

“Really now, y/n?”

“Yes, sir! I’ve been nothing but a dedicated huntress in carrying out this punishment that was bestowed upon me by Toruk Makto himself. You may ask the weavers yourself, even they kept going on about how fortunate they are to have me working for them. I mean, anyone would feel lucky to have me around.”

Neteyam almost wanted to palm his face, looking at you as you speak, now pouting up at his father, “Unless you, Sir, no longer see my value and would rather risk our people in the middle of a war. Then… I suppose someone has to be sacrificed eventually…”

“Y/n, you’re speaking to the Olo’eyktan. Be polite,” Neteyam whispered under his breath. you shot him a glare. “I’m being polite, golden boy.”

You redirected your attention to Jake, asking for permission to see Seya. After a long, weary sigh, he finally motioned for both of you to come inside and continue the discussion.

Neteyam remained distracted by his father’s reaction, assuming the disappointment stemmed from a simple breach of protocol. You, on the other hand, cared about none of that as you brought up Seya again.

“I know, Y/n, I just need the two of you to listen before I decide what to do with your punishment.”

Once you were settled, Jake revealed that he would have to postpone both the exchange with the Tawkami and the meeting with the Metkayina, signaling that something serious had come up.

Your head snapped up instantly. “What?!”

“How come, sir?”

Jake’s jaw tightened before he answered. “I was informed by our sky-watchers that there’s a possibility that Mangkwan may make a move. We’re of course preparing for a potential intrusion, and I need all available warriors ready.”

Your tail flicked hard behind you before you could stop it as you heard the name of the clan. He paused then added, “That includes lifting your punishment early. You two are needed back in active duty.”

Neteyam understood where the conversation was leading, his surprise evident as he began to piece it together. Jake then confirmed his suspicion, assigning both of you to a covert mission that would require infiltrating Mangkwan territory.

While the mission itself didn’t intimidate you, the thought of going to their territory brought Seya to mind, what unsettled you was the worry that your ikran wouldn’t be safe in her current condition.

As if catching the same concern, Neteyam spoke up, “But Sir… our ikran…”

Jake then expressed his disappointment that neither of you had noticed what was happening with your ikrans, reminding you that your bond should’ve made you aware of changes like these. As you and Neteyam reacted uneasily, he made it clear that this disconnect was a serious issue that needed to be addressed before either of you could be trusted with a mission inside the enemy’s territory.

You two were dismissed that night. Now you stood inside the council gathering, surrounded by warriors, hunters, and elders who watched your every movement as the map lay spread across the center table. The clan’s artists had marked routes, terrain details, and territory lines, waiting for your input.

Your finger traced a path across the ground route marked on the map. “Hence, I have decided that infiltrating their base on foot would benefit us. We’ll move inside their base, gather information directly from within the clan, and see if they’re preparing an attack. The process, you can leave that to us.”

An elder leaned forward. “Can you at least tell us what you have planned? This is a dangerous task, and if anything happens to you two, it’ll be harsh for your ikrans who are already in a compromised state due to its mating season.”

“The Mangkwan are nothing but a problem that needs solving,” you said, stepping closer to the map. “I will be the one to do it properly. For my clan.”

Neteyam glanced at you, but you ignored him and pointed at the route, ears still pinned back. No one else seemed to notice the small shift in your posture.

You presented a plan to infiltrate the Mangkwan by disguising yourselves with matching pigments and fully adapting to their appearance and behavior. Based on your observations, you explained that their leadership seemed to rely more on fear.

You reiterated your request for the artists to prepare materials that would allow you and Neteyam to mimic their appearance as accurately as possible for the mission.

“Daughter… Are you certain of this?”

You answered with confidence when your father approached you, insisting that gathering information was the least you should be capable of if you hoped to lead one day.

“I’ll protect y/n, sir.” Neteyam nodded to your father and you glared at him before paying attention again to the feedback of the elder.

“How will you execute this plan?”

You stepped forward again as your hand hovered over the map. “One of our sky-watchers reported that they hold nightly gatherings, similar to ours. That’s where we enter, when they’re distracted.”

The plan was to depart before nightfall and enter during active movement, allowing you two to blend. You intended to take the lower forest route despite the difficult terrain, using the thick canopy and uneven ground to mask your presence and disrupt recognizable sound patterns. Once inside the territory, the priority would be observation, studying their behavior, speech, and mannerisms closely enough to imitate them.

The others nodded, exchanging glances as your plan began to settle in their minds. For once, it didn’t sound like you were charging headfirst into danger, but walking into it with purpose.

After explaining more details, you crossed your arms and gave a small shrug. “and that’s how a very capable and quite frankly deserving Olo’eykte executes a properly calculated plan. Otherwise, I’m not convinced any other approach here would work as effectively.”

The mood eventually went down.

While the council acknowledged the plan was well thought out, concerns were raised about the risks of sending their own people deep into enemy territory without support.

However, Neteyam stepped forward before you could respond. “Her plan is structured and it accounts for Mangkwan behavior. I’ll ensure the execution remains controlled.”

You let out a scoff, crossing your arms tighter as you glanced at him before looking back at the council.

“Since it has been said, yes, my plan is structured. Obviously. I’ve delivered results every time I was given responsibility, it’s only logical that I’d continue to do so. If anything, this is the safest way you’re gonna get information without losing more people… especially the great ones, me!”

You were fortunate to have the clan supporting you and your plan, as they should. What caught your attention more was how quick everything began moving the moment you finished speaking.

The thought of leaving for the mission without Seya weighed heavily on you. For someone who shared such a deep bond with their ikran, the separation settled uncomfortably in your chest.

You reflected on Seya’s behavior lately and realized the signs had been there all along, from her unusual restlessness to changes in her appetite. What you had once dismissed as exhaustion now seemed far more significant in hindsight.

Vetxo who sat beside you spoke, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your girl,” she reassured you, glancing toward the direction where Seya had been secured.

You exhaled at her words, the tension in your shoulders eased. Even if you wouldn’t say it out loud, you trusted them with her more than you trusted most things right now.

-

“Ow! Not so tight, old hag!”

You let out a sharp hiss as Ikeyni tightened your braid with no mercy, pulling your hair back with force.

Ikeyni, Olo’eykte of the Tayrangi Clan, didn’t flinch at your complaint. “Shut your mouth, skxawng. Didn’t you say you wanted to blend in? If they find beauty within the clan, you’re gonna get your ass slapped.”

“They’ll slap my what?!”

“Your butt, dummy.”

“But why would they slap my butt?”

“It was just… an expression.”

You continued anyway, completely confused. “How come people here aren’t slapping my butt though? I’ve always been called the epitome of beauty. What about you? Do you wanna slap my butt?”

Ikeyni went still for half a second, then looked at you like she was regretting ever opening her mouth that led the conversation here. “No.”

After getting your hair done, the right side was slicked tightly back against your scalp, it almost felt uncomfortable with how still it was. The left side remained looser and layered, falling over your eye as the artists worked, giving you that look of mimic.

You remained still as the weavers completed your transformation, having already prepared your skin with an ash soak before layering grey-blue pigments carefully across your body to mimic Mangkwan coloring. Once finished, you stepped out in the new garments, adjusting to the unfamiliar feel, only for your gaze to fall on the materials and a clear look of disgust to cross your face.

The top was barely anything, a thin wrap secured tightly around your chest, more like a bandage than actual clothing.

“Check you out. Looking pretty decorated.” Vetxo tilted her head, giving Peyrral a slow examination as she adjusted one of her fallen straps.

“Only now do you decide to look at me?” Peyrral grinned as she let Vetxo fix her lace.

“Stolen things usually don’t get my attention, you see.”

“Good thing I took this from y/n then.”

From a short distance away, you let out a groan while still trying to adjust the tight band across your breasts. “You guys look at this! These are suffocating my babies.”

“You wanted to lead missions like this, did you not?” Peyrral nodded once in agreement. “Consider this part of your properly calculated plan.”

You were about to enter enemy territory, the Mangkwan’s own ground, and for the first time since the plan began forming, small doubts started to creep in at the edges of your mind.

“I know you guys would miss me but dont miss me too much…”

They joked that they could finally experience peace again now that you’re leaving, you laughed it off, pinched both of them in retaliation, and stepped back.

Later, Mo’at stepped forward once the clan had gathered, she lifted her hand, eyes moving between you and Neteyam. “Eywa hears what is spoken, and what is not.” Her hand lowered, resting near you and Neteyam’s chest. “May Eywa walk beside you when your eyes cannot see clearly, may she steady your breath when your spirit wavers, and may she return you to us when your task is done.”

You stood there, you felt your father step closer beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with an expression that didn’t quite hide his worry.

“You will come back…” he muttered. His hand rested on your shoulders before pulling away. You gave a small nod, “Of course.”

On the other side, Neteyam stood with his family gathered close. Neytiri reached up to adjust something near his shoulder, his siblings lingered, Tuk had already wrapped herself around his leg, holding on tightly while Kiri stood at his side, her hand wrapped around his forearm, then Lo'ak stayed just in front of him, trying to keep out of the cheesy moments, but it slipped the moment Neteyam reached out and placed a hand on his head.

You and Neteyam moved through the forest in silence, both alert as you scanned the surroundings, with him keeping his bow ready and carrying both your supplies. You took the lead, unwilling to place yourself behind anyone, while he followed eith no protest after insisting on carrying your bag as a sign of respect, which you accepted without argument since it worked in your favor.

“Get down!”

Neteyam followed your movement immediately, though his voice came out confused. “What? Why?”

“Heh. I was just testing the golden son’s awareness,” you said with a smirk, trying to get a reaction from him.

“Seriously?”

Later, the two of you moved through Mangkwan base without drawing suspicion, blending into the flow of their people. Eyes followed you with a nod, especially when they noticed the dead nantang being carried by you. It had nearly attacked the two of you earlier, forcing you to draw your bow and do what was required, before offering a prayer to send the creature back to Eywa.

To them, you weren’t strangers, just a warriors returning with something worth celebrating more. Your hips shifted side to side with confidence, while Neteyam walked just behind with his arms resting behind his head, with a arrogant grin on his face.

“Olo’eykte not here, Olo’eykte there, come.”

‘That easy?’ you thought.

The hunter reached out, hand moving toward the nantang as if to take it from you but before he could, you hissed at him to make him back off.

Of course you weren’t sure if it was normal for their men to take the heavier load from women, but you werent gonna risk your plan over that.

The hunter led you through the center of their base, pushing past bodies that made space for your arrival. The closer you got, the more the noise settled, all eyes went toward the woman being surrounded ahead. When you reached her, you dropped the nantang to the ground with enough weight to make it noticeable, then adjusted your posture, copying the bow the others gave.

“Olo’eykte, I back!”

A woman wearing a feathered headdress questioned your identity, prompting you to maintain your disguise and act offended while reminding her of your supposed earlier introduction.

From the moment you stepped in, it was already clear to you how they functioned. Their speech was broken, their words lacking structure, but their reactions were easy. And unlike your clan, their system was not rule-based but hierarchy-driven.

She circled you slowly, her fiery gaze never leaving your cold one as she studied you from every angle. “This is the first time I see one of my people walk in like this… so confident of themselves.”

Neteyam watched from the crowd with growing unease, forced to stay hidden while you stood close to the her. Though he trusted you, his inability to help and the risk of the situation left him tense.

The woman stepped closer, closing the distance between you intentionally. Her hand reached out, catching one of your braids, twirling it around her finger as her eyes studied your face.

She physically asserted her control over you, threatening your kuru with a dagger while suggesting she could turn you into her puppet. Holding your fate in her hands, she challenged you to give her a reason not to.

You defended your value by claiming you understood how enemies think and behave through observation, making yourself useful beyond brute strength. Though she questioned whether you were anything more than a distraction, you challenged her judgment, insisting she wouldn’t see you that way ever.

“How sure are you?”

“Very sure.”

Then she straightened, turning her head toward one of her hunters. Without taking her eyes off you, she lifted her finger and signed to the creature below.

“Throw.”

The hunter obeyed, dragging the nantang away and tossing it toward the fire pit where it would be prepared, the act speaking of acceptance.

Behind you, the crowd erupted into celebration again, you turned, scanning through the crowd until your eyes caught a familiar pair of golden ones. Neteyam stood among them, his gaze showing pure concern, silently asking if you were alright.

You held his stare, tightening your expression in response, giving him a clear signal through your eyes alone. He understood, and without breaking the act, he moved with the crowd to join the cooks.

You didnt wait for the gathering to end after that, stepping inside the leader’s hut. Your eyes adjusted as you scanned the place, metal accessories scattered, weapons displayed.

“I… see you, Olo’eykte.”

you said as you stepped further in, eye twitching as you watch her tend to the fire, adding something that made the flames rise higher.

“My people normally don’t approach with fiery heart.”

“now that change,” you whispered, moving closer behind her, your gaze lowering to observe what she was holding. In her hand was a slender pipe, a tepi, and within her palm a mixture of ash and powder.

“Before we fix your tongue,” she said, turning to face you, “Varang must see your soul first.”

Your eyes went from the tepi to her face as she stepped closer. “Be still,” she commanded. But you shifted back instinctively, she closed the distance again. “I said, be still.”

You obeyed just then. The moment the tepi was lifted to touch your nose, she blew instantly, the powder hitting you, flooding your senses before you could react. You staggered, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “W-wait…” you stuttered, your body giving in as you dropped to the ground.

Varang watched your pupils react, you tried to steady yourself but your body felt hot, your thoughts felt messy, it was overwhelming.

She turned back to the fire, throwing the remaining powder into it. “Fire is precious… Anything deadly could happen to you, and you’ll feel it… that moment where you think something will come for you.” She tilted her head looking back at you. “But it does not.”

You forced yourself to stay present, even as your body reacted, your breathing uneven. When she reached for your kuru, bringing it forward, your body tensed.

“We will begin fixing you… but first,” she started lifting her hand slowly, revealing the tattoo on her palm, an eye staring back at you, “you answer me.”

“Who is your name?”

“n/n.”

“What do you seek, n/n?”

Your thoughts blurred, the powder pressing against your mind, “You. I come for you, I seek you.”

“You wish to serve me? Be my puppet?”

“…Yes. I need that. Help me.”

After gaining Varang’s trust and letting her fall into the version of you she wanted to see, you walked toward the meeting point you and Neteyam had agreed on.

Inside the cave, Neteyam was seated fixing yout things, checking each piece confirming nothing had been taken. His ears flicked when he heard your footsteps.

He turned, already rising before you entered. “Are you okay?” he inquired, eyes scanning you from head to toe, searching for anything off.

“Duh,” you replied, smirking as you walked further in. You tugged at your braids, loosening the tension from the tight style, your scalp already beginning to itch now that you were away from them.

“She didn’t hurt you?” he pressed, following you deeper into the cave as you started looking for your bow.

“She didn’t. She wouldn’t anyway… I got it, Neteyam.” You stepped aside, rolling your shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy being called someone’s puppet or slave. But I swear, Neteyam, it works. She believes it.”

You explained how your plan had been working more easily than expected, even wondering if Eywa was guiding you, before sharing what you learned about the Mangkwan losing faith after their forest burned and no help came.

As Neteyam watched you, he said he still believed in Eywa, but understood why they would question her after experiencing that kind of suffering.

You bit your lip, holding in a giggle as you glanced at him. “Of course you’d answer it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the golden son would…” you muttered, rolling your eyes. He studied your fsce, then spoke. “And how would you want me to answer it then?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know… maybe less empathetic?”

“I cannot do that, I feel for them.”

“Of course you do…”,

He tilted his head at you. “You don’t?”

“I… do, too.”

-

“Lady n/n! Olo’eykte seek you!”

Over the past weeks, Mangkwan had grown to treat your name with respect, something you carried with arrogance despite knowing your position under Varang.

Your patience had been wearing thin as she continued to stay vague and ahead of you, refusing to reveal anything despite your attempts to question her plans.

Her repeated answer only deepened your frustration, and the growing uncertainty began to weigh on you, making it harder to focus in a place where even a single mistake could cost everything.

You kept your silence, even from Neteyam, maintaining distance as planned and treating him like nothing more than another presence in the clan, though his attention still lingered.

What played on you most was not Varang or the war, but yourself, slipping into something you could no longer fully control, while despite the position and access they gave you, you were left with nothing that you really needed.

You clicked your tongue under your breath, jaw tightening. How stupid have you been?

Maybe you had miscalculated and they had been the ones playing you all along, letting you believe you were ahead while guiding you straight into their grasp.

Your thoughts snapped the moment you felt a pull. A Mangkwan had grabbed your tail again, fingers curling around it. You turned, irritation can be seen through your face, eyes glaring as you yanked against their grip.

“Let go!”

You hissed at them, but they only laughed, their attention lingering in a way that made your skin crawl as others nearby began to watch.

Your tail flicked as you pulled back, posture straightening while your gaze hardened, letting your temper slip to remind them of who you were.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you muttered, before letting your hand shoot forward, fingers wrapping around their queue.

You pulled them closer, copying Varang’s exact behavior. “You dare laugh?” Their breath hitched immediately, body going still beneath your grip.

You held their gaze for a moment longer before releasing their kuru, then shifted your eyes toward the nearby warriors who moved immediately, stepping forward to drag the individual away without question.

You then headed straight for Varang’s hut. “Took you long enough to arrive,” she said without looking at you working over something at the fire.

“My apologies. Mangkwan have been getting on my nerves.”

“What were they doing?”

“Nothing important. Just… touching my tail. I do not like it when people do that.”

She hummed. “If they cannot satisfy you, how would they satisfy me, n/n?”

You didn’t react, only tilted your head. “I promise, it’s nothing, I am just easily irritated lately. I let the warriors handle it. Please. Tell me why I am here.”

“I have the plan ready.”

Your heart dropped at that sentence, a smirk still found its way to your lips as you lowered yourself onto the ground, settling comfortably inside her kelku, “Yeah? I’m listening.”

Varang didn’t look at you. “It speaks…” she murmured, pointing at the flame, while you watched the movements of her hands along it.

“What’s it telling?”

“It shows me patterns… movements that repeats itself, even when it thinks it changes.”

You let out a soft breath through your nose, leaning your weight onto one arm. “Sounds like a riddle.”

Varang grinned wider, teeth flashing in the firelight as she spoke again. “It is as is. We strike the Omatikaya at their weakest point, their sacred grove near the old kelku ruins.”

You were confused, that, really?

“The sacred grove? That place is heavily guarded. How will we get past their warriors without losing too many of our own?”

“How do you know?”

“From… the last battle. I told you I know a lot about them, I practically already memorized them.”

“It’s easy. We send a small group first to draw their hunters away. While they chase shadows, the real force circles from the east river and burns everything they hold dear. They will never see it coming.”

You smiled, gulping. “It sounds… awesome. What if the first group gets wiped out too fast though?” You muttered then Varang’s hand slammed against the ground beside her, making you flinch.

She stared at you hard. “Are you questioning me, brat? This is how we’ve always fought. Fire does not ask for permission. It burns what it wants.”

You quickly lowered your gaze, heart beating faster. ‘Damn it… I need to calm down.’

“No, Olo’eykte. I am only making sure the plan is strong as I want us to win.”

“Good. Because you will lead that first group. Within this war, you are to show me your usefulness.”

Your stomach dropped. Leading the distraction group sounded like a death sentence, but you forced yourself to nod.

“That’s … I am honored. What about backups? Will we have them close by in case things go bad?”

Varang laughed. “Backup? I thought you were as smart as you claim to be? You either succeed or you burn with the enemy. That is the plan.”

She stood up slowly, towering over you, “You came here wanting power, wanting to stand beside me. This is how you earn it, little flame. Unless you’re suddenly afraid?”

You shook your head fast, letting out a giggle. “Me? Afraid? I am not. I will do it. When do we move?”

“Five nights from now. Prepare yourself well, n/n.” Varang stepped closer and grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at her. “Do not disappoint me. I have no patience for those who squander what little worth they’re given. I do not keep the feeble, nor do I tend to the useless. If you prove yourself to be either… then I will see you burned out of my sight like ash that dared to think itself fire.”

The plan felt too reckless but you knew you shouldnt push too hard or you’ll blow your cover.

Three nights before the war, you were assigned a small group of five warriors, while Neteyam’s placement remained unknown to you. With security tightening among the Mangkwan, any form of contact between the two of you had became impossible.

While your clan prepares with care, the Mangkwan trained through brutality, pushing their warriors through cruel methods. You watched, disturbed by the way rhe young fighters were shooting at living targets in a spinning board:

Two days before the war, the harsh training continued without rest. Varang kept pulling you aside to go over your role again and again.

Varang assigned you the role of “messenger,” a position that sounded important but actually placed you alone in dangerous combat zones, keeping you away from the main force.

One day before the war, Mangkwan kept pushing themselves harder, you could barely believe you were only hours away from a war commencement.

Hours away from facing your own people.

16 hours before the war, the weight of everything pressed on your chest, but you ignored it. You hadn’t seen Neteyam in days. The thought of him fighting somewhere else without knowing the truth made your stomach twist.

12 hours before the war, the camp grew louder as final preparations began. You moved between groups, listening to every order while trying to memorize escape routes.

5 hours before the war, you decided this was your only chance. You would try to break away early and reach your people before everything started. Even if it meant risking everything.

3 hours before the war, Mangkwan gathered in formation, eyes wild with excitement for death. You stood among your small group, grip tight on your bow.

You took one last look around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Neteyam. Nothing. You whispered a prayer to Eywa and readied yourself to move at the first opportunity.

You tried to move through the crowd unnoticed, keeping your head low, but you were seen anyway as a hand suddenly seized your wrist, and before you could react, it pulled you around to be faced directly.

“Where are you heading off to, n/n?”

You forced a grin and answered. “Just… gonna take a fresh breath of air before we murder those people.”

Varang grinned back at you. “Well, save those fresh breaths for later. We begin now.”

Your stomach dropped. “The war starts in three hours. What’s the rush? Those people will not win against us anyway!”

Varang caught you and tightened her grip, accusing you of disobedience as she revealed the plan to ambush early. Without waiting for your response, she dragged you back to your group, leaving you shaken and realizing you might no longer have a chance to send a message to your clan.

Varang shoved you forward into the middle of your small team. “Messengers who wander off tend to lose their tongue.”

You stayed under the warriors’ suspicious stares… For the first time since arriving, you no longer felt in control and only cornered.

One of your group members nudged you. “Lady n/n, Olo’eykte watch you closely, you focus.”

You swallowed hard and gripped your bow tighter, you hissed at him. “I am focused, bitch. Focus on yourself.”

Panic continued to build as you realized Neteyam and your clan had no warning while the ambush was already underway. Mangkwan began moving through the dark forest, splitting into groups, and you followed your assigned team behind Varang, your heart pounding the entire time.

Varang looked back at you with a grin. “Draw them out… make them chase.”

The plan still felt completely off. Too dumb. You didn’t understand these people and how rhey work. So, you tried one last time as you neared the fork in the path. “Olo’eykte, maybe we should adjust. If I take a smaller path through the thick trees instead, we can—”

Varang cut you off with a harsh laugh and grabbed the back of your neck roughly. “You still question me… after all I have granted you?”

“N-no!”

She shoved you forward toward the narrow trail that led to an old abandoned cave near the grove. “Go. Do as I have commanded. Drive them in, if you must… and draw them deep.”

You stumbled a little but caught yourself. Panic was rising fast in your chest now. Your group moved ahead with you at the front. You kept looking back, hoping to see Varang or any chance to run, but she stayed behind watching, the cave entrance appeared soon after.

Something felt very wrong.

You turned to your team. “We wait here and make noise when they come then draw them inside.”

Suddenly heavy footsteps came from behind. Varang stepped out of the shadows with two of her strongest guards. She was smirking. “Well done, n/n, you have led them exactly where I desired.”

You froze. “What? The plan—”

Varang walked closer, towering over you as her guards blocked the cave entrance. she let out a scoff. “There was never such a thing. You thought to play me, stupid… you were seen from the very first breath.”

“What are you talking about? I’m—”

Varang laughed loudly and grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the deeper part of the cave. “Every meeting, every word… you truly believed yourself clever. A spy wearing borrowed skin, thinking she had fooled us? Me?”

You struggled against her grip, heart pounding wildly. “Let go! I do not know what you mean! I have always followed you—”

She shoved you hard into a small hole chamber inside the cave. You stumbled and hit the rocky ground, panic flooding your body as you looked up.

Varang stood there, looking down at you. “You and your little companion is lucky.”

Her guards started pushing heavy rocks and old wooden bars across the opening. You tried to push yourself up, “No wait! Where is he!”

She watched you struggle with amusement as her people pushed more heavy rocks to block the entrance. You slammed your hands against the closing gap, voice cracking. “Varang! Please! Do not hurt them!”

“Such a request… I am not your weak mother. You do not ask. You must prostrate yourself before me.” The last rock slid into place with a heavy thud, sealing you inside complete darkness.

You screamed and banged on the rocks until your fists hurt. “Let me out, you bitch!! Asshole!”

You kept screaming until your lungs burned, calling for help like someone might still hear you through the weight of the rocks sealing you in. It was too dark to see anything properly, only a thin line of moonlight from above breaking through the opening, where the trees moved against the sky.

Panic took over completely. You paced the small cave fast, breathing hard, tail lashing wildly behind you.

How did she know?

What about Neteyam? Is he safe?

You slid down the wall, hands shaking as you pulled at your braids in frustration. Tears burned in your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

You felt completely trapped, unsure of what to do as fear took over your body. The situation made you feel weak, and you blamed yourself for everything, hating how you had fallen right into her plan.

Your thoughts spiraled toward your father’s disappointment, your clan’s broken trust, and the promise you made to Neteyam that everything would go according to plan.

Leadership no longer mattered to you in that moment, only the fear of what might have happened to him and whether he was safe or already caught.

You stood up and started pushing against the rocks with all your strength, but it wasn’t budging. You screamed and hit the wall again, fists hurting. “Fuck!”

Suddenly you heard noises outside. Rocks were being moved, one by one. Your ears perked up fast. You rushed to the entrance and pressed your face close to the small gaps.

Then you heard his voice. “Y/n?! Are you in there?”

It was Neteyam.

Relief hit you so hard your legs almost gave out. You threw yourself against the opening the moment it was wide enough. “Neteyam!”

Neteyam caught you and pulled you out, hugging you tight against his chest. You hugged him back just as hard, heart still racing from both fear and relief. You both pulled away at the same time.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Are you okay?” he asked at the exact same time. You answered first. “I am fine. They locked me in here. I shouldn’t have been chosen for this mission… this is my fault. I should’ve never been—”

“Y/n—”

Your voice cracked as you looked at him, panic rising fast. “Where were you? I couldn’t even— I couldn’t help anything. I ruined this!”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on your arm immediately, “Hey. No, listen to me.”

You tried, but your breathing was still trembling.

“This is not on you, you didn’t cause this war. You didn’t lock yourself in this place. You’re here now with me.” Your hands shook as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this. We’re partners, right? I need you.”

“N-Neteyam— I’m scared,” you admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. S-she— Varang—”

Neteyam exhaled, pulling you closer. He was panicking too, but seeing you like this made it worse, like your fear doubled in his chest. “I know, I hear you. I’m right here. I need you focused. You tell me what’s going on.”

You broke down in front of Neteyam, admitting everything had been a lie and that you had been completely misled.

“We will track them, Y/n. We already know their direction.”

Your head whipped toward him. “H-how can we do that?! We don’t even have our ikrans, they have their dragons! I’m sure they’re already there by now. And our people—”

“Just follow me!”

You both started running out of the cave together, the forest blurred as you ran side by side. You felt safer now that he was with you.

You both ran as fast as your legs could carry you, pushing through the exhaustion. Neteyam held your hand tightly the whole time, guiding each other toward the loud battle noises and Mangkwan war horns. Your ears picked up every distant uell.

“Neteyam, I think they went that way!”

“We will go there. Hold on tight, okay?” He squeezed your hand and nodded. “Mhm!”

You were exhausted from the confinement, your energy nearly gone as the battle came into view. Instead of your clan, you found the Mangkwan already clashing among themselves in disorder.

You pulled Neteyam behind some thick bushes to hide when you spotted Mangkwan riders flying above with bows in their hands.

You watched in silence too as Varang jumped from one nightwraith to another. She grabbed a warrior by his queue and sliced it brutally with her dagger, killing him.

You felt sick seeing it.

You were lucky you never experienced that side of her… you sighed deeply and held Neteyam’s hand even tighter. He noticed how nervous you were and gently pulled your head against his chest, not letting you watch the scene any longer.

“I’m glad I found you,” he whispered against your hair. You nodded and held him closer for a moment.

“We have to get out of here,” you said as you pulled away.

You took his hand and followed the direction the Mangkwan had gone, moving in as their battle cries echoed through the forest. Before you could go further, a voice called out from behind, stopping you both in your tracks.

“stop there, traitors!”

You and Neteyam turned around fast. He recognized the warriors who had guarded him earlier and emerged from the side.

You raised your bow without hesitation, fingers moving to pull an arrow from your quiver. The shot was clean, the arrow slicing through the air before striking the guard straight in the neck, dropping him instantly.

You let out a scoff, already reaching back for another arrow, your focus locked on finishing it. But in that moment, your attention stayed forward for too long, and you failed to notice the second guard lifting his bow, already aiming straight at you.

One arrow flew straight.

Neteyam saw it at the last second, so he pushed you back hard and stepped in front of you. The arrow struck him in the upper chest with a heavy thud. He groaned loudly from the pain and held his chest.

“Neteyam!” you screamed and caught him as he stumbled forward. Blood started spreading fast across his chest.

Your hands immediately pressed against the wound, panic flooding back stronger than before. “Fuck!”

You heard a loud familiar cry from above. You looked up and saw Seya diving down fast with Teyu right behind her. The ikrans attacked the remaining warrior, enraged.

You lifted Neteyam onto your back, careful with his wound. You ran to the edge of the cliff and called for Seya without waiting to see her in your sight. You jumped, trusting her completely.

She caught you both smoothly, you adjusted fast on her back, connecting your queue to hers while keeping Neteyam secured behind you. He groaned loudly every time the wind moved the arrow still stuck in his upper chest. More blood kept coming out.

Teyu flew above you, watching for any more threats. You didn’t know where you were going, but you trusted Seya to take you somewhere safe. She flew toward another cliff closer to your village.

You could see the battle starting below. Mangkwan forces were closing in while your people prepared to fight.

You bit your lip again out of habit. You landed with Seya and carefully helped Neteyam down to the ground. He groaned in pain as you laid him on his back.

“Take a deep breath, Neteyam!”

You broke the arrow shaft in half, then pushed the head through to pull it out completely. Fresh blood poured out fast. You grabbed a big leaf nearby and tore fabric from your loincloth using your teeth to make a tight bandage.

“Y-Y/n… go to them. Find a safe place—” Neteyam’s voice was deep and hoarse. It startled you and made your panic worse. “No! I’m not leaving you here!” you snapped back.

You pressed hard on his wound with both hands, trying to stop the bleeding. He kept groaning every time you moved. “Leave me be, Y/n…”

“Please, do not do this to me, Neteyam! I’m fucking panicking already. I don’t know what to do, just let me help you!” You tied the fabric around his wounded arm from the metals, tears stinging your eyes.

Neteyam reached up and put his hand over yours on his chest. “Y/n… I need to tell you something.” He breathed heavily and looked at you.

“You waste time! I’m tryna keep you alive!” You pressed harder, hands shaking. Neteyam gave a weak smile despite the pain.

“...I don’t want you to become the Olo’eykte, Y/n.”

You froze for a second. “What are you saying? I refuse to talk about that right now!”

He continued anyway despite your retorts, “I didn’t want that position just to surpass you. I wanted it so… you would stand with me. As my Tsahìk.”

“Stop talking, please. Save your strength!”

Neteyam squeezed your hand weakly. “I have wanted you for so long. Not just as a rival. I want you as my mate, my wife, the mother of my children. I want us to lead together, to have a family… even if they’re running around causing trouble like my baby brother.” He let out a painful chuckle. “That’s why I push so hard. So I can have you beside me instead of against me…”

“Shut up already Neteyam!” You tightened the fabric, voice cracking. “Why are you telling me this now?! Cant you see you’re bleeding!”

Neteyam tried to comfort you by confessing his feelings and distracting you from the situation, but you snapped at him, refusing to think about anything except saving him.

You kept pressing hard on his wound, but the blood kept seeping through your fingers. Your hands would not stop shaking no matter how hard you tried to control them. Neteyam’s breathing was getting heavier, and it only made your panic worse.

“I can’t- y/n, I don’t wanna see you like this—”

“Well stop talking about stupid things so you can save your air!” you hissed at him, “I need to stop this bleeding first. I cannot lose you, skxawng!”

You broke down with the battle closing in and no supplies to help him, you grew more desperate, admitting you had no idea what to do.

Neteyam lifted his hand weakly and touched your arm. “Y-you’re doing enough. Just stay with me.”

“You stay with me! I told you this mission would work and now… look at you!”

More blood came out when he tried to move. You cursed loudly and leaned more of your weight on the injury. “Stay still, damn it! Seya, Teyu, Help me!” You called for the ikrans again.

You took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. “Okay… okay. I will do something, then we move. We have to reach the healers. Until then, I need you to stay with me. Please.”

Neteyam gave you a smile. “T-there you are, my stubborn girl. I-i’ll have to know your answer so…”

You hissed at him again but your hands stayed gentle on his chest. “Shut up and save your energy. Im still mad at you for jumping in front of that arrow.”

“I can’t let you get that instead.”

“That was for me!”

The panic was still there, heavy in your chest, but you refused to let it stop you. Neteyam needed you right now, and you woulnt let him down again.

Seya landed and crouched low so you could lift Neteyam onto her back. He groaned loudly as you moved him, one hand clutching the leaf bandage on his chest. You tore another big leaf in half and tied his wrist tightly to Seya’s harness line.

“Stop groaning so much!”

You climbed in front of Neteyam and wrapped his arms around your torso. He rested his chin on your right shoulder, whimpering softly when the tie on his wrist pulled tight. “Bear with it for now.”

You connected your queue to Seya’s and took off fast into the air. You chose the shortest path toward the clan, flying high into the clouds to avoid any Mangkwan riders. Neteyam held onto you tighter as the wind hit his wound.

“We’re almost there… Just hold on a little longer, Neteyam.”

He pressed his face against your shoulder. “I’m still here. Keep flying...”

You arrived at High Camp with urgency, drawing immediate attention as people rushed toward you, shocked at Neteyam’s condition.

As Mo’at stepped in with a serious expression, you quickly freed him from the harness while the crowd gathered, their voices rising in alarm around you.

“What happened?!”

“Are you alright?!”

“Is that blood?!”

You jumped down from Seya and warned the clan that the Mangkwan were already on their way, their leader aware of the truth. Despite your exhaustion, you immediately searched for the leaders, asking where your father, Neytiri, Jake, and the others were.

One of the elders stepped closer. “They already left. We knew something was wrong when we received no word from either of you. The Olo’eyktan took most of the warriors ahead to meet them.”

Norm appeared in his avatar body and moved. “We’ll take a look at him.” He carefully lifted Neteyam and carried him toward the science tent. You watched them go, heart still racing.

Peyrral and Vetxo pushed through the crowd and ran to you. “Y/n! Are you okay? What happened out there?!” Peyrral shook you.

You shook your head, still panicking. “A lot… everything went wrong. Neteyam got shot b-because of me.”

Mo’at raised her hand and spoke. “Give her space. Now.” She gently took your arm and pulled you away from the crowd toward her kelku. “Come, child. Let me see your wounds.”

You followed Mo’at and only then realized your own injuries, breaking down in her care as she tried to calm you, you apologized through tears, blaming yourself for Neteyam’s condition.

Mo’at wrapped her arms around you and stroked your back. “Hush, child. You have done what was placed before you. Neteyam chose his path, do not dishonor it by turning it into guilt.”

You kept crying, voice shaky. “What would my father think… letting Toruk Makto’s son get hurt like this because of me?” Mo’at continued cleaning the red paint and dirt from your wounds, her touch steady and calm.

“He would give thanks that his daughter has returned alive. Your father and the others have already gone ahead to face the enemy. The silence from you both didn’t sit well with them…”

You whimpered and looked down. “So… me and Neteyam went through all that for nothing?” Mo’at shook her head as she applied fresh herbs to your cuts. You hissed when they stung.

“Not for nothing, my child,” she replied, voice full of quiet wisdom. “Your ikran sensed the danger through the bond. Eywa moves in ways we do not always see. You know this. Your bond with Neteyam, and with your ikran, carried warning back to us. It gave us time we wouldn’t have otherwise had.”

After what felt like a long session with the Tsahìk, where your wounds were treated and your thoughts were cleared, you stepped outside. The moment you did, your two friends were already there, pulling you into them without hesitation.

“We were so worried!”

“I’m fine, you guys,” you replied, letting yourself stay in the embrace for a second before pulling away. Physical contact still felt strange right now, especially with everything happening. “We need to help the others.”

“Y/n, no,” Peyrral snapped, pinching your arm to anchor you in place. “You’re staying here with us.”

“But—”

“We’re not letting you go back there. Did you see what happened to Neteyam?” Vetxo cut in.

Your expression changed fast, eyes widening as the memory hit. Your head dipped, tension tightening in your jaw.

Your friends warned you that if the arrow had truly been meant for you, then you were still in danger, also the fact that the enemy likely held deep resentment toward you for betraying them.

“I…” your voice faltered, words collapsing before they could form properly. “It’s all too much…” You covered your face with both hands.

Your friends led you down to the nearest river to remove you from the disguise, the cold air biting at your skin as Peyrral carefully started removing the metals in your body.

“Usually we’d be scolding you nonstop but clearly we care about you too much for that right now” Vetxo said from where she sat on a nearby rock, leaned back as she watched Peyrral work on you.

You scoffed, trying to push back into your usual attitude even if your breathing still felt uneven. Peyrral pinched your skin harder. You hissed and tried to pull your arm away from her. “Watch it!”

“I know you too well, Y/n. I know you’re already planning to sneak back into the battle the second we finish cleaning you up, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened because she was right.

You were thinking exactly that.

Vetxo straightened her back and crossed her arms. “Do not even think about it. Let the old people handle this one.”

You looked down at the ground, ffowning. “It’s… my fault though. The battle is happening because of what i did out there.”

Peyrral rolled her eyes. “They’re not attacking because of you. They’re just selfish and greedy. They burn everything they touch just to take more life.”

Vetxo nodded and moved closer. “Right. So stop acting like everything revolves around you, miss wannabe olo’eykte.”

You gritted your teeth when vetxo towered over you. “Hey!” you hissed, and hissed right back, Peyrral giggled and poured water over your shoulders. She started scrubbing the red Mangkwan paint off your skin with a rough piece of fabric. “Enough, you two.”

Vetxo crouched down, scooped water in her hand, and splashed it straight onto your face. “Wake up, n/n. You’re back home now. I don’t wanna go back to babying you again.”

You wiped your face and glared at her. “Do not baby me then!”

Peyrral and Vetxo reassured you as they cleaned your wounds, subtly sharing a look, while you admitted feeling useless staying behind. Peyrral had to remind you that you already did your part in the fight, and Vetxo nudged you, and told you to stop trying to be rhe hero all the time.

It was fortunate that the battle ended sooner than expected. The elders, warriors, and hunters finally returned, many of them injured. You stood among the crowd and scanned every face, looking desperately for one specific person.

“Y/n!”

You turned quickly and saw your father. He was barely injured. Your eyes filled with tears as you ran straight to him. “Dad… I am sorry…”

Your father pulled you into a tight embrace, relieved that you were safe, while you broke down against him, apologizing and admitting that your plan had been exposed.

Your father chuckled and stroked your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. I am just glad you came back to me.”

You pulled back a little and looked at him with teary eyes. “What happened out there?”

He stood up and patted your head. “They backed off. We have Toruk Makto on our side after all.” He to smiled and looked toward the crowd where Jake was guiding the warriors with Neytiri beside him. “Talk to them, daughter. They were worried sick about you and Neteyam. Where is he?”

Your eyes widened at the mention of his name. “He… he got shot b-because of me, dad. He’s with Norm right now.” You looked away, guilt heavy in your chest.

Your father sighed. “Nothing bad happened because of you. Go speak to his parents. They need to see you.”

You nodded and walked toward the crowd. People parted to let you through until you stood in front of Jake and Neytiri.

She rushed to you and held you tightly, Jake offering his hand on your head beside her, it just made your emotions tighten more. When she pulled back, concern took over as she asked if you were alright and demanded to know where her son was.

You bit your lip hard. “He… he took an arrow that was meant for me.”

Both of them gasped. Neytiri turned to Jake, worry on her face as the news settled in. She moved in quickly, pulling you into a tight embrace, “Oh greatmother…”

Jake kept a hand on your head, grounding you as he spoke. “I see you, Y/n. I am glad you are back safe.”

You held back your tears as you explained that Neteyam was still being treated, she comforted you, reassuring you that her son is strong and had only done what any warrior would to protect someone he cared for.

You struggled with how calmly they told you to rest, but Jake urged you to do so after everything you had done.

But insisted on going with them to the science lab as you needed to see Neteyam who was now lying on the white mattress, chest wrapped in fresh bandages, no longer in disguise, breathing slowly.

You finally let out a breath you did not know you were holding when Max turned to everyone and spoke. “He will be fine. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s stable now. He just needs rest.”

Kiri reassured you that it was not your fault, explaining that Neteyam had always been the type to put others before himself. Though you were surprised by her words, she acknowledged you sincerely, saying she was glad he has someone worth protecting.

You looked down at the white tiles. “I just keep thinking… what if I had gotten shot instead? That arrow was meant for me anyway. I feel like everything that went wrong out there started because of me.”

Kiri uncrossed her arms and touched your hands. “You survived the Ash people and came back with my brother. Thats more than enough. Stop carrying the whole forest on your back, Y/n. You will collapse.”

After that, Kiri brought you outside for fresh air, away from the lab’s sterile silence. The two of you ended up talking more than you expected, your thoughts slipping into memories of Neteyam and everything that happened in the desert clan.

You didn’t even fully understand when it changed, how you went from avoiding him to trusting him, maybe even relying on him, despite how much you used to find him unbearable for how flawless he seemed.

It has been two weeks already, and Neteyam is yet to wake up, the elders reassured you that he would wake soon. You visited him almost every day, sitting beside his bed and talking about everything happening in the clan while watching his chest rise and fall.

Right now a big dinner gathering was happening down at the camp. You sat with your friends, biting into the skewered meat.

The three of them were talking about something, but your mind kept drifting back to the cave and the battle.

“—y/n?”

You flinched when Kiri said your name. You looked up at her, confused. “huh?”

Peyrral grinned and leaned forward. “She said she is pregnant and wants you to be the auntie of her child.”

Your eyes widened. “What?!”

Vetxo pinched your waist hard. “She is joking! What the hell, Y/n? Why were you not listening?”

You rubbed the spot she pinched and rolled your eyes. “I was just thinking!” The three of them groaned at the same time. You sighed. “‘Kay. What is it?”

“The courting moon is around the corner. Do you have any plans?”

You raised an eyebrow and pointed at yourself. “Me? Plans? No man ever has two balls to approach a beauty like me.” You flipped your hair.

Vet’xo crossed her arms and smirked. “Really? No man?”

“No man.”

“Then what do you call Neteyam?”

Your ears heated up instantly. You remembered the confession he gave you while bleeding on the ground, how he said he wanted you as his Tsahik, as his mate, how he wanted a future with you.

You quickly cover your ears with your hands, knowing they turn purple when you blush. “What are you guys grinning for?!”

Peyrral looked away while Vet’xo kept smirking. Even Kiri looked interested. She leaned closer, “Do you like my big brother, Y/n?”

You shook Kiri, denying it, and dismissed your other friends, which immediately triggered Peyrral to call you out, offended as a joke by how you labeled them after everything they had done for you.

“Whoever gets hit will be hit.”

“You’re just deflecting, y/n!” Peyrral pointed at you while you got your arms crossed.

And they were right, you actually had no plans for the courting moon, never needing to prepare since attention always came to you naturally, which as it should. The weavers though still offered to dress you for the occasion, so you had no choice but to join. The event itself centered on admiration, where people presented handcrafted offerings as expressions of genuine affection.

It was nothing new.

And yet for some reasons, you found yourself thinking about it…

It wasnt long before you were back to teaching the young children again. You rolled your eyes with a grin when one of the boys started showing off his dance moves for you.

“Alright, wrap it up, Ao’kurr,” you said as you stood up from the rock and clapped your hands. “Everyone, break is over. Get back to stance number three. We will fix each of your positions today.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look strict. The kids just giggled at your face. “ExCUSE me? What are you all laughing for? I said stance number three!”

One of the children pointed behind you excitedly. “Look, lady Y/n!” You turned around fast and your heart dropped. Neteyam stood there, looking at you with a small smile on his face.

He was finally awake…

“You’re still teaching them that old stance? I thought you were a fast teacher,” he teased, chuckling.

“Ne… teyam?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling too wide and slowly walked toward him, making sure this moment was real. “You are… you’re back.”

“I am.”

You couldn’t stop staring into his golden eyes, and he couldn’t stop staring back at you. Both of you were smiling like idiots.

The children started making loud awww sounds and giggling at the two of you. “Does this mean training is dismissed?!” Ao’kurr exclaimed.

You quickly enforced the training routine, threatening to remove them if they refused, which immediately made the kids protest and complain.

The children begged you to let them rest, using Neteyam’s return to sway you, and you nearly gave in to scolding them. But the moment you heard a chuckle behind you, your focus broke, your heart reacting before you could stop it.

You slowly looked back at him. “Cmon, teacher Y/n… the kids are right,” he said with a grin. You pouted, glaring, and crossed your arms. “Neteyam, do not baby them.”

“I am not babying anyone. I just woke up from my long nap. I want to be alone with you.”

Your ears turned purple so fast that you didn’t have enough time to cover them with your hands, and heat rushed up your neck, but Neteyam stayed calm, still smiling at you.

“Whatever. Fine. A short break for yall,” you mumbled. The children cheered even louder and ran to hug both of you at the same time.

When the kids ran on their own, you walked side by side with Neteyam through the forest. Your hands were clasped behind your back while his right hand rested gently on his freshly bandaged chest. His left hand moved as he spoke about what it felt like during the long weeks he was unconscious.

You walked slowly, matching his pace. He was not yet at full strength after being unconscious for so long, his body still recovering from the blood loss—his circulation slowly stabilizing, oxygen flow returning to his brain and muscles as his nerves and strength gradually came back.

It felt strange hearing his voice again after so many days of that deafening silence.

You didn’t even wanna admit it, but you had really missed him. The thought made your cheeks turn a darker shade of blue, you even tried to hide it by looking straight ahead.

“Y/n?”

You turned to him. “Yes?!” Your eyes widened before you looked away again, unable to hold his golden gaze for long, because every time you did, you would remember his confession when he was bleeding.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little worried. “I apologize. Do you… not want to be alone with me right now?”

You shook your head fast. “No! I mean… no. I don’t mind. I don’t really care.” You crossed your arms and turned your face away.

Neteyam chuckled at your reaction. You glanced back up at him. “What?”

“I just cannot believe I didn’t get to see you for weeks.”

You felt heat rising up your neck again. “I mean… I would wonder the same if I didn’t see a beauty like me for two weeks,” you said, rolling your eyes.

You tried to keep your distance by reminding him you wouldnt give up your position just because of what he did, but he responded saying he didn’t expect anything and was simply happy to be with you, leaving you groaning.

The two of you kept walking until you reached the Veil Pool inside the hidden cave. You stepped in slowly, letting the water reach above your knees while it barely touched Neteyam’s calves.

You grinned at him when he said something he usually would say before. “The two weeks of sleep didn’t change you at all?”

“I never changed, Y/n. I am still the same. Like the old me, I still think you are as beautiful as the moon.”

Your heart skipped as he reached out and touched your forearm, giving you time to pull away if you wanted.

“Liar…” you muttered.

“What’s there to lie about?”

You moved your hand and touched his right bicep without thinking. “Everything. About me being beautiful as the moon or whatever.”

Neteyam caressed your hand. “You are, though. You’re the most extraordinary girl i’ve ever known, as bright as the sun and more luminous than the moon itself. You’ve been the light guiding me forward.”

You bit your lip and looked away before turning back to him. “If that’s true… if you really find me beautiful, Neteyam…” He waited, watching you closely. “Then why haven’t youtouched my butt yet?”

Silence filled the air.

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by what you just said. “Say that again?” He leaned forward a little, thinking he heard you wrong.

“I said, if you find me beautiful like you claim, how come you haven’t touched my ass?” Neteyam pulled back, eyes wide. “Why would I… do that?”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “Ikeyni told me that if someone truly finds me beautiful, they would touch my butt. Maybe even slap it, or squeeze it.”

Neteyam stared at you. “She said that?!”

“Yes, she did!”

“Why would she say that…” Neteyam’s voice trailed off as he scratched his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, trying to push away whatever image just popped into his mind.

After all, he was no better than any other man when it came to you.

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. People were exaggerating anyway. now that I think about it, it’s really ridiculous. There are other girls who are far more—”

You stopped talking the moment his hands rested on your waist. You looked up at him and saw him gulp hard.

His big palms slowly slid down to your hips, paused for a second as he took a deep breath, then continued lower until both hands settled firmly on your ass.

The closeness made you grin. You felt his hands palming your ass perfectly, like they belonged there.

However, to you, it simply meant he really found you beautiful, admitting to it.

But to him… Oh, you don’t even ask.

“I knew it,” you mumbled, looking up at him with a smirk. You rested your hands on his forearms before wrapping your arms around his neck.

Neteyam’s voice came out shaky. “Y-you like that?”

“Of course I do, Neteyam. I like it very much.” You smiled and rested your head against his chest.

He muttered, “That’s… good to know,” His hands stayed on your ass, unsure what to do next.

“You wanna squeeze it?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything—

“Woah…”

You and Neteyam turned your heads at the same time. Peyrral and Vetxo were standing there watching.

Vetxo slowly covered her eyes with her palm. The second Neteyam realized they saw everything, he snatched his hands off you.

You looked at him suspiciously before turning back to your friends. “What’s up?”

Peyrral scoffed before crossing her arms and glared mostly at Neteyam. “‘wHat’s uP?’ Seriously? What’s UP, y/n?”

You crossed your arms too, copying her stance. “Yeah, what’s up?” you repeated sassily, not taking her attitude.

Neteyam facepalmed and covered his mouth with his hand. Vetxo peeked through her fingers. “Are they done, Pey?”

“Oh, they should be!”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Why are you covering your eyes, Vet?” She lowered her hand and looked straight at Neteyam. “Ask him.”

You turned to Neteyam, who was now looking away like the cave walls were suddenly very intriguing. “What happened, Neteyam?”

He cleared his throat and waved his hands. “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”

Peyrral hissed. “It should NOT be what it looks like, Neteyam.”

You raised both arms in confusion. “What?? What does what look like?!”

Vetxo walked over and grabbed your wrist. “Yknow what, Y/n? Come with me. The Olo’eyktan is looking for you.” She started dragging you toward the entrance. You looked back at Neteyam and Peyrral. “What about them?”

Peyrral answered without breaking eye contact with him. “We’ll be there.” You frowned as Vetxo pulled you away.

You sat with Vetxo by the campfire, with some children toasting over it. After hitting her harshly earlier for her joke about the Olo’eyktan calling for you when in fact not, you settled back on your hands.

Your attention drifted when you heard footsteps approaching from your left, and you glanced over just in time to see Neteyam and Peyrral returning together.

Peyrral wore her usual grumpy expression, arms tense at her sides, while Neteyam was frowning, his brows drawn slightly together.

You raised an eyebrow at the sight, watching them for a moment before looking away as they drew near, stealing a glance at Neteyam, who didn’t even bother to look back at you.

-

A few sleeps remained until the courting moon began within the clan, and the village was already shifting into preparation. Decorations were being hung across the walkways, woven details and small offerings to show appreciation among the people.

You had just returned from flying, spending the day with Seya and letting the wind settle both of your thoughts. Jake had finally allowed Seya and Teyu to be together again, now that she was no longer in that irritable phase.

You two stayed high up in the mountains with her, watching the sunset while rubbing a cooling herb on her belly that you prepared on the spot. Her skin had been itching, and it also helped calm her mood for the day.

“Lady Y/n, you are finally back.” One of the elders grabbed your forearm gently after you finished caressing Seya’s snout and pulled you toward her stall.

“I am, Elder Kxara. Did something happen while I was gone?” you asked, letting her guide you in the crowd.

She informed you that her stall would be among the first offerings, now presenting meat prepared by her husband instead of her usual weavings like the other moons, her grip on your forearm tightening slightly as she awaited your reaction.

“Alright then, I’ll buy the most expensive one!” you said, flipping your hair. Kxara gasped. “Lady Y/n, are you sure? This one is quite big and expensive!”

You rolled your eyes at her. “Just give it to me, woman!” She giggled and went behind her stall to prepare the finest seasoned yerik meat.

“Here! It has been seasoned with my love… may it sit well with you.” She placed the meat on the table.

You grinned and reached down to your loincloth for your pouch. And before you could pay, a hand stopped you.

You looked up and saw Neteyam. “Here,” he said, paying for the meat with his own offering and smiling at the elder.

“Lord Neteyam!” Kxara beamed.

“Hey,” You pouted up at him. “That was supposed to be mine!” Neteyam grinned down at you. “It’s all yours, lady Y/n. Let it be my treat for today.” He emphasized the title.

You crossed your arms. “And what does the mighty warrior, Lord Neteyam, owe this little ol’ me for?” You leaned in closer as he did the same. “Because… you took Teyu’s mate out for a ride?”

You put your hands on your hips. “That was just our little date since your pervert bird stole her from me.”

“Well for what, I have no need for a reason when it comes to honoring someone as faultless as you, Lady Y/n,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm, earning an immediate eye roll from you.

“Why, thank you, Lord Neteyam.”

“Jt’s always my pleasure, Lady Y/n.

The two of you walked along the stalls, stopping to look over different offerings as you occasionally had Neteyam pick up this and that for you.

You were smiling more than usual throughout the day, and although social interaction normally drained you quickly, being with him felt different like it kept your energy recharged.

Neteyam noticed it too, not just the way your energy stayed unusually full but how you would subtly roll your shoulders and gently crack your neck often.

So he did what he had to do.

He carried all the things he bought for you as you dragged him back to your kelku. It was already getting dark, but the first day of the offering stalls made the camp busier. You pushed the curtain open and stepped inside.

“My father is on patrol tonight. He will be back tomorrow. Just put everything on the ground,” you ordered, stretching your arms. You turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for today. I strangely had fun with you, my lord.”

Neteyam set the items down carefully and smiled back. “Of course, my lady . It was nothing.”

You shook your head. “It was not nothing, Neteyam… After everything that happened, I should be the one treating you.”

He stepped closer and fixed a strand of hair that fell over your ear. “I wanted this, Y/n. I wanted to spend time with you.”

You bit your lip and looked away for a second before squeezing his biceps. “If you wanted to, we could have done it without you emptying your pouch.”

He chuckled softly. “I wanted to do it. I approached the stall and paid for the meat myself, right?”

You rolled your eyes but could not hide your smile. “Yeah… well, what can I do for you in return?”

Neteyam shook his head. “There is nothing I want in return. Although… I would really appreciate it if you let me take care of your body tonight.”

Your eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Let me massage you. I noticed you cracking your bones while we were walking. You must be exhausted after flying with Seya all day.” He held your hand gently.

“Oh…” You looked away, cheeks warming.

“Why?”

“Well, you do not have to, Neteyam. I am perfectly fine—”

He cut you off. “I insist, Y/n. Please, let me help.”

You rolled your eyes but pushed the curtain to open your sleeping area. “Fineee. My herbs are in the jars in the kitchen. Take some.”

You started removing your heavy accessories and when he came back, he began to take off his cummerbund and arm guards as well.

He noticed you struggling with the top piece because the pebbles on the band got tangled. “Do you need help?”

You turned to him and pointed at the mess. “I just realized how heavy this is…” you groaned, cracking your neck again.

Neteyam helped you remove the accessories and set them aside with his own things. He sat on your soft mattress and patted the space in front of him. You sat between his legs with your back facing him.

He moved all your hair to your left shoulder. “When are you gonna get your hair braided again?” he asked while opening the jar of herbs.

“Probably tomorrow. Peyrral and Vetxo usually do it for me. The braids from the disguise still hurt my scalp. It’s too sensitive.”

You closed your eyes and sighed when he applied the cooling herb on your back. The sensation felt really good.

His hands moved slowly from your neck to your shoulders, pressing with the right amount of strength. You whimpered when he worked on a particularly sore spot.

“How does that feel?” he whispered close to your ear. You hummed, almost melting under his touch. “Really good… don’t stop.”

Neteyam’s hands worked slowly down your back, pressing into the tight muscles. His thumbs circled along your spine, easing the knots you did not even realize were there.

“You’re really tense here,” he murmured close to your ear. His breath brushed against your skin, sending small shivers down your spine. “Relax for me, Y/n.”

You hummed in response, eyes half-lidded. His hands felt warm and strong, sliding lower until they rested just above your hips. You shifted, pressing back against his touch. “That feels good, ‘teyam…” you whispered.

Neteyam let out a hum and continued, his palms gliding over your lower back again with more pressure, thumbs digging in.

The air in the kelku felt thicker now. His fingers occasionally brushed the sides of your waist. You bit your lip wheneber his hands moved to your thighs, kneading it before sliding up once more.

His hand moved to massage your stomach, before his fingers slowly moved upward to your chest, gently massaging your breasts, making you lean back against him.

You turned your head slightly, looking at him over your shoulder. “Keep doing that…”

Neteyam’s hands stilled for a second before he leaned in closer, lips brushing the back of your shoulder as he continued the massage.

He massaged the edges of your breast gently, making sure not to apply too much pressure; he knew it could hurt you badly, and that was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he had you biting your lip when his fingers that were cold from the herbs, pressed against your nipples.

His touch became slower, every press of his fingers sent warmth spreading through you. You could feel his breathing getting heavier against your skin as his hands explored the curve of your waist and thighs.

“Neteyam…”

He kept pressing a kiss on your cheeks before pulling back. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“No, don’t stop…” you whined, grabbing his hands and placing them on your inner thighs. “It aches here too.”

“Yeah, baby?” he whispered, squeezing and massaging your thighs painfully slow. His other hand moved to your knee, gently opening your legs further apart. You rested your head back on his shoulder, breathing heavier. “Mhm… ‘Teyam.”

Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails scratching against his skin as the pleasure built. His hand suddenly brushed against your loincloth, making you hiss softly.

You kept whimpering, hips moving. “Just relax. You don’t have to move,” he murmured against your ear.

He reached for the ties of your loincloth and started untying it. You helped him remove it completely, letting it fall aside. You grabbed his hand again and placed it back between your thighs, right where you needed him most. Both of you were breathing hard now, hearts racing.

“Please… Neteyam,” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for. He kissed along your neck. “Hm? Please what?” His fingers slid along the sides of your aching core, rubbing up and down slowly to ease the ache.

“Touch me…” You moaned louder and spread your legs more for him. One hand stayed gripping his biceps while the other held onto his knee.

“Are you sure?” He said, searching your face as you swallowed, tightening your grip. “I am. just… go slow. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”

“Say stop and I stop, okay?”

“Mhm… I trust you.”

He then finally touched your pussy directly, massaging gently before pulling away instantly. You whined at the loss.

Neteyam opened the jar again, added more herbs to his fingers, and applied them back to your inner thighs. He slid his fingers over your pussy once more, rubbing slow circles on your clit. You guided his forearm with your hand, showing him exactly how you wanted it.

You tilted your head more, giving him better access to your neck. He breathed in your scent deeply while continuing those steady circles, making your hips move against his fingers.

He kept rubbing slow circles on your clit with his herb-slick fingers, pressing just enough to make your hips twitch. “That’s it, y/n… feel how wet you are already?” he whispered against your neck, voice deep.

You moaned and pushed back against his hand, needing more. He slid one finger down and slowly pushed it inside you, curling it. “So tight… just breathe for me, okay? Let me take care of you.”

It was inevitable to not whimper and grip his forearm tighter when his fingers kept hitting the right spots, you couldn’t help but roll your hips in circle against his finger that went in and out painfully slowly.

Neteyam added a second finger, stretching you good while his thumb kept rubbing your clit. “Good girl… look at your pussy taking my fingers so well,” he praised, sucking on the side of your neck. “You feel so good around it, baby. So warm and wet. Wish you could feel it…”

He kept the pace slow, pumping his fingers deeper while whispering in your ear. “Mhm… move your hips just like that. Show me how much you like it.”

You whimpered louder, legs shaking as the pleasure built higher. Right when you felt yourself getting close, he slowed down and pulled his fingers out.

You whined desperately, trying to chase his hand. “N-Neteyam, c’mon…”

“Not yet, baby. I want to hear you beg a little more.” He chuckled and applied more of the herbs to your inner thighs before driving his fingers deep inside you once again. When he curled them against that specific spot, a gasp escaped your lips.

“‘teyam… please, I need it…” you begged, voice shaking. He kissed your shoulder and kept moving his fingers at that same torturing slow pace. “I know you do, pretty girl. But you’re going to be good and wait for it, right? I want you to feel everything.”

He kept edging you like that bringing you close again and again before slowing down, praising you the whole time. “So cute when you moan like that.”

His other hand stayed on your thigh, holding you open while he worked you with his fingers. You were trembling, breathing hard, completely lost in his touch. “Please… I can’t—”

He licked the spot under your ear and whispered hotly against it, “Yes you can, baby. Just a little longer, alright?”

Neteyam pulled his fingers out slowly and kissed your cheeks. “Turn over for me, please. Lay on your stomach.” You obeyed and laid down on the mattress, face turned to the side.

He began pouring more herb onto your back and started massaging it with his heavy hands. His palms moved from your shoulders down to your hips, pressing and sliding smoothly on your skin.

You whined loudly and unconsciously lifted your ass toward him. He noticed immediately and poured more herb onto your ass, massaging it thoroughly with both hands.

You spread your legs a little more and lifted it without thinking, showing him everything. Neteyam groaned and slid his hand between your thighs again. He pushed two fingers back inside you, moving them while his other hand kept kneading your ass.

“That’s it, baby… let me hear you,” he murmured, voice rough. “You’re so wet for me. So good.” You moaned and whimpered continuously, hips moving back against his fingers.

“Good, just like that. You take my fingers so well… letting it slide faster from your wetness. You like it that much?”

“F-fuck, Mhm.. Neteyam..!”

He curled his fingers inside you and sped up a little, hitting that spot over and over. You were trembling hard, begging between moans. “Neteyam… please… I’m so close…”

“Come for me then.”

And so you did, your orgasm hit you hard. You cried out his name, body shaking as you clenched around his fingers.

Neteyam didnt stop though. He kept moving his fingers through your orgasm, drawing it out longer. “Good girl… keep going. You look so pretty when you cum.”

You tried to close your legs but he held them open gently. “Too much… ‘Teyam…” you whimpered, still sensitive.

He kissed your shoulder again. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it, right? Trust me…” He kept fingering you, thumb rubbing your clit, pushing you straight into overstimulation. You moaned loudly, body twitching under him. “Damn it…”

“You’re doing so well, baby. One more for me, yes?”

Neteyam kept moving his fingers faster after your first orgasm, not giving you any break. His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you.

It wasn’t sooner when you came again with a loud moan, body shaking uncontrollably under him. Even after your second orgasm, his fingers didn’t stop. He kept pumping them faster, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed his forearm and flipped yourself onto your back, breathing hard. “N-Neteyam… I… fuck, stop—” you panted, chest rising and falling rapidly. He finally slowed down and pulled his fingers out.

Neteyam licked his wet fingers clean while looking at you. “I’m sorry… Are you okay, baby?”

You caught your breath and gave him a small smile. “More than okay…” Neteyam leaned down and pressed gentle kisses on your cheeks, then your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll grab you some water.”

He stood up and went to the kitchen area, coming back with a wooden cup filled with water. You sat up slowly, still trying to process everything.

The massage had turned into something much more intense. You could’ve expected a day where you took your last breath, but you definitely didn’t expect it to end with his fingers inside you instead, and you were not complaining at all.

Neteyam sat beside you again and handed you the wooden cup. “Drink slowly,” he said. You took a sip, still feeling the aftershocks running through your body.

The next day, you woke up in a good mood. You chose your lightest feather accessories this time, the ones that complimented your skin perfectly. You felt light as you danced while walking along the stalls, greeting the people who bowed at you.

Your steps halted when you spotted Neteyam and Peyrral talking in the corner. Peyrral had her arms crossed tightly, glaring up at him. Neteyam looked flushed, ears pinned back as he listened to her, nodding.

You rolled your eyes without thinking. A strange feeling settled in your chest. Instead of walking toward them, you changed direction and headed toward the river for a swim.

You kept glancing back at them as you walked away. Peyrral looked serious, saying something while pointing at Neteyam’s chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, blushing.

The sight made your stomach twist a little.

You turned away completely and continued walking. cursing under your breath. You didn’t wanna think why your best friend always seemed to pull Neteyam aside for private talks lately.

But you refused to think of Peyrral that way as you would never let a man come between a friendship you valued very much.

Unfortunately, the planet seemed to have other plans. No matter how much you tried to keep your thoughts clear, only a few hours later you found them together again, assisting the elders as they carried out offerings for the third day.

They walked beside the elder, engaged in a conversation as she smiled up at them, and your left eye twitched at the sight again, not to mention you had barely spoken to anyone since yesterday, choosing instead to keep yourself busy.

By the sixth day, with only one day left before the courting moon began, you had successfully avoided most interactions within the clan. Whenever contact happened, you quickly found excuses to leave, slipping away before anything could linger.

You tried not to dwell on your thoughts too much, telling yourself it gave you more time with Seya, where you could relax, rub her belly, and lean into her warmth.

Right now, you were sitting on the forest floor, chewing on a cannonball fruit, or Rumaut as the locals called it, after dropping one you had climbed high into a tree to get, considering it was usually your father cracking it for you.

Your ears twitched when you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You glanced over your right shoulder and saw Neteyam walking slowly toward you. “Hey.”

You mumbled a hi before turning back to your food, ignoring him. “May I sit here?”

“Do whatever you want,” you replied, licking the sweet juice from your fingers as he sat down near you, leaving some space.

Neteyam held out a neatly wrapped food in an edible leaf. “Here.” You looked at the offering, then glared at his face before looking away again.

“Keep it, Neteyam.”

He pulled the food back and stared at it. “...I made this with the cooks today. They wanted to see if I still remembered everything they taught me during our punishment.”

“You must have done it with Peyrral,” Your eye twitched as you mentioned her out of nowhere, unsure why it came out like that, though you meant no harm.

Neteyam frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Why would I do it with her? She’s not even a cook.”

“How would you know? She is a great cook. She would make a good housewife too. Think about it.”

He looked even more lost. “I meant that she was not with the cooks during our punishment… Why are you telling me this? Is everything okay?”

“All’s fine.”

“What about us? Are we?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Neteyam lowered his head. “You’ve… barely talked to me lately. I don’t know if I did something wrong… or if it’s because of what happened before. If you didn’t want that, I’m—”

“Are you having an affair with me?”

Neteyam looked at you with eyes widened. “Pardon?”

You turned your whole body toward him. “I said, are you cheating on someone with me?”

Neteyam looked offended, “What? Who would I even—”

You kept pushing. “Do you like Peyrral?”

Neteyam straightened his back and let out a sigh, “First of all, you’re not an affair to me, Y/n. I would never dishonor anyone in that way. Second, I’m not with anyone else, and I’m not cheating on anyone with you. And I do not have feelings for Peyrral. I have feelings for you… I told you that already, didn’t I? There is no one else.”

You gulped. “Do not lie to me, Neteyam.” He looked straight into your eyes. “I am not lying, Y/n.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then what were you two talking about at the Veil Pool?”

He tried to recall what had happened at the cave that day, realizing you were referring to the moment Vetxo pulled you outside while Peyrral spoke to him alone.

Back at the cave, she watched him scratch his neck awkwardly, he even tried to walk past her toward the entrance, but she quickly grabbed his ear. “Ow!”

Peyrral accused him of inappropriate behavior and refused to believe his attempts to explain, while defending her best friend.

“Let me explain—”

Peyrral continued interrogating Neteyam, convinced he had brought you to the Veil Pool for suspicious reasons and refusing to accept any excuses. Neteyam repeatedly denied her accusations, insisting he had no bad intentions and desperately trying to convince her to believe him.

Peyrral crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You better start explaining properly then, golden son. Because from what I saw, you looked exactly like those guys who only want one thing from her, and you know what that is.”

Neteyam admitted that you had asked him to prove that he genuinely found you beautiful by touching your ass, explaining that he went along with it because he didn’t want you to think he had been lying.

Peyrral groaned and rubbed her face with both hands. “That stupid girl…” She pinched Neteyam’s arm hard. “And you! You knew better than to agree to something like that!”

He admitted that he shouldve explained things better and apologized, but she still struck his chest above his bandage, warning him not to take advantage of you or she would make him regret it.

You were at a loss for words as he explained what had happened after you left them alone. You cleared your throat and spoke again, forcing yourself to continue, “What about the day after you… after our night? I saw you two talking in the corner.”

He immediately understood what you meant, clearly remembering the awkward and embarrassing details from that conversation with Peyrral.

Neteyam was helping an old man carry heavy offerings to the stalls, smiling politely at everyone. His smile faded the moment he saw Peyrral standing in the corner, arms crossed, nodding her head to the side, clearly demanding he come over. He excused himself from the elder and walked toward her.

Peyrral immediately confronted him, making it clear she already knew about what had happened to the two of you, while Neteyam tried to explain himself.

She sighed loudly and cut him off. “The courting moon hasn’t even begun… and yet someone already forgot where his hands are meant to stay.”

Neteyam tried to explain that everything had happened with your permission and that he genuinely cared about you, but Peyrral cut him off before he could finish.

Peyrral hit his chest with the back of her hand. “I went to her kelku yesterday to bring the meal she asked for. Instead I heard her moaning your name like that. Let me guess, she’s no longer a virgin now, is she?!”

Neteyam blushed deeply, face turning purple. He reassured her that nothing more had happened and that he had respected your boundaries the entire time.

“Listen to me very carefully, boy. If you ever leave her crying, I will personally walk into your family’s kelku at night, take the sharpest dagger I own, find the exact hole where that arrow went into your chest, and push the blade deep inside it until your blood runs down your body again. You understand?”

“What about when you two were helping at the stalls?” you asked, still not fully convinced. “She pulled me aside again to scold me, but an elder came and asked for our help with the heavy baskets.”

You frowned and continued. “I also saw you with her and Vetxo in the forest that day. Peyrral had her hand on your hair while Vetxo was laughing at both of you. What was that all about?”

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning slightly purple. “They cornered me before I could go hunting. Vetxo asked what my plans were for the courting moon. I mentioned that I’ll court you seriously… Peyrral hit my head and warned me not to court you with just pleasure. Vetxo laughed at how purple my face got.”

“and what about the time she was looking at your songcord?” you crossed your arms, finally pulling out every moment you had seen them together.

“She was talking about how I would need to add a piece of you into my songcord one day, because I want you as my mate.”

You went quiet and looked down at your lap, frowning. You felt stupid for accusing both Neteyam and your best friend when in reality she was only trying to protect you, while he had been defending himself this whole time just to prove how zerious he was about you.

He lifted your chin so you would look at him. He leaned in, hesitated for a second, then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes while his hand stayed on your cheek and the other held your hand on your lap.

“Y/n, I promise you there’s nothing between me and her. She only talks to me to warn me and make sure I do not hurt you. That is all it has ever been. I apologize for how it looked like.”

You looked away, “No, I’m sorry…”

Neteyam kissed your forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m willing to talk about everything.”

You kept your gaze down. “Just take my apology…”

He smiled. “It’s alright. Although I fail to understand why you would think that way about me and her when she already has someone else.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? No she does not.”

Neteyam raised an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean? She and Vetxo are together.”

Your eyes widened. “What?! No, they are not!”

Neteyam looked surprised by your reaction. “Uhh… they are, Y/n…”

“How? Did they tell you?” you asked, still in disbelief. Neteyam scratched the back of his neck. “Not exactly… but Vetxo made a joke once. She said that if I got to remove your… umm innocence before she got to remove Peyrral’s, she would actually ride a nantang…”

Your jaw dropped. “What…”

-

Neteyam hovered over you on the soft grass, his body warm against yours. He licked your earlobe slowly, making you whimper and rub your thighs together. The conversation had quickly turned into this after mentioning the night before, and you were already aching for one another.

He moved down to your neck, licking your skin before reaching your collarbone. You lifted your accesories, exposing your breasts. Neteyam immediately replaced your hand with his tongue, rolling it around your nipple while his fingers played with the other one.

“Oh… Neteyam, I missed this,” you moaned, throwing your head back. He hummed against your skin and switched sides, sucking harder on your other nipple.

His free hand grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his hip, pressing his hard cock against your loincloth.

You wrapped both legs around him and pulled him closer to your core, pushing his face into your chest. He started grinding slowy, humping you through your loincloths. You could feel every inch of his hardness rubbing against your throbbing pussy, the fabric the only thing stopping him from entering you.

“Fuck, baby… you feel how hard you make me?” he groaned against your neck. “All this for you. Just from touching you.” He kept rolling his hips, pressing his cock right against your clit with every thrust.

You moaned louder, matching his movements desperately. He sucked harder on your neck, right on that sensitive spot that always made you loud.

“You like when I grind on your little pussy like this?” You whimpered and nodded, nails digging into his shoulders.

Neteyam suddenly pulled back, making you hiss in frustration. He lifted both your loincloths at the same time, exposing your wet pussy. He groaned at the sight and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it while his other hand went between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit.

You grabbed fistfuls of grass, needing something to hold onto. He teased his tip against your folds, sliding it up and down your pussy without pushing inside. “Look at you… so wet and needy for me.”

He kept rubbing his thick cock along your slit, pressing the head against your clit before sliding back down to tease you.

The risk of someone walking by in the forest only made everything hotter as you were whimpering and begging loud, hips chasing his cock.

“Please, Neteyam…” you moaned. He leaned down and gave your forehead a kiss before moving lower. He spread your legs wider and kissed your inner skin, he didn’t waste time as he buried his face between your thighs, licking your pussy hungrily.

“T-Taste so fucking good, baby,” he whimpered, sucking on your clit while teasing your hole and pushing two fingers inside you, remembering how it gsve you so much pleasure.

He ate you out like he was starving, tongue and fingers working together perfectly. Every time you got close he slowed down, edging you again and again. “Hold it for me…”

You shook your head, telling him you couldn’t because you were feeling too horny, and he simply nodded against your core, letting you go. When he finally let you cum, you cried out loudly, you were shaking, moaning his name over and over, thighs squeezing around his head.

But he didn’t stop there though, he kept licking you through your orgasm, “One more, baby? Give me one more, pleasee…”

Neteyam pushed your legs wider apart and kept sucking. He sucked on your pussy, groaning against your wet folds. Moving faster, swirling his tongue around your clit before pushing it inside you, tasting every drop you could give him.

“Fuck… baby,” he groaned, voice muffled. He sucked harder on your clit, eyes half-lidded when your juices coated his tongue. “I could eat this pussy all day…”

You moaned loudly, hips jerking against his face, hands pulling his hair. He held your thighs down and kept devouring you.

It wasnt long before another yet orgasm hit you hard. Your whole body shook as you came on his tongue, crying out his name.

Neteyam didn’t pull away. He groaned loudly when he felt you cum, eyes rolling back again as he drank every drop. “That’s it… give it to me.”

He kept licking through your orgasm, pushing two fingers back inside you while sucking on your clit. You were shaking, trying to close your legs but he held them open. “Neteyam…—” you whimpered.

He looked up at you, lips shiny with your wetness. “One more, baby. Just one more. Please, I need it. Let me taste you again.”

He dove back in even hungrier, tongue flicking fast on your sensitive clit while his fingers curled deep inside you. You were sensitive, your pussy kept throbbing, coming again within seconds, thighs trembling around his head, pulling harder on his hair.

You didn’t know what to do; you were shaking so hard from the pleasure he was giving you. You kept pushing his head away from your pussy, even as your hips involuntarily chased his tongue.

Neteyam moaned as if he were the one feeling the pleasure. He thrust his hips against the grass, desperate for any kind of friction, his eyes rolling back as he licked you through it, completely refusing to stop.

You were gasping, tears in your eyes from the pleasure. “Neteyam… stop, I can’t—”

When he heard the word he finally slowed down but still licked you, cleaning you up with soft strokes of his tongue, pulling away with a kiss on your pussy.

“Kiss me…” you demanded as he crawled up your body and kissed your lips, fighting with your tongue, letting you taste yourself on his.

You felt him smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile back. You bit his bottom lip gently before deepening the kiss, holding his jaw as your tongue fought for dominance. Neteyam lets you take control, groaning into your mouth.

Before you could wrap your arms around his neck, he suddenly pulled away and sat up. His ears twitched as he looked toward the trees. You turned your head too, hearing your friend’s voice calling your name from somewhere in the forest.

“‘teyam?” you whispered, still breathing hard. He placed a finger on your lips, eyes scanning the area.

He looked back at you and pressed a soft peck on your cheek, then on your lips. He gently pulled your top and loincloth back into place, covering your body. The forest air felt cool against your flushed skin as you tried to catch your breath.

Neteyam reached for a nearby flask of fresh river water and used a soft damp cloth to gently pat your sensitive pussy and inner thighs, you shivered from the cool touch. He set the cloth aside and laid down beside you on the grass, facing you while resting his head on his palm.

His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking the top of your head until your racing heart started to calm down. You could hear his own heart beating even faster than yours. When you looked up at him, his cheeks were flushed a deep purple.

“Why?” you whispered. He looked away, clearly embarrassed. His hand moved from your hair down to your waist. “Nothing…”

The voices of your friends calling for you had faded away as they must’ve gone somewhere else. You noticed Neteyam was still breathing hard.

That was when you realized you had cum multiple times, but he had not.

You sat up on your elbow and looked straight at him. “Do you want me to suck you off?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened and he shifted his legs. “No, y/n. It’is alright.”

You frowned and sat up fully. “It’s fine by me. I want to do it.”

He sat up too and held your hands that were reaching for his thighs. “Yeah but you’re exhausted. I swear it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”

You glared at him with a pout. “Neteyam…”

He looked flushed again. “Baby… it’s alright, trust me. Maybe next time.” You tried to argue but he leaned in and pecked your lips. “Let us head back to the village.”

Neteyam knew he would have to deal with his throbbing cock and the visible bulge in his loincloth later when he was alone. Just like the night he fingered you, he would probably end up jerking off while thinking about you again. It was nothing new for him.

-

The courting moon had begun a few days ago. Neteyam was indeed very serious about courting you, and he made sure everybody in the clan knew it. You finally told your friends everything that happened, especially Peyrral, including all your worries about the situation.

She listened before pulling you into a hug. “Im sorry for making it seem that way. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you.” She glanced at Vetxo, who nodded at her. “And… yes, Vetxo and I are together. Well, she courted me. I haven’t given her an answer before so we didnt mention anything.”

Both of them started babying you like parents for the rest of the day. They stole you away from Neteyam, cornering him earlier so they could have you to themselves. They spoiled you with your favorite fruits, braided your hair nicely, and kept feeding you snacks while laughing together.

You eventually told them more details about what happened between you and Neteyam. How he gave you pleasure with just his fingers and mouth, but refused to let you return the favor every time. Peyrral raised an eyebrow while Vetxo smirked. “He’s really holding back, huh?”

They started telling you more things mates usually do with each other, making you aware. The way they described it made your face burn hot. You kept imagining doing all those things with Neteyam, your mind filled with pictures of his hands, his mouth, and his body on yours.

Peyrral noticed your flushed face and grinned, Vetxo nudged you. “Don’t worry. When you finally mate with him, it will feel even better than what he did with his tongue.”

You covered your ears that were turning deep purple. “Stop it…”

You couldnt stop thinking about Neteyam and everything your friends just told you. The images in your head kept getting more vivid with every passing minute.

That’s why you found yourself pressed against the tree, Neteyam kissing you deeply as his hands roamed your body. You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He was already hard, his cock pressing against you through his loincloth.

He broke the kiss and started moving lower, intending to drop to his knees. “Neteyam…” you moaned, grabbing his hair and stopping him. “No. I want you now.”

He looked up at you with desperate eyes, pouting. “But baby… please. Let me taste you. I need it.”

You shook your head, breathing hard. “I said no. I want you to rail me against this tree right now.”

Neteyam hissed at your words, eyes darkening with lust. He stood up and lifted both of your legs, wrapping them around his hips. “You’re so needy, baby… where did you learn to talk like that?”

He pinned you on it, one hand on your ass while the other braced beside your head. “You want it badly? You want me to stretch this tight little pussy now?” he groaned, grinding his hard length against you.

You whimpered and nodded fast. “Yes… please, baby.”

He moaned at the nickname and pulled your loincloth aside, he rubbed his throbbing cock along your wet folds, teasing your entrance.

“Feel that? Dripping for me desperately.”

You moaned loudly, rolling your hips to chase his tip. “Put it in… damn it.”

Neteyam chuckled, sliding his cock up and down your pussy without pushing inside. “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you beg properly.”

You whined in frustration, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please… I need you inside me. Stop teasing mee.”

“Sorry, baby…” He finally pushed the head of his cock inside you slowly, stretching you open. You gasped at the feeling, legs tightening around him. “Oh… it’s—it’s so tight, baby,” he groaned, eyes rolling back for a second. “Squeezing me so good. Such a perfect pussy for me.”

He kept pushing in deeper, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. Both of you moaned loudly. “Take all of me,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “I’m barely all in, baby…”

Neteyam started thrusting into you, slow and deep. The tree bark scraped lightly against your back with every movement. “You’re so big, ‘teyam…”

You moaned his name over and over, legs locked tight around his waist. He picked up the pace, railing you harder against the tree. “Tell me how much you like it,” he whispered, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat like you had asked before.

“Love it so much, babyyy. Go faster, please..”

He groaned and fucked you just the way you like it, tail wrapping around your thigh to hold you even closer. “Yeah? I love it just as much, baby…”

“You wanna cum, baby? C’mon, let me feel you squeeze me.”

You cried out as the way he spoke so dirty made your orgasm hit you hard, clenching around him. He groaned at how tight you hugged his cock, but he didn’t stop, ensuring to fuck your orgasm through it with more thrusts.

“Fuck, N-Neteyam…!”

He fucked you harder against the tree, thrusting deep and fast into your tight walls. His hips snapped forward with every stroke, arching your back.

You were moaning uncontrollably, tail curling in pleasure, matching his pace by thrusting your hips back to meet every of his thrusts, letting his cock keep hitting that perfect spot inside you.

“baby… don’t squeeze me so tight,” he groaned, kissing you messily, tongue sliding against yours as he pounded into you. You whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to look at your face, breathing hard. “Where do you want it, Y/n? Tell me.”

You moaned loudly, legs locked tighter around his waist. “Deep… deep inside me…” You kept thrusting back against him desperately, chasing that spot that made your eyes roll. “Please… fill me up. I need it so bad.”

Neteyam growled and kissed you again, harder this time, biting your lip as he railed you even faster, “Going to fill this pussy until it leaks out, may I do that?”

You were losing control, just nodding to whatever he was saying, saying nothing but his name, while thrusting your hips to meet his pace. Every thrust made wet sounds echo in the forest, and the thought of someone hearing you only made you wetter.

Neteyam was just as desperate, groaning loudly against your neck as he fucked you senseless.

“Neteyam… I’m close again—” you cried out, clenching hard around his cock. He kept slamming into you, hitting that spot perfectly every time. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it please.”

You came hard with a loud moan, body shaking violently as your walls pulsed around him. Neteyam groaned deeply, thrusting a few more times before burying himself as deep as possible. “Fuck… taking all of it, baby.”

Neteyam thrust deep into you one last time and came hard, groaning loudly against your neck as he filled you up. His thighs shook from the intensity, almost collapsing, but he held his ground, arms wrapped tightly around you so he would not drop you. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, breathing heavily while still slowly thrusting through both of your orgasms.

You lifted his head gently and pulled him into a deep kiss. He kissed you back, trying to match your energy even though he was still sensitive and dazed, his cock twitching inside you. You went down on your feet, arms still wrapped around his neck as his hands moved down to your waist and then your ass.

His fingers reached lower, rubbing your messy pussy, making you arch your back. You pulled him out of you slowly and watched as his cum leaked out of your pussy, dripping down your thighs. You bit your lip and looked up at him with even more lust in your eyes.

Neteyam was still breathing hard, trying to recover. Before he could say anything, you pulled him down onto the grass and straddled his thighs. He moaned into the kiss when you started grinding your wet pussy along his still-hard cock, rubbing against it while pulling his hair. “Y-y/n… please.”

You pulled away from the kiss and looked down at him. “You like that, baby?” you asked, rolling your hips in slow circles, teasing his sensitive cock. “Does it feel good when I do this?”

Neteyam whimpered, hands gripping your hips. “Yes… fuck…”

You smirked and kept grinding on him, sliding your soaked pussy up and down his length. You leaned down and bit his neck, marking him. “I wonder… if the girls in the clan could make you feel like this. Would you let them ride your cock like I do?”

Neteyam shook his head quickly, moaning. “No. Only you. Only you, baby. I beg you…”

You lifted yourself and guided his cock back inside you, sinking down slowly. He groaned loudly, head falling back. “Baby— I’m still… you’re going to kill me.”

You started riding him properly, moving your hips up and down while talking to him. “That’s right… all of this is mine. I want it so bad—I want my body molded to yours so completely that no one else could ever have me..” You clenched around him on purpose, making him whimper. “what do you think?”

Neteyam flushed, hands trembling on your waist, breathing ragged. “Y/n… it’s too much… I just came—”

You rolled your hips harder, riding him faster. “You can take it. Be a good boy and cum inside me again. Fill me up like you did earlier...”

You leaned down and sucked on his neck, leaving more marks for girls to see. He was moaning loudly now, thighs shaking underneath you from the overstimulation.

You kept riding him, whispering dirty words in his ear, rolling your hips in deep circles while looking down at his flushed face. Neteyam whimpered underneath you, hands gripping your waist tightly, he couldn’t even bring himself to thrust up.

“You don’t get to cum yet, okay?”

He groaned loudly, eyes glassy with desperation. “Y/n… please… I need to cum inside you.”

You smirked and clenched around his cock on purpose, making him twitch hard. “The mighty future Olo’eyktan begging like this? So pathetic for his… future tsahik.”

You leaned down closer, lips brushing his ear. “Your future is riding you, Neteyam. Does that make you hard? Knowing I’ll be the one standing beside you as your mate?”

He moaned brokenly, nodding fast. “Yes… fuck, yes. Please, baby.”

You sped up a little but still refused to let him cum, lifting yourself until only his tip was inside before sinking back down. “How many kids do you want, Neteyam? Tell me. You want me to carry your children, right? Build a clan with you?” You kept riding him. “Answer me.”

Neteyam was losing it, whimpering and shaking under you. “As many as you want… please, Y/n. I want it all with you. Just let me cum— I- I’ll give you everything.”

You grinned and kept moving, still edging him. “Not a single girl in the clan gets to have you like this, right?”

He looked completely wrecked, eyes rolling back every time you clenched around him. “Only you… only you, yawne. Please… I cannot hold it anymore.”

You rode him harder, still not letting him finish. “Beg better. Tell me how badly you want to.”

Neteyam was panting, voice cracking. “Please… let me cum inside you… fill you up…”

You quickened your pace, leaning down to pull him into a deep kiss while tugging on his hair. Neteyam thrust up to meet you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths. You came hard around him again, whining loudly as his warm cum coated your walls at the same time.

He lost his balance and fell back onto the grass, pulling you down with him. You laid on top of his chest, breathing heavily while your pussy kept clenching around his cock. Neteyam wrapped his arms around you, one hand gently rubbing your back in slow circles.

Both of you stayed like that for a while, still connected. His cock was still inside you, twitching occasionally. Neteyam kissed the top of your head softly. “Are you okay, baby?”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah… more than okay.” You stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Neteyam… about what I said earlier. I meant it.”

He tightened his hold on you, heart beating fast under your cheek. He looked up at the swaying trees above, a small smile on his face. “Really? All of it? The future… kids… standing beside me?”

You lifted your head to look at him. “Yes.”

Neteyam searched your eyes, still a little unsure. “Even after everything? After I was so annoying and kept fighting over the position?”

You chuckled and rested your chin on his chest. “I changed my mind the day you risked your life to save me. When you took that arrow for me… that was the moment I realized I didn’t wanna lead without you.”

He smiled at you, caressing your cheeks. “Then we will do it together, baby.”

“Mhm…”

Neteyam smiled widely and pulled you back down into his arms, still buried inside you. “I like the sound of that… my future tsahik.”

“Of course you do, my future olo’eyktan.”

© neteiam - any form of stealing is hereby strictly prohibited.

[garfieldsladybird]

I get worried and sad when writers that I really love haven’t posted in a month because I’m worried for the well-being. Like I really just hope you’re okay and that you’re doing okay.

[tw1sters]

Fight or Flirt (Part One)

There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.

▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), pull-out method, fingering, degradation, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, miscommunication (my favorite, of course) ▸ WORD COUNT: 13.6K ▸ A/N: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote reader hiding getting knocked up by the baby's dad until he's back in town, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. this became the longest fic i've ever written which is insane to say about this man who had 3 minutes of screen time??? but anyways i love him and his dumb ass! if you enjoyed this, please leave comments and reblog on top of liking it!! i'd love to hear your thoughts <3 second and final part coming in two weeks!!!! special thanks to @kryptidfiles for helping me with reader's job heh

↤ main masterlist | part two ↦

You meet Scott Miller at the tail-end of summer — that not-so-sweet spot between your junior and final year when you find yourself bankrupt and barely breathing. Between completing the mandatory hours at Mass General for your program and the countless hours sticking your nose in multiple textbooks, the last thing you want to deal with is an arrogant asshole.

Specifically, an arrogant asshole at your favorite café, with your favorite brown sugar oatmilk shaken double espresso after a long night at the library and a few more hours needed to finish your final paper for this summer course. All you want is peace and quiet with your barely functional eyes.

Unfortunately, you are instead met with the sight of this man’s massive back as he berates the barista out in the open.

Your favorite barista at that. With your patience hanging by a frayed thread and the little spark of energy you have left inside of you, you exert all of that to defend this poor girl — and the sanctity of this place.

“Are you always this much of a dick or only to people you think are beneath you?”

The man — tall, brunette, blue eyes, a classic all-American clad in an MIT t-shirt, looking like he bathes in daddy’s money — has the audacity to look taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“I’m asking if you take pleasure in bitching at people who get paid minimum wage to serve douchebags like you overpriced coffee every day.”

Blue Eyes gapes at you. It’s a shame, really. He would’ve been just your type if he weren’t such a dick. That’s the regrettable thing about men — they have mouths.

“I’m not—” he begins, having the decency to get somewhat flustered. His eyes fly around the room to find pairs of curious, judgmental eyes on him. His lips twist in irritation but he manages to grit out, “I just want my actual coffee order.”

“Then ask for it,” you snap, “you don’t need to pull a Shakespearean soliloquy to get a fucking frappuccino.”

“Black coffee,” he corrects.

“Of course it is,” you roll your eyes. “Now, can you ask politely or do I need to start my own monologue about the detrimental effects of men in society?”

He gives you a satisfying wince. “No, you don’t need to do that.” He turns to Evelyn, the barista. “Can I get my correct order?” He only glances at you because you’re searing him with a look, which ends up with him adding, “Please.”

Now, when the two of you tell your separate group of friends that this is the story of how you met, no one would believe you — not with the way the two of you are joined at the hip. You bicker, you argue, you get into hours-long debates at house parties about the ethics of Greek life.

But afterwards, you can also say without a doubt that Scott is a friend.

A friend who you then proceed to drunkenly fuck one night at his frathouse.

A friend who you swear you would never fuck again afterwards.

A friend who you, that same night, decide to fuck. Again. Thrice.

You hate to give credence to his reputation on the MIT campus, especially as an outsider who doesn’t go here, but you understand why there are constantly women throwing themselves at him.

You tell yourself that this is all in good fun; your last couple of youthful years before selling yourself to the American healthcare system for the greater good should be spent doing the worst humanly possible things to yourself.

If that means fucking Scott every chance you get, having him stretch you out over every possible surface, his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, a packed house be damned, then so be it.

Truth be told, you don’t expect things to go anywhere with Scott. The two of you come from vastly different worlds with vastly different dreams. It’s not a tragedy. You two are simply star-crossed, never meant to be lovers.

Scott complains to you about how his parents are constantly trying to set him up with debutantes — the crème de la crème of society — for him to marry; all the while you’re still tucked to his side, naked limbs tangled between each other.

You don’t acknowledge the ache that pulses in the left side of your chest. It shouldn’t matter at the end of the day because friends don’t stay friends forever, let alone lovers.

And you and Scott are not lovers.

However, you do have to reckon with the consequences of your decisions and the implication of your feelings when you find yourself with your head in the toilet, breakfast swirling down the drain for the third time that week. You have to really reckon with Lady Luck punishing you when you realize that you’re weeks late on your cycle, too caught up with school and Scott to notice.

When the two pink lines appear, your fear has reduced your inevitable shock into ashes.

Your first thought is that you have to tell Scott. There isn’t a doubt who the father is since you haven’t been with anyone else since him. This feels like a decision the two of you have to make together; you’re both adults and you should be able to have a professional, rational conversation.

That’s what you tell yourself all the way to his place, body moving on autopilot tracing back the path to his lush apartment near his campus. You barely acknowledge Jimmy, Scott’s very kind doorman, when you take the elevator to his floor.

Not once in the entirety of your… acquaintanceship have you ever been nervous to see Scott. But now your hands are trembling and you suppose it’s from the fact that you have a fucking unplanned pregnancy.

You don’t have time to fully process what that means when Scott swings open the door, and the first thing you see is the suitcase popped open on the floor with clothes haphazardly thrown into it.

Swallowing the bundle of nerves in your throat, you raise an eyebrow in question. “Going somewhere?”

“Head to my uncle’s in Oklahoma for the long weekend.”

“Oklahoma?” You close the door behind you as he begin to fusses with his clothes again.

“Yeah, he’s a real estate developer buying up a shit ton of land down there. Thinking about connecting it with storm chasing. He’s expanding quickly so figured I’d see what it’s like. ”

Your stomach sinks, dread tightening your chest. “The job or Oklahoma?”

He shrugs, completely unaware of your spiraling mind. “Both.”

“You’d really give up your cushy doorman apartment for tornadoes and motels?”

His lips curl into a smirk and your stupid heart is quick to hammer in your ear. Curse him and those deep dimples. “Sweetheart, you know I was born and raised in the south.”

Oh, you know. There’s a reason why that tinge of an accent goes straight between your legs every time he’s upset. “I don’t think a metropolitan like Dallas is the same thing.”

While Scott busies himself with packing again, you splay out on his bed, eyes on the bare ceiling as you try to calm your thundering pulse. You really shouldn’t be this stressed. There are ways out of this — options that two of you can take regardless of what you decide.

Hey, Scott, I’m pregnant. Yes, your child. Am I sure? Yes, you shithead, I haven’t fucked anyone else in months.

Oh, by the way, I’m also probably in love with you, but that’s a secondary problem to the human growing inside me. Thoughts?

“Did you need something?” His voice rips you out of your head.

Your heart rate hasn’t eased, but you have to do it now. So you turn on your side, propping your head up as your belly twists with apprehension. You open your mouth but then you notice the look in his eyes. You know that look all too well; it’s the trigger to all of your bad decisions, including but not limited to being bent over the bathroom sink with all of your friends on the other side of the door and risking arrest for public indecency on a public beach on spring break last week.

His eyes trail over the exposed sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up, his hands abruptly dropping a shirt to reach over and drag his calloused palm over your hip. He slides it to your back, onto that little dip on your spine. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he likes the way you automatically arch towards him when he does it — like right now.

He hums and squeezes your waist to prompt you.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, flipping over so you’re facing his window instead. The city looks beautiful this time of day, sunset casting a golden glow across the architecture, painting it in the shades of the sun.

You hear him shuffle behind you before the mattress sinks with his weight. He smooths a hand over the curve of your waist again, fingers spreading out across your stomach. “You’re thinkin’ about something.”

With a deep breath, you test the waters. “Just the future, the usual.”

“What about the future?” His fingers brush your hair to the side as his lips cling to your neck.

“Work, family, friends,” you pause, chest squeezing, “kids.”

“Kids?” He snorts softly, “Where is this coming from? Never heard you talking about them before.”

Stay calm. You roll over to playfully glare at him. “I’m not getting any younger, so I have to think about these things today.”

“Or in a few years once you get your license and settle into the hospital,” Scott cocks an eyebrow. Your lips thin and he relents. “Alright, so kids, what about them?”

This is it. “Have you thought about them? Whether you, um, want them?”

Scott tilts his head deeper into his pillow. “I don’t think so. Not anytime soon at least. Kids are a hassle and I’m too young for that. Still have to go out there, make money, chase dreams and what not. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another human being.”

His chuckle is drowned out by the sudden persistent ringing echoing in your ear. He must sense it, feels your body going taut next to him.

“What about you?” He murmurs.

If he had asked you a few months ago, you would’ve scoffed and called him crazy. You too have your own dreams to pursue, the world to change and all that. But now, when you know that there’s something else growing inside you, you find that you don’t have the answer to that.

You’re not part of the crowd that thinks aborting this baby would mean murder, but you also never thought that you would be carrying something so special so early. While Scott’s answer isn’t surprising, your reaction to it is — your rationale had been simple: if Scott says no, then you wouldn’t go forward with the pregnancy. If he said yes, then you would have to consider it more seriously.

Scott’s answer is loud and clear, yet you don’t feel so settled with your own.

“Hey, you alright? What’s going on with you?” Concern stitched to the furrow of his brows.

You laugh, your throat feeling a little tight. “Probably just pre-period thoughts.”

He relaxes at that, rolling his eyes. “Women—” you pinch him and he yelps, chuckling. “I’m kidding. I can pack later. Let’s go pick up a pint of that strawberry cheesecake ice cream you like.”

The corners of your lips tip up as he pushes himself off the bed and offers you a hand. “Since when are you so nice to me?”

“I’m nice when I want to get laid.”

You don’t bite back the urge to roll your eyes.

So you’re a coward, sue you. While Scott finishes packing for his flight, you fall asleep in his silk sheets. Slipping in between the edges of consciousness, you feel Scott tuck in behind you, a kiss pressed to the back of your head as you finally give in to slumber.

Afterwards, you tell yourself that you have two months to make a decision. Two months until graduation, that’s your deadline.

A big part of you wants to tell him so you can stop lying about how you won’t be drinking tonight because you’re still hungover from some other party that you never went to. You’re exhausted from biting your tongue when he invites you for sushi, your favorite meal.

“I’m paying,” he insists for the third time.

You yawn, feeling the twinges of nausea rearing its head at the thought of it.

“You never turn down sushi.”

However, you also realize that telling him would be selfish. Despite his reputation, the man has a strong sense of responsibility to finish what he starts. In this case, it would be you. You can’t fathom him feeling like he has to stay here, that he has to be with you, that he has to give up his dreams. For you. He would hate you — if not now, then in the future.

Even worse when you imagine him telling you that he would never, ever do this with you — specifically you. After all, he has many bachelorettes lining up at his doorstep who are likely more than happy to wait a few years to start a family with him.

You’re not sure you’re prepared for that.

With every day that passes, the truth is shoved further down your throat, fear overtaking it.

Before you know it, you’re standing at the airport with him. He wrangles you into a Scott-like hug: one-armed, stiff, a click of his tongue like it’s inconvenient for him to show affection.

“You’re gonna be good, right?”

You scowl, “I’m not a dog.”

His mouth curves up, teeth peeking in his smirk. “Not even gonna turn around thrice and bark for me for my last day?”

“Are you trying to get on your flight in a body bag?”

He’s silent then for a moment, looking at you. Everything blurs around the two of you, noise muffled like you’re in a bubble and all you can hear is his long exhale. “This isn’t forever, you know. I’ll come visit when I finally need you to pump my lungs of all the dirt I’ll be inhaling.”

“Gonna cost you.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less.”

The two of you leave it at that. You could say more. I’ll miss you. I love you. Come back. Stay. But you say none of it. Part of you thinks that Scott knows, part of you hopes he doesn’t. This is his big moment. His future. A picture-perfect frame and you’ve been cut out from the canvas. 

“We’ll keep in touch,” Scott shrugs with a promise.

Your hand flies to your stomach on instinct. You can practically feel that silent heartbeat. If you keep this baby, you can’t possibly hide it from him.

If you can’t hide it from him, he may hate you.

And that’s not something you can ever bear.

So you smile and nod — and you let him go.

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. Starting your morning with a hundred unread emails followed by a series of difficult patients (one of which sneezed on you for good measure) and then a last-minute, dreaded ping at four from one of the study sponsors looking for data — all on a Friday no less.

What you need is some hot tea, a long massage, and preferably your phone buried six feet under. A place where you won’t be able to hear the constant calling of your name.

“Girl, are you ever going to leave?” Jenna pops her head in. “You need to go and get ready.”

You peer down at your sleeveless blouse and slacks. “Why cna’t I go to dinner in this?”

She gives you a look, a bone-chillingly disapproving one. “Get your ass out of here and I’ll come pick you up. We’re going out out.”

Given that this is a planned outing, you shouldn’t feel so miserable about it. You’ve even planned it all out — your mom takes Ben until Sunday, which neither of them mind because they adore each other — and you finally get one night to yourself to do whatever you wanted and an extra day to recover. It’s the first time in four years you’ve actually had time.

Don’t get you wrong. Your body created the miracle that is your son. Beautiful, bright Ben. Sweet, kind-hearted Ben who inherited none of his parents’ terrible tempers and foul personalities. You couldn’t have asked for a better pregnancy, better birth, or better child.

It’s the first time you’ve been away for him for a personal outing. Usually, it’s some sort of work emergency; what constitutes a work emergency as a research coordinator, you’ll never know but the higher-ups love the dramatics of making everything sound like life or death.

Jenna, your colleague and probably the closest person you consider a friend, swings by your place an hour earlier than promised.

You’re still not fully ready.

“I knew you were going to drag your feet through this,” she sighs and drops an armful of clothes onto your couch.

“I’m not dragging my feet, I just have nothing to wear.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here.”

Jenna has always had a knack for convincing people to do things they never wanted to do in the first place. For example, this is how you find yourself squirming uncomfortably throughout the night, wiggling to adjust the skirt lower down your thighs. However, when you do so, it ends up hanging too low on your hips, showing more skin than you’d like.

“Will you quit fidgeting?” she huffs as she pulls you through the crowd, “You look hot.”

“I look like I’m attempting a mating call with a freshman with a fifty-dollar fake,” you grunt.

She giggles. “Well, if you want to play cougar, I do see some college kids who have been eye-fucking you since you stepped in.” She nods her head in the direction of a group of boys who are in fact staring at the two of you, expressions a little too salacious for your liking.

“They’re looking at you,” you note pointedly.

Jenna is the the perfectly balanced combination spicy, smart, and sweet. At least two doctors and more than a fistful of residents follow her around like puppies around the hospital. She has them on leashes.

“That’s because my tits look great in this dress,” she grins. “Come on, let’s get some shots.”

In hindsight, ripping three shots back to back when you haven’t drank like since college is a terrible idea. It hits you hard and fast, but it was much needed to avoid crinkling your nose at the pile of sweaty bodies on the floor. You dance with Jenna for the most part, you let a few people buy you drinks, and… you’re having a good time.

Sometimes, you miss this part of you — the one that isn’t a mom. You love being Ben’s mother but at the same time, you have to relearn what it means to be you.

While this may not be you forever, this is a piece of you that feels like coming home. At least, that’s what you think when you feel much looser with the liquor in your veins. Jenna twirls you on the floor and you laugh, barely paying any mind to the pinching of these knee-high boots or the fact that you’re showing more skin than you have these past few years.

She spins you around again — except this time, your balance is already walking a fine line, so you end up stumbling into a wall.

Shit, not a wall. Said wall is moving.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, hand to your chest to prevent your tits from spilling out of this top. The last thing you need on your first night out is to be arrested for flashing a stranger. You’re straightening to look for Jenna when you hear your name.

Not only your name but it’s your name. Your name said in a way that has fireworks exploding in the pit of your stomach. Your name in a way that knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

Because it’s your name coming out of the mouth, with the voice of, the one person you thought you would never see again.

Scott’s eyes are wide when you finally lock gazes.

“You—” he starts then stops. “Holy shit.”

“W-what are you doing here?” You gasp.

“I’m out with, um, the guys,” he says, but his eyes never blink. Neither do yours. You almost want to, hoping this is some sick nightmare and you’re going to wake up in bed with a filthy hangover that takes you out for the day.

On the other hand, it’s Scott — and he looks good. Too good. His hair is a little longer, curling at the base of his neck. His eyes shine fifty different shades of blue with the flashing lights. His strong brows are furrowed into that familiar frown, one that has heat gathering between your legs. He’s got a suit on that seems to stretch for miles over his shoulders, top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal his pretty collarbones and that gleam of a silver chain.

You can’t be here. You can’t do this.

“Right, okay. I’ll leave you to it then.” You’re turning on your heel and you’ve barely made it forty-five degrees before his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Wait, hold on,” he calls out, tugging you back towards him, your back landing against his front as you stumble backwards. He ducks his head towards your ear to make sure he’s heard but all you can feel is the ghost of his warm breath tickling your skin. “Where are you going?”

You try to extract yourself from him but his grip is firm, now on your hips. “I’m here with a friend. I need to go find her.”

“I’ll go with you.”

You absolutely do not want that. It must show on your face because then he’s scoffing, frown morphing into a disgruntled scowl.

“Is that how you greet a friend you haven’t seen in years?”

Instead of deigning him with a response, giving him the satisfaction of your annoyance, you wordlessly turn and make your way through the crowd. Scott is close behind, you can feel his height looming over you. He’s got a protective arm out to push away anyone who even comes close to touching you, charting a path through this Red Sea.

Jenna is on someone’s lap when you find her. She drags her eyes away from an unfairly attractive man when she spots you. You narrow your eyes at the man before turning back to your friend. “Are you good?”

“Peachy,” she beams. Her attention on you is short-lived when it wanders to Scott who’s hovering around you like a chaperone. “I see you’ve found your entertainment for the night as well,” she winks, eyes practically glittering as she wiggles her brows at you. “I’ll catch you at work Monday?”

Well. That’s your cue to go home. With one final press to make sure she’s okay, Jenna waves you off.

“Your friend’s having much more fun, maybe you should consider doing that for yourself,” Scott whispers in your ear, head ducked to reach your ear. “I could volunteer myself for that position.”

Whirling around, you trap him with a burning glare, which he only grins at.

There’s no way in hell you’re getting into this clusterfuck tonight. Not when you’re still half-convinced that you’re dreaming this up. So you turn back around and start marching towards the exit.

Unfortunately, he continues to follow you. He doesn’t even do anything except stick close to your tail. For some reason, that only pisses you off even more. Maybe if you will him away with your mind, you’ll turn around to find him gone. Because he can’t be here. Why the fuck is he even here?

“Why the fuck are you here?” You snap now that you’re on the quiet sidewalk. The music inside is muffled, leaving you alone with your heart beating in your ears and Scott’s stupid smirk plastered across his face.

He leans back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. You can see how the cotton of his shirt stretches across his wide chest. Jesus, did he get bigger? How is that even possible? The worst part is the amused look printed onto his face, dimples carved out deep. “I’m doing a talk — at MIT.”

Of course, he is. You shouldn’t be surprised. You’d never admit it to him but you have been keeping up with him in the news. He’s been building a startup with advanced technology focusing on disaster resilience combined with real estate development. While you don’t know the full mechanics, you know he’s successful enough to be nailing government and corporate contracts, landing himself on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list.

You could also lie and say that his face is everywhere, but you really had to look him up to find anything about him.

“So why aren’t you talking? At MIT. Why are you here?”

Scott shrugs, “I reached out to the guys to catch up. I would’ve reached out to you too if I had your number.”

You stiffen, chancing a look at his face to find pure irritation. He has every right to be, but you also had your reasons for doing what you did — he just doesn’t know it.

A gust of wind whips past your bare legs, the chill settling on your shoulders. Boston is unforgiving this time of year so you quickly shrug on your jacket. However, you can still the weight of his gaze rolling over the length of you, slow and warm. His steely blue eyes look almost onyx with the way he drinks you in, dragging across your exposed collarbones down to your bare legs.

“What are you doing here?” He asks coolly.

“Out. With a friend.”

His lips tighten around the corners — slightly, only enough for you to notice. “What, to pick up guys?”

“No,” you scowl, “just for a good time.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Having a good time?”

You were — until him. “Fabulous time,” you sarcastically sigh as you pull out your phone, readying yourself to call a car home.

But your movements halt when you feel warmth soak your entire body, your breath hitching in your throat. Scott’s buried his face in your neck, his front against your back, nose tracing the column of your neck, palms splayed over your stomach.. His teeth graze your skin, eliciting a trained shiver out of you.

“How about we have a better time elsewhere?”

“No,” you swallow, “we shouldn’t.”

“Come on, you don’t miss me?” Scott slides his hands higher, enough for his thumb to brush the underside of your breasts. “We used to have fun, didn’t we?”

“Scott, no,” you protest, but you sound frail even in your ears.

“Why not?” He murmurs, lips placing soft, wet kisses against the back of your ear. Your head tilts on instinct, granting him more access as he nibbles down your neck.

“You’re drunk.”

He chuckles, “‘M so fuckin’ sober. I got a shot in when you bumped into me.”

“Then you should go back in there, go have a good time.”

“Found something more fun to do tonight,” he smiles against your skin. “Well, someone.”

His hands drift a little higher, cupping your tits and squeezing. The groan he lets out molds with yours as you resist another whimper crawling up your throat. “We’re outside,” you hiss.

“Never stopped us before.”

The more warm kisses he presses onto your skin, the weaker your resolve becomes. Your body moves on its own accord, leaning back against his chest while your own rises with a stuttered breath.

“Come with me. Promise I’ll make you feel good. Just like old times.”

“Scott…”

He knows — by the way you say his name — that you’ve given in. He doesn’t give you a moment to hesitate, squeezing your hip and keeping you close as he calls a car. His hand stays on you, toying with your nipples until you’re grinding your ass back against the erection under his slacks.

He hasn’t even kissed you, not properly at least. His lips stay on the pulse point on your neck, nipping lightly as his hands settle possessively around your waist. Even in the car, he hoists you over to his side, a thick arm wrapped around your waist to hold you hostage against him. When his other hand travels up to bury in your hair, he yanks on it just enough to have you gasping.

“Always so sensitive,” he whispers with a grin, “so responsive for me.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter weakly.

His breath is warm as he chuckles into your hair.

The car pulls up in front of some posh-looking hotel. You don’t have a moment to guess how much this place costs a night — nor do you want to, the number would likely break your heart. His hand is wrapped around yours, tight, like he’s making sure you don’t try to make a run for it, as he pulls you stumbling through the lobby.

Scott invades every single one of your senses when he corners you in the elevator. He bites down on his moan when he dips his head, nose nuzzling into the curve of your chin as he takes a deep inhale. His exhale quivering.

“You still wear the same perfume,” he notes, sounding almost pleased.

“Creature of habit,” you mutter, hands finding purchase on his biceps in an attempt to stay upright. Your knees feel a little weak with the proximity, with how much heat his body is radiating.

He’s barely swiped through the door and you’ve barely had the chance to close it before Scott is pinning you against the door and slanting his lips over yours. The first kiss knocks you right off your feet and Scott is quick to catch you and hold you up against the door — one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.

He breathes you in as his tongue strokes your bottom lip. He tastes like a mix of vodka, sugar, and a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. The way he moves his mouth is familiar, you’re drawing on muscle memory to remember how you used to kiss. How to move your mouths in sync with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You swallow his hungry groans as his hands explore you all over, sliding up your curves to push off your jacket before venturing south again to cup your ass from underneath your skirt. “This fucking outfit,” he snarls low, “never seen you wear anything like this before. So fuckin’ tiny, I could see your ass walking behind you.”

“J-Jenna’s,” you clarify breathlessly. “My friend’s.”

“And this goddamn top — I could peek down your chest the entire time we were there. Wanted to rip this off you so I could play with these pretty tits,” he murmurs, kissing his way along your jaw and down your neck. “Then this—” he squeezes your ass, “if I saw one more person try to get a peek, I would’ve bent you over the bar and fucked you then and there to show them that none of them have a shot. Not them. It’s only going to be me.”

Your response dies in your throat when he begins to suck light bruises onto your skin, pain blooming in concentrated spots across your skin. He’s always been territorial, leaving one mark after another to deter anyone else from coming close.

While you usually enjoy the slow build, the persistent ache between your legs demands otherwise.

“Come on, just fuck me already.”

“So goddamn impatient,” he snips but picks you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Your body slips a little lower and you can feel the bulge in his pants poking against your own core. Your panties pressed directly against the thickness, which leaves very little to the imagination. “So fuckin’ hard,” Scott grunts, “started getting a chub the moment I saw you. Then I saw you walking from behind, this gorgeous ass just swaying like you’re teasin’ me. Then you gave me that mean look you’ve got and I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life.”

“You’re such a freak,” you huff in a laugh

“Takes one to know one.” Scott backs you into the hotel room, letting you fall back against the bed as he tucks himself between your legs dangling off the edge. His eyes roam over you, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. You’re fresh meat and Scott is starving.

He leans forward, a single index finger starting at the outer corner of your breast where it’s pushed up by your corset and journeys over the trim of your top. You hold your breath, back arching slightly into his touch. “I can’t believe you were out like this. Dressed like a fuckin’ slut. I don’t even wanna know how many guys out there imagined fucking your tits.”

It’s demeaning, you should tell him off. But this is Scott and he knows exactly what you like and — god, do you like this. A whimper climps past your lips instead, a needy little sound that has him smiling to himself.

“But I’m the only one who gets to do that tonight. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? You don’t spread your legs for anyone else.”

“Do you ever s-shut up?” You snap, voice frayed to betray the desire thumping in your chest. His hands slide underneath you, settling on your lower spine, as your body rises instinctively to his touch. He drags the zipper of your corset down, peeling it off you and casting it aside.

Scott straightens again, tilting his head as he takes you in from his vantage point.

His gaze burns uncomfortably. He doesn’t say a word and, for the first time with Scott, you feel… shy. Hands fly to your stomach as burning embarrassment sears like a branded mark on your skin. He takes a deep breath and his sweet time outlining the shape of you like he’s recreating a sketch of you in his mind.

“You’ve changed.”

Your heart sinks. The two simple words sting more than they should. Pregnancy changed your body. While you know that it’s created a miracle, it’s survived and remained strong, you also know that you aren’t the same. Softer, more lines stretching across your stomach. Your muscles haven’t survived your long hours at the hospital. You just never thought it would hurt this much for him to point it out.

But you know better than to take this kind of disrespect. If he no longer finds you attractive, you know that you could very easily find another man to satisfy you.

You try to wiggle away from him as your face shifts in aggravation. “Well, I have. So, if you don’t like it, I’m going to go because I don’t fucking need this from—”

“Hold on, never said I didn’t like it,” he murmurs, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above you. He ducks forward again, nose brushing against your jawline. He breathes you in, you can hear him gulp. “Fuck, you look so good, sweetheart. Sexier. Something about you. Even better than I remember — and shit, do I remember you. Thought about you far too much.”

Oh. “Really?”

He pulls away slightly, eyes searching yours as his lips curl into that smirk. “Really. Every night, with my fist wrapped around my cock, imaginin’ it was this tight cunt of yours wrapped around me. I remember how it would squeesze so sweet like you’re trying to choke my dick.”

“You’re so crass,” you roll your eyes.

“You’re tellin’ me that that doesn’t turn you on?” He grins, hand stroking up your inner thighs until he finds your center, fingers nudging the damp gusset of your panties to the side as he dips in between your slick folds. “Knowing that I get off thinking about you. Thinking about this perfect cunt of yours and the way you’d pulse around me, milkin’ me dry every time you cum. It’s like this pussy was made for me.”

On cue, you tighten around him, breath hitching in your throat with his filthy words.

“Yeah, she likes that,” he chuckles, “shit, did you get tighter? I don’t remember you being this stiff. It’s gonna be tough getting me in, baby. Gonna have to stretch you out and it’s gonna fuckin’ hurt.”

You clench again at the thought, a moan bubbling up your throat. Well, seeing as you haven’t slept with anyone in years, it’s not a surprise. But you’d never tell Scott that — you don’t want to think about all the other people he’s fucked since the two of you split.

“We’ll make it fit, we always do,” he coos and you don’t block the roll of your eyes, pulling another amused sound from his lips. “Still got that attitude,” he shakes his head, hands squeezing around your wrists, “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck it out of you soon.”

Scott drags down your underwear, flinging it somewhere around the room. You’re about to scold him but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken whine as he stuffs two fingers into you. The slide in is humiliatingly easy with how wet you are, but his thick fingers still stretch out your taut insides.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “won’t even let me in, huh? Have you been takin’ care of her, sweetheart?”

Heat pools low in your stomach and rises to your face. He pushes in and out of you slowly at first, blue eyes staying on you to watch you squirm, watch your body shift off the bed. He mutters something about still the fuckin’ same as he prods his fingers into you, testing out different angles to see which ones make you tick — like he’s relearning how to please you.

He realizes that it takes no time at all to do so because you still move the way he expects you too, especially when he brushes up against that spongy area inside you that wrestles a noise that mixes a gasp and a moan from your lips. Through the hazy blur of your vision, you spot a proud smile dancing on his lips as he continues to push and push until you’re panting desperately underneath him.

Every drag of his fingers along your cunt feels like the strike of a match that sets your entire body on fire. He sets off flames in different parts of your body, all the while he’s still holding you down with just one hand. His head ducks to take a nipple into his mouth and sets your entire being ablaze. The two actions combined are enough to have you sweating over the risk of cumming too fast, too hard.

You’ll be damned if you finish in under two minutes with him.

Another curl of his fingers has you resetting that bar to at least one minute.

“Scott, please,” you rasp.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“You know what.”

“Use your big girl words,” he tuts softly, “you can do it. I wnat to hear you ask for it.”

Your brows descend in a vexed glare. “Why are you suck a prick?”

“Because it fucking turns you on,” Scott grins, “and because you like my dick.”

You can’t help it, you poke because that’s what you do with him. “I can find good dick elsewhere.”

His fingers stop moving inside you, his body completely still as he levels you with a stare that sends a shiver slithering up your spine. His jaw clenches, white fury masked by his terrifyingly composed expression. “You wanna run that by me again?”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper now, snippy response scraped away to death on your tongue.

He pushes his fingers in deeper, drawing out a cry from your chest. “Think you can get good dick anywhere, sweetheart? Is that why you’re so fucking tight? Have you been spreading your legs for anyone?”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought you had better taste. Clearly, none of them could stretch you out the way you like. You fuckin’ like it when it hurts, when it burns so good you can taste it on your tongue,” he mocks, hand releasing your wrists to grab your jaw. He applies just enough pressure to have your cheeks aching, but that pain only has you clenching around his fingers, stomach twisting with stupid need. “Look at you,” he chuckles, gripping you harder, “gettin’ so tight around me before I even stick my dick in you. Filthy slut just likes bein’ treated like one. Maybe I should stuff that mouth so you stop running it — don’t need you to talk, just need to hear those desperate little sounds you make when I fuck you good.”

Your chest sings with shame when all you can do is take his words. But you take what he gives because he only gives you what you can take; he knows exactly what to say to rile you up, to tip you over the edge, have you seething and dripping between your legs. Even after years, he still knows your body best.

Except now, he has a touch more of that southern drawl that you’ve always adored but could never get enough of.

“She just squeezed me again, sweetheart.” His eyes twinkle with delight. “Why don’t you put yourself out of your misery and just ask me?”

Your lips pinch and Scott pushes deeper, eyes fluttering when he feels you tighten around him again. He can feel your control slipping away, pride curling deep into your chest to hide.

“Fuck me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That it?”

“Please.”

He's biting back a laugh, lips curving just a little more. “Attagirl, there’s your manners. Was that so hard? Guess I haven’t been around to teach you how to be polite with me.”

Your chest throbs with a mix of disgrace and need again. He pulls out his fingers, watches them glisten with your juices underneath the room’s warm lights. Then, with his eyes locked on yours, he slides them over his tongue and closes his lips around it. He sucks on it hungrily, moan muffled as he laves at them to savor.

“Tastes a little different too,” he hums, “maybe I just missed you too much. Missed this pretty pussy.”

Maybe if you weren’t so focused on getting him to fuck you, you might’ve noticed a strange something laced into his syllables — something you may mistake as hurt.

But that wouldn’t be possible because Scott Miller doesn’t get hurt. He takes and throws away like it’s nobody’s business, only thinking about what would be beneficial for him until it no longer has a use. He’s untouchable, always has been.

Before you can process even a hint of it, you feel Scott sliding his cock along your pussy lips, wet with juices that can’t seem to stop leaking all over his sheets. “Makin’ such a mess already,” he grunts, tip poised at your entrance.

You nudge your hips lower in an attempt to encourage him to move faster, but his palm presses down on your hips as he gives you a scalding look.

“Behave.”

Your legs press together around his hips. He feels it. But you do as you’re told.

“Good girl,” he sighs as he slowly pushes himself in. The initial burn has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, like fire between your legs as you let out a cry with how much he’s opening you up. His cock parts through you like a spear and your breath catches in your throat as he finally buries himself all the way in. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he hisses, “you’re so goddamn tight. Feels like that first time. Like you’ve never been fucked in your life.”

“B-been a while,” you stutter, the confession slipping out before you can stop it.

Scott’s hands on your hips drag you closer to the edge until your ass is against his hips, he pushes your legs up against your chest, feet thrown over his shoulders. “I can tell. You’re such a good girl for me, baby. Been saving yourself for me? Have you been thinking about me too?”

You’d die before you give him the satisfaction. Because you have, but you’ll never tell him how many times you’ve come undone with the memory of him alone. Filthy words he’d whisper in your ear toiling around your brain until you can practically hear him right next to you. Promises that have you gasping for air before you’re thrown over the edge of desire.

“Perfect pussy, she’s takin’ me so well,” he moans, deep and guttural, as he begins to ease himself in and out of you. He starts off with a slow pace before building a steady rhythm that painstakingly stretches you out around his cock. With every thrust, he stretches you out just a fraction more, each time slightly easier than the last until the burn dissolves into warmth blooming between your legs.

Scott’s still watching you; with every jerk of his hips, he intentionally angles himself to hit all the right spots that have you crying out for more, your fingers tangling in the sheets. It’s as if he’s drawing out a map of you, marking x wherever he finds a winning piece. He knows exactly how fast to fuck you to have you gasping and crying, tears leaking down your face until you can taste the salt on your tongue. He knows exactly how slow to go to have you begging him, desperate sounds falling from your lips until he has no choice but to show you mercy.

He knows that telling you you’ve got a cunt like a virgin would have you squeezing around him. He knows that praising you for being such a good pussy for him would have you arching off the bed with your eyes slammed shut.

He just knows and that thought scares you more than anything.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy. Nothing else could compare, you know. Tried to, trust me. Every time, I can only cum thinking about your leaking cunt, always drooling all over my fat cock, thinking about you sobbing underneath me until I kiss away those pretty tears. I couldn’t stop picturing feeding her my cock, stretching her out until you’re whining like a bitch in heat,” Scott growls as he picks up his thrusts, sliding in easier, faster now that your arousal has paved the path in for him.

You should be offended by his words, the feminist in you wanting to tell him off for such ridiculously degrading words, but all they do is add fuel to the fire. You haven’t felt this good in so long and you don’t think—

“Wait, fuck,” you blurt out, fingers latching onto his bicep. “Scott, condom.”

Scott freezes, like deer in headlights. “Condom? We’ve never fucked with a condom.”

“I know,” you bite out but again say, “condom.”

There’s a vein pulsing on his forehead, the last shred of his self-restraint hanging on by a thread. He looks more inconvenienced than anything. “Did you get off the pill?”

“N-no, but just wanna be careful.”

Scott laughs, nudging his cock deeper. “Why are you worrying? It’s ninety-nine percent effective.”

Well, apparently, you’re part of that one percent of failure.

He sees that you still look conflicted and he lets out a frustrated exhale. “I don’t have condoms. Haven’t carried it around with me in forever.”

“I need to fuck this pussy, sweetheart. I’m not letting that pretty head of yours change your mind. Not gonna go outside just to get condom. I’ll just pull out.”

“That shit does not always work!”

“Neither does a condom!”

Fuck, he makes a good point.

Scott slowly begins fucking you again, chipping away at the walls you’ve slammed up. “Promise I’ll pull out when I cum. Won’t do it inside you. No matter how much I want to cream inside this pussy, just like I used to.”

Your stomach flips with that admission.

“Remember how I used to fill you up? God, I can still see white leakin’ out of this cunt. I loved cumming inside you in the morning, you could never get all the cum out so you’d be dripping with me. Could smell you when I fucked you again after too.”

Shit, he knows your resolve is down to nothing when he pumps faster into you. He doesn’t need you to confirm what he already knows. He returns to fucking you with fervor. His hips are eager as they chase after yours, slamming against you as his cock fucks all rational thought from your mind. He leans forward, pressing you deeper into the mattress until all his weight is squeezing the breath from your lungs. It only intensifies the pleasure, his cock sliding in with a trail of fire as he kisses your calves.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, “give it to me. I know you wanna cum. I can feel you tightening around me.”

More moans tumble from your lips as you babble your agreement, words slurring together in an incoherent mess.

“Give it to me. Let her go. I wanna see you fall apart on my cock, want you remember that no one else can make you feel like this. Nobody can — or ever will — fuck you this good. This pussy’s mine and I’m gonna make sure she only remembers me, only takes the shape of my cock.”

You’re struggling for air as your chest constricts, wanton need burning all throughout your body.

“Cum for me, baby. Come on,” Scott grunts, punctuating each word with a thrust.

With a few more pumps of his cock, your stomach tightens, desire coiling tight until it snaps and your pleasure crests. It feels like you’re soaring, body trembling with the force of your orgasm as you clam down around him, legs shaking and pussy sucking him in deeper.

Your cunt continues to pulse as your descent from the high occurs painfully slow. But Scott’s not done. He just uses you at that point, treating you like a little pocket pussy to get himself off as he fucks dirty into you. He spreads your legs so he can see your tits bouncing with how fast he’s going. You can tell he’s close when his drives get sloppier, cock just fucking into you because he can. Then he’s quickly yanking himself out with a gasp, tilting his cock so that ropes of cum spill across your stomach, your tits, decorating the skirt with abstract splatters of white.

His hard cock twitches against his stomach as he holds himself up on the mattress, labored breaths weighing down on his chest.

Even in your weary state, you can’t help but giggle. “It’s been a while, huh, old man? Can’t keep up anymore?”

He tosses a glare your way. “Let’s not forget the last time I overstimulated you until you cried and begged for me to let you cum again. How many times was it? Five?”

Your cheeks warm at the memory. “That was years ago.”

His gaze softens, melts into something that has your heart squeezing. “Yeah, it was.” ith a groan, he pushes himself up and disappears into the bathroom, leaving you in the mess of his orgasm. When he comes back out, he’s got a warm, damp towel in hand that he’s using to clean you of the sticky mess. 

He raises your legs again to check on your pussy. 

“Does it hurt?”

You’re only mildly surprised by his concern, mostly because you haven’t been on the receiving end of it for a while. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I went pretty hard.”

All you can do now is roll your eyes, using your foot to nudge his stomach. “I’m a big girl, Miller. I know what I can take.”

His lips twitch as he shakes his head, muttering something you don’t catch under his breath. He plops down next to you, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself sink into the bed. He drapes an arm over his eyes, stomach dipping as he exhales deeply.

The lines of his chest are still defined. If anything, his muscles are more evident now. Veins running along his biceps to display the progress he’s made while he was away. You didn’t realize how much he’s changed, how much broader he got, how there are more grays on his head than before. Jawline that was soft through the year that you knew him sharpened into a knife that slices straight through your chest.

You turn away from him, eyes glued to the ceiling. The moment Scott stepped back into your life, he rolled out a fog that clouded your judgment. Now that the haze has cleared, you’re lying in the consequences of your actions, you can’t help but let the remorse carve its place into your bones. You’re a fool if you think this time will be any different.

It took you one night — one night — to fall for his charm. One night for your years-long resolve to fall apart.

You thought you would feel differently about him now, that you could let these silly emotions fade into dust in his absence. However, your heart still beats the same way for him — a little faster, skipping a beat or two, but always towards him. The two of you still move in sync, like two pieces of the same puzzle finally slotting together.

But you’ve changed — or, you should’ve changed. You shouldn’t be this easy, not anymore. Not when there’s more at risk than just your heart.

The shame crashes over you in waves, pulling you under, and suddenly, you’re breathless. The air feels thin when you think of Ben — your son who doesn’t even know who his father is, who has been curious enough to ask once but kind enough not to ask twice.

An arm splaying across your thighs sends you crashing back to reality. He rumbles with eyes closed, “Sleep.”

Gently, you remove his arm as you come to your feet. You move swiftly, body functioning the same it always does — opting for flight rather than fight. You collect your panties and quickly tug them on under your skirt. Before you can reach for your top, a hand wraps around your arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go.”

His confusion deepens. “Why?”

With a shrug, you pick up your corset from the floor and zip it back up. Scott steps in your path before you can make it to the entryway — still fully nude, cock half hard.

You force your eyes to stay on his face instead. “We fucked, we’re good, right?”

Annoyance flashes across his eyes. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What else do you want from me, Scott?” You sigh.

You try to sidestep him but he moves faster. His shoulders stretch out to their full breadth as he straightens. “What if I want to fuck again later?”

“You’ve survived this long with your fist, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say a word. The silence lingers like a ghost between you. He looks conflicted, eyes shifting around the room like he can find the answer somewhere on the walls. “We haven’t seen each other in years and you’re flaking on me?”

It’s your turn to offer no response, mainly because you don’t have one.

“You disappear on me for years. I’m seeing you for the first time since we graduated and you can’t even be bothered to stay?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I just really need to get home. I have to go to work tomorrow to wrap up a few things.”

“I can drive you.”

“I have no clothes.”

“We’ll leave early in the morning.”

“Scott.”

Your mind wanders to Ben, wondering what he’s doing right now, how you should be there with him — instead of here with the dad that he never knew.

“Alright. Let me drive you at least.”

He watches as your eyes get distracted again by his nude form before you, him completely shameless, maybe even smug that you still find yourself cross-eyed with him.

“No, I can find my own ride.”

When you manage to maneuver around him, Scott hooks a finger through one of your belt loops to yank you back, and you’re now facing his broad, bare chest, the light smattering of curls directly in your line of sight.

“Can I see you tomorrow then?”

He ducks his head so his lips brush over yours. You can feel that familiar dizziness tease the edges of your rational mind. He knows exactly what he’s doing, especially when you unconsciously lean towards him, like a moth to flame, Icarus who flew too close to the sun.

“Scott,” you whisper when he pulls back to mock you.

“You ever gonna tell me what happened? Why you left me high and dry. You disappeared from everywhere, couldn’t find you on anything,” Scott begins, “Then you went ahead and changed your number. I had no way to reach you.”

You don’t blame him for the bitterness that stains his voice. Even after you promised to stay in touch, the further along you were in your pregnancy, the more you realized that you couldn’t handle the guilt of lying to him. So you… simply stopped. Stopped responding to his texts. Stopped picking up his calls.

Once he ceased his efforts, you changed your number. You hoped he wouldn’t notice, that it would be a clean slate. Clearly, that isn’t the case.

“Can we talk about this another time? I’m exhausted and I’m sticky—”

“Use my shower. Sleep here. I’ll drive you home then to work in the morning.”

It’s a kind offer. Far too generous for a man whom you distanced yourself from. “You don’t have—”

“I want to,” he insists, “don’t be fucking difficult.”

“Tomorrow, alright. Please,” you plead one last time.

Scott’s blue eyes wash over you, searching for a sign of weakness. He must see the firm stubborn hold in your gaze, because you see him deflate in real time. “Fine. Give me your number.” You open your mouth, ready to extend some bullshit excuse, but he beats you to it.  “So help me god if you try to argue with me again, woman, I’m tying you to my bed.”

You know he’s serious. You can only relent and say that you’ll text him.

“Now.”

“Scott.”

“I’m not fucking around,” he snaps, “I’m not spending the time I have here trying to chase your ass down again.”

Again? You’re too tired to question it further so you pull out your phone, finding his contact — one that you haven’t touched in some time — and shoot him a quick message.

“Happy?”

“Delighted,” he bites back, baring his teeth at you.

You only roll your eyes. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go.”

“Call a car.”

“‘Course, I will!”

He snorts. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have taken the T home.”

You’re about to argue again, but he knows you too well. The T would’ve saved you money, but certainly not time. Instead of replying, you say, “I’m going to go.”

Scott still seems none too pleased but lets you go.

As you cave to the pull of slumber that evening, your phone lights up with a message.

It was good seeing you tonight.

You’re a goddamn coward, that’s what you are. You don’t actually have to come into work the next day but you needed an out. Instead, you wake up that morning with an old friend — that jackhammering in your head commonly known as a hangover. 

Vices hit a little differently when you’re older, especially when you haven’t touched a drop of it in a while.

That goes for the drinks and Scott.

It feels like a fever dream when you wake up alone the next morning, you wanted to pretend like none of it ever happened. Like you didn’t meet your former fuck buddy slash friend slash father of your child at a club and went to his hotel with him as if no time had passed. 

Opening your phone to his text was the first slap of reality.

The second was when you look in the mirror to see the marks all over your neck like you’ve been mauled by a mountain lion.

Possessive fucker. 

Jenna’s message certainly isn’t helping either. Hope you had a great night ;) 

You did. You wish you didn’t but Scott somehow still knows you like the back of his hand and, if you had stayed, there would be no doubt that he would change your great night into a fantastic night.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you quickly reply to her with an appropriately crude emoji. 

Scott — well, you do what you do best. You don’t respond.

You don’t reply when he asks you what time you get off work today.

You don’t reply when he sends a single question mark as a follow-up.

You definitely don’t reply when he says—

You’re going to ghost me again, aren’t you?

Instead of acknowledging the magnitude of your actions, you spend the weekend keeping yourself busy. Every time your mind veers to Scott and the messages left unanswered, you pick a new spot in the house to clean. 

By the time Ben returns on Sunday, the house is spotless.

Your mom looks at you suspiciously. “You cleaned.” 

“Yes,” you say before you turn to pepper wet kisses all over your baby. He giggles and his face scrunches up. “How was weekend with grandma?”

“We ate ice cream!”

It’s your mother’s turn to look guilty when you raise an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? How much ice cream?”

Ben, realizing what he’s just exposed, turns to his grandmother then back to you. He pinches his fingers together. “This much.”

“Mhmm, next time grandma gives you ice cream, I’m gonna remind her how much dental visits cost,” you coo, pinching his nose. 

He runs off to unpack his bags, which leaves you alone with your mother who is much too perceptive for her own good. 

“So, good weekend?”

“Good,” you brush off, glancing at your gleaming kitchen counter.

“Did you bring a man home?”

“Mother!” You gasp, “We are not talking about that.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re an adult, I’m sure the birds and the bees talk is no longer necessary. Not to mention protection, you’ve learned your lesson there.”

“Thanks,” you drawl.

“I’m just saying you look… good. Satisfied.” Your cheeks flame. “You know you’re allowed to have a life outside of all this. You’re still young and there’s still time to find love.”

Love, huh? Scott’s face appears in your mind with that stupidly attractive smirk. You shake your head. “Yes, Mom. I’m aware.” She stares skeptically at you. “I know. It was just a night of fun. I have responsibilities, can’t be reckless anymore.” 

“It was chance,” your mom murmurs, “you were never reckless.”

“The universe has picked her favorites and I’m not one of them,” you laugh, “but I think I milked my luck with Ben, can’t ask for a better kid. Hopefully he behaved?”

“He was an angel.” You nod, humming. “Are you not going to tell me about this man then?”

Groaning, you try to walk away from her but she follows you down the hall. “There’s nothing to tell and I didn’t bring him home.”

“Oh, you stayed at his?”

“No, I… went home.”

She lets out a little surprised noise. “That bad?”

No, that good. “I’m not discussing this with you further.” 

Monday sends you crashing back to earth. While you spent your Sunday recuperating with Ben, a calm day of eating vegetables to balance the treats and touching grass on the playground, being back in this office — this dreary reality reminds you that life really isn’t that swell.

It doesn’t help that Jenna pounces the moment you walk in, an endless stream of questions pouring out of her lips about the hottie you were with and if you got your brains fucked out of your head. You don’t satisfy her with a response, slipping into your office and locking it shut.

An office job coordinating and babysitting adults for the sake of science was never part of the plan, but plans change and you’ve learned to accept it. Now, you’re stretching to work out the crick in your neck as you do a doom scroll of the countless unread emails in your inbox.

You’re trapped in there for most of the day, vision beginning to blur when you have to squint at the screen to decipher the letters. However, the banging close to the end of the day has you jolting awake at your desk, knee slamming up against your table.

A curse slips past your lips as you hop over to open it. Jenna — wide-eyed and dangerously excited — grins like a cat that’s caught a mouse.

“Hottie alert.”

You look at her, unimpressed. “Please don’t involve me in your plans to cross professional boundaries. I don’t want HR to mark me as an accomplice.”

“No, I mean hottie — as in hottie from the club who gave you those hickeys that even your concealer can’t hide.”

Your hands fly to your neck, where the bruises pulse in demand of your attention. Warmth crawls across your face. You’ve spent enough time allowing your mind to wander to memories from that night, you don’t need to do it again at work.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s outside — looking for you!”

The splat of your heart dropping to the floor echoes in the ensuing silence. You must be hearing things because you could’ve sworn Jenna just told you that Scott is here at your workplace. The place where you work.

“No,” you blurt out.

“Yes,” she hisses, “get your ass out there. Clearly, you made quite the impression. Or did he make an impression with his dick inside your—”

“Finish that sentence and I revoke your rights to see Ben,” you warn and she gasps, biting down her giggles. “Can you just tell him I’m not here? Better yet, tell him there’s no one here by my name.”

She gives you a look. “He’s not an idiot. He saw me and clocked me as the friend who dressed her like that.”

Groaning, you press your forehead against the door.

“Was he that bad?”

Again, that good.

“He looks like a good time. Mind if I take a crack at him?”

The question has you jerking upright, your expression souring. Jenna’s a great friend, but Scott is— what is Scott? He’s nobody. He should be nobody.

“I’m kidding,” she laughs, “jeez, you’re obviously into him. Why are you being difficult?”

Because this will end the same way. Your heart broken. Scott gone again.

“Listen, I don’t think he’s leaving and the others are starting to gossip. They think you’ve got golden pussy that’s bringing a male suitor around this desperately.”

Fuck, the last thing you need is Scott causing problems at work. With a relenting sigh, you follow Jenna out front and find Scott standing there, looking impassively at some of the women — nurses and patients alike — who are shooting flirtatious looks at him. In fact, he’s not looking at them at all — his eyes float around the room until they land on you.

He doesn’t look pissed. No, his lips tug up into a smirk tinged with mirth. He says your name, your heart sinks. It sounds like a greeting and a threat. Your stomach turns.

Scott looks you up and down, a silent assessment that concludes in confusion at your clothes. Instead of addressing it, he hands you one of the cups in his hand.

“Tea,” he answers before you can ask, “with a spoonful of honey.”

Your favorite afternoon remedy.

Unfortunately, you feel your colleagues’ aggressively probing gazes burning to your side. It’s natural they’re curious; you’ve never had visitors aside from your mom and Ben — let alone a man. Let alone a man who looks like Scott.

You’ll never hear the end of this.

“Follow me.” You drag him by the elbow towards the waiting room, far away from the disappointed looks. When you’re finally out of sight, you turn around. “What are you doing here?”

Scott looks far from pleased, but his tone is calm. “Came to see you.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee — probably black with a drop of cream.

“You can’t be doing this to me at work, Scott.”

“You weren’t responding to my texts.”

“I’m at work.”

“I can see that.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You always think I’m cute.”

You take a deep breath. “Scott, what happened last Friday—” He perks up. “It can’t happen again.” 

“Why not?” He scowls, jaw clicking off to the side. 

“We’re adults now, we can’t be… doing whatever we were doing. It was fun when we were young but come on.”

“What? Too old to have fun?”

“I think I’m at a point where I should be looking for something serious, not a repeat of college.”

There’s a firmness to his eyes that makes you squirm. Something unexpectedly grave that’s foreign to Scott. “Serious,” he echoes, “you want serious?”

“Of course, I do.”

He licks his lips, taking a step towards you. Your heart skips a beat. 

“If that’s the case—”

“Mom!”

Your entire body goes cold, the word both warms and slashes your chest. Your son barrels down the hallway and you barely flinch when you feel his tiny arms wrap around your legs, Ben cheesing up at you with a toothy grin.

You don’t spare Scott a glance when you crouch down to Ben’s height, allowing him to wrangle you in a tight hug. “Hi, bud, what’re you doing here? I was supposed to meet you at home.”

“Missed you.” He pulls away to beam at you and your heart positively melts.

This perfect kid. “Missed you too, buddy,” you smile, “I still need to finish up work. Think you can be patient for me and wait a few more minutes?”

He blinks at you. “Aunt Jenna?”

You shake your head. Jenna is always a crowd favorite. “Aunt Jenna—”

“Is right here!” The familiar voice cheers as she appears next to you. Ben throws himself around her legs next with a giggle. “Come on, we’ve got some new toys in the playroom I can show you. Cool LEGOs.”

Before you know it, she’s already whisking him away, leavingyou, Scott, and your mother — who is staring at him with a little too much curiosity.

On the other hand, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. The thing that shakes your confidence the most is his silence. Upset Scott goes on long tirades, spitting out vile things until he’s clam enough to take action.

However, a very, truly angry Scott is quiet. The rage simmers on the surface, bubbling in imminent explosion on the inside.

Your mother grins at him with sparkling eyes. “I never knew my daughter had such a handsome friend.”

“Mom!” You immediately scold, embarrassment spreading through you like wildfire.

Scott clears his throat, smile cordial as he turns to your mom. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Scott. A friend.” The last word he seems to add reluctantly.

“Oh yes, she did mention… a friend,” your mom says with a teasing lilt that proves to push that stake of betrayal deeper into your gut. “We’re going to head back for dinner after this. Would you like to join us?”

“He has other things to do,” you say at the same time Scott responds with, “I’d love to.” This time, you do turn to look at him.

His eyes are cool, almost distant, as he regards you. It’s an impassive look that says more than most people expect. A shudder wracks through you as your mouth dries in fear.

“I’ll be there,” he emphasizes, looking pointedly at you.

Your body withers slightly under the intensity of his gaze and you choose to redirect your own displeasure at your mother who simply disregards you. “Wonderful, I’ll wait with Ben. Come find us when you’re done, honey.”

Leave it to your own blood to make the bed and force you to lie in it.

But you’re also your mother’s daughter so you take that as a chance to escape yourself. “I have to wrap up work so I’ll see you later,” you exhale quickly and high-tail out of there before he can even open his mouth.

Procrastinating emotions has always been your strong suit.

By the time you finish work and step back outside, you pray that Scott’s anger would’ve faded. He’s calm when he agrees to follow your family car in his own. You’re constantly peeking at your rearview mirror to see if he changes his mind but his car never disappears from your line of sight.

When you let all of them inside the apartment, Scott gives it a critical once-over. He politely toes off his shoes and steps into the living room. Sweat piles on the back of your neck as you urge Ben to wash up while you and your mom prepare dinner.

“Pasta alright?” You ask, testing the waters.

His answer is respectful and composed. A simple yes, thank you.

It only makes you more nervous.

Dinner passes by without a hitch, despite your bouncing knee the entier time. Your mom asks Scott how he knows you and what he does for work; she’s at least smart enough to tread carefully on the bigger questions of why you’ve never mentioned him and why he feels comfortable enough to show face at your job. The extent of his introduction to Ben is taht he is your son and Scott is your friend.

“Uncle Scott,” Ben confirms, familiarizing himself with Scott’s name on his tongue.

You see the ice in his eyes chip away, albeit slightly, but he nods.

After Ben gets exactly a single scoop of the chocolate chip ice cream in the fridge, you tell him that it’s finally time for bed. He whines about how having a guest means that he should be able to stay up longer. You give him one look and he promptly skulks to the bathroom. 

You take this chance to escape Scott’s attention for a little while; god knows his staring gets unnerving after two hours of it. You take your time preparing Ben for bed, switching him to his comfy pajamas, reading him his favorite book with the voices the way he likes it. When he’s finally out cold, you get up, press a kiss to his temple, and turn to exit. 

Scott’s standing in the doorway, watching you quietly. His expression is thoughtful, but he doesn’t say a word when you lead him back to the kitchen. 

You walk your mom to the door, thanking her for the day.

Her eyes wander to Scott behind you who seems intent on lingering even when it’s late. She smiles at you. “He seems like a good one,” she whispers. “I like him.”

“You’ve known him all of two hours.”

“I can sense it. I like how you are with him.” You raise an eyebrow in question. “Emotional. You get riled up so easily. You’ve spent the last few years playing adult that it’s sweet to see you like this.” 

Your cheeks are hot as you shoo her again. She throws out a final nice to meet you and see you again soon before she finally leaves the two of you alone.

Scott’s eyes chase after you as you fuss with your kettle, preparing caffeine for the conversation you’re about to have. Maybe you should break out that tequila buried deep inside your cabinet instead. He no doubt has questions. You don’t know if he’s connected the dots; you can only hope he hasn’t. Ben looks more like you after all.

There’s a small part of you that hopes Scott would know, call it fatherly intuition, but a bigger part of you wants to avoid addressing that question. He’s only here to visit, he doesn’t need to know that he has a son. If he doesn’t know, then the two of you can return to life as is once he leaves.

You don’t want to admit how much the thought stings.

“Ben,” Scott clears his throat as you set a cup of coffee in front of him. He gratefully accepts it, takes a sip. “Is his dad…”

“Not around.” It’s a safe answer.

“Who is he?”

“No one you know,” you lie smoothly, maybe too quickly.

His eyes narrow a fraction but he doesn’t push. “You never told me you have a son.”

“We weren’t talking, Miller. It would’ve been strange to say hey, hope you’re doing well, by the way, I have a kid!”

“Well, whose fault is that?” He snaps.

The air is strung tight, electricity crackling quietly in the echo of his words. 

“I just—” He takes a deep breath, hands shoved into his hair. “I don’t want to fight,” he says, doing his damndest to try and mean it. You know that he wants to push, to question, to challenge you. Confront you for leaving him in the wind. 

But he doesn’t want to lose you — the same way you don’t want to either. 

“Ben’s a good kid,” you murmur, thumb stroking the rim of your mug. 

“Well, you did raise him,” he notes, lips twitching up. 

You clear your throat. “This is why I can’t do… whatever that was last night again. It was a fluke and a mistake. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night out like that and apparently I just needed to get laid.” 

Instead of the chuckle you’re expecting, some jab about you being abstinent, there is weight that settles heavy in the atmosphere. Scott looks at you carefully, lips tight. “A mistake? Really?”

“Not—” you stop yourself, biting your tongue, “not like that.” He cocks an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of irritation and interest. “I just think I shouldn’t have been so irresponsible.”

“Why? You would’ve fucked any man that night?” 

“Of course not!”

“So just me then.”

“Yes!”

The moment the confirmation leaves your mouth, you stop. Scott smiles, smug. “Good to know.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“You already did.”

The urge to hurl your mug at his head grows stronger by the second.

Scott bites down on his smile but you can still see the ghost of amusement on his lips. “But, listen, in all seriousness, if you need anything— I know raising a kid isn’t cheap and, with your hours and obviously childcare and all the necessities—”

You cringe. “Please don’t tell me you’re offering me money right now.” 

“I just want to help.”

“Not your responsibility.”

His jaw clenches. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.” 

His jaw clenches. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.” 

You consider arguing with him again, defending your stance as a perfectly capable, independent, single mother. However, you know he means well. This is how Scott Miller helps, this is how he shows you he cares. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, “I appreciate it, but I promise you I’m fine.”

Scott hesitates for a second. “You’re not a nurse.” It’s not a question. 

“I wanted to do it, but the pregnancy and the tough hours just didn’t seem healthy – or fair to a newborn. I’m doing something safer, more regular hours. It’s not so bad.”

“Wasn’t your dream though.”

“Well, sometimes dreams don’t work out.”

He doesn’t look appeased. “Why not now? He’s a little more grown. How old is he?”

Your heart rushes in your ears. “I have a good routine going. It’s not like I hate what I’m doing now—”

“But you don’t love it.” Once again, not a question.

“It’s… a job, Scott, I’m lucky to be employed in this economy.”

He grunts but doesn’t push further. “I’m not going to give you shit for not telling me—”

“Shocker.” The sarcastic remark slips out on instinct, Scott tosses you a scalding look with no heat behind his eyes. 

“But at least let me try and help you.” He knows you too well, can sense the argument threatening to fall from your lips, so he quickly adds, “I don’t want to hear it. However I can help, I will.”

When he has this voice, you know there’s no point in arguing, so you let it slide. “Sure. Thank you,” you surrender. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

Oh. You’re fast to school your expression. “Got it. We should plan to catch up properly at some point then. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

The corners of his lips tug up and you’re already rolling your eyes, ears tingling with the stupid comment to come. “You don’t think we did that already? Or did you want a repeat?”

“Pig.”

“You love it.” 

A laugh bubbles up your throat, light and airy that has Scott’s smile rising a smidgen higher. 

For a moment, you think everything will be okay.

+ sam: im sorry for the woman i've become with him (i'm not) (i love this idiot so dearly). hope you enjoyed this part and look forward for more drama to come in the second!!!

scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz @chloluvsdilfs @athenxt

+ add yourself to my taglists!

[garfieldsladybird]

i love this so much. I can’t wait to more!! if you can please, I would love to be a part of the tag list!!

[batmanlovesnirvana]

something that always irks me when i read headcanons about slytherin boys is how they’re all written as massive fuckboys 😭 like are we talking about the same characters????

these are pureblood aristocrats from extremely conservative families. if they’re sleeping around, they’re prob keeping it very quiet & most likely within their own social circles. they’re not exactly the type to be hooking up with random ppl at a frat party and broadcasting it to the entire school. fanon sometimes turns them into modern rich college boys and i’m just sitting there like… that’s not really how i imagine wizarding aristocracy works

[garfieldsladybird]

i love this take. I saw the other reblogs, it’s so interesting to read them.

One it is weird because it’s always like Slytherin boys x a Slytherin girl (not necessarily reader just saying) and most are cousins so they’re related to each other. But they all grew up with the norm of their parents, you know maybe being cousins.

My own headcanon is that they don’t fuck their cousins, they know who their cousins are. And some of the boys don’t care about the house, or some go for a certain house.

Two, I fell out of reading for the Slytherin boys because mostly for the reason that they were all fuck boys. Every piece of writing I read was all the same. I could basically picture all the boys every time because they were all written the same.

Theodore and Mattheo are basically the same and like sure in some ways but no they are not the same. Someone else said; We do know the most about Draco but it’s very limited, we have so many headcanons for him. It depends.

[redeemingvillains]

only for you - mattheo riddle

summary: mattheo is certain he knows what affection is, until he meets you. word count: 1.4k author's note: just another random drabble 🤷🏼‍♀️

Mattheo Riddle was not starved for touch.

Far from it, actually.

He was intimately familiar with the feeling of a cold palm across his cheek, of the choking jab of a wand at his throat, he even knew the shock of a fist in his stomach; his father had taught him that much.

He also knew the feeling of a broken nose beneath his fist, the echoing ache of a black eye, the distinct burn of a split lip.

But not everything was so dark, he told himself, for he also knew frantic hands that tugged and pulled at buttons and zippers, the scratch of nails down his back, wet, messy, meaningless kisses; affection, surely.

He'd been touched plenty.

So he couldn't fathom why when your hand met his arm, he pulled back.

You'd leaned casually over him at breakfast, steadying yourself against his arm with a gentle touch to reach for the coffee and he'd yanked back so hard you nearly dropped the carafe and toppled off the bench beneath you.

"S-sorry!" you said genuinely, pulling your hand off of him and meeting his gold-flecked brown eyes that looked at you with alarm.

He held his arm close to his chest, protectively, like you'd burned him. Because, in a way, it felt like you had.

Your palm had radiated warmth, a gentle pressure, a rush of sweet serotonin that made his head feel like he'd sucked helium. It was perhaps the only touch he didn't have a framework of understanding for and his brow furrowed in confusion before he turned from you, intent on ignoring the feeling you'd stoked inside of him.

But it was as if his body was seeking you out after that, perhaps craving the unknown and unfamiliar, because suddenly you were everywhere.

He was leaving the quidditch pitch after practice, head down, fumbling with the fabric wrapped shoddily around his swollen fingers, cursing quietly as they twinged when he nearly ran straight into you.

You came up short in front of him, your breath caught in your lungs as you blinked up at him; he noted the tint of blush on your cheeks and the flutter of your long lashes.

Your eyes caught the movement of his hands and with a quick searching glance you slowly reached forward to help.

Your hand came to his large palm and though he didn't intend to, he jerked away again. Not far, but in some sort of automatic reaction to whatever it is that you were.

You paused, your touch lingering until he held his hand forward again and you gently adjusted the wrapping, careful, patient, and unrushed.

He forgot how to breathe.

Your fingertips brushed his palm, delicately danced around his swollen fingers and his pain was long forgotten as he felt something much stronger swelling in his stomach, a blooming, an unfurling, a hurricane of pixies.

You pinned the medical wrap with exceeding care and looked up softly and smiled.

"That should at least get you to the infirmary" you said quietly.

There was his furrowed brow again.

"Thank you..." he said with a lilt at the end, like it was a question, because you were a complete enigma to him.

"You're welcome, Mattheo" you said kindly, and then slid past him without another word.

He turned to watch you go.

You didn't want anything from him, he didn't think. You weren't coming on to him, though he wouldn't have minded it. So what the hell was your deal? He couldn't figure it out.

All he knew is that if that is how the gentlest brush of your fingers on his palm made him feel, he desperately wanted more.

Mattheo found small ways to get close to you after that; conveniently running into you between Potions and Divination, so you'd have a long walk through the castle together.

Then, bumping into you in Tomes and Scrolls after he'd heard you talking about a new book you wanted the previous night at dinner. He had to act like he knew what the hell you were talking about as you eagerly explained the plot; all he knew is that he liked the way you smiled, and liked the way being close to you made him feel; a contact high that he rode the entire afternoon by your side.

When you both returned to the castle, feet shuffling over the cobblestones at the clocktower courtyard your feet slowed beside him and he turned just in time to catch you as you threw your arms around him, looping them over his shoulders in a hug.

He froze, tense, his hands held out awkwardly on either side of you, unsure of what to do until you nuzzled in closer, your cheek against his and his body folded into you, his automatic defense system dropping and his arms circling you, daring to hold you against him.

He took a breath.

Another.

And he felt your warmth radiating through him in a type of magic he didn't understand but vowed never to stop seeking.

"So, you and YN, huh?" Theo mused as he twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers that night in the common room.

Mattheo cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You hitting that, orrrr?"

"What?" No!"

He wasn't sure why the insinuation infuriated him, though perhaps it had something to do with the glint in Theo's eye, like he'd thought about it himself.

The spinning stopped and suddenly Mattheo had Theo's full attention.

"Are you... with her?" he asked.

"I — no?" Mattheo answered, confused. Because you weren't together, right? Yet everything with you felt so incredibly intimate, stripping him bare from the inside out. It was more intoxicating than anything he'd felt for or done with anyone before you.

The thought alone made him panic.

Because he realized suddenly he didn't want to share you with anyone else.

On one of those afternoons where the sunset seemed to linger, sending bursts of peach and orange over the oaks and pines as they swayed in the warm breeze Mattheo walked by your side as you admired the wildflowers in the field past the greenhouse. Because, of course that's what you were doing; he didn't even know this field was here, but you saw beauty everywhere, even where he was sure none existed.

He knew he needed to say something; he felt like he had a swarm of bees in his throat that he couldn't swallow as the words danced and garbled in his mouth; he didn't even know where to begin.

"What...—" he tried, his feet stopping as he looked down at them and rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar furrow in his brow returning, scrunching his face in a permanent look of uncertainty you'd grown accustomed to.

"What are we? What is this?" he asked with a hint of exasperation.

You smiled softly and looked up at him in the pink-peach filter of the waning day. His face was both puzzled and pained and you reached up to smooth the ever-present crease in his brow.

He tensed, rigid beneath your touch before relenting, the confusion on his face giving way to compassion, his amber-gold eyes searching yours.

"What do you want this to be?" you asked.

I want you all to myself. I want to feel this way every single day. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. I want, I want, I want.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Slowly, he reached for you, trying to emulate the way you touched him: reverent, unrushed; not greedy, not hungry, not harsh. He reached to cup your face and let the pad of his thumb brush your cheek, tender and sweet.

He felt pressure like building nausea in his stomach that he knew well enough now to call nerves, and a thumping in his chest he'd learned was care, a tremble in his hand that you taught him was the effort to be gentle and an ache in his bones that he knew was longing and perhaps the beginning of something akin to love.

He leaned forward, pulling you towards him, and he brushed his lips over yours.

Sunshine erupted inside of him.

You forgot how to breathe — a night's-worth of summer fireworks between your ribs.

Your palm came to rest on his cheek but he didn't pull back, and your other hand fisted his shirt but he didn't tense; you laughed against his lips and he laughed back, carefree and weightless and he realized all at once that he was never starved for touch, only for you.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him @mishtay @ccbear5000 @mooniez

[garfieldsladybird]

MORE PLEASE MORE IM BEGGING IM STARVING IM STAVED TOO MATTHEO I LOVR YOU

[liliacsdelight]

Lately, I’ve been seeing a huge rise in story theft. People are on here literally copy-pasting work or using word-swaps to try and bypass plagiarism, then they have the audacity to reply to comments, thank people for the praise, or ask what their thoughts were.

​Stop, you are not a writer; you are a thief. If you lack the talent or the imagination to create your own narratives, stay out of creative spaces. Stealing someone’s hard work and effort just for digital clout is embarrassing and disrespectful. You aren't inspired—you're a fraud. ​Originality is a requirement, not a suggestion!

​To my readers & mutuals, if you see my work reposted on another blog/platform, stories that look suspiciously like mine but with a few words switched out (Plagiarism), my specific plots, characters (OCs), or unique descriptions being reused. ​Please let me know immediately. I put a lot of myself into my writing—my thoughts, my identity, and my time.