June

She/her - 21!// maori

[squipa]

touch tank

you're a teacher, currently trying to fill up your summer vacation with freelance work when you stumble into not one, but two situationships with clark kent, the adorkable reporter from the daily planet, and superman, the hero you can't stop running into. overall? you're having a very interesting break.

wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)

the best and the worst part of teaching is that you never stop having summer break— two and a half months of pure boredom and relaxation that always go the same. you find a job, you visit family, you take random classes at the community center just to get yourself out of the house. you really did not expect this year to be any different, any better. you expected the same boredom, the same routine, the same desperation to find someone to occupy your time. 

however, you didn’t count on clark kent to stumble into your life and take your world by storm. 

you met in late may, the first time you came around the daily planet selling pictures for the paper. you spent a lot of your free time behind a camera, capturing moments you didn’t want to lose— and you really needed some extra cash. metropolis might pay better than most cities, but at the end of the day, a teacher’s salary is a teacher’s salary. 

you were hopelessly turned around, clutching a small, manilla file that was nearly overflowing with the photographs you felt were relevant enough to submit with one hand and biting your freshly manicured thumbnail with the other, staring up at the very useless building directory, reading the names and numbers with little understanding. the receptionist had told you to go to perry white’s office for your meeting— but she hadn’t been so kind to tell you exactly where you could find it. 

the signs were no help. you are embarrassingly lost, and—

“need any help?”

you turn around, dropping your hands to your sides. you’re met kindly with the direct view of a man’s chest, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

and there he was. six foot four, built like a linebacker and stuffed into a suit, wearing glasses that looked a bit too small and a smile that seemed a bit too warm. the man you would come to know as clark kent— the center of your universe.

and those eyes. bluer than the ocean, captivating you so wholly you forgot to breathe. one’s that looked to you with such unequivocal kindness, coupled with a smile that was breathtakingly gentle— you forgot how to breathe. 

he’s staring down at you as if he’s not the only one who needs to catch his breath. as though he finds something about you to be just as overwhelming as you find him. 

he pauses, clearing his throat. “i just mean— ah, sorry, you look lost. i-i can help you. i work here. uh, reporter— um, i mean—“ he takes a deep breath, extending a hand. “clark kent.” 

god, he’s adorable. 

you smile up at him, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle shake. you note how large and uncalloused his hand is, and try to ignore the shocks of electricity you feel with that first, all-consuming touch. you tell him your name, thankful that you don’t manage to stumble over your words, and he jots it down in the back of his head like it’s sacred. “i’m looking for mr. white’s office? i have some pictures for the paper.” you explain, holding up your file. 

“oh, yeah, that’s my boss. i’ll walk you there.” he says, looking down at you with a soft grin that renders you so useless you nearly forget why you’re here. carefully, he motions for you to follow him, and you oblige, walking slowly down the arched hallways of the daily planet at his side. your heart begins to pound out of your chest.

there’s a beat of silence as you walk, before he breaks it with, “can i see them?”

he points to the folder in your hands, the one that you’re clutching like a lifeline. you hand it over without a second thought— how are you supposed to say no to the ridiculously cute, dorky guy guiding you through the building? you’re just not. 

he cards through them carefully, commenting on the quality, the angles, the color grading, basically just complimenting every picture while you try not to swoon. he pulls one of the prints out of the file, a rare picture of superman you managed to get two weeks ago. you consider it the strongest picture in your portfolio. most of the photos of superman are blurs of red and blue, or shaky selfies he’s taken with fans. this one is still, certain— hopeful. you took it candidly. he was crouched with a kid, one of your students, helping him fix his broken project with gentle hands. 

you think about that moment every now and then. it changed you from a casual viewer of superman’s heroics to someone who supported him completely. you watched him stop, and with hands capable of much greater things, sooth the worries of a child when he could have been doing anything else. it instilled a kind of faith in humanity you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“i like this one.” he mumbles, sliding it out of the folder, staring at it like it means as much to him as it does to you. superman fan, noted. 

he pauses, staring at it a second longer than he did your other pictures, memorizing every detail before sliding it back inside the folder. “i don’t see how perry wouldn’t buy these— you’re an amazing photographer.” he says with a smile, handing you back the file. 

you do your best not to turn completely red at the compliment, looking up to meet his gaze. “i’m a teacher, actually.” you explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “just looking for a side hustle. that picture of superman? he’s helping one of my kids.” 

“really—? wow that’s really, uh, very cool.” he says, wearing a smile that you try your best not to read into. you both stop in front of an office with the name Perry White stamped across the door in shiny silver lettering. as anxious as you are to start the meeting, your heart sinks when you realize your time with clark is over. “well… good luck.” he says, all shy and dorky in a way that makes your knees weak. “i have a feeling i’m gonna see you around.”

you can’t help but grin, thanking him for walking you— and for the vote of confidence. you really don’t want to say goodbye, not when one look from him already disarms you.

he opens the door for you, and he’s lucky enough that you don’t realize how long he lingers by the office, memorizing every detail he can catalogue— the way you stand so confidently, yet with a demeanor that is so kind and genuine it makes him reevaluate everything he’s been looking for, the way the draft from the vent in perry’s office blows through your hair and makes you look like a movie star, the way you speak like it’s your favorite thing to do. 

you leave the meeting with a steady freelance gig, and a yellow post-it note you hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked into an interior pocket inside your file. 

i really hope you call me (xxx-xxx-xxx) 

-clark :)

you’re in your apartment when you find the note, and you can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, heat rising to your ears and dusting your face a rosy shade of pink. you waste no time dialing that number.

——

you meet superman before you see you clark again. actually, you’re on your way home to get ready for your first date with clark, trying to not let the nerves and anticipation shake you. 

you’re excited. like— bouncing off of the walls, can’t stop thinking about him kind of excited. you text constantly, and he calls you like talking to you is the highlight of his day, not some chore he has to do to maintain a relationship. you’ve been talking for about a week, and all the time with him has done is confirm your many blooming suspicions about him: he’s sweet, gentle, incredibly well-spoken and not afraid to be open about his interest in you in this shy, dorky kind of way that makes you kind of want to melt. 

you’re practically skipping down the street when it happens. it’s barely sunset, but you suppose crime doesn’t really depend on time of day anymore, not in the era of aliens and meta-humans. a hand darts out of the alleyway, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the shadows. before you can think to scream, to ask for help, anything— there’s a knife at your throat and you realize that your silence is a lot more valuable than your survival instinct.

“wallet, now.” you can barely see him— a combination of the dark alleyway and blurry vision. you make out dark clothes, dark eyes, and an expression that tells you to comply with whatever he says. 

your heart is beating so loudly you can feel it in your fingers. you’re shaking like a leaf— fumbling with your wallet, trying to hand it to the mugger. 

it drops from your hands. you look up at the man, eyes wide with the overwhelming fear for your life. you fucked up. it’s over. you can practically envision your funeral: sad, sparse, the death of someone who’s never really lived. you slam your eyes shut.

but then there’s a gust of wind, and the knife disappears from your neck.

it takes a moment for you to breathe, to process, to blink open yours and face a blue chest with a red and yellow emblem.

“are you okay, ma’am?” 

your gaze moves up to meet his. you’re not all there yet. there’s still adrenaline moving like shocks of lightning down your veins and the phantom breath of death sticking up the hairs on your neck. all you can really focus on is his eyes. impossibly blue like the deep sea, captivating you so wholly you forget yourself for a beat too long.

“ma’am?” he repeats, and his voice less authoritative. instead a gentle, concerned call to your senses, breaking out of your haze. 

you down, taking a deep breath. “yes, uh…” your hand darts to your neck, feeling for any imprint the knife could’ve left. you’re grateful to find nothing but untainted skin, like it had never happened at all. “i’m fine.” 

he nods, but there’s something in his expression that tells you he isn’t totally convinced. he hands you your wallet, a small, green leather clutch you’ve carried around since you were eighteen. somehow it had become the last thing on your mind.

“you’re safe, i promise.” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you nearly forget that it’s superman standing in front of you, making sure that you’re okay. “the danger’s gone.”

you look up at him, eyes wide, brimming with tears you don’t know if you can hold back for much longer. he leans in a little closer, just enough for you to notice, his eyes checking over you carefully. maybe you’re just thrown off, because of the whole… mugging situation. but he almost looks a little scared, maybe a little relieved, like you mean a bit more to him than a civilian he saved.

you shake the thought. you’ve heard he’s like that anyways, kind, caring, a boy scout through and through. the look you’re seeing now can’t be anything more than that. 

he clears his throat, leaning back, taking on a more official, heroic posture. “can i take you home, ma’am?” and just like that, the moment’s over.

you nod, letting him guide you out of the alleyway with a touch that is impossibly gentle for someone you’ve seen pummel aliens into the ground with a single punch. a comfortable silence hangs between you, and you’re grateful the streets are empty enough for no one to pay the pair of you any mind. 

you must look ridiculous together. the thought makes you smile, and your adrenaline-induced panic is officially over.

 “thank you.” you say, breaking the silence. you smile up at him, craning your head to meet his gaze. he honestly looks a bit surprised that you’re thanking him. “for… y’know, saving me.”

“of course. i’m glad i made it in time.” he says with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting yours. his smile is so genuine, so human, you wonder how anyone could really hate him. 

you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes. 

you laugh. “me too.” you say, your hands swinging freely at your sides. “i know you don’t normally handle, uh, muggings, so… i feel pretty lucky.” 

his eyes dart away, looking around at the block— anywhere but you, really, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “well, i try to keep an eye on the street. y’know, on the rare days when aliens and robots don’t tear apart the city.” 

you grin, his eyes meeting yours again. “yeah, i know.” you say, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes that make him forget he’s superman and not anything besides the man lucky enough to be by your side.

your eyes are so focused on the god beside you that you miss a step, losing your balance because the tip of your heel got caught in a sidewalk crack. you fall into him— no, you practically dive into him, because of course you do. 

“woah there.” he says. his hands, which are just warm and huge and tender, carefully grab your sides and he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet. 

you pause, flush with embarrassment. “i’m so sorry,” you cringe, looking up at him. “my heel got stuck because i had to humiliate myself and ruin the moment.” 

he laughs, sliding his hands away and looking down at you with a soft smile. “no harm done. just glad i caught you, miss.”

you pause, returning his smile with a grin that you just can’t seem to push down. 

“i saw you once, with one my students. he broke his history project, a popsicle stick model of the golden gate bridge?”

“i remember— jackson, right?” he asks, and there’s something so touching about him knowing the name of the random child he helped— it makes you want to melt. “smart kid, i’ve never met someone so knowledgeable about geography.” he says, nodding towards you. 

“right? he’s a little genius. i’m pushing him into architecture. i teach third grade, which is, i think, the best, ‘cause you get to see their passions develop in real time.” you say. you’re not sure why talking with him feels so easy, so natural. maybe it’s the whole superhero thing, or his impeccable bedside manner— but whatever the reason is, you can’t remember the last time you smiled so much.

“that sounds very rewarding.” he says, a gust of wind blowing his cape through the air. “i wanted to be a teacher, once.”

“got busy?” you ask, gesturing to the suit. 

he laughs in the sort of way where his shoulders shake and his voice booms throughout the street, even though you didn’t say anything particularly hilarious. 

“you could say that. how’s jackson doing now?”

“he’s on his way to becoming a very talented fourth grader.” you hesitate, before you continue. “i got a picture of you two, when you helped him.” you pause, stopping in front of your apartment building. “not in like a creepy stalker way— i’m a photographer too. kind of. hence the photo.” 

he pauses, peering down at you curiously. “may i see it?” he asks. 

you stop, your eyes locked with his. you can’t kick that feeling— how familiar he is. you can’t quite place it, so you push it back down deep for another day. “yeah.” you say, softly, pressing on the door. “i’ll be right back.”

it only takes you about a minute to retrieve the photo, digging through that same manilla file for your spare copy, the same file that clark stuck his number in. god— you were supposed to start getting ready, like, fifteen minutes ago. 

you pray clark is late. 

there’s a shadow over your window before you start heading back downstairs. right. flying. superman can fly. not crazy at all. you stumble over towards your fire escape, grinning up at him while you slide up the window.

you stick your head out, leaning on your arms, halfway out the window. 

“here, uh, this just a print.” you say, handing him the picture. he takes it gently, his fingers brushing against yours. he stares at it for awhile, his eyes tracing over every detail. 

“could i… keep this?” he asks, looking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the world— in a way that knocks the air out of your lungs. 

you nod, because really, how could you say no when he’s staring at you like that? you didn’t have a choice.

“thank you.” he says, before clearing his throat, floating back out towards the alleyway. “i, uh, i should be going.” 

“you got big plans tonight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

he laughs, a soft chuckle that rings like wedding bells in your ears. “something like that.” he pauses again, looking back down at the picture and then up to you. “…see you around… miss.” 

there’s a burst of wind and just like that, he’s gone. 

and maybe, just maybe, you have a tiny crush on superman. 

——

your date with clark was an awkward, disastrous, mess— in all the best ways. the flowers he brought you had somehow gotten smushed, even though he insisted they came from the little shop on the corner right by your apartment— but they were your favorites. the restaurant lost your reservation, so you ended up having a picnic with food from the best food truck you’ve ever been to. the conversation was bumpy, at times a little difficult to navigate, but by the end, you had never laughed so hard in your life. 

you really had never met anybody like clark kent. 

he’s a gentle giant, a man who, despite being extremely built, you truly incapable of hurting a fly. he’s also the perfect gentleman, the definition of a man. for the entire evening, he refused to let you open a door, or pay, and when you started feeling a little chilly when he was walking you back to your apartment, late at night, he tucked his jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain. he’s also just… kind, plain and simple. he stopped to help an old woman cross the street, to ask a kid where his mom was and led him back to his parents, and, no shit, he literally rescued a cat from a tree. mind you, all in the span of four hours. he’s a good person, the kind of guy you read about in fairytales and grow up thinking doesn’t exist.

but here he is. 

“i had a really good time tonight.” he says, lingering by your door. you nodded in absolute agreement, looking up at him with a giant, uncontrollable smile that he returns in full. 

“yeah, me too.” you respond. the distance between you closes quickly, you lean in just enough to feel clark’s breath ghost on your face. 

he flushes and looks down to his feet, like he’s working himself up for something— before his eyes dart back to yours. “i, uh… i really want to kiss you right now.” 

you can feel a red hot fire spread to your cheeks, and you pray that the dim light of your apartment prevents him from seeing it. your eyes meet his, staring through his glasses into a sea of endless blue. 

you’ve never actually wanted someone to kiss you more than you do right now. 

“yeah?” you ask, your voice teasing him ever-so-slightly while you move in closer, your fingertips brushing against his. 

“may i?” he asks, sliding his unbelievably large hands on your sides then down to your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel incredibly warm. you have to physically tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and your mood nearly sours at the idea that at some point you’ll have to pull away. 

you nod, and slowly, delicately, he leans in— pulling your body gently against him, his lips pressing into yours. it isn’t an eruption of passion, or some overwhelmingly fervent kiss, no. it’s soft, slow, sensual, an agonizingly perfect connection that makes you knees go weak when you’re in his arms. 

it’s too short, that’s your only complaint. he pulls away breathless, smiling down at you with a pink tint dusting his cheeks, ushers you back into your apartment and demands that you have a wonderful night, insisting that he’ll call you in the morning. 

you go to bed that night an hour later, only certain of two things.

this was going to be the best summer ever

you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt

you want to see if superman is as good a kisser as clark

——

“here.”

clark pushes a cup of coffee that is somehow still piping hot into your hands, smiling down at you. you’re not sure how he even knew you were coming to the planet today, much less when to meet you at the door, but you liked that about clark. he always knows a lot more than he lets on. you chalk it up to the investigative journalist in him. 

“you got me coffee?” you ask, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through your hand. apparently, no matter how hot it is outside, none of that leaks into the planet. it’s freezing. 

“yeah, i didn’t know what you liked, uh, so there’s cream and sugar— not too much, though, uh, well, i mean, hopefully there’s enough—“

you press a kiss against his cheek and that effectively cuts off his rambling and leaves him quietly flushed, his eyes focused only on you. “thanks, clark.” you say, taking a sip. it’s a bit too sweet, but so incredibly thoughtful you might just start taking your coffee this way. 

he smiles, going red from his neck to is ears— god, he’s so cute. “you’re seeing perry today?” he asks, walking with you down the hall. you nod. 

“apparently he likes my work so much i get a daily planet issued camera.” you say excitedly. clark chooses to leave out the part where he practically begged perry to lend you one, a privilege freelancers don’t usually receive. he has to do an extra mountain of paperwork every night for a month— but gosh was it worth it to see you so giddy.

“makes sense.” he muses. “perry rewards the incredibly talented.”

he says it in a silly way, but you can tell he’s completely serious. he’s so sweet it literally makes your teeth hurt. 

you’ve been on three other dates since the first, and you’ve bumped into each other at the daily planet a couple times before this— everything is going extremely well. he’s so caring, thoughtful, and the more you learn about him the more infatuated you get. you swear, when he puts his hands on you it makes you dizzy. 

it’s perfect. he is. there’s only one issue: his constant tardiness, and his tendency to cancel last minute, or just not show up at all. it bugs you, when you’ve gotten all dolled up just to have to fight back tears at midnight, forced to leave an angry voicemail or two after you’ve downed a glass of box chardonnay, stuck alone, in your living room. 

but he makes up for it with a thousand apologies and small gestures that make you wonder why you were ever mad. 

it’s frustrating— the doubt creeping in about whether or not he likes you, the anger of being left behind without so much as a call, the loneliness that swallows you like a black hole. but when you’re with clark, he makes sure that his feelings for you are never in doubt, swearing up and down that he just has supremely bad luck and it doesn’t have a thing to do with you. still, it makes you wonder: what makes clark kent so busy?

“my lunch break is at one,” he says, taking your folder like it makes all the sense in the world for him to carry it and not you, “if you want to hang around a bit after your meeting, we could grab something together?” 

you nod, looking up at him as you approach perry’s office. “that’s perfect. i was gonna stop at the bookstore down the street and grab something for my mom’s birthday. pick me up there?” 

“yes ma’am,” he says in a way that is all too familiar, and he hands you back your folder, tucking it underneath your arm, his hand ghosting at your side. “good luck.”

“don’t need it. i’ve got you.” you say, opening the door and heading in. you don’t see the way clark flushes, this time redder than a tomato, nor jimmy laughing at him from all the way from across the building.

——

you’re on your way to the bookstore when it happens— the sky opens up, a giant alien-whatever pops down and starts wreaking havoc on the skyline of metropolis. the event is far enough away to where you would normally just shrug and continue on your path towards the bookstore while the people wait for superman to show up. 

except that you’re a photographer now. professionally. and professional photographers run towards their killer shot, not away from it. besides, your meeting with perry didn’t go… the greatest. he said most of your shots were unusable— and he wanted more pictures of superman.

but it would be stupid to run into danger like that— clark would disapprove, so would probably anyone with common sense. the ground is literally shaking because that demon thing knocked a skyscraper over like legos— you really should walk away. 

so, obviously, you end up climbing a tree about a hundred yards away from the creature (and superman, who stepped in about a minute ago), trying to find your perfect shot. it’s stupid, really, the way that you’re about twenty feet off the ground, perched just right on the branch so that if you can get superman and the alien to stay still for half a second— you’ll have your picture. 

unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for the monster to have giant fireballs spewing out of its fingertips, with one specially aimed at you. foolishly, you expected it to be the normal kind of cryptid. 

so, you shut your eyes and brace yourself, praying that you’ll be the sexy kind of burn victim and not a crisp, dead one— but the impact never comes. instead, a pair of arms wraps around you and you’re on a rooftop— ridiculously far away from the scene with no way down. 

“stay here,” superman says, flying back with a harsh burst of air. he sounded… angry, probably from the fight but… you can’t shake his eyes met yours in that single glimpse, before he had gone back into the fray. 

the fight takes four minutes. you’re like, a mile away, on top of some random building with a pretty subpar view of the action— but you manage to still make out the flashes of blue and red that surround the being and shoot him back off to space. 

you frown, peering over the edge of the building. there’s no rooftop access, no door, nothing. you’re kind of just stuck— which is perfect, because it’s 12:55 and clark’s about to get off for lunch, so he’ll get stood up while you figure out how to get down. 

“you need to be more careful.” a voice behind you says, and you jump, nearly toppling over the side of the building. 

a hand grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, steadying you— it’s superman. thank god. 

you nod. “yeah. probably.” he looks unconvinced, and maybe a little pissed. his arm drops back to his side and he shoots you a stern look. 

“it’s irresponsible to run into danger like that. you could have died, ma’am.” he says. his hair looks a bit windswept, curling around the edges like clark’s does when he tries to tame it. his eyes zero in on the camera hanging around your neck. “no picture is worth your life, okay?”

you nod, looking down, a tad embarrassed. “yeah… adrenaline kinda beat me on this one.” 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do anything like that again.” he says. when you look up at him, he doesn’t look angry anymore. he looks scared. its the kind of thing that makes your heart jump into your throat.

“please?” he asks quietly, his gaze locked with yours. 

you nod, swallowing down the strange feelings twisting around in your gut. “okay. i promise.”

there’s a beat of silence before he steps towards you, beaming down at you like you’re any other citizen. “let me get you down from here.” 

“please do.” you agree, and he lifts you by the waist like you’re featherlight, slowly flying you down until your toes touch the concrete. 

“by the way,” he begins, speaking quietly as you land, stepping back, “i framed that picture you gave me. thank you.”

he’s gone before you can say ‘you’re welcome,’ just a blur of red and blue that disappears into the sky like a shooting star.

he remembered you. 

he probably remembers everyone he meets on the street— he’s known for stuff like that, being so kind, so hopeful. 

but he remembered you. and that feels different. 

your phone rings and you shake off whatever you’re feeling, because clark, the guy that you really really like and who really really likes you is calling and there’s no reason you should be thinking about someone as untouchable as superman in the way that you are right now. 

“clark, you will never believe what just happened—“

——

today is july first.

your one month anniversary with clark. the day that marks one of the best months of your life coming to a close— and hopefully a sign that these next months are going to be just as good, if not better. 

this month, clark kent has literally swept you off your feet. perfect dates, amazing chemistry, gentlemanlike in a way that all seems too good to be true. and maybe it is. 

because, well, it’s three hours after your date was supposed to start. clark had been talking about today all week, texting you every free second about the amazing evening he had planned— but he’s not here. he couldn’t even send you a text, “hey, so sorry i can’t make it. raincheck?’ nothing. 

you wonder what the excuse is, this time. had to work late? ma called and he lost track of time? you hate it, how small you feel when he forgets about you. you suddenly wish it was august again, so you could have school and a whole new pack of students to occupy your time with— you wouldn’t even have to think about clark, you’d be so busy.

right as you reach for another glass of wine, there’s a knock at your door. 

you frown, tiptoeing silently towards the peephole like you don’t already know who it is. 

it’s clark— and he looks rough. 

there’s a nasty shiner on his eye, and he’s got blood peeking out from under his collar, and you wonder what other injuries his clothes are hiding. it takes you half a second to swing the door open, your hands flying to his face. 

“holy shit clark— are you okay?” you ask, eyes wide, checking every inch of his face to see just how bad it is. you’ve never seen him have so much as an odd bruise before, but now…? he looks beat. “what happened?”

his eyes don’t follow your hands, or your movements, they don’t stick to the ground, they just find yours and hold your gaze once you’re done giving him an extremely thorough once-over for any prevailing injuries. “you were crying.” he frowns, looking down at you. 

you pause, lowering your hands. “yeah, but—“

he hands— which are notably shaky, press against your biceps, wrapping around your upper arms as if to ground himself. 

“i’m so sorry.” his voice is so tender it practically kills you, pure, genuine guilt and sadness that makes you feel like a jerk for even being mad in the first place. and those eyes— god, those eyes. they take you and they refuse to let go. 

“clark, you look like shit, i’m not upset—“ you start, biting down on your lip. he cuts you off by pulling you into a suffocating embrace, holding you so close and so tight he practically knocks the air out of your lungs, not that you mind.

he traps your lips in a kiss— one that isn’t soft, or gentle, not the way that clark usually kisses you. it’s fervent, sloppy and overwhelming— he surges into you like he never thought he’d be able to do it again. 

what you don’t know is— with the battle he had, the one he lost, that was exactly what was on his mind. 

“i’m sorry i missed our date. i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he mumbles as he pulls away. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you like he can’t get you close enough. you have no idea what’s going on, but you like the way you feel when he holds you, so you don’t stop him. 

you tentatively wrap your hands around him, unaware of the fallen god that has you in his arms. “what happened?” you ask quietly, your voice just a whisper against his ear. 

he gives you a final squeeze that toed on the line of breaking your ribs before pulling back, looking down at you. “uh, i just… this lady got her purse stolen, picked a fight i couldn’t win. i’m fine, promise.” 

you nod, your heart swelling with both concern and pride. you picked the guy who’d risk his own safety to help an old lady get her purse back— the thought makes you all warm and fuzzy, especially now that you know he’s okay. 

you have to push down the feeling that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. 

“do you wanna come in?” you ask, tilting your head. he shakes his head. 

“i uh, i can’t. gonna sleep this off— but i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank. i just didn’t want you to think i flaked for no reason.” 

you smile up at him, shaking your head. he’s too damn sweet for his own good. 

“okay, well, get home safe, okay?” you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek before sending him away with the promise that everything will be fine in the morning. 

——

you didn’t think that “i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank.” meant breaking into your apartment to make you breakfast, but apparently that was clark’s exact line of thought. 

you didn’t even register the sound of him in your apartment when you stepped out of your bedroom— your hair a mess, makeup peeled off, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and your panties. you yawned, stretched, then nearly jumped out of your own skin when you noticed him staring at you from over your stove like you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. 

“what are you doing here?!” you yelled, darting back into your room, searching frantically for a hairbrush. 

“uh, i, um— i wanted to make you breakfast?” he starts, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head. “starting to realize how creepy this is.” 

you sigh, laughing softly to yourself, the shock slowly wearing off. “it’s really sweet, clark, just give me a minute to look… presentable.” you say through the door.

“you look beautiful— but, sorry. take all the time you need.” 

you emerge ten minutes later with your rats nest combed out, your makeup done, and wearing a pair of shorts that fit snuggly around your thighs. clark smiles at you in a sort of, i’m-sorry-for-breaking-in-but-hey-here’s-some-breakfast, kind of way. 

you shake your head, walking over to him and letting him wrap an arm around you, taking a deep breath to smell the absurd amount of pancakes he made for the two of you. seriously, there’s like, three stacks and half a bowl of batter left. you lean against him, enjoying the warmth. 

“sorry for freaking out.” you say as he presses a kiss against the top of your forehead. 

he shrugs. “sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

you laugh. “yeah— how long have you been here, and how did you get in—“ you pause, looking up at him, noticing how clean his face is for the first time. “your bruise is gone.” 

he leans back, rubbing his neck. “yeah, uh… i’m a fast healer.” he pauses and shrugs like that’s the only answer he can give you. “i’ve been here for like, thirty minutes. your neighbor let me in. mrs. stilinsky?” 

you nod— decide not to question anything, moving back to lean on the countertop. you note the way he shifts in the back of your head and move on. 

“i still feel bad about last night,” he starts, pausing to lift you up and onto the counter like you’re featherlight. you giggle, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. “hence the breakfast. if you’re not busy today, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you raise a brow. “you know you don’t have to make up ‘getting jumped’ to me, right? i kind of get that one.”

he leans back to flip another pancake, shaking his head. “this is non-negotiable, honey.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a pancake off of one of the stacks. “actually, i could use another set of hands to help me decorate my classroom…” you say, taking a bite of the pancake, looking up at him. “god, this is good— how did you make this?” you ask, mid-bite. 

he laughs, a motion that moves through his shoulders. “kent family recipe. ma would kill me if i shared.” 

“—is there pumpkin spice in this?” 

——

clark insisted on being the only one to carry anything— so you’re mapping out your classroom while he hauls stuff from your car, little by little. 

you’re switching to second grade this year, so you have a newer, slightly crappier classroom a mile farther from the teacher’s lounge, and a new curriculum to teach— but you don’t particularly mind. eight is a good age, you’ll just need to practice a little more crowd control during your lectures. 

most of your stuff was brought over from your old classroom last week, this is just the stuff you bought with your daily planet money to get a fresh new look for your class. 

clark drops the last of the junk gently by the door, smiling down at you as he approaches. he hooks an arm around your waist and presses a kiss atop your head, giving you a quick squeeze. “so, what are we doing today?” 

you grin up at him, leaning into his side while you begin rambling about your big plans for the room. 

you kinda prefer this to big dates. there’s something special about the mundane when you get to do it with clark. you just like being around him, basking in that sweet farm boy energy that has you totally whipped.

“okay, so, i’m gonna move my bookshelf to this corner, and then i’m gonna put up a bunch of posters in this area and make it, like, a reading corner, right. i’m gonna put up one of my big art wall things here and the other over there, and—“

you’re cut off by an earthquake. 

clark instinctively tightens his grip on you, looking up and around for any danger. your frown, leaning into him. 

he looks up at the ceiling for what seems like a beat too long when the ground shakes again. a couple trinkets fall off of a bookshelf, and one of your boxes topples over. he looks down at you, ushering you out of the classroom. “is there somewhere safe to hide?” he asks, looking up and down the hall. 

“here, c’mon,” you start, leading him down the hall. “kids go in the gym for tornado drills— it’s kind of the same thing?”

he nods, following you with his hand tightly interlaced with yours. the ground shakes again and little bits of drywall fall from the ceiling— none big enough to do any real damage, but enough to spook you. 

you and clark make it to the gym, where the infrastructure seems a lot more sturdy. you run inside— but he hangs by the door. “i’m gonna see if anyone else needs help, okay? i’ll be back.”

“clark—!“ you start, but he’s already gone. 

you frown. the school is empty save for the two of you. he should be back in two, maybe three minutes. 

but he’s not. he’s not back in five. or ten. 

by the twelve minute mark you’re worried in a way that is all-consuming— and the building keeps shaking. you nearly got smashed by a ceiling tile that came loose, and you’ve spent the last few minutes half focused on clark’s survival and your own. 

you give up on waiting, going to the administrative office to check the cameras for him, a relatively easy journey. you flip through them all twice. you give time for him to leave any blindspot. he isn’t there— he just ditched you. 

you try not to throw the computer across the room. you could, logistically, and you could blame the damage on the whatever going on outside— but you don’t. you just storm out of the building, looking up at the sky. 

superman’s fifty feet above your school fighting some robot-looking thing mid-air. to be fair, he’s winning, but not enough for you to be particularly thrilled about the sighting. you look around for clark, and he’s nowhere, which is just great. 

“clark!” you call out, looking for him, ducking debris from the action above you. you turn the corner of the building, looking around by the dumpster, trying to see if he was hiding with some sweet old lady or doing anything besides running away and abandoning you. 

you rush past the wall— and maybe if you were a bit less panicked and a bit more observant you would have noticed the pile of clothes peeking out from under the dumpster, or the glasses that belonged to clark kent reflecting sunlight onto the stack of bricks behind you. 

but you continue, rushing out to the courtyard, met with a great big field filled with nothing but astroturf and gym supplies. 

“clark!” you call again. he’s not there— you know he isn’t and you’re really, really freaking out. what if he got caught under a chunk of debris? what if that robot monster up there crashed into him? what if he really did just abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself?

you brush that last one off. he wouldn’t do that. you know him well enough to know that. he’s good to his core, he’s not the type of guy to run from danger. 

you look up at the fight above you. superman is pummeling into the robot like there’s no tomorrow, getting closer and closer towards the ground. he’s right above the field you’re hanging around, and—

oh shit. 

they both crash against the ground, knocking a literal crater into the field. the impact of the collision knocks you onto your ass, and despite being fifty feet away, the yelp you let out when you hit pavement attracts superman’s attention— and the thing he’s fighting. 

it happens in slow motion: you, with wide eyes, scrambling to get up on shaky legs, the robot, hurling towards you impossibly fast, and superman, an inch behind, trying to stop it

you’re frozen. you can’t run, or fight, or even move— you’re just stuck, shaking, your heart beating out of your chest, adrenaline shooting through your veins like fire. 

you think it’s the end, but superman grabs hold of the thing when it’s an inch away, pulling it back and throwing it across the field so hard the boom that follows sounds like a missile strike. you just stare, your breaths uneven and panicked, watching with teary eyes as superman punches that thing into the ground, ripping the machine’s head off with bare hands, tearing it apart until it’s nothing but scrap metal and wire. 

and then he turns to you, moving faster than the speed of light across the field to gently help you up. 

“are you alright?” he asks, taking your hand. your legs are shaking so bad that he has to practically hold you upright, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

you nod. “yeah, i’m okay.” you say, taking a deep breath, swallowing down your panic. 

he checks you over for any injuries, the same way he did the first night that you met. “you shouldn’t have been out here.” he says, and he sounds frustrated— you feel bad. bad that he always seems to be saving you, and that you seem to be his least favorite regular. he’s saved you once a week for the last month at least, sometimes when you’re taking pictures for the planet, sometimes when trouble just seems to follow you home. either way— you have seen a lot of superman lately. 

“i uh, yeah, i was looking for… clark kent? i know he’s interviewed you before, have you seen him?” 

his gaze softens, and he takes a breath, looking down and shaking his head softly like he’s having a conversation in his head you aren’t privy to.

“he’s fine.” he says, looking up at you. you’re captivated— it’s always those damn eyes. bluer than the pacific, you don’t know how a man so perfect can exist.“i, uh, he was about to get crushed by some debris, so i moved him half a mile west.”

you breath a sigh of relief. “thank you.” you say, steady enough to stand a bit taller. he doesn’t let go. 

“you get into a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asks— not in a, ha-ha we run into each other a lot way, but in a, hey i’m kind of concerned about your well-being kind of way. your heart leaps to your chest. 

“yeah. kept my promise though. didn’t come out here for a picture.” 

he smiles— you almost swoon— and shakes his head. “do i have to start keeping a special eye on you, miss?” 

you try not to blush. you fail. “with my luck, that might just be necessary.” you say, smiling up at him. 

you pause. 

you are totally flirting with superman. and even crazier— superman is totally flirting with you. 

you have clark. loving, caring, sweet, handsome clark. 

but can it really hurt to indulge in the fantasy for a minute longer? 

“well, if you need anything, ma’am, call out for superman, and i’ll be there.” he says.

“anything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “i might just take advantage of that.”

he laughs— a laugh that seems too familiar. “i hope you do.”

you look up at him, tilting your head. “thank you, again, for saving me.”

he smiles, looking down at you, giving your hand a final squeeze before he lets you go. he leans in a bit closer, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump to your throat. “i’m always gonna save you. i promise.”

the way he says you gives you pause. it makes your knees want to buckle. it makes this whole thing seem completely unreal. 

because he’s talking about you like you mean a lot more to him than a pedestrian he’s had to save a couple times. like you’re someone he cares about— which confuses you a lot more than you care to admit. 

he leans back, clears his throat, acts like he said a bit more than he should have and returns to that superman persona he let slip for half a second. “you try to stay safe, okay?” he says, raising an eyebrow, and you nod, a little dazed. 

“on it.”

he steps back and shoots back off into the sky, and you stare until he’s completely gone, now just a whisper of blue in the skyline of metropolis. 

“hey! there you are!” clark’s voice echoes from behind you. you spin around, overwhelmed with relief that he’s safe and running back towards you. 

you practically crash into him, simply relieved that he is safe and not smushed under a building or something like that. his arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe, and you hold him so close you think your arms might break. 

“i got so scared when you didn’t come back.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. he nods, pulling back, looking down at you. 

“yeah, uh, i was looking for others and this giant piece of wall almost got me— superman swiped me out and took me like, three blocks away.” he says, taking a deep breath. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you nod, swallowing down the guilt forming in your chest. here clark is, all worried about you, who literally ran back from half a mile away to come and get you, and you were just flirting with superman. 

“yeah, uh, superman saved me too. guess we both got lucky.” you say, chewing on your lip. you feel horrible. 

he frowns. “a-are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head. you hate how he can read you like that.

you nod. “yeah, uh, i think i just want to go home.”

——

that night you sent clark home, promising you would call him in the morning. you told him that you were just a bit shaken— and you were. but not from the whole… robot trying to kill you thing. from the superman one. 

you just felt guilty about it. confused on what made superman so keen on you. you’ve felt confused a lot, lately. about clark, superman, your own feelings. 

to make it clear: you are 100% whipped for clark. he is your perfect man, and he has never made you doubt for one second that he likes you just as much as you like him. the whole superman thing feels like a fantasy come true— having some angelic, godlike protector single you out. it’s probably very human to have some feelings, to get a little flustered when someone like superman flirts with you. 

there’s just something about superman that feels achingly familiar, in the kind of way that bugs you wholly. his laugh, his voice, his eyes. the eyes get you the most— like there’s something right in front of you that you just can’t see. 

you take another sip of your beer, looking out at the moonlit skyline from your fire escape. 

“are you alright?” 

you jump, whipping your head around to see superman floating ahead, approaching you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll scare. he smiles, leaning against the railing of the fire escape, looking down at you with this weird, soft look in his eye. like he’s worried. 

you nod. “what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “i wanted to make sure you were okay, after today.”  he says, staring at you with those impossibly familiar blue eyes. 

you raise an eyebrow. “do you check up on all the people you save?”

he chuckles, and shakes his head. “just the lucky ones.”

you pause, offering him a beer. he waves his hands no, climbing over the rail to sit with you. 

“you’re real friendly.” you observe, taking another swig of your drink. he shrugs.

“just concerned.” 

there’s a long beat of silence before either of you speak again. you’re not really sure what to say, how to proceed. you can feel him staring at you, while your eyes trace over the buildings around you. 

“how’s your day going?” you ask, blinking back up at him. he stares for a second, then smiles— and those eyes capture you once more. 

“been an odd day. y’know, stray robot attacks and all.” he pauses, giving you a once over. “you?” 

you shrug. “odd’s probably the best word for it.”

“would you like to talk about it?” he offers. “i’ve been told that i’m a good listener.” 

do you wanna talk about it? it’s kind of been an emotional roller coaster of a day. of course, it’s the kind of thing that would only happen to you, having superman on your porch step, asking how you feel. at first, all the running into each other seemed like dumb coincidence— now it all feels a lot heavier. 

“i’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.” you say, tilting back your head to get a better look at him. 

he nods. “is that a bad thing?”

you shrug in response. “it’s an odd one. especially ‘cause—“ you start, cutting yourself off. you look down, chewing on your lip so you don’t confront superman for being a huge flirt. 

he looks at you inquisitively, a small frown playing on his lips. “‘cause?”

you take a deep breath, looking down. “i have a boyfriend. well— he’s not technically my boyfriend, yet. he hasn’t asked, but like, y’know. i really like him.”

you look back up and he’s smiling, almost like he’s trying to suppress a grin, which confuses you even more, because, like, two minutes ago he was acting all into you.

“and how are things going with your not-boyfriend?” he asks, leaning back. 

“great. so i need you to stop flirting with me.” 

he laughs— he actually laughs, with his full chest. acts like you saying that is the silliest thing in the world. like he didn’t randomly show up at your apartment to ‘check on you.’

he smiles up at you with this weird, knowing twinkle in his eye. “you’re right. i’ve got no business getting between you and clark.” 

you pause, your eyebrows knitting together. you didn’t mention anything about clark. 

“how’d you know it was clark?” you ask, frowning. 

he pauses— like his body stutters. “uh, well—“ he starts, stumbling in a way that seems so familiar, just like everything else he does. god, what is it about him? “i assumed, since he was who you were looking for at the school.”

you nod, training your eyes on the loose curl sitting on his forehead. you guess that makes sense, at least, enough for you to not dwell on it any longer. yet, coupled with everything else you’ve noticed, it’s all just… very strange.

“i’m onto you, superman.” you say, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. you see it, just the briefest, tiniest moment of panic in his eyes before the superhero persona sets back in. it’s just enough to let you know that you’re not crazy. 

“onto me?” he asks, slightly incredulous. “what for?” 

you shrug, leaning back against the railing, taking another quick sip of your beer before placing it down against the barred floor of your fire escape. “just whatever it is that you’re hiding from me.”

he nods, like he’s barely entertaining the idea. “i could just stop running into you.” he says, a bit more serious now than he was a minute ago. “if i was hiding something.” 

you smile, shaking your head, standing up and leaning back against the railing. “you could. i doubt you will.” you say, flashing him a grin, hoisting yourself up to sit on the railing. 

he tilts his head. “why’s that?” 

now, you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t at least two beers deep, and right now, you’re three and a half in, so your judgement is maybe… slightly impaired. besides, it’s not like this is the farthest you’ve ever gone to prove a point. 

you slide your legs over the rail, and without a single thought or hesitation, you push yourself off. 

you plummet for a bit longer than you thought you would— not like the drop would kill you, anyways, you live three stories up, but you’re a lot closer to the ground than you thought you’d be when he catches you. 

his arms wrap around you bridal style— and he looks kind of pissed. he doesn’t quite look at you, not until you’re back up safely on the fire escape and he’s floating back out in the alleyway. 

“that was, gosh—“ he starts, looking down at you, arms crossed. “why would you do that?”

“i knew you would catch me.”  you say, your eyes glancing up to find his. 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do that again. ever.” he asks, eyebrows firmly knit together. 

you nod, which, doesn’t seem to be good enough for him, because he tilts his head and looks at you with a gaze that is incredibly stern. you reach out your hand, extending your pinky finger out towards him. 

“i pinky swear.” 

he smiles, locking his finger with yours. “thank you.”

there’s a boom somewhere off in the distance, one loud enough to attract his attention. his hand slips away from yours, and with a nod, he’s gone. 

you’re gonna figure him out. 

——

it’s been two weeks since that night— and that was the last time you saw superman, a new record for you and him. you enjoyed the space as much as it infuriated you— so your time has been spent cataloguing every interaction, sorting through everything that bugged you, even slightly. 

you don’t tell clark about it. it can’t feel good to hear that your girl is constantly thinking about another guy— especially one that is a god amongst men. 

you and clark do have a good rhythm, though. he spends most nights at your place now, and he spoils you with two ‘real dates’ (as he calls them) a week. it’s nice, having him around. someone you can force feed your baking to and cuddle up with when watching scary movies.

it’s nights like tonight, actually, that make you so into him it scares you. he came over after work, and after making you a pasta salad that tasted like heaven on your fork, you sat together on the couch to watch some random sitcom he liked. his arms wrapped around you immediately, and he held you so close and so tight it was basically impossible not to fall asleep in those big, bulky arms of his. 

you blink awake now, soft light and sound still playing on your television despite how quiet everything else seems. you listen to clark’s breathing, steady and even, snoring softly with his grasp loose around you. 

you slide out of his arms quietly, surprised that you didn’t manage to wake him when you knocked into the table behind you on your way to the bathroom. you come back two minutes later, wiping your hands on your sleep shirt and looking down at him. 

he looks so peaceful, so relaxed. it makes you smile. carefully, as to not wake him up, you slide his glasses off of his face and put them on your coffee table, and grab a blanket off of your armchair to throw over him. 

in this motion, you realize you’ve never actually seen clark without his glasses before. you look down at him, tilting your head, squinting for whatever shapes you can make out with such little lighting. 

you didn’t realize how strong his prescription was, because he looks quite different. like— noticeably different. 

huh. he looks a lot like superman. 

you frown. squint a little harder. besides the hair, he’s nearly identical. 

you shake the thought. it has to be some weird coincidence, right? clark, your clark? not possible. you’re too sleepy to give it much thought, anyways. 

still, it bugs you. it bugs you the next morning, when he makes you breakfast. it bugs you the day after, when you see him at the planet. it bugs you for another week, because the similarity is just too damning. 

you stare down at that picture you have of superman. of him, helping your student. the one that inadvertently led you to clark. the one that superman himself framed. you’re looking at all the similarities of note between clark and him. sure, they’re different, but everything different is something easily changed. hairstyles, tone of voice, hell, even posture. 

you chew on your lip. it’s 5:30, clark’s supposed to pick you up in two hours. 

but, hypothetically, if you went to his place now and looked around when he wasn’t expecting you… would you find this picture hung up somewhere? 

it would be just to get the thought out of your head. you’re like, 95% sure there is no way in hell that clark kent can be superman. especially because, if he was, and he’d been flirting with you as superman? you’d be beyond pissed. 

you knock twice on the door. “clark?”

you hear a shuffle and a pause. it takes thirty agonizingly long seconds for him to open the door, but when he does it’s all smiles and laughter— “hey, what are you doing here? thought i was picking you up later.”

he urges you in and gently shuts the door behind you, smiling down at you. your eyes trace every inch of the apartment, looking for something you pray you don’t find. 

“i didn’t want to wait any longer,” you say, looking back up at him, “i missed you.”

he grins, wrapping an arm around you and giving you a squeeze. he looks nice— white button up, black slacks, his hair impossibly perfect. you lean into him, nearly forgetting about your mission. 

“do you want to just hang out here tonight? skip the date?” he asks, sliding your purse off of your shoulder and setting it down on his mahogany front table— one that he made himself when he still lived in smallville. 

“actually,” you say, uncertainly, sliding off your jacket. “that sounds perfect. i wanna talk.” 

he raises a brow, taking your jacket and hooking it the coat rack. you lead him to the living room, flopping down on the couch. “do i need to be worried?” 

he sets himself behind you, leaning against the back of the couch, smiling down at you. you look around, still looking for that picture— one you’re sure you won’t see amongst the decor of his apartment. 

“yeah, maybe.” you say, your eyes meeting his. his smile fades, and those ocean blue eyes stare down at you with just enough concern to make your heart skip a beat. “what are we?” 

you don’t know why you picked that question to stall for time, but here you are. 

he takes a breath, like that question somehow relieves him— what an odd guy. 

“what do you want us to be?” 

he asks it gently, hopefully, like he’s easing you into it. he is— he wants you, bad. more than just a summer situationship. clark isn’t built for that. but he understands hesitation, he understands if you want to take your time. he’s got all the time in the world. 

you pause, taking a breath. “well, i really like you clark.” you say, scooting back on the couch, patting the empty space next to you as a signal. he dances around the side of the couch, extra careful not to knock into anything and disrupt a moment like this one. the couch dips beside you and you sit with your legs crossed, facing him. 

“i really like you, too.” he says, quietly, like it kills him not to say more. 

you nod, chewing on your lip. “and i want to be your girlfriend.” 

he breaks out into a grin, leaning back, looking at you with nothing but love in those ridiculously blue eyes. “yeah?”

“not that you don’t still have to ask me, cause you do, and you have to make it, like, the most romantic thing i’ve ever seen.” you say, smiling up at him. he nods— super serious, like one of your kids planning out an assignment in their head.

“i promise.” he says, leaning in. “i’m gonna romance your socks off, babe.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you. he presses a quick kiss against your lips— one you’re careful not to get sucked into; you’re not done yet.

“now that that’s settled,” you say, forcing him back with a playful push that elicits a groan from him. “if i’m gonna be with you— you can’t hide anything. i need complete, open honesty.” 

he nods, looking away. you frown. “is there anything you haven’t told me? anything important?” 

he pauses, his eyes trained to the wall, like he’s deliberating on something super important. 

were you right? is clark really… superman? 

he looks back at you, smiling, like that moment didn’t happen. like everything is alright. “i stole one the toys from your classroom.” he shrugs, laughing a bit. “the stuffed deer? it reminded me of you.” 

you gasp, feigning offense. “i’ve been looking for him everywhere!” you exclaim in fake horror, but you can’t help but giggle. 

what were you thinking? clark, superman? sweet, adorkable clark? it’s more likely that he’s secretly mother teresa. 

his laugh grounds you, and he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. “i’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “wanna watch a movie?” 

you nod, looking up at him. “i’ll let you pick it if you make popcorn.” you grin, pressing a kiss against his jawline. 

“yes ma’am.” he says, standing up, lingering in your touch a second too long before leaving for the kitchen. 

you watch him, unable to suppress a giant, dorky smile. god, you love him. 

oh god, you love him. 

you decide to table that thought for when you get home. 

“i’m gonna change into one of your shirts!” you call out, standing up and heading towards his room. you’re still in date night attire, and you would much rather be dwarfed by one of clark’s nice, cotton, smallville t-shirts than brave the night in jeans and a tube top. 

“have fun!” he calls back, and you can hear the sporadic popping of the popcorn from the kitchen. 

you make it to his closet, filtering through the half-dozen tees he keeps hung up. he doesn’t have that many clothes, you note, a few dress shirts, a couple cheap suits, two pairs of jeans, and a box of ties below it. you look around a bit more, noting the weird amount of dress shoes he has lined up on the ground when you notice a pair of black wingtips sat above a silver, face-down picture frame. 

huh. 

maybe if you were a bit more trusting and a bit less suspicious you would have left it alone— but that isn’t you. 

your eyes flicker to the doorway, which is empty, and back to the frame. carefully, you crouch down, sliding the shoes down to the ground, tentatively picking up the frame and flipping it towards you. 

your heart beats out of your chest. 

it’s the picture. 

it’s the picture. 

the one you took of superman, the one you gave him that first night, the one he told you he framed— the one that you decidedly did not give to clark, the one that clark never told you he framed, the one that clark would have no reason to hide except—

that he’s superman. 

that you were right. 

that he lied to you. 

you take the picture. hold it so tight your knuckles turn white. walk out of the closet, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. drop it on the countertop so clark can see it. 

the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. he looks shocked, caught, then scared, guilty. his eyes dart from the picture to you in an instant. the microwave beeps three times, the popping slows to a stop. it’s over. 

“i can explain.” 

you shake your head. he doesn’t need to— it’s pretty open and shut. he lied to you, and if it was just him hiding the superman thing, you could understand. “you talked to me as superman— flirted with me, asked personal stuff— you lied. you’ve been lying, this entire time, i—“ you take a deep breath, fighting tears. “i should go.” you say, spinning around on your heels.

he grabs your hand before you can move, squeezing it gently. “please, wait— let me explain it. please. you don’t understand.”

you pull away, looking at him with nothing but hurt in your eyes— because you are hurt, you feel betrayed and broken and everything you thought you wouldn’t feel with clark. you stare at him, trying your hardest not to cry— not in front of him. he looks hopeless, half-defeated, uncertain, and lost in a way that overwhelms him.

you sniffle, shaking your head. “i understand fine, clark.” you say, swallowing down your heartbreak and peeling towards the door. 

“this is over.”

——

the days that follow are bleak. all you have to show for the breakup are dark, lonely hours wasted in pints of ice cream and dirty tissues. your only solace is scrolling through article after article— either ones written by clark, or ones written about him. 

you push yourself through it with everything you can muster, praying that he doesn’t hear your sobs from across the city. you love him. loved him. and you’re not sure you’ll ever be so in love again. 

but he betrayed you, he lied to you— he hurt you in a way that you can’t explain. you don’t want to let that push you down any more than it already has. 

so, you push back. get up, out of bed, get dressed, call your friends, make plans. put yourself in a situation where you don’t have to think, especially about clark. it’s been ten days since you stormed out of his apartment and you have to move forward. it’s the last day of summer before you go back— you can’t have let it all been a waste. 

you club. you party. you convince yourself that you’re having fun. you drink too much and then you spend an hour sobering yourself up before you home. you kiss your friends goodbye and toss the numbers you had pocketed in the trash outside your apartment. you head upstairs, taking a deep breath to try an avoid letting yourself think about the silence.

about clark. 

and, when you get to your door, fumbling for your keys— you notice a piece of neatly-folded card stock taped below your peephole, your name encircled by a heart on the front of it. 

carefully, you take it down, removing the tape with little tear and opening the letter, recognizing the handwriting before you can even read a word. 

to start this, you were right. i shouldn’t have lied, i shouldn’t have pretended i wasn’t lying, i shouldn’t have spoken to you under false pretenses. the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you, and for that, i am so sorry. 

i hope, for you, this past week hasn’t been as miserable as it has been for me. i hoped to have seen you at the planet, or bump into you on the corner, or find some way to see you and try and redeem myself— but i couldn’t wait any longer to explain.

yes, i am superman. i was born on the planet krypton, sent here as an infant, and adopted by my parents, john and martha kent. i have a cousin who too, is from krypton, but remembers much more than me about home, and i take care of her superpowered dog, krypto, in a secret fortress in the arctic. i can fly, i can move incredibly fast, i have inhuman strength, x-ray vision, laser vision from my eyes and breath that can freeze nearly anything, all given to me by the earth’s yellow sun. 

i came to you as superman at first by accident. the night i saved you from the mugger, before our first date. i had spent the days leading up to our date spiraling. you, who are so perfect, so beautiful, and so kind, were going out with me, and i was terrified to mess it up. i realized how easy it was for me to talk to you as superman, when it was difficult for clark kent. the times i saved you, i shouldn’t have lingered. the times i spoke to you as him, i shouldn’t have been there. at first, it had been a crutch, but by the last time, it had become a compulsion. 

i had to see you. to make sure that you were safe, and warm, and happy. i realize now that i violated you in a way i cannot make up for. for this and for everything else, i am truly sorry. while my betrayal is inexcusable, know that i did it because i love you. this summer has been the best of my life, i have never met someone as compassionate, hilarious, talented, and beautiful as you, i have never wanted to be around someone more than you, i have never had someone plague my thoughts and dreams the way you do. you have quickly become my everything, my reason for waking up, for helping people, for pushing through every day.

you asked me, the day of our fight, to make my request for you to be my girlfriend the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen. and i promised you that i would. 

and while i have lied to you, hidden things from you, and hurt you, i have never broken a promise. 

open the door, please. 

you look up from the note, wiping away a river of tears that had just poured out of you. carefully, your hands wrap around the doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. 

and there he is. 

standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a thousand rose petals, holding a giant bouquet with an iron grip. candles litter the foyer, giving his face an ethereal glow in the low light. his glasses are gone. his curls are out. he’s someone between clark kent and superman now, someone who you desperately want to know. 

he clears his throat, his gaze holding yours hostage with those infinity blue eyes captivating you so wholly. 

“i promise never to hurt you again. never to lie to you, or hide things from you, or betray your trust— if you’ll let me be yours again.” he says, smiling down at you like he’s on the verge of tears. “will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, as you approach taking in the entire set up slowly, trying not to lose what little composure of yours you still have. 

you take a breath, your eyes locking with his once more. 

“yes.” you say, grinning while tears— happy ones, slip from your eyes. he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, practically throwing the bouquet so he can wrap his arms around you in a giant bear hug. 

he lifts you up and spins you off of the ground, pulling an exciting giggle from your lips. it takes you a second to realize he’s off the ground too, that you’re both mid-air inside your tiny apartment— but you’re too focused on clark to mind. 

he holds you close, leaning in just enough to warm your face with his breath.

“i love you.” he says, quietly, like if saying it any louder would have scared you away. 

“i love you too.” you say, smiling. 

he grins, leaning into you and crashing against you with a kiss so fervent it nearly topples you over— so passionate it makes your chest explode with warmth. 

and suddenly, just for a moment, just for now— everything is okay again. and you know that as long as you have clark at your side, it always will be. 

——

there are two quick knocks on the door, followed by a rasp “honey? you okay?”

you tremble, sat with your back against the door, bunched up in your wedding dress, trying to force the tears to stop falling to avoid messing up your ridiculously expensive bridal makeup. ten minutes ago the pressure got to you, and five minutes ago you sent your entire party— bridesmaids, stylists, even your mom —out the door so you could properly break down. 

“yeah.” you say, sniffling. your voice shakes so much that the lie isn’t even half-convincing. clark can see right through you anyways (literally), so it’s not like you were really trying to lie. you just didn’t want him all concerned. it’s his wedding day too, you want it to be the happiest day of his life, even if your own experience is a train wreck. 

you can practically hear his frown. “kara told me what happened.” he says, softly. 

oh. yeah. your bridezilla breakdown. not one of your best moments. you aren’t exactly proud of screaming at your mom to stop messing with your hair, or your aunt for commenting on the fit of your dress, or your bridesmaids for giving you all sorts of unsolicited advice. you yelled, threw a fit, and pushed everyone out of the room so you could sob mascara into your veil. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gently, and you let out a weak laugh. 

“the groom can’t see the bride before the wedding, remember?” you say. he groans, sliding down against the door, his back to you. 

“that’s a silly rule.” he says, and you smile. you love how much he makes you smile. 

“i don’t need any more bad luck.” you wince. “did kara tell you about my bitch fit?” 

you hear him snort a little bit through the door. “she used nicer words.” he says, pausing. “wanna talk about it?”

god yes. it’s all you want to talk about. but you don’t want to bring clark down any further than you already have. you want him to have the perfect wedding, even if you are decidedly not. 

“it’s fine. i just needed a minute.” you say, your voice shaking again— enough to where you know clark won’t drop it now. you bury your head in your dress, taking a deep breath. 

“c’mon. i’m your husband in like, ten minutes. you can talk to me.” he says. his voice is so sweet and syrupy— you’re not sure how you can refuse him. 

you lean up, back against the door, shutting your eyes so tight it hurts. the words spill out of you so fast you don’t even think about them before they do. “i wanna be married to you so bad. but god— i know we spent so much on this and we spent so much time planning it but… i just want this over with. my dress is so goddamn tight and nobody can leave me alone for half a second without telling me something i need to be doing or something i’m doing wrong. and i just— it all got to be too much. and now my mom is probably gonna storm out ‘cause i yelled at her and then my dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, and i just ruined everything for no good reason.” 

the end of your rant is met with a beat of silence. a terrifying, overwhelming, moment where you think you might have finally scared off clark. 

of course, you didn’t. you couldn’t. “hey, honey— nothing’s ruined. look, don’t think about what your mom wants, or what your bridesmaids want, or even what i want. what’s gonna make you happy? ‘cause i could fly you off to a courthouse right now and ditch the party. all i want is to married to you— you could be in your pajamas for all i care and you would never have looked more beautiful. i just— darn it, i want you to be happy.”

you’re crying again, but this time you’re smiling, because god, your fiancé is just so sweet it makes your knees weak. 

“what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks again, his voice so soft and tender it makes you turn to putty. 

you sniffle again, wiping your tears with your fingers while trying not to further destroy your $120 makeup. “i really want a hug.” you mumble, staring down at your mascara-stained hands. 

“on it.” he says, and you hear him stand up and try for the door— which is still very much locked. 

you giggle a bit, standing up with him “i can’t let you in, though. the rule?” 

he scoffs. “that rule is just plain— gosh, it’s just ridiculous. let me in, please, or I’m gonna break this door down.” 

you laugh— god, it feels so good to laugh. you haven’t seen him all day and it felt like you were drowning. 

you pause, giving in and slowly turning the lock, but you don’t quite open the door yet. 

“promise me you’ll keep your eyes shut?” you ask, knowing how silly it sounds. god help you, you’re a bit superstitious. 

“scouts honor.” he confirms, and you slowly open the door, peeking out to see clark, who looks breathtakingly stunning, with his tie wrapped around his eyes like a blindfold. 

you laugh, smiling so wide the muscles in your mouth start to get sore. 

“there she is.” he says, reaching out blindly for you, his hands— impossibly warm, feeling around for your shoulders. “you feel very beautiful.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and burying yourself against him, your head in his chest. his arms circle your body and he squeezes you so tight you might faint— exactly the kind of hug you needed. 

you do your best not to let yourself cry, but clark has a way of forcing the tension out of you, one way or another. one hand presses into the small of your back, the other strokes your hair softly. little praises and comforts slip from his lips like sugar, while you sob into him.

“i love you so much.” he whispers, giving you another squeeze.

“i love you too.” you cry, holding him so tightly your arms ache. “i am so excited to be married to you— this is not cold feet i promise.”

he laughs, nodding against you. “i know, honey, i know.” he says, and god, he knows just how to sooth every one of your worries away. 

finally, you pull away, looking up at him. his glasses are tucked into his pocket, his hair is slicked back with one little curl popped out against his forehead. his suit is a deep black, with a navy blue tie (still covering his eyes) and a matching pocket square that makes him look irresistible. 

“you look really nice.” you say, sniffling, but you can’t wipe the smile off of your face. 

he shrugs. “i’m sure it’s nothing compared to you.” and he says it like you aren’t already a mess and you’re not blushing like, well, a bride. 

you grab the edge of his sleeve and use it to wipe away your tears. his thumb brushes against your cheek, falling to your bicep when you let his sleeve go.

“so, what’s the plan, gorgeous?” he asks, grinning down at you with that five-star smile that gets you every time. “are we sneaking out and going downtown?”

you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “no, no we’re doing this.” you say, leaning into his touch. “but if you, say, asked one of your superhero friends to slip a roach down my mom’s dress, i think i’d skip down the aisle.” 

he laughs, squeezing your arm and pulling away. “i’ll see what i can do.” 

you smile, memorizing how dorky he looks with that tie around his eyes and his cute open mouth smile. 

“see you on the other side?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“see you on the other side.” he confirms, stepping back with just enough uncertainty to let you know that he’s not using any x-ray vision. 

you watch him through the crack in the door until he’s gone, smiling so wide you might be stuck that way. 

half an hour later the music starts, your dad takes your hand, and you’re walking down the aisle like nothing ever went wrong.

first you eye the crowd, looking over the array of friends, family, and superheroes that showed up. thank goodness clark is a reporter and not, say, an office worker, because you don’t know how else you could explain the random celebrities like bruce wayne and oliver queen who are sat in the audience. 

then you look at your feet, which, are hidden beneath the dress, but you want to make sure you don’t stumble and embarrass yourself with a hundred pairs of eyes on you. 

finally, you look up at clark, who’s staring at you in the sort of way that makes you feel faint. like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. like you’re about to make his knees buckle. like he’s in pure awe. he doesn’t even look nervous— a trait which you envy, because you’re an absolute mess right now. he just looks captivated.

you make up to the alter, looking up at him with a healthy mix of nerves and excitement. he’s looking down at you like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. 

“i love you.” he mouths, grinning at you.

“i love you more.” you mouth back, and he shakes his head with glee.

“—you may now share your vows.” the officiant says, looking to clark.

he smiles, looking down at his feet, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“for… for a long time i didn’t know what to write. i had about six… thousand drafts, but i don’t think there’s any way i can put into words how much i love you. how much i depend on you, how much of my happiness is thanks to you. i have so much purpose now. because if i can make you happy— if i can make you safe, if i can make you feel loved and supported and half as good as you make me feel every day by just being you… i’ll have accomplished more than i’ve ever dreamed of. i love you, honey, so much it makes my chest hurt. and i am the luckiest man in the world to be the man who gets to marry you— my soulmate.” he looks back up at you with stars in his eyes— your spaceman.

there’s like, five tears sliding down your cheeks by the end of that speech. you literally cannot stop smiling. you expected a lot— his job is writing for chrissakes— but wow.

wow.

“i, uh, wow. i don’t think i can top that.” you say, and a gentle laugh echoes from the crowd. you take a deep breath. “clark, i— i spent a lifetime thinking i’d never find someone like you. you’re, literally my knight in shining armor. when we met, and you walked me to perry’s office when i was so, horribly lost, i remember thinking how much i wanted this guy to ask me out. and then i found your number in my files, and i didn’t even realize how lucky i was. clark— my life has become so much better because you’re in it. having you, my rock, my best friend, my soulmate— i don’t have to dream any more. every morning with you is one come true. you are the incredibly dorky, adorable, and unfathomably amazing love of my life, and marrying you is the best thing i will ever do. i’ve never been certain of anything, but for this i have no doubt: i love you, clark kent, and i will love you no matter what life throws at us— i know that despite any tragedy or circumstance, i am yours, always and forever.”

you smile up at clark, droplets of water falling further down your face while a single tear drops from his eye. he smiles at you like you’re all he could ever want. you are.

“by the power vested in me by the state, i now pronounce you mr. and mrs. clark kent, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.”

clark grins at you and leans in, his lips pressing gently against yours, his hands pulling you in by your sides. the music plays, the church erupts in applause, and your husband knocks the breath out of you and for one moment, just one, everything is completely perfect.

this is so easily the longest fic i've ever written.... i am very proud of her though i very much hope you all enjoy!!

[aspenmissing]

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

​🇲​​🇴​​🇸​​🇹​​🇱​​🇾​ ​🇯​​🇦​​🇾​​🇨​​🇪​ | ​🇻​​🇮​​🇰​​🇹​​🇴​​🇷​ | ​🇯​​🇦​​🇾​​🇻​​🇮​​🇰​ | ​🇻​​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​​🇪​​🇷​ | ​🇸​​🇮​​🇱​​🇨​​🇴​ | ​🇯​​🇮​​🇳​​🇽​ - ​🇺​​🇳​​🇱​​🇪​​🇸​​🇸​ ​🇸​​🇦​​🇮​​🇩​ ​🇴​​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇼​​🇮​​🇸​​🇪​

ʙᴀᴛʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ ☆ ❋

ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ? ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 1 ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 2 ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴀᴛᴀᴄᴋꜱ ☆ ❋

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ/ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ☆ ✧(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ ☆ ❋

ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 1 ☆

ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ 2 ☆

ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇᴀʟ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ɴᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | + ᴍᴇʟ) ✧☆

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴅᴀʏ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | +ᴄᴀɪᴛᴠɪ) ☆

ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ☆ ❋

ᴜɴꜱᴇᴇɴ ᴘᴀɪɴ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | +ᴍᴇʟ)☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ ☆

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ? ☆ ❋

ᴡʀᴏɴɢꜰᴜʟ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx/ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) ☆

ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx | + ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴜᴍᴘ (+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ꜱᴛɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ (+ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ|ᴠɪ|ᴄᴀɪᴛᴠɪ) ☆

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀɪɴ ☆ ❋

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ☆ ❋

ʟᴏɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆

ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴꜱ ᴡʜʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx/+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ☆

ʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇꜱ ᴅᴀʏ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 ☆

ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏɢ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴍᴇʟ) ☆

ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ☆ ❋

ꜱɪɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx|+ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ) ☆ ❋

ʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆ ❋ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ☆

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ☆ ❋

ᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ☆(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋

ʜɪꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ (ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ) ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆

ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴋɪʟʟꜱ (ᴊᴀʏ|ᴠɪᴋ|ᴄᴀɪᴛ|ᴠɪ|ᴍᴇʟ) ❋

ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴋɪʟʟꜱ ᴘᴛ 2 (ᴊɪɴx|ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ|ᴇᴋᴋᴏ|ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) ❋

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅ (ɴᴏ ᴊɪɴx) ☆

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀ ᴍᴀɴꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ☆

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ? ☆

ᴜɴꜱᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ (ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ|ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ|ᴊɪɴx) ☆ ❋

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ? ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

[aspenmissing]

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ☆

ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ ꜰʟʏ ☆

ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ☆

ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ​ ​⁂ 18+

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴢᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ʟɪᴍɪᴛꜱ ᴘᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴀ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ᴜɴᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ❋ ❋

ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘᴏᴠᴇʀ ☆

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴꜱ ☆ ❋

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ ☆

ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀ ☆

ᴜɴʟᴇᴀꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ☆

ᴇᴄʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ❋

ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜰᴇʟᴛ ᴘɪᴄᴋ-ᴍᴇ-ᴜᴘ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ☆

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴅᴀᴅ ☆

ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ☆ ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ ☆ (ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ)

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ❋ ❋

ᴀ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ☆

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ ☆❋✧

ᴄᴜʀɪᴏꜱɪᴛʏ ꜰʟᴜꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ☆

ᴘʀᴀɴᴋꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

[aspenmissing]

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ☆

ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢꜱ (ᴅᴀᴅ!ᴠɪᴋ) ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ᴀ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ ☆

ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴛꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ ☆❋ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴇQᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ☆

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴏ ᴇꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛ ☆

ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ☆

ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ☆

ɴᴏ ʙᴀʀʀɪᴇʀꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

4ᴛʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ ☆

ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ ☆

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ ☆ (ʙʀᴏ!ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ) || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2 || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴜꜱ ☆

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ☆❋?

ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ☆

ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

[aspenmissing]

ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ​⁂ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ❋

ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇʜᴏʟᴅ ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ✧☆

ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ☆❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!)

ᴄᴀɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ​ ☆

ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ☆ ❋

ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴀʀʏ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☆

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ☆ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ) ❋(ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ☆

ᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ (ᴏʀ ɪꜱ ɪᴛ?) ☆✧

ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ☆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ☆ ❋

ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ☆

[gaytimetraveler-deactivated2025]

MORE TRUCKS!

[novaoinova]

Old one is more complicated

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch. 2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4,3K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Reader is a second-year science student that had just switched schools to escape the suffocating love of her parents and Viktor is being a black cat all the way through. A 12-chapter story of two emotionally problematic people falling in love through acknowledging each other's imperfections.

author's note: This is less introspective than my other fics, attempts to be lighter and funny at times. World is completely made up, even though contains some real things in it. Viktor's disability is present, but decreased (no back brace and breathing affliction). I will soon create fic masterlist and pin it on my blog and will be linking chapters with future updates.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You sat wedged between a hot, doe-eyed girl named Sue who was going to be your roommate, and some skinny guy whose name you hadn’t caught—Callum, maybe? Your friend Hale had ditched you to join his theatre group on the other side of the campus, leaving you to navigate introductions with your new course mates alone. Changing universities mid-degree was stressful, but staying back in Sheffield with your parents had been worse. So, yes, it had been the right call. A very good call, you reminded yourself.

Camden had a tiny science department with a handful of brilliant professors. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t Sheffield. And it had Hale, who had convinced you to come down south with promises of freedom, self-discovery, and the chance to reclaim your status as the unstoppable friend power-couple you’d been in high school (not that you had mattered at all back then, of course).

The room buzzed with overlapping conversations and sporadic bursts of laughter, the faint thrum of inoffensive pop music humming from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The second-year welcome party was more like a casual gathering, hosted in one of the university lounges with just enough couches and harsh fluorescent lighting to feel awkwardly cozy. You sipped from a plastic cup of lukewarm cider, your attention flitting between three different conversations happening around you.

To your left, Jayce was in the middle of an animated retelling of how he’d nearly blown up a lab during his undergrad years. His booming laugh and sweeping hand gestures kept everyone engaged, even those who had only half-heard the setup to his punchline. You found yourself smiling despite having missed most of the story. You vaguely recalled his introduction earlier in the evening—Jayce, one of the TAs for your course this year. From Sheffield, like you. Big personality, bigger grin.

On your right stood Viktor, the second TA, his hands resting lightly on his cane. He exuded a quieter kind of presence, his sharp amber eyes scanning the group with an air of detached curiosity. He’d joined the circle mid-conversation, offering the occasional dry comment that earned chuckles from those paying attention.

“You’re training to be a geneticist?” Viktor asked, leaning slightly toward you. His accent caught you off guard—it was Slavic, you thought, though you weren’t confident enough to guess further. You made a mental note to ask him about it one day.

You blinked, surprised to be addressed. “Oh, yeah,” you replied quickly, nodding. “Second year. Still deciding whether I want to focus on medical or research applications, though.” You paused. “You’re in bioengineering for your PhD, right?”

“Correct,” Viktor said with a slight upward quirk of his lips. “It is refreshing to meet someone undecided. Most claim they will change the world before finishing their first term.”

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was mocking you or just making an observation. “Yeah, I’m saving that for third year.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and sceptical. “Ambitious,” he said dryly.

Before you could respond, Jayce turned toward you, pulling the group’s focus with him. “What about you? Have you had Professor Albin yet? He’s a character, let me tell you. Loves his experiments more than his students.”

You grinned, drawn into the shift in energy. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about him. But wait, is he the one who smokes under the laboratory fume hood?”

Jayce snapped his fingers in mock recognition. “Exactly! Last year, he almost caused the whole building to evacuate because he didn’t realise the hood was broken.”

The group erupted into laughter. You found yourself relaxing, leaning into the easy rhythm of the conversation. You missed the glance Viktor cast your way, faintly bemused.

He cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that drew only a few eyes. “Albin may be forgetful, but he has published groundbreaking work on single-cell RNA sequencing. One might forgive the eccentricities, no?”

The remark hung in the air for a beat, slightly out of sync with the conversation’s playful tone. Jayce, quick to keep the mood light, grinned and waved it off. “True, but it doesn’t make his lectures any less painful.”

The laughter resumed, bubbling back up with ease. You smiled, but something about Viktor’s expression lingered in your mind—a subtle tightness around his mouth, almost imperceptible but impossible to ignore once noticed.

You thought to say something, maybe steer the conversation back toward him, but Jayce was already pulling your attention with another question, his energy impossible to resist. The moment slipped away, and with it, that fleeting glimpse of something unreadable in Viktor’s eyes.

The party dispersed shortly after midnight, and you went to find Hale for the promised cigarette and your earlier-agreed session of impression comparing. You spotted him by the fountain, his tall figure hunched over in his velvet vest, already smoking.

“My darling!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in a theatrical flourish. “So, spill the tea—how was it? Anyone hot? Anyone you already hate? Good decision? Bad decision?”

“Uh… Can I bum a fag? I forgot my pack in the room.” You patted your pockets distractedly as Hale swept you into his arms, spinning you around dramatically. He placed his own cigarette between your lips with a flourish.

“I’m going to burst if you don’t tell me right now. Your mother already hates me—I need to know you don’t hate me too!”

“Joanne is going to be fine,” you replied, rolling your eyes but letting yourself be twirled in your exaggerated tango. “She already sent me, like, a thousand affirmations for my ‘new beginnings.’”

Hale dipped you low, grinning. “And?”

“I… don’t know,” you sighed as he held you in the dramatic pose. “It’s a bunch of nerds, like me, so I guess I’ll be alright.”

Hale gave you a pointed look, his brow furrowing. “You are not just some nerd. You are brilliant, and they are not ready for you.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, waving him off with a small smile. “Full report is as follows: Sue, my roommate—hot and completely oblivious about it. Nobody else really standing out. It’s an even mix of guys and girls.” You started pacing along the edge of the fountain, ticking details off on your fingers. “We’ve got two TAs: one would make you drool, and the other one would make you run for your life.”

“I have to meet them both,” Hale declared with a dramatic flourish, grinning mischievously.

Hale twirled you one last time before pulling you upright with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I’m such a gracious dance partner, darling,” he said, letting you go with a flourishing bow.

You laughed and brushed your hair out of your face. “Oh, you’re too kind. I didn’t know you’d start your evening in full drama mode.”

Hale smirked, looping his arm through yours as you strolled around the fountain. The air was crisp, the faint glow of the nearby building lights reflecting off the water. “I’m always in drama mode. You know this. Now, tell me—what’s the plan tomorrow? More parties? Some secret nerd ritual?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “Yes, we are totally raising someone from the dead tomorrow,” you smirked. “The TAs are swinging by each room tomorrow to hand out schedules and do a quick orientation. Viktor mentioned it tonight in passing.”

Hale gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Viktor, you say? Is that the one who would make me drool or the one who’d send me running for my life?”

You laughed. “The latter. He’s got this whole ‘intimidating genius’ vibe going on, but I can’t tell if he’s just really smart or if he practices those broody stares in the mirror.”

“Oh, I have to meet this man,” Hale said with a gleam in his eye, spinning you around. “And what about the one who’d make me drool?”

“That’s Jayce,” you replied. “Big, loud, charming. Like a golden retriever who also happens to be jacked and into science.”

Hale pretended to swoon, leaning on you for support. “Be still, my heart. This place might actually be worth sticking around for.”

You smirked, brushing ash off your borrowed cigarette. “Speaking of sticking around, how was your night? Any tragic love stories waiting to happen?”

Hale shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Same old faces, same old dramas. Nothing new. Nobody around here who could really crush my heart, but you know me—I’ll eat anything when I’m starved.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s the spirit. Settle for mediocrity!”

“It’s a survival skill, darling,” Hale replied, grinning as he plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag.

You walked in silence for a moment, your steps slow and unhurried. You glanced at the fountain, its gentle ripples catching the light, and exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I think it was a good decision,” you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Hale raised an eyebrow, handing the cigarette back to you. “Camden? Or letting me drag you here tonight?”

“Both,” you admitted, a small smile playing at your lips. “Thanks for making me come. For once, I actually feel… scared of something. Not stuck.”

Hale’s expression softened, and he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “That’s because you’re brilliant, and the world doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the gesture, taking one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it into the fountain.

“Here’s to not being stuck,” Hale declared, lifting an imaginary glass.

“To not being stuck,” you echoed, laughing as the two of you turned and headed back toward the dorms.

***

The sound that woke you and Sue was impossible to describe—a cacophony of metal being violently banged together, accompanied by a high-pitched whining noise. Then came loud banging on the door.

A soft groan came from Sue’s bed as she rolled out, stretching her limbs before sinking onto the floor and curling into a foetal position. “I think it’s the TAs,” she said weakly, yawning.

You decided to be brave, though your first instinct was to shove a pillow over your head and wait for the monster to go away. Dragging yourself out of bed, your head pounding from the cider and cigarettes you’d had with Hale the night before, you trudged to the door. Your expression was one of pure pleading as you opened it and asked, “Is this really how you guys want to start this relationship?”

In front of you, Jayce froze mid-motion, one frying pan held in each hand. Viktor stood just behind him, clutching a bicycle horn and smirking mercilessly.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jayce boomed, lowering the frying pans slightly but keeping his grin firmly in place, like a weapon. “Ready to seize the day?”

You squinted, shielding your eyes from the hallway light as though it were a personal attack. “Seize the day? I’m about to seize your frying pans and toss them out the window.”

Jayce laughed, completely unbothered, while Viktor raised the bicycle horn and gave it a sharp honk. “Consider it your wake-up call,” Viktor said smoothly, his smirk deepening. “Promptness is a virtue, no?”

“I’m promptly considering murder,” you muttered, glaring at them both.

Behind you, Sue groaned from her spot on the floor. “I’m not coming out. Tell them I’m dead.”

Jayce leaned sideways to peer into the room. “Good morning to you too, Sue!” he called cheerfully.

“Sod off,” Sue replied, her voice muffled by her arm.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, shaking his head slightly as though disapproving of his partner’s antics. Then he turned his attention back to you. “We are here to distribute schedules and perform a brief orientation,” he said, his tone more measured but no less smug. “You should be grateful. Only the science department students receive such... personal service.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I feel so special. Is banging cookware a requirement of this personal service, or is it just a special treat for us?”

“Just for you,” Jayce said with a wink. “And hey, it worked, didn’t it? You’re awake.”

You sighed, stepping back to let them into the room. “Fine. Come in. But if you touch anything, I’m calling security.”

Jayce sauntered in like he owned the place, plopping the frying pans onto the desk with a loud clang. Viktor followed more quietly, his eyes sweeping the room in a quick, assessing glance. He placed the bicycle horn next to the pans, the absurdity of the scene making you shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re like two chaotic sitcom characters,” you said, rubbing your temples. “And I’m the poor, sleep-deprived protagonist who has to deal with your nonsense.”

Jayce grinned. “I like to think of myself as the lovable goofball.”

“And Viktor’s the straight man?” you guessed, glancing at him.

Viktor’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you a neatly folded piece of paper. “Your schedule,” he said. “I trust you can manage to read it despite your current... condition.” He gave you a once-over and added, “Nice pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself, remembering too late that you were wearing red cotton pants with white hearts and an oversized Nirvana sweatshirt. It was a damn nice set of pyjamas—what was the problem? You snatched the paper from him, your mouth twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “Thanks. I’ll try not to faint from gratitude.”

“Much appreciated,” Viktor replied dryly.

Sue, still sprawled on the floor, finally raised her head and groaned. “Do we at least get coffee with this torture?”

Jayce perked up. “Now that’s an idea! Viktor, we should’ve brought coffee.”

“I am not your barista,” Viktor deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the morning starting to chip away at your hangover. “Alright, alright. Give us five minutes, and we’ll join the rest of the poor souls you’ve terrorized this morning.”

“Make it three,” Viktor said, his smirk returning as he turned toward the door.

Jayce followed with a wave. “See you downstairs!”

As the door closed behind them, you turned to Sue, who was now sitting up, her hair a wild mess.

“So,” you said, leaning against the door. “Drool-worthy or run-for-your-life?”

Sue blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“The TAs,” you clarified, holding back a grin. “Jayce and Viktor. What’s the verdict?”

Sue rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Jayce is like a golden retriever on caffeine. Viktor... is something else. Sharp. Kinda scary. But, like, in a hot way?”

You snorted, tossing the schedule onto your desk. “I’m just trying to survive their weird buddy cop energy.”

Sue flopped back onto the floor with a groan. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s never over, Sue. Welcome to Camden.”

***

Orientation and the first classes passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and information overload. By the time the fifth person introduced themselves, you’d already forgotten the first three names. Professor Heimerdinger, perched at the front of the lab like an animated encyclopaedia, launched into an overview of the semester: rules for grades and exams, expectations for in-class behaviour, and a note about optional after-class activities for the particularly ambitious—or masochistic.

You braced yourself for the inevitable repeat classes like chemistry and biophysics, but it didn’t bother you. Repetition wasn’t so bad if you could zone out without missing much.

Jayce and Viktor drifted through the room during the lecture, their presence oddly complementary—one buzzing with boundless energy, the other moving with deliberate precision. They pointed out key locations: lab glass, gloves, coats, goggles, and the cabinets you’d definitely forget the moment you walked out. They handed out maps of the department and listed their office hours. Standard procedure. Functional. Dandy.

When it was finally over, Sue nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wanna head to the bar nearby?”

“You want to drink again?” You raised an eyebrow, though her expression hinted at ulterior motives.

Sue tilted her head, all innocence. “Or… maybe I want to go to the bar to spy on our TAs,” she said, her gaze trailing after Jayce and Viktor as they left the room.

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “By my calculations, we have about a week to live before we’re buried in coursework.”

“Exactly! We should enjoy it while it lasts.” Sue clasped her hands together and unleashed the puppy eyes. “Please?” she added, her lower lip quivering with Oscar-worthy conviction.

You rolled your eyes, defeated. “I am genuinely terrified of you. And convinced I’ll never be able to say no to you. Fine. One condition: I get to drag Hale along.”

“Is Hale your hot theatre friend?” Sue’s excitement was palpable, her grin wide enough to make you laugh.

“Yes, and he’s also gay, so don’t get your hopes up. He’ll break your heart,” you warned, pulling out your phone to text him.

“I am desperate for a gay boyfriend, so please drag him along whenever you feel like it,” Sue replied, already on her feet, coat slung over her arm.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly: I know the place – seedy shithole. Be there in no time! Hale’s response sealed the deal. You were officially going to a bar to “spy” on your TAs.

The bar was, indeed, a seedy shithole, but it had a quirky charm. Posters plastered the walls, advertising plays, gigs, and questionable student endeavours. Lamps made of beer bottles cast a dim, golden light, and the furniture was an eclectic mix—like someone had raided every grandmother’s attic in a three-mile radius. A fireplace crackled in one corner, surrounded by mismatched cushions for floor seating, and a jukebox stood proudly by the bar, humming with potential.

You approached the bar with Sue, scanning the menu. Sue’s brows furrowed in confusion as she searched for something that wasn’t beer. The bartender, a man with a weathered face and a disarming smile, leaned in. “What can I do for you, honey?”

Sue’s voice turned soft and sweet, almost like a fairy casting a spell. “Do you have anything… sweet?”

The bartender paused, giving her a look like he’d climb mountains to fetch whatever she wanted. For a moment, you wondered if he might actually run to another bar, buy something sugary, and bring it back. The thought made you chuckle as you watched Sue charm her way to a perfect drink.

“Let me surprise you,” the bartender said, flashing Sue a sweet smile before turning to you. “And for you, darling?”

“I’ll just have a pint, cheers,” you replied, your gaze lingering on the heartwarming interaction between the adorable Sue and the massive, tattooed bartender.

“Ah! Let me get this,” you registered an arm sliding between you and Sue, holding a credit card. “Since we forgot the coffees this morning,” Jayce’s familiar grin soon followed, putting a face to the offering hand.

“I’ll be the one buying drinks for my pookie today,” a strong arm wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and you immediately recognized Hale’s voice from above you. “Let me guess… drool-worthy and”—his eyes shifted toward Viktor—“run-for-your-life?”

“I’ve also been called ‘the straight man,’” Viktor remarked, giving you a questioning look.

“Ah, I can see why,” Hale replied, on the verge of ruining your chances for any semblance of dignity this semester. Then he turned to Sue. “And you must be the hot Sue?”

“Oh my god, did you say that?” Sue squeaked playfully, leaning over to grab your hand. “I think you’re hot too,” she added with a wink.

You wanted to sink deep underground and let the demons of hell swallow you whole.

Waiting for your drink to be poured, you watched Jayce, Sue, and Hale drift toward the fireplace sitting area, Hale’s arm already wrapped around your roommate as they chatted animatedly.

“You seem to have a lot of opinions already formed,” Viktor’s voice came from above your shoulder as he reached for his drink—a vodka on the rocks.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll indeed run for my life,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that so?” His tone was smooth, with just a hint of challenge.

“Absolutely,” you replied, leaning in slightly with mock seriousness. “You’re giving off dangerous, 'I’ve got a sarcastic comment for everything' vibes. It's a threat.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound warm and surprisingly disarming. “A threat, huh? I’ll have to be careful then.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes glinting. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming at the edge of your mouth. “I wasn’t worried.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise of the bar buzzing around you. Viktor’s gaze lingered a moment too long, making you feel slightly off balance. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned back to the group by the fireplace.

“Let’s go join the chaos,” he said nonchalantly, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

You followed, still trying to shake the unexpected buzz of the encounter. It was weird how Viktor could throw you off without even trying.

By the time you approached the group, Hale had already charmed Jayce and Sue, effortlessly pulling them into his world with animated tales of his theatre exploits. He gestured enthusiastically, his voice rich with excitement. “So, we’re doing Rocky Horror Picture Show this year for the mid-semester final,” he announced, his theatrical tone drawing everyone in. “We’re looking for actors—are any of you up for it?”

Sue, looking both intrigued and a little unsure, glanced over at Jayce, who was already grinning. “I’m afraid that my singing would have you fail the final, Hale,” Jayce said with a laugh, clearly weighing the possibilities. “I will gladly come and watch, though?”

Hale grinned wider. “I’ll put you in the front row! And Y/N’s been trying to convince me to take on Frank N. Furter’s part, which made me think she’d make a killer Janet.”

At that, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your playful tone cutting through the banter. “Only if I can play Magenta,” you said, tossing your head back slightly. “Otherwise, it's a no-go.”

The group chuckled, but Jayce, who had been half-listening as they continued talking, suddenly perked up. “Wait, hold on. Are you both actually from Sheffield?” He leaned forward slightly, clearly curious.

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest and leaning in, dropping the playful façade for a second. “I don’t have my Pulp T-shirt on me today,” you quipped, “but I can show you my ID?”

Raising an eyebrow, you knew full well that a bit of playful sarcasm could spark a reaction. Viktor, standing just a few steps behind, glanced over at you as your words hit the air. His eyes flicked between you and Jayce, his attention sharpened but still calm, like he was quietly enjoying your back-and-forth with the others.

Jayce laughed, shaking his head. “You really are from Sheffield, aren’t you?”

“Born and bred,” you shot back with a grin, your hands slipping into your pockets. “Don’t let the accent fool you.”

Viktor took a small sip of his drink, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze as he continued to watch you. You had a way of carrying yourself—like you knew how to hold your ground, even when teasing. And now that you had mentioned it, there was a non-Sheffield accent lingering underneath your words.

“Eh, it’s not a place for stars like us,” Hale mused, giving your thigh a playful squeeze.

“My darling, brilliant man, you know all I wish for you is to never step foot in that shithole again and rise to stardom so fast the bystanders get their eyes burned,” you replied with a dramatic flourish, your grin wide and teasing.

Jayce laughed, raising his beer. “Well, before anyone dies burned by Hale’s halo, I guess we could all drag along back for Christmas together?”

“Jayce, if there is anything to drag by then, be my guest,” you responded with a quiet clank of your glass against Jayce’s.

“Oh yes, Christmas is a must. I have to bring a peace offering to Y/N’s mother for stealing her precious daughter away from the family nest,” Hale said, making an exaggerated frightened face when mentioning your mum, Joanne.

“Hale, repeat after me: Joanne is going to be fine. It’s about time she grows up.”

***

Jayce and Viktor walked down the dimly lit street, the buzz of the bar still echoing in their steps. The night air was cool, and the muffled sounds of laughter and music faded behind them as they made their way back to the dorms.

“I love freshmen,” Jayce said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Viktor shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s disturbing.”

“Come on, they’re cute.” Jayce shrugged; his tone playful. “Good idea with the morning orchestra, by the way. Got them all riled up.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at the memory. “The girls sure have their eyes on you.” He looked at Jayce, raising an eyebrow. “You planning on visiting Y/N’s family for Christmas already?”

Jayce laughed. “I don’t know, man. I have a feeling her eyes are actually on you.”

Viktor paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes. “She literally called me 'the straight man' and the 'run-for-your-life-one.' I highly doubt it.”

Jayce nudged him with his elbow. “You know nothing about girls, Viktor.” Viktor gave him a sceptical look, but Jayce’s grin only grew wider, and for once, Viktor couldn't help but wonder if Jayce was right.

[lxvvie]

By his estimate, Simon was supposed to have left about thirty minutes ago.

That’s what you did after you had sex and got your rocks off. You get dressed, leave with no fuss as soon as it was over, y’know, and make it a little less awkward than it already was. At least, that’s what Simon always did.

And as always, shit gets flipped on its head when it comes to you.

Thirty minutes ago, he would’ve made it home; he’d have showered, smoked, went to bed, slept like shit, and been ready for the next day. Rinse and repeat. Instead he’s here with you, naked as the day he was born, covered in your sweat and his, covered in your cum and his, and Simon would be a lying bastard if he said he wouldn’t feel a certain way if you kicked him out.

You hadn’t thus far and that’s a good thing. He thinks.

It’s you two, side by side, coming down from that high, body humming from your nighttime activities, and you’re basking in the not-so-awkward silence. He’s staring at the ceiling, you’re probably thinking… or, er, probably not, and Simon’s a little curious but not enough to want to ruin the mood. Which a lie from the pits of hell. You hadn’t moved or said a word, and it’s getting to Simon more than he lets on.

But bloody fuckin’ hell, what do you say after something like this? Thanks for the sex, sweetheart, be seein’ you or Felt good, didn’t it, luv? What about I don’t think I can leave you, let’s go another round so I won’t have to? Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin’ mess, Riley.

Not that it matters, though, not really, because “nothing ventured, nothing gained” is Simon Riley’s motto when it comes to you and rather than say anything, he simply grabs your hand to gauge the atmosphere. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across.

After a moment, he figures he miscalculated until you respond in turn, one-upping him and intertwining your fingers together and no, his heart absolutely did not skip a beat. Bloody hell. He turned, glanced down at your hands connected, looked up at you and to his surprise, you met him head on. How long had you been staring at him, sweetheart?

Not that it matters, though, not really, because your face is inching closer and while Simon is many things, ungrateful ain’t one of them, and if you think you’re just gonna leave him with a kiss on the forehead or cheek then you’re sorely mistaken, sweetheart.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

And now it’s Simon’s turn to one-up you this time. He meets you halfway, doesn’t give a damn what happens afterward (he does, more than you’ll ever know), and brushes his lips against yours. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across. And so do you.

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.

[anon-nee]

Vice

[ink-and-dagger]

do you have any silco x reader fic recs? both on ao3 and tumblr?

Oh boy do I.

I have zero time for reading these days (sob sob) so I'm sadly not at all familiar with any new fics post S2 being aired. But let me lay before you a sumptuous feast; lovingly prepared by the old guard of the Silco fucker society.

Reader's responsibility applies - please check tags etc etc..

Flawless - @a-gal-with-taste

An apt title, for Gal's writing is, indeed, flawless. Silco x Sex Worker!Reader. Absolutely brutal and beautiful - to me, Gal is the Angela Carter of the Silco fandom.

Here be Dragons // Hic Sunt Dracones - @sherwood-forests

This will always be one of my top recommends for a Silco x Reader fic. It's unlike anything else that I've seen in the fandom, and it reminds me of one of my favourite books Uprooted by Naomi Novik. Gives me the cosy feels.

Penance - @astudyincontrasts

Hands down the hottest, sexiest Silco fic in my opinion. If you enjoyed Fleabag or want to bang that priest from Midnight Mass then you need to get on this fic ASAP. To this day I cannot set foot in a church without getting horny. Thanks Study.

Secret Ingredient - @sweatandwoe

This is the Silco fic that made me want to write my own. DWM exists because of Sweaty. Domestic romance and drama of the absolute best kind.

Come Morning - @chickenparm

Parm has so many Silco fics and they are all incredible and required reading for the fandom. But I've chosen this one because it's so incredibly real and human, and will rip your heart to shreds.

Swapped - @silcoitus

I love seeing my blorbos in Situations™ and this is one hell of a Situation™ to find oneself in. Fun, funny, and full of tension. I get the pleasure of beta-reading this one, and I always have the best time squawking at Coi in the comments bar on google docs.

Go, Team! - @vasiktomis

This is actually Marcus x Reader x Silco and it's fucking genius. Vas is a genius and a pervert and I love them and they're my role model. Everyone absolutely has the right not to engage with content that they're not interested in but also if you don't read this fic then you're a coward.

Bend But Not Break - @constantfragmentation

This is a Jane Eyre retelling in the form of a Silco x Reader fic. Yeah that's right. Regency Silco. Emotional constipation cranked up to the max and coats with tails? Yes please. Ensure that you're near a fainting couch whilst reading because you will swoon.

Art in the Heart - @juniper-sunny

Juni was out here giving Young Revolutionary Silco his time in the spotlight long before he was ever animated. If you're a new to the fandom and have come here specifically because of young Silco then AITH is required reading. Head over to Juni's you'll be fed good.

To The Depths - @cognacandlilac

Full disclosure, I haven't actually had the chance to read this fic yet. But it has been on my TBR for an embarrassingly long time and every time I see a snippet I'm like "hot damn I need to get on this pronto" because I just know I'm going to be totally obsessed and consumed by it.

I've only picked one fic for each of the above but I would honestly recommend just tearing through the entirety of their fic lists because there are some absolute masterpieces in there. This is also far from an extensive list - there are so many incredible writers in the fandom and I'm so sorry for anyone I've missed off. I say this with my whole heart - the Silco fandom is easily one of the most talented and skilled corners of the internet. We may be fairly small in numbers compared to other characters/fandoms, but by God the art and stories we have are platinum quality.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess ♡ 𝓒hapter 𝓔ight

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. miguel returns from the boxing gym tensed and all bruised up. you grow concern and offer to fix him up. while cleaning him up, the tension between you two grows more intense to the point where things become inevitable.

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. fluff, angst, little hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, tension, smut, making out, dry humping, unprotected sex, fem oral, creampie, praising, aftercare ( mdni )

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

the cool breeze flowing by. the autumn leaves beautifully vibrant, decorated over the trees. the atmosphere covered in gray, puffy clouds with no trace of the sun. a perfect day for a walk.

wrapped in a cozy baby pink sweater, the fuzzy interior like a blanket. comfy light gray leggings and a pair of uggs. a comfy yet cute outfit for the day.

your eyes wander around the little park as the cool breeze flows by. one hand holding the leash attached to luna as she wanders around the grass sniffing away and the other hand stuffed comfortably in the pocket of your sweater for warmth.

standing in the chilly air for a while makes you crave for some coffee. after luna had her fair share of wandering around, you start heading back to the complex building. the cool breeze hitting your face.

as you’re walking, you notice a familiar tall figure approaching from the opposite side. recognizable brown fluff of hair and bulging biceps. immediately, your lips curl up into a soft smile.

“hey.” you approach miguel with that same smile.

there is a scowl on his face until he notices you, expression immediately softens. “oh hey.”

those brown eyes briefly scan your outfit. how cozy you look, how cute you look.

“how was boxing?”

“it was alright…”

his tone doesn’t match his answer. sounds rather distant… closed off. not to mention the way his eyes drifted from yours for a moment.

your eyes focus on his expression before wandering around his figure. they widen in shock at the bruised knuckles decorated in dried up blood.

“oh shit, your knuckles!”

miguel discards them with a head shake, as if he doesn’t care. “it’s fine, they’ll heal soon.”

“but they’re covered in blood.” your brows furrowed, looking up at him with concern.

“it’s okay, preciosa. i promise, they don’t hurt.”

you stare up at him in disbelief.

“did you boxed without gloves?”

that was the only reason why his knuckles would be bruised up and bloody. now that makes you wonder why he wouldn’t wear them in the first place.

“preciosa.” miguel softly drags out. “estoy bien.”

he doesn’t want you to worry about him. his knuckles will heal eventually. sure, he did a number on them. but miguel doesn’t want to tell you why they’re bruised up or why he didn’t use his gloves.

“no, you’re not okay. miguel, you’re bleeding.” you gesture at his bloody knuckles. “i’m patching you up, let’s go.” you go to grab his wrist but he moves away.

“hermosa, please don’t.”

miguel doesn’t want to burden you with his troubles. you seem to be having a peaceful day and he doesn’t want to ruin that. but it seems he already has now that you’re worried about his fucked up knuckles. maybe he should’ve walked away sooner.

“miguel, please. i’m not letting you walk in that building with fucked up knuckles and knowing you’re in pain, and don’t say you’re not because you are.”

shit.

you’re being serious, he can definitely tell. seeing that worried look in your eyes makes his heart. you shouldn’t worry about his stupidity. he rather see that pretty smile and eyes filled with happiness.

but it also makes his heart warm to see you care for his well-being. miguel can’t remember the last time someone did, genuinely. his military buddies do but because of partnership. he doesn’t hang out with them often or are close with them like he is with you.

after what happened to… gabriel, his relationship with his mother declined drastically. it was ugly yet heartbreaking. constant yelling and tears. that slap she left on him scarred him, telling miguel that everything changed from that moment. she stopped giving an ounce of care for him and miguel accepted that. he never step foot back into that house again.

george, however, does care for miguel. they would talk once in a while, through phone or text but that’s it. may be small but there is some care.

his biological father, not worth mentioning.

you’re the first to show him genuine care, sympathy. miguel truly believes his knuckles are fine and will heal eventually like usual. but seeing your eyes filled with concern and that small pout on those pretty lips, miguel couldn’t resist you.

he didn’t want to worry you yet you were.

with a sigh, he gives in. “alright…”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

“this is gonna sting.”

after luring him back to your apartment, you and miguel find yourselves on your couch. a first aid kit beside you and two now empty coffee mugs on the coffee table. miguel sits beside you, entire weight sinking into the cushions. you find it amusing how big he looks on your couch due to his bulky figure.

you clean up his right hand first then his left, being gentle as possible to not hurt him. miguel stares in awe at your medical skills. how attentive and caring you are. but mainly fascinated by the size difference of your hands. how tiny and soft yours look compared his larger, calloused ones. staring in awe of your acrylics, how pretty they appear. but his eyes mainly remain on your face, deeply captivated.

he also doesn’t ignore that rapid beating of his heart due to the close proximity. your body so close to his, gently glazing one another, feeling the heat radiating from your body. it makes his mind hazy.

because of the close proximity, miguel has a good close up of you. he can finally drink in your features. the lavender scent of your shampoo invading his senses. the serval beauty marks decorated over your skin. the curve of your nose. those pretty lashes of yours. brows furrowed in concentration.

everything about you is just so… mesmerizing.

he always though you were beautiful. just seeing you up so close, miguel is enthralled.

you, on the other hand, are nervous as hell. you can feel his eyes the entire time, observing your every move. not in an uncomfortable way, it’s just that your very handsome neighbor is watching you as you clean up his wounds. feelings his breath on your skin. making your heart beat faster than ever.

“i don’t wanna… pry much but… why did you not use gloves?” you ask softly, a little hesitant.

miguel averts his gaze from you, concealing his embarrassment. “just… didn’t feel like it…” his big, broad shoulders shrug. “needed to use my real hands, at least once in a while.”

your brows furrow a bit more, internally debating if you should push the question further. but ultimately you don’t wish to bother him, it seems to be personal. instead, you answer with a soft hum and continue tending to his wounds.

“all done.” you announce softly, packing away the materials back into the first aid kit.

“gracias, preciosa.” miguel analyzes his bandaged knuckles, mesmerized by your skills. a tiny, soft smile on his lips as he continues staring in fascination.

your heart skips a beat. another pet name.

looking back at him, your eyes caught a tiny scar peeking out from his black wife beater, on his right shoulder. your brows furrowed at the sight.

“what happened here?” you point out the scar.

miguel’s brows furrowed then glances to where you pointed, now realizing what you’re referring to.

“oh it’s just an old scar, from a mission.” he shrugs.

your brows remain furrowed. he acts like it’s nothing but that scar looks huge, even if it’s healed. following the scar, your eyes fetch another one next to it.

how many scars does he have?

“take off your shirt.”

your command catches him off guard, making miguel turn to look at you with a confused look. those thick brows furrowed a little.

“it’s nothing to worry about, hermosa.”

“miguel, how many scars do you have?”

“a lot but they’re healed.”

your heart aches a little at his confession. “please…”

fuck, when you sound like that, so sweet and caring, how can miguel resist that?

he doesn’t want you to worry yet that sweet tone of yours and those pretty eyes, he can’t say no.

with a sigh, miguel slowly takes off his wife beater with one hand. your eyes widen drastically. his muscular back covered in numerous scars and even a little stretch marks near his hips.

the sight makes your heart crack.

scars lathered over his sun-kissed skin. ranges in various length and size. some overlapping each other. most healed but some still look fresh.

this poor, poor man.

each of these scars have their own story. it’s likely that majority of them are from missions. you can’t imagine the types of missions he goes through, life-threatening ones even. the thought creates an unsettling sensation in your chest.

this man has gone through so much.

subconsciously, you raise a hand up. the sudden temptation to reach out, lightly rake your fingers over his scars. to give him some comfort, care.

your fingers hover over them, merely a few centimeters away from his skin, not touching him. the temptation grows stronger but you’re afraid of overstepping his boundaries.

miguel can somewhat feel your fingers, or at least sense them. it makes his heart beat faster than before and breathing grow a bit heavy. the tension is too much, almost unbreathable. as if it’s wrapped around his neck. his hands begin to fidget, as sign of anxiousness. his body temperature skyrocketing.

ever so lightly, you place your fingers on his back and his body immediately tenses. it startled you, causing you to retrieve your hand away from his body.

“sorry, i—” you panic a little.

“don’t.” he says softly, reassuringly. “don’t be.”

your touch sent a jolt through his body. not unpleasantly but rather excitingly. just a light of your skin against his makes his heart jump.

looking at his scared back, you can’t help but feel remorse and guilt. using your fingertips, you trace above the scars without touching him. yet, all miguel wants is your touch. carves it, in fact.

it’s not surprising he’s touch starved. after gabriel’s death and the aftermath of his family dilemma, miguel has been on his own since. closed off anyone who was close to him. went straight into duty whenever he got called back.

there was no time for relationships. miguel believed there was no point. no matter how many women threw themselves at him or one of his military buddies trying to hook him up, he never gave in.

no woman captured his attention like you.

his beautiful, caring neighbor.

the woman who infiltrates his every thought.

ever since he first met you, you captured his attention. when he got to know you more and your bond blossomed into something more, miguel couldn’t stop thinking about you. no matter what he was doing or where he was, his thoughts were constantly about you. never has he felt this way about a woman before. not even that one girl he used to hang out with during his late teen years made his heart beat fast like you do.

you’re special, so alluring.

as your trace your fingers along his scars, right above them, that remorse feeling grows stronger. “i’m so sorry…” your tender voice rings in miguel’s ears like a sweet melody. a sound that makes his heart swoon.

he can hear the remorse in your sweet voice and his heart aches a little. he appreciates your kindness, it’s sweet like candy. miguel might end up with a cavity because he can’t take your sweetness any longer.

“it’s okay…” he whispers, matching your gentle tone.

slowly turning his head, miguel glances down at you, still looking at his back before your eyes meet his. suddenly, the tension is stronger than ever. you hold each other’s gaze that feels like forever. those mesmerizing brown irises boring into your gorgeous ones, as if staring into your soul. myths have told that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

sudden heat develops in both your bodies, heart rate skyrockets due to the close proximity. you catch his eyes glance down at your lips, making your heart skip a beat. miguel couldn’t stop himself, those lips have been taunting him since the beginning. as if they’re begging for his. flashbacks of the night after the coney island trip, how he had the biggest temptation to claim those glossy lips but couldn’t out of fear of rejection. but this time, he can’t resist. not when you’re looking at him with those gorgeous eyes. it’s getting more difficult to resist you.

you’re so pretty close up. you were always pretty but fucking hell - you look so damn angelic and desirable. the warm lighting of your lamp does wonders on your features. you look so soft, you must feel so soft. of course he’s touched you before. the times he drove you home on his back, your arms hugging him as he drove. your fingers brushing against one another when passing things to each other. but miguel never truly felt you before. damn does he have the biggest urge to caress your cheeks, arms. to feel your softness against his roughness.

not once did his eyes look away from your lips. the longer he stares, miguel finds himself slowly moving closer as if there is some magnetic force. your heartbeat increases rapidly as he continues leaning closer. you don’t move, too lost in trance and nervous to move away. yet - you don’t wanna move away. the more he leans, the more your lashes flutter.

your lashes flutter rapidly as his face is right in front of yours. noses gently brushing against one another. hot, anxious breaths fanning each other’s as if it’s the only air you’re breathing. him being right there makes your core starting to throb, heavily with want.

since you’re not rejecting his approach, miguel takes that as a green light and finally does what he’s been waiting for. ever so gently and slowly, he captures your lips with his. fireworks explode in both your bodies. soft, just like he dreamed. you, on the other hand, were dying to feel those plump lips and it’s everything you dreamed of.

miguel doesn’t push further, not wanting to overwhelm you or unsure if you wish to continue. but since you don’t move away and he desire to taste more of you consumes his entire soul, miguel kisses you again but a bit deeper this time. his heart flutters when you kiss him back with the same passion.

the moment you two have been waiting for.

the kiss slowly grows more passionate. your lips dance together, savoring the taste of each other. instinctively, your hands rise up and gently cup his face. his bulky arms slowly wrap around you. gently holding you closer to his body, pressed against his solid, warm chest. shivers go down your spine as his hands roam slowly over your body. groping your curves gently yet a little possessively.

miguel quietly groans as you let out a soft moan when his hands continue grouping you. the sweet sound making his core throb and twitch. hearing him groan triggers something in you, wanting to hear it again. you start applying more pressure into the kiss, catching miguel by surprise. he lets out another heavenly groan as your dig your fingers into his soft, brown locks. gently tugging on them. fuck, the sensation makes his mind hazy.

things grow more heated. a full blown makeout session on your couch. soft moans and groans lingering in the air. hands roam over each other’s bodies. a soft gasp leaves your lips as you feel miguel’s calloused hands slipping under your sweater and touching more of your celestial skin. he’s going fucking crazy at the feeling of your soft skin in his hands, wanting to feel more and more. as of his life depends on you. as if you’re his life source.

while eating each other’s faces off, miguel leans forward causing you to lay back on the couch. he manages to settle in between your legs, his muscular structure hovering your smaller form. much to your dismay, his lips leaves yours but eases your concerns as they find themselves on your neck. a soft moan escapes your lips at the sensation, mind becoming hazy. one hand rested in his hair and the other gripping onto his shoulder. the bulging muscles under your fingertips. his hands continue roaming your body as miguel leaves sweet kisses on your neck, intending on marking you.

“m-miguel…”

that soft moan of his name drives him insane. he wants to hear more, in that exact tone. it causes him to roll his hips into yours, slowly dry humping you. it elicits more of those sweet noises from you. both your cores throbbing with intense want and need.

“i’ve—” one kiss. “been waiting—” another kiss. “for this—” a third. “for you—” a kiss then a suck.

you moan at his words and the sensation, back arched a little. “m-miguel, please…”

fuck, your pleading drives him crazy. making his cock twitch terribly in his gray sweats.

he doesn’t want to take you on the couch. you deserve to be worshiped properly, in bed surrounded by comfort. miguel swiftly picks you up, earning a gasp from you, and carries you in his arms as he hurriedly walks over to your bedroom. you quickly warp your arms around his shoulders, smiling at his eagerness. body overflowing with excitement.

once he makes it to your room, miguel carefully sets you down the bed. the plush mattress against your back. your lips never detach. more moans escape your lips as his returns to your neck, leaving more butterfly kisses. his hands roam over your body until he reaches the hem of your sweater and stops. lifting his head up, he glances down at you.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, giving a light tug at the hem of your sweater as emphasis.

you eagerly nod and miguel doesn’t hesitate. he slowly pulls up your sweater, revealing peeks of your celestial skin to his hungry eyes. as he carefully pulls it over your head and off your body, miguel inhales a sharp breath at the sight of expose torso. eyes dilating at the sight of your covered breasts, adorn in white lace of your cute bra. the cups of it hugging your breasts graciously, making him salivate.

tossing the discarded sweater somewhere in the room, miguel slowly reaches up with a hand and gingerly cups one breast, eliciting a soft gasp from you. your back immediately arches into his touch, sending jolts through your body. he observes your every move, how your body reacts to his touch. his hand is so fucking big, it covers your entire chest. he gives it a few squeezes, earning more of your sweet nosies, before leaning down into your cleavage and begins making out with your covered breasts. cupping them with both hands and kneading them.

your hands instinctively land in his hair, digging in those soft brown curls as soft moans spill from your lips at the incredible sensation miguel is giving you. panties growing damped, flooding inside.

“oh miguel~” you softly moan as his tongue slides over the roundness of your exposed breast.

he lets out a hum as he continues his attack on your delicate breasts. his kisses move down your body. licking and kissing your belly. a pitchier moan falls from your lips as miguel’s tongue slowly slides up your belly from your lower abdomen up to your diaphragm. your reaction makes him smile.

he reaches the hem of your light gray leggings and immediately glances up at you. “puedo?” he was a bit hesitant, hoping to not push your boundaries but your nod eased his worries.

gripping the sides of your leggings, miguel slowly drags them off your body. biting his lip as your matching panties are revealed to his lustful eyes. quietly groaning at the sight of the wet stain on your panties. a sign of your desire for him.

you feel a little embarrassed because you’ve never been this wet before. but the lustful glint in his eyes makes you feel a little better.

“is this okay—”

“miguel, please~” you whine, eagerly wiggling your hips as a desperate sign.

you’re getting inpatient and miguel can’t help but softly chuckle. how cute you are, so inpatient for him. desperate for him to ravish you, and he certainly will.

“relájate, bebé. i promise to take care of you.” he grips the edge of your panties and slowly slides them down your legs. “joder…” he curses at the sight of the fucking fountain between your thighs.

the sight of your glistening cunt is forever imbedded in his fucking mind. all of that because of him. his cock twitches harder, obviously poking through his sweats that are more tighter and uncomfortable.

getting on his knees, miguel grabs your thighs and pulls you closer towards him, making you squeal. his eyes remain on your glistening pussy, licking his lips in anticipation for the greatest meal that awaits him.

“gonna make you feel good, bebita.”

you shudder at that.

after putting your legs over his shoulders, miguel immediately dives into your pussy and attacks your clit. you yelp in surprise and throw your head back on the sheets. instinctively placing a hand in his hair. miguel continuously sucks and licks your precious pearl to earn more of your sweet reactions, overfill you with intense pleasure. he switches from sucking your clit to fucking your pussy with his tongue.

“miguel!” you moan, arching your back.

“dios, you—” one lick. “taste—” one big suck. “fucking—” another suck. “amazing.”

he couldn’t get enough of your sweet pussy. addicted to your sweet nectar. devouring you like a starve man as if you’re his final meal. if you let him, miguel would eat you out for eternity.

he is definitely pussydrunk.

the pleasure was getting too intense. the alternation of his lips sucking on your precious little clit then his thick tongue penetrating you. that familiar warm sensation in your tummy starts bubbling up.

“miguel—”

“lo sé, bebtia. lo sé.” he said in between slurps and licks. “dámelo.” a soft command.

his movement were getting faster, determined to make you come. it seems to be working due to your moans getting louder and pitchier. your back breaking into waves. fingers griping onto his hair, almost too painful but miguel doesn’t care. he’s too busy on making you see stars, or the whole universe.

in a matter of seconds, fireworks exploded. you come with a loud whine of his name. gushing all over his face with your sweetness. miguel drinks up all your sweetness as if he found an oasis, not letting one drop go to waste. he needs every ounce of you.

once he has his full, miguel finally gives your poor pussy a break and lifts up his head. half of his face glistening with your sweet nectar. a few strings of saliva attached to your pussy from his mouth.

“you taste amazing, bebita.” that earns him a soft whine which makes him smile.

standing up at the edge of the bed, miguel licks off the remains of your come around his mouth while his hands begin undoing his sweatpants. you remain laying on the bed, heavily fucked out by the amazing orgasm this man gave you. you feel the mattress dip and open your eyes to see this hunk of a man above you. his muscular frame hovering over you, making you feel so small in comparison to him. thick, muscular arms caging you in. yours eyes wonder around his body. the scrumptious body chair that makes you wanna run your fingers in. those toned abs decorated with that delicious happy trail that leads down to the thing you’ve been anticipating for.

holy fuck, he’s fucking huge.

at least eight inches. his girthy cock erected and throbbing for you. there is no way that will fit inside yet your throbbing pussy says otherwise.

he sensed your apprehension, his expression softens. “i’ll go gentle, bebé, lo prometo. if you need me to stop, dime. don’t be afraid to, vale?” miguel brings up a hand and caresses your cheek with such tenderness as a way to ease your worries.

his words bring you comfort, making you nod. that soft smile he gives you makes your heart flutter.

“lift up your hips for me.”

you obliged, lifting them when he slides a pillow underneath for support.

just as he grips his erected cock in one hand and aligns himself with your entrance, miguel quickly realizes you aren’t using protection.

“wait.” he quickly looks up at you, a little concern. “do you want me to get a—”

“i’m on the pill.” you quickly reassure him.

a sense of relief washes over him. miguel gives a small nod then proceeds to line himself with your dripping cunt. a shared moan mingles in the air as he slowly slides through your tight, warm walls.

“chinga…” miguel groans at the tightness of your walls, clenching onto him. “you’re fucking tight, bebtia. gotta breathe for me, okay?”

you could only answer in a small mewl, trying to follow his advice but he’s so damn big. you swear this man is gonna rip you in half.

miguel senses your discomfort, making his heart ache. “i’m gonna pull out.”

“don’t, please!” you grip onto his shoulder to prevent him from doing so, tugging him closer which makes miguel’s heart skip a beat. “i- i just need a second.”

“of course, bebita.” he coos, caressing your cheek.

once you’re comfortable enough and give him the green light, miguel continues sliding through at a slow pace until he finally bottoms out. you softly gasp as you feel so utterly full of him.

“tell me when, preciosa.”

“now, please~”

he softly chuckled at your eagerness. very slowly, he drags out his cock for a second before plunging it back inside you. a slow deep thrust, making you moan and arch your back.

his thrusts start off slow but deep, making sweet love to you. the bulbous tip of his cock kissing your sweet spot over and over, making you go crazy. he feels so good, so deep and thick. your tight walls squeezing the life out of his cock.

“fuck, bebé— you’re so— tight.” miguel groans in between phrases as you clench around him.

one of his hands reach towards your face and cups your cheek as he leans down and capture your lips in a passionate kiss. you reciprocate, your moans and whimpers muffled by his lips as his cock continues pumping in and out of your slick cunt. miguel sallowing those pretty sounds of yours.

“preciosa.” he coos, parting from your lips to gaze down at you with utter adoration. “mírame.”

opening your eyes, you look up at your handsome lover with fluttering lashes, softly whimpering. the corner of his plump lips curl up into a smile.

“mi niña preciosa.” miguel coos, earning a soft whimper from you. “making you feel good, hm?”

“y-yes.” you moan as he does a deep thrust.

he was making you feel good, so fucking good.

one of your hands falls flat on the bed. miguel delicately takes it with his larger, calloused hand and interlocks fingers. making the connection more intimate as you continue making love.

miguel eventually picks up his pace, his hips repeatedly snapping into yours. moans and groans mingle in the steamy air of delicious sex. obscure noises echoing around the four walls of your bedroom. the gentle pit-pat against the window due to the rain occurring in the outside world. it feels like you and miguel are in your own world. two souls connected as your bodies move in harmony. nothing else matters, only each other in this moment.

your lips connect, sallowing each other’s noises of pleasure as your love-making progresses intensely. his grip on your hip tightens as you clench around his cock for the millionth time.

“fuck, hermosa—” a groan escapes him, brows furrowed in pleasure. “you’re gonna make me come if you keep clenching me like that.”

your mind goes fucking haywire at the thought of miguel cumming inside you.

miguel is so lost in your sweet, little cunt. sucking him in and squeezing the life out of him. your nails digging into his muscular back. hissing a little at the sensation but oh so loves it so much.

“d-don’t stop.” you whimper, gripping onto his back as if your life depended on it.

“not gonna stop, preciosa. too fucking good to stop.”

the burning sensation in your core increases rapidly. an endless chorus of ecstasy falling from your mouth, moaning and panting as miguel’s cock plunges in and out of your tight cunt.

“miguel!~” you moan and arch your back as he hits that sweet spot with a deep thrust.

“i know, bebé. i know, i fuck—” a groan falls from his lips as he feels you clench around him so fucking tightly. sensing his forthcoming orgasm.

reaching down with a hand, he flicks your clit to give you more pleasure. each flick in unison of his thrusts. the sudden sensation makes you squeal loudly, digging your nails further into his back which causes miguel to groan. you both are about to burst.

“cum, mi amor. let go.” he purrs.

a couple more flicks and thrusts, you do with a loud moan of his name. singing so beautifully, his mind going haywire at the sight of you reaching the pinnacle of pleasure. so goddamn beautiful. gushing all over his cock with your sweetness.

miguel soon follows as his hips stutter before spilling himself inside of you with a moan. pumping you full of his cum, painting your walls white. you softly moan at the sensation, feeling so utterly filled.

you share one final passionate kiss before miguel carefully collapses on top of you. making sure not to put his full weight on you. arms wrapped around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, gently combing the soft curls through your fingers. miguel lets out a low hum at the calming sensation, burying his face in the pillow right beside your head as you both recover. your synchronized breathing echoing in the room.

after a few minutes of recovery, miguel lifts himself up by the elbows and looks down at you. “you okay?” he caresses your cheek with a hand so lovingly.

“yeah…” you answer, still a bit breathless.

“do you need anything?”

“water would be nice.” you weakly smile.

miguel mirrors your smile then plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before carefully pulling out. eliciting a soft whine from you. getting off the bed, miguel slips back into his boxers and quickly heads over to the bathroom to retrieve a wash cloth. returning with one in his hand, he kneels at the edge and carefully cleans in between your thighs. being so gentle as possible to not overwhelm you. giving your thighs gentle rubs as comfort as he cleans you up.

after discarding the now dirty wash cloth and put on fresh panties for you, miguel returns from the kitchen with your requested water bottle.

you start to sit up but miguel swiftly steps in and helps you, placing a hand on your back for support as he guides you. he brings up the water bottle that’s already opened to your lips and you take big sips. hugging the bed sheets up to your chest.

“thank you.” you softly smile at him as you finish.

“siempre.” he takes it back and places the plastic bottle on the nightstand then plants another kiss on your forehead. crouching beside you with his hand rubbing the small of your back in small circles. “estas hermosa…” he whispers, admiring your afterglow.

your cheeks warm up at his sweet compliment, leaning your face against his shoulder to conceal your bashful expression. “estas loco…”

“si, para ti.”

both of you chuckle, you rolling your eyes.

“alright, acuéstate, preciosa. you need rest.”

“and you don’t?” you arch a brow playfully.

“oh no i do, gonna knock out.”

you laugh more as he guides you to lay back down on the bed before he makes his way over to the other side of the bed and joins you. his arms scoop you up and you snuggle against his chest. letting out a soft sigh as you feel his body warmth. so smoothing and comforting, his heartbeat against your ear. causing you to start drifting away into sleep.

“rest well, bebita.” miguel whispers before slumber calls to his name as well. arms wrapped around you protectively as you both succumb to slumber.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[codnasties]

p!link collection 2 👻🚬🧢🧼🪦🗡 (🌽 links)

ghost 👻

ghost loves the feeling of his balls twitching as he's burried deep inside of you, filling you with his cum

pulling your hair, locks tightly wrapped around his hand as he pushes his dick deeply into you is like second nature for him

send ghost soapy tit pics and you are getting videos of his soapy dick and balls. and he's actually hung

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬

price's big body fully swallowing yours as he passionalety kisses you and whispers dirty words as he's balls deep

he can't help but love your plump ass. slotting his dick between your cheeks as he cums on your back

price keeps a fleshligh in his desk drawers to help him through long paperwork nights

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢

the one view gaz enjoys more than anything is the one of your ass jigging every time it hits his thighs as he fucks you

'gaz is a romantinc slow fucker' nope, he fucks roughly and nasty. if you aint' sore the next day then he didn't fuck you

kyle garrick is an avid car sex enyojer, making you ride his dick or bending you over the dashboard to eat you out

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

soap 🧼

johnny makes messes. covering your body with his cum, creating a piece of art out of it

soap blowing up your phone with horny messages and audios but he tops it all of with a video

soap gets so distracted by ass, he may be balls deep in you and just loose track of time because of playing with it

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦

graves sending you a video of what you are missing on while he's away: heavy dick wrapped in a condom

he isn't home much, so when he is he doesn't care that you are working from home, he fucking you anyways

graves ends up punishing his bratty partner a lot. his afve is fingering you until you make a mess

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡

dick so big that is impossible to properly suck him off :'( barely fitting the tip of his grithy cock on your mouth

mutual masturbation with konig, but he gets so blissed out he forgets the 'mutual' part

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makarov 🐺

he fucks nasty and possesively, chocking you, slaping you and whispering how much of a whore you are

[piltov]

SILCO in ARCANE Season 2 Ep. 7: 'Pretend Like It's The First Time'

[mangomangodoggo]

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Imagine being in the foster care/adoption system as a human in a world primarily dominated by hybrids.

You’d been to family after family, defenseless, no claws or sharp teeth to fight back with, no fur to keep you warm, no wings to fly away or thick skin to protect you, and none had turned out right. Human families were hard to come by, at least pure humans like you were. Hybrids didn’t just have animalistic features, they were also bigger than humans.

So think about being introduced to your newest family, a pack, you’d been told by your social worker. Nothing else. You, naturally, knew the bare minimum of a pack dynamic, but imagine arriving at the home, ratty backpack full of things thrown over your shoulder as your social worker’s car pulled up to the driveway of the country home, acres of land with woods in the back, a barn to the side with a few grazing animals.

You’d been led to the front door of the large home as the woman had rattled on about how this time was a ‘prime opportunity’ for you to start a family, something you’d heard her say too many times to care for now.

A knock, and the door had opened into a living room, shoulders immediately caving in as you had to look almost straight up to even meet one of the men’s eyes.

“Welcome,”

A deep, rumbling voice had said. A bear hybrid.

You hesitantly stepped in, mainly because of your social worker elbowing you in, eyes darting around to find a harpy with a relaxed smile and demeanor, wings casually spread, standing near the couch, either a wolf-hybrid or a werewolf with a mohawk sitting on the edge of the couch, darting to his feet as he saw you, giving a large, toothy grin. And the man sitting on the couch, you could hardly tell what he was, maybe a type of wraith.

Your social worker got right to chatting away with the men, mainly the bear hybrid, while you stood there, trying not to think about their sheer size, or the sharp teeth, claws and talons they wielded. They gave you space for now, watching, observing.

Little did you know, being more than half their size, no natural weapons, leaving you utterly defenseless only drove their protective instincts into overdrive. It took the iron will of a retired SAS soldier to resist the urge to bundle you up in a nest and keep you safe and happy like a good parent would.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way. Take good care of her!”

The social worker had chirped all too happily, reaching for the doorknob as the bear hybrid replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, it’s not our first time.”

So they’d fostered before. Interesting. The werewolf had grinned and chuckled, clapping the bear hybrid on the back before speaking.

“Well, first time with a human, aye?”

He was Scottish. The accent made it glaringly obvious.

The woman had given a smile bordering on tight lipped as she walked out the door, a sure sign she had grown impatient or been intimidated by them as well.

As the door shut, you knew your fate with these four strange men was sealed.

(CREDIT TO @docdudo I LOVE THIS CREATURE, this is my current fixation, so y’all are hearing about it too. also PLSSS send asks about it I’m literally obsessed with this, and check docs version out tooo)

full fic here!

[superhoeva]

– they're creepy and they're moody. mysterious and spooky. they're all together ooky. the riley family!

Featuring: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Fem!Reader, Raven Riley, Reaper Riley, Uncle Hector, Cousin Snake, Mumsee, Mr. Alfie, and Pinky.

(divider credit: @wethairjoel / @coolcatsgraphics)

♱ the headmaster calls.

♱ it's bedtime at the riley house.

this au/series is +18. minors do not interact.