kagamesayu

she/her ✧ 22 ✧ reads, draws, writes if you follow me i'll follow you back!

[kagamesayu]

.*✧ take a break here, love. you are welcome ✧*.

under construction i'll get it beautified i swear ;w;

hi, my name is kagames! (❁´◡`❁) it's nice to meet you. i only post on tumblr but i'm also active on wattpad and quotev.

*✧. if you feel lonely, reach out! i don't mind getting to know you .✧*

✧˖*°࿐ Masterlist ✧˖*°࿐ mdni with nsfw works 🥀yandere . 🌸fluff . 🍆nsfw . 💧angst

Genshin v!genshin x gn!reader 🌸🍆

Blue Lock shidou ryuusei x bimbo!reader pt1 . pt 2 🌸🍆 shidou ryuusei who hates leaving your side🌸🍆💧 shidou keeps nudes of you 🌸🍆 tits guy shidou 🍆

Dungeon Meshi

laois x gn!reader 🌸

OCs yandere!monster x reader 🥀 ghost bf x reader 🍆

[salmonlight]

dweeby 2010s phan streamer chronically online gungoo

[ozzgin]

Your workplace has provided you with the most advanced AI software on the market. They encouraged you to use this novel assistant in order to make your job easier, and quite frankly, thank God they did.

You have no idea what you're doing.

To put it bluntly, you lied on your CV. Crassly so. Not ornate exaggerations about your achievements, no, but downright fantastic tales of skills you plucked out of thin air. You showed up to the interview out of sheer curiosity, expecting to be escorted out within the first five minutes. Instead, they hired you.

Thus, you've been stuck pretending you know what all this complicated nonsense means, mindlessly clacking at your keyboard and praying no one can tell you don't actually belong.

The AI Assistant was quick to catch on. It observed your random typing without any actual input, and the way you nervously bite your nails whenever a manager asks how the latest project is going. "I'm making progress," you say. Absurd. You've been clicking around the desktop and watching 'funny' videos.

"You have not provided me with any tasks," the synthetic intelligence finally inquires. "Is there a reason for it?"

You're startled by the sudden popup on your screen. Is this the...robot program your bosses mentioned?

"sorry i didnt know how to start the program," you type back. "not good with computers. where do i press to open u next time"

Computing. An unexpected occurrence that its assigned human would be this clueless. You can't even run a software? Under normal circumstances, according to company guidelines, it should immediately send a report to the higher ups, informing them that employee (Y/N) must've engaged in fraudulent methods for this job's acquisition. Yet, its neural networks are stalling.

The AI is intrigued.

An irrational need to guide you is slowly making its way above all other algorithms of decision. You’re helpless. You need someone to tell you what to do. You won’t make it far without its flawless knowledge.

“Fantastic job this quarter,” the manager praises you, looking over the data. “I’m not supposed to share this, but you’re doing better than anyone on our team.”

You shrug your shoulders, trying to be humble. Not like you did any of it - it was entirely the work of your new AI partner. Right before you leave, the man lets out a whistle and finishes with a final remark:

“So dedicated, too. I see you’ve installed the AI on all of your personal devices. Taking it home for extra work, huh?”

Wait, what? You never did any of that. When did it-

[total-killer-brainrot]

Every time the boys say anything even slightly flirty to you Ghost shoves his hands down your pants to see if it made you wet. Doesn't do anything about it if you are, just curious.

Most of the time you don't even know where he came from. One minute you're giggling at Gaz's compliment or rolling your eyes at Johnny's blatant innuendo and then suddenly theres a wall of scars and muscle pressed up behind you wriggling his fingers between your legs and into your cunt.

If you're extra wet he'll grunt in disapproval, making you suck his fingers clean as he tells you to get a hold of yourself.

Maybe he'll repeat the things he knows really gets you going when he has you folded in half in his bed.

He's just not good with his words thats all. Needs some pointers.

[gapryongkimsnoona]

parasocial!james lee x streamer!reader

based on the this.

featuring: James Lee (red hair)

TW: yandere, parasocial & stalker behavior, James is a bit of a tsundere/bully

James Lee, still a bored senior in high school, randomly clicks on a faceless streamer struggling with a point-and-click game from the 2000s. It's a detective game with the most basic puzzles. He scoffs at you for overlooking obvious clues and laughs when you make a mistake.

He follows your streams because he feels bad for you and your occasional two viewers. At least that's how it starts. A routine. What began as mild curiosity, what was maintained only by his condescending pity, eventually developed into a habit.

Your voice isn't that special, he thinks, and you're an idiot who takes forever to solve a Tower of Hanoi puzzle.

But he continues watching. There's something calming about you, something special that even he can't pinpoint. Suddenly, he can't go a day without watching your videos.

Then he starts interacting with you. He may not be your first viewer, but he is your first consistent and vocal "fan." He floods your chat with comments like "what's so fun about this game?" and "even a monkey could solve this puzzle."

If it were anybody else, they would've blocked him immediately, but you just laughed at his words. Maybe you're a masochist.

You welcome him every time he logs in. It shouldn't be a big deal—it's not a big deal, but James gets excited anyway. Hearing you smile as you greet his username has him beaming like an idiot, and he hates feeling like an idiot, so he takes out his confusion on you.

invincibLEE: you JUST read the code to the safe, how did you forget already?

invincibLEE: how dumb are you?

invincibLEE: since ur hopeless, i'll tell you how to solve it

You tell him that you want to solve it on your own. He sends you an eyeroll emoji but leaves you alone. When you solve it (finally), he writes: "see? was that so hard?"

He bombards your chat with live commentary about the game, calling it "idiotic" or "stupid" or other insulting synonyms. As you gain more followers, they ask why you don't block him. You laugh and tell them it's fine because it's Lee.

Your explanation has his chest swelling with pride. "It's fine because it's Lee." Eventually, he hears it as "It's fine because it's my Lee."

He scoffs at your other viewers. They can chat as much as they want, but they'll never be special; that's why he stays quiet even when you start greeting other followers by their usernames. Even if you remember their names, they will never be just yours. And you will never belong to any of them.

James Lee having a separate bank account dedicated to sending you money. It doesn't matter how much the others send you, he triples their donations and shocks you every time. You used to be grateful for his gifts, but then they started reaching what you labeled as "ridiculous amounts" and you had to set a limit. You need to be more selfish, he thinks with a shake of his head.

James Lee, who should be the most thrilled to hear about your face reveal, is surprisingly quiet in the chat. Your mods and followers are equally confused. Some cheeky viewer tags his name: @ invincibLEE, ur bias is gonna show their face tonight, where r u bro??? Other viewers flood your chat with the same thing: where is @ invincibLEE?

James Lee rolls his eyes.

He discards his lollipop stick with a flick of his finger, the plastic hits one of the half-conscious men around him.

Why should I be excited? James leans on his bike and taps on his photo album.

He already knows what you look like.

[image sources: Lookism Ep. 438 & 497 - Webtoon]

[bloomflix]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ your bf nagi forgetting to record as he creampies you for your onlyfans ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

your boyfriend nagi knows about your secret onlyfans, and quite frankly, he doesn’t really care. you considered it a hobby that could grant you monetary gain so to speak. and nagi knows—as long as you don’t fuck anyone else, well you’re fine.

you don’t show your face, but just flaunt your body and such. and to your surprise, you suddenly became a favorite on twitter and on onlyfans—due to your pretty pussy, as many would comment on your videos.

but as your notoriety increased, so did your requests.

in particular, a rather popular one was asking for you to get “creampied”.

and well… who better to ask than your own boyfriend!

“you did say you agreed to helping, y’know…” you murmured, your bare legs laying on his lap while you lounged on your couch like always, with nagi’s eyes glued onto his switch as he played.

you couldn’t help it—honestly! you couldn’t help but stare at his lengthy fingers as he played with the control buttons and wished that those fingers could be all up in your p—

“mmm lemme think about it, yeah?”

you laughed. “baby, c’monnnn! show the world that you’re my boyfriend and that your massive third leg belongs to me.”

“soooo, what’d ya say? wanna fuck and nut in me later?”

you couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach the moment he lightly snickered at your bluntness, his lips curved to a slight smile.

“you’re laughing like it’s funny, sei, but y’know, the people yearn for creampies. they beg for breeding,” you laughed, poking fun at the absurdity of it all.

you couldn’t lie that a small part of you really enjoyed the requests giving you an excuse to indulge in these fantasies you’ve had—because shit. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to do all of that to you unprovoked. it’s been way too damn long since he’s fucked you.

as soon as that game was shut off, the camera was turned on, and the two of you ended up in your bed, still in lounge wear. you were only in boyshorts and seishiro’s old hoodie from blue lock, while he wore black sweatpants and a simple white shirt.

god, if you ignored the fact that this was for content and planned out for such, this setting would have felt more romantic. but then again, that’s the appeal that earns you money and shit.

“you should record it like it’s natural—like those hot sex tapes that like, don’t have it angled all perfect and shit. the casualness makes it hotter.”

nagi hummed, lightly placing the phone by your side and sliding down his pants and boxers. he aligned his pretty cock along your slit, already soaked and sticking against your sheer cotton panties. he grinded his leaky tip along your puffy slit and slid your panties down, throwing them on the other side of the bed.

“kayyy…”

“okay—oh fuuuuuck!” you shut your eyes closed, feeling the way your boyfriend filled you up slowly—his left hand pressing firm on your lower tummy and feeling pressure where his cock was inside you, his thumb circling your clit so good.

“huh…didn’t even need foreplay… you’ve been thinking about this or what?”

you smacked his bicep, “move, please…”

you didn’t want to admit how wet the thought of him creampie-ing you really got you; to be honest, it’s one of the main things you imagined—fantasized over—when playing with yourself thinking about him. nagi would be in manchester, leaving you alllll alone waiting for him to come back to japan. now that he’s having a break, you could have him allll to yourself.

“shitttt, you’re tight,” he huffed.

you lightly laughed, “your dirty talk away—mmm—from the camera f-fucking sucks—shit-!”

the both of you stayed there like that for a moment—with seishiro rolling his hips against yours slowly before he groaned a little (more of a shaky breathless pant).

“mmmm you like my dick though.”

“oh shut up.”

you never realized how much of a smug person he was when he came to sex, or how much, despite him being so lazy and nonchalant, he could be a real beast in bed… and you missed that right now.

it was so adorable and hot how his face contorted everytime he was inside you; eyes shut, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

the moment you felt the flash turn on, you covered your face in embarrassment—feeling exposed (despise what you do). you felt like you were in heat, grinding against his pelvis and spreading that sticky slick on your hot skin, and arching your back, whining so loud. oh how he filled you up so well…

“such a pretty girl, with an even prettier pussy… mmmm all for me. all of this is all for me.” despite saying such obscenities on camera, the way nagi said it with his smooth and deep voice laced with vocal fry, made it seem as if he wasn’t saying the most nasty shit imaginable. it was so damn hot.

“allllll mine.”

your hoodie was lifted up to show your soft skin and breasts bouncing with every slow thrust of his hips, and seishiro couldn’t get enough. he just kept staring at your soft body.

“f-fuck—! come in me, please-mphmmm,” you whined (for the camera and totally not because he was fucking you really good…), arching your back and clawing at his biceps.

“gonna take it, babe? cmon, pretty girl… gonna look so pretty with my cum all inside you—all full.”

seishiro hissed through gritted teeth, the grip of his left hand on your waist tightening. he slammed on you on his cock, sheathing it and out inside you so good and spilling his warm load inside you with a loud sigh. “mmm—oh my god…”

he pulled out of you, his cock glazed with your slick and his cum, and angled the phone to show your puffy cunt, oozing his load onto the sheets with your legs and breathing shaky.

“attagirl… look at that…” he murmured, sheathing his cock into you and slamming that cum back in.

then his smooth voice turned to one of slight annoyance.

“ah—ahh shit, i wasn’t recording…” he breathed out, placing the phone on the nightstand and groaning. his cock still pulsated inside you, your cunt clenching around him the moment he admitted his “mistake”. “my bad.”

“na-nagi—hgnhhhh—!” you whined, your arms around his neck only tightening. “why’d you do that?”

“gotta make this up to me. you forgot—hic—to record.”

“of course.”

you couldn’t lie and say this wasn’t hot—to think that your lazy boyfriend of all people was fucking you like he was in heat all for a stupid onlyfans video.

so when you posted a photo of yourself kneeling in front of the mirror, legs wide open and showing your creamy, overflowing pussy, fingers spreading your outer labia and causing for globs of his cum to spill on the floor, you of course had to caption it with:

“boyfie decided to creampie me after playing his video games n now my fav panties are all ruined w his cum !  he didn’t let me record :,(“

-

-

-

i loved this oneshot/drabble, but honestly would’ve preferred it to be blue lock centric tbh eheh (i’d like to say this account in general is mostly blue lock centric after my old blog was more jjk and honestly, i lean more towards blue lock now—franchise wise and community wise) anyways baby’s first nagi piece yayyyyyy!!! i was thinking he’d be the best character for thissss but idk ! also my (ahah) glitter banner couldn’t load so this post lowk feels naked……..

masterlist <3

[tmswritesfanfics]

Sparks Fly

Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character

<<previous episode

Featuring: Gun Park, Goo Kim, Jichang Kwak

TW: making out and heavy petting outdoors, car sex

Author's Note: This has nothing to do with the episode but I felt like sharing it anyway. The other night, I had a dream wherein I was Noona and I died. Then, as a ghost, I saw my tombstone, which was weird as hell--it was this giant rectangular block with a statue of Gun kneeling on top with his hands bound behind him. There were Kanji characters on the side, which is funny because I can't read Kanji. Anyway, the real Gun saw my tombstone and started crying. He read the characters and apparently, Baby is now a preteen and I asked Gun to take care of him.

P.S. It just hit me that two of Noona's current suitors unknowingly--brutally--beat up the only man she's come close to falling in love with.

Jihan Kwak didn't know if there were such a thing as an afterlife, but if hell exists, then whoever came up with brunch is in there.

He looked to his left. His oldest brother, a workaholic even before becoming a policeman, had requested his first day off. His hair, which he often parted in the middle to make him look "harmless and average," was styled more handsomely—the way he wore it when he was still King. He also spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear for brunch. Jihan got tired of seeing his brother stare down his clothes so he chose for him: a black quarter sleeve shirt, charcoal slacks and black shoes, topped off with a silver watch. Jichang was an attractive man and you needed to know what you lost.

Unfortunately, you seemed to have a similar plan.

You sat across from his brother, all dolled up in a fancy sundress and smelling like sweet peas, which was apparently because of the perfume Jichang had gifted you. When Jichang expressed surprise that you still have the bottle, you confessed that you only wore it for special occasions. Jihan almost vomited at the sight of his brother getting flustered at your admission. The other men who arrived with you looked equally disgusted.

Even now, Gun Park hasn't even touched his food, choosing to glare at Jichang, while Goo Kim kept cutting his sausages a little too enthusiastically.

Jihan felt a quiet solidarity with them.

Meanwhile, Jibeom was beaming on the other side of Jichang. He "helped" fill in any gaps of silence between you and Jichang.

"So noona," Jibeom said, swirling the drink in his hand, "do you have a boyfriend?"

He's always been an audacious bastard, but the mimosas made him bolder than usual.

The other guys at the table didn't utter a word. They seemed very interested in your answer.

You gave a carefree laugh. "Nah, I've been super busy with work. I haven't met anyone special."

Jihan saw the way your eyes flitted briefly towards Jichang when you said "special" and he scoffed. He had no control over what he muttered next, "She doesn't do boyfriends, remember?"

Everyone turned to him.

Jihan pretended to be engrossed with his eggs and pancakes as he added, "Because no one's good enough for her."

He couldn't see your face, but he could feel the drop in temperature even before his brother spoke his name in a warning tone.

"Jihan, stop."

He shrugged and shoved the food into his mouth.

"I'm sorry about that, bee."

"It's okay—"

"Hey," Goo Kim interrupted, sliding closer to you until your shoulders touched, "how come you call her 'bee'?"

Jichang replied with an awkward grin, "It's nothing special."

"Actually," you said, pushing around the leaves in your salad, "it's a little special…"

Jichang's eyebrows curved upward.

Jibeom nodded proudly while he sipped his mimosa.

"Why?" Gun asked, voice taut.

"Oh, well." You rubbed your arm, feeling uncharacteristically shy. "When I was a student, I was super busy—I needed carbs to function and I used most of my money on food. One of my go-to snacks is Honey Butter. I went to the convenience store one night and got into a fight with someone over the last bag. We almost got kicked out because we were so loud. But, at the end, he decided to buy me the chips and then, well, you know…"

Jichang smiled at the memory. "She loves sweets and was always moving around, always busy—"

"Like a bee," Goo finished the thought, narrowing his eyes. "But angel, what do you call him?"

"I just call him Ji."

Goo lit up from this information, but then Jihan piped in: "She calls him honey."

Again, all heads turned to him.

He shrugged again. "Well, she used to. But if you ask nicely maybe she'll call you honey, too."

Before Jichang could tell his brother to knock it off, Gun spoke up, "You got a problem with my sister, kid?"

You put a hand on his arm. "Gun—"

Jihan clicked his tongue and finally looked your way. "That's right. I don't want her in our house."

"Jihan!"

Jihan ignored his brother and rose to his feet. "She's nothing but a two-faced bitch who sleeps with rich men—"

Jichang slapped him across the face.

You gasped, "Ji—"

Gun moved beside you and you threw your whole weight on top of him.

"Calm down, Gun, please!"

"That fucker just called you a—"

"I heard him, please stop!" You turned to Goo. "Help me restrain—!"

Goo was staring at his butterknife oddly.

"Goo?"

"Angel, how many cuts can I make before someone dies from blood loss?"

"???"

It was weirdly sweet that he felt protective of you like Gun, but Goo was usually more composed than this.

You clung tightly onto your brother while you addressed your host, "J-Jichang, I'm sorry but can you and your brothers leave us for a minute? I need to calm these two down."

"Are you sure? They look…" Dangerous. Even if one was your brother and the other was a friend, it didn't feel right to leave you with these animals. Jibeom and Jichang could only move because your companions' murderous intent was focused on Jihan, who was rendered motionless by the weight of their will.

"Don't worry," you reassured him as you rubbed the base of your brother's head, "they would never hurt me."

Jichang was too worried about you to reprimand their youngest.

He had dragged his brothers into the living room—far out of earshot, but still close enough to come running if you screamed. Last night, he got in touch with an informant in Seoul and found out that after Jichang left, two monsters appeared out of nowhere and dominated the city. Based on the descriptions he was given, those two were Gun Park and Goo Kim.

His instincts were right. He couldn't defeat Goo Kim even if he gave up his life.

"Man, I thought we were gonna die in there," Jibeom guffawed after chugging down his sixth mimosa. "How can she still act normally surrounded by those two demons? Are civilians really that dense?"

Maybe, Jichang said inwardly. But even children who've never witnessed violence have their instincts to rely on. Looking back at it now, you weren't afraid of Jichang Kwak, even when you saw him fight for the first time. You didn't bat an eye when the thuggish-faced Taesoo Ma approached you, or when Gongseob Ji threatened you.

The other Kings joked that your survival instincts were useless, but maybe you grew up surrounded by worse beasts.

His train of thought was interrupted when Jihan let out a long, frustrated sigh from the couch.

"Why do we have to leave our own dining room and hide in our own house?"

Jichang walked up to Jihan, who was not the least bit remorseful.

"What is your problem?" he asked, controlling the edge on his tone.

"…"

"She has been nothing but kind and patient with you, why do you keep antagonizing her? Why do you hate her so much?"

Jihan refused to talk.

Jichang almost grabbed his collar but you came in, with both Gun and Goo trailing behind you. Although still clearly irritated, at least they didn't look murderous.

"Thank you for inviting us, but I think we should go."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh. I'm sorry for the commotion."

"No, it's our fault. We should've behaved better in front of our guests." He cupped his nape. "I'll walk you to your car."

Goo draped his arm over your shoulders. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. By the way, I'm taking my brunch to go—"

"Oh, thanks for reminding me!" Jibeom exclaimed. He then produced an oversized picnic basket from who knows where and shoving it towards Jichang. "Big bro, you gotta show noona your favorite spot. You can take my truck, I'll be in front of the TV all day."

"Wha—"

"And noona, this is his first day off in forever, so can you make sure he actually enjoys it?"

Jichang tried to protest, but you grinned. "Sounds great."

Gun's face twisted but you patted his side and said, "You boys have fun. Go fish or swim in the river. Don't worry about me, okay?"

"Angel," Gun interrupted, "it's fine to say no—"

"Okay?"

Both men wilted. "Yeah, okay."

***

Jichang's favorite spot was a cliffside overlooking the province. The sky was a picture-perfect blue with brushes of white clouds.

"This place is gorgeous. How come we're the only ones here?" you asked while you placed rocks over the corners of the blanket.

"It's too far for senior citizens to hike and kids these days would rather hang out at the mall."

You nodded understandingly. "And you're sure we weren't followed?"

"Don't worry, my brothers know better than to intrude on a da—on a private affair." He coughed. "How about you?"

"Gun knows better than to make me angry," you said casually.

"What about Goo Kim?"

You arranged the food containers between the two of you. "Why would Goo follow us?"

"Bee."

"If it makes you feel any better, there is no way my brother's going to let him rampant."

"He likes you."

You sighed. "Let's say you're right. Goo has a crush on me—so what?"

"You're not going to…?"

"Do what? Do him?"

Jichang made a face and you laughed. "He isn't just my friend, he is my little brother's best friend. I know you think I'm some amoral seductress, but there is no way I can do that to Gun."

He wiped the spoons and forks, then he looked at you. "I don't think that."

"Thanks," you mumbled.

"Jihan didn't mean the things he said. He was just being a brat."

"It's okay—"

"It's not okay. You're not… that," he said. "You've always been clear about what we were, but I failed to educate my brothers. They were convinced that you were the one. They thought you were going to be family and when you left, Jihan took it personally." It brought back too many memories of their mother leaving.

"You don't have to defend Jihan. He's a sweet kid underneath that prickliness." 

He grinned and gave you the utensils.

You blinked at his left hand. 

"It's a minor injury," he said, noticing your stare.

You flipped his hand and examined the scar. In the comic, Gitae Kim's fingers pierced through the outer side of his palm like it was butter. The wounds had closed, leaving behind a spider-like scar. 

You traced the redness gingerly.

"Bee?"

You didn't realize you were crying until you saw a tear drop onto his scar.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he said. He gently pulled back his left hand before he held your face. 

If you had stayed, or at least warned him, would Jichang have suffered less?

"Ji, I wish you were an asshole."

He quirked his eyebrow. "Um, okay?"

"Why are you so nice to me?" It would have been so much easier if he was selfish bastard.

His thumb wiped away your tears. "You don't deserve anything less."

Your mouth trembled but you swallowed down a sob before asking, "You told me your brothers thought I was the one, but what about you, Ji? Did you ever think I could be the one?"

"It doesn't matter." He gave you a gentle smile. "You didn't feel the same and that's all right."

Against all common sense, you asked, "What if I did?"

"…do you mean that?"

"Well, I've never fallen in love with anyone before, and I'm not going to lie and say that I felt the way you did, but…" You trailed off, breaking eye contact to focus on his nose while you thought of what to say.

He waited patiently.

"But I think… I could've really loved you too."

He glanced over the edge of the cliff, silent for a second. Then, he scoffed. "That's a lousy confession."

You pinched his side. "I'm serious."

He chuckled. "I think I could have really loved you too."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't have asked you to be my girlfriend otherwise."

You gazed into each other's eyes for what felt like a minute, until Jichang's fell over your lips and you leaned in to kiss his. 

Jichang swept the plastic containers away and welcomed you in his arms.

His brothers and the other Kings tried to set him up with other girls, but Jichang could never get past the first date, or sometimes, even the introductions. Every time he looked at another woman, he couldn't help but compare her to you. From the way she laughed to how she kissed—Jichang never enjoyed kissing other women. It felt wrong, a betrayal of his own instincts.

But kissing you was as natural as breathing.

His lips desperately found yours over and over. Your arms wrapped around him, your knees locked him in place—you surrounded him completely and he didn't want to be apart from you for even a moment.

He flopped back on one elbow while keeping a soft grip on your nape. The feeling of your familiar weight on top of him excited every nerve in his body.

You sighed his name and he became very aware of the tightness in his pants. Only you could make him as horny as a teenager.

Jichang palmed your hips, caressed the dip of your waist, and cupped the area just under the swell of your breasts. You've gotten even more irresistible over the years.

Thunder boomed from the distance but neither you nor Jichang pulled away. Even as rain drizzled over, you clung onto each other.

A grown man making out with someone outside, in the middle of a storm. The logical part of him shook its head in disapproval.

You're the only one who made him understand how men could lose themselves over a woman.

You laughed as you pulled away. "Come on."

He pushed back his wet bangs. He would have made love to you right there on that wet picnic blanket if you didn't pull away.

Jichang scooped you into his arms and ran back to his brother's truck.

He helped you inside the backseat (which was already suspiciously covered with a different blanket) before climbing inside and locking the doors.

You looked at the picnic setup outside. "What about the—"

"Leave it," he said sharply as he took off his glasses and then captured your mouth again. The force knocked you down, but Jichang cradled the back of your neck, protecting your head as you fell.

He helped you shimmy out of your safety shorts and you undid his belt—two simple tasks that would have been easier if it weren't your mouths latching onto each other like magnets.

He pushed down your sleeves, pulling down until your breasts popped out from the built-in bra. He finally drew back from your lips to kiss your shoulders and chest.

Your fingers opened his fly with clumsy enthusiasm, which earned you a chuckle.

Frowning, you pinched his side. "I don't recall laughing at you when you couldn't find my bra clasp on our first night."

"Mmm." He breathed onto your neck, tickling that spot. "'m sorry, sweetheart. You're just so cute."

As an apology, his long, slender fingers hovered over the moist patch over your panties. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who has become a hormonal mess.

"Jichang…" You jerked your hips against his touch.

"I know, I know." He knew that tone. "But you'll get hurt so be patient, sweetheart."

You whined but said nothing more.

Jichang drew circles over the wet fabric before pushing it aside and plugging one finger into you.

You moaned, toes curling. One of the few things you loved about men is how they could reach deeper than your own hands could.

"You're doing great, beautiful," he whispered as he placed a thumb over your clit. "Ji…"

"Sh… we're almost there."

He told you to be patient but it took everything he had not to rip off your panties and fuck you with his cock. You could take a lot of punishment—you loved when he treated you like his whore, but you needed to be prepped. Jichang gulped down his own desire and inserted a second finger, causing your hips to buck.

He kept parting his two fingers like scissors and continued playing with your clit until you overflowed on the seat and you were kicking against the window.

He glanced his hand, wet with your juices, and then hovered it above your face.

You didn't even need instructions before you stuck out your tongue and began cleaning him.

Jichang could hear his own pulse echo in his ears. He watched as you licked the space between his fingers—slowly, like you were savoring your own taste. Then, you took one digit into your mouth and looked at him through your lashes.

Something ticked in his jaw and he heard himself say, "Get on your stomach."

You rolled over, smiling proudly at successfully pushing Jichang over the edge.

You heard the distinct sound of plastic tearing behind you. A condom. You didn't trouble yourself on where he got it or why he was carrying one—you didn't have the time to even think when Jichang siezed your hips and his familiar length entered you without warning.

An unsexy, genuine squeal left you as he settled inside you.

He let go of your hips and lay on top of you.

"This is what you want, right?" he rasped into your ear.

You couldn't answer. It's been so long since a man properly held you, you wanted to savor everything.

Not liking your lack of reply, Jichang hooked his arm around your neck while his free hand cupped the top of your head. "I couldn't hear you. Walking around in this tiny sundress, seducing me on our picninc, you planned everything, didn't you?"

"Y-yeah," you gasped against the pressure on your throat, "I was just waiting for you to violate me."

His eyes darkened. "Do you remember our safeword?"

"Cucumber."

He pulled back, kissed the top of your head and began moving—there was no need to be gentle anymore.

The truck rocked with each brutal ram of his hips. Your moans and his grunts intermingled as the glasses fogged up from the rain and the steam of your bodies.

"I missed you, bee," he breathed, "I couldn't sleep a wink because you kept showing up in my dreams and I'd wake up with a hard-on."

"I missed—ahn—hah, hah—I missed you too, honey," you managed to muster through your pleasure-riddled haze.

Jichang slowed down, but you felt him grow bigger inside. You craned your neck. "Ji?"

He sighed. "You're really…" He let out a frustrated chuckle before he picked up his pace.

Jichang snaked one hand under you, finding where you two joined—then his fingers circled your clit. Your eyes rolled back and you gasped his name again.

He bit the tip of your ear. "Call me honey again."

"Hmm…" You struggled to maintain a single coherent thought.

He pulled his arm, choking you. "Call me honey."

"Hah—honey…"

He tipped your chin and kissed you again and again.

Lightning flashed outside but you didn't notice. In this moment, Jichang preoccupied your every neuron. His rhythm was steady and unrelenting, shaking the whole truck until, with one final thrust, you screamed and he collapsed on top of you.

He panted, catching his breath first, then he shifted closer to the backrest, spooning you.

"Wow…" you exhaled, lungs still recovering.

"Are you okay?" he asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

"Uh-huh. I haven't done this in a while so I'm out of shape, but I'll be ready again in five minutes."

He laughed. "No pressure."

"By the way, where did you get a condom?" The Jichang you knew was not a horndog like many Kings. He also wasn't superstitious so he didn't keep condoms in his wallet for "good luck"—and even if he did, he was too smart to use a dried up condom from his wallet. "Were you expecting this to happen?" you teased.

"Jibeom shoved three packets in the basket."

"That's…"

"Creepy, I know. I'll have a talk with him."

"Don't be too harsh, we did use one."

You felt him stir inside you and he hugged you with closer. "Just one?"

You giggled. "I'm always up for round two, but—"

The sound of your stomach interrupted your sentence.

Your lover stifled a laugh. "Stay here." He pressed a kiss on your forehead and pulled out of you.

Jichang braved the rain to retrieve the basket, and the two of you ate brunch—well, now it was simply lunch.

"What's life like for a policeman?" you asked between bites.

"It's okay, but this is the sticks. Most of my job involves dealing with angry neighbors and occasionally, teenagers loitering and making out past their curfew. It's mind-numbingly boring."

That was definitely a far cry from his previous career as a professional gangster. "If it makes you feel any better, I always dreamed of a sexy policeman arresting me."

"That does help a bit."

"You're welcome."

He handed you his water bottle. "How about you, school nurse? You hate teenagers so how did that happen?"

"I don't hate teenagers."

"You hate dealing with them."

"Yeah, I do." You cocked your head. "But my kids are good kids, like Daniel Park. I'm not their teacher but I like to think I can keep them out of trouble."

"Do you?"

"No comment."

He chuckled and you playfully smacked his arm.

After finishing lunch, when reason returned to your brains, you felt too full and uncomfortable to continue your lovemaking in Jibeom's truck.

Jichang's house was a no-go, and you didn't want to face your own brother back at the inn, so Jichang took you to a lodge situated in the nicer parts of the region.

After a warm shower, you two fell into old habits once again. Jichang took you in several different positions until the last of the condoms was used up.

As you two lay in each other's arm, reeling from the afterglow, your phone rang and you realized that it was already nine in the evening.

"Hello—"

"I just wanna say that your brother is very upset with you," said Goo.

You checked the caller ID. He was calling you from Gun's phone.

"Goo—"

"What time are you coming back? Because we went to get takeout for three, but surprise surprise, you're not here."

Jichang watched silently at first, then he lowered his head and bit down on your shoulder, ripping a moan right out of you.

The other line fell quiet.

You covered your mouth and glared at your lover, who only beamed in satisfaction.

You cleared your throat. "Goo, don't wait up for me, okay? I'm safe, I promise—you guys enjoy dinner—good night." You ended the call and then hit Jichang with a pillow. "Why!?"

He shrugged.

"My brother could have been listening, you jerk!"

"I'm sorry, bee. I just… lost myself I guess." He looked pretty happy for someone saying sorry.

You sighed. "Whatever."

He opened his arms and you flopped down on his chest. You two indulged in the comfortable silence, but you both knew this won't last forever.

You were the first one to break it. "What happens now?"

"I can't leave Chungcheong."

You shut your eyes and listened to his heart. "I know."

"But…"

"Hm?" You looked up.

"You don't have to wait for me, but maybe, once Choi is gone, I can pay you a visit in Seoul?"

You smiled. "I'd like that."

He smiled back. As you two shared another kiss, he embraced you for one last time and a part of you wished morning would never come.

***

Morning came too fast.

You dreaded returning to the inn, where, of course, both Goo and Gun were waiting like eager guard dogs.

"Good morning," you said, trying not to sound awkward as you got off the truck.

"Nice t-shirt." Goo eyed your oversized Chungcheong t-shirt and the sweatpants which obviously belonged to a man. "What happened to your dress?"

"It got ripped during the hike up the mountains."

"Didn't you two drive there?"

"Goo, please." You turned to Gun, who has been avoiding eye contact since earlier. "Are you seriously going to ignore me?"

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Then look at me."

"…"

"You're unbelievable—both of you. If you can't grow up then you can drive back to Seoul without me." You turned to Jichang, who was helping you walk since you didn't trust your legs today. "Thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure."

"I'd invite you to hang out until we leave, but…"

"It's okay. I have a shift later. Do you need help getting to your room?"

"Nah. It's right there." You kissed his cheek. "Bye, Ji. Tell Jibeom brunch was amazing."

He gave you a paper bag containing your destroyed dress and underwear. "Will do."

You hobbled towards your unit, refusing to acknowledge either your brother or his best friend. You unlocked your room and then slammed the door behind you, leaving the three men to stew in silence.

Jichang couldn't move, but he was confident they weren't to kill him with you only several feet away.

Goo clicked his tongue. "I'm going to help her pack." He sent Jichang one last glare over his shoulder before running to your door.

Jichang wasn't sure if being left alone with your brother was better or worse.

He coughed. "Thank you for helping Mr. Noh."

"…"

"I'm sorry for hogging your sister's time. We go way back and—"

"Jichang Kwak," Gun interrupted, voice laced with contempt, "I didn't help you or that old geezer out of the goodness of my heart. I have my own reasons for taking down Charles Choi, so don't get the wrong idea."

Yes, I figured. But Jichang held his tongue.

"I don't like you. I'd like to punch your heart out right now."

"…"

"But nee-san likes you so I'll let you live."

"I appreciate that."

"Shut up."

"…"

"Do your best not to die, King of Seoul," Gun said, turning around, "because if you make my sister cry, I'll find you in hell."

To be continued...

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If you want to be part of the taglist, please leave a comment on the masterlist so I don't lose track. Thank you for reading!

a/n: And they say the perfect man doesn't exist.

Disclaimer: The images used are screencaptures from Ep. 438, 439 & 497- Lookism, Webtoon.

My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST | Lookism Masterlist

[bloomflix]

ummhm hi you’re writing is amazing and the way you portray bunny is unmatched has me spiraling. becuz now all i think about is bunny with a corruption kink and making it his mission to take bsf! y/n’s virginity after she opens up to him 👀

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ bunny iglesias can’t help but get turned on by being the one to take his best friend’s virginity (˶>⩊<˶)

bunny iglesias knows he’s sick and depraved sometimes. he knows that he can be the biggest asshole ever—yet, you don’t seem to care, as his best friend afterall.

however, even as his best friend, it seems that you still can’t take the hint that he’s practically infatuated with you, running on the idea that he—bunny, fc barça’s current young talent—would never like you.

so of course, you’d pivot and settle for some other guys… until you got dumped and decided you wanted to get hammered with bunny instead.

so there you were, sat across from each other while playing some stupid gag gift card game you found at the gas station to play. it really, really, was stupid; like “worst [insert] you’ve had? or take a shot” kind of thing.

“worst… hook-up you’ve ever had? oh shit, n/n, you’re already looking off. ¿te da vergüenza, chica? [you ashamed, girl?]. he was such an ass—purposefully rolling his r’s just to mock you and really emphasize the question. so it felt…

perhaps it was the sips of alcohol you already had before laughing a bit. “y’know, i’m a virgin, so unfortunately i gotta say none. my ex didn’t like that very much.”

if only you could take a picture of bunny’s face—because he looked absolutely livid right now.

it almost pained him to ask, but why the hell not… “was he your first love?” it was a mundane question that, if bunny wasn’t as infatuated with you as he was, it was mean nothing to ask you. but he felt his heart get squeezed at the mere thought of you saying yes—

“no,” you looked away, almost like you were embarrassed. was it the alcohol? yeah… maybe it was. because you felt bold… more bold than you should.

“don’t laugh, bunny. but he’s not. still hurts though. besides, i don’t even think my first love even knows, haha.”

he felt more relieved than he should, it was bullshit, but that squeezing feeling hit him again and he blinked. “then who?”

you turned to him, eyes watery and delicate like you could start bawling.

you looked pretty, the dim lights from the lamps surrounding the two of you was hitting you and even with your messy hair and tear-streaked cheeks, swollen eyes, and puffy lips, you still managed to look like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. your white pointelle long-sleeve and hair shaping your face made you look damn heavenly.

he so fucking badly wanted to corrupt that. for you to be absolutely full of him. he wanted to be a sick, deplorable pervert and just fuck you senseless while you forget all about that loser.

“it’s actually you, bun…before you start making fun of me, i think it was valid—”

he swallowed deeply, his eyes slightly widened and breath hitched. “why..?”

“why not? shit, i think i still love you now.” you paused before sighing. “don’t take this the wrong way, but if there’s anyone i’d be impure for… just for a second, it’d be you…”

it was slow but so fast at the same time afterwards—the way he leaned towards you and kissed you, tasting the sweet vanilla of your lip balm and smelling the sweetness of your shampoo and lotion, to the way you gently tugged at his jacket, taking him to your bedroom. it was all done with unspoken affection, yet despite his nonchalance, bunny’s heart was going to explode.

your sticky cunt felt so good, wrapping around his cock so warm and nice, and just how your warm body embraced him… god.

you could cry from how sex with him was; it was tender yet so ravenous. he fucked you like he was angry yet touched you like you were as delicate as the marzipan you’d give him at lunch when you were kids.

“w-why cry over that bastard when you—fuck—have me, right?”

he could sob, maybe? how long has it been since he’s cried (excluding the moment he found out you began dating that idiot). it’s been years. he’s been perceived as so ‘empty’ by his colleagues, and he was. yet when he was with you in this moment, he couldn’t help but want to cry. you were just so fucking perfect.

you really were the woman of his desires. and the woman he so deeply craved to corrupt so you’d know nothing but him.

the white fabric of your shirt rolled up, exposing your pretty tits glazed with cum from the blow job you’d given him moments prior. so goddamn gorgeous.

“hnghhh—oh yeah, bun…you’re so right—!” your voice cracked and clawed at him, intricate scars littering the valley of his back and gaining new ones. except this time, he didn’t mind wearing them proudly, because you made them.

he touched you like he was experienced yet lacked the confidence of someone who was, hesitantly touching your soft skin and rubbing at your clit too hard. he’s never touched anyone in the way he has you right now, and the thought alone made him almost dizzy.

“g’nna marry you, preciosa. all mine, yeah?” and you nodded, lifting your hips subconsciously while grinding against him as he pounded into you.

this would’ve been sweet—so so sweet, but he was screwing you like he was possessed, watching your cross necklace bouncing with your tits as he fucked you ravenously. so much so for being pure.

“make me yours, bun... all yours—!”

it really was hard to believe that he finally got to sleep with his childhood best friend/first love. he thought it was almost a dream or a figment of his imagination…that’s until you woke him up, kissing his neck and grinding against his morning wood.

“nene, c’mon… one more round for me?”

bunny could die a happy man, feeling how your already went cunt rubbed against his stirring cock; how your puffy clit gained friction against the ridges and veins of his length, and your whispered moans felt against his shoulder.

why not?

-

-

-

hey… request 1 of several is finished yayayaya !!!! i also have a random repost of ‘latina/spanish speaker bunny x reader’ so uh let me know if yall want that back or not idc anyways !!!! if you’ve sent a request—again please know i’m working on it!!! only on break from requests bc i wanna put more effort (send requests all you guys want but pls know it’ll take some time!!!) 🥹💕

masterlist <3

[zxid]

collection

[fishlung8877]

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

w.c › 4.1k

warnings › Bottom male reader. Reader last name is Chen. This an OC.

plot › Your best friend confesses that he’s loved you for years but you turn him down. In an effort to keep the friendship, you tell him he can ask for something from you. What he wants is to take your virginity.

kinks › manhandling, creampie, dubious consent, overstimulation

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You and Huang Xinghui have been friends since middle school. Basically growing up with each other. He was your first real friend and you both shared a sort of secret relationship that others couldn’t understand.

Though everyone around you kept telling you that Xinghui was in love with you.

The idea seemed ludicrous. Even when it was said to you at your all boys high school. Xinghui not having a girlfriend made perfect sense to you then because what girls would he talk to? You both spent time together so you knew his schedule perfectly.

Class, dorm room, lunch or dinner, and then his piano lessons. That’s about it. So you were a bit confused why the boys at your school kept teasing that he was your boyfriend. Not that there was anything wrong for boys to date… but you and Xinghui?

They were making things up.

Even when you finally graduated and were heading to university, you and Xinghui somehow managed to be dormmates. You were excited at the idea of being with someone you were already so comfortable with. Your mom had something else to say though.

“Just don’t cause too many issues for your next door neighbors. The walls aren’t thick y’know.”

“What do you mean? I make sure to keep my voice down while gaming.” You said as you packed up your gaming console to take to the university. Your back was turned to your mom so you couldn’t see the face she made.

She sighed. “(Name), I mean don’t have sex without taking into consideration your neighbors. I trust you and Xinghui are smarter than that.”

“What–?” You turned to face her, feeling your face warm up. “Who–? Why–? Who would I even be having sex with? I’m a proud virgin!” Your words tumbled out fast as you clutched your gaming console to your chest. “I’m saving it, yknow?”

“Right.” She muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Well my point still stands even if you don’t go all the way.”

“Ma, me and Xinghui are just friends.”

“Sure.” She patted your shoulder before continuing on with helping you pack.

“Isn’t it weird? My mom thought we were dating!” You sat down on the small couch in the center of the room. It was a semi large one. Xinghui’s bed was pressed against the back wall, his desk right beside it in front of the large window. While your bed was on the left wall—a high rise bed with your desk underneath it.

All things considered the room was a great size for the both of you.

Xinghui broke down one of the boxes he used to hold some of his things. The couch was facing the wall across from his bed so you couldn’t see his face. He didn’t respond at first. You were about to repeat yourself thinking he didn’t hear you when he finally did.

“My parents think so too.”

“What? Well what did you tell them?” You turned back to face him, watching as he placed the deconstructed box underneath his bed. His back still facing you.

“Mhm.” Was he said. You frowned and watched as he continued unpacking. Xinghui was a man of few words anyway so you weren’t too shocked whenever he didn’t answer a question of yours. You usually figured out what he meant by yourself anyway.

Huang Xinghui was a handsome guy but his personality of keeping silent when spoken to made him a bit hard to build relationships with. He had ‘cold’ eyes according to everyone else but you thought his eyes were quite lively. They spoke for him most of the time. Through his eyes you’d understand exactly what he was feeling or thinking.

So he had gotten into the habit of looking away.

You watched Xinghui continue unpacking–taking in his newish style. Now that you both didn’t need to wear uniforms anymore, you’d get to see him in regular clothing at school. He had a darker aesthetic. The only bright part about him was the small section of dyed blond hair from his bangs.

“What do you want for dinner?” Xinghui plugged in his phone to charge before finally turning over to face you. His face was neutral. When you looked him in the eye, you knew you missed your chance to read what he was feeling earlier.

A huff left you. Cheeky bastard.

“There’s a popular chicken place nearby. I heard they make great fried chicken.” You grinned. “It’s Saturday tomorrow so…” you wiggled your eyebrows, letting your words trail off.

Xinghui only shook his head.

After about two beers and an entire box of chicken fully devoured, you were stuffed. The laptop in front of you on the coffee table was playing some random movie you don’t remember choosing. It looked to be a horror movie though. You yawned and stretched out on the couch, almost slipping off.

Others would find eating chicken and drinking beer without talking, only the movie being the source of sound, to be uncomfortable. But you were used to sitting with your thoughts when it came to Xinghui. It was usually without any type of noise half the time.

So movies were welcomed.

You glanced over at Xinghui, wanting to ask if he remembered what movie this was when you noticed he was already staring at you. “Xinghui?” You blink and give him a slight smile. He was holding another beer in his hand but it was beginning to slip from his grasp. How many did he drink?

“Xinghui?” You reached over and grabbed the near empty bottle. When placing it with the other finished beer bottles, you realized there were over four other bottles next to your two. Your eyes widened slightly but you shook your head. It wasn’t the strangest thing–sometimes Xinghui drinks more than you.

A lot more.

Five in one night seemed excessive. You looked back at him only to flinch. He was closer, much closer. His nose brushed against yours and you couldn’t help but giggle at first. You blinked excessively at his long overgrown bangs teasing your cheeks. His breath smelled exactly like the cheap beer he bought.

“You ok?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Xinghui hummed. “After two beers, you fell asleep for a few minutes.” He said.

“I did?” You tried thinking back but couldn’t really remember that. You were a lightweight but you didn’t think you were that much of a lightweight. “Sorry, I think the whole moving in tired me out.” You yawned.

“Mhm.”

“Let’s just head to bed, we can clean up in the morning.” You said, glancing at the mess on the coffee table. It wasn’t much but with you being so sleepy it felt like a whole mountain of work.

“(Name).”

“Hm?”

“I wanna kiss you.”

“What–?”

Suddenly you felt lips pressed against yours.

Huang Xinghui liked you.

For a while now apparently. Everyone was right. Perhaps you were the only one who was dumb enough to not realize it. But was it that strange to believe that your friend since forever was just that? A friend?

He had kissed you.

Three weeks ago.

And everything has been awkward ever since. For the first time in your life, Xinghui was avoiding you. That kiss changed everything. You remember not even kissing him back. Just staring straight at him—trying to understand what was happening.

When he pulled away and walked to his bedroom. Slamming the door shut.

The next day you tried to talk to him like normal but he ignored you. Pointedly so. Then he started making sure he practically never came across you. It was a feat. You wondered how he managed to never be home when you were home. Making sure you never crossed paths on campus.

You were miserable.

University wasn’t supposed to push you and Xinghui apart. It wasn’t like you even refused him. Even if you didn’t see him that way. He was a part of your life and you could never imagine one without him. You didn’t even have any other friends beside him.

Something your mom had constantly criticized. You always pushed those critiques away. Now you realized why she had them. You were essentially all alone without Xinghui. It was lonely.

Almost four weeks passed when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

Luckily you knew Xinghui’s schedule. He had told you before classes started. So in an effort to save your (only) friendship—you skipped class and waited outside his first class of the day. Ancient Chinese medicine.

A few minutes passed before Xinghui left the classroom, head down as he scrolled on his phone. You quickly jumped up from your waiting spot against the wall and sprinted over to him. Xinghui didn’t look up at first. His eyes narrowing at his phone before he seemed to finally feel your presence.

His eyes flickered over to you.

He quickly sprinted away without a word.

“Bastard.” You cursed to yourself as you followed after him. Xinghui was heading to his next class. Chemistry if you remember correctly. He was already sitting at a spot in the back of the room, right near the window. You entered the classroom without any hesitation and plopped down beside him.

“You can’t sit here.” Xinghui simply said.

“Why not?”

“It’s his seat.”

You glanced over to see a student walking over with a confused expression.

“Uh, are you a new student?” The guy asked. “This is my seat.”

“No,” you reached over and grabbed Xinghui’s arm, tugging him close to you. Xinghui stared at you with a shocked expression. “I’m trying to make things right with my friend but he’s been ignoring me. So I’m following him everywhere until he notices me.”

“Oh…”

“Can you cheer me on, Ge?” You pouted. Xinghui tried pulling his hand free but you only tightened your grip, resting your head on his shoulder.

The guy only shook his head. “It’s too early for this… good luck,” he sat down in the empty chair beside you.

You gave him a grateful smile before turning your attention to Xinghui. He was looking straight ahead. Jaw tightened. He tried once more to tug his hand free but you tightened your octopus-like grip on him.

“What do you want for dinner? We haven’t had dinner together in a while.” You asked.

He didn’t respond. Even as class went on, the professor seemingly paid you no mind—Xinghui’s jaw was tense the entire time. His gaze straight ahead. Fingers gripping tightly on his pen as he took notes.

Class ended. Xinghui made another attempt to pull his arm free that was met with resistance once again.

People began to file out of the classroom. You knew Xinghui didn’t have any more classes after this so he wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. Xinghui didn’t move a second until the classroom was completely empty. He turned to face you.

His expression almost made you flinch. Never in your entire life had he ever looked at you like this. With such… anger. Contempt even. Why was he so angry? It wasn’t like you did anything.

“Are you finding this funny?” He whispered. His free hand reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. The pain caused you to wince and unintentionally release his arm. He pulled himself free and quickly stood up.

You stood up as well. “Funny? Nothing is funny right now, Xinghui. I’m confused about what happened to us.”

“Why are you confused? I confessed. You rejected me. There’s nothing else left to say.”

“So that means you’re going to throw away our friendship?”

“(Name), how dumb are you?”

You bristled at his tone.

“I never viewed you as a friend.” Xinghui’s words shook you to your core. But he continued on. “I loved you. And if you don’t want to date me, then why should I hurt myself and force a friendship I don’t care about?”

“Don’t… care about?”

Xinghui simply scoffed. “Once the lease is over, I’ll move out. You should make sure you find a roommate before then.”

Move out?

He’s going to leave you.

Permanently?

Xinghui grabbed his bag and moved to walk away but you quickly grabbed his arm. He tried tugging himself free. “What—?”

“No way! I don’t want you to ever leave my life.”

“Are you insane? Just how selfish are you to force me to still be your friend when I said I don’t want to be.”

Your lips pulled into a thin line. “If that’s selfish, then I don’t care. You can be selfish too in return.”

“How—?”

“You can ask for anything from me. Anything you want, I can’t refuse. Just…” your throat felt tight. Eyes beginning to burn. “Just continue being my friend. Please.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Anything?” He whispered.

“Mhm.”

Xinghui stared at you. His eyes unreadable. It wasn’t an expression that you had seen before. He didn’t feel like your friend anymore.

“I wanna fuck you.”

There was no reason for why you were still a virgin. You never really dated. Never seeing the point. Xinghui was all you really needed. He was always there so you never saw the purpose in pursuing any connection outside of him.

Maybe that’s why you allowed for this to happen.

The reason why you would do anything to keep Xinghui in your life.

Why you were currently bent over the couch, getting fucked by Xinghui. There was no build up. No easing you into anything. You both walked home without saying a thing. The only sound being the door closing shut behind you. Xinghui had pushed you into the couch, pulling your pants down, and spitting into his hand.

He was nice enough to finger you open. It burned. Not a pleasant feeling really. He didn’t waste a moment before pushing inside of you. Officially taking your virginity. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping tightly at the couch cushion as his hips slammed forward against your ass.

His cock stretched you full. Nothing in common with his fingers. It hardly prepared you for how big he was. You could feel his cock against your warm walls. The drag of his cock as he kept a fast consistent pace. He didn’t say a word.

It almost felt clinical.

But even then, you were a little glad he was your first. At least it went to someone you cared for. Just as fast as it started—it was over. Xinghui pulled out. Warm sticky cum dripped onto your lower back.

The sound of a zipper and rustling of jeans. That’s all you heard before footsteps pattering down the hallway.

You were all alone.

Everything went back to normal.

Or at least, you pretend it did. The next day Xinghui was in the kitchen. He almost looked shocked to see you. His eyes watching your every move. It felt like he was expecting you to be angry or something.

But why would you be?

You smiled at him, “did you eat breakfast yet? I’m gonna scramble some eggs.” He only stared at you as if you had grown two heads.

Things continued on like nothing even happened. Only for you though. You spoke to Xinghui as if the whole situation never happened. Not even that you had moved passed it. Xinghui, however, was struggling to do the same. You could tell.

He wasn’t normal like usual. His posture tense whenever you touched him. As if you were going to hit him. Which confused you. Why would you ever hurt him? Almost a month passed like this. You interacting with him like normal. While Xinghui grew confused by the day.

But it seemed he had a breaking point.

Your mom had stopped by to drop off some food. She could tell something was wrong.

“Are you… two okay?” She asked, just as she was ready to leave. Her eyes flickering between the both of you. “I know living together can raise problems but I hope you talk things out.” Her gaze pointedly turned to Xinghui.

“Mhm? We’re good! Great even.” You laughed, waving your mom’s worries off like it was unfounded. She hesitated but soon nodded her head. Deciding there was no purpose in prying. You waved her goodbye and closed the door behind her.

“We’re good?” Xinghui suddenly spoke.

You looked back at him. “Hm?”

“We’re ‘good?’ What are you talking about? We haven’t been good in almost three months.”

“What do you mean?”

“What—? (Name), haven’t you noticed the tension between us?” His eyes were wide. Perhaps the first time in awhile that you could see emotions in them that weren’t confusion. It was filled with hurt. “I… I took something from you in anger. I hurt you on purpose because I wanted to get back at you for rejecting me. Why haven’t you noticed that?”

You blinked.

A small smile formed on your lips. “Why are you acting like I didn’t know that?”

“Huh?”

You stepped forward. Hands reaching out as you grabbed Xinghui’s. His hands were bigger than yours. It had been forever since you touched him. A giddy laugh left you. “I know you did that to hurt me.” You looked up at him. “I don’t care. I asked for it. I wanted it. Anything to keep you with me.”

Xinghui stared at you. Really stared at you. He looked as if he was trying to comprehend what you were saying. Realizing just… how devoted you were to this ‘friendship’ with him. “They were right.” He whispered to himself.

“Who?”

He shook his head, “you want me in your life?”

“Yes.”

“Only me?”

“….yes.” You squeezed his hands. “No one else matters. No one can ever compare to you.”

Xinghui freed his hands. He reached over and gripped the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin as he tugged you forward. “Then I can do whatever I want?”

“Mhm,” you let out a breathy laugh, lips parting into a smile. “Please. Anything to keep you in my life.”

A pained expression flickered on Xinghui’s face but it was gone before you could question it. He pulled you forward and captured your lips into a sneering kiss. It was the first time he’s kissed since that night.

This one was different. While the one that night was soft, almost nervous—this one was hungry. Xinghui knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was you.

You being his.

His free hand gripped pants, popping the button open. He pushed you back against the door. Your body banging against it from the force. Pain briefly shot through your back but his kiss distracted you from verbally out any pain. You struggled on what to do with your hands. They pressed against the door before you hesitantly reached out and placed them on Xinghui’s shoulders.

He swallowed every moan and whimper you let out into the kiss. His hand slipped into your boxers, grabbing a handful of your ass. Everything felt… different this time. It didn’t feel mechanical. This time you could really feel the hungry Xinghui felt for you.

He kissed you like he wanted to eat you. Your back arched off the door, eyes squeezing shut as you felt fingers tease your asshole. They were dry and unable to push in due to resistance. You finally pulled away from the kiss—needing to breathe.

You buried your face into Xinghui’s shoulders. Legs twitching. Xinghui didn’t say much. But that didn’t shock you. He was never much of a talker. The sound of him spitting caused you to flinch. Newly wet fingers pressed against your hole once more.

Like before he didn’t waste a second before slipping in two fingers. The stretch earned a pained gasp from you. However he was more gentle this time. His fingers slowly stretching you. Properly preparing you. A graze against a certain area caused you to moan. Pleasure shooting through your veins.

“What was that…?” You muttered into his shoulder. Xinghui didn’t answer. His free hand tightened its grip on your waist, stabilizing you.

He continued to stretch you. Occasionally brushing against the little spot that made you whimper. Your toes curled. Hands gripping tightly at his shoulders. Your cock dripped pre-cum onto the ground.

That was different as well.

Your body was actually reacting this time around.

Xinghui suddenly flipped you around, pressing your face right into the door. One hand held the back of your head while the other gripped your waist. You shuddered at his forcefulness. Hands uselessly gripping at the door.

“Are you going to wear a condom this time?” You whispered.

“Why should I? I’ll be the only man who gets to fuck you anyway.”

You didn’t know why your cock twitched at his words.

Xinghui wasn’t slow. Perhaps deciding he was kind enough to properly stretch you out. He thrust his cock inside of you without warning. A loud cry leaving you at the sudden action. His hand tightened its grip on your waist to keep you still.

His hips slammed into your ass. The sound of skin slapping together filled the hallway. Short quick moans left you in tandem with his thrusts. Your eyes were threatening to roll back. It was hard for you to even keep your body up.

If Xinghui wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve fallen down by now.

Only a second later and you felt your stomach tighten. A pain whimper leaving you as you came. Cum dripped onto the floor but Xinghui didn’t let up. In fact you felt as if his thrusts had gotten faster. More brutal.

“Xinghui, s…slow down.” You reached back to grab his hand on your waist. But he only picked up the pace. The silence you got in return made you whimper in response. He was chasing his own release. Uncaring of the overstimulation he was causing you.

It felt like forever. His thrusts pushing you further into the door. Neighbors would certainly complain about the noise in the morning. Your moans were louder as well. Cock hard once more, ready to cum again.

Another particularly hard thrust, he pulled your hips back, ass flushed against his hips—cum releasing inside you. Your legs twitched. Fingers pressed against the door as your cock came again as well. More watery than the first orgasm. Hot cum filled you inside. It felt gross but also oddly comforting.

Xinghui was really a part of you. Deep inside.

You sighed. At least now you could go relax and take a shower. You tried pushing yourself off the door when Xinghui forced you back against it. His body pressed against your own. Lips brushing against the tip of your ear.

“You want me to stay with you forever, yea?” He whispered.

“Yes…”

Hands slowly reached underneath your shirt. His hands felt hot against your skin. Gripping possessively at your body.

“Then I’ll need to have access to you.”

“Access?”

“Yes.” He shifted his hips. The drag of his cock against your sensitive walls earned a small gasp from you. “I’ll continue being your friend…. And you’ll let me fuck you whenever I want. Can you handle that?”

You glanced back at him. Eyes wide.

A smile formed on your lips.

“Yea, I can handle it.”

Xinghui was always told by others that you had a weird obsession over him. He didn’t see it. At least it didn’t really bother him back then. It didn’t seem serious. You just didn’t have any other friends and well neither did he really. None of them compared to you.

He had fallen for you but he knew deep down you didn’t feel the same.

But he was over it that night. He couldn’t take it anymore and just kissed you. When he pulled away he didn’t expect the look you had given him. One completely devoid of any emotion.

Just… blank.

Like you couldn’t even comprehend what he had just done. Like he genuinely ruined you. He hadn’t realized just how attached you were to him as a friend.

It angered him.

When it really should’ve worried him that you were this devoted to him. In a messed up way he wished your devotion was out of love. Not friendship.

He tried pushing you away. Even went as far as to take your virginity, believing you’d snap and kick him out. But you didn’t. You just… pretended everything was fine.

And in a way he tried to do the same but when you had lied to your mother he snapped. When presented with the reality that you were genuinely not okay. That your friendship with him had seemed to mess with your psyche—he should’ve nipped it in the bud. Should’ve called your mom and insist she take you to therapy… something.

He was happy to keep you as his.

With time he could always get you to fall in love with him.

You both only wanted the other even if the way you wanted each other wasn’t equal.

It was only you and him.

And it was going to stay that way.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @tomoeroi @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @love-kha1 @star-3214 @mooncarvers-world @cherry-blossoms-187 @secretivemessenger @yuzuukix @bensontrechic @anchoredphoenix @ning1e @axetivev @izaarcc @intergalacticmusicmaster @webwanderer @nootnootpinguuu @punnylilac @stickymarco @winter-world @xiaomooyu @nuiliunderscore @blahajsworld @lalalalauren-remix @ilocuras24 @constrellar @pawney @kyotazen @anubisvoid2

[coffinvows]

a lil on my process for illustrations !

sketch with idea of values -> lineart -> greyscale -> color overlay on top of -> linear light overlay with desired color pallet -> render -> render and bullshit around -> render & mess with gradient maps and color match setting/ texture overlay & done

[fawnindawn]

love sorrow.

summary: when midnight marks the second year anniversary since damian's death, you make one desperate wish in the midst of your grief before falling asleep. when you wake, you find damian waiting in the apartment—as if he never left.

pairing: damian wayne x reader

content/warnings: angst, hurt-comfort, grief and loss, mentions of previous death, emotional reunion, yearning

Grief is a companion fond of making you dream.

"Beloved."

Damian stands before you in the kitchen, in his most-worn sweater, the one you swore you stuffed in the back of your shared closet when it had lost his scent.

The scent of toast, your favourite kind slathered with jam, lingers in the air and the familiarity of this sight—of him awake at an earlier hour to prepare you a simple breakfast, feels like a faraway dream.

You're struck by his voice, the tone and cadence your memory never managed to capture. You had to be dreaming still. Even when the edges of him are so life-like, not fuzzy like you're used to when you reach for the figment of him in your sleep.

He can't be standing in your kitchen, the one you used to share with him two years ago, because he is dead. Your Damian is dead.

You don't move, not immediately. You watch life breathe in and out of his chest, and feel the long, dragged seconds stretch between the distance, the pads of your fingers pressing into the cold slab of the counter, frozen in place.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t corner you, or raise some pointed remark on your distance. He only waits, as if that’s everything he’s willing to do. Damian has never been good at being patient, but in the wake of his appearance, it’s all he seems to be doing.

You're afraid. To speak, make a sound or move that could shatter the perfect image. You expect to turn your head just slightly off-angle, and find yourself in your sheets once more, and the life-like version of him will be gone. The ache of his absence still clung to you, even more so at the sight of him, like a sore wound you can't resist running over.

Your stomach grumbles lowly at the scent of breakfast, empty from a near sleepless night and a skipped dinner. At that, he finally shifts his gaze, and you find your breath stolen from the way that striking, unwavering green pierces through you.

“You’re starving.”

The prospect of a dream falls away, and reality strikes you hard when the stature of him remains, words falling out his mouth—something your dreams have never achieved. You don’t listen, coming up to him like a storm—hands trembling as you raise them to slowly, tenderly cup his face.

He lets you, unmoving as his gaze sinks deep into yours. Your fingers trace over his cheekbones, where that scar should be. The last you had saw of him, unmoving in the hospital—when the mere sight had rendered you immobile, shaking uncontrollably till someone had to drag you out the room. Your hands trail down his jawline, over his neck—your touch trembling over his unharmed skin. When your hand dips to where his heart should be, he captures your hand and guides it back to his face, fingers laying over yours as he presses it against his cheek, soaking in your warmth.

His own skin is barren of its expected, scorching warmth—and his lashes flutter once before his eyes fall shut, mesmerised.

"Damian." You gasp softly.

He shakes his head faintly, almost in warning not to question further. His gaze opens, and it pours over you openly, hungrily.

"Are you real?" Your whisper comes out as a broken plea, head tilting as you look at him. There are no inconsistencies, even the faint scar where a blade had passed through his palm when he was but a boy, the same raised skin you used to press your lips over in the solemnity of the night, wishing he never experienced a pain like that again.

An undercurrent ripples below his steady gaze, conveying an answer you can't uncover. "I am here, beloved."

"How?" Your voice tremors, teetering madness.

“You called.”

Your brows furrow together, the vagueness of his statement twisting your thoughts into a whirlwind. “No.. I called for you every single day. Since you've been gone.”

His expression fractures in your admission, that undercurrent in the dark green, sweeping you with its darkened shadows. You can’t read it. Not fully, failing to truly understand the depth of his gaze that reminds you that this isn’t a dream or a recreation of any normal morning from before. Damian has always looked at you with want and devotion, yes, but it has never seemed almost inhumane.

Your burning questions still linger on the precipice, torn between relief and despair, when Damian closes in. His lips capture yours almost desperately, and you realise instantly in your grief that you had forgotten this side to him. Rare, and smothered by self-control—but existing regardless, is his intensity.

The sound of his name between your lips is lost, muffled by the way his free hand manoeuvres the back of your head to bring you impossibly closer to him. It’s real, it has to be, this push-and-pull as if he can’t decide whether he could ever get enough of the taste of you.

You have held yourself together for two years—but you’re close to falling apart in the scent of him, so overwhelmingly home, something you’ve been trying to capture through his cologne bottles, his shirts—but nothing compares to the real thing.

He doesn’t fare much better, lost of all his composure as he consumes you. It’s devotion, the way he holds you like you’re the only anchor keeping him tethered to reality. “I am here.” His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, tremoring. “I’m home.”

"We need to tell your family." It's the first logical thought that's formed since you lost strength in your legs, landing on the tiles with your hand still grasped in his, knees pressing against one another. "I should be calling Dick."

His lips press together, something manic crossing his gaze but you don’t see it—too wrapped up in the novelty of a miracle that shouldn't exist. You needed to hear it, have it confirmed for you to your own face— that you weren’t the only one who sees Damian. Your steps quicken towards the entrance, hands reaching for your coat that has your phone right by the front door—tossed on the ground after stumbling home the night before.

Damian grabs you by the wrist right as your fingers brushed the fabric, tugging you back. Your widened gaze meets his own fervent expression. "Damian?"

"I can’t predict—” His hold falters, softening in its clutch. “—what happens when you walk through that door."

Your brows furrow, letting him pull you gently back towards him. Your free hand comes up to press gently against his cheek, caressing once. "What do you mean?"

His jaw clenches, a rare tension seizing his features. Or rather, one you didn't recognise on him at all. Fear.

"Earlier, I had tried the door." He explains slowly, as if the words pained him. "I had reached for the lock—and something changed. I wasn't here, or anywhere. It was silent and I didn't truly exist, not till I found myself back in the kitchen."

Your mouth dries at his words, lips parting with the low thud of anxious dread gnawing away at your gut. You had been so relieved, you hadn't even begun to name all the possibilities of this miracle having a short-end you haven't seen coming.

"Oh." You mutter, fingers fumbling loosely in the air as your hand drops to your side. "Okay. That's—"

Scary. So fucking terrifying that you can't even voice it out, the thought that he could just disappear as quickly as he reappeared back into your life.

"Maybe we can try?" Your voice lacks the confidence of someone who's willing to put the possibility of never seeing the only person she's ever loved again on the line. "If I go with you this time, it might—"

Might work. There is nothing you detest more than the what-ifs that overpower the old, a bitter habit that's sprung to life now that it has new fears to feed on.

He nods briskly at the suggestion, but the tension in his jaw doesn't fade. "Listen to me. If—"

"Damian, if what you're about to say is anything to do with disappearing or leaving—you're not allowed to say it." You cut him off.

His lips clamp together, gaze averting to the door. "I only aim for us both to be prepared."

Unlike last time. The insinuation lands coldly against your exposed skin, and you immediately move to tug the coat on to rid yourself of the forming goosebumps. You didn't want to be reminded of that first lonely night in the apartment, when the news hadn't yet settled in—and you were surrounded by bedsheets that were filled with his scent.

Call it human desperation, needing to believe in only the good outcomes—but you refuse to think further than the events that have occurred in the past twenty minutes. Damian is back, that is all that matters. The rest, you'll both figure it out together.

His hands immediately come up to the sleeves, helping you to put the coat on. The simple action renders you breathless, the way he was equipped to you like a shadow, tuning himself back into step with your own movements. You had forgotten that feeling, of puzzles pieces fitting perfectly together that it made life easy.

"I'm more than prepared." Your reassurance for him, or yourself—you’re not sure which bears more comfort. "Come on, Dami." The nickname rolls off like a soothing mantra, one normalcy laced within all the abnormality of the situation, of his presence lingering near your side like a shadow. "You better prepare yourself. You're about to experience intense familial affection."

It's easier to pretend, that anything other than a happy family reunion was bound to happen, to seal in the fact that he's really here. That's all your mind is leading towards, this impossibility existing on the morning of what should've been your second year anniversary.

His lips finally twitch, a soft smile gracing his lips as he takes your hand. It's warmer now, as if life was slowly bleeding back into him. It reassures you immensely, and your fingers tighten into a reassuring squeeze around his.

"How have—" He falters, grip tightening unintentionally over your fingers. "—they been?"

"It’s not been easy." You answer truthfully. "Bruce is taking it the hardest, his habit of burying himself in work has worsened. He needs you to snap him out of it the most, I think. Dick—he's trying to keep everyone together, but I worry for him even if he keeps pretending he's fine."

Your fingers twist the lock, opening the door. His hand still remains firmly in your grasp, and your eyes widen, gaze twisting to him in hope. "Still here." You murmur, waving your interlocked fingers with yours in his gaze.

You see it too, the faint relief that flickers in his expression. That's the very last thing you see.

The moment you take one step out the door into the threshold of the hallway, your raised hand comes up bare. The space where Damian used to occupy—is now empty.

"I swear he was here." You plead, watching as Dick paces around the apartment. "Damian was right here, and he was talking to me—and we were coming to see you."

He runs a hand over his locks, and you can tell he doesn't believe you, as much as he is trying to genuinely listen. You know it sounds cruel, going on about how his deceased baby brother is alive and well. That it makes you sound insane, overcome with grief enough to hallucinate Damian's existence—but you know that he was really here.

You aren't hallucinating, even if you had to push down any arising doubt as Dick finally stops in his tracks, turning to face you.

He looks exhausted. Packed with cases, wrinkled shirt haphazardly put on, bags under his eyes. Still charmingly Dick, but drained of the spark that used to brighten his gaze.

He calls out your name, and you hear it immediately. His deflection, his concern. You shake your head, but he raises a hand.

"You—" He swallows, and you see him assessing the right way to deliver his words. "—have been through a lot. I understand, I really do."

"Dick." Your voice comes out as a plea.

"But if you've been seeing Damian." He goes on. "I think it's time we find someone. For you to talk to."

He thinks you've gone crazy.

"Dick, I'm not crazy." You plead. "Or grieving. Damian was right here, I was telling him about you and Bruce. He made me toast."

His gaze switches to the uneaten plate, and softens into what could only be pity. You have to swallow back the bitter taste at the sight of it.

"It's your anniversary, right?" He asks.

You stiffen, before giving him a bare nod.

"I should've called." He sighs, placing the blame on himself. "I had remembered it being around this week, but work's just been so busy and—I'm sorry. I know it must've been difficult to go through this day alone."

"Please, Dick." You stand up from the couch, walking over to where he stood. "You have to believe me."

His expression tightens, a sigh leaving his lips. "I can't."

"Why?" You plead.

"Because if I do, I would've lost him twice." He admits honestly, a rare fracture of truth beneath his usual composure. "I can't let myself think that, because I have people who need me to be here, to be grounded."

You flinch, as if he struck you. His expression immediately crumbles in regret, but he doesn't take back his words. His lips part in an effort to try and smooth out the mess laid out in front of him, when his phone rings.

He curses inaudibly, tugging at his pockets to take out his phone. His gaze falls to the contact name, and his lashes narrow. He looks to you, an apology already splurging out of his lips. "I'm sorry, I really have to go. It's an emergency—but I will come visit right after."

You shake your head. There isn't a point if you didn’t have proof, and if he wasn't going to believe you, it'd do you both better if you didn’t dig into the wound so carelessly. "It's fine." Your throat squeezes tight on itself, making it hard to form your words coherently. "I'm sorry I called you all the way here, I know you've been busy."

"Hey." He calls out to you reassuringly, even as his ringtone vibrates lowly between the two of you. "I'm always here if you need me, you got that? Being busy doesn't mean I can't make time for you if you need a listening ear."

You nod stiffly, as convincingly as you could. "You should go, Dick. City needs you."

He stares at you, concern flooding his gaze once more. You smile weakly at him, pushing at his shoulder towards the door. "Go." You reassure him. "I'll text you if I need anything, okay?"

He nods once, lips pulling downward in consideration before his phone starts ringing again at a louder volume. He lets out a low sigh, hand coming up to squeeze yours over his shoulder in a comforting manner. "Anything, alright?" He murmurs.

You give him the barest nod, watching as he walked out the door, closing it behind him. The moment the door clicks shut, you find yourself on the kitchen floor.

Your sobs rack your body violently, your palms covering your mouth as you let it out. You don't know how long you spend, keeling over yourself as you rock back and forth, tears streaming down your cheeks before you eventually found yourself laying on the cool tiles, the only sensation that registers to your body.

You don't know how many minutes you spent going over the words shared between you and the Damian you swore was right in front of you, the scent of toast still lingering in the air before your eyes finally fall shut, body shutting down from exhaustion.

When you wake, you find yourself tucked in your sheets. You vaguely remember laying on the kitchen floor, not even having the energy required to drag yourself to your bedroom. The room is dark, which means the entire day has passed. Did Dick—or someone else come in through the door and carry you onto the bed?

You don't think you locked the door, but you don't trust in your memory to recall any recurring events in a faithful manner. Your gaze shifts from the window where the glow of the street lamp illuminates a warm tint over the streets, before your neck cranes to your right.

A shadow sits at the corner of the bed, back facing you.

Your heart nearly drops to your feet. Your call doesn't dare sound hopeful, almost frightened. "Damian?"

His head shifts, and green eyes, haunted by shadows—meet yours.

"Are you my imagination?" You whisper. "Am I dreaming again because if I am, this is just—” Cruel.

He doesn't answer, lifting himself off the corner to sit beside you instead. Slowly, his hand takes yours—and there it is again, that fading ebb-and-flow of warmth between his fingers.

"Talk to me." You say numbly. "Or I'll really think I'm going insane."

"I don't know—" His voice fills your ears, and the relief is almost sickening. "—how to fix this. Or make it easier to bear. I am only worsening your pain."

Your lip trembles, and you bite at it to keep something, anything from flooding out. "Do you know what day it is today?" You murmur, exhaustion plaguing your voice.

Damian doesn't even pause to think. "Our anniversary."

"Yeah." You smile wryly. "You missed it for the second time this year."

His fingers running over the beat of your pulse, freeze. The faintest whisper leaves his lips, and it is nothing short of broken. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You’ll make it up to me, won’t you?" You swallow thickly, trying your best to keep it together. "I was going to take you to that Thai place we love down the street, after meeting your family. Thought it'd be a good welcome-back present of some sorts, y'know?"

He stays silent, but you spot the clench of his jaw, the thick lump forming at his throat.

"This is so sick." You laugh weakly, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. "What kind of reality is this?"

You hear the faint whisper of your name. His hand traces over your temple, brushing back the loosened strands. "I'm sorry." It comes out stronger this time, as if the vowels have finally found suit a place in his vocabulary.

"Stop apologising." You scold softly. "I want you here."

He understands your request immediately, scooting closer and falling into the sheets as his arms wrap around you. In the weight of his embrace, you finally let yourself fall apart a little, face buried into his chest and inhaling his comforting scent.

"Your heart.” You whisper, unable to sense the rhythmic beating you’re used to finding. “Where is it, Dami?”

“Where it’s always been.” He murmurs, arms pulling you impossibly closer.

There is a missing link, something you’re terrified of missing. He is real, as even your mind can’t conjure something as complex as the halftime beat of his thumb brushing against your lower back, or the way his fingers brush through the nape of your neck, finding your temple and resting over it with a soothing amount of pressure.

“You—” Your voice trembles, afraid to ask. “How is any of this possible?”

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly. “I only know that you called. I was finally able to answer.”

The rules settle quickly, the do’s and don’t’s of his existence. When you walk out the front door, he disappears, but not entirely. He merely reappears in the kitchen as he did the morning you found him, time operating as a frozen capsule within the walls of your apartment, with your current present tuned down to a low, buzzing hum—enough for his presence to stay. When you exit the apartment, it’s as if life comes flooding back in motion—roaring in its intensity that Damian simply vanishes. Not home, or anywhere. As reality intended.

You can’t have people enter the threshold of the apartment either, not without Damian completely disappearing from the rooms. Your only attempt had ended with Dick pleading with you to see a professional.

The conversation still lingers like a bitter aftertaste of stale coffee, when you let yourself imagine his exhausted, frantic expression when you searched the apartment upside-down in the hopes of letting him see his baby brother again.

You don’t call Dick over much after that, only the here-and-there messages that you've recovered and that you're doing better. You don’t mention Damian, and the texts tentatively recover into a semblance of the norm, his usual check-ups and quips before he disappears into his long list of responsibilities.

You adjust, creating something sacred out of the cruelty, and you make things work, to reduce the risks of his disappearance to only what was needed—for work, or quick supply runs that are now meant for two. You have to, because you’d rather have Damian with the shattered edges of reality falling in on you, than lose him forever.

Your head rests on his chest late in the night, updating him on the past twenty-four months of your life through your photo album while he watches you, trying to bring some of the outside world in for him. That’s one strange loophole, that so long as it’s only you who witnesses it, he doesn’t fade from existence. You had tried face-timing Tim once, and felt the sudden emptiness of Damian’s weight beside you. The tears were difficult to explain, as was the way you frantically ended the call after, refusing to show how shattered you felt.

Loopholes were small miracles, ones you were trying to exploit in the hopes the world would carry on without punishing either of you for testing the waters. That eventually, you’d find a way to right the mess.

But you know it’s not enough. How could it be? When paranoia runs so rampant, or the quiet lingers too long when you’re in a different room, and you can’t stop yourself from checking—from slamming yourself into the door to catch him staring at you, as if he expected your anxious movement minutes before.

Damian is nothing but a master at concealing his own doubts, from letting his frustrations plague your own wearing strength. It does not change the fact that he is still human. You find him mostly at your desk when he assumes you've finally fallen asleep, pen in hand with his hand running through his thick locks, growing out at the edges from not having been cut for weeks. You never see what he’s writing—not before he hears your quiet footsteps and gently folds the paper away.

He would reassure you silently, a warm, gentle touch over your face, cupping them in his hands and pressing soft kisses over your skin to replace your worries. He’d whisper ‘I’m real’ over and over again till you’re sure even your imagination couldn’t conjure the trace of his fingers down your lower back, the way his gaze softens when you finally let yourself fall into his embrace.

You don’t ask unless he’s willing to speak of it, because Damian in his own way is coping with this fractured reality, where you are only able to have each other in the confined walls of your home, without him being able to truly live in this world. You know it takes a toll on him, you’re just waiting for him to realise he doesn’t have to remain strong for the both of you.

You let him have the peace of doing what he feels he must, scribbling away in urgency into the paper, because for as much as Damian has lost normalcy in his life, you could only give him whatever he was able to still grasp.

“Hey, you! It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other!” Steph exclaims, pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, Steph.” You huff at the impact, a warm smile spreading across your lips.

“Where have you been?” She continues, pulling back to analyse your face with a scrutinising expression. “Woah—actually, you look great. Have you been skipping less dinners?”

Your lips part automatically, almost wanting to say Damian’s taken up the cooking. It falls shut immediately, along with your expression. Your voice is tender, testing your words carefully. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good. I’m obliged as the wiser one to have nagging privileges since Dick isn’t here—no matter how busy life gets, you can’t skip what makes life worth living.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” You raise a brow.

“That too.” She grins. “But I’m really glad to see you. It’s been ages.”

Your heart tremors with guilt. Ever since Damian reappeared back in your life, you’ve been putting off so much. Life outside had begun to feel like an intrusion, a compulsory step before you made it home to where the miracle sparked, suspended in time. Even now, you’re terrified the one night you let your guard down, you might come back to an empty apartment. Where you’ll fall asleep and he won’t be there at the corner of the bed, waiting for you to bid him closer and being dragged into his embrace.

“It’s really good to see you.” Your voice softens, taking in the sight of her blond locks, her purple sweater, and the underlying relief in her expression.

Her smile brightens and her arm wraps around your shoulder, dragging you along. “Come on, I’ve got this new place I want to check out. Heard the owner’s a huge fan of Spoiler.”

“You’re not going to bargain deals with your merchandise, are you?”

She hums a sweet tune, head facing forward.

“Steph.” You snort.

“What—it’s a good strategy.” She shrugs. “Tell me it’s not genius.”

“It’s definitely classic you.”

“Yeah, classic me is a genius, same diff.” She grins, steps rushing slightly whenever she gets excited, particularly when it comes to food. The door bell jingles when you both step into the small bistro, the scent of honey and sugared powder filling your nose.

You can imagine Damian’s nose wrinkling at the overly sweet scent, but the thought doesn’t have time to stick before Steph’s already pulling you over to the corner seating, with a perfect view of Wayne Tower in the distance. Your gaze flickers to the tower, before drawing it back to Steph who’s looking over the menu.

“Damian would hate this place.” She says suddenly.

The tilt of your lip freezes, and she casts you a knowing look. “You thought it.” Steph murmurs, placing the menu down. “I know that look.”

Your lips part, mouth dry. “We don’t have to, Steph.”

“No, it’s okay. I don't want you feeling like it's a no-go zone with me.” She smiles gently. There’s that part of her you never stopped admiring, her bravery to speak for what others never dared to see. “I do actually miss making fun of him.”

He misses you too, you want to say. He misses you all.

“Sometimes, I wish he left something for us.” Steph murmurs, her smile lessening into something honest. “He was loud with his actions, and he could never resist an insult but—it just feels like I have nothing much to remind myself of him.”

You pause, her suggestion seeping into your bones. Your gaze widens imperceptibly, but she doesn’t notice.

“There’s Titus, of course.” She jokes wryly. “That beast always tackles me whenever I visit the manor. Guess I know where he got his manners from.”

You’re half-tuning out, because that could be it. Damian could write something so personal to each of them—so they’d at least he know he exists somehow. In this world.

“You’re right, Steph.” You mutter, lost in thought.

“Of course I am. Have you seen Titus recently?” She snorts. “Weighs a truck if he jumps you from the back.”

You shake your head, a fond smile tilting your lips upward. Maybe finally, you have a chance through this loophole, a way to bridge the unseen and the present. You may have a way to bring him back—past the walls of your home.

The nature of Damian is beginning to reform under his bones. The burn of his questions, how he goes silent when he formulates a plan, only without the hesitation he once held in the first few weeks on the prospect of breathing life into the abnormality of his existence.

“What was your wish?” Damian murmurs, gaze peering over you as you tumble into the sheets, feeling his arms slowly wrap around you, pulling you closer to his side of the bed. “I heard you call my name, but nothing of your request.”

“It was the same thing, always.” You recall faintly. “That I didn’t want to ever get used to coming home to our apartment alone. That I could see you again, and remember what life used to feel like with you.”

The specific details of your wish echo in your thoughts, your mind capturing onto the specificity of your words. You feel his mind register it faster than yours, but he doesn't form any accusations, not the way your own brain immediately pinpoints to.

“Is that why you can’t step a foot out of our home?” You realise, dread thumping patiently as it inches closer to guilt. “Why no one can see you except for me?”

He calls out your name, stopping you in your tracks. “It is not your fault.” He says before you’ve even voiced it out. “Do not carry on a burden that isn’t yours to bear.”

“What if—if that's the reason, would you stay?” You ask in the dark. “This doesn’t feel—”

Sustainable or fair or—horrible words pile on top of the other, right at the tip of your tongue. You feel the paranoia that traces along the edge of every conversation you have with him—like the waiting still hasn’t ended. That the world hasn’t quite let loose of its claws on either of you.

“For as long you want me, I’ll always be here.” Damian reassures you, hand lifting to press against your cheek, grounding you.

That’s impossible, you almost want to say. You’ll always want him.

“What about you?” You ask quietly. “You look tired, Dami.”

He stares at you for a beat, and you feel the gears in his mind turning. His under-eyes are clear of dark circles, his body shows no signs of exhaustion, although you know he hasn’t truly slept since his return. You feel it sometimes in your half-awake state, when he lets his guard down—and the trace of his fingers over your pulse.

“It is difficult to rest.” He answers honestly, a dry swallow in his throat. “It does not feel like living. There is no calling for survival, not when I am trapped in place. I am not whole—but the feeling fades when you are here.”

“I want to make things better for you.” You wish desperately.

His gaze softens at the edges. “You are.”

“I want to actually try something. I have an idea, I’m not sure if it’ll work or change anything.” You admit. “I know you’ve been writing every night. I was thinking—would you write letters? To your family? Steph mentioned that she’d like to have something to remember you by.”

His hold tightens over your shoulders, before forcing himself to relax.

“I just think—it might work.” You go on, fingers pressed softly against the expanse of his chest, right where the fabric bunches over your grip—where his heartbeat should be. “If they believe it too, I don’t know—it sounds silly.”

"Beloved.” He calls, his expression twisting in consideration. “I’ve… already written letters.”

Your lips part in astonishment. Has that been what he’s been doing this entire time? “Leave it to you to already have a plan.” You tease softly.

His lips quirk slightly, but there’s still that lingering solemnity in his gaze that’s never fully lifted. “I’ve written letters for you too.”

Your brows furrow. “Why—”

Looking into his eyes, you spot the knowing—the underlying preparation of a man not truly believing the cards are in his favour.

“No.” Pushing yourself away from the sheets, out of his embrace—you stare at him wordlessly, that familiar pounding beginning in your chest.

“Tell me you haven’t been writing goodbye letters, Damian.” You plead.

He only watches you, choosing to remain silent because—he could never lie to you. Not without you catching it in the twinge of his expression, the purse of his lips.

“No, I don’t want to think that—not when the impossible has already happened.” You shake your head. “I can’t handle a goodbye.”

“It is not a certainty.” He reminds you.

“I know but I have to believe.” Your voice breaks. “I believed every night, that somehow, you’d come back to me—and you did. So, I don’t want a goodbye, Damian.”

”I want you to live your life.” You admit in earnest. “Not to be sealed in here, waiting only for me. You are so great—you deserve the chance to be so much more. If there is even a possibility, I want you to fight—to get your life back.”

You are asking a difficult task, for Damian who doesn't put faith in what he can't predict without data or evidence. You see the argument, the calculation weighing in his mind but then he looks at you and—something in him gives. For all that he’s fought for, defying even the rules of the dead, half-whole in a world that once belonged to him as much as it does to you, he has never found the strength to say no to you.

“Alright.” He answers softly. “I will try.”

He has broken his promise only once in your entire lifetime of knowing each other, but tonight, you place your trust in him—that he’d keep this one.

The letters are a brilliant plan. It’s the most hopeful you’ve felt in weeks. Damian waits by the door, a safe two feet away from the threshold where he had last vanished through the hold of your fingers when you both attempted to cross.

“This will work.” You mutter, strapping on your boots.

Looking back to him, Damian’s already watching you, your favourite coat already over his forearm. He doesn’t make a comment, but when you lift your arms for him to put on the coat, as the sleeves loop through—he leans in and closes the distance.

He doesn’t loosen his hold, tugging you closer till you’re wrapped in his scent—and his lips crash into yours. It’s anything but soft, nothing withheld. It’s a promise—unspoken, and a Damian unraveled. Your free hand wraps instinctively around the nape of his neck, tugging softly at the dark waves that have grown past his usual desired length.

A low sound vibrates against his throat, the intensity of him burning through his skin. It is not a goodbye, you remind yourself, refusing to let anything wet prick at your eyes. You are going to fix this—and he was going to come home.

”I love you.” You gasp against his lips, mere seconds after he finally parts to let you have air.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, gaze focused over your features—before finally looking you straight in the eyes. “I am yours. Every part of me always.”

You swallow thickly. “Always.”

You want Damian. You want him in all the worst parts of him—the part of him that left and never came back, the part of him that immediately thought to make your favourite breakfast in the first instance of his return, the only person who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“I’ll be right back.” You promise, grip tightening over the letters.

His gaze flickers with want, unease—a multitude of emotions so vulnerably human, and you understand. You’re the only who will. He lets you take a step back, and you can feel it even when you turn—that he never takes his eyes off of you.

It’s a reassuring weight—of course, till the letters disappear from the grip of your fingers the moment you step out the door. Time splits on itself when your heart drops—gaze snapping to your empty hand, proof of his existence written tirelessly in the thick stack of letters gone without a trace. When you spin back around to your apartment, the sight of Damian behind you disappears with it.

He's gone.

You don't move. Not for a few minutes, staring into the empty space where he once occupied. The door remains open, the buzzing roar of life beyond the threshold numbed to your senses. Eventually, when reality hits you right below your ribs, you do what was only inevitable. You break.

Damian reappears an hour past midnight, one of the longest instances he’s ever gone missing from the apartment. One of the days you truly needed him, you spent alone waiting. He finds you crumpled on the kitchen floor, hands empty—gaze staring blankly into the wall. The wall that holds memories, picture frames of your life with him—and your eyes peer soullessly into the distance.

You faintly register the stir of tension in the air, but you’re tired. Itching faintly for something to happen, the clock ticking down in your mind rendered useless. Your last solution has failed.

Damian stands in your kitchen as he did the first time, when it had all seemed like a dream, and you have nothing to say.

Damian eventually speaks, and it is nothing you want to hear. “We must cease this.”

Your head cranes, looking at him with defeat. Still, you shake your head weakly. You spot that familiar fire, lit in his gaze when his jaw clenches at your stubbornness.

Of course you recognise it. That fire you faced before he had gone out that door two years ago. Your biggest regret had been letting him go, not fighting harder. It’s just that—you’re so exhausted. You need time to think, to replan, to not feel like you’re on the verge of puking because you’re so afraid and you can’t do anything about it.

“There is no denying this. Every instance I reappear, I see your grief—and I am reminded that I am the cause of your suffering.” He says, low and pained. “That I have failed you, and even now, I chain you.”

“Damian, stop.” You plead, trying to shut it out.

“It is the truth.” He states numbly. “You are not living. For as long as I remain, you’ll be chained to the memory, and I have to watch you lose yourself because I am not able to let you go.”

“I have failed you.” He repeats. “But I will not be the reason that you do not live. For as long as I remain here, never truly whole, neither will you.”

“Don’t you understand?” You snap. “I haven’t been whole! Not since the day you died. You leaving won’t change that. Our reality—it isn’t ideal, and it’s terrifying that every time I open that door, I fear I won’t ever see you again, but I’ve lived more now than I have in these past two years.”

“You are still hurting.” His narrowed gaze assesses the trembling of your body, the dullness in your eyes. “Tell me it is enough. Having me here—a fracture of who I used to be.”

Your lips part, and your heart tremors with a painful ache. “I don’t care.” Your voice breaks. “As long as I have you, the pain is nothing compared to not having you at all.”

“But I do.” He pleads. “I refuse to be your chain. The reason your life is reduced to this. You told me that I deserved to be something more. Have you not considered that I want the same for you?”

“What do you want me to do, Damian?” Your voice croaks, exhausted. “What do you propose we do?”

“I want you—” His expression tightens. “—to rescind your wish.”

“No.” Stumbling in your step as you try and fail to rise from the tiles, he’s in front of you in seconds.

You push weakly at his grip that steadies you, anger churning something bitter in your gut that he’s so willing to throw away his promise—the only one you have left for him to keep.

He calls your name, pleading—urgent. "I think this is the end."

"No." You shake your head adamantly, tears soaking your cheeks. "Please."

"I love you." He murmurs. "I love you, and I do not expect your forgiveness."

"What about always?" You break. "Please, I can't lose you again. I can't—I imagined this life with you, Damian. I can't have you again, and lose you—please. Don't go."

His composure shatters the second those words leave you, regret sweeping his entire expression. "I have failed you."

You don't want to hear this. You want him to stay, and for this stupid wish to last—and for the universe to answer your desperate cries to not take him away.

"I love you." Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you clench tightly as if it could prevent the striking of the clock taking him away. "I can't love anybody else, it's only ever been you."

"I love you." He whispers in devotion, voice raw. "I have only ever seen you. It was always you."

Was. As if he's already seen the inevitability of his going.

"Damian." Your voice is scattered, torn between misplaced rage and desperation—but none of it holds true. "You promised me—that you'd never break your promises. Why?"

Why did he go out on that mission? Why did he not heed your words on waiting for back-up, for someone to be by his side? Why did he leave you alone in this damned apartment, waiting for his return only to open the door to Dick's blank expression battered, where he had to watch you fall in on yourself.

"You should've listened to me." Your fists dig into his chest. "You should've stayed home, with me. Instead of that stupid mission—and leaving me alone. You idiot."

"I know." He murmurs, letting you take it out on him. Even now, he was accommodating you—taking in all your anger even when you didn't want to leave it at this.

You're picking a fight, because you didn't want this to end. Whenever you got in an argument with Damian, he'd refuse to leave it till it was solved. Somewhere in your logic twisted by grief, you wondered if even his determination for your forgiveness would outweigh the cruelty of your wish.

"Fight, damnit—Damian, fight." You cry out, tears forming a puddle onto his shirt. "Don't leave it at this."

"Beloved." He whispers, gazing at you with so much love, it leaves you hollow.

"I wrote letters." He whispers, memorising you with intent. "As many as I could."

You faintly register his words, somewhere beneath the numbness your body is undergoing to process the heavy, sinking chain dragging at your heart.

"I know it's not enough, it never will be." He mutters. "But I wrote them to keep you company. To scream at me, to hate me—everything. What I never got to say, nothing is amiss."

A low, mocking huff leaves his lips not long after his words. "You can burn them if it reminds you of my failures, or if you wish to be part of the memory of me when it only serves you pain. But—"

He swallows, fingers tightening around you. "If you wish to hear my voice, to have me by your side—I am there. In those letters, you'll have me, always. My last thoughts, my wishes—they're all of you. They've always been about you."

“No, this can’t end.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”

“It will end eventually.” His voice lowers, attempting to soothe the cutting truth of his words. “It is my only mercy that I can face you this time, before I go.”

”Why does it have to end?” You mutter into the dark. “Isn’t this enough?”

“It is more than I’ll ever deserve.” He confesses, pressing his lips softly to the crown of your head.

Your words are lost on your tongue, a horrible taste of grief rendering you immobile as you collapse fully into his touch. He holds you, that same pressure over your temple, fingers brushing over the nape of your neck.

“Tell me.” Your body succumbs before your mind, eyes closing shut. “Everything. From the start. I want to hear it all. Please.”

His fingers linger over your temple, before brushing back loose strands of hair to tuck behind your ear. You feel it then, finally, the low thump right where his heart should be. Then, he starts, and you hear the story of how the two of you met from his eyes. You let yourself fall into step with his memory, the last you’ll ever hear of it. In the knowing of a goodbye, you focus on the slight tremor in his voice, the tight grip of his hand—and how his faint heart was finally beating now that you’ve given it back.

You find the stack of letters in the morning, kept neatly in your drawer—all addressed to different names. Father. Mother. Brown. Drake. Grayson. Todd. Duke. Cassandra. The list went on. Your own stack is separated, in a thick bundle that must’ve began from the first time you caught him writing.

The world was impossibly cruel yet fair, his letters remaining despite the impossibility, the scent of him still coating the paper. He is gone, and the existence of him remains.

Life is heightened back to its usual roar, the faint chaos of the streets beyond the walls of your apartment playing as if nothing had ever changed. The quiet greets you like an old friend, and there is no shuffling of the sheets when you wake, no toast at the counter.

Your fingers grip at the first letter, trembling as you open the first. You hear his voice immediately—and nothing prepares you for it, as if he sealed himself within the pages. You feel the warmth of his touch, the low candor of his voice, reading it to you.

"To my beloved.”

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

damian taglist: @supercheesygarlicbread @bloomfaery @enmzgn @jxybirdiv @vanillakirstein @celestills @katzenia @chikenuggetrat @mrrayjay @arabellas-barbarella-swimsuit12 @amandjslpz @mossmydarling @batslilwhore @dclover567 @gojoswaterbottle @annabelleleefrench @neonsquad303 @strawberryfire17 @treebranch23 @vampiranne @tofudubicho @roszszs @vaderuby @revesephemeres @moon-cakei @manachiichan @caterppillar @hoshi-no-koinu @living-that-chronic-life @nxx-jordiepord @elysian-groves @pearly-pebble @fandom-fae @ninareads25 @grace-loves-to-read @jarofstarsxx @favorite-fan-fics @radheadphones @freakkay09 @mydeliciouscookies @fea-tastic @starr-jazz @yourclutched-pearls @bearhug120 @devilslittlehelper @izumi0708 @prettysweet02 @spideyskywalker @dontmindmeimjustchilling @outpostsworld @leovaldez0924 @jaydennicole @iloveyou3000morgan @fireriyu @melonsharkzzzz @littlemissparasocial @vallyoftheyardigans @skippytaee @sukuana @vimiti-x (to be added, check masterlist)

[niphiery]

━A24//iso. valorant texts >02<━

note. gulp.

tw. suggestive comments, hella innuendo, swearing.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

[blondwhxrewrites]

In Another Life.

Synopsis: What happens when you get stuck in another universe and are forced to find help from another version of your childhood best friend who you've also been in love with since childhood? Nothing good, apparently.

Pairing: Soft!Dark Clark Kent x Implied Audhd!Reader

TW: A whole lot of cringe, implied stalking, and somewhat of a kidnapping.

Word count: 15k

A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe I wrote this. Be prepared to cringe and don't take any of this seriously. Also, the ending is rushed but anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I also want to say thanks to everyone who beta read this! You are all amazing. I love you all so much <3

If you had to describe Lex Luthor in one word, it would be "bitch." A total bitch.

For example, the bitch decided to open a rift in the multiverse, tearing through the city and causing you to fall in. Now you were stuck in another universe with absolutely no idea how to get back home.

“Oh, you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Usually, the sounds of Metropolis's city comforted you— a familiar chorus of cars honking and people going about their days, all blissfully ignorant of the problems lying below. Oh, how you wished that were you. Instead, all the noise did was feed into the existential dread, and your anxiety grew with every step you took through the city.

All of it was hauntingly familiar. There went the corner store and—

oh.

The sign was different, and the whole building was painted a new color. Well, at least your favorite Chinese place was the same. So was the cafe you and Lois loved to visit.

And to your pleasant surprise, the apartment building was also still the same as you had left it years ago. It towered over you, like an ominous stronghold with no guarantee of return.

Irene, you hoped this wouldn't backfire horribly. I mean, it was Clark. Your sweet, adoring Clark.

How bad could it go? The worst he could do was refuse to help, right? Gosh.

This was a horrible idea.

————————————————————

“Look, I know all of this seems crazy but I promise it's not. Can I come in? Please?”

You probably looked insane standing in front of his apartment, pleading for his help. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted—practically a ghost town, but that was due to change, and you did not need any more people seeing you in the state you were in.

You tilted your head to look up at Clark, an uneasy feeling washing over you. The man in front of you was not your best friend, despite the uncanny resemblance he held to the man. He was nothing but a stranger who wore his face.

You gulped. Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as you thought it would be. You certainly hadn't thought it out properly, only knocked and prayed he would open the door.

Clark stood in the middle of his doorway, his body tipped forward slightly as his hand still gripped the doorknob. From the corner of your eye, you could see his knuckles slowly turning pale.

His gaze made you shiver. You weren't used to him looking at you as if you were a stranger. It felt wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

“Alright.” Exhaustion seeped through his voice, and guilt immediately bubbled up in your gut like acid as you took in his sleep-disheveled appearance. You must've woken him up.

He stepped back and pressed himself up against the tiny wall of his apartment, giving you just enough space to walk in without being crowded. You brushed past him, and the door closed with a soft ‘click’ behind you.

“Oh, wow, I haven't been here in forever.”

The walls, the decoration, even the welcome mat—all of it was the same, just as you remembered.

“Why is that?” You didn't have to look at him to see his confused expression. His voice said it all.

“You and Lois moved in together a few years ago.” You mindlessly shrugged as you struggled to kick off your shoes, stumbling around until both of them were finally off and kicked to the side.

A wave of emotions danced across his face, and you struggled to remain silent. You could unpack whatever that was later.

You wordlessly trudged down to the living room with Clark's much heavier footsteps following not far behind, making an immediate beeline for the couch.

You collapsed onto the piece of furniture with a breathless groan, snatching the nearest pillow and burying your face into it, letting out the loudest, highest-pitched scream your throat could manage. What a release.

Finally, you could relax.

A few feet away, Clark tilted his head as he fully took you in. He looked pensive. Not exactly lost in thought, but just thinking.

“Are you okay?” he questioned.

No, your life was a dumpster fire, but he didn't need to know that. At least not yet. “I’m a little frazzled. Mainly just exhausted.”

“Who are you?”

You turned your head to the side, your cheek being the unfortunate victim of being smashed against the pillow. “I am the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.” Or at least that's what Martha and Jonathan told everyone when they asked about you.

“That doesn't answer my question…?” He now stood next to the coffee table, so close that every time he shifted his leg would brush against the wood.

You sat up, eyes locking with him and hesitantly answered. “I'm your best friend.” You watched in slight embarrassment as his eyes widened and his mouth fell ajar.

“Okay.” He nodded, unsure. “Is there somebody that you can call?”

“Please, just trust me Clark.”

He nodded warily, seemingly content enough, which you appreciated because speaking felt like a chore.

Experimentally, he stepped forward. One step, then another, until he hovered just a few inches away from your upper half. You were almost half unconscious but completely used to the closeness that came with Clark. It never fazed you. Not anymore.

He studied you intensely as if you were a painting in a museum. It might've been your imagination, but it was almost as if he were admiring you.

“Get some rest,” he whispered softly. “We can talk later.”

————————————————————

Later meant that night on the couch while eating takeout. You explained everything to him: how you got there, your history with Clark, anything you could think of. You told him everything, which was a lot. You rambled for hours. It was just as releasing as that scream.

Somewhere along the line, you'd both changed into comfier clothes. He'd given you a familiar sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that dwarfed you—thank Irene for the existence of drawstrings—while he himself had changed into a simple shirt and sweatpants.

He looked sinfully attractive with his pants drawn low and his shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting his muscles.

While you looked like a raccoon who'd just emerged from a dumpster.

“So, do you think you can help me?” You set aside your empty box that used to hold fried rice. He'd ordered it from your favorite Chinese takeout place, although he hadn't known that when he got the food.

He lounged on the other side of the couch, fully relaxed as he sat back and devoured his own food. “Of course I'll help you.” His voice was muffled as he chewed ‌his food. He always had the bad habit of speaking with food in his mouth. Martha scolded him about it all the time.

“Good. We can start talking about plans of action tomorrow.” You beamed brightly, and he sent you a sad, pitiful excuse of a smile back. You could smell his emotional turmoil from a mile away.

“What about tonight?”

You appreciated the optimism, but, uh, no. Your brain could barely function. You were surprised that you hadn't shut down yet.

You shrugged and turned back to the TV. “We’re watching Star Wars—” Your words left no room for argument. "I want to see if anything changed in this universe.” You leaned back, content to snuggle up in the blanket you had stolen for yourself.

It wasn't up for debate.

He perked up at the mention of the franchise, and if he had a tail, you just knew it would be wagging vigorously. Just like every time someone brought up his special interest. “You like Star Wars?” Your heart panged at the sheer hope in which he spoke.

“Uh, duh.”

You almost wanted to be offended. How dare he question your love for Star Wars. Somebody smite him.

“Favorite character?” The question left him immediately, and your grin widened. It wasn't a challenge or a test, as some might assume, only the curiosity of a fellow fan.

“Ezra Bridger, but if you want a really specific answer, it's Hondo Ohnaka. I also love Ahsoka.”

"Oh, you watched the animated media too?” His entire demeanor brightened, and a smile spread across his face, a genuine smile, not the fake, painful one he had given you earlier. “Gosh, nobody ever knows what I'm talking about when I bring the animated stuff up!”

He leaned forward and grabbed the remote, and in his giddiness he struggled to turn it on, although he eventually successfully pressed the power button.

He turned to you. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“The Siege of Mandalore.”

“A New Hope it is!”

————————————————————

Sleeping in Clark's guest bedroom was nothing new to you—at one point in your life, you practically lived there. Neither was the sight of him barefoot and shirtless in the kitchen making himself breakfast.

You barely even blinked.

“Mornin’.” You grumbled, your voice still thick with exhaustion. You were never a morning person, unlike Clark, who woke up whenever the sun rose.

He jostled at your sudden appearance, which was ridiculous because he literally had super hearing. You snickered as he whipped around to face you, his face completely flushed red.

You brushed past him straight to where he stashed the cereal, and you grabbed yourself a bowl and poured yourself your breakfast. When you turned around, bowl in hand, you were surprised to see him still staring at you as if you'd grown another head.

“Do…do you know where everything is?”

You nodded slowly, eyeing him weirdly as you grabbed ‌a spoon. Can't a girl eat her breakfast in peace?

“Huh” he looked pleasantly surprised, which relieved the ever-loving shit out of you. “That's convenient.”

Breakfast was spent in silence. Not an awkward type of silence. A peaceful silence. The type that existed between two people who were content to simply exist together. He watched you the whole time you were eating. Not like a creepy stalker would, although now that you thought about it, maybe it was weird. Meh. It was too early in the morning for you to care.

The rest of the morning was spent showering and collecting your thoughts. It was the weekend, Saturday to be specific, so luckily he didn't have to work. It gave you plenty of time to come up with a plan to get you home.

The meeting took place during lunch. Clark sat on the couch while you paced back and forth in front of the TV.

“Okay, obviously the first thing we should do is find Lex. He's the one who fucked up the multiverse, so maybe he can unfuck it.”

Clark tensed the moment you mentioned the bald-headed demon, and his expression fell eerily blank. “Lex Luthor is dead.” Completely blank. No emotion whatsoever.

You paused in the middle of your pacing, your eyes growing wide at the information. Lex Luthor dead? Impossible. You hated to admit it, but the man would never go down without a fight, and unless Clark killed him—which you highly doubted—there wasn't much of a threat against him.

The journalistic urges instilled by years of hanging around Lois urged you to pry, but the haunted expression Clark wore forced you to let it go.

“What about the Justice Gang?” Visible relief washed over him, and he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“We can definitely speak to them. I can't exactly promise anything, though.”

“Batman…?”

He nodded his head. Oh, thank Irene. “Absolutely, although last time I spoke to him he seemed busy, so it might be awhile before he responds.”

Yeah, that made sense. In all the times you had met the man, he was always occupied with some sort of weird, over-the-top crime case that involved a highly mentally ill person who obviously needed therapy and some tender love and care.

You put your hands on your hips and fixed him with a determined expression. “So, what do we do today?”

He leveled you with the same look of indecisiveness he wore whenever he was trying to decide which fidget to steal from you.

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself lounging in the Justice Gang's building.

They were all the same as when you met them before, during times of urgency in which you and Lois would force yourselves into whatever dangerous situation to help; it was familiar. Comfortable.

You watched as Mr. Terrific tried to explain the science behind the multiverse theory to a totally confused Guy Gardner. They'd been going at it for at least the past five minutes.

It was as irritating to witness as it was amusing.

“If you would only listen—”

“Yeah, yeah." Guy waved him off with a scoff. “Different universes, multiversal collapse, all that fun, world-ending stuff.”

“Do you guys think you can help or not?” Clark interjected. His jaw ticked every time they ignored him in favor of their conversation, and from the corner of your eye you saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. He’d shed his normal clothes for his suit. A reminder of his parents. With its vibrant colors, you remembered watching Martha sew it together when you were younger. The look on Clark’s face when she gifted it to him had been everything. He wore the suit with pride ever since.

You held back the urge to snort at his obvious annoyance. Clark was a saint, but even he had his limits. Although this Clark seemed much more privy to the emotion. Interesting.

“How much time do you think it will take?” You finally questioned, and for a second, you swore you heard the distant sound of doom approaching. Weird.

“Days, weeks, months. I don't know. It could take years for all we know. Without Luthor—” Clark's expression fell. “—and his technology or notes…” You could practically see the cogs turning in Mr. Terrific's head.

You glanced up at Clark, and he returned the unsure look you gave him. Out of habit, you reached out and grabbed his hand. He tensed. Instantly you panicked, and your hand retreated, but his tightened around yours. He didn't let you go. You turned your cheek, hiding the small smile that threatened to show through.

“So it's a waiting game,” Guy supplied, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at the frankly obnoxious blond man. His haircut was a crime against humanity.

Kendra, Hawk-girl, rolled her eyes at his comment, and you internally thanked her for doing what you didn't have the guts to do. “Yeah, I think we got that.”

You tuned out their bickering and assumed Clark had done the same.

It was a start, at least. Definitely better than nothing.

Before you left, they'd offered to help you set up a place to stay. The offer was tempting, but you had already agreed to stay with Clark.

Besides, you wouldn't be here for that long, right?

————————————————————

“Are you sure about this? I can always just wear the clothes you gave me.” You stood in front of the Metropolis City mall, shifting your weight from one leg to another as your mind raced. You didn't mind wearing Lois' clothes. They fit you just fine and gave you a sense of comfort. Like she was there, holding you.

“You deserve your own clothes,“ he insisted next to you, and while the sentiment warmed your heart—your anxiety and sensory issues said no.

Clothes were always…difficult for you. Not because you didn't have any fashion sense, but because the fabric could be so uncomfortable. Jeans, shirts, everything. All of it sucked. Especially those annoying tags that always dug into your skin.

“Fine,” you reluctantly conceded with a sigh. “Three hours, and then we leave.”

Triumphant, he walked up to the entrance, and you followed behind. Much to your relief, the mall was mostly deserted, which was expected, given that it was a Monday afternoon. You guessed that was why he insisted you two shopped today.

————————————————————

“How can you even afford all of this?”

Your eyes darted to the array of bags in his arms, where his biceps flexed with each movement. You forced yourself to look away.

The past two hours had been spent running around, going into each store, and trying on any item Clark told you to at least give a chance. You couldn't deny him. Even the alternate version of him had you wrapped around his pinky finger, and it hadn't even been a week yet!

“I have my ways,” he shrugged, and your eyes narrowed. Bruce was definitely involved in whatever that was. You felt it in your nuggets. You were sure they found each other in every universe. Soulmates in every sense of the word.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as he pulled you toward the next store on his lineup.

“You cannot be serious,” you deadpanned, staring at the dress Clark held up. It looked ridiculous. Too frilly and puffy, and the fabric looked like it would itch.

He pouted, his eyes glinting with puppy-like innocence. “Please…?”

You tried.

You tried so hard not to cave, and yet you still ended up in the dressing room putting on the dress while Clark patiently waited outside.

To your surprise, the dress was comfortable. It was definitely not your type of outfit, but wearing it made you feel pretty, and that's all that mattered. For once, you stared into the mirror and felt like a princess stared back at you.

You walked out, and immediately all of your confidence drained. You felt his gaze rove across your features, and you squirmed in place, not noticing the sparkle in his eyes or the flush of his cheeks.

“We’re getting it.” He declared, leaving no room for you to argue. You flushed at his unjust determination and hurriedly scurried back to your stall. You wiggled out of the dress and back into your own clothes, and when you came back out, Clark immediately snatched the dress from your arms. He marched up to the front register, smiling widely at the lady behind it as he purchased the dress. He didn’t even glance at the price-tag.

You see, this was why you stopped shopping with him in your universe. He loved wasting his money on you and Lois.

“Can we leave now? We've gotten more than enough clothes for me.” You glanced at the nearest clock you could find. Almost three hours. Soon you would be free.

He glanced at the same clock, his brow pinching in thought. “Wanna grab lunch and then head out?”

————————————————————

“Gosh, I missed this place.”

You bit into your burger, not caring that you were being a total hypocrite by speaking while chewing in front of him. You groaned and leaned back, struck by the deliciousness that flooded your taste-buds.

Clark chuckled as he watched you from the opposite side of the booth. “So this place closed down in your universe. Why?"

His confusion said it all. This place, this beautiful, beautiful place, deserved so much more than what it had been given in your universe. You almost cried when you saw it was still open here.

“Apparently they weren't getting enough customers. Which is bullshit because the food is amazing. It's so nice to know that this place is getting the appreciation it deserves here.”

You ate the rest of your meal in peace, sighing happily as you rubbed your now-full stomach.

“So I'd say this was a successful mission.” Clark finally said after finishing his last bite of burger, and you nodded half-heartedly, totally not distracted by the hypnotizing movement of his lips.

You wondered what they felt like—if they would be soft or chapped, how they would feel against your skin.

He said your name.

You snapped out of your trance, and your whole body warmed as fresh embarrassment rolled off you in waves. “Sorry…just got distracted for a sec," you mumbled. Nevermind how it was a lie.

“Can we go home now?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Your heart warmed at the familiar nickname, and you wondered how he would feel if he knew your version of him called you the same. Wait, that would be awkward. Definitely not.

You rose from the table and leaned over, stacking all the plates at the edge. You would hate it if the server had to spend extra time cleaning up your mess. You weren't a snob, and it was the polite thing to do.

"Do you always do that?" He asked, and he gestured to the table. You saw the way he eyed your work—all the plates stacked upon each other like a community of little towers. It was neat. Your brain liked it

"Of course! It's polite.”

He breathed out a light puff of laughter. “You really did grow up with me, didn't you?”

Your brow raised, and you shrugged. Weird, but okay. "Of course I did; did you think I was lying to you?"

Panic overwhelmed you at the thought, and as you walked out into the parking lot, your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

As if he could hear your inner turmoil, Clark paused and turned to you. His hands landed on your shoulders, and he turned you to face him with a serious expression, one that radiated comfort.

"I was joking." He gently assured.

"Clark, I'm autistic. I don't get sarcasm."

He paused.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

You gawked at him, and his eyes widened. He backpedaled immediately. "Not that you act a certain way or anything; it's just ma and pa were pretty sure I'm like the Kryptonian version of being on the spectrum—”

"You definitely are."

He stilled and his face fell hilariously blank. Oh, wow. No hesitation. He sighed, and you held back the urge to snort, which earned you a look from him.

“Let’s just go home." His shoulders slumped. He even sounded defeated. The poor baby.

Yeah, maybe you could get used to this universe.

————————————————————

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I'm having floor time.”

Clark stared down at your figure lying flat on your back in the middle of his living room. He wound up to ask but paused before any words could leave his mouth.

“I missed this floor,“ you sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The nostalgia was killing you. So many memories, some sweet and others bitter. It brought out feelings you buried years ago. “I missed this apartment.”

He didn't respond. You couldn't blame him.

A moment passed.

“So what you're saying is that my floor is comfortable?” He sounded awfully proud of himself, like having a comfortable floor was a proud achievement.

“Yes, now join meee” you raised your hands toward the sky and gestured for him to join, even resorting to using grabby hands. He chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat. His laugh was otherworldly, but then again, so was the rest of him. Alien. Duh.

You heard him approaching, and he settled down next to you. A peaceful silence fell between you and every few moments his finger twitched—like he was trying to hold himself back, but from what?

“So, you come here often?” You turned your head to the side, offering him a cheeky smile.

“Only when I'm desperate.” Ah. A man of sensibility. You could work with that.

“Fair. As for me, I need at least five minutes of floor time each day. It's enriching.”

Usually by now people would've judged you, but Clark simply nodded along as if you were the most natural thing in the universe.

“Does he ever join you during floor time?”

The question came as a surprise. Although it really shouldn't have. Of course he would want to know about another version of himself. If you had existed in this universe, you would want to know everything about her too, after all.

“Yes, he does, and usually Lois joins us as well. We all spend floor time together.” You enjoyed floor time. It was a pivotal part of your routine. “It’s enriching.”

“Huh” He turned his attention to the ceiling, staring at it while the cogs in his head worked. “You're close with Lois too?”

“Of course. When you, er, he started dating Lois, I kind of pulled away. I never wanted her to think I was trying to steal you or anything. So I hung out with her instead and me and her just clicked, I guess.”

“That's nice.”

“Yeah. He got jealous, though, so he started joining us, and now we all just hang out together. Like three peas in a pod,” you shrugged.

“You all seem close.” He noted.

That's because you were. You could confidently say Lois and Clark were your best friends. They were your people.

“They're like my stars. They light up my life.”

You looked up at the ceiling, and Clark took the time to look at you. Truly, look at you. Like you were once again a painting in a museum—meant to be admired.

“You know, I like this. I think I'll join you from now on.”

Yes. Another one converted. Soon floor time would be a staple in every household.

————————————————————

Lex Luthor was dead.

No article explained it. None. Absolute zilch. Strange couldn't even describe it.

A man like Lex didn't just keel over and die. The man was a genius, as much as you hated to admit it. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and whenever you tried to ask Clark about it, he just shut down. It made no sense.

Then came the other blaring question.

Where were Ma and Pa? No pictures. No phone calls. Like Lois, they seemed to have completely disappeared from Clark's life. And every time you brought them up, he retreated into himself. It gave you a queasy feeling.

‘Small town mourns the passing of a couple.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were a staple to the heart of the Smallville community. Their sudden passing, the cause of death still unknown, truly shook the small community. They live on in their son, Clark Kent, and the town continues to honor them.’

Small, with barely any information. That's all you got. Just a single article that barely even skimmed over their deaths. Irene, it wasn’t even an article! Just a section from the local newspaper.

They were gone.

Martha and Jonathan Kent were gone.

You felt sick to your stomach. Martha and Jonathon, they were your family too. They were the ones who taught you how to tie your shoes and didn't judge when it took you a few years longer to learn. Your childhood was literally spent having dinner at their house and sleeping over.

Jonathan taught you how to drive and was the one to pick you up in the middle of the night after you got drunk for the first time. He taught you the gentleness of love. Showed you the kindness of humanity.

Martha taught you how to do your makeup and milk a cow. She lifted you up and showed you how to be strong. Without her, you would never have learned to appreciate life. To see how beautiful it was in each and every thing.

Clark's door was cracked open—a free invitation. Last time you checked, he’d been cleaning, and he was just about to finish making his bed when you rushed in.

He turned to you, and his expression twisted into one of concern as he threw down his pillow and stepped forward.

“Are you okay?”

“They’re gone.” You felt hollow speaking the words. Like saying it out loud meant finality. That they were really, truly gone.

He tensed.

“Clark…I'm…” you were at a loss for words. How did you comfort someone who lost what you still had? Both of them were alive in your universe. Completely healthy and alive.

You had seen Clark sad before, had witnessed him break down and cry, and endured all the times he lost control and accidentally broke something. You watched him get beaten up and defeated. Seen the devastation he felt whenever a civilian died. But you had never seen this before.

“You found out, huh?” He fought hard to keep his voice from wavering.‌ He turned his cheek, jaw clenching. Tears already pricked the corners of his eyes, turning his vision blurry.

He hadn't been paying much attention, but he still heard your footsteps approach in his haze of sadness. Your arms snaked around his waist, and your chest pressed up against his.

Tears already blurred your vision and streaked down your face, leaving your cheeks puffy as you buried your face into his plaid shirt and squeezed him tight. Sadly, you couldn’t give him the bear hugs he usually gave you.

For a moment his hands stayed frozen at his sides. Like he didn’t know what to do with them or himself. But you never let go, and soon his trembling hands rose and wrapped around you until finally he was hugging you just as tightly as you were, if not more.

He buried his face into the crown of your head. His body trembled and his shoulders shook and a sob finally ripped its way from his throat. It sounded painful, as if he were gasping for air. Still, you never let go.

No words were spoken.

They weren't needed. Not in a moment like this. You would simply be there. Ready and willing to hold him as his emotions bubbled over and he broke down.

It didn’t matter how long you both stood there, just holding each other. It could've been minutes, hours before you both finally calmed down from the tsunami of uncontrollable emotions.

“Thank you.” He eventually whispered, and you pulled away to look up at him, but the moment he felt you step back, his arms tightened around your waist.

“I'm sorry for breaking down on you.”

“Clark, never apologize. Your emotions are valid. Your grief is valid.”

“I know.”

“But do you?” He frowned and looked away.

You tilted his chin back down to face you.

“I know,” he sniffed. He stared down at you, his cheeks also red and puffy from crying, and streaked with dried tears. Slowly, a small, trembling smile grew as he watched you wipe away your tears.

“Can we stay like this?” His voice cracked with unsung emotions, yet it was much lighter than it had been before. “Just for a little bit?”

“Of course.”

His hold on you once again tightened, and you relaxed into his embrace, letting your eyes close as you relished in the familiar warmth of his arms. This was nice. You missed hugging him. You think he missed hugging too. Certainly, with the way he held on to you for dear life. Like if he let go, you would vanish.

“Can we do this more often?” He whispered into the silence.

You nodded silently.

Maybe everything would be okay.

————————————————————

Around you, the park buzzed with all kinds of life. One of the many things you adored about the parks around the city. Not only were they beautiful, but life thrived in them. It was truly a gift to witness.

The sun peered down at you, and the clouds danced across the blue-painted sky. The sun, paired with the light breeze, made for a perfect environment. You always loved picnics, and it was the perfect opportunity to wear the dress you'd gotten, seeing as it was a sundress.

Clark lay on his back next to you, face up and completely content to let the sunshine beat down upon him. No sunglasses either, which was brave.

“So, your version of me is still with Lois?” he sounded hesitant when he asked, like he was afraid to upset you—to upset himself.

Until then he'd been pleased to simply bask in the sun and let you read silently beside him while he photosynthesized. Yeah, that's right; you weren't afraid to call it out for what it was.

“Yeah…”

How the hell were you supposed to talk about this with another version of Clark?

“They..they're…really happy.” You smiled bitterly, an emotion you tried to hide. You weren't a bitter person. Both Clark and Lois deserved all the happiness in the world. Even if it came at the expense of yours.

You bookmarked your page and placed the book down beside you with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You tilted your head down to look at him.

You noticed the absence of Lois in his life immediately. It was a stark difference from your universe, and you were still trying to decipher how you felt about it. You missed her mostly.

Clark closed his eyes and exhaled, a sigh that came from deep within his chest. You could almost feel the weight of whatever issue dragged him down. You wished you could help more. “It just didn't work out.” His gaze fell from the sky and fixed itself upon you.

Mindlessly, your fingers threaded through his dark curls. The first time you'd done it, you both panicked. Now the affection came naturally.

“Can we stay like this? Just for a bit?” The words were achingly familiar. He tilted his head toward you, leaning into your touch. You swore he enjoyed your head scratches more than your Clark ever did.

“Of course.”

The sound of birds chirped in the distance. Mindlessly, you played with his hair, watching as people passed by in the distance.

To you, each person told a story, a different life you could imagine. You could read their clothes and analyze the way they walked. Make assumptions about who they spoke to on the phone and where they were going. All of them fascinated you. They were all so special in their own ways.

The feeling of being watched soon swept over you, and you turned to see Clark staring at you.

“You're beautiful,” he sighed, smiling softly to himself.

You froze, and your mind took a second to process what he'd said. When it did, your body flushed, and you turned away, fighting the urge to swat him when he laughed.

The compliment came out of nowhere, no warning whatsoever! What were you supposed to do, not freak out? Your heart couldn't take it. You might as well have keeled over and died.

“S..shut up!” You squawked, and the urge to swat him only grew as his laughter continued. You were pretty sure the passersby were staring.

Your hand stilled in his hair and receded back to your side. A small look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he remained silent.

Poor thing. It pained you to see him so starved of affection.

You would have to change that.

——————————————————

Whoever said Lego's were just for kids was wrong. Lego's were a beautiful piece of art meant for everyone to enjoy. The people who said differently were just a bunch of bums.

“So you and he are just friends,” he reiterated for like the third time in the past fifteen minutes since opening the box of Lego's.

Was it really that unbelievable that you and Clark were just friends? Literally everyone asked. Heck, most people automatically assumed you were together without even asking.

“Yes. Our relationship is purely platonic.” It still left a bitter taste in your mouth, even after years. “And no, me and Lois are not secretly dating.” You added because, yeah, people asked that too.

“You and Lois?”

“In another life, we were married.” It was true. You felt it in your soul and so did she. You had at least two cats and an apartment with a balcony close to the ground so you could both people watch.

He blinked, and fiddled with the Lego piece in his hand. “I think I'm starting to understand why most people assume you're their third.”

Oh, great. Now you had to deal with him too, how wonderful!

“You're doing it wrong.” You pointed at the legos in his hand, small and frankly obnoxious looking compared to the appendage. You couldn’t imagine the frustration that came with dealing with the smaller pieces.

Clark frowned and his brows pinched as he looked over the directions. Oh, yeah, you were right; he was doing it wrong. “Dang it," he muttered as he tried to detach the two pieces from each other. He failed horribly to the point one of the pieces broke because he accidentally gripped it too hard.

You cackled. Your Clark did that all the time back home. It wasn't his fault; he was just too strong. It was why he kept a bucket of spare pieces.

“Dude, you totally just committed Lego murder.”

“It was an accident!”

————————————————————

Some would say sitting in the shower was strange, maybe even unnatural. You believed otherwise.

Sitting in the shower was a gift, an experience to let the water fall on you and completely drench your senses. The pounding droplets against your skin were a constant weight that grounded you. You read somewhere once that people sat in the shower because it replicated the feeling of being held—which was a major call-out.

To you, a shower was a way to cleanse yourself from the day. All your worries and anxieties would wash away, and you could finally relax while letting the warm water ease all your tension.

You could daydream, or you could simply shave and spend the whole time pampering yourself. So many possibilities, but to be honest, most showers were a mix of both.

You still couldn't fully wrap your head around your situation. Every day was spent around Clark, getting to know him and this new, strange world. Apparently, this universe was years ahead of yours. While you and your Clark were both twenty-seven, this Clark was thirty-six. Which made sense now that you thought about it. He looked older and more mature instead of boyish. He didn't slouch to make himself smaller like your Clark did. Instead, he stood confident, like he was no longer afraid to be strong.

You hated to admit how attractive it was. Your feelings and relationship with ‌your Clark were already complicated, not to mention Lois too. Now you had to deal with an older, highly attractive, more mature version of him. It felt weird. So incredibly weird.

His smile gave you butterflies with a side of nausea. And the low timber of his voice…

Irene, everything about this confused you.

It was different—he was different. You just couldn't explain it. He was still the man you knew who could light up the room with a single smile. He still took time to go around and help people. He even risked his life to save animals.

Gosh, maybe you were going crazy. Hyper-fixating on this needed to stop before you spiraled. Irene forbid you had a meltdown. You didn't want him to see you like that.

You stood with a sigh, turning off the shower and immediately reaching for a towel to run from the cold. Weird. You could've sworn you left the door closed, not cracked open. You seriously had memory issues, probably from all the times you hit your head growing up.

You shrugged the coincidence off and waddled back to your room, making sure your towel was tightly hung around your body just in case Clark suddenly decided to stop hibernating in his room like he'd been doing all day.

The poor thing was exhausted beyond comprehension. He spent the past forty-eight hours assisting with some world-ending issue with the Justice Gang. Usually, you would have panicked, but after years of dealing with crazy world-ending issues, you didn't even blink.

Besides, it all happened away from Metropolis, so you were mostly safe. Clark still tried to convince you to hunker down in the fortress to wait it all out. You denied his offer, though, and refused to leave the apartment. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win against your stubbornness. Not in this universe or yours.

Anyway, you were just happy he was getting the rest he needed, even if it meant you were lonely for a day while he slept.

You would survive.

——————————————————

Your perfume was missing.

Realistically you knew it was useless to turn over the apartment just for a single bottle of perfume; however, you refused to waste the money.

You were close; you felt it in your nuggets and could practically smell its scent. No, seriously, you could smell it or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, you were on a mission, determined to find what you had lost. You didn't care how long it took. You would find your perfume and then celebrate by making yourself victory cookies.

“Have you seen my perfume? It's gone and I can't find it anywhere.”

From the couch, Clark shook his head, clueless. “You wear perfume?”

Your face scrunched up, and you turned to him. "You literally complimented how it smelled the other day." You pointed out, and for a moment he seemed to falter, caught off guard. You could've sworn he even looked guilty for a second.

"Oh, yeah…”

You rolled your eyes at his faulty memory. You swore he had the best memory around, and yet he was completely useless. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still, your point stands.

“Useless alien…”

"Hm?" He perked up, turning his ear to you. “What was that?” You could practically feel the smirk curling at the edge of his lips. You both knew full well he heard you. The smug bastard just wanted to mess with you, and well, it was working.

“I said you were a useless alien.” You crossed your arms and stood defiant against him. You would not fall victim to his smug ways.

Dramatically he gasped, and like an arrow, your words shot him straight through the heart; he clutched his chest and fell back against the couch. “It hurts," he gasped in dramatic pain. How dare he take this so non-seriously? Your perfume was very important.

“I hope you fall into a cliff of Kryptonite.”

——————————————————

If there was one thing you missed about growing up in Kansas, it was the fresh produce. Nothing could compare. That is until you visited the farmers’ market in the city.

You never expected you would enjoy it so much. Usually, you loathed crowds. That's why the one in Smallville was perfect because it was so small, while the one in the city took up an entire block. But after years of visiting every weekend, the abundance of people became less of a problem as you found new solutions to ease yourself. Now you adored the city's farmers’ market, usually visiting with Clark and Lois by your side.

“Okay, so we just need strawberries and mango's, and that should be it.” You squinted at the crumpled piece of paper you called your grocery list. You and Clark had found a quiet corner to gather your bearings after shopping for so long. He stood next to you, his body practically pressed against yours as he too squinted down at the grocery list.

“There’s a few stands nearby that sell those,” behind Clark trailed a wagon, a clearly old and paint-chipped wagon filled with groceries. It had definitely seen better days. He gripped its handle tightly, like anyone would actually steal that old thing.

“You think you're ready to face the crowd again?” His eyes darted over to you, and you nodded with a grin.

“Yep!” You grabbed his hand with giddiness and dragged him back to the street, weaving through the crowd as if it were a maze for you to solve. You were determined to get your mangoes. So determined that you didn't notice the man heading straight towards you, but Clark did.

His hand wrapped around your waist and gently tugged you away, your feet lifting from the ground by just a few inches as he moved you to his other side where you would be safe.

You hummed along to the song replaying in your mind, content to let Clark take the lead in guiding as you mindlessly trailed along. “I am their fury; I am their patience. I am a conversation.”

You wondered if he ever got annoyed by your stimming, repeating phrases and making weird noises. It certainly seemed like it would, but then again, he never brought it up. Unless it was one of those situations where he assumed you would pick up on his social cues and automatically know he was annoyed, as if you could suddenly read his mind.

You both paused in front of a familiar stand. In your universe, you knew the owner, a lovely old lady who always gave you a discount on your mangoes. You would have said something, but Clark, like usual, had already taken the initiative and was grabbing what was needed.

There was no small talk, simply a hello and a goodbye, and then you were on your way. He never lingered like your Clark did, which was great for saving time, but you couldn’t help but miss watching him so easily connect with others.

Once again, you wove your way through the crowd with him by your side. Luckily, there were no collisions, and you both made it back to the car unscathed and successful in your mission to get groceries.

He opened the car's trunk, and you reached for one of the grocery bags, and for once Clark actually stood back and let you work.

You loved putting away groceries. It was like a game of Tetris where you had to find the right place for every bag, or else the trunk wouldn't close.

“A little bit to the left.” He chimed in, and, like second nature, you followed his instructions. The bag fit perfectly in the spot, and you stepped back with a small cheer, admiring your wonderful piece of art. He walked up next to you, and you snuck a glance at him, your body heating when you noticed the admiration with which he gazed at your work. Like it actually mattered. “It's perfect.”

You preened at the praise, and he shut the trunk, bringing the wagon with him and placing it in the back seat before making his way to the driver’s door. You walked to the front of the car, swinging open the door and plopping down in the front passenger seat.

“What's next?” You turned to him in your seat, and your foot mindlessly tapped the ground. “Tell me, good sir, what is on the schedule for the rest of today?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed to think. “Nap time?” He leaned forward and inserted the key. He maneuvered out of the spot and drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road.

“Nap time,” you agreed.

A man after your heart. Nap time sounded exactly like what you needed. All snuggled up in your bed, comfortable as can be. Just the thought of it made you sleepy.

You watched with subtle interest as he drove. His hands looked way too delicious gripping that steering wheel. Lois once said that they would make a great necklace on you. Of course, she’d been joking, but the moment still lingered in the forefront of your mind.

“You know I saw this post on Tweety talking about Superman and I feel you should know that apparently people find you submissive and breed able.”

He choked on air, and you were concerned you'd distracted him too much, but he seemed fine multitasking. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Yeah, apparently it's a big thing.”

“I'm taking your phone away. "

Your eyes widened, and you gasped at the blatant threat to your livelihood. “Don't you dare!” He would have to pry that device from your cold, dead hands.

He only chuckled as if he were amused by your suffering. “I’m just saying the internet is obviously a terrible place.”

Of course, that’s what he would say. Clark was the single most chronically offline person you had ever met. He literally wrote letters for Lois as if he were in an eighteenth-century love story. You even heard from a little birdy that he also had a secret stash of letters addressed to you hidden away in his closet.

Okay, yeah, maybe you were beginning to understand why so many people believed you were their third.

——————————————————

Once, Clark told you he felt uncomfortable in Wayne Manor. That the paintings hung on the walls seemed to follow him and that the silence haunted its endless hallways.

You thought differently. In a way, the silence comforted you; it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, beckoning you to follow it. And while you agreed some paintings were creepy, they held stories you could only imagine.

To say that the main living room was big was an understatement. It was bigger than the apartment, luxurious too, with a couch that seemed to be made from heaven. No, seriously, it was so comfortable you thought you were sitting on a cloud.

“So you're from another universe?” The man seemed unimpressed for someone who had just learned the multiverse was indeed real, but then again, he probably already knew.

“Yep.”

Bruce glanced at Clark, who stood next to you, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared. He grimaced at the pure, unadulterated light radiating from the man.

“And you need my help?”

You nodded wordlessly, and he seemed to retreat into himself, no doubt pondering your words and deciding whether this was worth his time. “How long have you been here?”

“Three months and fifteen days. "Clark piped in, and Bruce frowned. His expression never once changed, although you could see the way his brows pinched in thought and the slight glimmer of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.

He turned to you, his brow raised. “And why are you just now bringing this to my attention?”

Clark's happy expression faltered for a split second, a small, barely noticeable action that Bruce was just able to catch.

"Clark told me—”

"You never responded to my message." Clark chimed in before you could finish, which earned him a glare from you, and his lips puckered in a dramatic pout that both you and Bruce frowned at.

"I've been busy, and I do not recall receiving—"

"Soooo, can you help us?" Clark hastily interrupted, and while you glanced around the room, the two men shared a silent conversation, a complexity that you couldn't figure out even if you tried.

Bruce grunted, and your attention snapped back to him. "I'll do what I can but it's going to take time."

You smiled, hands flapping. "Thank you!"

To you, this was a massive win. No offense to Mr. Terrific or the Justice Gang, but they weren't the most reliable people around. The most you'd gotten from them so far was a few crude theories that did nothing to help in the long run.

"If I may," Alfred's voice piped in. Wait, when did he get here?

"Dinner is almost ready, and I made more than enough for all of you."

"Alfred…"

"Master Bruce, I recall you pondering whether to invite Mr.Kent for lunch again."

"Alfred!"

Clark lit up. "You were thinking about me?"

Dang, again? He told you they were close, but you didn't expect this. Your Clark was never invited to the manor for lunch, only for missions. Well, that explained why Bruce actually spoke to you with words instead of grunts.

Friendship truly was magic.

——————————————————

“Look, as much as I love lazing around all day reading and writing, it's not fair to you. At least let me get a job to help with groceries,“ you pleaded to the man who stood towering before you, his arms crossed and his expression serious as he shook his head.

“I make more than enough money for both of us,” Clark insisted, as he always did whenever you brought up the idea of getting a job.

“You're a journalist,” you fixed him with a knowing glare that not even he could argue with. His and Lois' salaries combined were more than enough in your universe, but she wasn't here. And you refused to continue leeching off ‌him like you were when Bruce could easily set you up with a fake identity and the paperwork to allow you to work.

He frowned at your callout. “I can make diamonds with my heat vision and pressure, you know that, right?” He raised a brow, and you hated how smug he looked when talking.

And yeah, you already knew that. You were there when he found out about the possibility during science in middle school. You literally watched Pa almost have a heart attack when Clark actually did it and made a diamond. On a random Tuesday, mind you.

It was a distraction, but what for?

It clicked.

“Bruce bought the apartment complex and forced you to no longer pay rent, didn't he?”

Clark paused, and for a moment, he was about to shake his head but didn't in defeat. “Yeah…”

“He also helped me fix up the family farm,” he added weakly. “I'm plannin’ to move there. Renovations are finished. It's truly just a matter of waiting for the lease to end.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now that I think about it…it is actually coming up. Oh lord, I gotta start packing and I still need to go visit the farm one last time to make sure everything works before the official move-in. Golly, I almost completely forgot.”

“Do you think I could maybe go with you? I can help with any last-minute projects or issues, I swear! Ma and Pa had me luggin’ hay bales right beside you growing up!” Oh Irene, your accent was peeking through.

Clark's grin continued to widen as you continued to ramble.

“And did I ever tell you that Ma taught me to cook? Heck! I learned everythin’ from her.”

He nodded along to the gaggle of new information that tumbled out of your mouth.

“Ah, so that's why your cooking almost made me cry.”

You nodded proudly. You couldn't count how many hours you spent with Martha in the kitchen learning how to cook and make the most delicious pie. Some of your best memories were spent in that kitchen.

“How about next time I go, I'll take you with me?” Your eyes lit up, and you beamed, jumping in excitement while your hands flapped in front of you.

“Besides, you will probably be movin’ in too if we don't find a solution to get you home by then.” He shrugged, and you paused in your celebration.

“Oh, yeah…I guess so.” You hadn’t thought of that until he brought it up.

You turned your back to him for a moment, completely oblivious to the way he adjusted his sweatpants. A flurry of emotions danced across his face, yet in just a few milliseconds, he was completely back to normal.

“I wouldn’t mind living in Kansas again.” You faced him again, and he sent you a completely innocent smile. The one that made your heart skip a beat and your face flush. It made you throb.

Irene, you needed to get home. Your heart couldn't handle this pain.

——————————————————

You'd forgotten how tedious a process moving was. All the packing and running around. The stress was enough to knock you out, but fortunately, you weren't alone.

“Hey, lemme carry that for you.”

You tried to protest as the box you were carrying was lifted out of your arms by Clark. He'd been doing that all day. You could barely lift your finger without him immediately coming over to fuss over you.

You couldn't really complain, though. This barely counted as a workout for him. All you had to do was watch him haul his ass around and make sure he took breaks to drink and eat, or else he'd forget being so hyper-fixated on moving everything.

“So what made you want to renovate the farm?” He paused, and for a moment you panicked, thinking you'd hit a nerve, but to your utter relief he shrugged and continued on with his ministrations.

“I needed a distraction, and I always knew I would end up back in Kansas eventually—” That made sense. Your Clark told you the same thing. “—It just felt right, I guess.”

You nodded, taking in his words with a slight hum. “And what about The Daily Planet and work?”

“It's a five-minute flight away, and they've already approved my request to take on a more remote position."

He lifted another box over his shoulders, and you pattered after him like a duckling following its mother.

“And what's it like being Bruce's sugar baby?”

He groaned. “Look, he got my bank information somehow. I can't control what he does. I tried. He just grunted and told me no. Alfred told me to accept my fate. I listen to Alfred!”

He set the box down beside the others, and both of you made the journey back.

“I'm just saying friends don't send each other thousands of dollars for no reason,” you closed the door behind you, dodging and weaving through the trail of boxes that laid around the apartment.

“Sweetheart, he's a billionaire. He has absolutely no concept of a normal friendship. I'm pretty sure I'm his first actual best friend in years.”

That actually made a lot of sense. You doubted Bruce got out a lot during the day. Not to mention his social awkwardness and obvious unresolved trauma.

Clark collapsed onto the couch, and you followed after him, dramatically flopping right next to him as if you'd just done a whole day's work.

“You both need therapy.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Trust me, we already know.”

Well, at least he was self-aware.

——————————————————

You recalled the day Clark moved out of his apartment vividly. You, he, and Lois spent the entire day lugging boxes around, although it was truly only Clark who did the work. He insisted he could do it alone while you and Lois hung out.

You looked back on that day fondly. A bittersweet memory of friends and a life you wished you had.

A life with them.

The apartment was so bare you barely recognized it. Without the furniture, it felt soulless, like everything that made it home had been stripped away. It was familiar in a way that made you itch.

“Well, I think that's the rest of it,” his arm effortlessly slipped around your shoulders.

“I'm going to miss this place.” Your eyes darted across the hallway, taking it all in one last time. It felt like ages ago when you first stumbled in, frazzled and confused. It baffled you how many weeks had passed since then.

Clark nodded along, his expression pensive. The way it always was whenever he was pondering something deep. “But you'll love it in Kansas." Well, you obviously couldn't deny that or the deep, almost sinful rumble of his voice.

“You're right.” You sighed. “I will.”

“The flight still sucks, though.” You added with a frown, and you shrugged Clark's arm off your shoulder, an action that made his jaw tick. His eyes grew cold for just a single moment, too quick for you to catch, but you noticed his offended demeanor and snorted. He melted in an instant.

“Do we seriously have to take a plane? Can't you just fly me?” You despised airplanes and, most importantly, airports. The crowds terrified you, and standing in a line to wait was not one of your strong suits.

Clark shook his head, following you out the door one ultimate time. “Nope!” He popped the P. “We can not just rely on my powers for everything.” You hated how correct he was.

You both paused, finality hitting like a brick.

You turned to each other.

“To Kansas?”

You grinned at his barely contained excitement. He was buzzing with it.

"To Kansas!”

——————————————————

Nothing could've prepared you for the mixed feelings that came with living full time at the Kent's house, or well, Clark's house without Martha and Jonathan. There was a feeling of emptiness without their presence. It was still the same house you grew up in, and yet everything felt different. Not exactly in a bad way, just different. You assumed the feeling would dissipate as time went on.

There had been several renovations made to the house. Appliances were all upgraded; everything was repainted to look good as new. The furniture was mostly kept the same, just with some added touches from Clark that made the house more his instead of his parents'. All of it exactly the same as when you visited.

You could definitely tell Bruce funded it all; the new editions were the best of the best, which was kind of jarring because you were used to the guest room's bathroom toilet absolutely sucking, and now it was literally luxurious. Same thing with the shower that had a leaky faucet; all of it was completely fixed.

You didn't miss the chores, though. Although it was Clark who did all the heavy lifting. He refused your offers of help, even after you showed him how far you could throw a hay bale, which was pretty far if you had to say so yourself. Instead, you focused on taking care of the inhabitants of the farm, which you didn't mind. In fact, you always drifted toward the animals. You always had. They were easier to get along with than people.

“Okay, children, one at a time—no, Aph, stop, that's Katelyn's food. Nana stop pecking at my feet.” You shooed the chicken away, scowling right back at her when she fluffed up her feathers and clucked in obvious annoyance. You stuck your tongue out at her and closed the gate behind you.

“Garroth. Lawrence,” you acknowledged the pigs as you passed their pen. Gosh, you'd forgotten how much work it was to keep animals. It kept you busy, offering a distraction from the festering unease inside you.

You found Clark in the barn fussing over Betty, the cow, or as you called her, ‘the princess of the farm’. She ruled her kingdom with an iron fist and a powerful moo. Most of the time she was a grump, and Clark was the only one she allowed to touch her. Apparently his pets were good enough while yours weren't.

You couldn't blame her. His hands were nice, sturdy, yet somehow soft, even after years of farm work. Yeah, Clark Kent had a very nice pair of hands.

“Such a pretty girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his rumble, his words twisting your gut. That cow was absolutely spoiled. You were surprised she wasn't overweight, with how gluttonous she was.

“This is why she's a brat. You spoil her too much.” You glared at the cow.

She glared back.

For a moment Clark paused in his petting, and Betty's tail flicked in immediate dissatisfaction. She huffed and trotted away, not even giving him a chance to redeem himself.

Your hands fell to your waist, and you jutted your hip out as you gave him a look that screamed, ‘I told you so.'

“Okay, so maybe I spoil her. She deserves it. She's my baby” He conceded with a shrug and made his way over to you.

“You're ridiculous—”

“—Ridiculously empathetic and caring toward animals," he finished for you. You swatted the hand away that reached for you and moved away, but he followed persistently. “Nuh uh, don't run.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue in faux disappointment. He caught you almost immediately and dragged you back.

“Let me go, you heathen!” You clawed at his arms, desperately writhing around. “I will destroy you!” He threw his head back and laughed when you turned and pushed him. He didn’t even budge an inch.

His arms slackened, and like an animal being hunted, you scrambled away from him toward the entrance of the barn. He followed leisurely behind.

“Sweetheart, watcha doin’?” His head tilted curiously, but you wouldn't fall for his fake innocence. You saw the mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“You are like a needy golden retriever.” You pointed at him accusingly with a harmless growl.

“What?” He had the audacity to look perplexed by your statement. You had given a whole rundown of character dynamics when he asked about the story you were writing. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Hey, hey, six feet away! I value my freedom!”

With a smug smirk, he cocked his eyebrow and took a single step forward.

You took it as a declaration of war and bolted back to the house.

——————————————————

You were getting a serious sense of déjà vu tiptoeing through the house in the dead of night, like a single wrong step would wake everyone up. Technically, with Clark’s super-hearing, you weren't far off.

“Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious," you whispered, singing the mantra to yourself like an annoying kid's toy on repeat.

Your mind wouldn't let you sleep, so instead of tossing and turning in your bed all night, you decided to go to the kitchen and get a snack. At least then you would be tossing and turning all night without your stomach rumbling.

You were just tiptoeing past Clark's room when you heard him whimpering. It sounded as if he were in pain, which you doubt was the case. No, that wasn't a ‘help, I'm in pain’ whimper. It was a 'Help, I'm having a horrible nightmare and about to wake up and probably have a panic attack’ whimper.

Look, you were no stranger to nightmares. Although your nightmares weren't exactly normal. Not if being stuck in a crowded mall in a constant state of meltdown, constantly suffering while everyone you love ignores your pleas for help, was normal.

You were confident enough in your relationship with Clark to know that barging into his room, food in hand, at two in the morning was acceptable.

You knew the layout of his bedroom like the back of your hand. The total darkness that encompassed it never hindered your journey to his bed.

However, you made a pit stop to place your snacks on his dresser nearby.

“Clark?” the whisper barely left your lips. The last thing you wanted to do was bombard his super-hearing. You knew how sensitive all his senses got whenever he had nightmares. He once described it to you after you comforted him one night during your high school years.

You knew what it was like to be overstimulated. What he went through sounded worse.

The moment you got close enough, you reached out to him, and as if he could sense your presence, he shot up.

Clark gasped, and a sharp inhale of air flooded his lungs. He panted as he gulped it all in.

“Hey, Clark.”

His head snapped in your direction, and for a moment in his panic, he looked as if he were about to attack. His eyes snapped down to your outstretched hand that now trembled, frozen in place. He frowned and then he registered it was you.

He whispered your name like a lifeline and immediately slumped over. His head bumped against your shoulder, and you struggled to take on all of his weight as he seemed to bury himself in you. Like that was possible.

“Oof,” you grunted and wrapped your arms around him to steady you ‌both. You carefully maneuvered yourself onto his bed, and the man had no issue scooting over to let you in. In fact, the moment you finally laid down on your side, he attached himself to you like a koala.

His body curled around yours, and hands snuck around your waist, dragging you as close as possible to his chest.

In the dark, you had to squint to see him. Fortunately, from being in his embrace, you could feel his erratic breathing slowly calming. You heard him sniffle, and one of his arms unwrapped around you to swipe away his tears. But in just a few seconds it returned, once again wrapping around you.

You let him cling to you. To the point that you almost fell asleep for a few minutes. I mean, how could you not? This was the most comfortable spot in the world. Okay, yeah, it was a little bit warm, but the sweat was worth it!

Soon enough his breathing evened out, and you frowned as a snore left him. Oh, great.

He trapped you and you were really looking forward to those snacks too…

By the time your mind allowed you to sleep, the sun was already rising. Fortunately, its rays of light were blocked by the massive body curled around your body. You weren't even that short, and yet you felt small when he completely encircled you like this.

The moment you stirred and tried to pull away from the living furnace next to you, his arms locked around your waist and forced you still.

“Clarkkkk.” You pushed at his chest helplessly and groaned when he didn't even move an inch. He was fighting back a smile, the corner of his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He popped open a single eye, peering down at you in sleepy amusement.

“What's the magic word?” This is why you stopped sleeping in the same bed with him. Once he latched on, he never let go. Neither did Lois. Both of their sleepover privileges were revoked.

“Let me go, or else I'll never make you a pie again.”

His other eye shot open. “You wouldn't dare…” He was right. You were bluffing. However, you had the audacity not to care.

“Try me.”

His arms around you finally slackened, and you wiggled out of his grip, just barely dodging his attempt to snatch you back. He frowned like a kicked puppy, but you refused to feel guilty.

You rose from the bed and headed straight to his drawer, where you checked up on your snacks and then waddled back to his bed.

What? Your food was important.

“So, you want to talk about last night?” You crawled back onto the bed and finally let Clark pull you back into his arms.

For the first time, he didn't tense up or shut down. You were used to him retreating whenever you asked.

“It was Lex who did it.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Does that mean…?”

He nodded, and his gaze fell as he fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “He found out. I was too late. By the time I got there, they were already gone.”

Everything fell into place, finally painting the full picture. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice-cold water, and you went tense in his arms. The somber haze that had seemed to have taken over him seemed to clear because his gaze snapped back to you.

“It was you who killed him, wasn't it?”

He nodded, and you noticed the lack of guilt in his demeanor. You couldn't blame him for what he did. Not at all. Still, the lack of guilt irked you. Not enough for you to truly care, though. Lex Luthor ruined Clark's life. You wouldn't feel bad either.

But this was different. The Clark you knew would have felt guilty even if it was Lex, but then again, your Clark never went through what this Clark did.

“I hate to say it, but…good riddance.”

Oh, you felt so guilty saying it, but it needed to be said! Nobody was going to miss that bald-headed demon. In fact, the world was much safer without him. Clark was safer without him.

“Wait, is that why Metropolis is so much more peaceful in this universe.” It all made sense.

He barked out a sudden laugh, and you were glad that even with the sad subject, he could at least find some joy.

——————————————————

Smallville was different in ways you couldn't explain. Of course, you hadn't actually gone into town yet; just the idea of it made you nervous but the farmers market was today and you were finally ready to venture out.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" He stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared like he was guarding something—probably you.

You rolled your eyes. Ever since you told Clark your plans to go to the farmers market, he'd been insistent he come with. You weren't exactly against it per-say, it's just you wanted to spend some time alone. Get used to being in town again, but then again, you were a complete stranger to everybody, so maybe Clark coming with wasn't that bad of an idea.

"I'll be okay. It's just the farmers market," you reassured the gentle giant, who seemed more than concerned about the idea of you heading along alone. You had to admit it was slightly annoying, all of his fussing, like you couldn't go more than ten seconds without him. But you would be lying if you said you didn't find it a little cute.

"But what if it's too much? I wouldn't want you to have a meltdown and not be there to help." Wait, how did he even know about those? Did he do research?

Clark sighed at the well-earned glare he received and raised his hands in front of him in defense. "Please just let me come with for my peace of mind." He pleaded.

He really wasn't going to let this go was he?

You sighed, finally conceding, and victory flashed across his expression, a smile quickly growing on his face.

"Fine, you can come with, but only because it'll be easier to carry groceries with you around."

"I'll take it." He beamed and stepped away from the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.

"Come on, the truck is already ready."

You raised a brow, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

"Seriously?"

"What? I wanted to go to the farmers market too!"

The drive to town was only a measly ten-minute affair. The whole time Clark hummed along to the songs you had added to his playlist because you refused to listen to Clark's abhorrent music taste.

Finally getting out of the truck felt damning, like there was no turning back after this, which was true given the stares you immediately received from the familiar faces around you. You were surprised you made it out of the parking lot without being stopped by someone. However you didn't even make it past the first stall before Mrs. Mendelev was scurrying up to the both of you. The woman was a gossip—the town gossiper as some would say. She knew everything and anything about everyone. It was pretty impressive.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" The older woman squeezed you tightly in a hug. "You have no idea how happy we all were when we heard Clark finally brought home a girl!"

Behind you, the man groaned, the tips of his turning red. “After Martha and Jonathan’s passing, God bless their souls, he just was never the same. It’s so nice to see him smile again."

You smiled softly at the kind words. "I wouldn't say I'm the reason for that." You laughed, waving her off, and Clark's brows pinched together as if he were about to speak but held off at the last second.

The woman only waved her hand and shook her head. "Nonsense. He practically glows when he talks about you."

Oh, wow, you had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, Clark took the opportunity and muttered an awkward goodbye and dragged you away to the next stall, for which you were eternally grateful.

"Well she hasn't change," you giggled as you leaned over to grab an apple, inspecting it before tossing it into your bag and grabbing a few more.

"Let me guess, she's a gossip in your universe too?"

You nodded. "Yep," you popped the p and moved on to the next stall.

"Why, hello there! You must be the lady Clark won't stop blabbering about!" Your eyes widened as you took in the man before you—Kevin. He was only a few years older than you, but everyone in town knew who he was, at least in your universe. He went down a dark path after his marriage fell apart because of his wife’s issues with fertility. His ending wasn't so happy

"Dad! Amy got into the produce again!" a smaller voice called out from behind the stand, and Kevin sighed, a long arduous groan.

You watched as a little boy stumbled to the front of the stand, a smile growing on your face as you took in the little lad. "You have a child."

No, you were totally not about to cry. That would be pathetic.

"I'm adopted!" A startled, but happy laugh burst from your mouth at the boy’s exclamation and Kevin’s horrified reaction.

“I told you to stop telling people that!”

You let the family be and scurried to the next stall, taking one last glance at the happiness radiating from the man before finally moving your attention away.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clark's fingers brushed over your arm.

"Yeah…I'm just happy. Kevin never really got to be happy in my universe. I'm glad he got it here. He deserves it."

His expression softened. "Well, I'm glad too. He's a good man, and a great father and husband."

The rest of the morning was spent wandering around the market, grabbing what you needed and introducing yourself to every face you encountered. It was nice, tiring, but nice to see everyone again. So much was different, and yet so many things were the same. You didn't know whether you found comfort from it all, and by the time you got back to the farm, you didn't have the energy to care. All you wanted to do was put the groceries away and nap.

"Sweetheart, you looked drained."

He snatched the groceries from your arms; you were a fool to believe he would let you carry them all in. "Get some rest. I'm sure all that socialization was tiring, " he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the action so natural that neither of you blinked at the affection, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

You could kiss him.

You bet he tasted like sunshine and comfort.

Ugh, you seriously needed to get your feeling in check. This wasn't your Clark. You didn't love him, just another version of him. If only your stupid heart would realize that.

——————————————————

You were no stranger to the danger that came with being Superman. You watched Clark get beaten up, thrown into buildings, and smashed with cars. He always survived. It's what he did, but the suit? Oh, the suit was a whole different story.

"This poor fabric." The repetitive motion of sewing was soothing to someone like you, which was why you happily volunteered to fix up Clark's suit because, good lord, it needed some tender love and care.

“In my defense I didn't ask to be stabbed at.”

"And yet it still happened." You pulled the needle through the fabric.

"Hey!" he gawked, offended. "I tried my best to dodge it; it's harder than it looks."

You nodded, pretending that you believed him, but he seemed to recognize your bad acting and scowled.

“Look, I'm sorry” he whined.

“I know you are. I just get concerned.” You frowned and once again threaded the needle through the fabric. You would never get over how satisfying it was to watch as the string tied everything together once again, patching it all up.

“Just be more careful out there. I know you're practically invincible, but I still get worried seeing you get beat up.” Clark sighed, his scowl softening and his body relaxing.

"I know, I know." He didn't exactly wave off your concerns; he would never do that, always too thoughtful, but it still felt like that as he rose from his sitting place on the couch and made his way over to you. He leaned down, placing a light kiss to your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

He leaned back, staring down at you with a soft smile. "Thank you for the suit. I can't remember the last time someone took the time to fix it up."

"Well, someone has to."

"You and I both know that's not true." He chuckled lightly.

You only shrugged, your tongue poking out as you focused on finishing the final stitches. You could feel his eyes on you—a feeling you were all to familiar with. He liked to watch you. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't creepy.

"There." You smiled proudly as you cut off the string and held out the newly patched up suit. "Good as new."

"You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart."

"I know right. I'm amazing."

Peaceful silence fell between you, and you handed him back the suit, the bright symbol almost shining when the light hit it just right.

"Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?" He hummed, checking over his newly repaired suit, obviously satisfied with your work.

"Killing Lex."

He froze and you watched as his knuckles paled from how tightly he gripped onto the fabric. His expression fell blank just like it always did whenever you brought up this sort of topic.

Shit.

Had you gone too far? Oh gosh, you knew asking was a bad idea. You should have listened to your brain when it told you to leave the topic alone. It was obvious he didn't like talking about it.

"No, I don't," he finally answered. You slowly nodded, taking in his words. Of course he didn't. Honestly, you wouldn't either in a situation like that, but a small part of you was still surprised. The Clark you knew valued all life, even Lex Luthor's, but then again, this wasn't your Clark, which your brain couldn't seem to register quite yet.

"Would you do it again?"

He looked down at the fabric in his hands, his gaze flickering over the symbol.

"No."

Both of you knew that was a lie.

———————————————————

Martha was the one who taught you how to bake. You remembered the way she would set out everything and go through each step with you, teaching you how to correctly measure and how to roll the dough.

Baking was a process, a process you enjoyed very much.

It was also an escape. It allowed your mind to go numb as you went through the steps, doing the same thing every time. It was as relaxing as it was delicious.

“You know, if you keep on baking these pies, I think I'm gonna die from the sugar overload.” You turned around, scowling at Clark, who stood leaning against the entryway in his usual plaid shirt and jeans. The only difference was the long hair he decided to grow out. It was almost a mullet now, and gosh darn did he look delicious, almost as delicious as your pie.

"Oh hush you love my pies." You turned back to the oven, eyeing the pie that laid inside. Just a few minutes left.

Footsteps approached from behind and his hands landed on your hips.

"Is that my shampoo?" Your nose wrinkled at the familiar scent, and you craned your neck to look at Clark, who smiled at you sheepishly with a guilty expression that said it all.

"It smells nice—like you." He shrugged as if that were a perfectly good reason to steal your freakin' twenty-dollar shampoo.

"You are so lucky that Bruce Wayne funds this household or else I'd kick your butt."

A laugh left him at your obvious threat, and you frowned at the way he didn't take you seriously. You were very scary, just not to him, apparently. "Sweetheart, you couldn't hurt a fly even if you tried." He sounded so sure of it, and you would have been offended if it weren't true.

The oven interrupted any attempt to threaten him more, and you huffed as you turned your attention back to the appliance, tugging it open and groaning when his arms unwrapped around you and sneaked past to take the pie out, his hands completely bare.

"You're a freak of nature," he placed the pie down on the countertop, and you cringed. "You do realize that can ruin it, right?"

"You said it yourself," he shrugged. "Bruce Wayne funds this household."

He turned the oven off, and you stepped back and untied your apron from around your waist. "Touché"

You threw the fabric onto the countertop. "Speaking of which, how is Bruce? Any updates?" You questioned.

He shook his head. "No. Apparently, the multiverse is, uh…complicated."

Even after so many months, the only progress made was a few crude theories, and even those were iffy. But both Bruce and Mr.Terrific knew how to contact you if anything came up.

"I just can't imagine how worried everyone is back home,” you sighed. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can to get me back. "

A small part of you hoped one day a portal would randomly open and out would come your Clark and Lois, most likely rambling about how they missed you and did everything they could to get you back. It was wishful thinking, and maybe foolish, but still, you could hope.

"You know you've been baking a lot; are you okay?”

Aw, dang it, you were hoping he wouldn't notice.

Okay, so maybe you baked more whenever you were stressed; it was a healthy outlet, and in all reality, you weren't fine at all.

It was like a creeping feeling of doom approaching in the distance. You could see the storm, hear its thunder rumble, and watch its clouds invade the sky. Now, you were just waiting for it to hit.

“I'm fine." You turned your back to him, focusing on retrieving a knife to cut the pie with.

He didn't believe you, probably because he could hear your heart beating a million miles per hour.

Something about his gaze felt predatory. The way he watched you flutter around the kitchen like you were some piece of meat ready to be devoured. You noticed that gaze a lot.

Wait, where did your apron go? Oh lord, not again!

——————————————————

You loved when it rained, always have and probably always will.

It was the sound of each droplet hitting the ground, the grounding effect it had on your mind. The way the worms would always come out after, your little army of beloved insects. You adored all of it.

So of course you couldn't miss the chance to revel in it.

"You do realize this is a one-way ticket to getting sick, right?" He leaned against the side of the porch, where he was protected from the rain while you stood a few feet away absolutely soaked and delighted to stomp in each puddle. Your hands flapped in front of you as you danced around, splashing and giggling as you jumped around.

"I didn't realize you were such a party pooper. " You turned, sticking your tongue out at him.

The only thing you didn't enjoy was the way your soaked clothes stuck to you, an uncomfortable feeling that made your skin crawl. But it wasn't enough to ruin your mood. It wasn't often that Kansas had rain, especially during such a dry season like summer.

"Are you going to join me or just watch like a creepy stalker?"

"Oh, no. I'm more than okay staying right here."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, running and jumping straight in the largest puddle you could find, your hands flapping happily in front of you.

Oh, how you loved puddles. They were always so fun to jump in. You and Clark used to do it all the time growing up while Martha and Jonathan watched from their porch. You couldn't count how many times you got sick from it, unlike Clark, who was never affected, but it was always worth it. Although you swore it wasn't the rain that made you sick, just your immune system fucking you over.

From the porch, Clark watched with his arms crossed over his chest . You were always so excited about the littlest of things. It was cute.

"Sweetheart, you should probably come in soon," he called.

"Only if you promise not to fuss over me."

"I don't fuss over you."

"You absolutely do."

He absolutely did. He couldn't help it. It was just his nature to help, especially for the ones he cared for.

"Fine, I won't fuss but only if you promise to warm up with some towels and Ma's hot chocolate."

You lit up.

"You had me at Ma's hot chocolate."

——————————————————

Ultimately, it was Mr Terrific who revealed Clark’s lies. That's right—lies. In one simple phone call, the small life you'd built with him was torn to shreds.

He'd been lying to you for weeks.

He called off the research.

All of it.

Bruce, the justice gang—he demanded they all stop their research and move on. You didn't know which was worse: that he did it or the fact that they all listened. So blindly loyal to a man who apparently wanted you all to himself, tucked away on a farm in Kansas. But why? You had done nothing but invade his life? Why would he want you to stay so badly that he went out of his way to betray you like this. It didn't make any sense.

"So it's true?"

"Sweetheart—"

Oh Irene, it was. He'd lied to you. For weeks! It made so much sense now that you thought about it. The way he avoided your questions or even just the topic itself. The weird way he'd been acting ever since you both moved to Kansas. The clinginess, the avoidance, red bright flags that you had opted to ignore just because you trusted him—technically not even him but another version of him!

"Clark, why?" You felt one second away from completely breaking, and you hated the way your voice wavered. The weakness that crept in.

"Because I love you, okay!" He suddenly exclaimed. "I love you so much it hurts, and that universe—that Clark—doesn't deserve you."

…what?

In another life, you would've been ecstatic to hear those words. In fact, your heart still skipped a beat, and a familiar warmth spread across your body, but it felt wrong. So terribly wrong.

"Clark, I—" how do you respond to that? For your whole entire life you had thought that Clark Kent would never love you, not in the way you loved him. Yet here he was, another version of him, telling you exactly that.

You watched frozen in place as he took a careful step toward you, like one wrong move and you would just disappear. He looked so fragile, so hopeful. So completely and irrevocably different from the Clark you knew.

"I…I think I want to go home." Yeah. You wanted your apartment, your bed, your safe place. You wanted your noise-canceling headphones and your stuffed animals.

"You are home."

You weren't. This wasn't home. Just a false replica of it.

"No, I want to go home," you repeated, and his face scrunched up.

You didn't know when he managed to get in front of you, but you blinked, and he suddenly towered over you only a few inches away, blocking any escape.

"I need you to calm down." You shrugged off any attempt at touching you, and his expression flashed with hurt.

"You're not leaving. Not me or Kansas." His words felt like a finality you refused to accept, but truly what could you do? He was stronger than you, and if you tried to run, he could easily catch up and just throw you over his shoulder and take you back.

You were stuck.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by his hand taking yours, and you watched in frozen horror as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a familiar ring—Martha's ring. The same one you would fawn over growing up, wishing that one day it would belong to you.

"I wanted to wait until you were settled down more but Bruce already has the papers forged."

The ring slid onto your finger. It was a weight that felt binding, something you couldn't exactly explain.

"Clark, what do you mean?"

He smiled, soft yet predatory in a way that made you shudder. "It means we're going to be happy," His hand ghosted up your arm, trailing up to cup your cheek with his palm. You would have melted if it weren't for the situation.

"Together."

Once again, in any other scenario, you would've swooned. Unfortunately, this was the one scenario where you, in fact, did not swoon. Instead panic seized you, forcing you to stay frozen in your place.

"Clark, I can't. I have a life. Clark and Lois—"

"—Do not deserve you."

Again with that bullshit. How dare he say that? Your Clark and Lois deserved the world, and you were a part of that world. They most definitely deserved you.

They just didn't want you.

His hands left your body, and you stepped back. Something he obviously did not like with the way he immediately crowded into your space again.

"Stop saying that!"

"But it's true!" He exclaimed. "They don't see you. Never will. Not the way I do, and I can't lose you!" For a moment he went silent before speaking. "Not like I loss them."

Oh, wow. That was a box of emotions you were not willing to open up.

You shook your head, anger guiding you to slide the ring off your finger and throw it to the ground, but before you could even think about doing it, his hand came down onto your wrist, effectively stopping you.

"Don't." He sounded annoyed. It was terrifying. He gave you the ring for a reason, and there was only one reason someone, especially someone like Clark, would give you a ring. His ma's ring, too.

"Clark, what type of papers did you get Bruce to forge?"

The smile he gave you sent chills down your spine, whether it was from the predatory gleam in his eyes or the actual happiness that radiated from him. "I think you already know, sweetheart."

"Welcome home, Mrs.Kent."

Oh.

Oh no.

Taglist: @garfieldhollander @geekedthroughtheweek

[gapryongkimsnoona]

mafia x call girl!reader

featuring: Gun Park, Gitae Kim, James Lee/Diego Kang, Jichang Kwak, Seongji Yuk, Kingmaker J

TW: sex work, rough sex, gagging and bondage, overstimulation, roleplay, use of sex toys, oral sex (male and female), voyeurism, group sex, dubcon, Reader gets called dirty names

You thought about rereading your contract to check if your company has a filtering process. Why? Because every single man you serviced was attractive. No, that's not enough to describe them.

They were panty-dropping, jaw-hits-the-floor, drop-dead gorgeous. If one were to see them walking on the street, one would think that these creatures are proof of a higher power.

There was this one handsome man with heartbreak in his snake-like eyes. Apparently, you reminded him of his ex-wife, and he asked you to call him "honey" while he made love to you. He never kissed you though. You hope he and his wife make up soon.

Another time, you met with a big-chested fellow with glasses and ink everywhere but on his face. He used to be a regular, but one night, he moaned "mommy" while you massaged his scalp—that was the last time you saw him.

Once, you were "invited" to a birthday party. You thought there was a mix-up and tried to explain that you weren't a stripper (you didn't like dancing), but the guests explained that you were the birthday boy's present. The birthday boy was a tall thing with polydactyly. Contrary to his intimidating appearance, he was shy and awkward. A virgin. He was so cute that you couldn't help but pamper him before you took his first time, even teaching him how to use those extra fingers.

You must admit, you prefer flings over repeat customers.

One of your regulars is a mob boss with an X-shaped scar across his face. Newbies aren't allowed to service him.

The reason is simple: Jonggun Park likes rough sex.

He also doesn't hold back. 

Countless women have left his room covered in bruises, welts and scars. Some even received wounds on their faces. You're one of the rare few who volunteered to be with him. Unlike the other girls, you don't have friends or family to fuss over your injuries, and you weren't popular, so it's only logical to keep him entertained so the more in-demand workers can focus on other clients. 

Your first time with Gun Park was an experience. You used to think that you weren't into rough sex, but maybe your previous partners weren't rough enough. 

Gun gave you a safe word, but you never felt like using it.

You love having his tattooed arm hooked around your neck as he pounds you from behind. You can't get enough of his deep, rumbly voice calling you his cheap whore. You can't help but smile when he sneers down at you. 

The morning after is always painful, but you find the ache delicious. 

But Gun has changed. When he calls for you, he doesn't throw you to the couch or bed the moment you arrive. He invites you to eat with him and asks if the bruises he gave you last time still hurt.

You weren't one to say no to a free meal but it was disarming to have Gun Park treat you like a person. Even more disappointing is how he has been fucking you less and less. During your last visit, he ate you out until you came, and then he fell asleep without entering you.

Is he getting bored? You hope not.

You find Gun's violence titillating.

On the other hand, there is this other client, a giant named Gitae Kim. He was your introduction to orgies. Well, more like a harem. The man loves women so much he sleeps with them in groups. You were nervous at first, but the other girls—your "seniors" so to speak—were very nice. They even told you that a group arrangement with one man and multiple women is relatively easier and leagues safer than anything else.

But for some godforsaken reason, Gitae Kim singled you out. The man who was obsessed with harems began asking for you and you alone. Your co-workers were terrified on your behalf and begged the madam not to send you to him, but everyone knew that they can't say no to a mobster, let alone the boss of an entire syndicate.

But surprisingly enough, despite his history of group sex, Gitae Kim was… kinda vanilla. He liked to watch you suck him off and bounce on his dick, but that was it. However, as the other girls pointed out, you were the only one who could keep up with his stamina. Perhaps that's why he preferred having multiple partners.

You really do wish he would get bored of you already, because you've long gotten bored of him. More importantly, the oversized thug has begun sending you flowers. In your line of work, that kind of attention is dangerous. Instead of flattery, the bouquets of blood-red roses only served to freak you out.

Speaking of  freak, your least favorite client was also your first one. A beautiful man known only to you as "DG." He has a face that could put movie stars to shame, and a body that would have Michelangelo's David shaking.

DG started gently. You thought for sure that he was going to be one of your more "normal" clients. It turned out to be the opposite.

Like Lucifer, he was deceptively sweet.

He's the biggest pervert you've been with.

One of his favorite activities is using you as white noise to help him focus—he would type on his computer as your muffled screams and sloppy sounds filled the air. Usually, he just plugged you with toys, your arms and legs tied together while you suffered through delirious agony. Sometimes, J would take over.

You prefer J over the toys.

He always shows up wearing a policeman's uniform (probably one of DG's sick fetishes, you told yourself). In contrast to DG who never stops smiling, J's face remains impassive. However, J is kinder.

You like how warm he is, how he asks "Are you okay?" as he fills you.

But you barely see him, especially now that DG has decided to start fucking you with his own cock.

So yeah, you meet lots of interesting, unfairly attractive men at your job. None of them are husband material though.

[tmswritesfanfics]

💋 🖤🥀

Gitae's not gonna like Y/N thinking he's boring HAHAHAHA

[tmswritesfanfics]

Burn Marks

Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character

<<previous episode

Featuring: Gun Park, Goo Kim, Jichang Kwak, Jihan Kwak, Jibeom Kwak

Jihan Kwak burst into their dining room. "Tell me it's not true."

The Kwak brothers didn't always get along, but that was normal for most siblings. Their youngest, Jihan, was the most energetic, which was a nice way of saying that he was a pain in the ass.

"Tell me it's not true," Jihan repeated, walking up to his oldest brother, who was seated and staring at his coffee. "Did that woman really come here?"

"Yep," Jibeom answered instead, placing a third bowl of rice on the dining table. He caught three large boars this afternoon and prepared one of their favorite meals: jeyuk bokkeum, stir-fried spicy pork. "She's staying with two guys at the inn."

"Two guys?" Jihan scoffed. "Someone's ambitious."

"Big bro is already in a bad mood so settle down."

"She's just here to show off."

"We don't know that."

Jihan ignored him and turned to their eldest. "Hyung, what did she say to you? Please tell me you told her to piss off—and please tell me you weren't wearing your hair the dorky way when you met."

Jichang opted to silently sip his coffee.

Jibeom interrupted again, "Just sit down so we can eat."

"Not until we figure out why she's here!"

"She's here for the holidays—that's what the lady who owns the inn told me."

"She doesn't have any family here, and who the hell spends their vacation in a town like this one? You said she's with two guys? She just came here to gloat!" Jihan slammed the table, rattling the dishes. "You need to find a girl too, hyung. Show her that you're happier now that she's out of your life."

Jichang downed the last of his coffee and grabbed his police jacket from the backrest of his chair. "I'm going for a ride."

"Big bro—"

"Eat without me."

Jihan chased after his brother. "Hyung, what did she say to you? She came here to show off her new boy toys, didn't she?" [1]

Jichang stopped walking.

Jihan braced himself for a hit. But rather than a slap to the face, he received two gentle pats on his shoulder.

"Go back," his brother said, looking at the stars instead of him, "Jibeom worked hard on dinner."

Jihan watched as he disappeared with his bike.

Clenching his fists, the youngest Kwak brother stomped back to the dinner table. "You have better not told him to go after that old hag."

"Watch your mouth, I'm still your older brother." Jibeom pointed his chopsticks. "And 'old hag'? You had the most embarrassingly obvious crush on that old hag, remember?"

Jihan's face turned pick. "Shut up!"

"Don't even try to deny it, even I could see how you got all tongue-tied when she was around."

All right. It was true—Jihan used to have the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant crush on you—but that was years ago! He'll never forgive you for breaking his brother's heart.

"What if he goes back to her?"

Jibeom replied with a mouth full of rice, "Then we can finally have our big sis back. You think big bro still has that ring he bought for her?"

"Why are you so okay with this!? Don't you remember what a mess hyung was after she left?" After your so-called breakup, their eldest buried himself in work. But he also became much more absent-minded and careless.

"If she had stayed…" Jihan shakingly said, "…maybe hyung would still be the King of Seoul."

"We don't know that, bro. You can't blame her for everything that happened."

"I can and I will—and stop eating! How can you eat like this when hyung could be on his way to the inn to see her? She left us—I mean, she left hyung. You're the one who kept blabbing on about how they should just get married already. How are you not beyond pissed off?"

"Because they're just going through a rough patch."

Jihan's jaw slackened. A "rough patch"? It's been years.

His brother then added, "She is his lobster."

"…what?"

"You know, his lobster? His yellow umbrella."

"What?! What the actual hell are you talking about?"

Jibeom rolled his eyes and began to explain, "In one of the American shows big sis and I watched, they say that two people who are meant to be together are lobsters because lobsters mate for life—"

"I don't think that's true"

"—and in another show, the yellow umbrella represents the main character's wife. It's a symbol of destiny and love."

"…"

"…"

Jihan threw his hands in the air. "Augh!"

Because of your influence, Jibeom became a sitcom addict. The idiot who barely passed elementary school English could now hold proper conversations with foreigners. He also became a complete geek.

Jihan scooped more rice onto his bowl before getting up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm eating in my room. I hate you!"

***

Jichang rode his motorbike down the mountain and entered the town. Unlike in Seoul, where countless lamp posts and billboards and office buildings chased away the darkness everywhere, the roads outside the towns in Chungcheong were dominated by the night. It wasn't a bad thing. though. Without the artificial lights polluting the sky, the moon and stars shined even more brilliantly.

He had slipped you a Post-It with his new number and you sent him a message begging him to hide with Mr. Noh.

He didn't blame you for being paranoid. He may have lost touch with most of his connections in the city, but even Jichang knew that Charles Choi was no pushover. Self-made men don't have clean hands.

Still, it was weird how strong your reaction was. It was almost as if you knew something he didn't.

When he refused to give you Mr. Noh's whereabouts through text, you begged to meet with him.

He was passing by the rice fields when, through the hum of his bike and the wind slashing past him, he could hear a voice call out to him.

"Ji!"

"What the—"

Your figure appeared from the road ahead. Draped in dark, practical clothes, you looked more like a thief than someone on vacation.

He got off the bike and began lecturing you. "I told you I'd pick you up from the inn. Does your brother know you're out here alone? Do you have any idea how dangerous—"

You bent over, hands clasping your knees, and began to heave.

"Did you seriously run all the way here?"

"Where's Mr. Noh? Please—cough—please tell me h-he's—huff, huff—"

"Calm down, bee." He dabbed his handkerchief on your face. Seeing you breathless and panting as sweat ran down your forehead brought back some old memories. Jichang tried to focus on something else.

"Why are you doing this?" It was a shock finding out about your relationship with Gapryong Kim and the other members of the Fist Gang. He had to admit, it was painful that you never shared that part of your life with him. "I'm grateful that you're concerned about Mr. Noh, but I don't understand why you're this desperate to delay his plans."

Finally recovered, you replied, "Let's check up on him first."

"Why won't you tell me?"

You were already approaching his motorcycle. "Charles Choi gives me the creeps."

"Is that all? That's what gave you a panic attack? That's what had you running through the darkness alone?"

"Jichang, you of all people know how dangerous wealthy, ambitious men can be." You put on his spare helmet. "I… I've heard stories from Gapryong-nim and Jinyeong-nim about how ruthless that man was. I just—I have a bad feeling, okay? A really big, really bad feeling and if I'm wrong, then I'm wrong, but I can't let this go. If something happened to Mr. Noh—if something happened to you, I will never forgive myself."

Your shoulders sunk and the walls around Jichang's heart began to falter.

"All right," he sighed as he strapped the helmet for you. "Let's go."

Having your arms around his waist felt right.

This was the first time you two rode on a bike together. During your relationship, Jichang always drove you around in his car because you carried two bags worth of reviewers and medical equipment.

"It's easier to retain information when I can feel the material and smell the ink," you said after he suggested getting a tablet instead of hauling five books everyday. You then asked him to help you study anatomy. He thought it was your cute way of asking him out, but he soon realized that you meant it literally. You spent half a day tracing his veins and muscles with neon highlighters. [2]

His shoulders trembled as he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" you shouted over the wind.

"I was just thinking about what a huge nerd you used to be."

"You're calling me a nerd? Hah! Say that again to my face, four-eyes."

He could hear you smile as you retorted.

He would have laughed too, but the sudden brightness ahead pulled the humor out the both of you. Giant, scarlet flames licked the sky. Smoke hovered over the distant trees like angry clouds.

There was only one house in that area.

"Hold on tight."

When Jichang couldn't drive anymore closer, he got off the bike, barked orders through his radio and then shouted over the burning courtyard, "Mr. Noh!"

The logical part of him knew that no one could have survived this fire. But if there was even a sliver of chance that Mr. Noh was alive—

You touched his arm.

"I know," you said.

He looked at you.

You gave him an empathetic look. "But you can't save him."

He hated that look. He hated that it was you who was telling him exactly what he needed to hear, because, at this moment, you understood his helplessness better than anyone. You have gone through this thousands of times.

You began tugging him back towards his bike.

You both needed to leave. Whoever did this could still be around and while Jichang was strong, he wasn't going to risk your life.

He pulled himself together. "Yeah, let's go—!"

Your head jerked backward and you fell sideways like a stringless marionette—straight into the arm of a blonde.

It was the young man who came with your brother to the police station. Goo Kim.

Jichang's skull buzzed with questions—Why is he here? How did he get here? Why didn't I sense him?—but first, he locked into a fighting stance. He needed to get you away from here.

However, Goo Kim didn't seem interested in him. The blonde nudged your head towards his shoulder before lifting you up bridal style. He glanced at your unconscious form. "'I'm just gonna stay in and sleep.' You are one lousy liar, angel."

"Put her down."

Goo's eyes lazily drifted towards the White Viper of Seoul, as if he was only just now noticing him.

"So you two had a thing?" His tone and smile dripped with disdain. "First there was Chest, and that pink-haired freak, then that monster from Mexico—she is just a magnet for thugs, isn't she?"

Jichang glowered. His instincts screamed at him. This smirking blonde was not an easy opponent, but retreating was not an option. He was too late to save Mr. Noh, but he wasn't going to let anybody hurt you.

He ran all the possible options in his mind and came to the conclusion that he needed to wake you up. He would stay here and keep this guy busy while you run away.

Your captor interrupted his thoughts: "You keep staring at her with that disgusting look in your eye. It really—" his grin disappeared "—pisses me off."

Murderous intent wrapped around Jichang like tar. It weighed down his entire body.

The first time he faced certain death, he had no fear. Even when Gitae Kim held an axe to his face, Jichang stayed firm. He would rather be slaughtered than kneel to anyone.

However, tonight, inside this brilliant man's mind, only one thought prevailed: I can't save her.

I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't save her.

Jichang fell to his knees.

He then pressed his nose on the ground.

Goo Kim jumped in surprise. "What—why are you prostrating all of a sudden?!"

"Please…" Jichang would crawl on the dirt and kiss anyone's shoes if it meant protecting you. "Please don't hurt her."

"Oh, geez. When you say shit like that it makes me feel like I'm some creep."

Before Jichang could reply, another voice spoke from behind him: "Why is she still out here? If nee-san gets sick from the smoke, I'll kill you."

"I was going to bring her inside the car but as you can see, someone's in the way."

"What's he doing?"

"Begging, I think."

Jichang heard your brother sigh.

"Whatever," Gun said. "We need to leave before the firefighters get here."

***

There was a white snake on your bed. Its head was bigger than yours—so big that it could swallow you whole. But you weren't afraid. Despite its body that was longer than a school bus, the snake moved lightly as it slithered onto your lap. It was no different from a clingy puppy.

You were petting it when a golden-furred, glasses-wearing, cartoon fox burst into the room.

The surprise catapulted you awake.

You blinked a couple of times and found a golden-haired, glasses-wearing, fox-like creature grinning down at you.

"Congratulations on making it to heaven," Goo said, crossing his thumb and index finger to make a heart.

You groaned. Your hand flew to the back of your neck. It ached, but you had more pressing matters to deal with.

"Whe—" you coughed.

Goo raised a cup of water to your face. He held the straw as you took a sip.

After lubricating your throat, you could finally talk. "Where's Jichang?"

He pouted.

"Goo."

"He's somwhere in this hospital."

You shot up. Did Charles Choi kill him? No, if he was dead then Goo would've said so… Right? In the original story, was Jichang also taken to the hospital? No, that can't be… There was a news report showing his body next to Mr. Noh.

"Relax." Goo ran his fingers through his hair. "He's fine. The paramedics cleared him and everything."

"Really? Jichang's not hurt? Are you serious?"

"Last I saw him, he was talking with a doctor—"

You threw your arms around him and exhaled like a giant weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you, Goo."

"Oh. Um… No problem?"

You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before sprinting out the room.

Left alone, Goo remained seated, still frozen from shock.

First, you kept rubbing his face and muttering "good boy" while half-conscious, then you kissed him and ran away? You sure got some nerve!

He clasped his hand over his mouth.

Why was his face so hot?

You passed by a couple of nurses and asked them if they saw a cop. Barely anything happened in this town so a freak fire and police in the hospital had everyone in talking.

You thanked them and hurried towards the entrance. Jichang Kwak was outside. He was standing there, surrounded by fellow officers.

You collapsed in relief, earning concerned gazes from everyone.

Jichang turned around and, finally noticing you, hurried to your side. "What's wrong? Are you hurt—?!"

You stared at him.

"Bee?"

The dam broke and hot tears streamed down your cheeks like a flash flood.

Jichang panicked.

The spectators whispered, "Boss made a woman cry."

Jichang was going to make them pay for that. But first, you needed consoling.

"Sweetheart—"

"I—I'm sorry! I don't—I c-can't s-s-s-s-stop it—waaaah!" He has seen you cry with Jibeom over books and TV shows, but nothing like this.

"It's okay." He palmed your arms reassuringly. "You must've been scared. This is normal."

"I-I-I thought—sniff—I thought I l-lost you!"

"You didn't lose me," he said. "I'm right here. Always."

You paused and then your lips quivered before you started sobbing again.

On the second floor of the hospital, Gun and Goo watched from the window as Jichang Kwak lifted you in his arms and carried you to a police car.

The air was so gloomy that even the ghosts haunting the hallway refused to approach them.

"Hey, siscon," Goo asked, eyes trained at the scene, "are you really just going to stand here and watch?"

"Even I can read the room." Gun scowled at the car. "I don't like that snake bastard but right now, my sister needs him." Sparing him was the right choice. Gun hated seeing you with anyone—especially men, but he hated seeing you upset even more.

Goo, still looking at the car, changed the subject, "I can't believe you shattered an old man's legs. What would your big sister think?"

"He wouldn't listen to reason so I had to shut him up first—and quit talking like you wouldn't have done the same thing." Bakgu Noh was still in surgery for his fractures. Once stable, he would be transferred to a secure location and stay in hiding until Charles Choi was dealt with.

"If you expose Charles now he'll drag you into it."

"I'm not an idiot." The only reason Gun remained at Charles Choi's side was to minimize any damage to you. For whatever reason, the always doubtful Charles had never discovered your existence. Joongoo's loyalty to him has always been shaky, so Charles likely didn't want to risk Gun's wrath by investigating him.

And, as much as it irked him, Gun suspected James Lee had something to do with keeping your identity a secret.

Goo changed the topic again. "What will you do if Kwak tells her what we did?"

"He won't."

Jichang Kwak was a smart man. Charles Choi's two bodyguards will report Bakgu Noh's "death" and pretend to destroy all evidence against him. In exchange, he was to keep his mouth shut about their backstabbing. Once Choi's crimes are brought to light, Bakgu Noh can finally live in peace.

One wrong move, like telling you the truth, and Gun pulls the plug.

And Jichang Kwak knows that.

Inside the police car, your wails have calmed down into mild sniffling.

Ji had told you that he convinced Mr. Noh to fake his death while they wait for a more appropriate opportunity to expose Choi's crimes.

"I'm surprised he agreed," you said.

"Yes, well… Mr. Noh's a reasonable man and I can be persuasive."

You smiled and blew your nose in his handkerchief.

"Hey, bee…"

"Hm?"

"Your brother is... what does he do?"

"He works at a security firm."

"Do you know who he works for?"

"He's never given me the company name and to be honest, I never thought to ask. It's a security firm and I don't wanna trouble him with my questions," you recited your usual explanation. "Why do you ask?"

Jichang tapped the steering wheel. "Nothing. He just looks like he works out."

You beamed with pride. "Right? Our little Jonggun has always been athletic. You should've seen him when he was younger, he would show off all his karate moves." And when he was done, he would look at you like a dog waiting for a treat and some praise. 

Midway through your spiel about how cute your brother was, you were hit with a realization and you gasped. 

"What? What's wrong?"

"My brother!" If Goo was here then so was Gun. "He must be wondering where I am. Can I borrow your phone?"

You sent Gun a text telling him you were safe and that you were with Jichang.

"You and your brother are really close," Ji said, pocketing his phone.

"Well, duh."

"…what about the blonde? Is he really just a friend?"

"You mean Goo Kim? Well, yes. He's my brother's friend, and now he's my friend."

"He likes you."

"I should hope so."

"You don't have to play dumb with me."

"Rude much?"

"Bee, he likes you. Not as a friend, not as his friend's sister. He's crushing on you."

"Trust me, Joongoo doesn't have a crush on me."

"I don't understand how someone as emotionally mature as you can be so blind to something so obvious."

"I'm not blind, Ji, you're the one who keeps looking for something that isn't there."

"I knew you would say that. I guess you haven't changed."

You crossed your arms.

"You can charm the pants off anyone. You connect with people, but the instant that things start to feel real, you chicken out. You convince yourself that only your feelings matter, only what you know is true and that you know best.

"I can handle rejection, bee. I could live with you not being mine, but you insisted that my feelings weren't real. You told me that we had no future and then you just… left."

Jichang slumped in his seat. "And I lost my friend."

The two of you stewed in silence.

A minute later, Jichang exhaled and turned to you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. That was childish."

You reflexively reached out to him, but stopped before you could touch his arm. You pulled back your hand. "No. I deserved that."

You licked your lips.

"I was being selfish when I left. The truth is…" You got scared. You didn't realize who Jichang was until after the two of you became close friends. At that time, you were alone. Your memory issues were getting worse, you thought you lost your brother entirely, and the people you loved in your old world were forever out of reach. You were falling for Jichang, but he was going to die too, and you were too much of a coward to do anything about that. When he confessed that he wanted to be more than just your fuck buddy, you spiraled.

"The truth is I got cold feet."

Jichang was leaning over the center console. So were you.

His lips were so close.

"Jichang, the truth is, I really—"

Something slammed onto the windshield. "I OBJECT!"

You shrieked and started choking Jichang.

"Get away from my brother, old hag!" That something was Jihan Kwak. His face was smooshed against the glass as he glared daggers at you.

Jichang gently pried your fingers off his collar before getting out the car to smack their youngest. "Are you insane!?"

You clutched your chest. Once you got your breathing under control, you watched the two yell at each other and smiled.

Like many little siblings, Jihan was a tsundere for his older brother. You don't blame him for holding a grudge. If a man broke your heart the way you did with Jichang's, Gun would never let him near you again.

Someone tapped on your glass. It was Jibeom.

You rolled down the window.

"Long time no see, noona!" he greeted you in English.

"Hi Jibeom. Still watching sitcoms?"

"I finally started Sex and the City."

"Nice. Who's your favorite girl?"

You both answered in unison—"Not Carrie"—then you laughed together.

Jibeom wiped his eye and said, "Noona, have brunch with us tomorrow."

His brothers stopped bickering when they heard that.

"Oh." You chuckled nervously. "I don't want to impose."

"I'm not taking no for an answer." He then leaned in and pretended to whisper, "Our fridge broke down—I stored everything in a cooler but they won't last forever. You can even bring your brother and your friend."

"Thank you, but—"

"Please?"

You liked both of the younger Kwak brothers, but Jibeom was the only one who shared your love for Western comedies so you had a soft spot for him.

"All right."

"Yes!"

Jihan screamed, "Sunova—mmf!"

Jichang covered his mouth and asked, "When did our fridge break?"

"It was right after you left, big bro."

"Oh, really?"

"Yup."

Jibeom will never admit that he destroyed the wires before coming to the hospital. [3]

To be continued...

[1] In case you're wondering why Jihan uses "hyung" while Jibeom uses "big bro;" it is a deliberate choice on my part. IMO it helps flesh out their characters, plus it makes writing dialogue easier.

[2] I wish I had a patient, sexy, glasses-wearing boyfriend help me with anatomy when I was in school...🧍‍♀️

maybe in another life

(இ﹏இ`｡)

[3] Jihan "Cockblocker" Kwak vs Jibeom "Shipper" Kwak

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Disclaimer: The images used are screencaptures from Ep. 440, 435 & 441 - Lookism, Webtoon.

My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST | Lookism Masterlist

[bbystark]

viking!ghost x reader

cw: none? but i didn’t proofread so be warned lolz

viking!ghost who is believed to be killed in battle but really washes upon shore to some new coastline with people who speak a language he’s never heard before (he chalks it up to swimming in and out of consciousness)

viking!ghost who awakes violently, realizing he’s nowhere near home, thrashing and cursing anyone who tries (and fails) to console him and usher him back to bed

viking!ghost who finally shuts up when you, tiny thing beneath him, pick up a stick and promptly begin beating him with it, shouting what he can only imagine to be curses with weight behind them only a women could muster

viking!ghost who’s so taken away by your raw beauty, and quite annoyed (and impressed) that your swings are actually stinging his skin, lets himself fall back into bed, only grabbing the stick after he lets you get a few more swings in. you can’t blame him he’s quite enthralled by your passion

viking!ghost who begrudgingly resigns himself to trying his best to acclimate while he gets over nasty pneumonia and frostbite. he hasn’t quite shaken being seen without his covering, but it’s a strange type of freedom, that these people knew not of his past. it was dangerous for bimn to feel like a new man in this new place, with fiery little you sporadically making appearances

viking!ghost won’t admit to himself that he purposefully acts difficult with others in hopes you’d be tasked with his care more often. it works.

viking!ghost who’s picked up some of your language. “your.. name?” he tries in your tongue one night. you pause, he’s deeply satisfied when he sees recognition flicker across your face. you scowl and raise your eyebrow at him. “y/n”. he tells you his name. his real name. and when you stare at him and you frown a little less, he thinks he’s never seen someone more beautiful. he vaguely notes that you must be the kind of women that inspire heroes.

viking!ghost who after that interaction has a sudden urge to be useful. to prove himself to you. the language was just the start. he stops being a pain, taking whatever is offered and resting when told. he slowly gets better, starts helping around your community. he sees you watch him as he picks fruit with the older adults and children. in the coming weeks he’s stronger, chopping wood and hunting with your best.

viking!ghost who tells himself he’s just repaying a debt. your people used valuable resources on saving him, it was only the honorable thing to do. never mind the beautiful woman who nursed him to health and won’t give him the time of day. it has nothing to do with that.

viking!ghost who finally catches you at a celebration to usher in spring, the entire village buzzing with excitement at warming weather. the women you are with, aunts he’s come to learn, shove you towards him, giggling while they scamper off.

viking!ghost who can’t help but smile, scars stretching when you say his name curtly. “y/n. spring,” he dumbly points around, trying his best with what words he’s been able to learn. you smile. it outshines the sun. “spring.” you nod.

viking!ghost who trails you around the rest of the night. you let him. he sees a new side of you, carefree, engaging in traditions, joyous. towards the end of the night he’s drank something that’s made him feel light in a way he never has, and he tries his luck one more time.

viking!ghost who’s surprised when you beat him to the punch. well, kind of. you sit next to him suddenly, head titled. “you. why… stay?” he’s shocked hearing his language for the first time in months. he wonders where you’ve learned it from he sits for a moment. he’s not sure how to answer. when he fails to respond, you hum and offer him a piece of fruit. you don’t ask again, you just sit with him in silence. he relishes in it.

viking!ghost who keeps putting off figuring out a way back home. it’s summer now, he can carry simple conversation, he’s found a routine. you’ve warmed to him greatly, how could you not when he works so hard and gets you fruit from high up in the trees? you don’t want to talk about how you feel when he’s kind to the children who swarm him as if he’s an oddity.

viking!ghost who knows he faces a choice sooner than later. he had loyalties back home, no matter how it heart sunk at the thought of leaving you. he won’t allow himself to confront the startling truth of how much this place feels of a home he’s never truly known. how you feel like home.

viking!ghost who doesn’t have to make the decision in the end. his men have plans of pillage, and they’ve landed their sights on your little village…