about the author: hello, i’m rheign! i use she/her pronouns, and i love reading and collecting books; i only started writing when i was 14, but i have always been passionate about the art of literature. my hogwarts house is slytherin (hence my username), i’m an f1 fan, and my favorite f1 driver is lewis hamilton. i'm also obsessed with penelope and colin (polin) from bridgerton, and they're the only character x character pairing i write about (so far).
other socials: you can find me on tiktok, wattpad, and ao3 under the same username (@slytherheign). i am in the process of cross-posting my works; however, there are some content differences depending on which platform i post on. my fics release schedule can be found at the bottom of this post.
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➜ the station. where you can find everything i write. also known as rheignwrites. my masterlist can be found here.
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♫ — fic release schedule
my 'character x character' pairing fics will be exclusively available on ao3 and wattpad (but with a release date schedule difference). HOWEVER, as usual, all 'x reader' fics will stay exclusively here on tumblr. if you want an 'x oc' version of those fics, head to wattpad and ao3. all one-shots will also be tumblr exclusive, while 'character x character' fics are ao3 and wattpad exclusives. if this is confusing, let me break it down for you:
➜ tumblr (@slytherheign):
character x reader fics (with 1 week advance in release date than wattpad and ao3)
one-shot fics (will stay as an ‘x reader’ and will EXCLUSIVELY be available on tumblr)
➜ ao3 (@slytherheign):
character x character fics (with 1 week advance in release date than wattpad)
character x original character version of my character x reader multichapter fics (1 week later than tumblr release date + with additional content sometimes)
➜ wattpad (@slytherheign):
character x original character version of my character x reader multichapter fics (1 week later than tumblr release date + with additional content sometimes)
character x character fics (1 week later release date than ao3)
— important notes:
i will still be only taking requests from my tumblr account.
all fic updates, fic events, fic milestone celebrations, author-reader Q&As will be posted on my tumblr community.
the reason i’m doing this is because i want to spread my fics onto different platforms and the fic release dates difference is so that people will want to visit my other writing platforms and support me there as well. i also want to be friends with more people. <3
i'm also thrilled to inform you all that i sometimes pick one-shots from my tumblr exclusives and turn them into a series that will be available on ao3 and wattpad only. as usual, i will then turn the reader into an oc for those lucky fics, and i will need your help with some decisions such as the oc's name, face claim, and possible change in plot direction. you just have to join my tumblr community if you want to participate and help me out!
i’m thrilled to inform you all that i will occasionally pick one-shots from my tumblr exclusives and turn them into full series that will be available only on ao3 and wattpad. as usual, i will be turning the reader into an oc for those lucky fics, and i will need your help with decisions such as the oc’s name, face claim, and possible changes in plot direction. if you’d like to participate and help me out, all you have to do is join my tumblr community!
for reference, these are the one-shots: YBWM | LNV | SOTB/AWTR | SIGHTSEEING
help me by joining my community and voting on the poll! updates and announcements about the progress will be posted there and i will also need your insight and suggestions every now and then about this new series and other future fics!
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Summary: Tom did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now.
Pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader
Words: 5.5k
Warnings: vague mentions of child abuse if u squint, academic rivalry!au, kissing, handjob
Authors note: this was requested by @roughlypinkfalcon ! got so inspired at 3am, i stayed up till 7am writing this lol. if anyone has any requests, i feel like writing so shoot me an ask or a message and i'll do my best! i haven't been writing much but i've been in the mood for it again yayy. i might do a pt. 2 if anyone is interested so lmk :D
In the darkness of the forest, Tom finds you. Neither of you were supposed to be out outside of the castle this late, especially in the forbidden forest. He had snuck out to retrieve an item of great importance to him, but had come back empty handed. He had deemed the night a complete loss, until he had stumbled upon you by the lake. It was exactly what he’d been needing. Blackmail, to keep you at bay. You had become an annoying thorn in his academic life.
Tom has always been smart, top of the class, but there was also you - someone dangerously on his heels, and sometimes getting the upper hand, burning Tom one too many times in your rivalry against one another. He hated admitting defeat. His hatred - at least, he thought it was hatred, he didn’t know what else to name it - for you simmered hotter and hotter with every passing year, every class you had together, racing to be the first to finish tests, answer questions first, get the better grade.
You breaking curfew was exactly what he needed to get you in trouble, not permanently, but it brings a sickening smile to his face at the thought of you losing house points, and receiving detention. It was the last thing you wanted, so he could use this to his advantage.
“A little late for an evening stroll, don’t you think?” Tom calls out from the trees.
Your figure whips around, but you do not raise your wand. Your arms remain wrapped around your middle.
Tom’s shit-eating grin falters when he catches the traces of tear marks glinting on your cheeks. He has never seen you cry before. You’ve never shown weakness. The only two emotions he ever saw from you was your smugness at besting him, and anger for losing to him.
Feeling like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, Tom takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable at catching you in such a vulnerable moment.
“Tom Riddle?” you call out, squinting in the darkness.
He could just leave. Pretend like he hadn’t seen you breaking down alone, in the middle of the forest, late at night. You were a private person, and this felt like the worst moment anyone, especially Tom Riddle, considering your history, could interrupt.
But apart of himself doesn’t want to leave, maybe curious to know what had brought down his mightiest rival.
“I know it is you,” you say hotly, that trademark tone you’d use on Tom bleeding back into the softness of your voice. “Come out.”
He does not come out because you had told him to, but rather for himself.
The night was especially chilly tonight, a layer of fog creeping along the forest floor so thick that it does not even part for Tom as he makes his way to your side. You were not dressed for the weather, apparent by the way you were shaking slightly. Unless you were just that upset. It was probably both. You were in nothing but your nightgown, and it looks like you have been crying for some time.
“Getting sick will earn you no pity points from me,” he tells you.
“I am not trying to get sick.”
“Then, where is your sweater?” he asks, and nearly grimaces at how it had come out. He was not worried for you. He didn’t care that you were out here alone in nothing but a thin cotton gown.
“I did not realize you were concerned about my health.”
Tom narrows his eyes. “I am not.”
The silence that followers has Tom scanning the area. You were the last person he expected to see out here. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, but you would have been the last on his list. You were always careful. Never stepped out of line in fears of getting in trouble. You played by the rules, studied hard, and being caught out here would most definitely land you in trouble.
“What are you doing out here, this late at night?” Tom asks.
Before you can answer, you let out a sneeze that echos deep within the landscape of the forest. He glances around, almost like he was waiting for something to leap out and attack. When nothing happens, he zeros in on you with a hard stare before he begrudgingly shucks off his jacket.
“Take this before you freeze to death,” he says with clenched teeth.
You look at the jacket he’s holding out for you for a moment, mouth parting in surprise, but ultimately take it without saying anything. He watches as you slip it on, the materials setting nicely upon your shivering frame. You’re quiet for a moment as you fiddle with the buttons.
“I couldn’t take the pressure,” you answer truthfully. Your voice is like gravel, maybe experiencing some level of pain at admitting anything to your rival. “I have been studying for hours. I… I felt suffocated in the dorms. I needed air.”
Tom knows well of the expectations your family held for you. A pureblood line, family running back to the families of old. It is why you tried so hard. It is why you wanted to be the best. You had family expectations to up hold, while Tom was trying to prove himself to the world. He didn’t need to be the best; but you did.
Of course, Tom held some respect for you and your family’s name. If only you weren’t his biggest opponent, he would recruit you into his mission. He’s thought about it countless times. You’d make a good ally. With your combined smarts and magic, it would give him an unfair advantage above those lower than him. Your magic was strong, like his. Your pureblood magic was to thank for that.
He did not have the same family as you did, not the same weight on his shoulders, but he understood to a certain degree. He himself had his own expectations. He had plans. Dreams. Things he wanted to achieve - no, needed to achieve, otherwise he was as good as nothing. He’s never given much thought to how you felt in all of this. He’s never seen this… human side of you. It felt too intimate considering the nature of your relationship.
And he had given you his jacket.
Tom did not like others touching his things. But this was someone he held in esteem, reluctantly. He wished he could hate you, truly hate you, but there was always some form of excitement when you were neck and neck, fighting to come out on top.
“Studying for hours? There are no tests tomorrow, and the homework was nothing out of the ordinary. Trying to one up me again?” he throws out, in his weird attempt at trying to lighten the sullen mood.
The setting was only adding to the mystery that was dripping from your form. He could see the marks of exhaustion and defeat in the eyebags carved into your smooth skin.
“I am falling behind,” you say, bottom lip trembling. “My family will kill me.”
Tom does not know if you’re exaggerating, but he doesn’t think you were lying for sympathy.
“You got higher marks than me on our last test. You are not falling behind, sadly.”
Trust Tom to know when he’s lost to you.
You bring a hand up to wipe at the tears that have just begun to fall, a forced laugh escaping your lips. “Because I have been killing myself studying. I can hardly eat, sleep, without worrying that… if I do not come out on top, my parents, they will -” your hand finds its way to your throat, where it rubs absently into the skin.
“It is not like you’re failing. You score perfect on nearly every exam,” he says in somewhat annoyance.
“It is not enough,” you say quietly. “If I am not the best, I am losing in their eyes.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” Tom asks then, uneasy, not know what to even say to what you had admitted. He wasn’t good at consoling people. No one has ever even cried to him, and for you to be the first one, well. He just wishes he knew what to do. He feels like he is doing a poor job at trying to consol you. If that was even Tom trying to consol you.
“I don’t know,” you say, shrinking further into his jacket that he was beginning to regret giving away. It was freezing. “You are quite possibly the worst person I could talk to about this.”
Toms lip quirks up in amusement, his sentiments exactly, but he hides it. “I agree.”
“What are you doing out here, anyways?”
“Business.”
“Business? What business does a Hogwarts student have at this hour?”
“Nothing of your concern,” he tells you snippily.
“I could report you for being out past curfew, you know.”
“I am the Prefect here. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
You give a shrug, defeated.
Tom feels a chill go up his spine. He was tired. The night was a complete loss - except for this odd encounter.
“And don’t expect me to go easy on you because of this,” Tom says.
For the first time since he’s known you, you give a small laugh. A real laugh, not the bouts of laughter brought out from your own arrogance or anger. It rings like bells in his head, and pulls an involuntary feeling in his stomach that has always taunted him. That same feeling he always gets with you. Not hatred, but… something else.
“I didn’t expect anything of the sort. And we should be heading back, it’s late.”
The walk back to the castle is quiet, but it is no longer awkward. He throws you a few looks, confused on how to feel about the situation, just wanting to make sure you were really still there. He didn’t know what to make of it. You’ve never spoken anything more than heated words between wins and losses, gloating or making promises that you would win next time.
Tonight you were honest with him. You were real.
It was the most human connection Tom has ever had, and it has an odd feeling swirling in his chest. Ever since you’d laughed. You’d smiled at him. You’ve smiled at him before, but the self-satisfied kind for one upping him. This smile was genuine.
And you give him that same smile when you stop to part ways, both not knowing what to say. Neither of you were worried about getting caught. It was a regular occurrence for the both of you to slip out past curfew, it seemed.
“Thanks for… listening to me,” you mumble, hands still playing with the jacket.
“I did not have much of a choice.”
Your eyes roll. “You’re acting like you couldn’t have just walked away.”
“I wouldn’t leave you there like that,” Tom says. You had been a pitiful mess when he’d seen you. He had thought about leaving - but he knew he wouldn’t really. Any thoughts of reporting you are also forgotten.
“Why? I thought you hated me.”
Tom chokes up for a second, almost feeling like he was caught. With what - caring for you? He does not care. He regains his composure. “There would be no one left to challenge me, if anything happened to you,” he says dismissively. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” you echo, turning and leaving him standing alone in the hallway.
He does not even think of his missing jacket until he gets to his room. He finds himself not minding. He trusted you to look after it. You knew how to take care of things; you were probably one of the only competent students in the school.
The next day, when he sees you, the usual crackling of tension just… isn’t there. Not until a week later, when a test is announced, one that is worth a good chunk of your grade, and the odd truce you two had unanimously agreed upon goes up in smoke.
He catches you in the hallway after class, slinking up to where you’re already furiously scribbling away in a notebook.
“You should know,” Tom tells you, and you glance up with a scowl. “That I am extremely well versed in the exams topic.”
“You should know that so am I.”
“Then why do you look so worried?”
Your expression falters for a moment, your fear showing through the mask of anger you’d been wearing, and Tom’s delight dissolves into a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t carry on walking with you after that. He lags behind, watching as you dart for the library to study.
Your words from the lake play in his mind. Your family wanted you to be the best, and if you weren’t the best, then… he wonders, briefly, what they do when they’re unhappy with you. You seemed scared. He does not know if its because you simply do not like being talked down to, or if they hurt you in other ways. Some pureblood families were extreme. On the outside, your family was regal, pristine, but he doesn’t know what goes on behind closed doors.
The test was in a week from the day it was announced, and Tom does not see you much, like usual, before a big test. He of course spots you in the library, but you never see him. You never do notice when he’d watch you from between the books, even before you’d talked. He had an odd fascination with you, and how your mind worked. He’s always wanted a glimpse inside; but now that he has, he almost regrets it.
He thinks back to when you’d met.
Your rivalry had started from the very first class you’d had together.
Tom has always been smarter than anyone he’s ever met, so when he learned that he did not score the highest on a test, he’d immediately looked into you. He was pleased that you were a pureblooded wizard, and even more so from such a prestigious family. He’d thought about recruiting you, but then he’d notice that you fought to answer questions faster than he could in classes, and how you were always fighting for the number one spot he usually always claimed. It felt like you’d started a war with him.
He’d hated you at first, thinking of all the ways he’d get rid of you, having you expelled, but over the years, he’d grown used to it. He had started looking forward to the push and pull of your relationship. Who would win and who would lose. Tom loved to gloat in your face and make you mad, but that was before he’d learned about just why you tried so hard. It felt different, now. He’d seen how worried you’d been at the lake. And now, he just sees that same girl from that night standing at the waters end, crying, at your wits end.
When the test starts, Tom is almost nervous to begin. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, but you’re as composed as ever.
Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you had exaggerated.
The test isn’t easy, but it isn’t the hardest test he’s ever taken, either. He finishes it in record time, and sets down his quill with a sense of accomplishment when he notices that he’s completed it before you did. Only by a few minutes, as you are second to finish. Your eyes meet his, and he raises the corner of his lip into a sharp half grin. I win, it says.
“A little slow today?” he asks you once class is over, and students filter out of the room. He can’t help it, so used to poking fun at you anytime he had the advantage. You always did the same. It was just as annoying as it probably was for both of you.
“I was merely checking my work,” you snap at him, but you’re soon wearing a smug grin of your own. “Are you so obsessed with me that you noticed I finished three minutes after you did?”
Tom tilts his head down closer to you, amused. “I never said it was three minutes.”
Your eyes widen, mouth opening with something to say. “I - I was guessing.”
“Oddly specific for a guess.”
That is the end of that, you decide, because you simply walk away. Tom doesn’t stop you. He carries on to his next classes, the test forgotten, until you’re given them back a few days later. He’s received top marks, 100%, to his satisfaction. He immediately looks to you, ready to rub it in your face, until he sees the unmistakable quiver of your bottom lip. Your expression was wrecked, unable to conceal your horror, only schooling your features when you finally look up to see Tom staring.
For the remainder of the class, Tom keeps his eyes on you. And you do not look his way once.
He’s never seen you react like that to any test.
When class ends, you tear out of the room, with Tom hot on your heels. He knew you’d make a quick escape so he’d planned ahead to be ready once dismissed. He does not run, but he keeps a brisk pace to keep track of where you were darting off to. He loses you around a corner, and he stands there, lost, until he hears the unmistakable sound of someone crying.
Up a flight of stairs and into a concealed room, Tom finds you curled up by a window sobbing into your knees.
“That bad?” Tom asks.
You startle again, jerking your head up to see who had dared follow you. He almost thought you’d be happy to see him, maybe, but your reaction is one of disgust.
“Chased after me just to see me cry again, Riddle?” you snarl, angrily wiping your tears. “Do you like seeing me upset?”
No, actually. Not like this. Not when you were actually upset. He loved to rile you up, but not to the point of tears. This is only the second time he’s seen you cry, and it is just as uncomfortable as the first time. He doesn’t know why, but it brings a sickening kind of churning in his stomach when seeing you like this; truly upset.
“No, I don’t,” he says, matter of fact.
“Then why are you here? Did you really come to see if I was ok?”
You’re saying it like you’re saying something unbelievable, because it was. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t care. And he doesn’t.
At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.
But seeing you crying, miserable, doesn’t bring him the pleasure he thought seeing his rival like that would bring him.
“What was your score?” Tom asks instead of answering your question.
You huff, reaching into your pocket to pull out a crumbled piece of paper and throw it in his direction. He catches it with ease, and smoothes out the paper. You’d gotten 15 points off a 30 point test. You’d failed it.
“I don’t understand…” Tom frowns at you as he brings the paper down from view. “How is this possible? I saw you studying all week.”
“I couldn’t remember anything,” you say lowly. Your head hangs between your shoulders in defeat. “I… I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I visit the lake every night to think.”
Tom bristles. “What?”
Not sleeping, and going into the forest, alone? You had a death wish.
“It is the only place I can go to be alone. Truly alone. Not surrounded by people who know me, and my parents.”
“You’re making yourself sick going out in the cold.”
You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear, looking almost sheepish. “Actually… I wear your jacket to keep me warm. I still have it, you know. I can, um. Give it back.”
Tom inhales a breath at that, surprised. He knew you had his jacket, but he hadn’t actually thought about what you were doing with it. You had plenty of your own clothes. Coming from a wealthy pureblooded family, you had whatever you wanted at your disposal. He was surprised you found something from him, a poor orphan, appealing. Comforting.
“Keep it,” Tom says.
You glance up at him, calmer now. “Why?”
“If it provides you even the smallest bit of comfort, then it’s yours.”
Your eyes are red from crying, but it seems that you’ve regained your composure. You even offer a small smile. “It really shouldn’t, but it smells like you, and, well…”
Tom’s heart unexpectedly kicks in his chest at your confession. He didn’t know he meant that much, if anything, to you. Being comforted by his smell alone made Tom feel… confused, more than ever.
“I - I mean, it’s just - it’s comfortable too,” you’re quick to tack on, like that’ll make Tom forget what you had just said.
“Of course,” Tom says stiffly.
Neither of you say anything for a moment, both struck by what you had admitted, before you give a sigh.
“My parents are going to kill me,” you tell him. You’re no longer upset, but seem to be in a state of acceptance. There’s a faraway look that enters your eyes when you glance up at him. “You’ll get your jacket back soon enough, when I am gone.”
Tom balls his fists. “You don’t mean that.”
You drop your gaze to peer out the window. “I do. You don’t know my family. I have never gotten such a low score in all of my years at Hogwarts. I fear they will pull me from the school, saying they’re not teaching me anything, and have me home schooled.”
There’s a second where Tom pictures it; you, gone, no longer the first person he looked at in class - the first person he looked for, period, at the beginning of the day, and at the end of the day. No one else could keep up with him. No one else excited him to even a fraction of how you made him feel.
“I won’t let that happen,” Tom swears. “Leave it to me.”
“What? Tom!” you call out, but he swoops out of the room with a swish of his robes.
He scales down the stairs quicker than you can scramble to chase after him, and makes a beeline back to the classroom, where he finds the teacher. He’s preparing for the next class, and greets Tom, his favorite student, with a proud smile. Unbeknownst to the teacher, Tom locks the door behind himself, effectively keeping you out when you tug on the doorknob.
Minutes pass in which you are outside of the classroom, nervously biting at your fingernails, when the door pops open with a click and Tom comes breezing out into the hallway.
“What did you do?” you ask, trying to peer around him into the classroom, but he guides you away from the room with a hand to the small of your back.
It’s the first time Tom has ever touched you, and you’re both a little jittery from the contact. He leads you around a corner and stops you once you’re out of earshot from other students.
“You need not worry about the grade you got on the test,” Tom says quietly.
You blink up at him, stunned, not knowing what to say. You manage to splutter out, “what does that mean? What did you do?”
“I fixed the problem. You’re safe from your parents, and more importantly, you will stay here, at Hogwarts,” Tom says with finality.
A silent “with me” lingers in the air.
You search his eyes, but he’s as firm as ever, not even an ounce of hesitation or fear in his expression.
For the first time, someone has solved your problems. Your parents never offered their aid. They expected you to figure everything out on your own, using that smart brain of yours, and acted upset when you were less than perfect.
You sigh out, relieved, so relieved. You trust him when he said he’d fixed it. You didn’t know what he did, you’d find out soon enough, but he had helped you. You, his rival. His sworn enemy.
“Thank you, Tom” you say. To his shock, you grab hold of his tie, and pull him down to plant a kiss upon his cheekbone. “I owe you one.”
Toms mouth hangs open as you walk off, his hand absently coming up to touch at the warmed spot where your lips had been. He hadn’t expected any kind of reward from what he had done, you staying here was enough. But that kiss has his heart racing, breaths slow and almost labored, from a mere kiss to his cheek. He was reacting in such a way that when a boy receives a kiss from someone he liked.
But Tom did not like you.
He loathed you.
But he hated the idea more at you not being at Hogwarts anymore. He couldn’t imagine how dreadfully boring school would become. It’s such a stark contrast to how he first felt about you, wishing you’d get expelled, no longer there to bother him. Funny how feelings evolve. He never thought himself as one to get attached to, well, anything. Whether it be other humans or objects. But he can say with certainty if anything happened to you - if an outside force, other than himself of course, got you upset, he wouldn’t stand for it. He loved those moments where your eyes were alight with fire. He loved when you spoke cruelly towards him, and only him.
He… loved you.
Somewhere in the battle, he’d unknowingly given apart of himself to you. You were his equal. You were his best match.
He thought you were his enemy, but you were something to be valued, not discarded.
It’s a hard thing to come to terms with, especially after all the years of what he thought was hatred, but was really the love he’s tried masking.
Tom Riddle didn’t love. Not like a normal person would, anyways. His version of love was twisted. Warped by his upbringing and just how his mind worked. He wouldn’t settle for just anyone; and you were better than anyone he has ever met. By brains, magic, and status alone. He cared little for looks, but the slope of your nose, down to the shape of your hair, just made sense.
And physical contact was not something he went looking for. There were students who made passes at him, hinting that they would love to date, kiss, do anything with him, but he’s never been interested.
Never interested till now.
Till you’d kissed him, kissed his cheek, and now he is being consumed by thoughts he has never had for another before. He knows how to focus on his school work. He is a master at self control, but even you have him skirting the edges of those restraints.
The day after he’d helped you, after you’d kissed him, he watches you like a hawk. He spots you from the moment you enter the dining hall for breakfast, and throughout classes. He does not think he’ll speak with you that day, until it is after the class you’d failed the test in. You’re there before him, so he assumes you’d talked to the teacher before class started. Your expression is blank throughout the entirety of the class. Eyes forward and focused, like you didn’t dare miss anything.
Afterwards, though, you level Tom with a look and nod for him to follow after you. And he does, he listens, following you through the halls until you lead him to the stairway, and up to the small room with a window.
“You used a memory charm?” you ask him, incredulous. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“You dare doubt my ability to perform a memory charm? I have been using more advanced spells since I was in my first year.”
“What if he remembers? What if he - what if he tells Dumbledore?”
Tom scoffs. “He will not remember. You should be grateful.”
“I am, Tom, it’s just… I don’t understand why you would put everything at risk over me. I thought you despised me.”
He did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now. It is why he had protected you. It is why he has risked his own expulsion so you could stay at Hogwarts with him.
“The only thing I despise, is you not being by my side,” Tom admits lowly.
Your eyes widen. You’re at a loss for words, Tom can see, but there is no disgust in your expression. It is hard to tell what you’re thinking, until your eyes drop to his lips, the surprise melting into something that has Tom’s stomach rolling over in his abdomen.
Like when you had kissed his cheek, you are first to initiate.
Tom allows you to grab hold of his tie again, and bring him down, closer, his eyes slipping shut at the first brush of your lips against his. He sighs out through his nose, allowing everything to happen slowly, so slowly, so he doesn’t lose control. He’s trembling where he stands as he fights to have some composure, but when your lips press firmly into his, he lets out a soft groan that was hiding at the back of his throat.
All those years of watching, fighting, rivalry, hatred that turned into something closer to admiration, bleed into the desperation of the kiss.
You’re just as frantic, soft hands leaving trails of fire up his arms and scorching burn marks into his cheek and chest where they come to rest.
It is you telling Tom that, just as he has watched you, you have watched him. You have noticed him in those quiet moments where he thought no one was looking at him. You’ve seen how hard he worked. You’ve seen how dedicated he was. It inspired you, just as you inspired him. You pushed each other to be better. Work harder.
Tom bites at the plushness of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens up to let out a gasp, but in doing so you’ve only allowed Tom in. He kisses you hungrily, deeper, both of you fighting each other to be the dominant tongue. Like everything, you’re at war. You’re just as skilled, just as angry, as Tom was.
At some point he’s backed you into the wall, and really, you should have just given in to losing this round. He can feel himself pulling ahead. His hands drop to your breasts, where he pinches and squeezes along your skin. With every pleased noise you make, Tom earns another point in his head.
His concentration is shattered when you unexpectedly press your hand into his cock, jolting him in place. His eyes snap open only for them to screw shut when you beginning rubbing into his pants, the hands he’d been using to fondle you with twitching to a stop. He has to bring them up to plant on either sides of your head, nearly losing his footing as you use your nimble fingers to make him dizzy.
Tom can’t hold the kiss any longer, breaking it to rest his head against yours, breathing heavily as he struggles to stay upright. He’s losing himself of the feeling of your hand petting him through his pants, maybe thankful for the barrier there, but it was like you’d heard his thoughts, and unbuckle his belt. He tries to muffle the noise he makes when you make contact with his bare skin, but it slips out between clenched teeth.
“Still think you’re winning, Tom?” comes your silky voice.
He was losing, badly, but the feeling of you stroking him has him not caring about that. Only for that moment. Only until you make him orgasm seamlessly, and he comes down from his high. He hadn’t lasted long at all. It was probably the most embarrassed Tom has ever felt. And for it to have been him who deepened things, started touching you, only for this to be the outcome? Embarrassing. He’d lost at his own game.
To make things worse, you’re grinning madly, watching as he hurriedly cleans himself up with a spell and quickly buckles his pants.
“You had an unfair advantage,” Tom gives as an excuse.
“And what was that?”
You were, well, you. That put you at an advantage no one else had.
Instead of telling you that, because that would surely inflate your ego even more, Tom levels you with a look he attempts to make fierce, but there is no anger to fuel it. He just stares at you for a moment, maybe in awe, before he says, “meet me in the library after class. We’ll study together, from now on. I cannot fix your problems every time you fail a test.”
“Wha - that was one time, Tom!” you shout after him, as he trots down the stairs.
Summary: After you are expelled from Hogwarts, you take up a job at Borgin and Burkes as a cursed objects hunter. Tom is always mesmerized when you breeze in to sell whatever it is you’ve found out in the field. Lines are crossed. Bonds are made. It isn’t until you’re hurt, and stay with Tom, that he realizes how much you meant to him.
Pairings: pining!tom riddle x fem!reader
Words: 9.8k
Warnings: injury, blood, alcohol use, unprotected sex
Authors note: i loved the idea of the reader being like a rough and tough go getter, either always dirty and looking straight off a runway. no in between. I saw a lot of outfit ideas on twt and the whole thing kinda spiraled from there lol. again, would’ve made it longer, but i figured almost 10k words was enough
How you enter the shop was always a surprise. It is either one of two ways: you’d apparate in, dirty, having just gotten away from whatever it was guarding the cursed item you’d taken, or you’d breeze in through the front door in a flawless, well put together outfit.
It is always amusing to guess which side of you he will see whenever a delivery is to be made.
Today, it seems, is one of the days you apparate into the store. Your clothing is covered in dirt and there’s a cut on your cheekbone, but you reign victorious with a small box that you place upon the counter.
“Cursed ring,” you tell him after a moment of having to catch your breath. “It renders a person blind when worn.”
Tom takes the wooden box in his hands and opens it to peer inside. A beautiful red ruby stares up at him. He hovers a finger over the jewel, feeling the hum of magic within.
You were Borgin and Burkes best hunter for cursed objects.
There were several ways they acquired the objects they sold within the shop, most of which were shady and usually always illegal, but there were some wizards who’d merely stumbled upon them. Family heirlooms they didn’t know what to do with. Gifts from odd wizards.
You were always their most solid player yet.
Almost every week, you’d come in with something new to sell.
The wizarding world was old; there were countless cursed objects out there, old and new ones being made every so often. Hunters could look for the entirely of their lives and there’d still be more for others to find. You just happened to have a knack for locating them.
Tom had always been curious about you. He remembers when you two attended Hogwarts together, before you had gotten expelled in your last year. He knows it is why you’ve turned to this lifestyle. Why you cannot find a proper job amongst the wizarding folk. You were an outcast, a liability.
All the more reason you were perfect for the job.
No one paid attention to you. No one dared spare a second glance at the girl who’d murdered a student at Hogwarts, and gotten away with it.
“Where did you find this?” Tom asks as he closes the box. He knew better than to touch it and you knew better than to warn him.
You swipe at the weeping wound on your cheek, but this only causes you to streak it further down your skin, along with a smudge of dirt from your hands. He never did like when you’d show up in such a state. It made him feel almost a weird sense of pity for you. He never minded the sight of blood, but yours always had him feeling a little sick in the stomach.
“New Zealand, in the mountains,” you say. “Had to take a shoddy Portkey that dropped me two hours away, and then I hiked my way in.”
“That explains why you are so…” Tom eyes you up and down. There was even dirt in your hair. He almost wants to offer bringing you a towel to wipe down with, but it has been something he’s offered to you before, and was turned away like you’d been offended.
“No. The room was underground, and it started caving in on me the moment I removed the ring from its place. I had to crawl out.”
Tom makes a noise of acknowledgment. It is a wonder you’re still alive. Others have died escaping lesser traps.
“I will throw in an added bonus, then,” Tom tells you. “For your efforts.”
You give a nod, and that is all.
It isn’t until another week and a half later that you come in again, but this time you’re not on the verge of collapse.
You stride in with a small bag in your gloved hands.
Tom pauses from talking with a customer to watch as you come closer, movements controlled and confident in a way that he has seen from you a hundred times over, but never fails to have him completely captivated.
There is always a sort of elegance to how you’d dress. A danger that had him intrigued.
Tom favored objects that were of use to him. He always had an eye out for anything that could be posed as a threat, and he usually found that in cursed items. But you held that same feeling, whenever he looked it you, it was the same type of thrill he’d get out of staring at a rare artifact he wanted for himself. He had quite the collection at home. You’d be a good fit there, amongst the magical entities that could kill you if handled wrong. He’s sure you held the same type of power, one wrong move on Tom’s part, and you’d throw a curse at his head.
“My, my,” says the lady he’s helping. She’s older, nicer than his usual customers. She had an item she wanted to sell to him, and he’d been extremely interested until you had walked in. She catches sight of you and a knowing smirk touches her lips. “Maybe I should be on my way. It seems as though something more valuable has just caught your attention.”
For a brief moment, Tom does not know what to say. His perfect mask as a cursed objects salesperson had slipped.
He picks it back up with ease and pleads, gently, for her to stay. He knows what to say, how to act, when he is negotiating for something he wanted. He was quite persuasive.
The woman sells him the item with little to no convincing. She had merely wanted his attention, but it had been rather hard ignoring your presence in the shop, even though you had slipped into the back. He felt your energy there like a warm breath on the back of his neck.
“Didn’t just crawl out of a hole this time, I see,” Tom says as he enters the back of the shop. He’d flipped the sign to closed and locked the door, least another customer bother him while you’re there.
You’re lounging at his desk, feet propped up on the table as you toyed with a dagger in your hands. It had been sitting on his desk awaiting to be examined. He hadn’t been able to tell or not if it was truly cursed, but you seem to have done the work for him as you twirl it between your fingers.
“This is a dud,” you tell him, not paying his comment any mind. You toss it in the air briefly, testing the weight, before turning towards him.
Tom forgets himself, his magic, as you launch it in his direction. He stumbles back as the knife imbeds itself into the wall directly beside his fucking head.
“How dare you,” Tom snarls. He rips it from the wall angrily, and tosses it onto his desk. He knocks your legs to the floor. “Have some respect. Sit up.”
You scoff, rearranging yourself on the chair. “Yes, mom. Lighten up, Tom.”
“You just made a threat upon my life. You are lucky I do not curse you where you sit.”
“That was not a threat to your life,” you say, head tilting to look up at him. “You would know if I had meant it as one; I would not have missed.”
“They teach you to throw knives wherever it was you went after Hogwarts?” Tom says snidely.
He leans onto his desk, arms crossed. He waits for your reaction. He knows it is a soft spot for you, you almost always flinch at the very mention of the school. It is a low blow, but you had just thrown a knife at him. You deserved it.
And a reaction you give him, as you scowl at him, gone is the cocky attitude you’d had before.
You grab at the bag you’d brought in and dig inside, producing a golden necklace.
Tom recognizes it almost immediately.
“It can’t be,” he breathes, reaching for it, but you snatch it away with a tsk. He wears the same scowl you’d worn earlier, your expression now one of smugness.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say in a condescending tone. “I thought you’d want this rare, magical Time-Turner you’ve mentioned before, but since you want to curse me instead, I think I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
You stand, moving to leave, but Tom blocks your path.
The Time-Turner was one of the magical items he’d been after. He’d mentioned it to you before, offhandedly, not thinking you’d actually find one. He watches it sway in your hands, transfixed.
It is the last time he ever underestimates you again.
“Name your price,” Tom tells you.
“What will you do with it?” You ask, feigning innocence to his question. You touch the precious metal with steady hands, toying with it like it wasn’t a delicate instrument of time travel. One wrong move and you could suck yourself into another timeline.
Tom grimaces as you dangle it in the air. “Careful with that,” he warns.
“Oh, do you think I don’t know how to use it already?” you ask, almost offended.
“My mistake,” Tom says, because he would be foolish to think that you hadn’t tested it for yourself. His eyes find the delicate piece of vintage jewelry on your neck. “You’ve gone back in time for… a necklace?”
You touch at the necklace with a small gasp. “This is not just any necklace, Tom. This is Cartier."
The name is not familiar with him, but it comes to no surprise. Tom had no interest in fashion, but you did, and the necklace seemed as valuable to you as the pocketwatch to Tom. You always did love a good designer brand.
“I said, name your price,” Tom repeats through his teeth. He wanted to hold it. He wanted it in his hands.
“You know my fee. Double it.”
Tom doesn’t think twice as he agrees.
You finally give it to him, and it feels heavy in his palm. The magic is practically dripping down his skin. It would do nicely upon his shelf with the other items he’d collected.
He is a little at odds with himself as he admires the object He knew you were good at finding things, but he had no idea you possessed the power to find something like this. The cursed objects you brought in were all prizes in and of themselves, but this was something Tom himself was actively seeking out.
And you had brought it right to him. He had only mentioned it maybe a few weeks ago. It had taken you two weeks to find it - Tom has been searching for it for months.
“Where did you find it?” Tom asks curiously.
“That is a secret,” You say.
Tom doesn’t push. He hadn’t answered your question, either. He has never revealed to your his master plans, he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t think you’d be against him, as you were from a pureblood family of your own. He keeps that part of his life a secret, but he has been thinking time and time again to recruit you. And this only further cements that idea.
You were good at finding things of value. Who knows what else you could bring him, if only he asked.
With a wave of your hand and a small bow, you bid him a goodbye.
Only, Tom stops you this time. He catches your arm as you head for the door, and your eyes widen when you meet his in surprise. He rarely touches you, if ever, only to do things like bumping you aside, removing your feet from his desk.
“I would like to properly thank you. Join me for dinner,” Tom finds himself saying. He wanted to know more behind your process of finding hidden objects. He had his methods, but yours have proven time and time again to be ten steps ahead of his own techniques.
You stare for a moment too long, and Tom drops his hand from your arm. He burns a little in embarrassment. He’d gotten ahead of himself.
“Alright,” you agree after what seemed to be heavy consideration. “What time do you get off?”
“7pm. Meet me at Deluca’s at 8. Do not be late.”
“When have I ever been late?”
Never, even if you’d show up dirty and half dead, you showed up at the promised times when a delivery was to be made.
“There’s always a first time for everything,” Tom says.
“Ever the optimist.”
“Do not make me change my mind. Deluca’s. 8 o’clock.”
“It’s a date,” you say, and you disapparate out of the shops before Tom can get another word out.
The rest of Tom’s shift drags on, slowly, painfully. He glances at the clock every ten minutes. It is hard to concentrate on anything at all the next few hours, his mind else where.
Deluca’s was a nice place. He’d have an hour to apparate home, get ready, and be there on time.
He wonders what you’re going to wear as he polishes the display window. He’s seen you in a few dresses, but this was different. You weren’t simply stopping by to make a delivery; you were to be his guest at a fancy restaurant.
You’d said it’s a date. It might as well have been, but Tom knows you hadn’t meant it that way.
Still, he cannot help but sweat a little at the idea.
Tom has never been on a date, much less kissed anyone. He didn’t have time for such things. He’d never wanted anyone in that way before.
But then you’d showed up, one day, striding in with a cursed object you’d claimed to have found out of pure luck. It had been a slow descent down into madness, for Tom, after that. He’d been hooked from the very first reunion. Your entire demeanor had completely shifted from when he knew you back at Hogwarts, he only saw glimpses of your old self during certain moments, quiet, drawn out sighs of exhaustion. Some days you were more of your older self, happier, even going as far as to joke with him. Other days, you were in a mood.
Like when you had thrown a knife at Tom’s head - he knew not to test you on those days.
Tom also wonders who he’ll get tonight, as he finally makes it home. He showers, brushes his teeth, and changes into a suit more appropriate for tonights dinner. His date? Not a date. Whatever it was.
He arrives at Deluca’s with five minutes to spare.
Just from the outside, he was dazzled with the amount of magic that was poured into the place. The walls were shimmering, paintings of all kinds moving in the background, the ceiling a perfect picture of the night sky.
“You’re early.”
Tom turns to find you there, and his stomach drops to the floor. The dress you’re wearing is mouthwatering, with skin showing in the right places, tight to the curves of your waist. It was primarily made of lace, a fabric you favored, having shown up to the shop multiple times wearing all different colors of lace tights beneath a well styled outfit. And it was his signature color, how could he not love it.
Though, you have shown up on multiple occasions in tattered clothes, ripped and stained with your blood, and he thinks you looked just as good as you did when you were more put together.
All in all, you could show up in a burlap sack and he’d think you looked stunning.
“You look…” Tom stumbles over himself as he cannot find the right word. Nothing that came to mind seemed good enough.
“You look good too, Tom,” you say knowingly, a teasing grin on your lips.
He swallows hard, defeated for the time being. He merely offers a nod and moves for the door, opening it for you and gesturing for you to enter the restaurant.
“Such a gentleman,” you comment as you pass by him, giving him a small pat to the chest.
Inside, it was just as overwhelming. He smoothly tells the hostess he has a reservation, and you are seated a moment later, at the best table in the house.
“How did you manage this?” you ask him in surprise.
He knew that you were aware of how hard it was to get a reservation to such a fine restaurant on short notice. It was the most sought after place to have dinner on this part of town, sometimes it took weeks just to get a table.
Tom doesn’t tell you how that he hadn’t needed to do much. The owner was a follower of his; all he’d had to do was merely ask.
“That is a secret,” Tom says.
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” he tells you. “It was nothing. What you have done was far more impressive.”
You tilt your head at him, brows raised. “Tom Riddle is impressed by me? What have I done to deserve such an honor?” you ask, again in the same condescending tone that has him narrowing his eyes.
“Careful, before I take back what I said.”
“Can’t take it back, Tom. That isn’t how things work.”
“I could merely obliviate you into forgetting.”
“Obliviate me? Your favorite treasure hunter?”
Tom stiffens. He cannot deny it, because you were right. He watches you as you happily lean back into your seat, having won another round and rendering him speechless. He didn’t like that you knew of his favoritism towards you. But here you two were, in the nicest restaurant in town, on an invitation he had extended to you. It was obvious. It was not every day Tom Riddle dinned with just anyone.
The waiter comes and takes your order before Tom can really fire anything back. He’d already known what he was getting even before he’d arrived, and it seemed you did as well. You order two drinks without giving Tom room to deny it, and they arrive quicker than he’d been expecting.
Tom did not drink. It made him loose. Weak, and not on full alert. He was not fully in control of his senses and he had no interest in it.
But, he allows it anyways. He had no big plans the next day, or tonight. He was free. So he drinks. He has one, and you order two more drinks to the table before he can even think to say no.
On his third drink, Tom is thoroughly more drunk than he has ever been. He barely remembers eating.
The conversation had flowed with every drink he swallowed down. He’d talked more about himself than he ever has with anyone; he’d told you about Hogwarts, his studies, his obsession with finding cursed objects that would one day be of use to him in war.
“War?” you ask, relaxed in your seat. “What war?”
Toms mouth snaps shut when he realizes he’d almost said too much. He waves it off, quick to change the subject.
The restaurant was growing to be too loud, and disorienting. Things were flying over head every second. Voices were roaring with laughter in his ear.
“I wish to leave,” Tom announces after his fourth drink. He is still lucid enough to know where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. He is stunned at your beauty every time he looks at you. His heart jumps up with every point of eye contact, and holds it until you look away.
The bad thing about being drunk that Tom hadn’t fully thought about, was that he was too drunk to apparate home. He hardly remembers how the conversation had gone, but he is suddenly being lead in a direction that is not familiar with him, every turn revealing a new part of the city he hadn’t known about, until he ends up in front of a door. He has to grab hold of the wall to keep himself up right.
“We’re almost there,” you tell him, just as drunk, fumbling with your wand to unlock the door.
And a moment later, Tom is sitting upon a couch, in a room he has never been in. It smelled like you in here. Like flowers, and leather, and the shampoo you used.
Tom blinks his eyes open, not realizing he had closed them, when you plop down beside him with another bottle of alcohol. He can only accept the chilled drink you hand to him, and he sips at it.
“I have not been this drunk in… I do not remember how long, actually,” you tell him, giggling.
His ears prick at the noise. He does not think he’s ever heard you giggle before.
“I have never been drunk before, ever,” he admits out loud.
This draws another giggle from your lips, and he absently smiles at that. He could live in that sound.
“You never drank at Hogwarts?”
He shakes his head, blearily glancing to where you’re propped up to face him. “I never participated in such juvenile things. I had studying to do. Prefect duties. I could not… give in to childish drinking games.”
“Then you’ve never played truth or dare drunk?” you gasp out, eyes lighting up with an idea. “Oh, please, Tom, entertain me.”
He wants to shoot you down immediately, but you look happier in all of the months he’s known you. You have never worn such a smile, at least, he’s never seen it directed at him. You’re glowing in the drunken state.
“Ok, ok,” you say, sitting up further “Tom, truth or dare?”
He scoffs out a sound of disbelief. “I am not -”
“Please?” you beg. “I have not played since I was at Hogwarts.”
That draws Tom’s attention. You never brought up anything from Hogwarts. It is the first time he’s ever heard of anything you mentioning anything you’ve done there, even if it was just about a stupid drinking game.
“Because we are not children anymore,” Tom tells you. The light in your eyes dims, your smile dropping, and Tom sighs out heavily. Without thinking too hard on it, he mutters, “truth.”
You make a noise of excitement, and then take a second to ponder on something to ask him. Tom would be as truthful as his drunken state allowed. “Oh, I have one. What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”
Tom grimaces, because he knows. He tells you about when he’d first learned to ride a broomstick. He had been too cocky, having been the first one to get himself off the ground into the air, and then proceeded to fall and break his arm in front of the entire class. It had been one of his only slipup at Hogwarts.
The hearty laughter it rips from you is worth the temporary discomfort he feels at reliving the memory.
“Alright, alright,” Tom says after you’ve had your laugh.
You chuckle out a few more sounds of enjoyment, wiping at your eyes to collect the moisture that had gathered there. “Now it is your turn,” you tell him.
Tom rolls his eyes. You were really going to make him say it.
“Truth or dare?” he asks you.
“Hmm… I’ll choose truth,” you say. Tom catches himself from asking about your expulsion - that would surely ruin the mood. Instead, he repeats your same question, and you groan. “No, Tom, you can’t ask something I’ve already asked. That’s against the rules.”
“I was not aware there were rules in this game.”
“Oh my god, just ask me something.”
“How do you find the objects you bring into the shop?” he then asks, voicing what he truly wished to know. He is so curious about your methods. It is what he invited you to the restaurant to find out, after all. He might as well ask, even if he might be too drunk to remember your answer.
You sigh. “That is so boring, bringing up work now. But if you must know, I do research. I read books upon books, but ultimately, it is intuition. Sometimes I just… know where it is. Words stand out. Locations on a map glow.”
Tom is fascinated by this. He wished to possess such an ability, but then you would become useless to him. And he liked that you served a purpose. That you had something that not everyone else had. He wanted you, so badly, in the moment. The space between you felt entirely too big. He unconsciously moves closer, his leg pressing into yours.
Your eyes drop down to the point of contact, but you do not bring it up as you go on to ask him, truth or dare.
“Truth,” he says.
“Predictable,” you moan, drawing an exasperated noise from Tom.
“Do you want me to play or not -”
“Fine,” you snap, the frustration he’s grown to know appearing for a moment before your frown smooths over into a drunken grin. “Hmm… have you ever had a crush before?”
“What are we, 13?” Tom huffs.
“Just answer the question.”
He sighs out in annoyance. He was growing tired of this game. But you were so into it, and with every question, it was like you were moving closer and closer.
Just as Tom goes to answer that no, he has never had a crush - your hand drops down to rest on his arm and his stomach flutters down into the couch cushions.
“Yes,” Tom answers without meaning to. He immediately bites his tongue, and forces himself to take a long swig of his drink.
You gasp out, and your hand leaves him to wave excitedly in the air. “Who was it? Was it someone from Hogwarts?”
Forgetting the rules of the game for a moment in a drunken stupor, Tom tells you, yes. She had been from Hogwarts.
“Did I know her?” is your next question.
“Yes,” he mutters, before he jerks back into his own head. He turns to scowl at you. “That is not how the game is played, Y/n.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but you have never opened up to me about anything before, and it is wonderful to talk to you,” you confess. “I… do not talk to anyone much these days anymore. It is quite hard, with what happened. It is like everyone knows who I am. Like at the restaurant.”
Tom sits up a little, sobering in the slightest at the dip of your tone. “What happened at the restaurant?”
“Everyone was staring at me,” you tell him, struggling a shoulder. “I am surprised they didn’t kick us out.”
That is news to Tom - he must have been so enthralled with you that he hadn’t even noticed anyone else. He feels of flood of anger for not realizing it, and putting a stop to it.
“I was not aware,” Tom says.
“It’s alright. I have grown used to it. A - anyways. It is your turn.”
The mood is heavier, less playful, as Tom asks you, truth or dare. It is no surprise that you choose truth. It was like you were both too scared to allow the other the true power of a dare. Truths seemed easier.
“Did you enjoy our… date?” Tom asks, using that word only because you had earlier, in hopes to lighten the mood. The last chug from his drink has also left him feeling a bit bold.
“Then, it was a date, after all?”
Tom watches you for a paralyzing moment. He forces himself to take a steady breath. “Did you want it to be?” he questions, quiet, nervous. He shakily brings his drink to his lips and gulps down a mouthful, waiting for your reply.
You have him nearly shaking in his seat as you take a second to think on it, taking a sip of your own drink, setting it down, before turning to him with a poorly concealed grin. “That is not how this game is played, Tom,” you say. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
Like you had been expecting it, you’re quick witted with saying, “kiss me.”
Tom does not know what happens to the glass in his hands. All he remembers is that he finally, finally, closes the distance between your bodies. The soft crooning noise you let out when he kisses you has a vicious pull tugging at his stomach. His hands trace lines of fire up your body, not sure if it was him or you shaking at the contact.
It must have been years since you’d felt the touch of another, and it showed, with how you melted into the palm of his hands. Tom folds just as easily when you bring your hand up to cup his face.
You both were drunk, and would most likely regret this come tomorrow morning. You would regret it, maybe, but to Tom, it is like you are bringing him another cursed object for him to have - but it was yourself, this time. The greatest treasure of them all. The object of his desires.
Every movement, every gnashing of teeth, is a little sloppy, drunken noises flowing between you two as Tom pushes you back into the couch.
You go willingly down onto your back, with Tom raising himself up to curl over your body. He steadies himself with a hand on the back of the couch, but even then he is a bit wobbly.
“Have wanted you,” Tom breathes out between a kiss, no need for a truth or dare to reveal his inner most thoughts. “For months - since I saw you -”
Tom groans out a low sound when you cup him through his suit. He has never been so hard before, he has never been drunk before, both feelings so new and driving him wild. He trembles as you unbuckle his belt, drunken hands reaching into his boxers as he moves to press between your legs, beneath your dress. You both gasp out at the contact.
“I dare you to fuck me,” you whisper into his ear, stroking him at the same time as he rubs circles into your clit. He’s breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, fighting to restrain himself, but at your words, he gives in. He was too drunk to think of the consequences. All he knew, was that you wanted him so desperately in that moment, and he was more than happy to comply with what he had been dared to do.
And Tom fucks you, right there on your couch, too carried away to notice your bed only feet away. He only wishes he wasn’t so drunk so that he could remember more of it.
He is quick to remove his pants while you hike up your dress, and pull down your underwear. You both were heavily intoxicated, but your actions were fluid, Tom coming back to you and you welcoming him with outstretched arms. Your mouths meet in a blurred hole in Tom’s memories, not recalling the initial moment he’d first penetrated you, but he comes back in the middle of fucking into you with a passion so intense that he is sure he will remember once he is sober.
Your fervid moans of his name mix in with his own cries of your name, echoing off of your walls.
Tom does not know how much time passes, but every drunken minute is bliss, all up until the moment he comes with a bodily tremor that rips up his spine. He almost blacks out when you finish, his arms barely able to keep him up any longer. He crawls back onto the couch, breaths heavy, but he is at least able to pull his pants back up and rearrange himself before settling down.
He does not recall what happened next.
Tom assumes you both continued drinking, laughing into the night, because the next thing he knows, he wakes up with a pounding in his head.
He realizes all too quickly that he was not in his apartment. He sits up slowly, still a little drunk, squinting at the brightness of the morning.
So he had ended up on the bed, after all. Your sleeping body laid next to his.
In that moment, Tom feels a singular strike of panic ignite in his chest.
He had just crossed a line with you that he had never even thought was possible. He never thought anything would ever happen with you, because he had known himself. Or, he had known what sober him would’ve done; which was nothing. Drunk Tom hadn’t been made aware that he was not supposed to have sex with you. He was not supposed to give into what he had been truly desiring.
Furthering your relationship would only cause problems in the future. Tom didn’t want problems to arise between you. Your work relationship functioned as it should. You brought him things of use, not much was said, and that was that.
Tom brings a hand to your cheek, and runs it down the length of your skin. He would remember that night forever. It would haunt him in the quiet moments of the day.
Without waking you, or leaving word, Tom gathers his things, and apparates home.
His chest is sunken in with dread within the days that follow. He does not hear from you, or see you, at all, for a month. He cannot imagine how you’d felt waking to an empty apartment.
No deliveries are made. No letters in the mail promising you’d be there on a certain day, at a certain time.
It is not until another few weeks pass that you come by, only it is not as smooth as past visits.
Tom is tidying up in the front, rearranging shelves to display new items, when a crashing in the back has him going still. It could be a number of things, but none of them were good. He is quick to lock the entrance, and slowly makes his way towards the source of the noise with his wand raised.
A groan comes from within the room.
In the corner, you are laying in a heap of crushed boxes and broken glass. It was only you, making a crash landing from escaping another quest by the skin of your teeth. He lowers his wand.
You have done this before, this kind of crash landing. Only, this time, you’re not quick to get up and dust yourself off with a laugh. This time, you remain where you lay.
“Y/n?” Tom slowly comes closer, wand to the ready.
You were a hunter of cursed objects, it could be that one got ahold of you. He is cautious as he crouches down to inspect you further. His stomach drops when he spots a blooming patch of red across your side. It is a heavy shock to his system, because it is the first time he has seen you in almost two months, and you are bleeding out into the wreckage of ruined boxes. It is so different to how he’d left you.
“That hurt,” you manage with a weak croak.
It didn’t seem like you were possessed, so Tom drops his wand to use both hands to lift you up with ease. His stomach swims at the close proximity, but he pushes that aside. You were hurt. You needed aid.
Shrapnel falls as he carries you over to his desk, where he sets you down carefully in his chair. You smack at his hands when he attempts to peel back your coat.
Tom huffs. “Let me see.”
“No,” you groan. “I’m fine. The cursed object is in my pocket, let me just -”
A pained cry slips from your mouth when you move to reach into your pocket, forcing you back into the chair. Tom waits for an agonizing moment for you to finally meet his eyes, and gesture for him to continue.
When he exposes the injury to the air, Tom sucks in a sharp breath. A jagged wound was cut deep into your side, bleeding heavily into the materials of your torn shirt. A curse had done this.
Someone had dared to curse you.
Tom shakes from anger, but he cannot think on it too long. “Wait here,” he tells you.
“Don’t think I have much of a choice,” comes your mumbled reply.
There is a small bathroom where Tom gathers towels and a bowl of water which he heats till its steaming. The water in the bowl sloshes around from how quickly he moves back to where you’re barely clinging to consciousness, the bloody wound an angry red against the monotone of the shop.
“Keep still.”
Tom makes quick work of cleaning the wound of the dirt and blood. It is still bleeding heavily, but he’d cleaned it mostly of the black ash that had been smeared into your skin. He brings his wand up to the wound, movements careful, stitching the gash together back as gently as he can. You’re biting into your knuckles to keep from passing out.
When the injury has been healed, then only does Tom sit back and watch you carefully. He is waiting for what you say next. He isn’t sure where to go from here, but he knew you needed rest. He did not know where you lived, too drunk to remember, and you were in no state to teleport yourself home. It is a wonder you’d made it back here at all.
“Thanks,” you say after a heavy moment of breathing through the pain. “I should… leave.”
“And go where?” Tom stops you with a hand to your shoulder. You wince, but allow him to gently push you back into the chair. “You cannot walk. You cannot apparate alone.”
“Then what do you suggest I do? You do not know where I live,” you say, then quieter, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Tom makes a decision, in that split second of you glancing up at him in agony. “Then we will go to my place,” he says, leaving no room for you to disagree as he stands.
“What?” you blurt out, but he’s already left your side.
Locking up the shop takes all but 2 minutes. He leaves the display cases undone - he would come in early tomorrow to finish up.
“Tom, I don’t think -” your weak protests are silenced as he throws you a look over his shoulder. You sigh out, and slump back into the chair.
When Tom is ready, he is slow to help you to your feet. He has to sling your arm over his shoulder, and keep it pressed firmly into your waist. He feels a sting of possessiveness over you when you unexpectedly grab hold of his arm. He would kill whoever had hurt his treasure hunter.
Apparating home is quick, but the spell has you nearly crashing into the floor again if Tom hadn’t kept you upright. You’re the weakest, and most vulnerable Tom has ever seen you; has seen anyone. He’s never helped anyone in need before. He simply didn’t care for it.
But this was… different. You weren’t another nobody wizard that fell at his feet. You were an outcast, a reject from wizard society. You have been the closet anyone has ever gotten to Tom. And you’ve helped him in more ways than you will ever know. It was his turn to finally help you.
If you let him.
“I can do it myself,” you grunt out when Tom tries to help you walk. He is frustrated to no end, but you had to learn yourself, he supposes.
When he lets go of you, your balance is immediately thrown off. Tom is quick to steady you when you sway on your feet. You mutter out a string of curse words that he ignores as he leads you to the bathroom.
You were still covered in soot, and whatever else you had dragged into his pristine home. You were not allowed in his bed unless you were clean. The wound would hold up under water, but he had to be careful not to move you too quickly. It could just as easily tear open again.
“I can bathe myself,” you snap when Tom has finished running a hot bath. You were not steady enough to stand on your own two feet without a hand holding you, but sitting in a tub was easy.
Tom is startled that you’re acting so… well, so rude. He is offering you aid, and you are treating him like scum for doing so. His eye twitches in irritation. He supposes it is only fair for how he’d left you, two months ago.
“Have it your way,” Tom mutters, flicking water into the tub after he had made sure it wasn’t too hot.
When you move to undress, Tom goes completely still. He watches as you unbutton your blouse to reveal the black lacy bra underneath. Even on a quest where you could die, you were dressed to the nines.
The tips of his ears flush as he is quick to look away. “I will… leave you to it,” Tom says.
Tom does not go far. He sits outside of the bathroom in case you fell, and needed his help. He sits and listens as you stand, the splash of water when you get in the tub, and the gentle swishing of water as you clean yourself. He waits until you call out his name.
Popping a head into the bathroom, nervous in his own home, Tom finds you curled up in the tub. The water was murky with blood and dirt.
“Could I get a towel, and some clothes?” You ask, adding on a quiet, “please,” as an after thought.
With a wave of his wand, Tom sets a clean towel and a stack of clothes on the sink. He returns to his spot on the floor, waits and listens as you stand, dry yourself off, and slowly, ever so slowly, dress yourself. It takes quiet a while and Tom could’ve done it for you with magic, but he guesses you wanted some form of control in this new environment.
You’re waiting for him on the edge of the tub when Tom comes back into the room, after you’ve called him in once more.
“I cannot stand much longer,” you admit, voice warbled around the edges. He could see you were losing strength. You must be exhausted from the blood loss. “I am so dizzy, it is a miracle I dressed myself.”
The intimacy of having you in his apartment makes Tom feel strange as he guides you to his bed. He’s never had anyone over before; he’s never even helped anyone before. He had tried his hardest to be gentle, but he was as gentle as a sharp edge on a table that you bump with your hip. He wasn’t made for softness. He was a hardened force fated to take over the world. He didn’t know what he was doing with you here, easing you into his bed.
“Silk sheets,” you comment absently. “Of course Tom Riddle has silk sheets.”
“They are optimal for the best sleep. Sleep is important.”
“I think so too, and I do not own silk sheets.”
“No,” Tom agrees. “But you do own far more clothes and accessories than I do, when you could spend the money on something more useful.”
You frown at him. “What is more useful than a good outfit? I’ll have you know, certain pairs of clothes have saved my life on quests. Do not doubt a well put together uniform.”
Tom does not have it in him to carry on such a useless conversation. You must be on the borderline of delirium, with how many words you’ve spoken to him despite still being mad at him.
He apparates into his kitchen to grab a glass of water, before appearing at your side again. He pushes the glass into your hands. “Drink. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“It is not the worst injury I have sustained,” you inform him, but drink the glass down ravenously.
He cannot think of anything worse than the large gash across your ribs. Anything worse, especially if you’d treated it alone, would’ve cost you your life. Tom burns with anger at the thought of you alone, bleeding out, having to take care of yourself on the verge of death. It was hard to think about, but you were probably used to dealing with such things alone.
“Thank you, Tom,” you say once he has brought you another glass. You drink it slower this time, contemplating, as he watches from the foot of the bed he’s settled on. “I… am not used to help. It is strange that I am being treated this way, especially from -”
Tom knows you were about to say, especially from him.
Like you, he had a reputation. He knows what others think of him. He never let it get to him, as he knew none of their words truly mattered. Not when he had his plans. He was the Slytherin head boy, cold and calculating. He was highly favored by his teachers, but he had no real friends or relationships to speak of.
Tom remembers you, before you’d been expelled. You had been so different compared to the husk of a person you are now. You’d been happy, bright eyed, wanting to make a difference in the wizarding world. He remembers you were always wickedly smart in any of the classes you two had. But the person you were died along with Myrtle Warren. You’d been the one who found her, so naturally you were accused of doing such a thing.
Rumor spread fast. You’d been labeled a murderer, and cast out of school merely a few days later. Your reputation had been ruined, and nothing could repair it. Not even your innocence.
Tom knew it wasn’t you, but unlike the other few students who believed you had nothing to do with it, he had proof, because it had been his fault she’d been killed.
Now, you were cold. Angry. Kept everyone at a distance, just like Tom did. He saw himself in you, after you’d been cast out. Alone. He wonders if maybe he was the closest thing you had to a friend, although he didn’t know much of your life outside of work. Maybe you did have others, than just Tom at Borgin and Burkes.
“I owe you, I suppose,” Tom says. He takes the glass once you’ve finished it, and you tuck further into the mattress. Your eyelids grow heavy, head resting into the pillow. Tom is almost kind in the way he brings the blankets up to cover your chest. His apartment got cold at night. He didn’t want you to get sick. “Rest.”
Tom moves to leave, but he freezes in place when you’ve grabbed hold of him. He turns, expecting a request for another glass of water, but he is surprised to find that you’ve already fallen asleep. He glances down at your hand holding his; you had done it unconsciously.
He sits down on the bed, allowing you to hold his hand until the sunrises. He does not move. He thinks that maybe you needed it, the contact. Skin on skin. Maybe he needed it too, but he pushes that thought away as quick as it comes. He watches you sleep throughout the night, whenever you stir, drawing his attention from the book he’d picked up.
You do not wake until the sunrises.
The first beams of light hit your face, seeping in from the curtains Tom hadn’t had a chance to draw. He hears the first deep breath you take upon regaining consciousness, and he prepares himself for what lies ahead.
Your hand rips from his and you sit up in alarm, scrambling up against the headboard. The sudden movement must pull at your still healing wound, as you hiss out a low sound of pain.
“Calm down,” Tom snaps. “You are safe.”
Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you squint at Tom in the soft morning light of his apartment. Your hand touches at the healed wound. Like him when he’d woken at your apartment, you recall the events that lead up to you waking up in Tom’s apartment - Borgin and Burkes, Tom bringing you here, helping you.
Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and you settle against the headboard in surrender. “I remember now,” you murmur, almost ashamed.
Tom can see you’ve begun to start shaking, and he feels an edge bite into him. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Waking up here must feel incredibly awkward. Receiving aid from the very one who had hurt you, not long ago.
“You are free to leave,” Tom says. “I am not keeping you prisoner.”
You nod shyly, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.
After no attempt is made to leave on your part, Tom pops into the kitchen, and returns a moment later with another glass of water. He should’ve hydrated you more last night, but two glasses of water seemed all you could handle before you’d fallen asleep. He forces you to drink two more glasses before he tells you to sit tight, and don’t move, as he apparated to the store to pick up things for breakfast.
When he returns, you are indeed in the same spot. He hadn’t meant it literally, but it seems you’d taken it that way.
Only when he unpacks the ingredients do you quietly get up to use the restroom. Tom stops what he’s doing to make sure you’re able to get there on your own, hypervigilant of your light footsteps, wobbly but otherwise fine.
Once you’re out of the restroom and back in bed, Tom continues. He was waiting for another crash. Another call of his name. It hadn’t come.
You move with a certain timidness that has Tom a little on edge. You’ve been watching him, skittish, like he is going to kick you out for breathing too loudly.
Tom finishes breakfast with a quick wave of his wand, serving up a pile of eggs and bacon, and a side of toast. It feels incredibly domestic, incredibly odd, as he sits across from you at his dinning table he doesn’t think he’s ever used. Not even once. He didn’t entertain guests, and he ate all his meals outside of the house.
Not much is said other than your gentle thank you’s, more subdued and willing to accept his help than the day before. He can see that your fork is trembling in your grasp with every raise and fall of it to your mouth.
“What happened?” Tom finally asks, once you’ve cleared your plate, still across from him. He’s been wanting to know since you’d apparated into the shop.
He needed to know who he’d be hunting down.
“I was attacked,” you supply dryly. When Tom clenches his fist, you go on hurriedly, “I think they were following me. I must’ve tipped them off, somehow when I had passed through a town, and when I got close enough, they started firing at me. I’d just managed to retrieve the item before I’d been hit.”
“And what is it that you nearly died for?” Tom uses his wand to pick up your coat, and finds a small piece of something tucked away in the coat. He motions for it to be brought to him, and once it finds its way into his hands, he is struck by a cold grip wrapping around his heart.
It had been another cursed object he had been looking for.
You’d been hunting it for Tom. It is why you’d gotten hurt. He hadn’t known you’d actually go looking for it, much less find it. It was highly sought after. No wonder you’d nearly died for it. He had told you about it that night before he’d left you in your apartment, alone, and it’s taken you months to find it. Following up on leads, tracing down passages of it written in books. He would never fail to be surprised at your abilities.
Tom looks up at you, not knowing what to say.
Your eyes are down, unable to meet Tom’s gaze that holds a rare moment of emotion. He is a little choked up that you’d go to such lengths for him, even after he had abandoned you. He has admirers, followers who would worship the ground he walked on, but none of them mattered. They were all below him. None of them held even a flame to his powers.
But you, it was like you were on his level. Your magic, your smarts, everything. It is a shame you’d been expelled from Hogwarts. You would’ve made a fine Auror.
“You’ve proven yourself of use to me, time and time again,” Tom says, after gathering himself. “Anything you wish, ask for it, and I will provide.”
You give a somber laugh. “Unless you can change my past, then there is nothing I want from you, Tom.”
“There must be something you want.”
“I want… companionship,” you say, head shaking a moment later at the pitiful request. “I - I don’t know. There is nothing I want.”
You’d said companionship - Tom could provide that, to some degree. It is exactly what he had been running from when he’d left that morning, but it seems that it has found him yet again. And he could not turn you away this time.
“Stay with me,” Tom tells you, and only then do you look up. He can see you’re going to shoot him down, so he adds on, “just for a few days, until you’re fully recovered. Then you may leave if you wish.”
You think on it for a second, before agreeing.
Those few days are the strangest, and most wonderful time Tom has had maybe in all of his life. You’re there from the moment he wakes, to when he goes to bed. You’re there waiting for him when he comes home from work, and you greet him with a shy smile that he unwittingly returns. He has always found peace in his solitude, but he is almost excited to get off work with every passing day, knowing you’ll be in his bed reading.
The first day he’d arrived home from work, he is almost startled to find you still there. He had nearly forgotten. It is a delightful surprise when he apparates home, and you’ve just emerged from the kitchen with an apple between your lips. You’re both shocked frozen, until Tom takes off his jacket, and you ask about his day.
Routine falls into play, after the first tense, almost timid first day and night.
Another thing - Tom didn’t have anywhere else to sleep. His couch was too small to fit on comfortably, and he valued his sleep. He would not force himself to sleep on something so uncomfortable. He’d been in a strange dilemma with himself, almost regretting the offer to have you stay, when you’d patted the space next to you on the bed that first night. Inviting Tom to come sleep on his own bed. He was thrown by your almost cute gesture for him to join you.
Both of you were adults. It was possible to sleep in a bed together without anything out of the ordinary happening.
Only, something did happen, but Tom hadn’t spoken of it the next day and neither had you. And it happened every night since you’d started sleeping in his bed.
Tom was never big on any kind of physical touch with anyone, he’d been disgusted by even the smallest touches, but in the middle of the night, you’d scooted up against him. He had woken immediately at the feeling of your warm body against his. He figured you were cold from how chilly his apartment got. Tom was a person who slept on his back, finding that it was the best position, usually with an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the little light that came into his apartments.
You’d taken the opportunity to then lay your head on his chest, your arm coming to rest on his waist.
Again, he hadn’t slept. At least, for the first hour you’d cuddled up against him. His body was pumped full of adrenaline at the weight of another’s head upon his chest, the feel of your hair tickling his nose. He should’ve pushed you off; you were effecting his sleep. But he eventually drifted off, and when he’d come to in the morning, he felt as though he’d gotten some of the most effective sleep he’d ever had.
Strange.
It was all so strange to him, these new found feelings at every turn with you.
Tom wondered if he was the only one feeling it. Surely it wasn’t just in his head.
And on the 5th day you’ve been staying there, it is made known to him exactly how much he wanted you to stay, when you’d brought up going home.
“I have been here for a while,” you tell him after dinner. He’d been cooking everyday since you’ve been staying with him. He actually had food in the fridge, fruits on the counter. It was a stark difference to the fridge merely being there for decoration. “I’m healed enough where I can be on my own. I think it is best if I… leave.”
Tom unintentionally swallows what he’d been chewing before he was finished with it, and for a moment, it gets caught in his throat. He has to sip a mouth full of water to keep himself from choking on it. He sets the glass down slowly, trying to come up with a reason, anything, for you to stay. He had grown used to you being there. It hadn’t even been a week, but he wouldn’t have minded if you were there for another. And another. Possibly forever.
He did not want to go back to how things had been for the last two months. No word on if you were alive or dead.
“Unless,” you say apprehensively, bringing his fiery glare up from scorching a mark into the table. “I could, perhaps, stay a little longer?”
In order not to give himself away, Tom has to force himself to pause for a moment and not jump to agree right away. He pretends to think it over, watching how you anxiously press your lips together in a line, your hands coming up to nervously pick at the table, before he accepts.
“I suppose you could stay,” Tom says in a nonchalant manner, even though his heart is a volcano erupting inside of his chest. The possibilities this could bring; more nights of you sleeping against him, days where you’ve already prepared dinner him when he comes home, mornings where you both agree only five more minutes just to curl up with each other and drift off again.
“Really?” you exclaim, startling Tom as he raises his fork to his mouth. He blinks at you in surprise at your outburst. He’s amused when you shrink back, embarrassed, that you’d reacted in such a way. It is like you hadn’t expected him to agree in the slightest. “I - I mean, um. Thank you.”
Tom gives a terse nod, before going back to his food. A small smile plays at his lips.
DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE TO SEE ALL THINGS WTS (reviews, commentary, updates, reblogs about the series). OR... head over to THE COMMON ROOM to join my community and feel free to discuss this series as well as many others.
Y/N and Peter Parker have already lost a lot of important people in their lives, causing them to build emotional walls around themselves to protect against the pain from experiencing the hurt that comes with yet another loss.
Two broken people can only do two things to each other:
Either they heal each other.
Or break each other even more.
PART I: WORTH THE RISK
PART II: WORTH THE TEARS
PART III: WORTH THE WAIT
PART IV: WORTH THE PAIN
PART V: WORTH IT ALL
[⚠︎︎THIS SERIES HAS A RATING OF 17+. ONLY 17 AND ABOVE MAY PROCEED TO READ.]
Each part has specific warnings written before the start. Please be warned before proceeding to read. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
Moodboards, feedback, memes, tiktoks, commentary, etc. about the series are greatly appreciated. Please use the official series tag and mention me so I can see it!
in regard to me FINALLY cross-posting my fanfics on wattpad and ao3, the first in line is my tasm!peter parker hit series i published here on tumblr years ago.
WORTH: THE SERIES IS NOW CROSS-POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3! but there’s a twist…
that’s right! instead of it being an ‘x reader,’ i turned it into a tasm!peter parker x original female character story. but don’t worry—if you still prefer reading it with yourself as the main character, the series will stay as a tasm!peter parker x reader here on tumblr. this way, readers who prefer an original character version can enjoy the series without being bothered by the words “y/n” and “l/n”.
if you’re confused, check out this post.
if you decide to read this new version, the first chapter of the story will include a cast list, which is basically the actors i had in mind while writing the characters in this series. if you want to see who i pictured for carlos, charlene, and mac/mitchell, then go ahead!
hi! i just want to let you all know that i'm in the process of cross-posting my tumblr works on wattpad and ao3. i realized sharing my fics on multiple platforms helps more people enjoy them. that said, there will be some key differences between what i post where. if you want all the details—my fic release schedule, the characters I write for, or rules for requesting a fic—check out the station, my masterpost for everything you need to know about my fan fiction writing endeavors.
my fic release schedule, which is a new thing i’ve created, is quite confusing, so i’m also going to include it here in this announcement post. just click “keep reading” if you’d like to know.
my character x character pairing fics will be exclusively available on ao3 and wattpad (but with release date schedule differences). HOWEVER, as usual, all x reader fics will stay exclusively on this app. if you want an x oc version of those fics, head to wattpad and ao3. if this is confusing, let me break it down for you.
📝 FIC RELEASE SCHEDULE:
📍TUMBLR (@slytherheign):
character x reader fics (with 1 week advance in release date than wattpad and ao3)
one-shot fics (will stay as an ‘x reader’ and will EXCLUSIVELY be available here in tumblr)
📍AO3 (@slytherheign):
character x character fics (with 1 week advance in release date than wattpad)
character x original character version of my character x reader multichapter fics (1 week later than tumblr release date)
📍WATTPAD (@slytherheign):
character x original character version of my character x reader multichapter fics (1 week later than tumblr release date)
character x character fics (1 week later release date than ao3)
📝 IMPORTANT NOTES:
i will still be only taking requests from my tumblr account.
all fic updates, fic events, fic milestone celebrations, author-reader Q&As will be posted on my tumblr community.
the only character x character pairing i am writing about right now is polin (colin/penelope) from bridgerton.
the reason i’m doing this is because i want to spread my fics onto different platforms and the fic release dates difference is so that people will want to visit my other writing platforms and support me there as well. i also want to be friends with more people. <3
i'm also thrilled to inform you all that i sometimes pick one-shots from my tumblr exclusives and turn them into a series that will be available on ao3 and wattpad only. as usual, I will then turn the reader into an oc for those lucky fics, and i will need your help with some decisions such as the oc's name, face claim, and possible change in plot direction. you just have to join my tumblr community if you want to participate and help me out!
SUMMARY: bradley takes you on an unforgettable sightseeing trip after you find out that you won’t see the world for as long as you live.
WARNINGS: insecurities, self-loathing, reader has an eye condition. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]
AUTHOR'S NOTE: inspired by a news article i saw years ago. hurt/comfort but there are more fluff moments so the destination is sweet street instead of angst avenue. dedicated to @gardonromsey, thanks for being my beta reader and supporting me. i hope you’re having a great day!
DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS SIGHTSEEING (reviews, commentary, reblogs about this fic). OR... head over to THE COMMON ROOM to join my community and feel free to discuss this fic as well as many others.
DNA segments contain the building and maintenance instructions for an organism. Those segments establish anything from the shape of your face to your eye color.
Genetics.
It worked in the most interesting ways.
You loved your family. Their genes had the most beautiful smiles, the healthiest hair, the cutest freckles on their cheeks—all of which you inherited.
But of course, there were also the things that weren’t passed down to you—certain features that started with you. For example, the dimples on both sides of your cheeks or the fact that your lips were a lighter shade of pink rather than the rosy red of your relatives.
Another fact about genetics is that it also determines a person's vulnerability to specific illnesses.
“Genetics,” the doctor told you.
“But none of my family had that,” you replied, still in shock.
It was a dumb reply, you knew that. But it was the first thing that came to your mind in your shaken state.
“Are you sure?” she asked you.
You breathed deeply. “Actually, I’m not,” you answered. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”
She shook her head, her eyes looking at you with sympathy. “Retinitis pigmentosa is a rare inherited eye condition. It slowly damages the retina, which is like a tiny screen at the back of your eye that helps you see.”
“So, what now? I’m going to slowly lose my vision?” you asked, trying hard not to cry. You felt Bradley squeeze your hand.
“In a healthy eye, there are special cells on the retina called photoreceptors. They catch light and send messages to your brain so you can see the world. In RP, these cells don’t work properly and gradually start to die. This causes vision to get worse over time.”
Bradley noticed you look down as the tears started to fall from your face. He knew you were vulnerable and speechless at that moment.
“Is there a cure for this?” he asked, crossing his arm over your side to hug you.
“I’m afraid there is no definitive cure.”
“What are we going to do?” you asked in the car on your way home. “Everything is going to change.”
He held one of your hands, softly massaging it as his other hand held the wheel. “Nothing has to change,” he replied, intertwining his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips so he could kiss it. “We’re gonna live life the same way we did before.”
You immediately retracted your hand from his. He frowned, returning his hand to the wheel. He looked over at you as you covered your face with your hands and scoffed.
He returned his gaze to the road. “I don’t understand, why are you—”
“Exactly! You don’t understand! And it’s upsetting me,” you replied.
He was about to reply, but he saw that your shared home was near, so he chose to keep quiet for the time being.
The moment he parked the car, you slammed the door angrily and quickly entered the house.
He followed you right after turning the engine off and putting the car keys in one of his pockets. “Why are you being like this?” he asked as he entered the door.
“Like what?!” you yelled.
“Like that!” he snapped back. “Why are you being so angry for no reason?!”
You stopped in your tracks and slowly turned to face him. “No reason?” you stated as you took a step forward. “You think I’m being ‘like this’ for no reason?”
“Well then, why don’t you tell me the reason, huh?” he provoked.
“I’m frustrated! Okay? I-I’m mad that one day I’ll wake up and see nothing. And I am so angry because out of all the people in the world, why is it me?” you questioned. “You say ‘nothing has to change’, but do you even understand how this condition will affect everything?! Do you even realize the fact that someday, we will move houses and I won’t be able to see that. That someday, we would go on trips—places with the most beautiful views—and I won’t be able to see those…” you paused, lips starting to shake. “And I-I’m sad that someday, we would have children and I won’t be able to see them!” you lashed out.
“And you don’t think those things don't make me sad as well?!”
You looked at him, noticing how he was getting frustrated as well. “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I lashed out at you—I’m sorry.”
He immediately wrapped his arms around you, sinking to the floor with you as your knees gave up from standing.
“I’m just… scared. Bradley, I’m gonna be such a burden to you. You deserve better—you can do better than this.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you could do better.”
“Better?”
“Do better than me. Pick someone better than me. If you divorce me, I’m not going to be mad. Don’t worry, I will understand.”
He scoffed. “I am offended by how little you think of me. I did not put that ring on your finger just so you can tell me to leave because now you think you’re worth less because of a condition that will turn you blind,” he paused. “But, I understand. I understand now why you feel like this. You’re nervous, you’re tired, and you’re scared. You don’t know when it will happen, and it terrifies you because you don’t know how much time you have left until it does happen.”
“Thank you… a-and I’m sorry I said those things. It’s just that—” you bit your lip to stop it from shaking.
“What is it, baby? Tell me, please?”
“Bradley… you deserve to be seen.”
“And I am seen. I am seen by you. In ways that not everyone could and never would. You know the best and worst of me, how to calm me when things get too intense, when to step up for me or stand beside me, you know my favorite meals, my hobbies, my habits—you even know the little things about me I’m not aware of.”
While one of his hands rested on your back for support, he raised the other one to wipe your tears. He then settled it on your cheek.
“What you did just now? You made me understand how you felt because you know how to make me understand. But now, it’s my turn. I want you to understand something.”
He kissed your forehead before pulling back to look at your eyes.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“I’d rather have you blind than not have you at all.”
You saw Bradley enter the house with a defeated expression. You immediately went to him and gave him a hug.
“What happened?”
“I have news. A good one and a bad one. What do you want to hear first?”
“Umm… the bad one?”
“Okay… do you remember when we fought about your condition and you told me that it makes you sad that someday we’d go on trips and you won’t be able to see the views?”
“Yes, I remember saying that. Why?”
“Well, I asked if I could take a leave so we could travel the world.”
“But that’s impossible. It would take us years. We don’t even know how long we have left until I’m blind.”
“I know. I also knew they wouldn’t let me leave that long, even if Pete admired the reason. It was more like a shooting star wish. I had little hope, but I just thought I’d try.”
“Well, I appreciate you trying. But it’s okay, Bradley. Let’s just cherish what we have right now. Besides, we could still travel to some places that aren’t that far.”
He kissed your lips. “Hmm. Ever the optimist you are,” he teased, caressing your cheek with hand. “I haven’t even told you the good news.”
“What is it then?” you chuckled.
“I might not be able to take you on a trip around the world, but I can take you on a San Diego trip from above.”
“Wait, are you saying you’ll take me with you–”
“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “They said I can take you flying with me. You’ve never been in a fighter jet before, right?”
“Oh my god…” you put a hand over your mouth.
“Is that a good ‘oh my god’ or a bad one?”
“A good one, of course!” you squealed in excitement. You jumped and hugged him. “I love you! You know that, right?”
“Hmm, I don’t know…” he teased. “Maybe if you give me a kiss, I will.”
Obviously, you smiled and obliged willingly.
It started with a kiss.
Not the kind that rushed in with heat and urgency, but the slow, lingering kind that spoke of years of laughter and trust. Your hands found each other and the world outside seemed to disappear.
Every touch and every whispered word carried the softness and vulnerability you had for each other. You held each other close, letting the warmth between you speak more than words ever could.
Time seemed to bend around and leave only the two of you. Every gentle brush of fingers became its own kind of conversation. And in that closeness, your hearts seemed to share a beat.
The morning sun filtered softly through the open hangar doors. It cast a long and warm beam on the polished floor. Bradley stood close by, watching you with a quiet tenderness as you shifted slightly. Nerves and excitement mingled in your eyes as you stared at the jet. It was finally dawning on you that this was real.
He gave you a helmet before he put his on. He noticed you struggle for a bit before eventually deciding to help you.
“Let me help you with that,” he said gently, reaching out to steady the helmet in his hands. His touch was careful and full of love and reverence, like handling something precious and fragile. As he lifted the helmet toward you, your eyes met, and he smiled sweetly.
You tilted your head back slightly as he lowered the helmet over your head, adjusting the straps with practiced hands. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe here with me.”
He could sense the small amount of fear even if you hadn’t said a word. A small smile broke on your lips beneath the visor. “I trust you,” you whispered.
Bradley kissed your forehead before turning around and stretching his arms to reach and lift the canopy. The warm scent of jet fuel and leather filled the air and grounded you in the moment. He stepped aside as you climbed into the cockpit.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
You nodded, and he slipped his hand under yours to steady you as you settled into the seat. “Okay,” he said softly, reaching to secure your harness snugly, careful not to crowd your space.
You exhaled, feeling the straps hug your shoulders. “Feels strange... but good.”
He grinned behind his helmet and gave you a reassuring nod. “That first time feeling—nothing else like it.”
The hum of the jet grew louder as he climbed in beside you, closing the canopy with a soft click that sealed your own bubble above the world.
“Ready?” His voice was calm and a steady anchor.
You took a deep breath, hands gripping the sides of your seat just a little tighter. “More than ever.”
The jet cut across the sky and the Pacific stretched endlessly to the west. The clustered city of San Diego sprawled below, with sunlight bouncing off windows and roads. From up here, it looked like a painting—tiny sailboats like brush strokes on blue canvas, the rugged coastline, and the unmistakable outline of the Naval Air Station North Island, where jets rested on runways like sleeping beasts.
You had no idea how much time your vision had left. Days? Months? Years? The doctors couldn’t say. All you knew was one day, the colors would fade, the lines would blur, and the world you’ve loved would slip away from view.
And yet… here you were, above it all. Higher than you’d ever been, cradled in the sky with Bradley.
The ocean sparkled and the city looked alive. The base down there, with its long runways, and the jets lined like silver arrows waiting for flight—you never thought you’d see it from this perspective. It felt…almost sacred. Like a secret only a few were given. And today, it was your secret.
You didn’t want to cry. You wanted to hold it all in. But you couldn’t stop it. The tears slipped down your cheeks inside the helmet, and you prayed Bradley didn’t hear you because you didn’t want to ruin the moment.
You weren’t crying because you were sad. You were crying because it was beautiful—too beautiful. Because this might be the last time you would ever see the world like this. And if it was… then you’d memorize this view and carry it in you, so when your eyes could no longer see this view, then your heart would still remember the feeling.
A sniffle escaped you before you could stop it. You turned your face away, pretending to look down at the waves curling onto the sand.
He heard it. Of course he did. But he said nothing. Instead, his lips curved into a smile behind his helmet, even as his own eyes grew wet.
“You okay back there?” he asked gently, voice careful.
There was a pause. Then, almost too quiet to catch: “I just… I don’t ever want to forget this,” you murmured.
His heart ached, but he kept his tone light.
“Then don’t. Make a memory out of it. Lock it in. Right now—the ocean, the city, the sky, me in front of you. Keep it forever.”
Your quiet laugh broke, edged with tears. “You make it sound so easy.”
“With you,” he whispered, “it always is.”
When you finally descended and the wheels kissed the runway at North Island, the world felt heavier. He guided the jet to a stop, powered down the engine, and the cockpit canopy lifted.
You removed your helmet and let the sunlight touch your face. He turned to you, finally seeing your eyes without the glass between them—they were red, wet, and shining.
And you saw that his eyes were the same way.
You reached for his gloved hand and squeezed it tight.
He squeezed back.
No words were needed.
“How was it?” Pete asked him.
“The best,” he answered honestly. “More than what I hoped for.”
Pete patted his shoulder. “I told you.”
“She’s a strong one,” Bradley smiled, admiring you as you removed the helmet from your head and fixed your hair. “I can’t imagine how scared she is right now, knowing she’ll lose her vision, but not knowing when. Every waking day, she touches her eyes and looks around the room to make sure if she can still see or not. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.”
“She is strong,” Pete agreed. “But you forget yourself,” he put both of his hands on Bradley’s shoulders, urging him to look at his eyes. “She carries a lot of weight, but you? You support her. You’re scared for her, you’re nervous about the future, and yet when she leans on you, you’re still stable. You’re strong as well.”
Bradley smiled at him, nodding as his eyes shone with tears.
“I’m proud of you. And I know your dad is too,” Pete continued.
“Thank you,” he said, hugging Pete as his tears started to fall.
“Now, go get your girl,” Pete smirked.
MONTHS LATER.
You felt it.
One morning, you woke up and you felt it.
And it was quiet. Too quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that comes with morning peace, but the kind that feels… empty.
Your eyes were open—at least, you thought they were. You blinked once, twice, three times. Nothing was changing. Just… darkness. Heavy, endless, absolute darkness.
You reached for the sunlight that used to spill across your bed, the way it used to warm your face. You waited for it. You waited for that golden flicker, the soft outline of your room, the faint movement of shadows. Nothing. Just the same black void swallowing you whole.
So this was it. The day you’ve been dreading. The day you knew would come.
It was strange—how you thought you’d be ready. You told yourself you were. You tried to make peace with it, prayed for strength, told yourself that sight wasn’t everything. But now that it’s finally here…
“Bradley?”
You blindly reached for him.
“Yes, love?” he replied, still sleepy.
You tried to find something to say, but the quivering of your lip stopped you from forming even just a word. Bradley noticed your silent reply, turning to look at you. And that was all it took. One look and he immediately sat up and pressed his hands on your cheeks. You cried even more, and his thumbs caught and wiped every tear that fell from your eyes.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
You reached for his forearms, gripping it hard as he held your face within his hands.
“Baby, come on, you gotta tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
“I don’t think you can help me,” you smiled sadly, hoping to catch his eyes.
When you looked at his chin instead of his eyes, he knew. “I—is it happening?”
His heart was hammering inside his chest, hands shaking as he softly tilted your face so he could catch your eyes—he was terrified.
You nodded. “It already happened.”
It hit him all at once.
A cold rush flooded his chest, like someone reached in and squeezed his heart with both hands.
He knew this was coming. He knew the doctor’s warnings. He knew the clock had been ticking for months.
But hearing you say it—hearing your voice break in that small, fragile way he’s never heard before—God.
It felt like the floor caved in under him.
He wanted to tell you it’s okay, that you’ll get through this, that nothing would change. But right now all he could hear was the faint trembling in your voice—something between acceptance and devastation—and it shattered him.
You won’t be able to see him anymore.
Not his face when he’d smile at you.
Not the way he’d reach out.
Not the way he’d look at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.
He swallowed hard, blinked fast, because he couldn’t let the tears fall yet. Not yet.
He has to be steady. He has to be your anchor. He has to be something you could hold onto when everything else has gone dark.
But inside, he was breaking.
A quiet, painful cracking he couldn’t stop.
He remembered every moment—the times you joked about it, the times you pretended you weren’t scared, the nights you cried when you thought he was asleep.
All the hope.
All the denial.
And now it’s real.
A part of him wanted to rage at the world, to demand why—why you, why this, why now. But another part, a deeper one, ached only for you.
For what you must be feeling.
For the darkness you woke up to.
For the terror you tried to swallow before telling him.
His voice almost failed him when he finally managed to breathe out your name.
“Y/N…”
Inside, he was trembling.
Inside, he was praying.
Inside, he was promising himself one thing:
If you had to face a world without light, then he’d learn how to be yours.
Your guide.
Your calm.
Your constant.
Your eyes, if you’d let him.
He pressed his forehead against yours, hands cupping each side of your cheeks. He closed his eyes as you closed yours.
He took another breath.
Steadied himself.
Because he knew you needed him.
So, he pushed the breaking parts of himself aside and whispered:
“I’m here.”
It was all he could think of.
All he could feel.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You opened your eyes, and though you couldn’t see anything, you assumed you were staring at his closed ones. That was when you noticed how long the silence had stretched. You could hear him trying to hide his cries. And immediately, you knew—there was something else he wasn’t saying. Something wrong.
“What is it?” you asked softly, not wanting to force him to answer.
“It’s just I made you a promise. I told you I was gonna show you the world. And I was going to– I was starting to—”
“Shhh,” you gently tried to stop him. It worked.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t show you the world,” he caressed your cheeks, still crying.
You smiled despite the tears. Smiled despite the hurt, Smiled despite the fear.
You smiled because he’s here. And that was enough.
More than enough.
“You don’t need to take me on a world tour. I’ve already seen it,” you replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve already seen the world, Bradley.”
You kissed him on the lips. Soft and yet so powerful. It was powerful because of the emotion pulsing through it—every fear you were trying to swallow, every hope you were clinging to, every silent vow you couldn’t yet say aloud.
message me or comment down below if you want to be added to my taglist! specify if you want to be added to my main (slytherheign) taglist where i’ll tag you in everything i publish in the future or just the top gun taglist.
also, i'm not gonna lie... i could see this fic having multiple parts. let me know if that's something you'd want.
I got my (now 18-year-old) daughter into Ao3 back in 2021. I taught her she should always comment - even if the fic looks old or abandoned or whatever. She did.
Well - she got this email this morning:
The fic was written in 2014 and essentially abandoned.
Bethy read and reviewed in 2021 (and was actually the only person who had commented at all).
Today in 2025 - the final chapter was posted by the author and this was her reply to Bethy’s comment.
———
Never question whether a fic is too old to comment on.
i may not have published fics lately as much as i did before, but i still see you guys on my notifs appreciating my works. don’t worry, i’m still writing. 🥹💜
if anyone here would like to beta read all of my fics from here on out, please message me. 🥹 i’m tryna get back into writing and publishing fics continuously like i did before, but with university and all, my time is unfortunately limited. it would help me greatly, plus, other than you getting to read my fics before it gets published, i’d give you the right to directly suggest a change in the plot direction. 💜
— if you agree, i’ll also let you be an admin for my community: https://www.tumblr.com/join/r5q7wfko
a community for readers of slytherheign's stories! connect with fellow readers to discuss fanfics, engage directly with the author, enjoy ex
a/n: let's not talk about how long its been or the fact this is likely (maybe) the last time i'll write for s&b...
summary: reader takes jurda parem instead of nina and kaz is losing it
To Y/N, they'd all accepted their imminent deaths far too easily. They'd done the impossible, they'd broken into the Ice Court. They were not about to die in a tank, a few hundred metres from the Ferolind and freedom.
She glanced over at Kaz. They'd hardly spoken since he'd fainted in the prison wagon. He'd been avoiding her gaze whenever they'd been together and barely acknowledging her existence.
Y/N was growing tired of it. She loved him, she'd come to accept that truth whilst wafting through the crowds at the Ice Court. Perhaps, deep down, hidden and suppressed, he loved her too.
But she had been waiting for too long. Her heart was aching and her mind was tired of the not knowing, of the constant hatred and love all at once.
Y/N looked from Kaz to the rest of their group. She loved them all in different ways. She trusted them all and knew that she'd gladly die for them all.
Which made the next decision that bit easier.
She turned to Kuwei. He noticed her gaze and looked back at her. Y/N didn't speak. The boys eyes widened.
"You don't understand -"
"I understand, Kuwei," Y/N said softly.
Kuwei reached into his pocket and pulled out the little leather pouch that had begun this whole heist.
"Y/N, what are you -" Kaz trailed off as his eyes fell upon the pouch, its rim stained with a rust-coloured powder.
"You're all out of tricks, Kaz," Y/N said, taking the pouch from Kuwei. She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. "What else is there?"
"No, Y/N, don't be ridiculous," Inej warned.
"Personally I think this is my greatest idea yet," Y/N replied, trying to hide her shaking hands. "Besides, not everyone gets addicted after the first dose."
"You can't risk it, Y/N!" Inej exclaimed.
"No, Y/N, she's right, it's not worth it," Nina said. "I'll do it."
"No," Matthias said, shaking his head furiously.
Y/N laughed tiredly. "I have no one to fight for me, Nina," she said softly, trying not to look at Kaz. "You do."
The voice echoed out from amongst the Fjerdan ranks, counting down, getting ever closer to the end. Y/N took a deep breath in. She mentally counted to three and then turned to look at Kaz.
She was aware of everyone else around them trying not to look. Y/N shifted her weight from right to left, bringing herself closer to Kaz. Their elbow brushed.
Y/N raised her hand and gently placed it against Kaz's cheek. She let her thumb trail over his cheekbone. He flinched, his eyes closing tightly. Y/N swallowed the disappointment.
"I expect ten percent of your cut for this, Kaz," she whispered.
Before anyone could realise what was happening, before Kaz could ground himself back into reality, Y/N tipped the parem into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow it in one stodgy swallow.
Instantly, her blood began to thrum, power surging through it, the fire making it grow hotter. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding away over and over and over again. Her cheeks were burning, sweat was running down the back of her neck.
Her fire was screaming to be released. All it needed was one spark.
No.
It didn't need any spark.
Y/N could feel it at her fingertips. It throbbed.
Her gaze moved across the Fjerdan soldiers. She could feel the gunpowder waiting to be lit. She could hear the pistols being loaded and cocked. She could feel the flicker of the flames dancing off the torches they held.
She tilted her head to the left. She focused her gaze on a bomb filled with gun powder.
Her fingers snapped. The fire shot across the space between them and hit the fuse, burning it up in seconds.
The bomb exploded.
Orange light lit up her face, she could feel the heat burning her skin. It was thrilling.
Everything was burning around her and Y/N could still feel fire burning through her veins, desperate to be released into the night.
Y/N took a deep breath in, letting the cold air burning her nose as she did so. As she exhaled, fire flowed from her fingers, lighting up the sky as it soared across and over the soldiers, sending them all scattering to the sides and into the water.
"Drive," Y/N said softly, looking ahead, staring at the fire as it burnt its way along the ground.
Kaz looked at her, a hint of fear in his eyes.
In the middle of the True Sea, there was no fire. Y/N's desire to burn the whole world to the ground had faded to a dull ache. Instead, it'd been replaced be a reluctant sense of acceptance for what was to come.
She was sat on the main deck of the boat, her legs dangling over the edge. It was quiet out here. Everyone seemed to be avoiding her and, when they did run into her, giving her pitiful looks.
Y/N sighed, tilting her head back, letting the ocean spray hit her skin.
"I'm presuming you can't just burn it out your system."
She didn't even react. "No. I'll be burning myself from the inside out."
Kaz stepped forward and pivoted on his heel so he had his back to the railing. He leant backwards, holding his cane loosely in his hand.
"I won't take anymore," Y/N said quietly.
"I wasn't going to mention it," Kaz replied.
"Then why are you here?" Y/N asked, turning her head so that she was looking at him.
Kaz didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge that Y/N had spoken for a while. Eventually, he looked down at her.
"I wanted to talk before it begun."
Y/N nodded, turning back to look at the water churning as they passed. "I fear you're too late."
Kaz glanced down. Her hand rested on the railings, shaking even as it sat there.
As the sun rose, the aches set in. Everything hurt, from her jaw to her toes. All Y/N could do was lie there, shaking, trying not to cry. Inej sat with her for a few hours, her cold fingers combing through her hair, massaging the back of her neck.
Nina, they had decided, was going to be a last resort. If she absolutely had to, she would lower Y/N's heartbeat enough that she went into a coma, allowing her body to work through the drug without causing her too much pain.
Every candle on the ship had been extinguished. Y/N could feel them burning even if they were the other end of the ship from her.
A few hours later, her skin began to burn. She lay on the bed, wearing the thinnest shirt she could find, unable to tolerate anything else touching her. All the blankets had been thrown to the side and her shirt was soaked in sweat. Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to fall asleep, trying to pretend that what was happening to her wasn't happening.
When the tremors began, Matthias was sat beside her. In her delirous state she'd vaguely realised that they were all taking turns to sit with her, to watch her.
They're waiting for you to die.
"Do you need me to get Nina?" Matthias asked, gently dabbing her sweat covered forehead with a wet cloth.
Y/N shook her head. "No... not, not yet."
"Do you -"
"No," Y/N said, clutching her hands into fists. "No, I can't fall down into it, I can't Matthias, I can't."
"Okay, okay," Matthias whispered, dipping the cloth back into the water and then placing it back on her forehead.
Y/N didn't remember Matthias leaving. One minute he was next to her, the next he was gone and -
"Kaz?" Y/N whispered, turning her head to look at him.
"Y/N."
He'd undressed to just his shirt sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. He still had his gloves on and his cane was resting against the wall next to him. But he was there.
"Why... what -"
"We're taking turns," Kaz said, his voice hoarse and quiet. "It was mine."
Y/N smiled but, as she did so, the aches overwhelmed her. Her bones felt like they might burst through her skin and her head was pounding, being squeezed through a vice. Her skin was burning, her face was on fire.
She groaned, arching her back as she tried to escape the pain, to free her sweat covered back from the mattress.
A cold hand landed on her arm, pushing her back onto the bed. Y/N groaned, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart was pounding, she could hear it.
"Kaz, I can't - can't do this, I can't -"
"Don't give up," Kaz said, leaning forward. His hands were bare, holding her arm down and combing through her hair. "Don't, promise me."
"I can't, Kaz, I can't," Y/N sobbed. "Please, please just -"
"No, don't you dare," Kaz replied, his voice firm. "You're not dying on my watch, Y/N."
Y/N cried, her back arching again, her nails digging into her palm.
The door opened. Kaz looked over, watching as Nina quietly walked in.
"I could hear her heartbeat getting faster," Nina replied, shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to check..."
Kaz looked back at Y/N. He turned to Nina. "Please, Zenik," he said quietly. "Just do it."
Nina stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She took her wrist and pressed her fingers to her pulse point.
"Kaz," Y/N said, whimpering. "Kaz?"
"I'm here," he said, leaning forward. "I'm here."
"Stay till the end," she whispered, her tremors slowing down, her eyes growing unfocused.
"Y/N -"
"Promise me."
"I promise you," Kaz whispered, hand stroking her hair back from her face. He watched her eyes close as Nina gradually slowed her heart down. Y/N's eyes closed and her grip on Kaz's hand weakened, her body going limp as Nina put her body into a coma.
Kaz held tight to Y/N's hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Y/N."
do you mind doing a Kaz fic where she has had a crush a month before but is convinced it’s a lost cause bc he talks to inej a lot, but (PLOT TWIST) the reason he talks to inej is because he’s unsure if y/n likes him back? Angst with a happy ending?
-🍁
Lock and Key : Kaz Brekker x Reader
Descr: 4.5k wc, Reader and Kaz have unspoken feelings for each other. But Kaz’s attempts to work through what to do only cause misunderstandings and upsets. Until it all comes out and feelings are finally revealed. Hurt-comfort, angst-fluff.
Warnings: misunderstandings, SoC content. One curse word.
Notes: I’m SOOO sorry this took so long. It got lost in my requests!
Y/n sat on the edge of the roof kicking swinging legs back and forth. She bit into her bottom lip as she tried to keep herself calm; too many thoughts racing through her mind tonight. Needless, futile, stupid, jealous thoughts. She quickly released her lip from her teeth as she felt eyes on her. She scanned the skyline before relenting to who she’d assumed it was from the start and turned to look over her shoulder, “yes?”
Y/n watched as Inej made herself seen and slowly approached. That friendly smile of hers felt taunting in this moment. But y/n pasted one on herself before turning back to face the Ketterdam rooftops.
“Why are you out here this late?” Inej questioned softly as she carefully sat down beside y/n.
Y/n shrugged silently, not looking away from the skyline. She wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. When Inej wanted something, she got that thing. If only she hadn’t happened to want Kaz the way y/n did. But y/n refused to tell Inej that that was what had brought her out here tonight.
“Y/n, come on, everyone can tell you’re upset,” Inej remarked as the gray clouds above them began to drip rain onto the girls.
“I’m fine,” y/n retorted simply, briefly glancing at Inej’s side-profile.
Inej stared at y/n skeptically. “No one chooses to sit on a rooftop this late, in this weather, if they’re fine,” she argued.
“It wasn’t raining until you got here,” y/n pointed out with a shrug. Fitting. Her love life didn’t feel like it was going through a downpour until Inej entered the picture either. How ironic.
“I’m not just talking about tonight, y/n/n,” Inej sighed. “You’ve been distant and… sad.”
Inej had a point. Of course she did. Y/n had spent the last several weeks trying to distance herself from the crows. Well… from Kaz. And Inej. And mostly Kaz and Inej together. Which was occurring more often than not lately. The images from the last month played back in her mind yet again as if to remind her of her misery.
Y/n twirled the shiny coin around in between her pointer and middle finger as she practically bounced her way up the stairs to Kaz’s room, a smile on her face. She’d managed to trick some rich merchant into giving it to and she thought Kaz would love it. Maybe he’d even be proud of her for such an achievement. Although, truthfully she’d simply done it because she wanted him to have it thanks to the hopeless crush she’d developed a few weeks ago. Kaz didn’t date. Kaz didn’t look at anyone that way. Y/n included. But, maybe…
Y/n hummed to herself, knocking briefly on Kaz’s wooden door before letting herself in. She paused promptly upon realizing he wasn’t alone. Inej was here. Y/n swallowed thickly as she shifted her stance a bit. “I… umm.., sorry-,” she mumbled.
Inej stepped away from Kaz with a soft shake of her head as she smiled at y/n. “Hey y/n,” she greeted sweetly. “He’s all yours, I was just leaving,” she told the girl.
Y/n’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as her heart sank over Kaz’s immediate response to Inej’s words. His hand. He was… Kaz had reached out and gripped Inej’s wrist to stop her from leaving. He didn’t do that sorta thing. That wasn’t him. Yet, here he was. Doing that. Touching her. Inej. Y/n couldn’t help but stare at the hold Kaz had on Inej’s wrist. His gloves were on… but still.. he didn’t touch people. He didn’t react like that. So instinctual that he’d physically stop someone instead of using his words commands. He really didn’t want her to leave. She tore her eyes away from their hands only to find an equally, if not more, painful sight.
Kaz and Inej stood silently, staring at each other, no words exchanged but both wore meaningful expressions.
Y/n felt a lump in her throat as she tried to swallow. This wasn’t happening. She knew the chances of her crush being anything but a crush were slim. Especially given it was on Kaz. But… The one time she held romantic feelings for someone this happened? What’re the odds her crush would get over his trouble being open with people only to fall for someone else? Her hand holding the coin trembled lightly at her side as she analyzed Kaz’s face. He was stern and serious, but instead of his ever-present stoic expression, his eyes seemed to be…. They were almost… pleading. Ouch. She couldn’t make out Inej’s expression fully from this angle. But from what she could see, Inej held a tender gaze and a small but warm smile. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut tightly as if that would somehow make the sight before her disappear. “Umm..,” she cleared her throat, feeling as though she was interrupting… something. Something she wished she wasn’t happening. But it was. “I, sorry,” she repeated as she slowly opened her eyes. They finally stopped touching and were both now facing her. “I didn’t mean to…,” y/n shook her head, unable to say the words. “Anyways, I umm…,” she mumbled.
“Y/n,” Kaz spoke, his stoic expression back in place. “Out with it,” he instructed.
Hearing his gruff voice say her name in a moment like this hurt. But not as much as him ordering her to get on with it did. He didn’t want her here. She’d interrupted his time… his moment… with Inej. Inej was who he wanted to be speaking with, who he wanted to have present in the room now. Not y/n. “Right,” y/n creaked. “I just, I thought you might want this,” she explained, walking over to his desk. The coin clanged against the table top as she placed it down.
“Where..? Where did you g-,” Kaz began to ask as y/n stepped back from the desk.
“I made a deal with a merchant,” y/n shrugged, pretending it was nothing. In truth, it wasn’t nothing. It had taken her a week and a half to arrange and wasn’t the safest plan. But now… now it truly didn’t matter. In the end, maybe it was nothing.
Kaz scrutinized the rare coin from a distance, not having moved from the spot he was in when y/n first entered. As he looked up from his desk, he found she’d made her way to the door. He felt Inej watching him knowingly, but he didn’t know what to say. Why had y/n gotten this coin? And why had she given it to him? Had she done something she was trying to cover up? Or perhaps trying to get ahead of some mistake she might make later? Or…? No.
“It’s really shiny,” Inej commented with an encouraging smile.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Kaz spoke, picking up on Inej’s not-so-subtle hint to talk to y/n.
Y/n nodded, “I know”. She swallowed and turned her gaze away from the soft way Inej was looking at Kaz. “Goodnight”. It was a weird exit, but what else was she supposed to say after that?
—-
Y/n halted in the doorway, unconsciously stumbling backwards a bit. This was getting to be too much. First it was walking in on their moment. Then it was watching Inej go to his office every single night for the past week. But now this? She hadn’t realized she’d moved backwards, away from the scene before her until she felt her back bump into someone. She silently turned around. Nina. She offered her friend and fellow crow an apologetic expression, not having known she was behind her. She watched as Nina noticed the scene that was now behind y/n, her eyes widening with surprise before quickly narrowing in confusion. She couldn’t hear this. Nina loved gossip. She loved Nina. But she couldn’t bear to talk about the potential romance between Kaz and Inej. Before Nina could react further or comment, y/n side stepped her in the narrow hallway and quickly left the safe house. She made her way to the backside of the building and rested her back against the brick wall as her butt slid to the ground. Breathe. It’s fine. She has no claim to him anyways. It was an unrequited crush. Is. Not was. As much as she’d hoped the tortuous observations of the last week would break her crush, they didn’t. They just broke her instead.
—
“Y/n? You have to talk to someone about whatever is-” Inej’s voice pleaded, bringing y/n back to the present moment. A moment where y/n had ventured out of The Crow Club in hopes the cold air would relieve some of the ache in her chest from having witnessed her crush and his crush on what seemed like a date. Except now, to add to her never ending embarrassment and heartbreak, her crush’s crush was now questioning her as to what was troubling her. Saints she really has the worst luck. It hurt even more because she and Inej used to be close. She didn’t want to lose her friend. But every time she saw Inej now, it physically hurt. Hence why she was trying to distance herself from Kaz and her both. Until her heart had time to heal and move on.
Y/n shook her head.
Inej set a soft hand on y/n’s rain-soaked shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything,” she reminded the girl.
“No I can’t!” Y/n cried. Her eyes widened in shock over her outburst and she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, ignoring the fact that due to it being rainy tiny grains from the roof’s shingles had transferred to her hand and were now poking her face.
“What?” Inej frowned. “Why not?” When she didn’t get a response, she sighed. “Please? If I did something wrong I’d like to fix it”.
Y/n felt a few guilty tears escape her eyes. She wiped the grains off her face before she lowered her hand back to the shingles under them. “You didn’t, Inej… I’m sorry,” she whimpered quietly, “you didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Then why can’t you talk to me?” Inej asked.
Y/n sighed. “I’m just… working through something,” she explained vaguely.
Inej nodded, “I’d like to help”.
“Inej… Thank you, truly,” y/n replied. “But, it’s not fair for me to talk to you about this”. Inej hadn’t done this intentionally. It wasn’t fair for y/n to be upset with her. Or to be upset about it at all. But she was.
“So it does involve me,” Inej interpreted. “Y/n, please just tell me, I know your heart, I know you won’t mean any malice with whatever it is…”
Y/n sighed. Maybe this is what it would take. Maybe this would help her accept the way things were. Maybe it would help her finally be able to move on. To have Inej back as a friend. To not have an ache in her chest every time she looked at Kaz. Maybe even to be happy for them finding love together. Oww. That one still stung. Maybe that one would take longer. It wasn’t fair to make Inej feel guilty for this. But perhaps by telling her, maybe Inej would adjust her behaviors so that it wasn’t so in her face. Not that Inej owed her that. And y/n could never dare ask for that. But Inej was caring. Maybe she’d offer to keep her and Kaz’s affairs more secret. At least until y/n moved on.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this… and please don’t tell anyone, especially him…,” y/n pleaded. She felt bad for asking Inej to keep a secret from her… boyfriend? Is that was she and Kaz were now? She shook the question off. “But, I… kinda sorta… may have developed a little bit of a crush on…” she mumbled slowly. “Kaz, and I know how insane that it is. I knew the even before I knew about you two. But now I feel even worse about it,” she rushed out as quickly as possible. “And I’m so sorry Inej! I-”.
“Wait..,” Inej interrupted, resting her palm on y/n’s shoulder. “Why are you apologizing to me for liking Kaz?” She asked.
“Because it’s not fair to you! And I would never act on it now that I know, I swear!” Y/n vowed.
“Now that you know what?” Inej questioned, choosing just one of the many questions she now had.
“Inej,” y/n sighed as she looked her way. “I know about you and Kaz,” she informed her. “And I’m happy for you, really! It’s just that right now-”.
Inej couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry,” she apologized. “But I couldn’t help it. Y/n, there’s nothing between me and Kaz,” she promised.
Y/n gave Inej a look of frustration. “Inej,” she scolded.
“I swear on every single Saint out there, I have no feelings for Kaz and he has none for me,” Inej spoke softly.
Y/n looked away for a moment, contemplating the last month. “I’ve seen it,” she argued. Maybe they were both too clueless to see it themselves? Was she really now going to have to point out to Inej how Kaz saw her? How he’d unknowingly chosen her over y/n? The universe was cruel.
“What are you-,” Inej began.
“You’re always in his office. He doesn’t let many people do that Inej. Then there’s the way he’s always looking over at you randomly. The way he tended to your wounds after the fight with Marcello. It first dawned on me when I saw the way he reached for your hand to stop you from leaving when I came to give him that damn coin,” y/n rambled, facing the skyline so as to not let Inej see her tears.
Inej closed her eyes as she was hit with guilt. She hadn’t considered how those things looked. Her eyes opened upon hearing y/n try to stifle a sniffle. She promptly stood up and held her hand out for y/n who gazed up at her in confusion. “Trust me, please,” Inej requested.
Kaz’s eyes snapped to the window as y/n and Inej made their way back inside. His eyes scanned y/n’s appearance but stopped upon seeing her red eyes. He turned his gaze to Inej in question as the Wraith looked his way.
Inej sensed the way y/n tensed up beside her. No, No, No. It wasn’t like that. No wonder y/n thought Kaz liked her. He was looking at her a lot lately. But it wasn’t for the reasons y/n thought! She turned to her friend and gripped her hand tightly. She wordlessly made her way to Kaz, dragging the girl with her. She gave Kaz a knowing stare, “now”.
Inej noticed the way Kaz seemed reluctant. Still. After everything she’d tried to do to convince him the past month. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a look. “Kaz, I’m dead serious. You have to tell her,” she commanded in a whispered but sharp tone.
Y/n heard Inej’s whisper and tugged on the hand that was keeping her from fleeing. “Inej?” She asked, uncertain where this was going.
Inej faced y/n with a supportive smile and shook her head. “I promise, it’ll all be made clear”. Her head snapped to the left as she narrowed her eyes at Kaz. “Won’t it Kaz?”
Kaz squinted in confusion. He looked over at y/n, trying to ignore the way her reddened eyes made his chest hurt. “What is it that is unclear?”
Y/n rapidly shook her head as she stared at Inej.
Inej sighed. Y/n didn’t want her to say anything. But it would be in y/n’s best interest if Inej ignored those wishes. “I…,” she began, but stopped. Kaz needed to do this. He needed to be the one to tell her. She worked with him for a month on this. The misunderstandings that were troubling y/n couldn’t be for nothing. “Just…. Tell her. Now,” she ordered, squeezing y/n’s shoulder before quickly leaving. She shut the door behind her and sighed as she silently prayed to her Saints for Kaz to finally tell y/n.
“Kaz?” Y/n asked nervously as she turned back to him after having watched Inej abandon her here.
“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Kaz confessed, his anxious eyes scanning her every move as he tried to read her mind. He watched as she nodded. Did she already know? No. If she did she wouldn’t be standing here. But maybe that’s why she had been crying. No. Inej wouldn’t demand he tell her if she already knew. So why was she nodding? And why had she been crying?
“Sometimes I hate you,” Kaz told her.
“You hate me?”
This wasn’t how Inej had instructed him to tell her when they rehearsed earlier tonight. But if he had to do this now and not on his own time, when he knew for certain how y/n felt, then this was how it was going to go. Not like it would matter anyways. It was likely unrequited.
“Sometimes. You’ve ruined things”.
“I… I… didn’t mean to”.
“That’s just it y/n,” he sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not even fair for me to hate you from time to time over this because you didn’t mean to do any it. You didn’t mean to drive me insane. You didn’t mean to make me break the one vow I made to myself…”
“I don’t…”
“I told myself I’d never let someone in,” Kaz explained. “And then, you….” He groaned. “I don’t know how you did it. And I know you didn’t mean to. So, I know you don’t feel the same. But that doesn’t mean I don’t despise the fact you managed to do this”.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel this way!” Kaz rose his voice.
She squinted. “What are you talking about?” “You’re mad I managed to make you hate me?” she asked, seeking clarification.
“No! Dammit,” Kaz scoffed. “I’m mad you made me feel.”
“Feel what?”
“Everything.”
“Wh…?”
“You made me feel, y/n. In general. But also things I had buried years ago, with the intent to never feel again. You made me feel and I hate it.”
“Are you…? No… You’re not… You’re not actually suggesting you have feelings for me, are you?” Y/n asked in offense. Would he really stoop to this level?
Kaz looked away from her, opting to stare at his windowsill instead.
“If you’re trying to do this to keep your relationship with Inej a secret you don’t have to, I won’t-”.
Kaz choked on his breath. “My what?! …with who?!”
“Kaz”.
“No,” he cut her off as he shook his head and stepped closer. “Is that…” he began. Unlikely. He was probably projecting by thinking it might have something to do with why she’s been distant. Frustration took over as he found his mind to be a mess of crossed wires and chaos. He’d tried to express his feelings to best he can but was still not successful in getting her to understand. He knew she might not feel same way but still, this was annoying. “I’m not trying to con anyone,” he said, voice coming out a bit angry from his disbelief. He’d just confessed his feelings and she was questioning his sincerity and intentions? “If I was trying to hide my… feelings.. would I have just admired that vulnerability to you?” He asked rhetorically.
“But… you…”
“What?”
“The looks”.
“Excuse me?” Kaz sighed. “Full sentences would be great, y/n”.
“I’ve seen the way you are with her,” y/n defended.
“Care to elaborate?” He asked, brow raised.
“First, there was when I came in to give you the-,” she paused as her eyes caught sight of the item in question. He kept it. He hadn’t sold it. And not only did he keep it, he had it on a cushioned pad on his desk. He never kept trinkets on his desk. Focus. “That coin,” she said bringing the conversation back. “I walked in on… Well I don’t really know but, I saw the way you didn’t want her to leave. I clearly interpreted something and you didn’t want me to see it but I could tell you didn’t want her to leave”.
Kaz hummed in understanding. “You did interpret something that night.” He ran his hands over the coin in question for a moment in silence before putting it back down. “And you’re right. You don’t know what it was.” He sighed as he felt his cheeks flush. “I had asked Inej to help me with a project”. When she nodded slowly, he hesitantly continued. “That’s all”.
“It was really important,” y/n recalled, picturing the way he’d actually grabbed for Inej’s wrist.
“It was.” Kaz swallowed. “I tasked her with finding out how you’d feel if I told you…. If we had this conversation,” he corrected.
“What about when you were fixing her cuts from the fight against-”
“Marcello?” Kaz asked for her, knowing he’d only done such a thing once and still felt weird about it. “She’d refused to answer my questions until her wounds were stitched”.
“What questions?”
“Why you seemed to be becoming more distant. If she’d told you despite swearing not to.”
Y/n nodded slowly as she tried to absorb and analyze the information. He noticed? He was worried about that? So much so he attended to Inej’s cuts in order to get the answers to those questions?
“This is what Inej meant by things needing to become clear, isn’t it?” Kaz asked.
Y/n nodded.
Kaz hummed, “anything else?”
“You keep looking over at her randomly.”
Kaz chuckled dryly. So much for the silent check ins being subtle. “It’s not random”.
“Right.. no, I know.. that’s-”.
“I…. I can handle most things on my own, but making conversation, being… friendly.., isn’t my forte.” He sighed. “Inej was also tasked with correcting me if I said or did something that… well.. might have upset you or be taken wrong”.
Y/n blinked slowly at Kaz in surprise. “You-… what?”
“Anything else?” Kaz echoed as he cleared his throat.
“Tonight…”
Kaz groaned. “Ironically, Inej was trying to persuade me into having this exact conversation with you”.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did she want you to have this conversation with me?”
Kaz was silent for a moment. “She claimed she was tired of trying to collect signs that this conversation would go well and threatened that if I didn’t have this conversation soon she’d tell you herself.” He bashfully looked away from her again.
“You… you went and did all of this… because you didn’t know how I’d react?”
Kaz nodded stiffly.
“I … I’m still not sure I understand,” y/n confessed. “And I really don’t want to misinterpret this cause I’ll say something I’ll probably die of embarrassment for saying if I do”. “So…,” she shook her head in confusion. “I know feelings are… new… for you Kaz, but… You’ve both stated you hate me and that you were willing to go through all of this because you needed to know how I’d react to you telling me i made you feel things… but that’s… well, confusing!”
“Sometimes I hate you because I don’t hate you. Because I can’t. I hate that I feel… anything. Because it’s pointless. I hate that I can’t do anything about the way I feel. I hate that I feel I have to tell you this. I hate that nothing will come of this. I hate what this means for you”.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m wretched, y/n. And so is the Barrel,” Kaz said as he shook his head. “If anyone else knew this.. what I’ve been trying to tell you… you’d be in danger”.
“Are you saying that… no… I need you to say it. What is it you’re saying Kaz?”
“Even though unrequited, my feelings for you could be harmful if word got out. So while you might wish to gossip about managing to make the Bastard of the Barrel feel, I don’t advise doing so outside of the crows, or with Jesper either, he’s rather loose lipped and if it gets out to the wrong people you might be in the line of fire and-,” Kaz rambled nervously.
“Kaz stop… you… you like me?”
“Yes,” he answered gruffly. “How many times do I need to say that?”
“Once Kaz. I needed you to say it once,” she sighed. “You said you hated me.”
“Sometimes”.
“Right, sometimes hate me”.
Kaz echoed her sigh. “I don’t actually hate you. Ever. I can’t. I hate that I can’t, but it’s true.”
“So you just… like me? But.., hate that you do?” Y/n questioned. When he nodded silently, she frowned. “Am I really that bad?”
“What?!” Kaz hissed, his sharp gaze snapping over to her.
“Is liking me so horrible?”
“No,” He answered as he moved closer. “Unfortunately it’s not. That’s the problem.”
“Then why do you hate that you like me?”
“I told myself I wouldn’t feel this way. For anyone. Ever.”
“What’s so bad about feeling this way for someone?”
“I told you y/n,” Kaz complained with a sigh. “Nothing can come of it,” he reminded her.
“So… even though you like me. And I….” She took a deep breath, still in disbelief she was going to admit it to his face. “Like you,” she finished. “And all this miscommunication is cleared up, you’re saying that-,”.
“What?” Kaz croaked, eyes locked on her.
“What?”
“What did you just say?”
“The miscommunication is cleared up,” y/n repeated. That wasn’t what he was referring to.
“Before that y/n,” Kaz amended.
“That I like you. I said I like you Kaz”.
It was silent in the room for a painfully long time before he spoke again. When he did, all Kaz said was, “you do..?”
Y/n laughed. “Yes Kaz, that’s why I was upset over you and Inej being-”
“Nothing, we’re nothing,” Kaz interrupted.
“I know,” she smiled, “now”.
Kaz nodded. “You like me,” he whispered.
“I do,” she acknowledged. “And you like me”.
“I do”. He nodded. “But y/n-”.
“No”.
“No?”
“We didn’t just talk through all of this for you to just go back to pretending that we didn’t,” she declared.
“Y/n, if the Dime Lions, or Pekka, or-”.
“I don’t care”
“I do,” Kaz stated sharply.
“I know,” she replied as she moved closer to him. “And I appreciate that. But you know I can defend myself”.
“Yes, but the risks are too-”
“That’s what we do isn’t it?” She asked. Upon seeing the confusion in his eyes, she explained, “we take risks.”
“Not with your life, y/n”.
“I’ve already tried to ignore the way I feel, and it doesn’t work. That’s not living, Kaz”.
“You’d still be alive,” he argued.
“I would be either way, Kaz. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic and black and white”.
When Kaz merely sighed, she shook her head. “If you don’t want to be with me for any other reason, then-”.
“That’s not it,” he nearly growled.
“Then stop resisting. You’re refusing to let yourself live because of the chance something could go wrong. But, that’s life Kaz,” she spoke softly.
“You want this? Knowing the risks?”
“I do.” She nodded. “We can keep it secret if that would make you feel better. I don’t care.”
“It would, but what if it-”
“If it gets out, we deal with it, then. Together. Deal Brekker?”
The edges of Kaz’s lips uncontrollably curled up. “The deal is the deal,” he conceded, already plotting ways to keep this development on lockdown with top level privacy.
a series in which your failing marriage with marc goes through repairs and destructions as you learn the meaning of life - the hard way.
series warnings;
smoking, swearing, toxic relationship, guns and gun violence, death (read the warnings at the start of every chapter for more depth)
playlists;
listen while reading for an extra level of immersion , i also just love making playlists ok , both playlists available only on spotify <3
marc ( a toxic relationship with marc spector )
steven ( married life with steven grant )
the glass series
part one -> pieces
you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.
part two -> picking up the pieces
the serenity after the storm, as some would say. as per usual, your husbands gentler half helps mend you after the most recent argument.
part three -> glass and glue
marc swore it would be the last time. who knows, maybe it would be.
part four -> the cracks
all good things must come to an end finally made sense, after all the devil works hard, but a certain someone works harder.
part five -> champagne glasses
visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.
part six -> unbreakable
there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?
part seven -> window pains
taking a walk down memory lane isn’t always by choice, and is never your ideal afternoon.
part eight -> shattered
have you ever felt so angry you’ve wished death upon someone? well, marc spector, be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.
part nine -> rose coloured glasses
welcome back to the land of the living. are you ready to fight for your life?
part ten -> shards and splinters
apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.
read this years ago and it still is my fav moon knight series here <3 reblogging because i cleaned my reposts and accidentally deleted my reblog of this masterlist i had before plus i also miss interacting with ellie :(
been a long time since i posted something new here other than reblogging fics i read, but i see you all in my notifs still interacting with my stories everyday and i appreciate you guys so much!
just an update: i’m currently working on crossposting all of my fics to ao3 and wattpad. i’ll start posting new fics after i’m done with that! 🥰
you can consider joining my community in the meantime. 💜
a community for readers of slytherheign's stories! connect with fellow readers to discuss fanfics, engage directly with the author, enjoy ex
welcome to my directory of all the clark kent stories I love! all writing credit belongs to each individual writer, and if you resonate with any story, make sure to show that author some love by commenting, reblogging, or both! reader discretion is advised, so be sure to check the warnings.
ʚɞ krypto, take me home - @buckysfaveplum
when Clark can't make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you
ʚɞ eyes like pretty lights - @fawnindawn
surprising clark with a visit at the daily planet, it sparks memories of the past and how some things never change, especially clark's eyes that still shine like pretty lights only for you. seeing your best friend again in metropolis, it might be harder to leave... especially when he doesn't want you to.
ʚɞ makes paintings with his tongue! - @sceletaflores
you and clark have a conversation about superman...
ʚɞ just hold me - @plaidcowboy
a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.
ʚɞ no strings attached...unless? - @kryptoclark
what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?
ʚɞ nsfw clark kent headcanons - @lacelottie
ʚɞ whipped clark headcanons - @squipa
ʚɞ fortress - @charmedntruer
tasked to take clark to the safest possible place he can recover from the pocket universe, you come to a few new revelations of your own upon seeing where clark was raised in the countryside.
ʚɞ kiss me - @sunshine-lux
it's obvious to everyone at the daily planet that y/n and clark have an unspoken thing going on. one late night at the office might just be what they need to stop dancing around it.
ʚɞ messy makeout sess - @vemathie
thinking deeply and heavily about clark being all desperate and messy when you're just making out...
ʚɞ super-headaches at the daily planet - @luveline
Something about Clark makes your head hurt. (And something about Superman is strangely familiar.)
ʚɞ my hero pt 2- @jungkooklover777
an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?
ʚɞ unfold your love - @junleb
jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love
ʚɞ everyone adores you (at least i do) - @rosesaints
you work at a coffee shop on the ground floor of the daily planet...enter clark kent. mister medium-drip-extra-room-sincere-eyebrows.
ʚɞ night's so blue - @junleb
it's rare for two reporters to be assigned to the same movie. how convenient that you already have a good relationship with clark. or, this is too good to be true. it isn't a set-up, right?
synopsis : Your life was unraveling, little by little. Bored and drained by your job, terrified of your brother, and silently denying the weight of your own depression. Nothing made it easier, especially when one of Metropolis’s most persistent reporters began digging into places he definitely shouldn’t have.
cw : smut, angst, slight enemies to lovers, slight morally grey reader, depressed and suicidal thoughts, implied voyeurism from superhearing, unprotected p in v, mentions of torture, mentions of human trafficking.
luthor and chubby reader. (david!clark kent)
words : 22.7k
ㅤㅤ ㅤ masterlist ⋆ ao3
Boredom.
That’s what you felt every time you set foot in LuthorCorp. It wasn’t the worst job in the world, it paid well, but it left you utterly uninspired. The work was mind-numbingly dull. You were in charge of your brother’s legal team, yet he never let you be an actual lawyer.
Lex trusted you just enough to manage his public image, filing lawsuits against anyone who dared tarnish the pristine version of himself he insisted on maintaining. The number of cease-and-desist letters you sent to the Daily Planet was absurd. Especially to two particular reporters : Lois Lane and Clark Kent.
But beyond that? You were on the outside looking in. Lex kept you out of the real business. He didn’t let you in. Not really. He didn’t trust you, not with everything.
You had never set foot in his big office, the one with the sweeping view of the city. You had no idea what went on up there. Whatever it was, it was a secret he shared with his latest girlfriend, but not with his own sister.
Shaking your head, you stepped forward in the line at the coffee shop on the main floor. Nothing much had happened at LuthorCorp lately. Nothing thrilling, nothing exciting. Just the same routine, day after day.
Eve breezed past behind you, shouting your name in that high-pitched voice of hers and waving like it was a reunion after years apart. You rolled your eyes slightly and gave a lazy wave in return. You liked Eve, she was sweet. A little dim, maybe, but a breath of fresh air compared to your brother’s cynical, brooding behavior.
Once you were seated in your office, you opened your inbox and were immediately greeted by a flood of emails, dozens of them. Most were about the latest failed experiment at Lex’s military base. There was a list of names : people who’d been fired, others who had quit, and new hires who still needed their NDA signed.
Just more messes for you to clean up. More people to bribe. More lies to hold together with duct tape and NDAs.
It was all starting to feel like too much. But the paycheck? More than generous. Your brother might not trust you, but he made damn sure you’d never want for anything, at least not financially.
By the time lunch rolled around, your head was already pounding.
You had a rare hour alone. The entire legal team was on their lunch break, including your assistant. You didn’t mind. In fact, you liked it this way.
You’d gone down early to grab your food, so you had the luxury of eating at your desk, half-working as you chewed through both your lunch and another batch of legal threats. The further you were from your colleagues, the better.
You were halfway through drafting yet another cease-and-desist when your phone rang.
You let it ring a few seconds before remembering : no one was going to answer it for you today. Sighing, you wiped your hands on a napkin and picked up the receiver.
“LuthorCorp, Head of Legal,” you said mechanically, not bothering to check the number calling.
“Miss Luthor.” A deep voice resonated on the other end of the line.
You groaned. You were not in the mood for this.
“Mr. Kent,” you sighed, drawing it out with deliberate irritation. His amused chuckle came through loud and clear. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
He chuckled again. “Still charming as ever.”
Slumping back into your chair, you hit the speaker button and let the handset drop onto your polished mahogany desk with a soft clunk. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled slowly. You were really not in the mood for the Daily Planet circus today.
Still, if you had to deal with one of them, you supposed it was lucky it was Clark Kent and not Lois Lane. At least he had the decency not to shout.
“Make it quick,” you snapped, irritation curling in your voice. “I’m on my lunch break.”
“Believe me,” Clark said smoothly, “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your overpriced salad unless I had a reason.”
You rolled your eyes. “If this is about that cease-and-desist from last week, I'll let you call back to get in touch with LuthorCorp lawyers, as I don't deal with those.”
“Not this time,” he replied. “It’s about the recent firings at the LuthorCorp research division, the ones connected to Project Tonite.”
Your fingers froze just above your keyboard. How did he know about this? This happened in the last two days.
“Never heard of it,” you said coolly.
Clark gave a small, skeptical laugh. “Come on, Miss Luthor. Three scientists let go in twenty-four hours, all under suspiciously vague NDA conditions? One of them told me, off the record, that they weren’t even allowed to collect their personal items. That usually happens when someone’s trying to bury something.”
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk. “And let me guess, you want to dig it up?”
“That’s kind of my job.” You could hear the smirk.
“I know you’re good at your job, Mr. Kent,” you said coolly, already clicking through the internal database. “But let me assure you, I’m very good at mine.”
Your tone didn’t waver as you scanned the list of recently terminated staff, searching for any names connected to the classified project.
“Also,” you added, eyes narrowing as you located the relevant files, “thank you for informing me that some of our former employees have been violating the contracts they signed. That’s… helpful.”
You found the three names instantly. With practiced efficiency, you forwarded their files to your best in-house counsel, including a brief note : One of them talked to the press. Find out who, and get the paperwork ready.
The goal was simple. Identify the leak. Then sue them into silence.
There was a pause on the line. Clark’s voice came back, just a little more pointed this time. “So that’s it? One of them speaks out, and your first move is to sue them into the ground?”
You leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you stared at the phone like it had personally insulted you.
“My first move,” you said evenly, “is to protect my company’s legal interests. What they signed was very clear, Mr. Kent. Confidentiality. Non-disclosure. No public commentary. If they broke that, they don’t just get a slap on the wrist, they get consequences.”
“You don’t even know which of them talked.” Clark deadpanned on the other side of the phone. He must of known it was a stupid thing to say.
Scoffing, you grabbed a bit of your meal, answering with a mouthful. "We'll find out."
You heard him sigh, and you knew that sound, he was about to launch into another one of his noble little speeches. You cut him off before he had the chance.
“Listen, Mr. Kent,” you said flatly. “Whatever they told you is irrelevant, and illegal. You want to use it? Go ahead. But you and I both know how this ends. Same circus, different headline. Every time the Planet comes sniffing around our business, it’s the same tired routine.”
You leaned forward, voice like ice.
“Let’s just skip to the part where your editors get a not so polite letter from my office. Save us both the effort, and your lawyers the headache.”
Clark didn’t back down. Of course not.
“I have reason to believe LuthorCorp is moving forward with something dangerous. If you're hiding—”
“If,” you snapped, cutting him off again, “LuthorCorp is hiding something dangerous, then it’s buried for a reason.”
You paused, letting the weight of your words settle.
“And unless you’ve got something more substantial than your hero complex and secondhand paranoia, I suggest you stop fishing before you fall into waters you can’t swim in.”
There was a long silence. You didn't fill it. Let him sit in it.
You were just about to hang up when Clark spoke again, quiet, but deliberate. "I know about the Superman Project."
Your fingers froze above the keyboard. How could he know? There was no possible way he actually did.
You weren’t even supposed to know.
You had been tired of your brother keeping things from you. Of being left in the dark while he handed off his most secretive, most dangerous operations to a hidden legal team that answered only to him. Meanwhile, you were left dealing with the fallout. The lawsuits, the corporate scandals, the media fires. Always cleaning up after his messes, never trusted with the truth.
So, you had started digging.
It hadn’t been easy. Lex had buried the trail deep, tucked behind fake departments, encrypted files, and names scrubbed from every system. But you were a Luthor. And when a Luthor wants the truth, they find it, no matter how deep it was buried.
What you uncovered was worse than you imagined.
Project Superman was, in a way, connected to Project Tonite. The latter was part of Lex’s broader plan to enter politics by offering authorities a method to control, and, if necessary, eliminate, metahumans. Lex was obsessively working to recreate Kryptonite, aiming to engineer it into a universal weakness for anyone with meta-genes. Though deeply unethical, the project could be easily justified under the guise of public safety, a means to protect civilians and prevent the fear of becoming targets in a world increasingly influenced by alien forces.
It was your job to handle Project Tonite. Unethical, certainly, but not lethal.
Project Superman, as you later discovered, was something far darker. It was Lex’s attempt to create his own metahumans, an army of loyal enforcers to protect him and his interests. He was experimenting on people in a hidden lab in Boravia. Officially, they were “volunteers.” In truth, they were either brainwashed soldiers, convinced they were dying for their country, or desperate civilians lured by promises of money.
This was harder to bury. No amount of spin could justify it. No one would stand for such atrocities, not even you. You'd seen how they handled those who tried to speak out. Death would have been a mercy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, slightly knowing the phone was tapped. “Now, if that’s all, I’d like to get back to my lunch, Mr. Kent.”
You hung up, your hand lingering on the phone just a moment too long. You weren’t ready, not for the fallout that would come once your brother realized you knew about his most secret, most dangerous project.
Hanging up was the only way to delay that reckoning.
For the rest of the day, you were on edge every time someone knocked on your door. Each phone call made you flinch slightly, every email felt like it could be a threat in disguise. But nothing came. It was as if Clark Kent hadn’t told anyone he called your office, like he had made sure to reach you when you were alone.
Normally, when reporters tried to contact you and couldn’t get through, they’d go after someone else on the legal team. That would always end the same way : Lex finding out. And then he’d storm into your office, acting as if you had invited the scrutiny, as if your actions had put the corporation at risk.
Yet, as you locked the door of your flat, you finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Kent's call. You turned down the alarm, slid every bolt into place, and only then started peeling off your shoes and vest. It wasn’t until that moment that you realized just how tightly wound you’d been all day.
You kept replaying it in your head, over and over. You still couldn’t understand how the hell a Daily Planet reporter knew about Project Superman. It made no sense. Everyone who had been terminated from the project had also been… terminated from life itself. Either dead, or locked away in whatever deranged side project your brother had been developing on that goddamn beach of his.
You didn’t know which fate was worse. And you weren’t interested in finding out.
Slumping onto the couch, you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it. Why hadn’t it been front-page news the moment Clark Kent found out? Why the quiet call? Why the restraint? You sat up. Maybe he didn’t know much. Maybe the call was a bluff, an attempt to catch you off guard, to shake you just enough that you’d slip. That had to be it.
Scoffing, you shook your head at your own stupidity. He’d played you. And you’d almost walked right into it like a debutante at her first scandal.
You were about to get up when your phone buzzed.
Unknown number
"Hello," you answered, hesitant.
“Miss Luthor,” came Clark Kent’s voice, calm, low, unmistakably his.
You let out a heavy sigh and collapsed back onto the couch. It was late. The day had already been a disaster, and this felt like the final insult.
“How the fuck did you get this number?” you snapped, not bothering to be polite.
A soft laugh came through the speaker, calm, maddening. It only fuelled your irritation. It was almost like he didn’t realize the weight his words carried, or worse, he did and simply didn’t care.
You knew your personal phone was clean. You checked it weekly. Lex had tapped your work line, of course, listened to every conversation, tracked every call. You let him believe you didn’t know. Occasionally, you even used it to call friends just to maintain the illusion.
“You told me yourself,” Clark said, voice smooth and infuriatingly gentle. “I’m very good at my job.”
You frowned, confused by his tone, the softness, the restraint. He sounded patient. Not like a man cornering someone with a bombshell. Not like someone planning to go public.
Why wasn’t he pressing harder? What the hell did he want?
“Tell Jimmy he’s going to have real problems if Lex finds out about him and Eve,” you said, dropping it like a bomb. It was the only explanation that made sense, how else would Clark have your personal number?
“He didn’t—” Clark started, then cut himself off. He refused to take the bait. Refused to treat you like an idiot. “I’m not calling about Jimmy. Not even about what I called you about earlier.”
You scoffed, your patience nearly gone. He was playing you again, acting calm, composed, pretending like he wasn’t pushing some carefully constructed agenda. You weren’t a fool. You knew manipulation when you heard it. He spoke like someone who thought his sincerity was a weapon.
“What do you want then?” you snapped.
There was a pause. And then, in that same calm voice, he asked : “I just want to know why you defend him.”
You stilled.
"Of the records." He added at your silence.
Of course. There it was. Another angle. Another motive. You recognized this game, draw out the sympathy, lower the defences, build just enough rapport for the truth to slip out. He wanted you to pity yourself. To question your loyalty. To crack.
But you wouldn’t. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not anymore.
Lex had played this game too many times, for far too long. It left scars, sure, deep ones, but it also taught you how to bury your feelings, how to do the job without letting guilt cloud your judgment. It made you sharp. Unshakable.
You wouldn’t let Clark Kent be the one to undo all of that.
“Listen, Clark,” you said, spitting his name like it tasted wrong. “I don’t know what you want, or what you think you’re going to get by being all honeyed and soft-spoken, but it’s not going to work. People have tried before you. People smarter, more ruthless, more desperate. And they failed all the same.”
Your voice hardened.
“I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anything from you. Not your questions. Not your insight. Not even your damn voice.”
Silence stretched on the line. Heavy. Intentional.
“I can help you,” his voice came through, calm, measured, infuriatingly composed. “I have nothing to gain if your brother finds out I called you. This is a safe line. I made sure of it. But a lot of person have something to gain if you leave that company.”
“Leave the company? And then what?” you shot back, the words sharp and fast, your anger rising. “Vanish into thin air so Lex never finds me again? You think I can just disappear?”
You didn’t give him a chance to respond.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t even know what the hell you think you’re helping me with. Do I look like some poor damsel waiting for a knight in shining armour? Because let me tell you something—” You stood abruptly, pacing the living room now, one hand in your hair, the other clenched at your side.
“There is no one, nothing, that can take my brother down. Everyone who’s tried? You know exactly what happened to them.”
You stopped pacing and stared at the wall, breath heavy, heart pounding in your ears.
“So if you really want to help me, like you say you do, then here’s what you’re going to do : you’re not going to call this number again. You’re not going to contact my office talking about project neither of us should known about. And for the sakes of both our lives, you’re going to forget Project Superman ever existed.”
Silence. You didn’t care what he said next. You were already reaching for the button to end the call.
“Don’t call this number again,” you said coldly, and hung up.
The line went dead, but the tension didn’t leave with it. You pressed the heel of your palm against your eyes, breathing hard, trying not to cry. From the anger. From the pressure. From the horrifying things you’d seen while snooping around Project Superman.
You were a coward. You knew it.
Maybe that’s why you resented Clark Kent so much. He’d had the nerve to reach out, to ask the hard questions, even knowing the risks. You hadn’t even been able to speak about the things your brother had done. The things Lex Luthor had done in the dark, to others, and sometimes even to himself.
You knew the consequences. You’d seen them firsthand. And you didn’t want to be next.
Even if speaking out could help hundreds. Maybe thousands.
You sat down slowly, hands shaking in your lap.
You were a coward. And for now… you were okay with that.
Weeks passed in total silence from both the Daily Planet and Clark Kent.
No headlines about LuthorCorp. No reason to threaten them with lawsuits. Just silence.
And honestly, it made your job easier. A lot of your day-to-day involved clashing with reporters, especially them. So when they left LuthorCorp alone, your workload lightened, and your days felt strangely manageable. Almost peaceful.
You were on the roof, smoking a cigarette, your lunch long forgotten beside you. From here, you had one of the best views in the city, skyline stretching wide, sunlight brushing against the tops of the tallest towers, but it meant nothing. You hadn’t felt anything in a long time.
Just boredom. That’s all that was left.
Bored of covering up messes. Bored of threatening people into silence. Bored of your brother constantly looking down on you. Bored of your life.
“You know those things kill you?” The deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
You jumped, startled, spinning around to see who had disturbed your rare moment of quiet. And froze.
Superman. Standing just a few meters away.
You frowned, instinctively scanning the sky, expecting to find some incoming threat, maybe a drone, a villain, a building seconds from collapse, but there was nothing. Just blue sky and distant clouds. Calm.
You turned back to him, confusion painting your face. He let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused.
“Can I help you with something?” you asked, dumbly. It should have been the other way around, you knew that, but you were too off-balance to care.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied politely. His voice was warm, even amused. He stepped a little closer, his boots landing gently on the gravel. “I was just flying by and saw you sitting here all alone. Looking kind of sad. Thought I’d check in.”
“Just flying by…” you echoed, mocking him with a dry tone, taking another drag of your cigarette. “What, you checking rooftops now?”
“Only the ones with interesting people on them,” he said with a faint smile.
You weren’t sure what bothered you more, the fact that Superman was here, talking to you, or the fact that some small, treacherous part of you actually appreciated it.
Running into metahumans in Metropolis was nothing new. Practically routine. You were used to it, numb to it. And honestly, you didn’t care about them. Not really. Especially not this one.
Not the one your brother had developed a borderline obsessive fixation with.
The thought made you laugh under your breath. If Lex could see you now, sitting on a rooftop, casually chatting with his so-called nemesis, he'd probably have a stroke. Or throw someone off a building. You were fairly certain Superman didn’t even care about Lex, at least not in the same way Lex cared about him.
You figured ignoring him would be enough to make him leave. But no, of course not.
Instead, the man in spandex sat down right next to you, just a couple of meters away. Calm. Relaxed. As if this was all perfectly normal. Then he blew. A gust of air, deliberate, sharp, and your cigarette sailed out of your fingers, flicked clean into the sky.
“Okay, now,” you snapped, sitting up straighter. “Those things are expensive.”
He gave you a mild look, clearly unbothered. “They also kill you slowly.”
“Maybe I wanna die?” you shot back.
“Problem in paradise?” He smiled, almost teasing.
You scoffed. Anyone with half a brain knew LuthorCorp was anything but a paradise. Lighting another cigarette, you let the silence hang between you. Truth was, you didn’t know what to say to him, not to him. What was there to say?
“Don’t make me do it again,” he teased, eyes locked on your cigarette like it had personally offended him.
“If you do,” you said flatly, taking a long drag, “I’ll jump off the building.”
He laughed, genuinely. Since when did Superman have dimples?
“Dramatic,” he said, still chuckling. “Besides, you know I’d catch you.”
And just because he knew he could, he blew again. Your cigarette vanished into the sky.
You sighed, stood up without a word, and, before your mind could stop your body, you walked to the edge of the roof. And stepped off.
“What the— NO!” came the shout behind you, his voice laced with panic as you tumbled from the tallest building in Metropolis.
Wind tore past your face. The ground rushed up to meet you. And for the first time in months, maybe years, you felt something. You giggled, wild and breathless, as the city blurred around you. It was chaos. It was stupid. It was reckless.
But for one glorious second… it was freedom.
You were caught mid-fall, arms of steel wrapping around you, pulling you hard against a solid chest. The impact wasn’t rough, but it jolted you all the same. Warmth surrounded you instantly. The wind disappeared.
Your arms, on instinct more than intent, wrapped around Superman’s neck as he steadied you both, slowing until the momentum was gone and you were simply floating. Suspended above the city like a feather caught in still air. His grip didn’t falter. Not for a second.
At first, you were just looking into his eyes, breath heaving from the adrenaline, heart pounding in your chest, while he remained perfectly calm, just as he had been before. Of course, you’d known he would catch you. He’d said it himself. But there was something exhilarating about catching Superman off guard.
And then, for the first time in months, you laughed. A real laugh, raw, unfiltered, shaking your whole body as it spilled out of you, rocking you gently against him in midair. It caught both you and the metahuman by surprise. The laughter felt genuine, liberating, like something had cracked open inside you.
For a few long seconds, he just held you there, floating above Metropolis, watching as you laughed like a madwoman in his arms. His expression was soft, confused, maybe even concerned but never judging.
“You really did it,” he muttered, voice low. “You actually jumped.”
“I told you I would,” you replied, breathless.
A beat of silence passed between you. His heartbeat was steady. Yours was not.
“You think this is a game?” he asked, not angry, but something quieter. Something that stung more.
You looked away, eyes scanning over Metropolis before looking down. The world looked so tiny from up here, it was almost addicting. “I think I just wanted to feel something.”
His arms tightened just a little. Protective. Anchoring. Without a word, he flew you back to the rooftop of LuthorCorp, setting you down gently, right in the middle of it, very far from the edge. The choice made you laugh, just a little. It was almost sweet.
“I’m not jumping again, don’t worry,” you said quietly, stepping out of his warm embrace.
You walked back to the spot where you’d been before, beside your barely touched lunch, your pack of cigarettes, and your phone, and sat down again, staring out over the city. You could feel his eyes on your back. The way he’d looked at you, genuinely concerned, not out of duty but something almost human, left a strange warmth in your chest.
How pathetic did your life have to be, for the only person who seemed to care, even for just a moment, to be Superman?
Nobody would’ve truly cared if he hadn’t caught you. Not really. You wouldn’t have cared, either. Just one last rush of adrenaline before the long, quiet sleep. It might’ve even made a decent headline : Lex Luthor’s sister falls to her death, dramatic, poetic even, if anyone had been paying attention. They wouldn't even say your own name.
Lex probably wouldn’t have mourned, not really. Maybe for the cameras, because it would be expected of him. Clark Kent would’ve gotten his front page. LuthorCorp would’ve named a new Head of Legal. The world would’ve kept turning. And you, you would’ve finally had peace.
It all came tumbling down at once. That invisible wall you'd spent years building, the one between feeling and function, cracked. Funny how the mind could carry so much until it just couldn’t. Until, in one fragile second, everything became too much.
You had no one important in your life. No real friends. No boyfriend. No one waiting for you to come home.
You never made time for it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Letting someone in meant dragging them into Lex’s orbit, into his world of control and consequences. And you knew, sooner or later, when everything finally came crashing down, you’d be caught in the blast.
No one deserved to go through that for you.
Without even realising it, tears had started slipping down your face. Quiet and relentless. You’d carried so much for so long, buried it deep, locked it away ever since the day you said yes to Lex’s job offer. Maybe the real mystery was that you hadn’t broken sooner.
And just your luck… it had to happen in front of fucking Superman.
Still, in a strange way, maybe that made it easier. He wasn’t someone who would haunt your life later. He wasn’t someone you’d have to explain yourself to. Just a stranger, powerful, distant, untouchable. Someone you could fall apart in front of for a moment, and never see again. And in that moment, as you sat there, broken and small on the rooftop of your brother’s empire, you could pretend, just for a second, that you weren’t truly, utterly alone.
In a world this massive, this overwhelming, it was easy to forget that people like you didn’t get to be the heroes. By name, by blood, by inaction… you were one of the bad ones.
It felt almost comical, crying over how your brother had ruined your life, all while sitting on the rooftop of his building. As if you weren’t part of it. As if you hadn’t played your role.
You could have said no. Could’ve turned down his offer. Could’ve taken the harder road, fought your way to the top, maybe even become one of the best lawyers in this goddamn city. But you hadn’t. The promise of money, luxury, and an “easy” career had won. And the rest of you, the better part, had lost.
Even now, three years later, you weren’t sure if you would’ve made a name for yourself. Maybe you’d still be stuck in that old, crumbling apartment. But maybe, just maybe, you’d still have your friends. Maybe you’d have someone, a boyfriend, a partner, a life outside of this cold marble empire. Certainly you'd be happier.
“You should have let me fall…” you said, barely above a whisper.
But he heard it. Of course he did.
He was beside you in seconds, sitting just like before, only this time, a little closer. His warmth was a quiet comfort as the wind picked up, brushing through your hair, while dark clouds slowly crept into the Metropolis skyline.
“You know I can’t do that,” he said gently.
You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.
“No one would know. And trust me, no one would care enough to ask questions,” you said, your voice low, bitter. Before he could answer, a thought surfaced, sharp and sudden, and you added, “Well… maybe The Daily. Maybe your little buddy Clark Kent would’ve called just to have the perfect front page.”
It was his turn to scoff, the sound laced with something close to anger. You glanced at him through blurry eyes and saw the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.
“Don’t say things like that,” he replied, frustration barely held back in his voice.
Ever the saviour, you thought. Of course Superman wouldn’t be the kind of man to let you spiral, but it felt like if you didn’t speak now, your brain might just implode. Like some switch had flipped inside you, and there was no turning it off.
“No, but really. You should’ve let me fall,” you said again, firmer this time. “It wouldn’t have changed a thing. Might’ve even made a few people happy.”
You stared out at the skyline as your voice hardened. “Laura would finally get her promotion. She’s hated me ever since I took her spot three years ago.”
You sniffed, eyes stinging, glancing over at him.
“Lex… he’d be relieved. Wouldn’t have to keep watching me out of the corner of his eye, worrying that maybe I’ll grow a conscience and talk to the press. I know he’d still come after me if I did, but I like to think it’d be harder with me than with a regular employee. You know?”
Leaning a little closer to the edge, your eyes settled on the ground far below. You heard Superman shift beside you, subtle, but ready, as if he thought you might jump again.
The thought made you laugh, quiet and bitter. Of all the places to have a complete mental breakdown, it had to be on the roof of LuthorCorp, with the strongest metahuman alive standing beside you like some guardian angel you never asked for.
“I’d finally be at peace,” you murmured. “No more complaints. No more threats. No more bribes. No more guilt. Just a coward lying cold in her grave.”
You whispered the last part, almost to yourself. More tears slipped down your face, blending seamlessly with the rain now falling in heavy sheets, as if the sky had decided to cry with you.
"You're more than just this job," Superman said softly, his hand wrapping gently around your arm as he pulled you back from the edge.
You let out a genuine, tear-filled laugh, harsh and wet in the rain. Always the optimist. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.
You weren’t more than this job. This job was you now. It had devoured every part of the person you used to be, every ideal, every boundary, every line you swore you’d never cross. Now you were a void version of yourself, filled with legal jargon and lies, a polished shield for monsters in suits.
It had rotted you from the inside out. Turned you into everything you grew up hating : a corrupted executive, pocketing blood money and defending the indefensible for the sake of a paycheck and an office.
This wasn't who you had wanted to be. And why? Because you had never known how to stand up for yourself in front of Lex.
"I'm really not..." you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. "But... thanks for saying it, I guess."
You rose to your feet, water dripping from your clothes. The Metropolis rain was rare, but when it came, it never held back. At least now you had a decent excuse to go home early. The office had been slow all day, nothing you couldn’t handle from your laptop if needed.
As you gathered your thing, your half-eaten lunch, your phone, the crumpled, now soaked, cigarette pack, you stole one last glance at him.
He looked almost human like this.
Soaked from the rain, seated quietly with his cape clinging to him, his expression caught somewhere between concern and sympathy. The image the media had built around him didn’t do him justice, not enough. Not the way his hair curled when wet, not the way his blue eyes held entire conversations shining with so many emotions, not the dimples still ghosting along his cheeks even when he wasn’t smiling. And certainly not the softness of his lips.
You blinked the thought away, scoffing silently at yourself. Of course, the only man you found attractive was also the most unreachable one. Classic.
"Thank you," you said at last, your voice softer now, more sincere. "For not letting me fall."
"Always," he replied simply, his voice steady as he watched you disappear behind the rooftop door.
You took the stairs down slowly, each step heavier than the last. You felt like hell, worse than you had in a long time. As if your own mind had finally decided to punish you for every cry for help you’d ignored. For every night you spent awake, staring at the ceiling with a racing heart and hollow chest. For every morning you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling like your skin didn't fit right.
For every moment you scratched your arms raw just to feel something through the guilt and pressure. For every hour spent dissociating in your office, staring at legal documents you didn’t care about, defending things you didn’t believe in.
Now it was all crashing down, and it couldn’t have picked a worse time.
But maybe, deep down, you believed you deserved every second of it.
The sound of your office door slamming open yanked your head up from your folded arms. In truth, you didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Lex.
He stormed inside like he owned the place, which, of course, he did, trailed by your assistant, who wore a familiar apologetic look. Without a word, the young man gave you a regretful glance before slipping out and shutting the door behind him.
Lex dropped onto the large leather sofa across the room with an air of theatrical exhaustion. He didn’t even bother to take off his coat.
You had to admit, it was a beautiful office. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered one of the best views in the city. Your mahogany desk alone was worth more than most people’s rent for a year. The latest computer sat, the expansive bookshelf filled with legal volumes you rarely touched anymore. A pair of sleek leather sofas flanked a marble coffee table no one ever used.
You never had clients in here. Never held meetings. Most of your team knew better than to knock unless absolutely necessary. That reputation, distant, cold, unapproachable, had followed you ever since. Maybe you hadn't done much to stop it.
"We have a problem," Lex said, his eyes closed as he leaned back into the couch.
Your heart skipped a beat.
Still, it was somewhat reassuring that he came alone, without the usual pair of silent goons who tailed him like shadows. If he didn’t bring muscle, chances were you weren’t the problem.
"Do we?" you asked, keeping your voice even, doing your best to hide the anxiety curling in your stomach. Lex had always been too good at reading you.
"I think yes, we do," he replied, tone laced with mockery, almost daring you to guess. Daring you to slip. To reveal something he didn’t already know.
Opening one eye, he glanced your way, clearly waiting to see if you'd take the bait. When you raised an eyebrow at him, he only smirked.
"The Planet has been snooping around too much lately," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Reporters asking questions they shouldn’t be asking. Digging in places they shouldn’t even know exist."
You rolled your eyes, already unimpressed. You weren’t sure why this warranted Lex barging into your office like the ceiling was about to collapse. Your legal team was probably already handling whatever nonsense the Daily Planet was stirring up. And if it was more serious, if they were digging into the same shadows Clark Kent had called you about a month ago, you were certain Lex’s personal legal hounds were already biting at their heels.
“Sounds like a regular Tuesday,” you muttered, rubbing the space between your eyes as a headache began to bloom.
“Kent hasn’t published anything, but he’s been sniffing around again. More than usual. And this time, it’s not just the public projects he’s asking about. Classified-level stuff.” He said, watching for your reaction.
You gave a small shrug, feigning indifference. “Then maybe it’s time to sue them again. That usually quiets the barking.”
Lex smiled thinly. “Not this time. He’s being careful. No paper trail. No sources willing to go on record. Yet somehow… he knows things. Enough to be dangerous.”
Frowning, you sighed. You had to play this carefully. You hadn’t spoken to Clark Kent since those calls, and you hadn’t told anyone about Project Superman. But if Lex wanted to pin the blame on you, he would. He always found a way.
“How do you even know it’s him, if he’s being this careful, Lex?” you asked cautiously, choosing your words with care. You didn’t want to provoke him, but you hated how he danced around the point like he was waiting for you to slip.
He sat up straighter, his cold gaze locking onto yours. “I have my ways,” he said with that familiar, dangerous smirk. “Little ears here and there.”
You leaned back slightly, your throat suddenly dry. “And did those little ears tell you I was involved? Because it sure sounds like you’re accusing me of something.”
He stood, slowly making his way around your desk until he was behind you. You stiffened as his hand came down on your shoulders, firm, not painful, but unmistakably controlling.
“Of course not,” he said with a mockingly sweet tone. “What kind of brother would accuse his own sister?”
You didn’t move. Not when his thumb absently dragged over the curve of your shoulder, not when the silence stretched long enough to chill the air between you. You knew better than to flinch. That’s what he wanted, fear dressed up as respect.
He leaned in slightly, just enough for you to feel the brush of his breath near your ear.
“I just worry, you know?” he said softly. “This kind of scrutiny… it makes people act irrationally. Makes them do things they shouldn’t. Say things they regret. He even got in the head of some of my most trusted employees once…”
He paused, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile in his voice. Too calm. Too rehearsed.
“And he did call your number a few weeks ago.” Another pause. Dread filled you, fear gripping you strongly. “I’d hate to think he had put ideas in your head.”
His hand slipped away like a shadow, but the pressure lingered in your skin.
He moved with the slow, calculated confidence of someone who never had to hurry. Circling the desk, he didn’t sit, Lex never sat when he could loom, but rested a hand casually on the edge, watching you like a scientist studying a specimen under glass.
His voice lightened, almost amused. “You know, I’ve always trusted you.” A pause. A tilt of the head. “But I pulled the call recording anyway. Just to be sure.”
He gave a small shrug, smooth, almost dismissive, though the smile that followed was razor-thin. “I knew you wouldn’t say anything. You’re smarter than that.” Another beat. “You know what would happen if you weren’t.”
He left your office on that note, not even waiting for a response. The door clicked shut behind him, and only then did you exhale the shaky breath you'd been holding since he walked in.
He knew.
He couldn’t prove it, not yet, but he knew. Whether you’d stumbled onto the truth before Kent or started digging after that call, it didn’t matter. Lex didn’t care about the details. All he cared about was ensuring your silence.
And his message had been clear : Talk and you end up like them. Family or not.
Your phone buzzed. It was a message, from your brother.
Opening it, your breath caught in your throat. A strangled sound escaped you.
Lying strapped to a medical table, bruised and bloodied, was Thomas. Your ex-boyfriend from law school. The only man you’d ever introduced to Lex. Someone you hadn’t seen, or even spoken to, in years.
And now he was a rat lab. All because of you.
All because Clark Kent couldn't stop.
That how you ended up on the roof again, standing just at the edge of the building. Your eyes fixed on the floor below. Dark clouds were coming toward Metropolis, still far but advancing quickly. A storm was coming.
It was late, all your colleagues at gone home already. You had waited in your office, trying to play it cool, not wanting to be suspicious. You were certain Lex had bribed someone of your team, most likely your assistant, into telling him your every move. Every call. Every mails.
Looking down, you wondered. What would it be like to fall again? Would it feel exhilarating, like the first time? Maybe even more, knowing no one was here to catch you this time. It was mesmerising how small the world looked from up here.
Ironic, really. From this height, you'd once felt powerful. In the early months of the job, standing on this rooftop made you feel untouchable, like you were finally someone. But that illusion had long since crumbled. This place had taken everything from you.
“You’re not gonna jump again, are you?”
The voice cracked through the silence like a whip.
Startled, you turned too fast. Reflexes dulled by the cold and the weight of sleepless nights, your foot slid on the slick rooftop, gravel scattering under your heel.
And then, you were falling. The edge vanished behind you as gravity seized your body. Wind roared in your ears. Your scream tore free as Metropolis' concrete rushed up to meet you. Truth be told, it was just as exhilarating as the first time, but a thousands time scarier.
The wind howled in your ears. Your mind blanked, panic flooding every nerve. You didn’t even know if you wanted to be saved, not really. But as the ground rushed toward you, instinct took over. You didn’t want to die like this. Not yet.
And then, closing your eyes, you waited for the impact.
But not the one you expected. Strong arms wrapped around you mid-air, a blur of red and blue cutting through the grey skyline. Your fall halted with a jarring stop as your body slammed into Superman’s chest, breath knocked from your lungs.
His grip was tight, almost desperate.
Your arms instantly wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeboat in open water. You were breathing heavily, gasping in sharp, uneven bursts, but you felt the rapid rise and fall of his own chest against yours.
You had scared Superman.
You. You had done what even aliens from other worlds hadn’t managed to : make him panic. To be fair, it was his own damn fault.
Silence settled between you, save for the harsh rhythm of your breaths. You looked up, eyes locking. His gaze roamed across your face, scanning for injuries, intent, urgent, while yours traced his features in quiet awe. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the weight of thinking you were seconds from death, but right now, he was the only real thing in your world.
His eyes dropped to your lips, just as yours lingered on his. Time seemed to pause, holding its breath with the two of you suspended in midair. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. But in that fragile, trembling second, none of it mattered.
And then, a crack of thunder rolled across the distant sky. The moment shattered.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Superman said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he gently ascended, bringing you both back to the rooftop.
He spoke to you like someone coaxing a frightened stray animal : patient, careful, almost painfully kind. It was sweet. Unexpectedly so.
As your feet touched the gravel of the rooftop, back in the centre, far from the edge, you let out a breathless laugh. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, like he was afraid you'd vanish the moment he let go.
But it was you who stepped back first, untangling yourself from his hold. You bent slightly at the waist, hands on your knees as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, sharp and strange with adrenaline, dizzy in your chest.
Then, just as suddenly, the laughter crumbled.
Tears spilled from your eyes without warning. Heavy, wracking sobs tore from your throat, years of pressure snapping loose like cracked glass. Three years of holding it in. Of surviving instead of living. Of becoming someone you didn’t even recognize.
And now it was all pouring out. Right here, in front of Superman. Again.
You sank down onto the gravel, knees giving out beneath the weight of everything. You didn’t even try to stop it, the tears, the ragged sobs, the chaos clawing through your mind. You just let it all go. And strangely, it felt good.
Not pretty. Not peaceful. But real.
For once, you weren’t pretending. Weren’t holding anything back or biting your tongue. You were breaking, fully, openly, and somehow, that honesty felt like a release. What made it bearable, what made it safe, was the quiet presence that lingered nearby. Superman didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix it, or fill the silence.
He just stayed. Not looming, not judging. Just there. And in that small, powerful kindness, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Protected.
So safe, you talked.
“Next time you see Clark Kent,” you muttered through the last of your tears, “tell him that if I suddenly disappear because of his little investigation… he better make a damn good front page out of it.”
You tried to make it sound like a joke. You even forced a smile. But the fear didn’t budge, it had rooted itself too deeply now, curled in your gut like a sickness.
Superman didn’t smile. His brow furrowed, gaze sharp with concern. “What do you mean?”
You snorted, shaking your head. It was laughable, really, how tangled everything had become. And maybe it was reckless, telling Superman anything at all, but what could it hurt? Deep down, you hoped maybe he could talk to Clark, get him to back off before Lex did something irreversible.
“He’s getting too close,” you said finally. “Too close to something Lex doesn’t want exposed. Something I shouldn’t even know about. And if he keeps going, Lex is going to blame it on me.”
Superman didn’t speak right away. You saw the shift in his expression, quiet, calculating. Not judgment, but focus. And you realized then : he was listening. Really listening.
“I can help you.” His voice was deep, sure, but there was something gentler beneath it. Genuine.
You let out a soft, tired laugh, wiping your face with the back of your hand. There was no point in hiding the tears anymore. “You sound just like him,” you said, voice still shaky. “No wonder you two are friends.”
That earned the smallest smile from him, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it was there.
You didn’t know what made you keep talking. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or maybe it was just the comfort of being heard without being judged.
“He said the same thing… Clark. When he called. Said he wanted to help me. But people like you, like him, you don’t realize how dangerous it is to be helped in my situation. Lex isn't scared of anyone, not even you.”
You met his eyes then, and something flickered in his, something beyond concern.
“He’s getting close to something Lex would kill to protect because it could destroy him. And if I get caught in the middle of that?” You shrugged. “Let’s just say Lex doesn’t always send warnings twice. Not even to his sister.”
The metahuman approached you gently, crouching so he could meet your gaze without towering over you. A flash of lightning split the sky, casting a pale light across half his face, making him look almost unearthly. Like he didn’t belong to this world at all. Like maybe he never had.
“I can really help you,” he said softly. “I can take you somewhere he’d never find you. I can take you to—” He stopped himself mid-sentence. Whatever he’d almost said, it hung in the air between you like something too fragile to speak aloud.
His hands rested on your knees, not forceful, not firm, just grounding. As if reminding you that, despite everything, you were still here. Still alive. Then he looked at you again.
You weren’t prepared for it. That kind of kindness. It was the sort of look no one had given you in years, not pitying, not clinical. Just real.
He sighed, steadying himself. And when he spoke again, it was with purpose.
“Listen,” he said, voice low but sure. “If you’re willing to speak out against your brother, I can promise you, there’s a place he’ll never find you. Not even Lex Luthor can reach everywhere. You’ll have time, space. Peace. With Clark’s help, we can protect you. You can be safe from him. For good.”
You frowned, confusion clouding your already stormy thoughts.
“Lex can reach everywhere,” you murmured, voice thin and cracking under the weight of truth. “He knows people, high places, deep pockets. There’s nowhere in this city, in this whole damn state, he wouldn’t find me.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t bother wiping it away.
Superman’s hand tensed where it rested against your knee, as though he were physically restraining himself from doing more, comforting you, pulling you away from all this. From him.
It was a tempting proposition, you had to give him that.
The promise of safety. Of silence. Of finally breathing without the constant weight of eyes watching, judging, threatening. If he could really assure that, if he could promise you a world where Lex Luthor wasn’t a shadow at your back… You might just give in.
You had nothing left anyway. Nothing but your life. And right now, that felt like the most worthless thing of all.
But then, before you could argue back, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Just the faintest glint of something lighter behind the concern.
“I never said anything about Metropolis,” he said softly, with a quiet kind of defiance.
What the hell were you doing here?
In a car. Headed to god knows where. And sitting next to the man who, in a way, had put you in this mess to begin with. Superman had convinced you to trust Clark Kent, insisting the reporters could protect you better than anyone else. That he—Superman—would always be nearby, watching from the shadows, ready to step in if Lex ever found out.
You didn’t know why you trusted him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, so full of concern and quiet determination.
Maybe it was something else.
So here you were. For the past seven hours, you’d been curled up in the passenger seat of Clark Kent’s car, heading out of Metropolis. The road ahead was dark and endless, and the farther you got, the lighter you felt.
For now, it was a peaceful ride. The heater hummed softly, the music playing low and unobtrusive. Clark didn’t talk much, which you appreciated. He seemed to understand you weren’t quite ready for conversation.
He’d shown up at your door at exactly 7 p.m., just like Superman had promised. Same concerned look. Same gentle voice. That same quiet steadiness that made you say yes before you could second guess yourself.
Now, after hours on the road, you were beginning to realize just how similar the two men were. Too similar. It was strange, every time you looked at Clark for more than a few seconds, something pulled at the edges of your mind. Nothing overtly wrong. He was handsome, annoyingly so, you’d admitted that around hour two of the car ride. But there was something… off. Familiar.
Yet completely out of place. You shifted slightly in your seat, your fingers brushing the strange phone he’d given you earlier, sleek and impossibly light, clearly not something off the shelf. Courtesy of Mr. Terrific, Clark had said, untraceable. The device had only two contacts programmed in : Clark Kent and Superman.
Two names, side by side. Almost like two sides of the same coin.
Clark Kent. Superman.
By hour eight, the safety of being far from Metropolis and the lull of the moonlight hanging high above had made you a little petty. Restless. Bold, maybe. Or maybe just fed up.
After all, you were stuck in a car with the reason you'd had to flee your entire life. If Clark had just dropped it, had actually listened to you when you warned him weeks ago, none of this would have been necessary. You would still leave your miserable life, but at least, you'd be home.
But no, he had to snoop in.
"You know what?" you said suddenly, eyes narrowing as you looked at him sideways.
He glanced at you, quick and cautious, like someone easing into a trap. One brow arched in confusion, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No?”
You turned your body a little more toward him, expression sharp. “This whole mess? It’s your fault.”
You didn’t even raise your voice. You didn’t need to. It landed like a punch anyway. Clark blinked. The smile dropped. You could see it hit him, and part of you hated how guilty he looked, because it meant he already knew you were right.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied softly. “Just know I never meant for any of this to come back on you. This was never supposed to boomerang in your direction.”
You scoffed, dry and sharp. “Oh, yeah? Then who was it supposed to boomerang on, Kent? Please, enlighten me.”
The sarcasm dripped off every word, venomous and tired.
Gone was the woman who broke down sobbing on a rooftop under thunderclouds. That version of you had receded into the shadows, tucked away where no one could see her. In her place now was the version the world expected. The one who wore tailored suits and litigation like armour. The Head of Legal. Ice-blooded, sharp-tongued, impossible to shake.
Not quite you. Not quite not you either.
Clark didn’t answer right away. He kept his hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, the soft hum of tires filling the silence. But his jaw clenched. Just enough for you to notice.
“In a perfect world? Your brother,” he admitted, after a few seconds of silence. His sigh was heavy, resigned, even.
You bit your tongue before another petty remark could slip out. It wouldn’t change anything. And truth be told, he was helping. Whether it was because Superman told him to, or because Clark Kent genuinely wanted to, it didn’t matter. He was here. And that was more than most people had ever done for you.
So instead, you chose to shift the conversation.
“Where are we even going, anyway?” you asked, eyes drifting out the window into the thick darkness. Every road sign you passed only confused you more, you couldn’t piece together the route.
“Somewhere safe,” he answered, maddeningly vague.
You snorted, unable to help yourself. “You sound like you’re gonna murder me in the middle of nowhere, Kent.”
It was his turn to laugh, a warm, low sound that curled in your chest in a way you didn’t expect.
“I don’t think I’d live very long after that,” he said, a playful edge to his voice. “Not with your new little friend watching over you.”
There was a glint in his eye as he glanced sideways at you, and something in his tone made the hairs on your neck rise, not from fear, but from a flicker of recognition. Familiar. Almost too familiar.
“You’d get a thank-you letter from Lex, though,” you joked lightly. “And that means a lot in a city he practically owns.”
Clark’s smile vanished almost instantly. The mention of your brother had yanked him right back to reality, reminding him of why you were really here, why you’d spent the last eight hours tucked into the passenger seat of his car, fleeing the only life you’d ever known.
Silence settled between you again, heavy but not uncomfortable. The quiet hum of the tires against the road and the soft rhythm of the engine created a strange kind of peace. The car was warm, the music still playing low, something old and soothing.
Your body, pushed to the edge for days, finally began to surrender. The tension in your shoulders loosened. Your eyelids grew heavier with each blink. It had been a brutal week. You’d run on power naps and caffeine and sheer will.
And now, somehow, this car felt like the safest place in the world.
So you let your guard down. Just for a moment. Just to rest your eyes. As Clark kept driving into the night, your breathing slowed, and sleep took you before you even realized it had come.
You jolted awake as the driver’s door slammed shut. Disoriented, your heart kicked up in your chest as you blinked rapidly, trying to get your bearings. Your neck ached from the awkward angle you'd slept in, stiff and sore from hours pressed against the window.
Squinting into the sunlight, you groaned. The sun was already high in the sky, blinding and unapologetic. Glancing down at your phone, you read 9:57 a.m.
Shit. You’d slept far longer than you'd meant to.
Pushing open your door, you stepped outside, wincing as you stretched your limbs, popping joints and shaking off the lingering fog of sleep.
“Morning,” came a voice behind you.
You turned, blinking again, and saw Clark Kent standing next to the car, casually filling up the gas tank like he hadn’t just driven fourteen hours straight. His shirt was barely wrinkled, hair still mostly in place, and he looked fresh.
Not even remotely tired.
"Are we close yet?" you asked, squinting as you looked around, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Some tiny, nowhere town in the Midwest, Indiana or Illinois, maybe. Either way, very far from Metropolis.
"About another eight hours or so," Clark replied casually, like that was completely normal.
You frowned at him, studying his face. No dark circles, no signs of fatigue, not even a yawn. Maybe he’d pulled over during the night to sleep and you’d just slept through it? But you doubted it. You were a light sleeper, and the car stopping would’ve definitely woken you.
“What?” he asked with a small laugh, noticing your suspicious expression.
“What?” you echoed mockingly. “You’re seriously gonna drive like what… twenty-two hours straight? Without a single ounce of sleep? Are you on drugs or something?”
He snorted. “No drugs, no.” You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Clark just grinned, annoyingly unreadable. “Just built different, I guess.”
"Built different? That’s it?" you muttered, still not buying it. "Well, I hope you don’t drive us into a freaking tree because you’re built different," you grumbled under your breath, already turning away as you headed toward the small convenience store by the gas pumps.
Coffee. That would fix your mood. Hopefully.
The little bell above the door chimed as you stepped into the nearly empty shop. A teenage girl stood behind the counter, completely absorbed in her phone. She didn’t glance up, not that you cared. You weren’t in the mood for small talk.
Wandering the narrow aisles, you grabbed a few snacks for the road and the least bored-looking book they had on a spinning rack. The coffee machine was either out of order or didn’t exist, so you settled for a canned iced latte from the fridge. As an afterthought, and maybe out of guilt, you grabbed a second one. If Clark didn’t like it, you’d just drink both.
At the counter, the girl scanned your things at a snail’s pace, barely lifting her gaze. You told her to add the gas pump Clark had just been at. But before you could pull out your credit card, a large, warm hand wrapped gently around your wrist.
"You don’t wanna do that," Clark said calmly, stepping up beside you. He slipped a folded wad of cash from his coat pocket and handed it to the girl.
Suddenly, the cashier perked up, her phone forgotten as she blinked up at Clark like he’d just dropped from the sky. You couldn’t blame her. He was handsome. And kind. In that steady, patient, maddeningly unbothered way.
Back in the car, your sour mood returned like a headache that wouldn’t quite leave.
“I could pay, you know?” you muttered as you buckled your seatbelt with a little more force than necessary. “I probably have more money than you.”
A smirk tugged at Clark’s lips as he started the engine. “Oh yeah, my bad,” he said casually, letting the words stretch a beat too long. Then he added, with a touch of mock innocence, “You know, you could just call your brother, tell him exactly where we are. How does that sound?”
His tone was light, but the edge in it was unmistakable. Your eyes narrowed. It was his turn to be snarky, and unfortunately, he was good at it.
You disappearing after Lex’s threat told him everything he needed to know. You hadn’t needed to say a word, Lex never needed much. And you both knew he’d stop at nothing to find you. Pulling your bank records wouldn't been hard either. Not when he practically owned the bank.
You didn’t answer. You were too proud for that. Instead, you turned your face toward the window, watching the endless stretch of land roll by. Without a word, you reached into the plastic bag at your feet and handed him one of the iced lattes you’d grabbed at the gas station.
He took it instantly, barely a pause. The can disappeared from your fingers like he’d been waiting for it. You heard him chuckle, soft and breathy, almost like he hadn’t meant to. A whisper of amusement. It lingered for a second longer than it should have.
You didn’t look at him. You just let the silence stretch between you again, quiet, but not empty.
The rest of the drive passed quietly, a kind of exhausted peace settling over the car. Around midday, you’d stopped for lunch at a small roadside diner in Kansas City, one of those unremarkable places with red vinyl booths and chipped coffee mugs. That’s when he finally had told you where you were going.
Kansas. Specifically, Smallville. Even more specifically, his childhood home.
It had been awkward, to say the least. The words had hung between you like something delicate and misplaced. You were going to stay with Clark Kent’s parents. You were going to sleep under the same roof where he’d grown up, eat meals at the same table he had as a kid.
Had you been together, it might’ve felt like something monumental, a next step kind of moment. A milestone for the scrapbook. But you weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure what you were.
A witness? A burden? Another helpless case? Still, he hadn’t hesitated. And maybe that was the strangest part.
He explained that he had taken ten days off, claiming a family emergency. You couldn’t help but notice how conveniently timed it was, for both of you to disappear at once. Lex would connect the dots easily. He always did.
But Clark had reassured you: his parents’ place wasn’t on any record. It hadn’t been for years. He’d made sure of that.
It struck you as odd. He wasn’t a criminal, why go to such lengths to keep them hidden?
He’d just laughed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Exactly for situations like this,” he had said. “Working at the Daily Planet means going after people with real power, no conscience, and a long reach. You don’t poke the devil without having somewhere safe to run.”
A safe haven. And right now, it was the only one you had.
Finally arriving at the Kent farm, you felt unmistakably out of place.
You were a city girl, through and through. Your tailored coat and designer boots stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of open fields and grazing cattle. The air smelled fresh, too fresh. You were used to exhaust fumes, coffee shops, and wet pavement. Not dew-covered grass and distant hay. There wasn’t a neighbor in sight, just endless land stretching toward the horizon. It was peaceful. Isolated. A perfect hidden haven.
You’d braced yourself for a lie, certain Clark would come up with some excuse to explain your presence, an old friend needing a break, a colleague tagging along for fresh air. But when he introduced you to his parents, he told them the truth. Every word of it.
He told them how he’d gone poking around places he shouldn’t have, how that had put you in danger, not him. How you'd been left to deal with the fallout while he got to keep writing. “That’s why I had to help her,” he said. Simple. Honest. Sincere.
It caught you off guard, how human he was. How kind. The past three years of your life had been about leverage, power plays, cold threats and airtight lawsuits. You were always the hammer, and others were always the nails. You had buried people’s reputations without losing sleep. But Clark Kent wasn’t like that.
He hadn’t asked for anything in return. Not a confession, not information, not even details about the secret project that had started this whole mess. He had simply brought you here, because it was the right thing to do.
And it didn’t take long, just one meal at the dinner table, to see exactly where he got it from. The Kents were among the kindest people you’d ever met. Genuine warmth radiated from them, compassion, patience, trust. They welcomed you without question, offered you food, a room, and the kind of quiet grace you hadn’t known you were missing.
They didn’t want anything from you. And somehow, that unraveled something deep in your chest more than any threat ever could.
“Well, it’s not much, but…” Clark trailed off, glancing around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “Yeah.”
He looked awkward now, scratching the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The guest room wasn’t anything fancy: just a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. The wallpaper was fading at the edges, and the floor creaked when you stepped on it. But there was warmth here. And peace.
“It’s perfect,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you, Clark.”
His shoulders relaxed a little at your words, and the tension he’d been holding in his jaw softened. That awkward smile returned to his face, shy, boyish, almost bashful.
“I’ll, uh… let you settle in,” he said, backing toward the door like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. If you need anything... I’m just across the hall.”
“Goodnight, Clark,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He paused at the door, turning slightly with that familiar, gentle smirk. “Goodnight, Miss Luthor.”
Even after only a few hours in this house, you understood now where Clark Kent’s kindness and unwavering sense of morality came from. Was this what a real, loving family felt like?
Later, lying on the guest bed after your shower, tears returned, slow and quiet. How had it come to this? How had your family shattered so completely that you were now hiding from your own brother? When had Lex become someone so ruthless, so untouchable, so far above the law?
The sheets smelled like lavender and woodsmoke, a scent so unfamiliar it only made you feel more out of place. You turned to your side, staring at the wall as if it held answers. But there were none. Just silence, and the soft creaking of the old house settling into the night.
The quiet here was different than in Metropolis. There, silence came with the hum of neon lights and distant sirens, noise that reminded you you were still alive, still in motion. But this, this quiet made your thoughts louder, crueler. Every regret screamed a little louder in your head.
You should have said something years ago. You should have fought harder, sooner. You should have said no. Maybe then your life wouldn't be reduced to running, hiding in someone else’s safe haven.
You clutched the blanket a little tighter. Somewhere in this quiet house, Clark was probably still awake. Maybe writing, maybe just thinking. Maybe wondering if you were okay. You weren’t.
You closed your eyes and let the tears come again. Softer this time, slower. You didn’t sob. There was no energy left for that. Just salt and silence and the quiet ache of someone who had spent too long holding everything in.
Just across the hall, the man’s heart quietly broke. Clark sat on the edge of his childhood bed, hands clasped between his knees, eyes trained on the wooden floor like it might somehow offer a solution. But all he could hear was you, silently weeping.
Guilt was eating him alive.
He hadn’t listened to you. He’d kept digging, kept pushing, even looped in Mr. Terrific for help, convinced he was doing the right thing. But all it had done was draw unwanted attention. And not onto him. It had landed on you.
All because he had made that call.
The image of you standing on the edge of that rooftop haunted him. Something in him had cracked wide open when he saw you there, your posture brittle, your eyes hollow, like the life had been drained out of you. He couldn’t shake the thought : This is my fault.
With a heavy sigh, Clark laid back on his bed and closed his eyes, willing the ache in his chest to dull. But it didn’t.
Whatever it took, no matter the cost, he would make this right. He would tear down Lex Luthor’s empire.
And he would set you free.
It took a couple of days to finally settle into the rhythm of life at the Kent farm.
You tried to help out wherever you could. Mornings began early, walking through the fields alongside Jonathan, tending to the cows. At first, you felt completely out of place, the cliché city girl, useless with her hands and awkward in the dirt. But Jonathan never laughed. He didn’t mock or criticise. Instead, he stayed patient, calmly guiding you when you made mistakes, his voice always steady and kind.
After lunch, you'd join Martha by the chicken coop to collect eggs for dinner. She often filled the quiet with stories about Clark’s childhood or the latest gossip from the town market. You weren’t allowed to go into town, everyone had agreed it was best to avoid attention, but you found yourself eagerly listening to her tales, learning the names of townsfolk you’d never meet and becoming surprisingly invested in their dramas.
The Kents had told you more than once that you didn’t need to do any of this. They insisted rest was what you deserved, especially after everything Clark had told them. They thought you needed peace. And maybe they were right. But you couldn’t sit still for long. The silence gave space for darker thoughts to creep in. Helping around the farm was the only thing that seemed to keep your mind quiet.
Clark helped around the farm too. When he wasn’t out in the fields with his pa or fixing something around the barn, he was on the phone with someone from the Daily Planet or typing furiously on his laptop. So much for a “family emergency,” you’d joked once, raising an eyebrow at him.
He had laughed, genuinely, that quiet, warm laugh that made his dimples show, and replied, “News doesn’t wait.”
You were pretty sure that wasn’t the actual saying, but you let it slide. The way he said it, you almost believed it was.
It was about an hour before dinner. Clark’s parents chatted softly in the kitchen while Martha moved around preparing the meal. You sat on the couch, trying to focus on the book in your hands, but it was nearly impossible with Clark just a few meters away, perched at the dining table, typing away on his laptop.
The look of concentration on his face was one of the most captivating things you’d ever seen. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, lips bitten in focus, fingers dancing over the keys, and when he paused to jot down notes in his little notebook, you caught yourself staring at those unexpectedly graceful hands. Since when did he have such pretty hands?
Shaking your head, you tried to force your attention back to the pages in front of you, but the steady clicking of the keyboard pulled you back. Your eyes locked on his slender fingers as they moved. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, imagining how those fingers might feel against your skin : curling around your hands, pressing softly to your throat, tracing paths between your legs.
Your heart quickened, breath catching as your thoughts spiralled. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, he was the reason you were tangled in this mess to begin with. But you didn’t hate him anymore. Maybe you never truly had.
In fact, you had envied him. His courage, his fearlessness. He did what you’d never managed to do, not scared of the consequences, while you’d hidden away like a coward. You hated yourself for it, more than you could admit. So much of that self-loathing had been projected onto Clark Kent.
“You alright?” His voice pulled you back from your daydream, soft but curious.
You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d squeezed your thighs together, searching for some kind of relief. Suddenly, the room felt unbearably warm, despite the crisp late October air outside. You could feel heat flushing your cheeks and neck.
“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine. Why?” You tried to sound casual, hiding the flutter in your voice.
“Well, I could hear your—” He cut himself off, a flicker of panic flashing in his eyes. “You just looked lost in thought.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry…” you apologised quickly, frowning at yourself. Why were you even apologising?
He brushed off your awkwardness with a gentle laugh before returning to his work. For the next hour, those restless, lustful thoughts kept sneaking into your mind, while Clark shot you sweet, knowing smirks from time to time, almost like he was aware.
Dinner was good, as always. It felt refreshing to share a meal with others, to sit around a warm family table instead of being alone in your cold Metropolis penthouse. This felt almost too good, and a part of you dreaded the day it would end.
So, when Jonathan suggested a poker night, you said yes without hesitation. Of course you did. You knew moments like this might never come again, and you wanted to savour every second. If that made you selfish, then so be it.
The game stretched well into the early morning before everyone finally agreed it was time to call it a night. Every one looked exhausted, but your mind refused to settle. You’d always considered yourself smart, but watching Clark quietly calculate his moves—counting cards, playing his tricks flawlessly, winning again and again without making a fuss like it was second nature—something stirred inside you.
That feeling spread, crawling from your brain down to somewhere much more intimate, a subtle, tingling heat that had been simmering for the past hour. You tried to focus, to play properly, but you kept losing. And the way his fingers toyed with the coins, the deliberate way he revealed his cards on the table, it was almost unbearable.
Now lying in your bed, your mind refused to quiet. Those thoughts crept in faster than you could push them away, relentless and insistent. You imagined his hands on your skin, his lips tracing yours, his deep voice murmuring close to your ear.
A warmth gathered between your thighs. At first, you tried to ignore it, close your eyes, tell yourself to sleep. But the images persisted, vivid and demanding. You saw him, naked and moving above you, the bed creaking with every thrust, his hand pressed firmly over your mouth to stifle your moans so you wouldn’t wake his parents.
You opened your eyes, breathing quick and shallow. You were burning up, both frustrated and aching.
It had been so long since you’d touched yourself, even longer since you’d shared a bed with someone. Without overthinking it, knowing it might ruin the moment, your hand slid inside your panties. You were drenched, soaked with desire.
Your other hand moved to your breast, first tracing over your shirt, but when that wasn’t enough, you shed it quickly. Pinching and teasing your nipples, your fingers began their slow dance on your clit. Eyes closed again, you imagined those hands, bigger, warmer, gentler, how soft they’d feel, how small you’d seem beneath their touch, as they traced every inch of you.
You let out a shaky breath, your body arching slightly against the bedsheet as your fingers circled over your clit in lazy, experimental strokes. Every movement sent a thrill through you, a contrast to the heavy silence of the house. The distant sound of the wind outside barely registered over the pounding of your own heartbeat.
Your mind refused to stop painting him there, Clark. His mouth against your neck, trailing slowly down your body with a patience that felt unbearable. You imagined him watching you now, those deep, perceptive eyes noticing every twitch, every sigh. Would he kneel beside the bed, take over without a word, his calloused fingers replacing yours, teasing you until you begged?
The need to moan his name burned at the edge of your throat, threatening to slip out with every gasp. But you bit down hard on your lower lip, your teeth sinking into soft flesh until you tasted copper. A sting of pain. A grounding sensation.
He was just across the hall. You glanced at the door when that thought crossed your mind.
That thought alone was enough to make your pulse race harder. One sound, one sigh too loud, and he'd heard you. The farmhouse was old. The wood creaked with the slightest shift. The walls were thin, not made to keep secrets.
You squeezed your eyes shut again, hand still moving against your slick heat, slower now, more purposeful. You imagined how his hand might replace yours, rough from typing all day, sure in its touch. Not teasing. Not hesitant. Like he knew what you needed before you even asked.
The ache grew sharper. Your thighs tightened as your hand moved faster, chasing that release you hadn’t realized you’d needed so badly. Your breath came out in short gasps now, quiet, but desperate. One hand pressed against your mouth out of instinct, muffling a soft moan as pleasure spread out in waves, warm and all-consuming.
When it finally released you, your body softened with a quiver, sweat cooling on your skin. Your thighs twitched. Your lip throbbed where you’d bitten it.
Lying there in the dark, you blinked up at the ceiling, heart still stuttering in your chest. It took some moment for your breathing to go back to normal, but you couldn't help thinking this wasn't enough. It had felt amazing, but your body craved more. Almost like Clark had put you in a trance, with his easy charm and dimpled smile.
Shaking your head, you got up when it all became too much. Slipping your shirt back on in haste, you quietly padded toward the door. Maybe some cold water would cool your flushed skin, maybe those herbal pills you always kept on hand would finally lull your mind to sleep.
Carefully, you cracked the door open, only to freeze when the door across the hall opened at the exact same time. Clark.
He looked, disheveled. Not just sleep-rumpled, but wrecked.
His hair was a wild mess, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his cheeks tinged pink, and his glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, as though he’d thrown them on in a hurry. His eyes widened when he saw you, surprised.
Caught. Which was odd. He always seemed to hear you coming.
The hallway was silent, save for the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears and the unmistakable sound of his heavy, uneven breathing. His shirt clung to his chest like he’d just worked up a sweat. Or hadn’t bothered to redress completely. Your gaze dropped for the briefest second, just a flicker, and then back to his face.
“Are you okay?” you whispered, careful not to wake his parents.
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tightening slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, clearly caught off guard. Not like him at all.“Uh, yeah. Just need to hum… use the bathroom.” His voice was low, almost hoarse.
You nodded, mirroring his awkwardness. The silence stretched a beat too long before your eyes drifted up to meet his, and not before you noticed the quick flick of his gaze. From your face, down to the outline of your breasts under your tank top then back up, almost too fast to catch.
Almost.
“Are you okay?” he asked next, his voice gentler now. Too soft. Too intimate.
“Yeah. Just… thirsty.” You meant water, but the way your eyes lingered on the way his shirt stretched around his arms told a different story. You were definitely thirsty. But for what, exactly, well, that answer was becoming harder to ignore.
“Okay,” he said after a pause, clearing his throat like he was trying to reset the tension.
“Okay,” you echoed, the word falling flat between you.
And then, without another glance, you both turned and hurried in opposite directions, your footsteps echoing in the quiet hall like the aftershock of something neither of you were ready to name.
Hastily making your way back to your room, you caught the soft glow of the bathroom light still spilling into the hallway. The door was closed. Still.
You didn’t linger. You didn’t want to know what he was doing in there.
The conversation, or whatever that awkward exchange had been, was still playing on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with fresh waves of secondhand embarrassment. The silence, the stolen glances, the heat.
You shut your bedroom door behind you with a quiet click, leaning back against it for a second. No way. He couldn't have been doing what you thought he had been doing…
Right?
And yet, the look on his face. His breathing. His flushed cheeks. The way his hand had been gripping the doorframe like he needed it to stay upright.
Fuck. You were getting bothered again.
You huffed out a breath, forcing yourself to focus, to move. Rummaging through your bag, you searched for the herbal pills that usually helped you sleep. Something, anything, to quiet your mind and body.
But instead of the soft bottle, your fingers brushed against something small and metallic. Frowning, you pulled it out. A sharp breath escaped your lips.
An old USB drive. That USB drive.
The one where you had dumped every scrap of evidence you found about Project Superman. All of it. The hidden files, the encrypted memos, the off-the-record lab reports. The pictures. Proof of what your brother had done. What he was doing. You had told yourself it was just leverage. A safety net. Something to keep in your back pocket if Lex ever turned on you.
But you had never planned to use it. Not really. You had been too scared. Too loyal. Too broken. Your fingers curled tight around the metal. It dug into your palm, grounding you in the now.
From beyond your door, you heard his shut, soft and final. Clark.
Superman had told you Clark could help, and you had trusted the metahuman. It had felt scary at that time, diving into the unknown.
But now? Now it was time to stop running. To stop hiding. To stop letting fear write your story.
It was time to trust Clark Kent.
For real.
“Here,” you said, slamming the USB drive onto the dining table, the same table that had become Clark’s makeshift desk over the past few days. “That’s everything you need to take Lex down.”
You didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t want to see it. Couldn’t.
Spinning on your heel, you headed for the door, where Jonathan was already waiting outside by the old truck. You were grateful he hadn’t come in to fetch you. Grateful you could escape before the weight of what you’d just done caught up to you.
The storm was coming. Jonathan had said so the night before at dinner, heavy wind, maybe even hail. There was work to do. Crops to secure. Cattle to shelter. It was the kind of hard, honest labor that demanded your full attention. The perfect distraction from the bomb you’d just dropped.
Clark had offered to help, of course, but his father had waved him off with a quiet look and a pat on the shoulder. “We’ve got it,” he’d said. “Besides, I think she wants to help.”
And you had.. Especially now.
Your hands still felt shaky from what you’d done, but the physical work steadied you. You had given Clark everything he needed. If he used it, if it worked, Lex could finally be exposed. Stripped of his power. Stopped.
But if Lex caught wind of it before justice came? If he vanished into the shadows with all his money, influence, and contingency plans? You’d be left to face the consequences alone. There’d be no more running. No more hiding.
Nothing in those documents mentioned your name. You weren’t cited, not even once. And that was good, because with a decent lawyer, you could walk away from this without consequences. It wasn’t the justice system you feared. It was your brother’s power.
And the unknown future.
What would you do, once Lex was behind bars? His downfall meant the end of your job. With a scandal of this scale, no reputable firm would want your name anywhere near their letterhead. That thought had twisted your stomach with dread before you’d handed Clark the USB. But still, you’d done it.
It was the right thing to do. You’d worry about the fallout later. When Lex was finally out of your life.
“Clark told us you was some kinda lawyer.” Jonathan said, getting you out of your mind. His tone easy but with something thoughtful behind it. Like an idea was forming.
You let out a soft snort, raising your eyebrows. “Technically, yeah. Got the diploma to prove it. Just haven’t done a whole lot of actual lawyering.” You tried to joke, but it came out a little too close to the truth. A little too heavy.
“I hate to ask, but…” He trailed off, the pain in his eyes surprising you.
It never failed to catch you off guard, how kind the Kents were. Genuinely human in a way that felt untouched by the kind of darkness you’d grown used to. As if tragedy had knocked but never found a way in.
“You can ask me anything, Mr. Kent. Really,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with something close to gratitude. If it mattered to him, then it mattered to you.
"You see, there’s this young man we hire every spring and summer to help out around the farm," Jonathan began, his eyes drifting toward the horizon instead of meeting yours. "There’s just too much work for the two of us sometimes, you know?"
You nodded gently, letting him continue at his own pace.
"He’s Mexican. Not many folks around here wanna do farm work anymore, not like the old days. But he’s a good kid, real good. Kind with the animals, never complains, not afraid to get his hands dirty. Works hard. Honest."
Jonathan’s voice tightened slightly, the weight of something unsaid hanging between you.
"He’s got a heart of gold, that one. But…" he hesitated again, rubbing a weathered hand across the back of his neck. "His papers aren’t exactly in order. And now, well, someone’s been sniffing around town asking questions."
He finally looked at you, something quietly desperate in his eyes. "I know it’s not your job, and you’ve already got so much on your plate. But I thought… maybe you could help him. Just take a look. Talk to him. Tell us what we should do."
For some reason, the way he spoke, with such genuine care for this young man, and the quiet embarrassment in asking for help, brought tears to your eyes. It hit you then : no one had ever cared for you like this. Not selflessly. Not without expecting something in return. Not the way the Kents cared about people.
"Of course I’ll help," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as a single tear slipped down your cheek.
You hadn’t expected it, but Jonathan gently pulled you into a warm, fatherly hug. It had been so long since someone held you like that, like you were precious, like you mattered. Like someone truly cared.
You’d only known him for about a week, but somehow, he already treated you like family. Like someone worth trusting.
If he had known you before all of this, back when you were still hiding behind sharp suits and sharper lies, you were certain he would’ve seen you as something else entirely. Cold. Ruthless. Maybe even a monster.
But now, melting into his embrace, you let yourself feel. Really feel. A few tears slipped free, but you didn’t hide them. Not this time. Because in that moment, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t being pitied.
You were just appreciated.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of hard but honest work. The cows were restless, as if they could sense the approaching storm. The mothers stuck close to their calves, letting out low, warning moos every time you got too near. Milking them had been a challenge, they weren’t having it, but you weren’t about to leave them full and aching until tomorrow. They didn’t deserve that kind of discomfort.
By the time the sun began to set, dark clouds had already taken over the sky. The wind howled across the fields, fierce and fast. Walking back toward the house felt like trying to walk through a hurricane, it tugged at your clothes, your hair, nearly lifting you off your feet.
You laughed despite yourself, catching sight of Martha running after the last few chickens, ushering them into the coop and locking it up tight for the night.
But the moment you stepped into the house, the laughter drained from your face.
There he was, Clark Kent, zipping up a bag.
He looked up, almost like he’d sensed your presence. His brows furrowed when he caught the look on your face.
“What you gave me…” he began, carefully, as if trying not to startle you. Or say the wrong thing. “I can’t do this alone. It’s too much. We only get one shot at this, and I can’t afford to screw it up. Not if it means you’ll get hurt.”
“You’re leaving?” you asked quietly, eyes flicking from the bag back to his face. He nodded. Your gaze shifted to the storm now raging outside. “But… the storm.”
“It’ll hit in a few hours. I’ll be out of Kansas by then,” he said gently, even though the thunder was already rumbling in the distance. His voice was soft, reassuring, but you could see the tension in his jaw. “Don’t worry about me.”
You could tell he wasn’t lying, but he was definitely hiding something. Biting your lip, you nodded gently, unsure of what to say. The week you’d spent here had been one of the best of your life. And it wasn’t just because of the gentle kindness of his parents, it was because of him.
What you’d once assumed was a cocky reporter, willing to do anything for a front-page story, turned out to be the sweetest, kindest man you’d ever met. He was a bit goofy, hopelessly nerdy about certain topics, but never once did he mock anyone. Never once did he act like he knew better, or like he was above the people around him. He believed, truly believed, that there was still good in the world.
Even in you.
And somehow, through his gentle patience and quiet presence, he made you feel at home. He never pushed. Never demanded answers about your brother, even though you’d told Superman you would share what you knew.
Clark had just waited. With warmth. With humour. With dimpled smiles. With a softness that felt like sunlight after too many years in the cold. He had been patient. Kind. Funny. And so incredibly sweet.
And you were only realising it now, just as it was ending.
Clark leaving Smallville meant your brother was going to be exposed. It meant that soon, you’d either be safe to return to Metropolis and try to start over… or you’d have to disappear forever, vanish before Lex could find you.
Either way, Clark didn’t belong in either version of that future. He wouldn’t be part of your life.
And that broke your heart. This wasn’t just him leaving town. This was goodbye.
A forever kind of goodbye.
The weight of that truth hit you hard, and tears slid silently down your cheeks before you could stop them. It felt unfair, the way you were reacting. Selfish, even.
Because he was doing the right thing. The brave thing. The thing you had once been too afraid to do. And you? You were no one to him. Just a stranger he’d offered a hand to while you were drowning. That’s what you had told yourself, what you had clung to in the quiet moments to keep from hoping too much.
But now you realized, it was more than that. He made you feel warm. He made you feel safe. Like maybe you weren’t broken beyond repair. Like maybe you deserved more than just survival. And now he was walking out the door, carrying all of that with him.
"Hey," Clark said, just above a whisper, stepping toward you with that familiar gentleness that made your chest ache. "When I come back, all of this will be over. We're going to do things right. He won’t get away. I promise."
God. The gentle soul he was.
He thought the tears were from fear, fear of what was coming, fear of retaliation, of the unknown. And sure, part of you was scared. But the real reason your heart was breaking was something else entirely. It made no sense.
You’d truly known him for a week. Seven days.
It was rushed. Unreasonable. Too much, too fast. And yet, in that short time, he had looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t just Lex Luthor’s sister or some tainted shadow of a woman walking through her own life. He made you laugh. He made you feel seen.
Not like your parents ever had. Not like Lex ever could. Not even the men you’d let close before, who saw only your face or your name, but never you.
Here, in this small safe heaven, you had been yourself. Your real self.
You had laughed. Joked. Talked until midnight with people who didn’t want anything from you. You had gossiped in the kitchen and helped mend fences. You had been happy. In just a small, fleeting week.
And now he was leaving. And your heart didn’t know how to hold itself together.
Without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping around him as best you could, given how much taller he was. His arms instinctively closed around you, strong and warm, pulling you into the safety of his chest.
Behind you, the back door creaked open, followed by a small gasp of surprise, then the quiet click of it shutting again. Silence settled in the room, thick and still. You and Clark stood alone in the living room, though you could feel the eyes watching from outside. His parents. They were giving you this moment.
A soft, genuine smile tugged at your lips. They truly loved their son.
His body felt strangely familiar. Like you’d stood here before, wrapped in this exact embrace. A strange, aching déjà vu pulled at your chest. A memory you couldn't place. A feeling you couldn't explain. As if, somehow, you had been here already.
Breaking the hug, you noticed the rosy tint on his ears, his cheeks flushed to match. You could feel the heat on your own face, knowing you weren’t any better.
“Thank you, Clark,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Truly.”
Then, with the last bit of courage you had left, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
You owed him more than words could say. And with time, you hoped you’d find a way to give it back, to him, and to his parents.
With Clark gone, the days felt a little grimmer.
You still helped around the farm, but those long afternoons spent quietly sharing space with him were over. You didn’t want to intrude on Martha and Jonathan’s intimate moments either, they’d earned their peace. So, you found yourself alone again. But somehow, it didn’t hurt as much. You were starting to appreciate yourself again and even the silence. The thoughts that once plagued you were mostly quiet now.
It helped that Jonathan brought Luis around not long after Clark left. He hadn’t been lying, Luis was just a kid, and a very sweet one at that. He came with all his paperwork, every document and paychecks he’d received. You went through them all, piece by piece.
Helping him felt good. It felt right. Like this was what you were always meant to do. This was why you went to law school. Not to make the rich richer, but to help people. To do good. To give back.
Word spread quickly that the Kents were housing a lawyer willing to help. Soon, people were showing up daily, asking for guidance, hoping not to lose their homes, or their jobs, or custody of their children. And when Luis returned one day, clutching his official American papers, the news travelled like wildfire.
After that, your days on the farm were done. You no longer had time to milk cows or fix fences. But Jonathan and Martha never said a word. They were just happy you were helping people, like family did.
Whatever slow moments you had, you spent them scrolling the Daily Planet website, waiting. Hoping to see a big article with Clark’s name under it. But it never happened.
Not after a few days.
Not after a week.
Not after a month.
There was so much on that USB key, and you knew it was a one-shot deal, they couldn’t afford to mess this up. Still, you had hoped the fallout would be quick. You loved the farm, but you longed to be back in the city. Now that you understood how powerful you could be when you did your job right, there were so many people in Metropolis you wanted to help.
Clark texted every few days. He told you things were going well, that they were making progress at the Daily Planet. He asked how you were doing, and he said he was proud of what you were accomplishing, his Ma told him all about it. Every little texts of his filled you with warmth.
Sitting down on the couch, you let yourself enjoy a rare moment of peace before your next appointment arrived. Appointment, that word still made you smile. Back at LuthorCorp, you’d never taken appointments. Everything had been done through layers of emails, assistants, and pressure. Nothing like this.
Cradling your tea, you watched the winter sunlight settle across the fields, December leaving its quiet trace on the farm. The wind outside shook the windows lightly, and the kettle still hissed faintly in the kitchen.
You were lost in the calm until Martha’s voice called your name from down the hall. Looking up, you saw her leaning slightly around the doorway, her apron dusted with flour. “Would you mind grabbing Clark’s radio from his room? The one in the kitchen finally gave up.”
“Of course,” you said with a soft smile, rising to your feet.
You had never actually stepped into Clark’s room before. You’d only caught glimpses through a half-open door when he was still home. It felt personal. Like you were trespassing on something private. But you pushed the feeling aside and walked in carefully, quietly.
His room smelled faintly of cedar and something else, something familiar. The walls were lined with old posters, framed articles, photographs of the Kents, and a few hard-earned trophies from another life.
Then you spotted the radio near the window.
Just as you stepped toward it, something red caught your eye, half-hidden behind the bookshelf, draped carelessly like someone had shoved it there in a hurry. You squinted, drawn to it by instinct. Your fingers reached out, brushing over the fabric. It was soft, unnaturally smooth almost and familiar.
You tugged gently, freeing the red cloth from where it had been wedged. And then you saw it, fully.
Superman's cape.
You gasped, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping your lips as your hand tightened around the fabric. Of course. It all made sense now.
Why his body had felt familiar. Why he was never tired, no matter how long the days stretched. Why Superman had said Clark could help. Why Clark looked at you with such real concern, as if he knew your pain firsthand.
Your thoughts spiralled, the weight of the truth crashing down on you like a wave.
Then, another gasp, loud and sharp, cut through your haze. Followed by Martha’s voice, shouting your name.
Heart pounding, you sprinted toward the kitchen, but froze in the living room. The television was on, the screen glowing bright. Martha and Jonathan were standing still, their eyes wide, glistening with tears they hadn’t yet let fall.
Your gaze followed theirs to the screen.
Lex Luthor Arrested After Daily Planet Accuses Him of Human Trafficking and Other Crimes
That was the headline. Everything stopped. They did it.
You were free.
Home. Finally.
It felt strange to be back.
Clark hadn’t been able to return to Kansas, but he had booked you a flight to Metropolis, along with a taxi waiting at the airport. You knew why. It was all over the news. Superman had been needed.
Lex hadn’t gone down quietly. His arrest had made headlines around the world, but it was the footage of Superman, restraining him, shielding civilians from his outbursts, that had dominated every screen. There was no way Clark could just vanish back to the quiet of Smallville right now.
Your penthouse hadn’t changed. It was still cold. Still too quiet. Still not home.
You’d taken a long shower, trying to wash away the dust of the farm, the small guilt of having turned your back on your own blood. Your old phone, finally charged again, buzzed relentlessly with texts, missed calls, emails, hundreds of them. From old colleagues, contacts, reporters. People wanting answers, or wanting to know if you were okay. Or worse, if you were complicit.
You wandered through the apartment slowly, your eyes catching every tiny detail. It had been searched. Meticulously so, almost invisible. But you knew. You felt it. Drawers slightly off, a coat pocket turned the wrong way, your files just a touch out of alignment. Lex must have sent someone after you disappeared.
You were so focused, checking every corner, scanning every surface for hidden mics or cameras, that you didn’t notice the figure landing silently on your balcony.
The metahuman stood there quietly at first, watching you. Admiring you. He felt a pang of guilt. You clearly had no idea he was there yet, no idea he’d come. You were barely dressed, just an oversized shirt draped over your body, brushing the tops of your thighs, leaving your legs bare. It looked like you had been ready to call it a night. He couldn't blame you, it was late, and he had meant to arrive earlier. But the world had other plans, and so had Lex.
Still, there you were, moving with a quiet intensity, checking corners and closets. Clearly worried. Clearly unsettled. You weren’t just back in Metropolis, you were back in enemy territory. You were searching for anything Lex might have left behind.
Understanding immediately, he activated his X-ray vision, scanning the walls, shelves, electronics. Nothing. No bugs, no hidden cameras. You were safe. Satisfied, he let out a soft breath.
You jumped when you heard the knock on the glass door behind you. But the moment your eyes found him, standing tall in the red and blue, your tension melted into a smile.
Superman. Clark.
And now that you knew, they were one and the same, it was impossible not to see it. How had you missed it? The same dark hair, the same kind, thoughtful eyes. The same dimpled smile that made your stomach flutter.
You were sure of only one thing in that moment, you were safe now.
Rushing to the door, you threw it open without hesitation, and then threw yourself into his arms. He caught you instantly, as if it was second nature. As if he had been waiting for that exact moment, arms open just for you.
It felt strange to feel this way again, relieved, happy, safe. Relaxed.
You had almost forgotten what that felt like. Your days had long been filled with fatigue, stress, and a dull kind of numbness that clung to your skin like a second layer. Even back in Smallville, where the quiet and the kindness had started to peel it away, it had still lingered, dormant, but ever-present.
But right now, here in Superman’s arms? It was gone. There was only warmth. Strength. And the overwhelming calm that came from knowing, finally, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.
“You did it,” you whispered, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Constant. Comforting.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replied softly, humble as ever. “It was all you… and Clark.”
That made you laugh, a soft, breathy sound muffled against him. Looking up, you tilted your head back, stretching to meet his gaze as he leaned down slightly.
His eyes.
God, those eyes.
An endless ocean of blue, warm, gentle, filled with hope and that quiet, unwavering kindness. The same eyes you’d seen every day in Smallville. The same eyes that watched you over a cup of coffee. That had crinkled with laughter when you made some dumb joke.
You could see it so clearly now.
Deciding to play along with his little charade, you smiled, something soft and knowing curling at the corners of your lips.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen Clark yet,” you said sweetly, feigning innocence as your gaze stayed locked with his. “You think he’ll be around soon?”
“He might be busy dealing with the fallout from the article,” Superman said, his voice steady but his posture shifting ever so slightly, like he was trying to find an exit that didn’t exist. “But I’m sure he’ll text you soon.”
“Hmm, yeah,” you murmured, finally stepping out of the embrace, letting your hands slide slowly away from him. The warmth lingered, but your tone had taken a teasing edge. “You two seem real close, aye?”
His eyes flicked to yours, briefly amused, mostly flustered.
You folded your arms across your chest, tilting your head with one brow arched. “I mean, the way you talk about him… how you said he could help me, that he could be trusted. It’s almost like you’re two sides of the same coin.”
He let out a breath of a laugh, nervous, uncertain. “We get along well.”
You hummed at his answer, the corner of your mouth curving into a teasing smirk. “And physically, you’re very similar,” you added, your tone playfully innocent. “Same height, same build, same hair, same eyes… same cute, dimpled smile. Someone might even say you’re the same person.”
Superman opened his mouth, but no words came out. You caught the flicker of panic in his eyes, quickly replaced by something that looked an awful lot like resignation.
“And it’s strange,” you went on, stepping forward just slightly, “that Clark Kent is the only reporter who’s ever interviewed you. Yet… there are no pictures of the two of you together? It’s almost like no one’s ever seen you in the same place at the same time.”
His jaw twitched, barely. But you caught it.
A beat passed, tense, heavy with unspoken truths. His cape fluttered gently in the breeze drifting in from the balcony, but he didn’t move. He just watched you with those painfully familiar eyes.
“Coincidence,” he said finally, though not even he sounded convinced.
“Mmhmm.” You arched your eyebrow higher, letting the silence speak louder than your words. He shifted, just slightly, and ran a hand behind his neck, Clark’s tell. The exact nervous habit you’d seen a couple of times before.
“Yeah, must be,” you added, nonchalant, turning back toward the open window.
Behind you, you heard a soft sigh, the kind that sounded suspiciously like relief. It brought a slow, wicked smile to your lips. He didn't think you were that clueless, did he?
“Oh, and it’s also just a coincidence that Clark Kent happened to have Superman’s cape tucked away in his old bedroom?” you said over your shoulder, turning around just in time to catch the relief drain from his face.
He closed his eyes, the smallest groan escaping him, then shook his head with a tight, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He opened his eyes again, no glasses now, no disguise, and for the first time, he let you really see him. Not as Superman. Not as Clark Kent. Just him.
“You weren’t supposed to find that,” he said softly, almost embarrassed.
You shrugged, your smile still lingering. “You left it in plain sight.”
“It was behind a bookshelf.” He deadpanned.
"Blame your mom," you replied quickly, raising your hand in defence. "She's the one that send me in your room."
That earned a quiet laugh from him, but there was a nervous energy underneath it. You could see the vulnerability now, the way he stood slightly straighter, like bracing for impact.
“I just knew there was something so familiar about the two of you,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to fish for more answers. “I just couldn’t figure out what.”
“It’s the glasses,” he admitted with a sigh. “They’re designed to distort facial recognition, subtle enough to confuse the brain, make it hard to fully picture my face. Courtesy of Mr. Terrific.”
“They look cute,” you admitted with a teasing smile. “Almost as cute as the guy wearing them.”
You were shooting your shot. If not now, then when? Your heart thundered in your chest, terrified he might just turn and leaven, vanish off your balcony and out of your life.
His eyes snapped to yours, darker now, swimming with an emotion you didn’t dare name. “Your heart…” he whispered, taking in a deep breath like he was trying to calm his own.
Dread crashed over you. He could hear it. He could hear your heart. He had heard you. Oh no.
Oh fuck.
You gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes went wide with embarrassment. The realisation dawned on his face, and with it, a slow, smug grin that turned him from sweet and sincere to infuriating.
“Oh yeah,” he said, sniffing lightly, voice dropping into something teasing and low. “I heard that, too.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks and down your neck. You opened your mouth, trying to come up with an explanation, but nothing came. What could you say? That his intelligence had turned you on so badly you ended up touching yourself? Yeah, no. That definitely wouldn’t do.
Trying to save face, and maybe flip the power dynamic, you raised your chin and replied, voice just as smug, “Well, I seem to remember you looked pretty bothered yourself.”
That shut him up.
The grin faded, laughter dying in his throat. His eyes locked on yours, a different kind of tension suddenly filling the space between you. The playful air cracked into something heavier, charged, as if the truth had landed and neither of you knew what to do with it.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, thickening with unspoken desire.
“It was hard not to be when you sounded so sweet,” he murmured, voice dropping even deeper, his dark eyes locked on yours. You caught the quick gulp, the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, threatening to burst.
He must have heard it too.
Moving closer with careful intention, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, his soft hands cupped your cheek. Then, without warning, his lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding.
The sudden contrast of emotions hit you like a whip.
Your breath hitched as his lips pressed firmly against yours, the heat of the kiss melting away all your worries, that had clung to you for so long. His hand moved gently from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if you belonged there, like this was where you were meant to be.
For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, his warmth, his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, the taste of him lingering on your lips. You felt the tension in your body unravel, replaced by a fierce, aching need.
Taking hold of his suit, you gently tugged him toward the inside of your flat, walking backward without breaking the kiss. You could only hope nothing got knocked over, though honestly, you wouldn't have cared. You’d burn the whole damn place down if it meant keeping his lips on yours for even a moment longer.
Once inside, the warmth of his body, combined with the cozy heat of the apartment, sent shivers cascading down your spine. You melted deeper into him, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his suit. His lips were everything you had imagined, soft, warm, deliberate. Not rushed or demanding, just present. As if he had all the time in the world for you.
A quiet moan slipped past your lips at the realization, and he took that as his invitation. His tongue brushed gently against yours, slow and exploratory, dancing in a rhythm that left your knees weak.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid his arms beneath your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft gasp into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively, your hands finding their way into his hair.
Of course, you were just about to make some self-deprecating comment about your weight, some old habit, a leftover from past lovers who made you feel too much. And then you remembered who he was.
This wasn’t like before. He wasn’t like them.
This was Superman, a man who could lift buildings, outrun sound, and fly through storms. Your soft stomach, your thick thighs, your so-called imperfections, none of it could possibly scare him.
The thought hit you all at once, and something in you gave in.
You deepened the kiss with renewed intensity, your fingers threading deeper into his hair. Your thighs instinctively tried to clench for some friction, to ease the growing ache between your legs, but you were only met with the hard wall of his body. Solid. Unyielding.
You whimpered softly in frustration, which only made him smile against your lips. That damn dimple again. One of his hands slid up your spine, the other under your thigh, holding you so effortlessly close it made your heart stutter.
Looking up quickly, he returned his gaze to you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Before you could ask anything, or make some kind of comment, you felt your stomach drop softly. The floor was no longer under your feet. You were floating. Held securely in his arms, Clark flew the both of you gently upstairs, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Easier than taking the stairs, apparently.
Looking down, you felt the same flutter of excitement you’d had the first time you fell off the roof, minus the adrenaline spike. Flying felt like freedom. Like being weightless, untouchable. If you were him, you’d never stop. You’d stay up there forever.
He landed gently just in front of your bedroom door. You expected him to set you down, maybe let you walk in on your own, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes glazed over for a second, scanning the room with silent intensity. You realized he was checking everything.
When his gaze finally settled back on yours, it had softened again. “No cameras. No bugs. Nothing,” he said, his voice low, reassuring.
Then his lips were back on yours, and he pushed the door open with his foot like he belonged there, like this was already his home, too.
The door clicked shut behind you, but you barely heard it. All you could focus on was the way his hands gripped you, firm, but gentle. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he was still holding back.
You didn’t want him to.
Still holding you in his arms, he leaned down, your back finding the soft comfort of your mattress as he settled above you. His weight didn’t crush, it grounded. A reminder that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here. With you. Wanting you.
His lips found your neck, slow, deliberate, teasing, sending warm shivers down your spine. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, urging him closer. His breath caught at the contact, lips trailing lower, skimming across your collarbone with featherlight grace.
His hands, warm and sure, slipped beneath your shirt. They explored the curve of your thighs, his touch loving and careful, before gliding higher. He bypassed the most sensitive place between your legs with a restraint that made your breath hitch, instead resting his palms on your stomach. He kneaded the soft flesh there gently, almost like a cat finding comfort, as if he wanted to memorise every inch of you.
All the while, his lips stayed at your throat, moving down, then returning to the beat of your pulse like it was calling to him. Drawn to it. To you.
Craving more, you shifted your weight and flipped the two of you over. You knew he let you. With his strength, he could’ve taken control in an instant, pinned you down with barely a thought, but he didn’t. He let you lead, and the heat that flooded your core at that realization was overwhelming. You were already soaked, and he’d barely touched you.
You leaned down to kiss his neck, what little you could reach, your lips grazing over warm skin and the edge of his jaw. His breath caught, just slightly, and you grinned against him. Fingers fumbling, you tugged at the edge of his suit, trying to find a seam, a signal that it could come off. Was he even wearing anything underneath? The material felt barely there, sleek, smooth, almost too easy to remove.
Before your mind could spiral any further, his soft chuckle pulled you back. With a gentle but firm push, he shifted you off him and stood. Your breath hitched as he made quick work of the suit, fluid, practiced movements, and you couldn’t look away.
You clenched your thighs instinctively, trying to ease the pulsing need between your legs, but it only made the ache worse. Watching him undress, knowing what was coming, had your entire body lit up with anticipation.
He was, indeed, completely naked beneath the suit. His cock stood fully hard, pressed against the firm plane of his stomach, practically begging for attention. You licked your lips, unable to tear your gaze away. It was beautiful, clearly above average in size, with thick veins tracing along its shaft. A bead of precum had already gathered at the flushed, angry-red tip, taunting you. Carefully trimmed hair sat nicely on top on it all.
Clark noticed the look in your eyes, but he didn’t take it for granted. As he stepped toward the bed, clearly intending to sit down beside you, your hands on his hips stopped him. You lowered yourself onto your haunches, settling near the edge of the bed.
Your breathing had already quickened, your heart pounding unnaturally fast. Still, your eyes remained fixed on his arousal, mesmerised. Then soft fingers tipped your chin upward, gently guiding your gaze to meet his.
Kind blue eyes stared back into yours.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine care. He wanted you to know this wasn’t expected, he wouldn’t cross any lines.
“I want to…” you whispered, leaning closer. You pressed a soft kiss to his tip. “You’ve been so good to me.” Another kiss. “So patient… so helpful.” A gentle lick followed. “I just want to say thank you.” Another slow, deliberate lick.
The sound he let out in response might have been the most perfect thing you'd ever heard.
His breath hitched, chest rising sharply as your tongue teased him again, a little more boldly this time. The tension in his thighs was unmistakable, muscles flexing under your hands where they still rested on his hips. Yet he didn’t move. He didn’t rush you. He let you set the pace, just like he had before.
Your lips wrapped gently around the head, tasting the salt of his arousal. A soft hum escaped your throat at the heat and weight of him. He groaned, low, rough, and utterly unguarded, and your whole body reacted to the sound, warmth pooling deep in your core.
You answered him by taking him deeper, slowly, savouring every inch as your mouth stretched to accommodate him. He was thick, and the way he filled you was dizzying. You used your hands to steady yourself, one gripping his thigh, the other gently stroking what you couldn’t take yet.
Clark’s hand remained at the back of your head, not guiding, not insisting, just there, his fingers threading tenderly through your hair. It wasn’t just a touch, it was a silent kind of worship. His palm was warm, soft as it caressed your scalp, and the sensation sent a fresh rush of heat surging through you. You could feel it, wetness gathering again in your panties, your body aching with want.
You found a steady rhythm, working him with your mouth and hand in perfect coordination, slow, deliberate, controlled. Your tongue swirled around the head each time you rose up, then slid back down with delicious pressure, your hand stroking what your lips couldn’t reach. His hips twitched slightly, and you could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding himself back.
As your confidence grew, so did your need. The hand that had rested against his hip slid downward, past your stomach, over your waistband, slipping beneath the hem of your panties. The moment your fingers brushed your clit, a quiet moan vibrated from your throat and against him, making his body shudder in response.
You were soaked. Every nerve ending felt electrified, your clit pulsing and swollen with need. You circled it gently, teasing yourself as you sucked him a little deeper. The contrast, his weight in your mouth, your fingers pressing into your own heat, felt like heaven. Your thighs clenched instinctively, chasing the pleasure building inside you.
Clark groaned above you, his voice hoarse, laced with disbelief and pleasure. His moans and grunts grew louder, more desperate, as you gradually took him deeper, your throat adjusting to him with every pass. Looking up at him through tear-filled lashes, you caught the moment his gaze dropped to yours. His cock twitched violently in your mouth, and his head flew back with a broken, helpless whine.
The sound made you moan around him, low and needy, sending another ripple of sensation through his body. He had to love the sight. And honestly, so did you.
He was a mess. Sweat clung to his chest, dampening the dark hair there, his neck flushed, cheeks glowing, ears pink with heat. He looked utterly wrecked, just like he had that night at the farm.
The memory made your thighs clench, need spiraling higher. The wetness between your fingers had grown slicker, hotter. You couldn’t stop now, not with the way your body was pulsing for release.
You rubbed faster, chasing it, matching the rhythm of your mouth around him, both of you slipping closer and closer to the edge. His hands gripped your shoulders suddenly, stopping your movement.
“You’re gonna make me—” But the rest of the words were swallowed by a guttural moan as his hips involuntarily bucked forward. His control was fracturing, and you loved it.
“Come here,” he groaned as he pulled his cock from your mouth. The sudden absence made you whimper, but the sound was quickly silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.
You instinctively tried to turn away, after all, you’d just had him in your mouth, but he didn’t seem to care. His kiss was fierce, messy, his tongue forcing its way between your lips like he needed to taste himself on you.
Pushing you back onto the bed, he climbed over you, his body radiating heat. Without hesitation, with a sharp tug, your shirt was torn apart, ripped down the middle like it was nothing. Your panties followed, shredded in his hands, leaving you gasping beneath him.
You gasped, staring down at the wreckage of your clothes, your chest heaving, before his mouth found your skin again. Hot and wet, his lips closed around one nipple while his hand claimed the other, squeezing and teasing in perfect rhythm.
A moan escaped you, hips grinding up instinctively, desperate for friction. Sensing your need, Clark shifted and pressed one of his thick thighs between your legs. The pressure was immediate and perfect. You cried out, rubbing yourself against the strong muscle, your slickness already coating his skin. He groaned against your chest, the sound sending shivers through you.
Clark groaned into your chest, the sound vibrating through you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark and raw. "Doing so good."
Then he was back on your lips, kissing you fiercely. The kiss was messy, teeth occasionally knocking together, but it felt like the most electric moment you’d ever lived. His warmth pressed against you, solid and unyielding, as he shifted some of his weight onto you, pinning you gently but firmly against the mattress. Locked against him, breath mingling, your bodies pressed tight in an intoxicating, perfect embrace.
With a particularly hard thrust of your hips against his, you begged, “Please, Clark.”
His mouth brushed against yours as he laughed softly, a light, breathy sound that cut off the moment your warm hand closed around his cock. You tried to guide him toward your entrance, but your movements were rushed and a bit awkward, causing him to press against your sensitive clit. The sharp sensation made you bite down hard on Clark’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay…” he said calmly, as if your teeth sinking into his skin barely registered. Gently shooing your hand away, he replaced it with his own larger one.
His fingers nudged at your entrance with care, waiting patiently. Waiting for you to look up, to meet his gaze, to show him you truly wanted this, wanted him.
Your eyes met his, wide and shining with need. The vulnerability there made his gaze soften even more, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desire that made your heart skip.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice low and gentle, as if asking permission without pressure. This filled you with warmth.
You nodded, breath catching in your throat. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”
With that, he pushed forward slowly, inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to every new sensation. You gasped softly, fingers clutching at the sheets as the fullness spread inside you, warm and deep.
When he was fully inside, he paused, resting his forehead against yours again. “You feel—,” he whined, his voice thick with emotion, out of breath. "Perfect. So warm."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Please move.” You moaned in his ears.
He began to move, slow, steady, a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. Each thrust was deliberate, filled with both passion and care. Your bodies moved together as if they were made for this moment, for each other.
His movements grew more confident, a little rougher but still measured, as if he was memorising every reaction, every shiver that ran through your body. You clung to him, nails digging lightly into his back, needing to anchor yourself as waves of pleasure built inside you. He never stopped kissing you, in between moans and grunts.
Clark’s breath was ragged now, lips brushing the curve of your jaw with every thrust. “You feel so good,” he groaned, voice thick with need.
You pressed your forehead against his, your voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He responded by picking up the pace, hips rolling with a deeper, more urgent rhythm. Your body answered instantly, every nerve ending on fire, every touch setting off sparks. The heat between you built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until your breath hitched and your chest trembled. Clark’s hand slid down your side, slipping between you to find your clit, circling it with gentle, insistent pressure.
The combination, his body moving inside you, his fingers teasing you, was almost unbearable. You cried out, clutching him tighter, your body arching up to meet his.
“Clark…” you gasped, voice thick with need.
You could feel his cock twitching inside you with every clench of your cunt. You were both so close to the edge, the sensation overwhelming. You could count on one hand the number of times a guy had made you come through penetration alone, and Clark was dangerously close to that milestone. And this was the first time he was fucking you.
His fingers never stopped moving on your clit, perfectly synchronised with his heavy thrusts. What finally pushed you over the edge was the sound of his deep voice grunting in your ear as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. He was whispering your name, telling you how good you felt, how warm you were, how perfect.
Then he said something that was almost too much to bear.
“I’ve been wanting you since I saw you, so pretty, at the farm,” he whined, struggling to hold back his release. “A soft city girl like you, all pretty on my family’s farm… I couldn’t help thinking this was the—” He stopped himself with a filthy moan. “The prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”
That broke something inside you. Knowing he had been dreaming about you just as much as you had about him made everything shatter. Scratching down his back, your own body arching, you let it all go.
Your body trembled as the waves of release crashed over you, every nerve ending alight with fire. Clark didn’t pull away; instead, he held you tighter, his own breath hitching as he followed you over the edge.
A desperate moan left Clark's lips. His hips stuttered, movements faltering as he tensed inside you, the warmth of his release flooding deep. You felt the mix of him and yourself, a messy, intimate testament to the moment you’d just shared.
Before he could crush you beneath his weight, he quickly rolled onto his back, pulling you flush against him. Your body pressed warmly against his, his softening length still nestled inside you. The shift made you instinctively clench around him, and he responded with a low, warning groan.
“Sorry…” you murmured, laughing softly.
Looking up, you smiled gently, and he was already watching you.
It felt strange.
Just a few months ago, you’d hated this man. Not really him, but everything he stood for. The Daily Planet. The goodness. The righteousness. The morality.
He had barged into your life, unwanted and uninvited, turning everything upside down. But he hadn’t left. He stayed. Helped when everyone else had walked away the moment they got what they wanted. Not him.
Now, as you laid your head back against his chest, you didn’t know where any of this was headed. But for once, you were ready to take a leap of faith into the unknown.
summary: an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?
pairing: fem!reader x corenswet!clark kent + journalist!reader x journalist!clark kent.
trope: office romance + coworkers to friends to lovers.
genre: fluff + some angst + slow burn romance.
warnings‼️: crude language + minor alcohol consumption + near-death experience + misogynistic remarks towards reader (from a jealous coworker who’s also a man r we surprised) + idk shit abt journalism.
A knock sounds at your already open door, causing you to pause your typing and look up.
“My office in five.” Your boss and an editor-in-chief— Perry White— commands.
You send him a nod and he’s on his way back.
It was a chill day until the cloud of quiet chatter evaporated and was replaced by a thick blanket of excitement.
“What is going on out there.” You curiously mutter.
You think about entering the crowd but you decide against it as you remember your initial task.
Perry may be a fair boss but his agitation takes on several forms, you do not wanna be caught on the receiving end of it.
You knock on his door and open it.
“Alright, Kent— oh. Here she is.”
You can’t see how this ‘Kent’ guy looks but he’s definitely a little over 6 feet. His gray coat outlines the broadness and muscly look of his back.
Damn, he’s kinda big.
He turns around and the only thing you can think of is Squidward whining in frustration, Oh no, he’s hot!
His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue, a lovely bunch of black curls sit atop his head, and his skin reminds you of the nice sand accompanied by the local beach.
Kent’s sporting a pair of black framed glasses and he’s the handsomest “nerd” you’ve ever seen.
You hope your ogling isn’t obvious.
“L/n, meet Clark Kent. Kent, this is Y/n L/n.”
This Greek god of a man shakes your hand and it’s warm. So. Warm.
He smiles and goddamn it is beautiful. It’s so perfect with all his perfectly straight, perfect shade of white teeth.
AND HE HAS DIMPLES?! HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!
“It’s nice to meet you.”
And of course, an attractive voice that matches his equally attractive face. It’s deep and confident and you’re crushing so hard on him right now.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You calmly say.
“Get acquainted well because you’ll be showing our new guy here the ropes. Starting now.”
Your heart drops down to your ass and you retract your hand.
Of course this had to happen to you.
“Oh, okay.”
It was in fact not okay but it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter.
You exit first and are met with so many faces outside the office. Comically, they all look away and pretend to do something important.
Now you realize why there was a crowd earlier, because of the handsome new guy.
You ask him to wait for you while you go grab some things from your desk.
“Okay, Clark—”
You’re gone for literally 1 minute and the poor guy’s already being swamped.
There’s a blonde girl, bit of a ditz. Twirling a strand of hair while giggling over something seriously unfunny.
She’s accompanied by a guy who’s much shorter in comparison to Clark.
He’s yammering away about how he’s always wondered what it’s like to be on a farm…
“I mean, I was at one for the DP but they didn’t have much internet so we couldn’t cover much. And the smell?” He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his nose in disdain. “I can’t imagine how it was for you, man.”
You watch in horror as he takes a sniff, yes; a sniff at Clark and hums, “You smell great, though! What is that, uh, aftershave. Or sum’?”.
Clark responds with a nervous laugh at his sudden proximity. “It’s Polo by Ralph Lauren. Uh, the blue one.”
“Whaaat?” The guy laughs in surprise.
Clark folds his lips inwards and raises his brows in an awkward manner.
What do you say to that? Truly.
What an idiot, you cringe internally before coming to his aid and kicking off his first day.
It’s the end of Clark Kent’s second week. He’s a great addition to the Daily Planet team and you have to say, he’s really nice.
His first few days were spent showing him around. Perry’s office, your office, the newsroom, break room, copy room, mail room, bullpen, so on and so forth.
You were sure Clark could use a better mentor but he thought otherwise. ‘You’re a good teacher, I like learning from you.’ He said.
He was very quiet at first, kept to himself and didn’t approach anyone unless he absolutely needed to.
You were the only person by his side almost every hour he worked so it made sense to just go to you.
The more you talked to him, the more he got out of his shell.
A friendly relationship blossomed and soon, he was a willing participant.
You like to drink something in the morning while you work and you didn’t realize Clark took a mental note of that.
Since your first week together, he’s brought you something everyday.
“As much as I appreciate this, you’re not the drink guy.”
You were worried he thought you’d expect him to do this all the time now but he denies the notion.
“Oh it’s no big deal, I pass by a cafe on my way here so it works out. Plus, I know the owner so I get a discount every time I go.”
You smile at that. This little tradition has become an essential part of your day, it’s how you start it. It’s also special to you because it’s just for you.
Your crush on him grows by the day but you can’t help it! It’s so hard not to like this guy.
He’s still a bit shy at times but you think that’s part of his charm, and he’s got you good. He’s just Clark, a sweet guy from a small town with big arms dreams.
“So, what are the plans for today?”
He asks this everyday in hopes of going on a side quest with just the two of you.
Alas, that doesn't happen nearly as much as he'd like but at least he still gets to see you whenever he likes.
“Today, we’re going to a meeting.” You answer as you quickly send out one last email.
You grab your purse and Clark brings his notebook to the conference room.
He pulls out a chair for you and you smile gratefully, whispering a ‘thank you’.
Perry and the other senior position holders make their way in and take their seats.
“Alright, let’s get started.”
Perry announces that at the end of the meeting, there will be a spot open for another editor-in-chief.
Instantly, there’s hushed chatter of who can be nominated to fill the slot.
You’re positive you hear your name among the many different routes of conversation. You don’t notice Clark glancing at you when he hears it, too.
“L/n.”
You feel everyone’s eyes on you and want to fuse with the chair you’re sitting on.
“She’s our most talked-about reporter and has been here for almost three and a half years. How she’s doing better than most of you at this table, I have no idea. Great work, Y/n.”
You purse your lips in an awkward smile at the jab towards everyone else layered between your praises. “Thank you, sir.”
Clark allows his lips to be pulled back in a small grin, unable to hide his happiness for you.
You know some people in the room are envious of you and are incapable of witnessing your success, but you’d be damned if you let them ruin this moment for you.
The rest of the meeting goes by smoothly and it’s time for Perry to announce the new editor-in-chief.
“Of course, it came as no surprise for us to come to unanimously nominate Y/n L/n as one of our new editors-in-chief.”
You know you should be happy and a small part of you is relieved that your hard work paid off, but you’re not entirely sure.
You’ve only been here for 3 and a half years and this is a huge promotion.
Are you ready for this? How do you know you’re ready? When do you know you’re ready?
You force yourself to get out of your head and express your gratitude.
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you shake their hands, accepting their approval.
You still had some time before accepting the offer but it felt like you had to take it.
The reality is: you don’t know what you want.
Most of the people leave but some stay behind.
“Congratulations, Y/n. You definitely earned it.”
Remember the envious people that were mentioned earlier? This guy— Mark Callahan— is one of them.
He sticks his hand out for you to shake but you clock his underlying tone.
“Thanks.” You smoothly move past him to the door with Clark following.
“Bitch.” He mutters to himself.
Clark stops dead in his shoes. “What did you just say?”
Mark smirks lazily and the few of his dastardly henchmen eye you with jealousy.
Your eyes are a bit wide, lips agape at his sudden change in attitude. “Clark..?”
This is Clark Kent. The shy, dorky, kind of an aloof guy with long legs, a killer smile, and a nice heart.
You never thought he could get mad. You haven’t even see him annoyed up until this very moment.
Mark takes a step towards you but Clark is quick to get in between you and him.
He pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and chuckles. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend.”
Clark steps forward, his height giving him the upper hand as Mark’s ego forces him to maintain eye contact, even if he has to tilt his chin up a bit.
“You couldn’t even try.” He softly yet subtly mocks.
Mark tightens his jaw and you can feel the tension growing.
You tentatively reach out and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “We need to go.”
He maintains eye contact with Mark for a moment longer before budging and walking out.
Clark’s jaw is set and you see the faintest twitch of the muscle, his face stern and hand sweeping his curls.
He holds the elevator for you and you gulp nervously.
“What… was that?” You dare ask.
He assures you it's nothing but you can feel the intensity of his annoyance radiating off of him. It fills the elevator when you step in.
You don't know how badly his blood boils at the thought of someone being so casually disrespectful towards you.
His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He forcefully wipes his hands on his trousers and tries to cool down.
You let that go but can’t let go of how badly he gave you the butterflies.
You couldn’t even try.
That part replays in your mind.
It was the way he said it, like he was so sure of himself.
He was obviously putting Mark in his place but for you? He did that for you?
Your lips fold inwards to conceal the squeal (read: scream) that's begging to be released.
As the elevator arrives at your floor, Clark extends his arm for you to get out first then follows you out.
Chivalry isn’t dead?!
You don’t know much longer you can contain yourself.
“Hey, Y/n?” Clark calls out.
You swiftly turn around on your heels. “Yeah?”
He stares at you for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts carefully.
He has so much he wants to say. Every time you thank him for bringing you your morning drink, he wants to say, you deserve nothing but the best. He wishes to say how beautiful you look everyday, how smart you are when you're feeling doubtful.
Instead, he holds it all in and says something a friend would say. It doesn't mean anything less to you, he knows that. So he says something so kind, it leaves you with heart eyes.
“You deserve that promotion.”
In all the time you’ve spent here, not many people have said anything like to you.
There’s the fake compliments said out of spite. You’ve already gathered a mental list of who fits that category.
Then come the words of encouragement, said by a select few genuine people. Perry and your best friend, Lois are— were the only members of this group.
Clark being an addition to this list is obvious, it was only a matter of time, but it means so much coming from him.
You blink and feel lightweight.
“Thank you.”
He gives you that award-winning smile you love seeing so much and is on his way to work.
You feel distracted as you work, cheesing like a kid every now and then when his words ring in your mind.
You deserve that promotion.
Resting your head in your palm with your elbow extended in a comfortable position, you sigh dreamily; staring blankly at your loading computer screen.
“L/n.”
You immediately straighten your back and set both hands on the keyboard, suddenly irritated with how slow the network on your computer is.
“Sir?” You acknowledge him by poking your head out from behind the screen.
“Good work on the Stenson article,” He shows the newspaper bundled in his hand. “It’s gotten Star’s attention.”
You’re impressed with yourself. “Oh.”
He angles his head down to where he can see you through the space above his glasses. “You okay?”
You nod in a way that is more convincing yourself of what you’re saying than him. “Mhm. Just, uh… surprised because they’re our rivals.”
Knowing The Daily Star has its eye on you is a bit unnerving but what kind of opps would they be if they didn’t?
He hums in thought. “Well, I thought I’d stop by and let you know.”
“Right. Thanks.”
You track his movements until you’re sure he’s gone and smack some sense into yourself.
“Focus, Y/n. Focus.”
You are invited to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. along with a few handpicked journalists.
As you await for the plane's landing, your mind wanders back to the new guy. You wish Clark could’ve came.
You just think he would’ve had so much to learn and experience, nothing else…
A rattle echoing through the jet brings you out of your thoughts.
The captain makes an announcement but you feel like something’s off.
It’s the reporter in you, a 6th sense.
Another shake and now everyone’s a bit nervous, worried looks painted across their faces and yours.
You open the flap to your window and see nothing but soot. Dark gray matter surrounds the jet and it’s so thick, you can’t see past it.
You start to smell it soon and so does everyone else.
“What’s that smell?”
“It smells like… like smoke?
“Is something burning?”
The captain makes an announcement telling everyone not to panic but of course, that ironically sets off an opposite reaction.
Oxygen masks drop down and you don’t waste any time grabbing yours, but the dread spreads all over you when you take a deep breath in.
Suddenly, the jet jolts forward and it feels like you’re diving into something. It’s going headfirst into the direction of the ground so quickly and you can’t make sense of anything.
The passengers frantically scream and descend into chaotic paranoia as they hold on to dear life.
Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out.
This is it, you think. This is how it ends for you: in a freak accident.
You close your eyes in fear and hope the impact crushes you so quickly, you don’t feel anything.
A quick and easy death is a death that is most favorable.
Suddenly, you feel the aircraft being lifted up. The speed of which is swift yet steady, unlike the previous moments when it felt like you were falling to your deaths.
You don’t dare look out your window in fear of it all being a figment of your imagination but someone else does.
“We’re… we’re saved.” Someone calmly informs.
The plane is set down on the ground and the doors open up automatically.
Your eyes widen when you see a man in a blue suit and red cape step onboard.
He’s kind-looking. The steely blue eyes somewhat familiar, maybe it’s his aura.
“It’s alright, everything’s okay.” He smiles and you’re taken aback with how eerily familiar the action is.
“Is everyone alright? Nobody hurt?”
Everyone shakes their head simultaneously as if in a trance, left and right.
He nods in consideration. “That’s good. You all can step out now, it’s safe.”
Nobody moves. No one can! They’re still trying to wrap their heads around this miracle.
There’s this man— in a cape, no less— and he’s asking if everyone’s okay from what could’ve happened.
There’s no doubt in your mind that somehow, he is singlehandedly responsible for saving you all.
Someone in front dares to speak everyone’s mind. “You saved us.” They say as they make their way to him.
The mystery man looks at the passenger with a humble look.
He puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and escorts them out, everyone else following suit.
Everyone else but you. You’re frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, mostly shock.
You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice him coming up to you, his striking blue eyes steady on your form.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
You whip your head up at him and realize you’re the only one onboard the plane.
“Umm, yeah. I-I think.” You furrow your eyebrows as you feel your foot stuck in a comatose position.
“Can you stand?” He gently asks.
You go to stand up from seat when a sharp pain shoots through your ankle.
A quick breath is drawn from your teeth and he notices immediately.
“Your ankle.”
“Yup.” You hastily grit out.
He looks at you in contemplation for a moment before doing what he has to do.
“Do you mind if I carry you out?”
You pause your unsteady breathing and look up at him through your lashes.
I didn’t hear that.
“Uhh…”
There is a right answer but you don’t know if it’s the answer.
He’s strikingly handsome, so unfairly dashing.
He’s looking at you with those kind eyes and waiting patiently for your word.
“No. No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat gingerly.
The soft curve of his lips make you feel a bit at ease for a moment.
He holds his hand out for you to take and gently pulls you into him when you do, wrapping that arm around your back. He bends down to hook his other arm under your knees and lifts you so effortlessly, you feel yourself swoon at his display of strength.
Your brain goes quiet and you can’t think about anything else but him. You’re starstruck by him.
Is this a bad time?
He looks straight ahead as he walks towards the open doors but the slight curve of his lips gives the impression of a soft smile.
Soft gasps and wide eyes paint the picture of surprise and you’re immediately flushed so deeply into embarrassment.
The man holding you doesn’t say anything but he silently shares your opinion.
As he walks down the ramp, you look anywhere but at him and the very obvious audience in front.
The symbol on his chest catches your eye and you’re analyzing it. It appears to be a red diamond encasing a capital letter of the same color, an ‘S’.
You wonder what it stands for, what it means to him.
People make room for him as he walks to a spot where you can comfortably rest.
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and it bothers the hell out of you, but you bear with it for the moment.
He finds a bench within the stagnant ocean of people and sets you down on it, an apologetic expression framing his face.
“I’m sorry.”
You peer up at him in surprise. “For what?”
He sets his hands on his hips, subtly tilting his head to the left and you see behind him the wandering eyes and gossipy mouths.
You snort softly, shaking your head lightly at their antics. “It’s not your fault. They’re just… trying to figure out what just happened.”
He nods, turning back to the plane with a determined look.
“The ambulance is on its way.” He says as he turns back to you.
You nod, not wanting to look away from his eyes.
The air is thick with so many unanswered questions left unasked, but your throbbing ankle takes a frontseat to it all.
This man is a miracle in the flesh and he’s filled your mind with so much curiosity, you don’t know what to do with it.
“You’re gonna be alright.” He says it with such confidence that you believe him.
And he’s gone, flying upwards into the air and in a direction one can only point to.
People crowd the spot he just stood in and stare up in awe at the phenomenon: a man just flew right to the sky!
What a headache and headline this is going to be.
Your ankle was as swollen as an orange, thankfully like the ones that are really small and are known as ‘Cuties’ or whatever the hell.
There's a brace on it to keep from hurting as much but the swelling's still got a long way to go.
You're currently icing it as much as you can before it falls off when you hear a knock on your window.
You hold your breath and lean out a little, trying to hone in on the knock.
Was it real or a part of your imagination?
It's when you hear it again that you decide, nope, totally real.
You move slowly, setting the ice pack on your dresser before carefully moving your leg and setting your foot down on the floor.
Eventually, you make it to your window and look through the blinds to see what could be causing that noise.
You softly gasp. “Holy shit.”
It's the guy from earlier, the same man who (may or may not have) saved your life. And he's floating, literally standing on air.
You pull your blinds all the way up and open your window, not hiding the shock on your face as you stare at him dumbfounded.
He titters softly, finding your reaction amusing. “Can I come in?”
You wordlessly step aside with your mouth slightly agape, not really grasping the gravity of the situation.
He flies right into your bedroom while you budge the window back down and close the blinds.
With his back turned against you, you take this chance to make yourself look more put together. Your hands find their way into your hair and subconsciously pat down your body to press the fabric of your clothes as flatly as possible.
He’s studying your room and now you’re even more self-conscious even though it’s relatively tidy.
“I’m sorry for showing up here unannounced.” He says as he turns around to face you. “I hope I don't come off as a stalker.” He snorts softly.
You laugh along, nervous. “I was just icing it before...” You trail off, making a gesture towards the window.
He nods, clicking his teeth. “Ah, right. Sorry, once again.”
You shake your head. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”
You move to sit back down on your bed and continue icing your ankle.
“You left your purse.”
He reveals the black purse to you and you gasp at the revelation, so relieved as you thought you were going crazy looking for it.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” You say as he chuckles softly and hands you your purse.
“No, don’t thank me. Just doing what’s right.”
Something about his words makes you pause. The familiar syntax reminds you of someone who’d do what he just did.
You don’t even look inside to see everything in order because oddly enough, you trust it is.
Your grin makes the man in front of you feel strangely victorious.
“Not many would do what’s right.”
He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to disagree. “I think we all deserve a little grace every now and then.”
“You have faith in humanity?”
You don’t mean to start a conversation about the moral dilemma of being human but his response intrigues you.
“I do.” He answers with such confidence that you believe him.
“At least that makes one of us.” You look back down at your hands applying pressure to the pain.
“Why don’t you?” He asks with genuine wonder.
You tilt your head at him, intrigued. “Are you really asking me that?” You squint your eyes playfully. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve seen and heard things that have made me come close to quitting.”
“Why haven’t you then?” He cheekily asks with a smirk of his own.
You're taken aback with his playful wit exuding a flirty vibe.
You'll bite.
“Because even though my job can be draining, I still love what I accomplish.”
He's delighted with your reasoning, appreciating your love for the game.
“Well said.” He nods.
You tilt your head up, the reporter in you wanting to talk to him more.
“Your turn.”
He raises an eyebrow at your proposed question.
“What do you do?” You ask.
He clicks his teeth lightly. “Well, you’ve seen me fly. I can hear well over the distance and lift very heavy things, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He knows that’s not what you’re asking, you know he knows that.
You smile, shaking your head at his quips. “As in your occupation, Mr..?”
He stands with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell you next time.”
You blink, startled by his suggestion. “Next time?”
He walks towards your window and you follow, opening it for him.
“Until next time, miss L/n.” He says with a wink,
And he's gone.
You're left staring at his fantastic display of power, soaring into the night sky before he disappears into the clouds.
You've never been this fascinated with anything before, but he isn't “anything” or “anyone”. He's a phenomenon, man with great power.
You don't see that often.
You wonder who he really is, where has he been all this time? What's his story?
So many questions, so little time but you'll hold him to that promise of a next time.
“Next time.” You murmur in confidence that he'll find you again.
Lois enters your office with a particular pep in her step, a knowing smile on her lips as she sees you.
You don’t look up from your work as you know there’s nobody else that can enter your office that way. (even perry knocks, lois)
“Sooo?” She asks, strangely enthusiastic.
“So.” You reply uninterested, flipping through pages.
She stares at you like you know what she’s talking about before bombarding you with questions.
“Who is he? What’s he like? Where's he from—? Wait, he’s human, right?”
Your eyes widen just a fraction before you dial it down.
You can't tell anybody about your encounter with him. At least not until you've had some questions answered.
A hurried breath is pushed past your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your friend’s prying form.
“No comment.” You say plainly, not indulging her.
Clark walks by with a new drink of the day and sets it down on your desk, a sweet smile on his face.
“For you.”
You know those certain people who just have you on automatic smile as soon as you see them? He's quickly becoming that person for you.
“You are such a nice guy, Clark.” Lois shakes her head in amazement.
She can't believe men like him do, in fact, exist.
That causes a noticeable blush to coat the tips of his ears and spread thinly across his cheeks.
He's humble. “I appreciate that Lois.”
This tradition is a declaration of friendship, a bond he claims to regard just as much as you do.
A sip of it simultaneously warms your heart and reawakens the butterflies lying dormant in your stomach.
“I agree.” You softly smile. “You’re committed to keeping up with this.”
He looks down and pushes his glasses up with an index finger, clicking his teeth together shyly. “Well, I’m no guy in a cape.”
There he goes downplaying his efforts and staying humble, as usual.
“How’s your ankle?” He asks as he eyes it.
You look down like you just remembered. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. The swelling’s gone down a lot so I’m good to come back.”
Lois watches the news on one of the tv’s in the room play a clip someone managed to record of said guy fly up into the air, departing with a sonic boom.
She leans into Clark a bit, looking straight at the tv with that same damned topic on her mind. “Clark, do you think he’s handsome?”
He clears his throat lightly, sniffing as he tries to figure out how to answer that wild question. “Well, I— uhh… um— he’s, he’s… conventionally attractive.” His tone gets pitchy at the end, like he's asking, not telling.
“Lois.” You sigh.
“What? He’s so cute guys, I don’t know why no one else is talking about it.”
You take a peek at Clark and find quite a bit of blood rushing to his face.
“Clark, are you alright?”
“Huh— yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m good! I’m fine, it’s just uhh… hot.” He nods, trying to look convincing.
Lois doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s hot.”
“Oh my god.” You groan.
“No, like, seriously.”
And it’s your fault for knowing how serious she is.
“Do you guys think he’d go for me?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure.” You nod with a fake smile. “He’d be all over you.”
She bursts out laughing, her focus on the poor guy in your midst. “He’s as red as his cape.”
You turn your head to see and it’s true, he’s super red in the face and just refuses to make eye contact.
“I’m just gonna go… do that thing Perry wanted.” He sends you girls a quick nod and smile before basically running out of y’all’s presence.
You watch him go and find his vulnerability endearing. He’s not afraid to show his feelings but like in typical Clark fashion, gets a little embarrassed when he does.
She purses her lips apologetically.
You shake your head at her. “Lois, if you were a man...” You raise your eyebrows and push air out in yet another sigh.
She takes your lack of words as a sign to contemplate the idea, then says, “You’d be my first target.” with a nod and serious look.
“Get out.”
You hadn’t anticipated your savior to be the subject of fascination so soon. Later on in the afternoon, in fact.
“L/n, you’re a firsthand witness. What do you think?”
Everyone’s eyes are on you as they wait for you to tell your story. You haven’t felt this nervous since your interview with this place.
You clear your throat a bit, feeling your nerves on fire.
“I believe he stopped the plane from crashing.”
You don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re all thinking: you’re fucking crazy.
Of course, that’s an impossible thing to do but not everyone in this room was there.
“You think… he was responsible for saving everyone that day?” Perry asks, intrigued by your line of reasoning.
“Yes. He came onto the jet and immediately asked if everyone was alright, if anyone was injured.”
A few people murmur in doubt but you continue.
“I sprained my ankle somehow and he offered to help me off and took me to an area where I could wait for an ambulance.”
They eye your gloved ankle, unimpressed. (it’s not like you’re here to knock their socks off anyway)
“He helped you off the jet? How?” Someone asks.
“He, um… carried me out.” You quietly say.
The atmosphere shifts and you can really feel and see just how shell-shocked everyone is.
“He carried you out?!”
“As in, in his arms? You were carried out in his arms..?”
You immediately jump to your defense. “I’m not sure why and, or how that matters.”
They’re incredulously adamant about it. “How come? You’ve not only had a conversation, but also came into close contact with him—”
“And that’s where your focus lies?” Perry cuts in.
You look at him in thanks and he nods in acknowledgment.
“I dunno.” A board member sighs. “Some mysterious, muscular man coming to save the helpless woman story won’t run headlines.”
You scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
Perry feels a headache coming on.
“You asked about my encounter and I told you. I’m not here to be a headline.”
The man who thought of that “brilliant” idea is coated in embarrassment, feeling annoyed at receiving the heat.
“Anyone have any useful ideas?” Your boss asks with his thumbs pressing down on his temple.
There’s some chatter about this man and how he managed to save the plane, if he did. Some even discuss if he’s capable of being a potential threat to the country.
“You’re dismissed.” Perry says with a pointed look.
You leave with your head down and jaw tight, coming to sight with Mark.
“Excuse me.” You drop the hint of ignoring him but he doesn’t care.
“Going somewhere?” He asks with a smug expression.
You still push past him, only for him to turn around and tail you.
“Yeah. Some of us have jobs to do.”
You don’t care how you look and/or sound.
You just got reduced a damsel-in-distress by a board member while your boss ignored him. Granted, he stuck up for you when it came time but he also dismissed you like you weren’t needed anymore.
Mark pokes a tongue into his cheek, his frustration with you at its boiling point. “And what’s yours? Playing hooky with Superman?”
You don’t know whether to be offended or question the ridiculous choice of name for the man, first.
You choose the first option as it’s the most relevant.
“What did you just say to me?”
He smirks like he just found a pressure point on you. He takes a step closer. “You heard me.”
He actually thinks he's got you this time.
“What, got nothin' to say now that Kent isn't here to save you?”
All that annoyance you were feeling just know? Yeah, that's amplified by a thousand now that he brought that up.
“I can stick up for myself, and I definitely won’t take any shit from you.” You spite. “If I took that promotion back then, you would’ve been fired and on your ass in less than a minute.”
You're pulling rank but it isn't rage-bait if it's true.
He's seething now. A vein protrudes from his forehead and he inhales deeply to try to keep himself together as much as possible.
“Oh, I know how you got that promotion.” He spits that venom so carelessly with the most malicious intent.
You squint your eyes in suspected belief.
Mark continues his verbal assault.
“Yeah,” He nods. “It wasn't that hard to figure out why the old man favors you so much.”
You were right, it had been what you were thinking.
The envy in him has always given off a strong stench, he literally gives the evil eye to those better than him in every way possible.
At your loss of words and hurt expression, he smirks before delivering what he thinks is the final blow. “I’m willing to bet you slept your way to the top.”
In this very moment, you realize you don’t have to listen to his shit any longer.
Your strike his face, open-handed; hard. A powerful smack resulting in a red handprint on his blanched face.
The ear on that side of his face rings piercingly loud and in his disoriented state, nearly collapses onto the floor.
A chorus of sharp gasps and sound grimaces snap you out of the adrenaline-fueled rage consuming you.
It seems that you’ve gathered quite a crowd of spectators. The horrified look on your face isn't nearly enough to convince your innocence to anyone just joining now joining in.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Perry's voice booms.
You shakily inhale, meeting his accusing gaze and you watch as he tracks a path between you and Mark writhing on the floor.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic acting.
“Get in here. Right. Now.”
With your chin up, you walk right past the whimpering mess on the floor; your heel almost crunching his fingers if it weren't for his reaction time.
You know you shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed but there's still a part of you that does.
After all that you've put into this place, some overzealous, whiny little piece of shit wants to humiliate you by attempting to slutshame? In this day and age?
You huff in exasperation of being on your way to overstimulation by the very quick turn of events.
You're already sat when Mark comes in and Perry shuts the door, but not before yelling at everyone to get back to work.
You feel your victim to your far right, not wanting to sit down.
“Sit down, Mark.” Perry says before looking at him quizzically. “And why are your hands covering only one side of your face?”
You bite back an explanation and a smirk.
Mark doesn't say anything but instead opts to show, he drops both hands hesitantly to his sides.
Perry's reaction is nothing short of priceless. He thinks about exclaiming but when side-eyeing you and carefully assessing your careless reaction, he clocks it.
“I was counting on you being bitch-slapped one of these days but I was not expecting you to be dumb enough to try her.” He dryly chuckles in half admiration and half disappointment.
“Sir? You're actually siding with her right now?”
You close your eyes and mentally prepare to be fired.
Perry’s expression is that of a Don’t try me and Mark actually takes it seriously this time.
Wonder what’s the difference in you giving him that look and Perry…
“What happened, L/n?”
You open your eyes nervously and take a breath, preparing yourself to speak your truth.
“I slapped him… because he accused me of sleeping my way to the top for the promotion.”
There’s about a few seconds of silence before Perry speaks up.
“What.” He just says but it’s his tonal shift that makes Mark sweat.
“W-well, I just said that in the heat of the moment.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean that—”
Perry pinches the bridge of his nose to try to calm himself down. “I have no tolerance for this kind of behavior, Callahan. You know that.”
Said boy clears his throat and sniffs. “Y-yes sir, I do—”
“Then why did you do it?” Perry’s eyes bore into his with such intensity, it makes you a bit uneasy as well.
Mark opens and closes his mouth trying to come up with an answer to that obviously rhetorical question like a fish.
At his lack of words, your boss scratches his forehead. “Here’s an easier one: what did you think you were accomplishing by demeaning her character like that?”
Still no answer.
He puts a finger on Mark's chest, pressing into it as he says, “I’ll tell you. She is your superior because she, unlike you, gets it. She gets this job, what it means to be a reporter.”
His condescending tone towards the other male isn't unheard of but it sure as hell surprises you a lot.
Mark tightens his jaw and turns his head to look at you in malice. “With all due respect, sir, you should understand why I said that.”
“I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing.” His gruff voice reverberates through the walls, causing you to straighten your back.
Perry then carefully and slowly says, “Get the fuck outta here, you’re fired.”.
Mark dares to speak up even now. “But, sir—”
“Right now!” The older man barks his orders and like the sad little puppy Mark is, follows one last time.
When he leaves, Perry sighs and turns to sit down in his chair. He pours himself a drink, offering one to you.
You stare at him wearily before declining but he pours you a drink, anyway.
He silently takes a sip, prompting you to do the same and you feel the smooth, mellow taste of Brandy.
He groans, satisfied with the drink.
You set your glass down, feeling your nerves becoming slightly undone by the aftertaste.
It’s momentarily quiet, the awkward silence now comfortable.
You’re the first to break it. “Am I being fired?”
This is apparently funny to him because he laughs. Yes, he wheezes before giving in to the chest-laugh every man his age has.
You awkwardly chuckle along, not knowing if that's the right move.
He sighs in satisfaction once more.
“Y/n,” He begins warmly. “I can't fire you after that shitshow.”
Anyone else would think that statement was made in fear of being seen as an asshole who doesn't stand in solidarity with women but not you.
Perry White can put on a show of being a bitter old man but now's not one of those times.
“You did what you had to do and since I'm being honest,” He leans in a little like he's about to share a secret. “I'm glad you gave me a reason to kick his ass out.”
That brings a soft smile on your face, one that expresses your gratitude.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Most bosses wouldn't give a fuck.” The word rolls off your tongue with such smoothness, you forgot to code switch.
He takes no mind and instead lets you talk informally, he gathers you deserve that much.
“I'm not most bosses.” He wittily replies with a wink and tight-lipped smile.
“No, you are not.” You say with an appreciative nod.
You ignore everyone that didn't need your help for the remainder of the day.
As Mark took the walk of shame, it made you feel a little better when you saw people who you've never spoken to give him dirty looks and shake their head at him in disapproval.
Even though he got at least half of what he deserved, you still felt the aftermath of his words. They stung and it just made you think, how many other people feel that way?
You drowned yourself in work, you felt as if you're now obligated to work twice as hard.
Then you hear him.
“Y/n?”
You move your head from your hand and look up above your computer, spotting no other than your trusty colleague and friend.
“Clark, hey. What’re you doing here?”
“Hey, I was just about to ask you that.” He says with a boyish smile and points at you.
You smile back instinctually. “I'm just finishing up some stuff, meeting deadlines.”
“Ah.” He nods.
You eye the time and decide to save what you have left, planning to resume tomorrow.
“I was doing the same.”
You put on your jacket and grab your purse, walking out with him.
“This late?”
Poor guy, you hope he doesn't have a workload as big as yours if he's staying until almost 2 am.
“Yeah.” Clark sighs tiredly. “Perry gave me Mark's last assignment.”
You pause locking your office door, not expecting that answer.
Clark pretends not to notice.
As you enter the elevator (before clark, of course), you make light conversation.
“So ready to go home to my bed.” You tip your head back close your eyes, letting yourself rest for a moment.
“For real, I was about to fall asleep at my desk if it wasn’t for you.”
Both of your eyes open. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I was the only person here but then I saw your lamplight on so, I figured why not fight it for as long as I can.”
Had he stayed this long for you?
“Clark…”
You feel guilty and why wouldn’t you? He was basically waiting on you to call it in and stood by the entire time.
“It’s okay! No harm done.” He insists.
He was actually meaning to go home the same time you were, so he could talk to you.
He knows how pathetic that sounds but he'd rather be a pathetic man with a crush, even if that sounds elementary.
Instead, he opts on telling a half truth. “I needed the extra hours anyway.”
You turn to face him. “You did?”
Uh oh. He wasn’t supposed to say that.
Stupid sleep-deprived brain making him say things he’s not supposed to.
“Yeah, cause my research and work ethic is different from Mark’s.” He purses his lips and nods lightly.
Though he may look confident on the outside, he’s freaking out on the inside.
What was he supposed to say, the truth? Yeah, I was out late saving the planet one country at a time. That kind of stuff tends to get tiring if I have to wake up on time, ha ha ha.
He hopes you believe him and don’t inquire any further so he won't have to come up with another lie.
You hum before yawning lightly. “Makes sense.”
Clark watches you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and notices how you close your eyes when you yawn.
He also notes that you're really comfortable around him. You don't think twice about saying certain things in front of him.
He likes being the reason you let your guard down, he does the same around you.
You can see him staring into the side of your face so you turn your head, meeting his warm yet intimidating stare.
Your lips automatically purse into the friendliest awkward smile you have and he returns the sentiment.
You both then look away simultaneously. You look up at the countdown whereas he looks down on the shining metallic floor.
There’s still 25 more floors to go before you meet the garage parking lot.
The atmosphere grows a little awkward but is forgiven as there’s a shared understanding: you’re both fucking exhausted.
Though, there is something Clark wants to talk to you about.
“Y/n?”
“Hm?”
He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening then closing as he thinks about how to bring this topic up.
“I heard about what happened.”
You slowly turn your head to him wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.
He stares back at you and you notice how blue his eyes look under fluorescent light.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, affected by the outburst as anyone else who gave a damn.
You’re touched.
“You don’t have to apologize, Clark.” You say as you look down at your shoes, suddenly growing shy of his eyes.
“I know,” He says. “But I care.”
The sentiment doesn't go unnoticed. Your lips turn up appreciatively.
“I know that as a woman, I'll be undermined at times but that was seriously a low blow.” You vent. “Even for him.”
Your disappointment isn't hard to assess. Even though you knew he'd be the one to say something like that, you still would've liked to be proven wrong.
Clark feels for you, you shouldn't have to feel alienated by your colleagues.
“I'm sorry nobody spoke up. I would have.”
“I know.” You say. “Thanks, Clark.”
“Of course. Anytime.”
You think about how nice it is of Clark to say this but you’re reminded of his absence prior.
“Where were you today, by the way. I barely saw you.”
He lies straight through his teeth. “I was out running some errands.”
He was actually stopping a country from getting actively bombed but that’s a story for another time.
“Perry still giving you the Miranda treatment?”
He chortles at your reference. “What can I say, I make a great Andrea.”
“You do. Who’s your Emily?”
You both take a moment to think about this.
“I got nothin’.” You say.
Clark agrees, although he’s come up with an alternative approach.
“There’s Mark, but he’s more Emily to your Andrea.”
You make a motion to wrap your hands around your neck and pretend to choke yourself.
It gets a good laugh out of him.
You blow a soft raspberry. “I just want my Nate. Without the “I'm insecure and feeling jealous because my partner is having it better” part.”
You look up at him and say without thinking, “You’d make a great Nate.”
You’re so tired, very exhausted from the day taking a toll on you, which explains why you’re just saying random shit.
Clark feels hot, like his whole face is on fire. He chuckles bashfully, very obviously failing at trying to not let that affect him so much.
The elevator dings and you both look up, finding the doors to open and reveal the garage parking lot.
“So, what do you mean by that? Exactly.” He furrows his brows and pushes his glasses up.
You step out, feeling all of your nerves turn to ice as you realize the weight of your words. “Oh, you know. You'd be a supporting and secure boyfriend.”
He's stumped, left watching as you walk to your car.
You wave goodbye before getting into your car and he returns the gesture.
You turn to face him, walking backwards. “Good night, Clark.”
He feels the blood wash over his heart like the ocean returning to shore.
“Good night.” He murmurs fondly.
“Dude, this is a terrible idea.” Jimmy scolds. “Your worst one yet, and you barely have those!”
But Clark isn’t listening, he’s already made his mind up.
“If I like her as a man then I have to respect her as Superman.”
Okay, that was a bar, Jimmy concedes.
“Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone.” Clark adds.
Of course you wouldn't tell anyone about Clark’s identity, he knows that.
“I know that,” Jimmy sighs. “But think of your relationship with her as Superman from a journalistic standpoint.”
Jimmy just wants the best for his best man, he wants Clark to really think about this.
“She won’t let her bias for you stop her from doing her job, even if that means asking questions you can’t answer directly.”
Diving headfirst into something like a romantic relationship without going over the logistics is bound to crash and burn.
But it’s you, the same woman who understands him. You see him, know him. You’re not one to hide how comforted you feel when he’s around, he literally hears your heart rate when he dotes on you.
You must feel the same way. Right?
But how would you react to this? Would you still feel the same? Would you still view him as the same Clark who goes out of his way for you?
After some careful consideration, Clark comes to a conclusion.
“Okay.” He says.
Jimmy closes his eyes in relief, sighing at the fact that his friend chose his mind over his heart.
“I’m going to tell her everything.”
Jimmy slaps a palm across his forehead all wide-eyed, not believing he got bamboozled this way.
He now has to watch his best friend throw everything away for the ruzz (reporter huzz).
Clark feels a weight lifted from his chest at this decision.
He's always wanted to tell you but his moral obligation was to this planet, regardless of what his heart wanted.
He walks to your office, stopping just before the door to check on his appearance. He moves his head to the side, inspecting his hair. He then fixes his tie and glasses.
Satisfied with himself, he knocks and waits for your approval.
“Come in.”
Clark pokes his head in comically.
Your eyes flit up and when you see him, giggling at his silliness. “Hey, you.”
His chest warms at the sight and sound of your delight.
You seem so easygoing, truly content when you smile or laugh. Do you know that?
His takes in your face.
Your hair shines from the light, cascading down your shoulders and framing your head nicely.
Your eyes are on him and every time you look at him, he feels as though he can tell you anything. And though they're beautiful, his favorite part about your face have to be your lips.
You're a very expressive person so your words and reactions make up everything about you.
He loves seeing them pull you into a smile and laugh, especially when he's the reason. It’s like a reward seeing you joyful because of him.
He's momentarily distracted by the sight, always on the verge of forgetting his objective as soon as your pretty lips move around.
You say his name like you're in the middle of something.
He blinks, shaking himself out of his daydream. “I'm sorry, what? I was not paying attention, I'm sorry.”
It's refreshing to see a man apologize so much but it feels weird coming from him.
“It's too early for this, I know.” You jest kindly. “I was asking what can I do for you?”
“Oh! Right, why I'm here.” He chuckles, embarrassed.
Get it together, Clark he warns himself mentally.
“I, um... I wanted to ask you something.”
You lean your elbows on your desk, giving him your undivided attention. “Sure, what's up?”
He walks to your desk, taking out a sticky note folded in half. He hands it to you.
I have something I want to talk about, meet me in the mailroom? Lunch on me ;)
You can't with this guy sometimes. Asking you to lunch via sticky note?
“That is seriously the cutest thing ever.” Lois coos.
You've been smiling since he gave the note to you, grinning at him as he walked out of your office.
You even did a celebratory squeal before containing yourself.
“Isn't it?” You giddily ask. “Ugh, he's so cute.”
Lois nods in agreement, wondering when she's gonna find her own Clark Kent.
“What do you think he wants to talk about?” You ask.
Lois looks at you bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?”
You stare at her expectantly, blinking.
“Oh my god.” She groans. “He's gonna tell you how bad he wants you, Y/n!”
“He is?” You say, hopeful.
She nods ecstatically and spins you around in your chair to face her. “Think about it. You two have been dancing around this unspoken attraction between you for how long?”
You instantly give her a time period. “Almost a month.”
“That was rhetorical.”
“Oh.” Your lips pull to the side, sheepishly. “Sorry. Continue.”
“The point is, he obviously feels for you. It was just a matter of when he’d get the balls to make the first move.”
You nod along, finding her logic unarguable.
“Okay. Okay, so I just walk in and tell him—”
“No, no, no. What? Don't do that! He's the one asking you to come over so let him go first.”
“Right, right.” You blink. “Let him go first, you're right.”
Lois puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You're nervous, and that's okay. Just breathe, be calm, cool, and collected. You're Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.”
“I’m Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.” You repeat like a mantra.
Lois smiles encouragingly, being your best hype-woman.
“You’re fucking amazing.”
You close your eyes and blindly trust her. “I’m fucking amazing.”
“You’re the baddest bitch here and you know it.”
You blow air deeply, feeling yourself relax a bit. “I’m the baddest… bitch here and I know it.”
“Fuck yeah, you do!” She exclaims and you find yourself smiling, shaking your head at her theatrics.
You fucking love this girl.
“You got this, okay? Don't think too much, it'll feel natural once you let him talk.”
You feel like you’re about to get in the boxing ring witheverything that could go wrong.
“Go get him, tiger!”
It's lunchtime and for the first time in history, you're not hungry.
You can't even think about eating out of anxiety.
You walk towards the mailroom and suspire when you go to twist the door handle.
You're immediately met with the dreamy pair of eyes you were hesitant to see.
You shut the door behind you, none of you want to be the one to move first.
“Hi.” He hums.
“Hi.” You say, equally as soft.
He clears his throat lightly and gestures you over, some sandwiches and sodas decorating the table.
“Panera?” You say with glee.
His lips pull back at your reaction. “Yup.”
You reign in your excitement, remembering why you came here in the first place.
“So.” You hint subtly.
“Sooo.”
You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “Sooo, what'd you have to tell me?”
He clicks his teeth. “That's the question.”
You tip your head back and half-whine, half-laugh. “Oh my god, stop baiting me!”
Clark finds humor in edging you on like this, how often does he get to see you so highstrung?
“Okay, okay, alright.” He airily chuckles. “I'll stop.”
You blink patiently, the remnants of a grin on your face.
He soughs, building up the confidence to tell you how just much he feels for you.
“Okay.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze.
He's caught, mesmerized by the way your attention is on him. He doesn't realize just how heavy his stare is until he watches you squirm.
“Clark..?” You call out to him thinking he's spacing out.
“Sorry.” He says on default, though he's not really apologetic for anything at all.
You're just so—
“Beautiful.”
Your breath catches in your chest and he's mortified.
“I, I just said that... outloud.” He stammers.
You watch him scramble for a way out.
“I'm sorry— not that you aren't beautiful, which you are. You so are.”
He cringes at himself and you hold back a simper, finding him so endearing.
“I just, um... Alright, here's the thing.” He claps both hands together softly.
“Mhm.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and to show you're just as serious about what he has to say.
“I... I have, uh— wait, no. That's not right.” He mutters to himself.
You come closer, standing right in front of him. “Clark.”
He looks down, stunned at your proximity and stops babbling.
“Just say it.” You coax gently. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it, together.”
Together. He thinks about the good ending, the one where you do end up getting together.
As you look up at him with those kind eyes, he feels everything he has to say come right out.
“I can't stop thinking about you.” He confesses.
You blink, startled by this even though you were expecting it.
“I like you, a-a lot, and I have so much to tell you.”
Clark's eyes flit between yours, desperately searching somewhere for you to feel the same.
He hears your heartbeat skyrocket, he feels your hands shake slightly from the adrenaline. The smell of your perfume thickens the air and he can't get enough. He can almost taste the color of your lips with how close they are.
He gulps, growing jumpy from your silence.
“Say something, please.” He whispers.
Another moment of quiet, not voluntarily. You're just trying to find the right words.
“I... I feel the same.”
That familiar megawatt smile graces his lips and you feel the tables turn, you in his previous postition and he in yours.
“I have for a long time.”
His eyes crease at that and he can't help the laughter bubbling out of him.
You laugh with him, not believing this is happening right now.
“You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.” He tells you, leaning on the table behind him.
“Not longer than me.” You suppose.
His eyebrows quirk up, silently asking you to go first.
So you do. “Since you started bringing me my daily dose of energy.”
He hums.
“Now, you.”
He looks at you with the fondest expression ever, you hold yourself back from kissing him stupid.
“Since my first day.” His voice thick with honey.
Your eyes soften and though he's won, you don't take this as a loss.
“Seriously?”
You don't mean to be so anticlimactic but how else does one react to feelings of romance being reciprocated?
As if Clark Kent couldn't get any more attractive, he takes your hand with the utmost care and rests it right on top of his heart.
“Can you feel that?” He asks while gauging your every little microreaction.
It speeds up gradually as your hand connects with the fabric of his shirt, pure electricity binding you together.
You nod, involuntarily fighting the tears you sense.
“Aw, don't cry.” He cradles your face in his hands and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by his affection for you.
“Come on, let me see you.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch your shy eyes.
When you finally do, he smiles so brightly that you swear it's like looking directly into the sun.
“There she is.”
You chuckle weakly, sniffling once.
He lets go of your face and can't resist the temptation of not touching your arms. He rubs them up and down a couple times, feeling goosebumps arise in their wake.
“Can I have a hug?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes.
He feels his heart stop right there, that look sends him over the edge and you don't even know it.
Clark wordlessly leans down and pulls you in, his strong arms wrap around your waist comfortingly while you reach up on your toes.
You rest your head on his shoulder and feel your hearts beating under each other so passively, a sigh escapes the confines of both your mouths simultaneously.
Something about this feels like déjà vu, like you've been in a similar position.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Remember that conference I was supposed to go to in DC but got cancelled because the jet almost crashed?”
He pulls away with a straight face, hiding the absolute chaos unfurling behind those eyes. “Yeah..? Why?”
You look at the door then back at him. “I haven't told anyone about this but afterwards, Superman came by my place.”
“What? No way!” Clark gasps.
You nod cooly.
“So, what happened? What'd you guys talk about?”
You tell him how he stopped by to return your purse but something has been bugging you since. “I just don't know how he got my address.”
“Oh, that's easy.” He doesn't feel like playing this game anymore, too many sweats. “I know where you live.”
You’re perplexed and then some because what does that mean?
“What are you saying?”
He puts both hands on your shoulders and gives you a riddled look that says, Come on, think about it. You know what I’m saying.
A lightbulb turns on in your head but it can’t be. There’s just no way you’re thinking what he’s thinking.
You’re too flabbergasted to say a word. You just stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you say it out loud.
“You’re… you’re— you,” You chuckle dryly, your head spinning a bit. “You’re Superman?”
He doesn’t give any indication of agreeing with you but his silence does.
Clark’s trying to get a read on you.
You then cover your mouth with both hands, muffling an excited ‘Oh my god!’.
He feels reassured.
“You’re Superman!” You whisper-scream.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” He nods while checking the door to see anyone coming in.
You just stare at him in wonder, taking this all in.
It all makes perfect sense.
Who else would be selfless enough to protect those who can’t protect themselves? To have integrity is the most Clark Kent trait you can think of.
You know Clark has a big heart but this? This is next level.
“Why are you telling me this?”
He looks at you like the answer to that is simple, which to him, is. It’s always going to be simple if it involves you.
“I don’t want to start this on a lie.” He reveals as those damned blue eyes fixate on you.
You can fly right now.
He leans in ever so slowly, tracking any detail on your face that may give away the impression of not wanting him in your space.
When he finds none and is absolutely sure, he puts a hand on your cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?”.
“Yes.” You sound softly and it’s as if a prayer has been answered.
Your eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips for you, you anticipate them to be just as soft and lush as they seem.
He believes he’ll finally be able to understand the languid nature of your mouth and decipher its meaning.
Sparks fly when you make contact, it strengthens the electricity that makes your chemistry.
The kiss is a breath of fresh air, the kind that blows in quietly; peacefully.
He’s sweet, undoubtedly so. His palms hesitantly splay across the curves on your waist. You smile at the soft touch and he does as well.
Your hands are on his chest and you can feel every pulse, flutter, and pang of his heart.
You think it’s poetic; the influence you have on his heart, both figuratively and literally.
He rests his forehead on yours and you look up at him from under your lashes.
He’s about to speak up when he hears something, something you don’t. His ears perk in the direction of the distressed sound and he turns his head apologetically.
“I have to go.” He regretfully informs.
You reach up to kiss his cheek and rid him of guilt. “When you come back, I’ll be right here.”
Clark hugs you once more and asks, “You’re my hero, you know that?”.
You chortle and respond with, “Is that Superman talking or you?”.
“Both.” He pulls back with a kiss on your hairline, winking at you with a cheeky grin.
He runs out the door and leaves you with the ghost of his touch and words that form a sappy smile on your face.
Superman may be the world’s hero, but Clark Kent is yours.
