about me: i’m charlie! i currently love clark kent, laufey, minecraft, abbot elementary, fleshwater, gotham knights, and sonny angels. im a woman in stem, and i’m mostly here to feed my comic book obsession.
hi guys not my normal content at all but the source code for minecraft legacy console edition just got leaked! it’s free (albeit illegal) to download off of github and it is so nostalgic i feel like im nine again so if you care at all i recommend going to @/smartcmd nightly release on github and downloading the emulator bc it is incredibly cool and very fun and free!!
You said you dried hump how did it feel if you don't mind me asking I litteraly feel like a flop bc I declined my crushes kiss because I wasn't comfortable FUCK MY BIG FUCKING LIFEEE
ok so basically he started kissing my neck and girl idk what that did to me but i was gone like so out of it and after like ten minutes of straight grinding pretty much where i didn’t realize what i was doing bc i was like so dazed we literally had to take a break bc i was so worked up. but he’s evil now so dw ur right for turning them down bc all men do is hurt you
jason todd x yapper!reader (i mean really, you never shut the fuck up. he likes it though!)
--
all jason was looking for in a shitty, crime alley slum was a place to live— never in a millionyears did he expect to find you.
you being his neighbor, who never shut the fuck up.
like, not once, not ever. you were allergic to silence, treading around it like it physically hurt you to sit with stillness in the air for more than five seconds.
“hey, jason, right? do you know anything about plants? my mom sent me a ficus, i’m not really sure why, or if it’s actually a ficus or some other plant, but I cannot garden for the life of me. i’m good with animals, but every plant i get seems to die after two weeks, even the unkillable ones. i had a cactus, famously not an easy thing to mess up, but i over-watered it— can you believe that that’s even a thing? i can’t. anyways, it died after three weeks, which was an embarrassing thing to admit to my coworker who bought me the damn thing, y’know? so i’m trying to make it work with my new ficus, which is why i’m really hopeful someone in this building has some advice for me.”
mind you, jason stepped off of the elevator ten minutes ago, and he hasn’t been able to get a word out.
and normally, that would annoy him to no end. if you were anyone else he’d have blown you off and be long gone by now. he isn’t sure why he can’t tear himself away, why he doesn’t seem to mind your endless, ultimately meaningless yapping, or why he wants to hear more of it.
lets face it, he’s an intimidating guy. he knows what he looks like, and he’s pretty intentionally with the vibe he gives off— the sort of loner, don’t mess with me aura he’s curated. most people look at him and look away, but you? you didn’t even hesitate, you just smiled at him and treated him like he was anyone else.
“what book is that?” you ask, looking down at the small plastic bag in his hand from the bookstore he had just come from.
he carefully peels back the plastic giving you a glimpse. “1984.”
you nod, pulling a face— which makes him grin like an idiot, for some reason.
“i didn’t like 1984, no, i hated it. i read it for school in like, my sophomore year of high school and it was awful. maybe i was too young to appreciate it, but like, i mean, i got the messaging, surveillance state whatever, but it was just so boring and so freaking long. i liked animal farm, though, so i don’t hate george orwell, but what i liked about animal farm is that it was concise. 1984 just went on and on and on and isn’t it just all regurgitated stuff from like, russian literature? i mean, no hate if you like it, a lot of people do, i just suffered through it. although maybe i’d like it more now that i’m not fifteen and my perspective has matured a bit. you read a lot, don’t you? i feel like i see you around with books a lot. my mom loved to read, and i loved it when i was a kid but i got so busy and exhausted all the time i just didn’t have it in me to read something that wasn’t for school, and now i’m working and i have even less time so, y’know, it isn’t great to get back into it. plus, i’d hate to start a book and put all of my time into it for it to just be a dud. but it’s really cool that you have a hobby like that, i bet it’s very relaxing. i bake, which is supposed to be therapeutic, but in reality it’s so stressful. i tried to make cinnamon rolls last night for this morning, and my good for nothing glass pan exploded. can you believe that? everywhere. i’m still finding glass shards in my kitchen. speaking of which, do you have a vacuum i could borrow? mine broke last night.”
jason nods, unconsciously following you down the hallway towards your apartment, which happens to be right next to his. “yeah, you can borrow mine.”
you grin, a gesture that makes his heart twist in his chest.
“thank you so much. here, you should come in. my cinnamon rolls may have been a failure, but i made some brownies that will kill you dead they’re so good— so long as you have a respectable tolerance for cocoa powder. and i promise, these ones don’t have any glass in them.”
somehow, jason finds himself sitting in your kitchen, eating a ridiculously good brownie and sipping on a glass of fresh lemonade.
even weirder, he keeps finding himself in the same place, day after day, week after week. the desserts change, but you never do.
“have you seen the construction going on down on 8th street? the whole road is blocked off because like, clayface or someone went crazy, which, like, why live in gotham if you can’t handle the insanity, but my commute to work is an extra half hour now for god knows how long. know i have to get up at like, six in the morning, which means i go to bed before my show is on which is so annoying.“
“my boss, who is just the worst, i mean real awful guy, y’know, he came back from this two month “sabbatical” where he probably did nothing but jerk himself off and abuse local wait staff, but he came back with the worst toupee you’ve ever seen. i mean, who did that install? you can see the glue. and you can’t stare at it for too long or else he’ll start yelling, but like, c’mon, its four shades lighter than the rest of his head!”
“do you think its unethical that im still on my ex’s spotify family plan? he hasn’t booted me yet, y’know, and it isn’t like i need the expense, but my conscience keeps yelling at me about it. maybe i should cancel it. i need to cancel my netflix, i haven’t opened it in months. maybe i should switch to peacock, they have all the sitcoms i like. man, i should rewatch modern family.”
it’s weird. he doesn’t normally like noise. he likes peace, he likes the quiet. he likes to take up as little space as possible when he’s in a room. and you’re… the opposite. you are big and loud and you take up all the extra space he’s left for you.
but he likes that it isn’t empty anymore.
the realization that he’s in love with you hits him like a semi-truck.
he’s in your kitchen, licking the spoon you just covered in chocolate cake batter, baking with him for his birthday, music lightly flowing in the room.
“—oh my gosh and the discount this girl gave me—“ you stop your rant in your tracks, your eyes meeting his, smiling softly at him. “you have some on your nose.” you say, making your way across the too small kitchen before he can even think to wipe it off.
and the you kiss him.
right there, just like that, right on his nose. like that doesn’t stun him, like that isn’t a little crazy, like it’s all normal.
you go back to your station like nothing happened. like you didn’t just totally flip his world upside-down. it’s then that it hits him— he’s spent so many hours here, listening to you talk about nothing, when he could have been doing literally anything else.
and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
because he wants you so bad it hurts. so bad that a simple kiss on the nose sets him on fire. so bad that he’d spend every hour of every day trying to get a word in just so he could spend it with you.
“anyways, she only charged twenty dollars,” you start, as if everything was completely normal, “which, i gave her forty, because they took her two hours and she’s just so talented—“
there’s no way you just snapped back into yapping like you didn’t just turn him tomato red. only you would treat that moment like the most normal thing in the world.
no, that’s not happening.
before either of you can think about it, jason’s crossed the room, planted his hands on your hips, and has finally found a way to shut you up.
you look up at him like you don’t know what to say. neither does he, really, but he leans in close. close enough that you can feel your breath mingling with his, close enough that you don’t think you’d ever want to pull away.
and then he kisses you. it’s soft, gentle, like he’s scared to do it wrong. he’s not a big moves kind of guy, he isn’t practiced in this sort of thing, but god, it feels right.
when he does pull away, an action that feels like agony, all he does is smile. you do the same.
“i, uh… i’m…” you stutter, because for once, you can’t think of anything to say.
his smile becomes a grin, and he slings his arm around you, pulling you closer. “i’ve never heard you this quiet.” he says, planting another kiss against your temple, smiling at the subsequent flush of your cheeks.
you roll your eyes, shooting him a faux glare before going into another long winded rant about whatever the hell just happened, and all the things you want to happen after.
and while he’d never admit it, jason liked the world a lot better when it was filled with your voice.
things with jason are new, fun, romantic. like a dream come true, really. however, there is one thing you haven't quite warned him about. behind the door to your apartment are at least a dozen animals in your care, all of which have a tendency to scare off potential partners.
--
“you should know something about me.” you say, staring down very hard at jason’s shoes. they’re very nice, actually. black leather combat boots, fairly worn but not falling apart. the kind that are expensive, but not in the designer brand, frivolous, gucci coach the devil wears prada sort of way, expensive like the kind of boots that last ten years without a crack in the soles bought from a really respectable brand of cobbler.
you and jay have been on two dates so far, proceeded by eight months of awful flirting and excruciating pining taking place on both ends. he, the regular at your bar, constantly pressing you for information on your more… colorful clientele in a way he thought was subtle. you, a woman scorned by the brood of men produced by gotham, somehow finding yourself falling for a man who checks every box on your list of red flags.
and then, finally, after months and months of “you shouldn’t wear that unless you want guys to bother you,” and “do you visit all your informants this much?”, he asked you out.
well, he rescued you from an ill-fated encounter with a guy you over-served after closing, subsequently revealing his identity as red hood, making out with you, and then asking you out, insisting he did things “the proper way.”
the proper way meaning two incredible dates. like, take every perfect romcom moment and shoot them somewhere out past the moon because they have nothing on jason todd.
the funny thing is, the dates themselves aren’t a spectacle. coffee first, followed by walking around the market, and then dinner at a quaint thai food place with the best fried rice you’ve ever had. both events entirely unremarkable, and yet… you’ve never felt this way before. the conversation is so easy, it’s like talking to an old friend, but one that makes your stomach erupt in butterflies and oftentimes gives you the compulsion to squeeze your thighs together with a simple touch on your back or shoulder, or with the stupid things he says now that he isn’t afraid to flirt with you like a sailor on leave.
and now, following your dinner at the thai restaurant, you’re standing outside your apartment, staring down at his very nice boots, contemplating whether or not to let him in. because you really do want this evening not to end, but you’re afraid that what lies behind that door might freak him out.
not like, make him think you’re completely insane or desperately need to be institutionalized, but he will, at the very least, be concerned.
because, behind that door, he will find a small colony of cats, three hamsters, a rabbit, five kinds of fish, and two very old senior dogs.
your apartment is a zoo. you’re some kind of wannabe doctor doolittle. when he comes in, he’s gonna think you’re some kind of cracked— in the insane asylum sense of the word.
“what’s that?” he asks, his voice agonizingly gentle, but you can tell he’s at least a tad concerned about your mental state.
you take a deep breath, swallowing your pride and bringing yourself to meet his eyes. you suppose that the things you have to say would be better shown than spoken.
“okay, so,” you start, slotting the key into your lock, “before you make any judgements, just let me explain this first.” you say, chewing on your lip.
you open the door, just a crack as to ensure no wild animals in your care try to make an escape. you’re sure the smell hits him, while you have been long since desensitized to it, the crinkles of noses from neighbors past make you aware that it exists, and it is particularly pungent.
you grab jason’s hand, yanking him in before deaf and blind, your aptly named senior dobermans, come and poke their noses through the gap in the door.
an array of woofs and meows greet the two of you, with three of your five cats coming to meet the stranger standing awkwardly in your foyer.
you take a deep breath. “so,” you start, trying to gauge his reaction, but he expression is annoyingly unfazed. “i foster animals. a lot of them— well, not my fish, they’re harder to foster, but the cats and the dogs, they’re mostly senior, except two of the cats, which i found in the alley behind the bar. i have some hamsters too, but i’m doing my best to rehome them before they get eaten.”
he nods, not like what you’re saying is completely normal and everything is 100% okay, but like he isn’t running out the door yet.
you take a deep breath, kneeling down to pet comet, your newest cat, a jet black shadow who is as stupid as he is social.
“so, my apartment always has a minimum of ten animals. and most of them are really old and a couple of them wear diapers but i just really believe that these animals are deserving of end of life care— i mean, they would be getting put down in the pound right now because nobody takes in senior animals and they really need homes and i understand this makes me seem a little crazy—“
he smiles, leaning down to pet comet when he ditches your leg for the new guy’s. “—i like animals.” he says, quietly, looking up at you. “and i don’t think it makes you seem crazy. i’m really… wowed.”
you smile. “wow like, i need to get out of the insane asylum kind of wowed, or..?”
he leans back up sliding his hand against your side, pulling you closer. you hate how tall he is. no matter the position, it’s like he’s always towering over you, especially now, when he’s getting closer and closer and yet still so high above you.
“wow like, i’m amazed this incredible woman let me into her apartment.” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple.
you blush like an idiot, trying your hardest not to make a complete fool of yourself. “aren’t we good at sweet talk?” you ask, placing your hand on his chest, lightly pressing on the firm muscle hidden underneath the fabric so cruelly covering his chest.
he leans down, pressing another kiss by your ear. “you make it easy.” he says, his voice soft and low. “if your biggest flaw is that you take care of animals,” he continues, kissing next to your opposite ear, “then i am one lucky guy.” his breath ghosts over your lips, warm and unbelievably enticing.
you grin, lifting yourself up on your toes to get just a bit closer. “you are a nice, nice man.” you mumble, bridging the gap between the two of you with a kiss so slow and gentle it rivals every rom-com kiss you’ve ever seen, in fact, it blows every single one of them out of the water.
you pull away first, only to come up for air. you’re almost too distracted to hear the kerplunck coming from across the room, followed by an array of angry meows that pull you both away— and just like that, your romantic evening lives on forever in infamy as the night your tabby found her way into your fish tank and massacred two goldfish and a good chunk of jason’s forearm.
Lately the air felt thicker. Filling your lungs, clinging to them with a refusal to leave. You could breathe in, over and over and over. You could gasp, and heave, and choke on it, but you couldn't exhale.
There wasn't time. There wasn't space. It didn't matter.
Holding your breath became a forced skill. It was much easier to fade out with not even so much of a chance at a single breath for life than it was to swim through waters of a storm that you hadn't the resources to face. There was no life raft tossed out to your sea.
None that you had caught, at least.
Clark was right at your side, and the air didn't seem to be constricting his breathing the same. It didn't claw it's way down his throat, scrap along his esophagus, nor set into his lungs like cement. No.
You felt his hot exhales. Saw his chest rise and fall in success of another breath. As his air hit your skin you were served a reminder of what you couldn't have.
How did he do it?
It's the most obvious of answers. He's Clark Kent, that's how. Because, sure, he's The Invincible Superman, but at the very core of who he is, he is Clark Kent. And who were you beneath the shining light of divinity?
This question led you to silence. The kind of silence that a person couldn't ignore or miss was there. The kind that made Clark miss you even when he had you in his arms. But he can take a breath, decide how to pull you from this emptiness of your own suffocation.
You needed him to believe it was okay. To believe that air did in fact whirl from your lungs when your chest rose and fell. To fail to notice it was nothing more than reenacting a motion on a repeated schedule. Because, yes, Clark is breathing. But you couldn't be the one to put something on him that would weigh down his chest.
Agreeing to go to dinner was meant to be convincing, but you were well aware that your act was beginning to crumble. You could only replay this show so many times before Clark had no choice but to pick apart the most trivial scenes, expressions, and dialogues. It seemed he was learning to sail the storm that you feared.
And, of course, he's so perfect at it. At swimming his own waters, just to reach the shore of the next person that needed help. He had himself so well balanced that he could do it all. That's how it felt, even when you had pulled him from the depths of his own sorrows before.
Here he was, walking home with you and allowing the silence. Giving you time, probably mentally perfecting the soft words that will likely come out as smooth as honey dripping from a spoon. It just looks like he can do it all.
Admitting that about yourself wasn't the struggle, it was very evident that you couldn't do it all. The issue was that you couldn't do more. Clark could do so much— saving a bus load of children, going to the Planet for work, making sure to call home like a good son does, taking you out to dinner like an amazingly sweet boyfriend.
And here you are, ready to cave from balancing work and home. Sinking deeper in the depths of your sea, watching through a wave-blurred haze as lightning cracks above water. Letting the storm roll until… him.
"In your head?" Clark's voice was quiet, a soft start to the conversation that he knew could be heavy.
Your chest rises again, lungs still caught with last year's inhale. "Busy week."
Busy month. Or was it several months now? Time was undecided when below surface.
Clark saw the tightness in your chest, the hesitance to even look in his eyes. You could only bring yourself to look in attempt of selling a point of wellness. It was a mistake to look at him.
He could read your eyes perfectly within seconds. It would've been a mistake not to look too, seeing as he could read your avoidance just as well. You figured this was the price of being known now. There was no hiding away, because, unlike all others, Clark would never be the one to leave you gasping in salty water.
His life raft was extended, all you had to do was take hold.
"Let's talk about it." He nudges your shoulder. An attempt at keeping things light, inviting.
Your chest falls without meaning. "I just wanna move on from it, I think." He'd accept that. "I really appreciate you taking me for dinner. It was really sweet of you to plan it for us."
Thank you for seeing me drowning and throwing me a raft. Even if I can't get a grip on it.
"'Course," Clark has that small smile. One that reassures you he read all the words in between.
It was the obvious thing in his mind. You were stressed, he wanted to treat you. Work has been a part of the issue, and his immediate thought was to get you physically away from it. That reminded him of that restaurant you mentioned months ago, so he made a quick call and scheduled a time.
His second thought was to get you mentally pulled from work. He directed the conversation towards compliments on your signature looks, observations of the beauty of the restaurant, sampling each other's food and comparing notes. It was hard to stay stuck in your mind when Clark smiled so widely when you saw a butterfly on the walk there, or when his eyes were sparkling in awe at the soft lighting in the restaurant, or whatever small thing he found to fawn over at any given moment.
He's beyond any realm you're capable of reaching. And he chooses you like it is the most obvious choice. That felt so unfamiliar to you. To him, though… who else would he choose?
There was no chance you could ever repay him the same way. Because Clark saw it all. He so effortlessly reads between every line, and goes about living practically three full lives without a second thought about it. Your issues seemed so small in comparison to the life Clark lives.
Only one of you was weighing that scale. He's too good for that.
The remainder of the walk was silent, much to your relief. The door quickly clicked shut and your routine came to motion. Peeling your coat off part way, Clark's fingers brushing yours as he took it fully off and hung it for you. Always taking care of you and needing no reason. Just because.
"Thank you," you always whispered. Clark wondered when you'd catch on that no thanks was ever going to be necessary.
"You're welcome," he always returned. He'd be patient with you.
The choking feeling was back, words desperately wanting to escape but your heart refusing to let them go. You couldn't even think of what could be said, or maybe what wouldn't be said. It scared you.
Water. You needed a drink. The kitchen seems impossibly far. Or, no? You already had a glass in your hand, head tilted back and water rolling past your lips with a gulp. You don't even remember walking past the entryway.
The water was cooling. This typically is what would wash these thoughts away before their tendrils could latch on too tightly. It swirled, mixing with that oceanic mess you've been washed around in the last several weeks. You kept an eye on that raft Clark had thrown.
Accept his help.
"Thank you for dinner." You hadn't said that explicitly before. He knew, and you know that, but you had to say it. He cleared his schedule, set Superman aside, just because he saw your struggle.
He was behind you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Thank you for going with me."
What?
But he moved on, trailing kisses down your neck. Because, again, this is second nature to him. Kindness, doting, a gentle force.
The water was sloshing in you, a wave forming in your stomach. But you went along, tilting your neck and closing your eyes because it feels nice. Because he makes you feel like you do deserve this regardless of how convincing your poisoned brain can be.
"I would've been crazy to not." You half joke.
That light air was trying to find its' way back to the conversation. Maybe you just had to be more receptive to it.
Clark chuckles, vibrations tingling the crook of your neck as his lips pressed another kiss. "Then I'm just double lucky. Lucky you're not crazy, and lucky you were at my side tonight."
It makes you sick. Or sicker? Not that that was really possible anymore. Yet… it made you smile, too.
Your hand found the back of his neck, following his dipping motions while he lead his lips back to yours. Each kiss against your neck reminds your sickness to settle down. He's going nowhere. He thinks you deserve each and every kiss, otherwise he wouldn't give so many.
If he didn't intend on staying, his hands wouldn't so softly trace their way down your body, making you shiver such a gentle touch. They find their place right below your butt, lifting you up to sit on the counter and be more at level with him. If he was going to go, this wouldn't be so easy.
It had to settle it all. If you weren't good, Clark wouldn't be so tender. He wouldn't have memorized that chill that was always sent up your spine when his fingers did their best to crawl beneath the waist of your pants.
"What's wrong?" His breath rolled hot against you, and you saw a concern in his eyes that you didn't expect. His fingers left their task, reaching up and brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I lost you, what happened?"
Lost you.
It's now that you feel the cooling of your cheek, when his fingers swipe off and you feel a smudged tear drying in wake. God, it's not the night you wanted to have.
"I really needed tonight." Your voice was much quieter than expected. Your eyes shot down, feeling your lip quiver and wishing you could do absolutely anything to hide. "You saw that, but also did something about it. And I know I've been off all week…"
He continues his perfection. Eyes locked on you, hands giving you the space your glance away silently asked for. But he was still there, holding your waist and standing between your legs.
"Or probably longer," a bitter laugh, and quick swipe of falling tears. "But you've put up with work, saving the world, taking care of your Ma and Pa, and taking care of me on top of it all. I can't stop wondering how it's possible."
Clark could pretend to be lost in understanding, but it's not the first time he's been here. He is Mr. Perfection, after all. Even if he is the only one that knows it isn't true.
He knows you don't need to hear him go on and on about how he hasn't got it all figured out. He knows you know that he isn't Mr. Perfection. He's Clark.
"I'll always take care of you." He settles on these words, gently cupping your cheek again.
You smile solemnly. "I believe that, too."
Because you deserve it. You could always find him between the lines.
"So the tears?" His thumb massages your cheek gently.
"I figured out how you do it." Why hide? Take the raft. "It's possible because of how deeply you care."
He smiles at the idea, dimple popping. "How'd you mean?"
"You have so much hope, and love, and good." Your hand is on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "And I just feel so incredibly lucky that I get to receive even a fraction of that."
Your eyes betrayed the honesty of your confession, tears still threatening to spill. But they stayed right there. It didn't have to be a betrayal. Maybe just a representation of your own love that you didn't quite know what to do with?
"You've been a beacon for millions of people, but I don't think I have shown enough appreciation to you for being with me through it all." Because it's not just about how he can do it all. "So thank you, again. For being my personal beacon too, and taking the time to find me in my own problems."
You playfully tug the collar of his shirt, sniffling and letting the final tear fall and clear your vision. You'd never be ready to look at him again, so you did it anyway. He's, as always, a vision.
His curly hair sat askew, falling over his forehead and reminding you to find the light in the day you spent together. His cheeks are tinted red like they always are when someone gives him a compliment. His glasses had slowly begun to slip down the bridge of his nose. And his eyes? Oh, damn. He's too perfect.
His smile never faded. "I love you."
His hands both come out to hold your face, lips finding yours again with a complete lack of reserve at this point. One kiss, two, three… six? Ten? The score didn't matter anymore.
He hums against your lips. "I love you, and I'm always going to find you." Another kiss. "Cute you thought you could escape that, though."
You laugh quietly, eyes opening again. "Escape it?"
He's looking at you through his lashes, lips curled into a grin that pairs with his joke. "Yeah. I'm a particularly good finder, and I do have a pretty large beacon, after all. No escaping that."
Your eyebrows raise, and lips mirror his grin. "I never said that."
"You said it reached millions, that sounds pretty large to me." He rebuttals, hands trailing beneath your thighs again.
"I never said that!" You laugh, arms looping around his neck.
"You absolutely did." A kiss to your cheek, to your jaw, to your neck. Suddenly your in the air again as he carries you off, legs wrapped around his torso.
"I said you have been a beacon for millions." Your fingertips scratch the back of his neck, encouraging him on.
"Well, maybe I just wanted to hear it a certain way. Point got across still." His teeth graze your neck before landing another kiss.
Laughter rings out again as Clark hoists you unexpectedly, holding you up with one arm around your back. His hand swipes around to find the bedroom doorknob without having to stop kissing away at your neck. The kisses are falling a bit more haphazardly.
"And, I mean, c'mon." It's like that smirk of his is stapled in place suddenly. He looks at you through lidded eyes, pulling from your neck just long enough to gesture his head down. "You can't exactly deny—
"Stop talking." Your fingers grasp hold of his hair, chest rising and cold air swirling around your lungs.
Apparently you needed him in more ways that you'd realized as of late.
i feel like 20% of fics i see now are either very obviously chatgpt or the writer spent a lot of time talking to ai chatbots and it’s influenced their writing to the point where it’s identifiable and it’s actually getting to me bro. stop putting slop on my timeline i want real shitty fanfiction written by humans that aren’t actively destroying the planet thx bye.
you’re a water fairy, living alone at the edge of your existence. you never could have imagined that your closest friend would be a human man, one who told you stories about everything you hadn’t seen. and maybe you do fall for him, but a human and a fairy? it could never be.
———
your life was quaint. quietly, you survived on the outskirts of the hollow, so forgotten by your people that every month you went into market to pick up a ration of food and pixie dust, less and less friends seemed to remember who you were.
perhaps, many moons ago, when you drew the short straw and your fate had been sealed in a twelve season sentence to tend to the lakes that circle your pixie hollow, you had despised the idea, disgusted by your fate. isolation from other fairies in the name of pointless duties that meant being two days time from town? despicable. however, when you realized you were a part of something few fairies had ever been privy to in your service, when you understood that the peace that came with living so far from the other creatures who had once been reluctant as family, you came to love your little existence, and the corner of the world you had begun to call home.
still, sometimes you got lonely. when your wings fluttered out of control after a gust of wind and you had no one to laugh with, or when you saw an animal do something exceptional and you had no one to celebrate with, you missed home.
nothing ever really changes out here, except the water. you kept your streams fast and strong, letting the lake that circled the land of the fairies continue to protect your home. and while the work was always similar, every day presented a new challenge— from trying to convince a group of beavers to reposition their dam, to teaching terrified tadpoles to brave the waves —your life was small and quaint, yes, but never boring. just lonely.
that was, until you saw him.
a creature you had never seen before. he was like a wingless fairy, but huge— much smaller than a giant, but large nonetheless, his stature more resembled a hearty oak tree than anything else. and he was not a human child, like the ones who gave fairies life with their laughter, for he had nothing that resembled youth in his features. his jaw was strong, his limbs were thick, and his voice, while gentle, was deep and gravelly, like the bellows of a beast.
he came to the lake while you were setting early morning dew drops onto the leaves of a small flower bush by the edge of the water, his footsteps so loud they threatened to shake the earth. his clothes were nothing like yours, they were made of something like cotton, and his shoes were covered in a thick material that resembled some sort of animal hide.
you quickly hide behind the leaf you had been tending to, terrified of the beast as he sat by the brook, praying he would pass and never return.
you hear his hands splash in the water, tainting the lake you had so carefully cleaned just hours ago. the thought of the work you must do to undo his disgression now infuriates you to no end. whatever this beast may be, he’s an awfully rude one.
beside you, a squirrel, one you know quite well, chitters and darts past your position towards the creature, much to your horror. would he eat her? attack her? steal her away to his den, where you would never see her again? you haven’t a clue what to do, frozen in place in hiding trying to come up with some plan to save your foolish friend.
“are you hungry?”
his voice is loud, disturbing the silence of the nature around you, but gentle in a way you could not have expected. carefully, you peer out from behind your shelter, seeing the creature reach into a large satchel, holding out a handful of nuts for your friend.
with wide eyes, you realized, perhaps he is not some awful beast. he patiently feeds lilly, letting her inspect the food before taking it, and scratches a line down her fur in a way she seems to enjoy.
beyond that, not many creatures speak fairy. a few well educated owls do, and it comes easily to ladybugs, but most animals have their own language. you yourself only know frog, fish, and beaver— and your squirrel is abysmal.
but this thing speaks fairy, which intrigues you more than it should. he does resemble a male fairy, with his jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, but he lacks the proper size and anatomy for you to consider that possibility. when lilly scurries off, he reaches into his satchel yet again, retrieving something that resembles a cup, screwing off it’s lid.
he dips the cup into your water, stealing it! you can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips, not when he so blatantly thieves from you!
unfortunately, he hears your scoff, no matter how quiet you thought you were being. he perks up, his eyes snapping to you just before you can return to your hiding place behind the leaf.
you shut your eyes tight, praying he hadn’t seen you, praying for him to think you a trick of the light and move on— but you aren’t that lucky.
“hello?” he calls out, his voice as gentle as the wind.
you stay hidden.
“i-i mean you no harm. truly, i am just a man, a humble adventurer. i hate to think that i’ve frightened you.”
slowly, carefully, you peer out again, his eyes, blue as the very water you care for, meeting yours. he smiles, an offer of peace, a silent plea for your trust.
“my name is dick,” he says, “what’s yours?”
you exit the shadow of your shelter, looking at him curiously. your name slips from your lips before you can stop it, much to his pleasure.
“what kind of creature are you?” you ask, somehow bolder, even though with one swat this thing could destroy you. you fly closer, letting pixie dust fall from your wings.
he laughs, a sound that vibrates from his throat and threatens to push you back with its force, no matter how soft it sounds.
“i believe i am a man. and, i assume that you are a fairy?” he asks, his eyes following you as you flitter about.
you nod. “yes, yes i am. and you have stolen water from the river i protect.”
surprised, almost, he brings his hand to his chest, leaning back. “why, i apologize.” he says, pausing. “i am terribly thirsty, i beg of you to let me keep this water to drink. there isn’t another riverbank for another thousand paces.”
you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, taking a moment to think about it. perhaps, if he drinks, he will leave, and never return. if he were to find pixie hollow, well, you can only imagine the calamity.
you decide to grant his request, with a careful stipulation. “fine, you may drink that, so long as you promise to never cross this river.”
he nods. “i swear it, you have my word.”
you huff, flying around him, observing his features.
“i’ve never seen a fairy before.” he says, tilting his head curiously.
“i have never seen a man before, either. and i’m afraid i’m the only fairy you’ll find out here, explorer. you should turn around and never return, this land is barren for miles behind me.”
maybe it is a lie, but you can’t risk this dick finding your people. he could steal your pixie dust, or destroy the hollow— you have no reason to trust someone as careless as to taint your water.
he nods, taking your word as fact.
“and why are you out here, all alone?”
you frown, lowering yourself onto a berry branch. “i’m hardly alone. i have the fish and the frogs and the many mammals of the land. just because there are seldom any fairies does not mean i am lonely here.”
he laughs again, but this time you don’t much mind the sound. “apologies. all i had meant was, well, in all of my readings about fairies, they say that you tend to stick together.”
you shrug. “perhaps your books are wrong, then.”
“perhaps they are.”
“and are you alone, explorer?” you ask, flapping your wings.
he nods. “yes, yes i am. i’m not sure if you are familiar with the kingdom of gotham, but it is awfully dreadful. i am in search of a life beyond it.”
you lean forward, curious to a fault. “what have you encountered in your travels?”
he leans back, setting his weight against the grass. “oh, what haven’t i seen? giants, sirens, witches, spells and curses and the sort.”
you furrow your eyebrows, standing on your branch. “witches— as in magic?” you ask, confused.
he nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“but… magic is dead. it hasn’t existed for a thousand seasons.” you question, crossing your arms. “i didn’t take you to be a liar, dick.”
he laughs, taking a sip of your water. “magic is incapable of dying, it’s something of a plague. i just spent the better part of a month escaping an awful witch with a pension for mischief who had her sights set on me as a target. i suppose the animals have misinformed you.”
you tilt your head, leaning forward. every book in the pixie hollow library had no mention of magic and spells, and most fairies denied it ever existed; and those who didn’t insisted it dead. but this explorer had no reason to lie to you, and your people hadn’t left the limits of the land in centuries. it is possible for them to be wrong.
“could you tell me more?”
from then on, you and the explorer became something of friends. he stayed with you for three moons, telling you many stories from his travels, helping you with your duties with large, clumsy hands. on that third day of your first encounter, when he left, he swore he would find his way back to you.
and he did. and every time he left, he always came back to you with new stories of grandeur. without him, you would never have known there was much of a world beyond the land of the fairies. through his storytelling, you got to traverse it with him. never was he anything but kind, generous, and gentle to you and the many creatures around you, and maybe, overtime, you grew to love him.
not that you would ever say it aloud. a fairy and a man? it’s perverse. you aren’t much bigger than his finger. but with him as your company, you’ve long since stopped longing for your life back in pixie hollow.
it wasn’t until one evening, four seasons since you had met dick, when you were rearranging the rocks on the riverbank, that you ever thought you could be anything more than unlikely friends.
you had been playing with the flow of the water, trying to perfect how the moonlight reflects off of the river when it calms, when he stalked out of the forest, wearing a grimace and a limp.
“dick?” you exclaimed, flying up to him. you don’t miss the blood blooming from his side through his shirt. “what’s happened to you?”
he smiles, setting down his lantern onto the grass by the riverbank, sitting down with a wince.
“nothing you need to worry about, just a consequence of my constant risk-taking.” he says, shedding the bloodstained cloth and revealing a large gash imbedded in his skin.
you huff, inspecting the wound. “by gaia, i…” your voice trails off as you observe what happened. it looks like the mark of a wolf, one you’ve seen etched into trees whenever you’re brave enough to enter the woods beyond the hollow. “you’re so stupid! how could you let yourself get so injured, my— come to the water, i’m cleaning that wound.”
he laughs, strained by genuine, scooting closer to the water. “it almost sounds like you care for me, love.”
you don’t bother to respond to that comment, tearing off a piece of his shirt, dipping it into your water. carefully, you touch the fabric to his wound, eliciting a strained groan from your explorer.
how could he be so terribly idiotic as to nearly get himself killed? you swear steam is pouring out your ears with some sort of all consuming anger.
as if he could read your mind, he speaks to calm you down, his voice as gentle as if he didn’t have an awful gash in his side. “hey, i’m perfectly okay. i’d beg you not to worry about me, but i doubt it would make a difference.”
you roll your eyes. “you’re right. it wouldn’t.”
he smiles at you, softly, watching the intensity in your eyes as you focus on cleaning his wound.
“would you like me to tell you what happened?” he asks, his hair falling in front of his eyes.
you don’t pause, you don’t say anything, you just keep cleaning, shoving down your anger and your worry. so, he speaks.
“i befriended a man a few leagues east of here, who had been afflicted with an awful curse by a witch he had wronged on a journey much like mine. every full moon he was doomed to turn into a bloodthirsty wolf, one who had killed many he had loved.”
you didn’t respond, but the tension in your shoulders had softened, slightly, so he continued.
“when he was at the bottom of a bottle, he confessed to me that the only way to break a curse like his was for him to wear an enchanted silver amulet that was hoarded by the very witch that had cursed him so many moons ago. the necklace, made of silver found from moonrock, would keep the beast inside him dormant.”
you hummed, going to dip the cloth back in the water, watching red taint your waters.
“i offered to retrieve it for him, and when he said he had nothing he could offer back, for being a wolf is a lonely business, i insisted that the adventure was all i needed. so, i set off, and i found the lair of the sorceress, who admired my bravery. she said she would give me the amulet if i did something for her. apparently, for all her strengths, she was not much of a hunter, and a squirrel had been eating all of the beans in her garden.”
you kept dabbing at the wound, his words almost like music, dulling your anger in a way only he could.
“so, i found that critter that had disturbed her, and i used the squirrel-speak you had taught me, and while my pronunciation was… well, quite awful, i explained to him that this witch grew the beans for herself, and she could not afford to feed the both of them. with a bit of bickering, the lad agreed to leave the lady alone, and the witch gave me the amulet. however, when i had reached his village, it was sunset on an evening with a full moon. the man had been so drunk and excited waiting for me, he didn’t realize that he had stayed in the village for his transformation.”
you washed the cloth once again, your wings fluttering as you glided through the air.
“if i had gotten there just a moment earlier, i could have stopped the transformation, but i had been distracted on my travels. i had gotten there to witness him turn into that beast, quite an impressive feat of magic, i must say, and i found myself face to face with death, yet again. i figured, if i could get the amulet around his neck, i could reverse the curse right there, and save the villagers from any needless bloodshed.”
you sigh. “i think i know where this is headed.”
he smiles, softly, before continuing. “i approached the beast carefully, holding up the amulet, hoping maybe it would calm just enough for me to be able to slide it over it’s snout. of course, when i pounced, so did he, and i ended up on the ground, with a large gash in my slide. it had me pinned, staring down at me like i was his next meal. in that moment, i was sure i was about to die, but while it growled at me, i grabbed the amulet and slid it over its snout. and just like that, it was a man on top of me, not a beast. and he was so grateful, he gave me the only thing of value he owned.”
“what was that?” you ask, your eyes meeting his.
“a map, and a legend. there’s tell of an enchanted flower, one created when a sundrop and a moondrop fell into the earth and grew underneath a shaft of starlight. it’s said that if found, this flower has the power to grant it’s holder one wish, so long as their intentions are true of heart.”
you raise an eyebrow. “i assume you plan to search for this fairytale?” you ask.
he grins. “yes, yes i do. but i had to…” he starts, pausing, looking down at his side.
the gash is gone, not even a scar, just a golden drop of water where you had laid your hands. he looks back up at you, like you’re made of starshine.
“you healed me.”
you pause, flitting back, your eyes meeting his. you hope the moonlight doesn’t reveal the flush of your cheeks. “i… i didn’t know i could do that.”
he sighs, a grin spreading on his face. “you never cease to amaze me, you know?”
“ditto.” you say, landing on his hand.
he smiles down at you, taking a breath. “you know… before i met you, i travelled aimlessly, looking for something to… to feel like home. it wasn’t until i met you that i had something… someone to come home to. and i think about you every spare moment i have when i’m out adventuring. every time i come back… i find it harder to leave.”
you blink up at him, trying your hardest to believe what you’re hearing. “dick…”
he shrugs, leaning back against the grass. “well, i’m exhausted.” he says, closing his eyes. “see you tomorrow?”
you settle on his chest, but sleep doesn’t find you that night, not when your heart is beating a thousand miles a second.
dick left in search the flower, and you didn’t see him for the fall, the winter, and half the spring. by far it was the longest time since you had met that you had been apart.
things were lonely. you prepped the river for the seasons change, you taught generations of fish and tadpoles how to swim, and every night you came back to that same riverbank that you had healed dick on.
it was odd. before you met him, your exile had never felt like such a burden. you didn’t miss your home, or your friends, or anything about the hollow the way you missed him. everything you did was done distracted, every thought you had focused on love.
on particularly difficult nights, you wondered if he would ever come home. if in pursuit of his wish, he was hurt, or captured, or dead— or even worse, what if he got his wish, and he just… didn’t want to come back to you.
but then, when you were putting the morning dew on the leaves of the riverbank, just like the day that you had met dick, you heard his footsteps shaking the ground beneath you.
his hair was longer, his stubble grown out, and you could smell him before you could see him— but he was there. real and breathing, and he came back to you.
“dick, you— you’re back!” you exclaimed, fluttering around him. he grinned, his eyes following you wherever you went.
“did you miss me?” he asks, extending his arm for you to land on. you roll your eyes, but nod.
“it’s been… gaia, it’s been ages.” you say breathing in his, albeit smelly, scent as your feet touch down on his wrist.
he nods, sitting down on the grass, his free hand reaching into his satchel. “it has, but… i’m back. i told you, i’d always come back to you.”
you smile, your cheeks blushing an incriminating shade of pink. you flutter down to his knee, watching as he pulls a beautiful, glowing lily, white as starlight, from his bag.
“is that..?” you ask, tilting your head. he nods, holding it to you. it smells like heaven.
“it took… a lot, but i found it.” he says, taking a deep breath.
you nod, enchanted by it. “and you brought it… here? what’s your wish?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows together.
he smiles down at you setting it aside.
“that’s just it… i was thinking, on my journey, about all the things i could do with this wish. immortality, magic, riches— the possibilities are endless. but, with all that time to think, i realized… none of that would matter to me if i couldn’t enjoy it with someone i loved. someone who made me feel like i had a home, who cared for me, and called me stupid when i acted like it, who was smart and beautiful and… amazing in every conceivable way. someone like… the fairy i fell for the moment i saw her.”
your eyes widen, and your wings flutter faster than you knew they could, golden flecks of pixie dust shining as they fall. you couldn’t possibly be hearing this… it isn’t possible that dick, a man, could love you… too?
“i want you to take the flower, and wish to be human. that way, we can be together.” he says, offering it to you. “because i love you, and i know anywhere will feel like home as long as i’m with you. we can see the world together, you can see magic and adventure and everything i’ve told you about.”
you could soar— because dick, your dick, loved you, wanted you, went on a quest of quests to be with you. all these seasons, it hadn’t been in your head. he was yours, bound to you by something more powerful than fate.
your ears tune into the stream behind you, the culmination of your labor, the symbol of your duty. something you know, even if you want to, you cannot leave behind.
your elation flickers, as you stare into the eyes of the magic lily. you take a step back, turning away. being a fairy is who you are, it’s essential to your being. if you were human, you couldn’t fly, you couldn’t tend to nature and help the seasons change, you wouldn’t be you, and surely you would go mad.
you look down, your head falling. you love dick, with your whole heart… but you can’t make the wish to be with him.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, his happiness shifting to concern. you frown, he went through all of this for you, and now you would have to reject him.
you sigh. “dick… i love you. but… i can’t wish to be human. i can’t abandon my responsibilities, or give up my wings… i just can’t. i am… so, so sorry.” you say, flying down to the grass below him.
you don’t look back up at him, you don’t think you could bare to see the disappointment on his face, it might just kill you. you sit down on the grass, overlooking the water as it flows.
“that’s fine, i understand.” he says, picking up the flower. “so—“ he starts, taking a deep breath. “i wish to be a fairy.”
“what?!”
you whip your head back up at him, your eyes wide with confusion. the light from the flower begins to grow, shining brighter and brighter with a soft hum, greater than anything you’ve ever seen.
you watch in awe as the light surrounds your explorer, lifting him, shifting him, shrinking him, changing him. it only takes moments for the light to subside, and when the magic clears and the dust settles, dick stands before you.
a fairy.
your mouth falls agape. his human clothes have been replaced by a blue floral silk, his wings shining with a fresh gleam. for once, you can look at him without seeing every pore on his face, every strand of stubble. he’s… here, with you, dwarfed by a blade of grass.
“are you— what have you done?!” you yell, flying over to him. “you can’t undo this, you can’t— you can’t adventure anymore, you can’t go and fight monsters and see new places you, you idiot! what did you do?”
he smiles, taking your hands in his, pulling you closer, his lips only a breath away.
“i don’t need to go anywhere else. i’ve seen more than most men will find in ten lifetimes, and i realized… you’re what i’ve been looking for, all these years of wandering aimlessly across all the lands, it’s home. and you’re my home. being with you? forever? that is all i need.”
your eyes widen, your thoughts can’t seem to catch up with your body— all you know is that this feels like a dream, like a fantasy. it is one.
“i love you.” you say, quietly, and he grins, leaning in.
the kiss is perfect— more than you could have ever expected, slow and soft and passionate— like a dream come true.
“i love you too.” he whispers against your lips, capturing some of the head spreading throughout your body. you smile into him, wrapping your arms around his in a suffocating hug.
and just like that, your quaint life in your own corner of exile, it doesn’t feel lonely, it doesn’t feel overwhelming.
regency au - today is the long-awaited day of your arranged marriage to the mysterious prince jason todd-wayne, second son of gotham, an event you've been dreaded since you discovered your fate. but maybe, just maybe, it won't be so bad.
--
today was, officially, the worst day of your life.
far worse than the entire month you fell ill, or the day your favorite horse broke it’s leg— even worse than that day all of those years ago, when your betrothal to prince jason todd-wayne of gotham was announced.
now, as you are officially of marrying age, you are being shipped off to gotham for a wedding to a man you’ve only heard of in whispers, one that you have no desire to join in matrimony.
you’ve accepted it, for it is your duty, no matter how much you despise the idea. complaining wouldn’t change that, nor would throwing a fit or attempting to escape your fate. “marriage,” as your mother had said, “is not something to fear. while the men must fight in our armies, our service comes in being wed. all that is expected of us is to sacrifice our love for the good of our people.”
still, your older sister got to marry a benevolent king from the central kingdom, and the youngest in your family was betrothed to one of the most respected warriors of the coast, while you were doomed to the unpleasantness of gotham, to wed a second in line prince with a reputation of anger.
everyone whispered about you. they could not believe your parents would send you to such a wretched place, to a wed a man shrouded in a reputation of darkness. they called your fate cruel and they stared at you with pity while telling you that everything was going to be fine. that was the worst day of your life, until today.
perhaps you were foolish, believing you could have a chance at romance, at true love. you suppose it’s only the sort of thing written about in stories, something you will have to suffer without in exchange for your nobility. for every moment until today you had hoped that some eager knight or wayward pauper might whisk you away into the night, far from your duties and your sorrows, and you might get to experience something other than what is expected of you.
now, as your carriage passes through the castle gates, that hope has withered in your chest. doom, impending and harrowing, is all that is left.
“your highness?”
you blink out of your thoughts, glancing up to a knight in a uniform you don’t recognize, one of gotham’s soldiers, no doubt. he extends his hand to you, guiding you out of the carriage before returning to formation.
you gather yourself, fixing your posture, maintaining your elegance, smiling at your handmaid as she scurries out of your vehicle to collect your things.
the knight bows to you, his features obscured by his helmet, but you can tell he is far different from the soldiers of your realm. there is no joy, or pride, or anything resembling emotion in the way he carries himself, he moves like a fine-tuned machine, cold and lifeless. “we are honored to have you here. if you would follow me to your bridal chambers, others are awaiting your arrival.”
the next hour is a blur. you try to acquaint yourself with the castle, you get primped and preened and stuffed into a beautiful, ethereal wedding dress while dozens of servants, knights, and ladies in waiting attend to your every whim.
none of that truly matters, though, all of it sits in the background of the colossal freak-out you’re having, staring out the window of your suite.
it all becomes too much, the makeup and the perfume and the endless amounts of information being drilled into your ear. the boning of your corset threatens to stab you, the gown does its best to suffocate you, and everyone seems impersonal, too afraid to connect. you feel more and more overwhelmed with nausea with every passing moment.
“are you alright, your highness?”
the voice belongs to your handmaid, the only piece of home you were allowed to bring with you. the only person of dozens here who have paid any mind to your awfully nervous demeanor.
“would you like a minute to yourself, dear?” she asks, her voice gentle and quiet. she knows how to read your mind, something if which you are extremely grateful for.
it takes everything you have to nod, and within seconds, the room is empty. it’s just you, wearing this ridiculous dress, ready for this ridiculous ceremony, where you must sign away the rest of your ridiculous life to a ridiculous prince of whom you’ve never met.
you stand, approaching the window— and you aren’t sure why you’ve decided to force the doors open, or to climb over the first story balcony handrails, or sneak past the myriad of windows— but you did. and now, somehow, you find yourself in the center of the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. bushes of white roses surround you, and beyond them, lillies, orchids— dozens of flowers, most of which you don’t even recognize, all covered from the elements by a glass ceiling held up by gorgeous white pillars.
you sit down on a white stone bench, your fists balled together as you try not to weep. and you aren’t sure how long you’ve been there, or what panic you’ve caused, all you know is that you’re scared, and you wish more than anything that you could be home.
you didn’t even register the tears rolling down your cheeks until a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
“excuse me, miss, are you alright?”
you stiffen, looking up to see a man standing in front of you, one you don’t recognize.
he’s tall, unfathomably so. and incredibly large, his stature is something you’ve never seen before. he’s wearing armor, different from the knights you’ve seen around the palace, but no helmet to obscure his features.
his eyes are what capture you, blue with electric flecks of green that come and go the more you stare. and his hair, short and dark with an unnatural streak of white at the front of his head. what in intrigues you the most is a large scar on his face, trailing from the side of his eye down his cheek.
you nod, fixing your posture, looking back down towards your dress.
“yes… yes, i apologize.” you say, quietly, trying not to let your voice break in front of this man.
he offers you a handkerchief, of which you accept without hesitation. “there isn’t any need to apologize, my lady.”
you nod, wiping your tears, looking back up to the man.
“you are very kind, sir.” you say, kneading the fabric of the handkerchief between your two hands.
he smiles and shakes his head, an expression so gentle you don’t know what to do with yourself. “any gentleman would do the same. may i ask what troubles you, miss?”
you take a deep, shaky breath, blinking back more tears as they threaten to spill, hesitating with every word.
“i am… afraid. and i suppose i lack composure when i am afraid, hence this moment we seem to be sharing.”
the knight smiles again, softer this time, kneeling in front of you. “and why are you afraid?”
you look away, as if staring into his eyes equates to staring into the sun. “i… i am to be married today. i am far from my home, likely to never return, and this dress was created by some sadistic craftsman who despises women, and i know nothing of the man i am about to call my husband.”
the man stays silent, so you continue, letting the tears fall as they come.
“all i have heard about my betrothed are whispers, awful things. some say he’s beastly, or afflicted with a terrible rage. i’m unsure of who came up with this horrible tradition that a bride and groom cannot know each other before the day of their wedding, but i despise not being able to know who i am to spend the rest of my life with.” you sigh, wiping your tears again. “what if he is vicious to me, what if he does me harm? why will no one speak of him to me, unless he is some terrible, vile man who does not intend to treat me with kindness nor grace. that is why i am afraid, because i do not know a thing about who i am to wed.”
your eyes look back up at the knight, who is staring at you solemnly.
he takes a deep breath, staring at you with real, genuine sorrow, an emotion you find shocking in a kingdom where empathy seems rarer than gold.
“i apologize, from the bottom of my very heart, for the undue stress you are experiencing about your marriage. i fear it is one of many blunders committed by my kingdom.” he says, bowing.
he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak.
“may i hopefully ease your fears in letting you know that i am not beastly, or afflicted with rage, i am not vicious and i certainly could not dream of doing you any harm, and that i intend to treat you with the upmost kindness and grace i am able to share.”
your blood runs cold.
this wasn’t a knight in front of you.
it’s your fiancé.
“beyond that, i must confess, i was, too, terrified of this wedding. however, now that you are in front of me, possessing beauty that rivals the angels and the goddesses that rule over us, along with a gentleness i find incredibly endearing, i cannot find a reason to fear this matrimony. i…” he pauses, his gaze focusing in on yours. “i wish to serve you in anything you may ever need, and i pray for a god who is benevolent enough to allow me to bring you endless happiness, comfort, and safety in our years together.”
you gulp, ignoring the warmth flushing your cheeks. “i-i apologize, prince jason, i—“
“just jason.” he says gently.
“jason,” you agree, overwhelmed with panic. “i had… i had no idea that you were, well, my betrothed, had i known i would not have lost my composure so freely, nor should i have-- i beg for your understanding.”
he shakes his head, wiping away your tears with a gloved finger.
“there is nothing to apologize for. it is my kingdom that owes you a debt, for not handling this engagement with as much care as we should have.” he says, his voice now dropping an octave. “look, i… i am afraid as well. most couples in our situation aim for fondness, or at the very least tolerance. but now that i see you, now that i have met you, i can only imagine loving you.”
you smile with a real, genuine feeling that swells in your chest. “you know, jason, in all of the descriptions of your character, no one had said you were an ambitious man.”
he laughs softly, staring at you like you’re made of starlight. “no one has ever described me as lucky, either, and yet i suddenly feel i am the most fortunate man in all four corners of our earth.”
you look at him this time— really looking at him. his eyes are sunken deep, yet full of blinding hope and uninhibited affection.
all you see from this man, the one you are destined to spend your life with, is a gentle kindness and pure adoration. in this moment all of your anxieties, all of your fears, everything fades away.
“perhaps we should go get married.” he says, breaking the silence. he stands, taking your hand in his, gently pulling you to your feet.
“yes,” you say, grinning, “perhaps we should.”
--
i am such a sucker for regal bridgetonesque aus i LOVE writing them and i have time to write again now that it's winter break !! hope you love ok bai
summary - you broke up with clark a long time ago, but now he's re-appeared in your life you can't help wondering what might have been. it doesn't help that he's still ridiculously handsome and plays for Metropolis' best ice-hockey team.
pairing - ice-hockey player ! clark kent x ex-girlfriend ! reader (AU)
word count - 6.6k
a/n - this is definitely something i want to turn into a series, with lots of little blurbs surrounding this main fic!!! this was a labour of love, so please enjoy <3
You nervously stood on the doorstep to Lois Lane’s apartment, a bottle of red in one hand and a piece of paper with her address on it in case you forgot.
The noise was loud inside, but wherever Lois went there always was a little chaos.
It was her annual Christmas party.
A big deal, actually, to get invited in Metropolis. Hence why the noise was so loud and the noise complaints from the neighbours were zero.
You’d arrived alone, as you only knew Lois because of a journalist piece she did on you one time:
“The Wedding Photographer with a two-year waiting list”
You didn’t know any of Lois’ friends, nor of anyone that she’d invited. Your plan was to drop in, say hello to Lois and then hopefully leave early enough to catch the end of your favourite TV show, before bed.
If anything, you were a little disappointed when the door opened.
"Y/N!" Lois cheered, a beer in hand of course.
Lois immediately stepped over the apartment threshold to pull you in for a hug. You had to laugh as she slightly stumbled into you, no doubt three drinks in already.
"Hey." You hugged her back, before following her into her apartment.
The music was loud inside. The house-lights turned way down low, with some colourful disco balls beaming neon lights around the room.
There were lots of people here already, but you'd told yourself to not show up on time because it would be easier to blend in after people were already a few drinks in.
"Your outfit is so cute." Lois said.
"You don't think it's too casual?" You asked, looking down at your clothes. Jeans and a nice top - both comfortable and effortless.
"No, you look good." She said, shutting the door behind the two of you. "Okay. There's food and drinks in the kitchen. Help yourself."
"Thanks." You nodded.
"Jimmy is here somewhere," Lois tried looking around the crowds, "if you wanna say hi."
"I'm sure I will." You looked around the room to see if you recognised anyone, but unfortunately not, "Anyone else here?"
"That you'd no? I don't think so. Oh, a couple of Gotham Blades and Metropolis Mammoths are here too."
Your heart might have stopped working, because your breathing definitely had.
Your gaze drifted carefully to Lois, trying not to give anything anyway from your reaction. You carefully regained a pattern breathing and swallowed back the anxiety.
"Oh really? L-like who?" You cleared your throat.
"Uh - I know Dick Grayson is here. Barry Allen was with him. Oh and I think Clark Kent is here too. There might be more, I honestly don't know." Lois shrugged and wandered off, probably thinking you were following.
But you couldn't move.
Your hand gripped the bottle of wine tighter as a grounding method.
Your breath hitched as you thought about him.
Clark Kent.
Your ex-boyfriend. Could've-been-fiancé.
Your eyes flicked from one corner of the room to the other, waiting to see the broad outline of his shoulders or his curly mop of hair. The room was so dark you couldn't see much, but you knew you'd be able to make him out anywhere.
Your chest heaved up and down erratically with a fear of not being able to control what could come next this evening.
Instead of following Lois you backed away and quickly walked down the corridor to find Lois' bathroom.
"Watch where you're going!" A guy called when you accidentally bumped into him.
Just find the bathroom. Everything will be okay.
You tried convincing yourself this was fine, but it really wasn't.
Opening Lois' bedroom door to get her bathroom, the last thing you expected was to see your ex-boyfriend, Clark, being passionately mauled by a blonde model.
The moment you'd crashed through the door and made eye contact with Clark was when you knew that you definitely couldn't do this.
"I.. I-I'm so...." You tried to apologise, but your words failed you. Instead, you backed out of the room so quickly with a click to shut the door.
Fuck.
Okay.
You kept your eyes on the floor as you pushed through the crowds of people.
You weren't sure at first how long you should stay at this party for, but now you felt like you had your answer and that that you were done. You'd shown your face, surely that counted for something with Lois.
"Y/N! Wait up!" Lois shouted at you before you could turn the corner to leave. She sidled up next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. You tried to make your body less tense, but you just couldn't.
You turned your head to the side and watched Clark come down the hallway, blushed cheeks and a frantic look in his eyes.
"Kent!" Lois shouted.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Hey, Lo... I'm going to...."
"Kent come here!"
"Lois..." You really tried to stop her before this developed any more, trying to wriggle out from her arm but God she was strong.
"Hey Kent." Lois smiled, "Want you to meet my friend--."
"Y/N." Clark said.
He was standing right in front of you both now. His intense blue eyes were locked onto you and you felt your eyes water from the anxiety of the situation. He probably still tasted of her.
All you could think was how he said your name.
So much history expelled with just one word.
You looked away before he did.
It felt like your soul was crushing you from the inside, squeezing and squeezing at all the important parts of you that made you feel anything.
"Yeah. Do you two know each other?" Lois asked, unwrapping her arm from your shoulders.
Even though the music was loud and the crowds were even louder, the silence between you and Clark was unmissable. The unspoken conversation was deafening.
You were sort of glad that some of Clark's friends appeared just in time, wrapping their arms around Clark and completely not reading the room. One of them shoved a beer in his hand and the other patted his chest in a brotherly way.
"Excuse me." You said to Lois whilst Clark was momentarily distracted.
She let you go without a fuss.
You quickly left the apartment, feeling like you were breathing air for the first time when you made it to the corridor.
In the lift you allowed yourself a brief five seconds to break down, but had to compose yourself before the lift doors opened again. You wiped your under-eyes from any tearful evidence.
Once you were outside the cold air instantly calmed you.
It had been too hot in there and not because of the number of people, but because of how thick the tension had been between you and Clark.
You tried your best to look at your phone as you thought through your options to get home. Uber was going to be a long wait, but the bus was also horrible at this time of night.
Your chest rose quickly as your nerves tried to surface.
Your fingers trembled as you tried to book an Uber, because regardless of how quickly you wanted to be home you didn't feel in the right state of mind to be using public transport tonight.
You sniffled as your thumb shakily pressed 'Book now'.
“You’re breathing too fast.”
Your head shot to the side and saw Clark standing there in just his t-shirt - like he hadn't thought of anything before leaving Lois' apartment other than finding you.
Of course he still noticed things like that.
“You don’t have to do that anymore.” You said, turning your gaze away from him. There was less of a chance in breaking down if you didn't look at him.
The air outside had suddenly started clamming up again. You thought that you'd finally be able to breathe, but with Clark standing next to you it was impossible to concentrate and led your anxious state to return.
Clark didn't say anything more.
He stood quietly to the side of you and waited for your Uber to arrive.
He made sure you got in safely, asking the driver to make sure you got home safe, before tapping the car window to let you go.
Your tears started then.
Silently.
You let yourself cry for the events that had happened this evening, but mostly for all the decisions that had led you to tonight.
It had been a week since you saw Clark.
You'd had time to piece yourself back together and try to forget you'd ever seen him again, which was incredibly difficult considering he wasn't just a random passerby in your life.
Clark had been the first boyfriend you'd had outside of college. You'd been through lots of highs and lows together and once upon a time it had seemed impossible that you were destined for anything other than forever.
Yet here you were, without him.
Albeit, it was your choice for it to be that way.
Now was not the time to dwell on the past though. You had a job to do and a job that you wanted to do well.
Lois had managed to set you up as her photographer for a charity gala tonight. Even though you didn't work for the Daily Planet newspaper Lois wrote for, she'd rated you so highly within the photography industry that her boss hadn't wanted anyone else for the job other than you.
Now you were in this beautiful museum, where the gala was being hosted.
It was floor to ceiling marble.
The museum atrium was where the main event was being hosted. There were marble-arched walkways running the length of the room, with a double sided staircase at the very end of the hall.
The room felt grand, especially since it was lit up in gold light with the white marble reflecting it.
The room was full of high-profile people wearing gorgeous ball gowns and crisp tuxedos. The conversational chatter bounced around the walls of the atrium and created a buzzing atmosphere.
You were taking photos of the architecture when someone cleared their throat behind you.
"Excuse me?"
You turned to find a man standing there with a recording device held in his hand. You looked at him warily, not sure of who this was.
"Hi. Can I help?" You gave your best smile.
"Are you Y/N L/N?"
You were about to respond but he rudely cut you off. So he was that kind of reporter.
"Clark Kent's ex-girlfriend?" He stared at you, waiting for a response like he hadn't just verbally shot you with his question.
"Oh, uh--."
"It's okay, I know who you are." He gave you a half-smile, "So, is it true that you broke up with him just before he was going to propose?"
You stared at him.
How did he know this stuff? This was personal information between you and Clark.
"That's not..."
"You do realise that you cost the Metropolis Mammoths the Championship title that year? Kent wasn't on his A-game and everyone says that's because of you, what do you think?"
The walls that you had built over the years around you heart chipped away with every word.
You'd never meant to impact Clark's life like that, if it was true.
Your heart sank at the mere thought of causing incredible amounts of pain to Clark. Of course breakups are not easy and certainly yours hadn't been, but you'd always assumed that Clark was tough enough to bounce back from it better than you ever could.
"I just think that women should--."
"Steve Lombard. Why am I not surprised that you're harassing yet another woman?" Lois came to stand beside you defensively.
"Lois, a pleasure as always." Steve chuckled and left without a single useable quote. Although you were sure he would spin your silence into something malicious.
"Dick." Lois muttered.
"I'm just going to get some air." You said, before walking through an archway and out the glass doors onto a balcony.
The Metropolis air was cool, but nice.
The sun had set hours ago, leaving a display of twinkling stars in the sky. You looked up at them and used them as a calming technique. Someone once told you stars were useful in making all your problems seem so much more insignificant.
You felt so humiliated by Steve.
How dare he think he can ask such intrusive questions. Looking back you were so frustrated for not defending yourself.
A fire was building inside you.
You were tired of hiding behind people's narratives about you. Yes, you'd broken up with Clark. Yes, you'd broken his heart. But was anyone else, even for a second, concerned about how you felt? No. Instead, the media built stories around you to feed the fans lies.
Well, fuck that.
You stormed back into the museum, eyes looking around the crowd in fury for Steve Lombard.
"Oh hey, Y/N." You heard Lois say beside you, but you didn't react. Instead you set your sights on little-weasel-Steve, "Y/N..."
You find Steve laughing at the bar with another woman.
"Hey." You say upon approaching him.
He doesn't react. Not yet. The crowds around you seem to notice, though.
"Hey." You say more firmly this time. It's like something else has taken over your body and you're just a vessel for letting the anger escape.
"Oh, it's you." Steve smirked, noticing the crowds forming behind you to see what was going on.
"I didn't deserve the disrespect you dished me earlier." You said, throwing a finger towards his face as you spoke.
Steve laughed, "Okay sweetheart. I can clearly see you're a bit emotional--."
"No. I'm just so fed up of meatheads like you, pretending like you know anything when you know nothing!"
"So?"
"So, stop spreading lies about me like you have any idea what happened." Your chest heaved as you spoke - well, shouted.
The lady next to Steve was clearly trying her best not to laugh, which started to bring you back to the moment. The anxiety of the situation was catching up to you.
“Hey, that’s enough. Y/N, come on.” Lois tried touching your arm, but you shrugged her off.
Perhaps you were being too much now, but it seemed like whenever you didn't make a scene no one actually heard you or believed what you were saying.
Lois could no doubt tell that your hands were shaking and your neck was flushed from the pent-up anger, and she was worried for how far you would take this.
“You’re not going to win this.” Lois tried reaching through to you again.
"Yeah. It's a touchy subject isn't it?" Steve taunted you, "And women aren't always the best at controlling their emotions."
What the...
You were about to lunge for him, but an arm wrapped around your waist from the side of your body. You knew it was him just from the touch.
"Y/N." Was all Clark had to say to steady you.
You turned your head to face Clark, looking up into his eyes for any indiction of what to do next, because you really didn't know anymore.
People were whispering all around you, but it didn't cloud your mind. Clark's presence completely took over all of your senses and muted out everything else.
Clark didn't need to say anything but your name. His eyes did the rest of the conversation.
Don't do this. I'm right here. You don't need to make this people believe you, because I already do. I'm here.
"Breathe." Clark told you, noticing your chest hitching - no doubt from the adrenaline of the situation catching up to you.
You could slowly feel the anger evaporate from your body, even if it was still slightly there, but at least you were now anchored. You had someone familiar and comforting to you ground you and remind you of what really mattered.
Once you were steady in Clark's arm, he looked from you to Steve.
“If you print a word about her, I’ll correct it publicly. And I won’t be kind.” Clark threatened, his arm still around you.
Steve visibly gulped and nodded in fear.
Steve then left, which caused the creeping crowd to also disperse.
Clark's gaze was attached to you, even though yours was now hiding into yourself.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“You had every right to be angry.”
You looked up at Clark with watery eyes, before looking to the side where people were stood nearby whispering to one another.
"Hey, eyes on me." He said and you were instantly pulled back to focusing on him. "I'm right here."
You hold yourself together enough not to cry and instead just nod in response, allowing yourself to be held by the man that was once entirely yours.
"I didn't realise you'd be here tonight." You said.
"Yeah, both hockey teams were invited. As Captain, I thought I really should be here." He responded.
"Sorry for—”
"Y/N. Don't. Steve deserved what was coming for him." Clark chuckled. You let out a teary laugh in agreement, but did your best to keep composure afterwards.
"I wasn't very professional."
"Lois is too punk to let you go just because you caused a scene, especially when it was because you stood up to a misogynist."
"True." You took a deep breath, "Okay, I should get back to it."
"Okay." Clark nodded, taking his arm away from you.
"Have a good night, Clark."
"You too, Y/N."
You woke up with a text from Clark the next day.
Clark: Hey, it's Clark.
Clark: I wanted to make sure you’re okay?
You opened the text, but didn't scroll up to any other texts. You were too in your head about last night to take a trip down memory lane this morning.
You: I'm okay. Thanks for checking in
It felt unnatural to send a message to Clark without ending it with lots of kisses or emojis.
Clark responded instantly. Almost as if he had been waiting for you.
Clark: Good, I'm glad
Clark: I’m at the rink late tonight. If you want to talk, you can come by.
You text back agreeing to meeting him before you could chicken out. Once the time and place is set, you spend the rest of the day panic eating as a way to distract yourself. Healthy coping mechanism? Sure.
It's 8PM and you're at the ice-skating arena.
You're walking down the familiar hallways of the building, except there's no one around like there used to be on game days. It's quiet and serene.
You wrap your coat around you a little tighter as you enter the ice arena. The flood lights are on and the room takes you back to all the games you've witnessed here. All of the good games and the rough games. You look to where you used to sit, on the front row, for every game and smile over the good times.
A smacking sound breaks you away from the memories.
You watched Clark hit another puck into the net, before skating off and looping around.
He goes for another shot, the puck lined up perfectly. Clark skates around, no doubt playing a certain move in his mind. When his stick makes contact with the puck he's so engaged that you can see he's focusing on nothing else other than scoring a goal.
He shoots.
And he scores.
In your head you can hear the chorus of cheers from the fans, you also being one of them.
Today, though, you give him a steady round of applause.
You make your way to the team bleachers and rest your arms on the wall between the seating and ice.
"Nice shot, Superman." You smiled as Clark skated his way over to you.
He laughed as he took off his helmet, his hair all wet and sweaty underneath. God, did he look good though.
"Superman?" He chuckled.
"That's what the fans call you, no?"
Clark skated to a stop in front of you. You automatically reached for the only water bottle on the shelf below the wall and handed it to Clark, causing your fingers to brush slightly. You feigned ignorance to the skin-on-skin contact, but really you melted slightly.
"Uhuh." Clark nodded, whilst tipping his head back to drink.
You watched his Adam's-apple bob as he drank.
You should really look away.
“You used to hate watching from the stands.” Clark said after he finished drinking.
"Only because I wanted to knock out every guy who would make contact with you." You tutted.
Clark huffed at that, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Want to skate?" Clark asked, leaning against the wall too.
"Clark, you know I'm terrible."
"I've got you." He says so casually, you have to remember it doesn't mean the same thing as it once did.
“I don’t even have skates.”
"Your spares are in my locker."
Your eyes tracked to his and it felt like time stopped so you could just have a moment to look at one another.
He was so close to you, physically, but he had never felt so far away. Although, you guessed he was much closer than he had been a week ago.
Surely it had to mean something if he had kept your skates all this time and in his locker no less. You wanted it to mean something, but you didn't know what wanting it to mean something actually meant. God, it was infuriating inside your head sometimes.
Ten minutes later, after you'd okayed the idea of skating, you were bravely stepping onto the ice.
Clark had forgone all his protective padding, helmet, gloves and guards. He was left in his jersey, bottom leggings and shorts and his skates. It was annoying how hot he looked. Whereas you looked like Bambi who was taking her first steps.
"You got it." Clark kept close to you as he watched you step onto the ice carefully. You kept a close hold onto the wall, but knew that Clark would catch you if you did fall.
"Ahh..."
Your feet felt unstable beneath you.
"You've got it. There you go." Clark encouraged you through it.
"I was always so shit at this." You laughed, watching your feet carefully.
"Don't look down."
"But..."
"Look at me." He said, forcing you to look up. He was skating backwards from you. Show off. Clark was moving into the middle of the ice, away from the wall.
"Clark.." You pouted, not feeling confident to let go of the wall yet.
"C'mon. You got it."
You mumbled a string of curse words under your breath, but trusted him enough to let go of the wall and glide towards him.
You were tempted to look back down at your feet, "Uh uh. Eyes on me, L/N." Clark said, fixing your gaze to his.
Clark couldn't help but smile as he watched you slowly approach him. Clearly everything he had taught you all those years ago about ice skating had been for nothing. All those late night skates hadn't worked clearly.
You laughed as you made your way to him slowly.
"I'm doing it!"
"I see you." You were too happy with yourself to understand the gravity of his words in that moment.
When you got close enough to Clark to not have to shout, you tried to stabilise yourself to a stop, “I forgot how quiet it can get in here.”
“Yeah. I think that’s why I stay late.”
Clark skated in a circle around you.
You tried to let your gaze follow him, but you nearly fell backwards when he skated behind you. Your hands threw themselves in circles to stabilise yourself, but Clark was also instantly there to keep you upright.
His hand steadied itself on the small of your back. You could feel every finger span there, pressing into you to keep you steady.
"Thanks." You chuckled, the fun of the moment being brought to a more serious tone when you realised how close he was to you.
You could smell the remnants of his after-shave and his favourite deodorant. You breathed him in subtly, the smell so comforting and familiar.
"I'm glad you're here." Clark said.
"Me too." You nodded.
You both stayed on the ice for a little while longer, before eventually returning to the stands.
It was nice just being in his company.
As you took off your skates, Clark packed his kit into a sports bag. You both worked in silence sat next to each other, but it was comfortable. You didn’t feel like you needed to fill the air with conversation.
It was drawing an end to the evening though and you wanted to make sure that he had a chance to part from you. You wanted to respect his boundaries, even though he’d never stated what they were out loud.
“I-I’m going to get going. It’s late and I have work in the morning.” You said, standing up from the bench.
“Yeah. Do you need a lift?”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay. I’ll see you around, then, I guess?” Clark stood up too.
“Okay.”
You smiled a little awkwardly and moved out of the aisle towards the arena exit.
“Hey, Y/N?” Clark called after you.
You turned to see him standing in the same place.
“Yeah?”
The arena was so quiet, just the sounds of you two breathing. The look on Clark’s face told you he had something important to say, but he was struggling with how to say it.
“I-I…” Clark huffed, running a hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed, “T-thanks for coming.”
Your body physically sighed.
You thought he might’ve approached the, what felt like, forbidden or taboo topic of conversation between you, but no.
“No problem.” You gave your best brave smile and wore it like a mask out of the arena.
After the blissful high of last night, of course you couldn't assume that it was last that long.
Instead, you woke up to a news article by Steve:
"Kent distracted by unfinished business with ex-girlfriend."
And there was an image of you and Clark at the charity gala to top it all off.
If Steve's intention was to piss you off, then he definitely succeeded.
First of all, you know you're not the reason that Clark is "distracted" in his games for the same reason you knew that you never used to be - even when you were sitting rink-side with his jersey on. Secondly, the fact that Steve had diminished you to into just being an "ex-girlfriend" was so misogynistic. You were your own person. A talented photographer at that. Damn him.
With a huff, you opened your social media to see floods of fans in your comments begging for you and Clark to get back together.
"MY PARENTS ASJKHFAKHA!!!"
"OMG IT'S HAPPENING!"
"CLARK AND Y/N ARE ENDGAME"
Whilst some made you smile, they all reminded you of how you and Clark weren't back together. You were both single - you think, although Clark was kissing that model... No. Don't go there.
You noticed that Clark hadn't responded to the article like he had threatened Steve he would.
Before you could think about doing any damage control, there was a heavy pounding at your door.
You dropped your phone on your bed and padded out of your room, down the hallway and to the front door of your apartment. Before you opened the door you realise you were still wearing your pyjamas, but it was too late to care now.
You opened the door in a flash.
"Clark." You stood confused, hand on the door handle.
"Are you okay?" He asked, looking at you with so much worry.
"What are you..."
"Are you okay?" He asked again, taking one step closer.
"Y-yeah, I.. Yes. What's wrong?" You asked and opened the door wider as a gesture that it was okay for him to come in. He stepped over the threshold carefully, as if double checking he was allowed.
You shut the door behind you.
"I didn’t want you reading that article alone.” He said.
"Clark." You sighed sadly, but your heart was swooning. No other man on Earth could possibly be as kind or as considerate as him.
Clark gave you a small smile. The kind of smile that paused time and could fool you into staying in this moment with him forever.
No matter how hard you thought, it was hard to convince yourself that Clark shouldn't be here. It felt right - him standing in your apartment hallway, checking up on you after such a shit storm. That was Clark through and through, no matter the emotional history.
"Can't believe he.. Why would he..." Clark huffed, rubbing a hand over his cheeks and down onto his chin.
You stepped forwards and pulled his hand away with yours before he could cause any stress lines to form. Clark's fingers instantly curled around yours almost like it was second nature.
Your linked hands fell together and remained entangled.
"C-can we talk?" You asked.
Clark just nodded.
"Do you want a drink?"
Clark shook his head, and followed behind you as you led him into the lounge. Clark's hand only left yours when you pulled away - not because he wanted to - and sat himself down on the sofa next to you. Your bodies were angled towards each other, with no room for sheltered conversations this time.
You didn't want to beat around the bush, so you jumped right into the conversation.
"I want you to know that I left because I was losing myself. Not because I didn’t love you.”
"I know." Clark gave you an encouraging smile.
The words almost undid you.
Clark had never doubted your love for him - he didn't need convincing of that. He was simply here to understand.
"I accept the public needs someone to blame."
Clark shook his head and made a sound of disagreement.
"And I get it, because I did hurt you. I know I did."
"That doesn't mean you deserve this." Clark argued.
"No one knows the real story though, so of course they'll spin a version of the truth, Clark, we both knew that."
"But it's not fair that you're the bad guy."
"Well I was! I hurt you." You exclaimed, trying to get him to understand.
"And yet that doesn't mean you weren't hurting too."
Clark's words land like a blow - straight to the heart if it had been physical. His words landed heavy on your chest.
The room went quiet after that.
He was right. You were hurting and still are, but you're not going to pretend you're the innocent one in the situation. The air around you had just settled with the truth of the matter.
"You shouldn’t have had to carry that alone." Clark said, bringing your attention back to now.
"I didn’t want you to feel guilty." You swallowed.
"That's never been something you should have to worry about."
A small, involuntary, laugh left you before you could stop it. Clark’s eyes flicked to your mouth, just for a second but long enough for you to notice. Long enough for your chest to tighten and your stomach to swarm with longing feelings.
The space between you definitely changed. Like you could physically feel the tilt of the world's axis.
Clark's knee brushed against yours.
He cleared his throat as his posture changed to open up more to you.
It was almost like he was gearing himself to do the one thing you've been craving since the last time you had one from him; a kiss.
"Clark." You whispered.
"If we do this now, it’ll be because the world pushed us together and not because we chose it." He whispered back.
You nodded, even though it hurt, because you knew he was right.
Just as you thought that was it, Clark leaned in. He moved so slowly, as if testing your want for him to be close. For one awful, perfect, second, you thought he might ignore his own rule and kiss you anyway.
But he stopped.
Close enough to rest his forehead against yours, but far enough away for his lips not to be tempted with yours.
"I won't," He sighed, "Tonight’s a game night."
You closed your eyes, letting yourself exist with him for one more heartbeat. Then you pulled back first.
"Well go win, then, Superman." You forced out a smile.
He nodded, putting on his own fake smile, "I’ll see you later."
"Okay."
The Metropolis Mammoths won.
Clark scored the winning goal and you jumped with joy when you watched the moment from your TV. You were so proud.
You'd even like to think that he won for you. After all, he had told Steve that he wasn't "distracted" and in fact he was "seeing more clearly than ever". Steve no doubt was sulking somewhere over the fact his headline had it's three seconds of fame.
You'd somehow managed to track down the bar that they'd be celebrating at and managed to get in.
Now, you were looking for Clark.
There was a small doubt, or perhaps worry, in your mind that you'd find him kissing the face off another model - like you had at Lois' party - but a large part of you hoped that the spark-filled moment you had had earlier had meant something to him too.
You apologised as you bumped into people, your feet sticky on the wooden bar floor from spilled drinks.
You almost turned around, but then you saw Clark across the room, surrounded by his teammates, flushed, smiling. He didn't have a drink in hand, but still looked to be having a good time.
His smile was so genuine and wide.
It got even wider as he made eye contact with you from across the room.
Clark didn't waste a second before travelling across the sticky floor to you. You only covered half the same distance he had in the same time.
He came to stand right in front of you.
The lights around you were dim, but you could see him so, so, clearly. The music was terrible and someone was laughing too loudly behind you, but the moment was perfect because you were with him.
"You're here." He breathed, that smile not going anywhere.
"You won." You volleyed back.
Clark chuckled, "Yeah. Were you at the game?"
"No. I didn’t want to be a headline." You answered truthfully and he nodded in understanding. "But I cheered along at home."
Clark's eyes softened at that.
"I’m glad you’re here. Wouldn't be the same without you. I-It hasn't been the same."
His words shouldn’t have meant so much, but they did. They landed heavy and warm in your chest, settling somewhere you hadn’t realised was still waiting for him.
The noise of the bar swelled around you. Glasses clinked, music pounded hard and someone was shouting Clark's name from across the room like the place was on fire. But Clark didn’t turn. He stayed focused on you.
"I need to say something." He said.
"Okay." You nodded too, in case he didn't catch your voice.
"About that night. At Lois’ party."
Your stomach tightened, instinctively. You weren't sure you wanted to hear this, but you promised yourself that you'd be open to whatever this conversation may bring.
"I didn’t kiss her because she meant anything," He moved slightly closer to you and bent his head so he didn't have to talk so loud, "I did it because I thought if I acted like I was fine without you… maybe I’d start believing it."
You breathed out a shaky breath, which Clark took notice of.
"And did it work?"
"Not for a second."
And that was what it took for the castle to crumble.
Whatever walls you’d rebuilt cracked right down the middle and toppled over, leaving an army of thoughts and feelings to come crashing through.
"I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I was scared that if I stayed, I’d disappear. That I’d start resenting you for a life you never asked me to give up."
"I know."
"You didn’t then." You said, thinking back to that horrible day when you broke up and hurtful things were said.
"No. I didn’t." Clark corrected himself, "But I do now."
Someone bumped into the back of you, causing you to fall a little further into Clark. Clark's hands came to steady you at your waist and then left to hover over the space - no doubt due to his incredible gentlemanly personality.
"Y/N, I don’t want you back the way things were. I don’t want you shrinking yourself to fit around my life. I want you choosing me. As you are."
You lifted a hand up to cup the underside of his jaw, watching his face melt into your hand like it was second-nature.
"I’m not here because you won or because everyone wants us to be some kind of story."
"Then why are you here?" Clark smirked knowingly.
"I'm here because I still love you. And this time, I know what it’s worth."
Clark didn’t hesitate even for a moment.
He brought his hands up to cup your cheeks and pull your face up to reach his, his lips finding yours. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow and grounding and achingly familiar.
The noise of the bar faded into nothing and his friends had given up on shouting for him.
There was only him.
Just the way Clark's thumbs brushed along your jaw, unhurried, like he was taking his time this time. The kiss deepened slowly, not desperate but full. Years of love, distance and unsaid apologies folded into it.
This time, when you pulled back and rested you forehead against his, you watched Clark smile like he’d won something far better than a game.
"I choose you." You said with a beaming smile.
"I choose you too."
You thought the rink was empty when you got there.
The lights were on full beam though and you could hear the cutting of skates on ice.
Then you saw him.
Clark was already out there, jersey on as always. He looked up when he heard the door to the ice-rink shut and his face lit up in a way that still felt unfairly special.
"You’re late." He shouted over to you.
"You’re early." You yelled back, throwing your bad onto a bench and tying on your own skates. This time, your own pair.
Clark kept his focus on you as he made his way over to you.
He had told you that he had the ice-rink to himself most evenings and most mornings. Today, he thought it might be nice for you to come and skate with him before he had another big hockey game later.
Now you were here, three days after your kiss.
You couldn't believe that he was yours again. How did you get so lucky? Little did you know that Clark was asking himself the same question over and over.
When you finished tying your laces, you stepped onto the ice. The first step made you wobble, just a little, but Clark was there instantly with his hands to steady you by the waist.
"Still got you." He said.
There was no crowd. No pressure. No performance. It was just you and him.
He leaned down and kissed you and for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like something you were choosing together.
