you were assigned to be his 'assistant’. when you were assigned they told you all you would have to do is fetch him food and drink and make sure he has everything he needs. baby sit him basically. you thought it would be easy, a man from the 40s, surely he might be more polite than homelander was to you.
it started fine, you didnt see him much. he would tell someone he wants a coffee or cigars and you would fetch it and put it by his bed. he was always sleeping so he never saw you coming in and out. but then once he got used to what? being awake? he starting asking for more. talking to you more.
every time you walked into his room his eyes would rake over you. head to toe. a smirk would form on his face. 'hello beautiful.' he would say. 'hello sir, im just checking if you need anything?' you couldnt deny how hot he was, hot hot it got you hearing him call you beautiful or baby and so on. his list of pet names were endless. 'mhm i could name a few things.' he answered as his eyes once again roamed your body as you stood in front of him, eyes down to the ground. 'so nothing? ok' you said, then turned around and left with a secret smile growing on your face.
the next few weeks you grew more comfortable. or maybe that was just your crush on the man growing. 'you into older men sweetie?' he would ask as you walked in with a fresh cup of coffee. you would banter back, 'how did you know?' 'you've got that look' and when a confused expression grew on your face he would add 'its a compliment doll, take it.' that one would really stick in your mind. 'doll' god you loved it when he called you that.
then one day everything changed. you were sleep deprived, wearing a shirt too small and shoes a size too big. you felt like you were working the day from hell. so when you walked into soldier boys room to find the one and only thrusting his dick into his hand, groaning loudly, your mind short circuited.
he stopped immediately, hand still holding his dick. and jesus christ he was big. 'jesus doll, scared the fuck outta me.' his voice gravelly. 'sorry.' you didnt have the energy to do this, you couldnt think, all you could do was just stand there. 'i dont mind, are you..you look like shit.' he said, eyes tracking you as you slumped down into the chair facing his bed. 'sorry im tired.' he chuckled, 'yeah you look it.' he had put his dick away by now, thank god.
‘if it means anything, id still fuck you.’ your head snapped up to look at the man sat on the corner of his bed, looking at you. ‘yeah?’ ‘yeah.’ right now you wouldn’t mind that. you stayed slumped in the chair. ‘i wouldnt mind that right now.’ oh shit.
and thats how you ended up getting fucked in any and every way possible by soldier boy. the soldier boy. it started slow, him eating you out. he was good, too fucking good. and you could tell he enjoyed it too. by the way he groaned and the steady, perfect rhythm of his tongue. then it got quicker, more intense. he told you how beautiful you looked when you were riding him and how beautiful you looked under him too.
this became a very, very, very regular thing after that day.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Fem!reader
Word count: 800+
Tags: fluff, teasing, making out, horrible writing
synopsis: Making out with Michael in an elevator :3
author’s note: this is my first time posting fanfic AGHHHHH I’m scared 😖 sorry if it’s short, baby’s first fic!!
God, there were so many people. You gazed upon the sea of crazed fans through the darkened glass of the limousine, still struggling to understand how one person could affect so many people in this way.
The only thing more unbelievable than that? The fact that the person causing all this commotion was sitting right next to you.
Holding your hand.
Michael looked through the window for only a moment longer, before turning his attention to you. He reached his other hand up, gripping your chin and turning your head towards him.
“What’s on your mind, baby?” He questioned, his tone gentle yet full of curiosity.
“Nothing really. It’s just… unbelievable sometimes. The effect you have on people. No matter where you go. Everyone wants to see you, in any way they can. It’s… incredible.” You remarked, your voice small yet drenched in awe.
He sighed deeply, a half-smile tugging at his lips. You knew very well that he loves the adoration and support of his fans, but you know just as well that he often gets stressed from all the mania. He simply stroked your cheek with his thumb, wanting to focus on the beautiful girl in front of him rather than the frenzy swarming outside the car.
“It’s amazing, but it’s nowhere near as amazing as you.” He murmured affectionately, his voice earnest and soft. A genuine grin spread across his lips, and it only got wider as he watched you smile bashfully.
He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your reddening cheek, causing you to giggle softly. When he pulled away, your eyes met his, and the amount of love and passion swirling in his onyx depths was undeniable. You were so busy admiring him that you didn’t even notice the chauffeur standing outside the limousine door.
You both jumped a bit when the car door swung open, but you quickly straightened up. He placed his sunglasses back on his face, and elegantly exited the car. There was already a crowd forming around the entrance to your hotel, but his focus wasn’t on them. He was waiting for you in front of the car door with an outstretched hand.
He pulled you to your feet, and kept an arm secured firmly around your waist as you both were escorted into the hotel by your security. You kept your head down until you got to the elevator, a sigh of relief escaping your lips once you two were alone together.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Michael turned to you, a Cheshire-like smile spreading across his face. You could feel the tension bubbling in the air, could feel his gaze burning a hole through you. Your face began to heat up, your eyes drifting down to stare at your shoes.
“Sweetheart…” he cooed, his voice as smooth as silk and sweeter than honey. He gently reached up and grabbed your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. He let out a soft chuckle, watching your face flush even more than before.
“Could I get a kiss from my pretty girl while it’s just us two? Pretty please?” He asked affectionately, his tone so warm and sweet that you couldn’t resist him if you tried. Not that you were going to.
You simply answered, “Yes Michael…” and closed your eyes. His lips soon met yours in a gentle, deep kiss that melted you like soft serve in the middle of summer. Despite all the teasing he’d done, his kiss was earnest and full of love. It wasn’t rushed, too fiery for you to handle. It was just pure love.
Once hands started moving, it was over. His hands darted to your waist, thumbs rubbing your sides in a way that made you shiver against him. Your hands came up to hold his shoulders, but soon drifted upwards. One hand on his sharp jaw, one on the side of his neck. He pulled you closer and closer until you were pressed right up against him, chest to chest.
You two began to devour each other as if you’d been starved for months. Tender presses of lips turned into clashing mouths and tangled tongues, sharp breaths drawn in between kisses. It didn’t take long before you were practically draped over him, both of you panting and blissed out from the intensity of the moment.
You were wrapped up in his arms, chest heaving to the same rhythm as his, when the elevator went “ding!” And revealed your intimate moment to several people standing in front of the doors.
You both broke apart quickly, him adjusting his sunglasses and quickly grabbing your hand to guide you back to your shared hotel room. You looked down in embarrassment as you two brushed past gaping mouths and saucer-wide eyes of witnesses, your face flushed nearly tomato red. You eventually looked up at him, expecting him to share your deathly embarrassment.
i dont know what to put here so uhm yeah! reader has the worst luck and it lowkey leads to her one sided rivalry with clark, whos been smitten with her forevah and like yeah. yuh huh. fuck idk man i rushed this its lowkey the worst long fic ive written 💔
hope you guys like my… 5.6k-ish wc fic thats actually toilet water 😭😭😭😭😭
Your day could honestly not get any worse.
A typical day through Metropolis unfolded that morning on your way to work. Another alien attack took its course through downtown, and wonderful, you got caught in the crossfire. After you got rescued by the Superman when your bus was nearly crushed into pieces, you just managed to also trip into a puddle. And just your luck, your bag also got wet when you tripped.
By the time you got to the Daily Planet, you looked like you just went through a hurricane. Your hair was damp at the ends, your clothes were covered in mud, and all your papers? Yeah, it'd be a miracle if even one was dry.
And there was Clark, striding up behind you as if all was right with the world. Looking all prim and proper and happy like downtown Metropolis wasn't just going through the wringer ten minutes ago.
"Good morning!" He grinned, looking you up and down, "Wow, you look like you're already going through a rough day."
"You think?" You glared at him with annoyance, your patience already running thin from all the events that you just had to go through. But it was almost like a regular Tuesday for you. For some reason, the constant alien invasions just seemed to target the area you're constantly in. And always, Superman was there to save you. You were starting to wonder whether your luck was extremely good or diabolically atrocious.
Clark opened his mouth to say something, but you stormed away before he could, mud and water still dripping from the hem of your pants.
You got to your desk, grabbing a wad of tissues from the tissue box on the corner of your desk, doing your best to wring out the mud and water all over your pants and blazer. Thankfully, only the sleeves of your blazer got wet, so you could count that blessing today. You took off your jacket and the wet blazer, draping it over the back of your office chair before finally letting out a sigh. God only knows how much worse your day is about to go.
By the time your lunch break rolled around, you were ready to either jump off of the top of the Daily Planet, or sob in the washroom from how overwhelmed you got.
First of all, your boss got mad that you didn't make your deadline for the article you had to write (in your defense, those were the papers that got soaked, and you had to wait two hours to even be able to pick them up from the office printers that were basically overworked), and secondly, the worst offense of all, Clark literally brought you a new pair of pants.
That would've been a really sweet gesture, but Clark with like… your office rival. He, for some unknown, ungodly reason, gets all the great headlines. No matter what you do, what you try, this man gets the cake every. Single. Time. And yes, it has pissed you off more than once. More than thrice, actually. More than that, even. It was infuriating, that no matter what you did to try and get all the good headlines, Clark Kent was already there.
Maybe it was out of spite, but you didn't even accept the pants. Just brushed him off with a callous, "Thanks, but no thanks". Was it a bit rude? Maybe. But at this point, no one would bat an eye if you just crashed out at your office desk.
You just sat at your table, reconsidering every life decision that lead up to your life now when you felt a tap on your shoulder, and great, it was Clark.
"Uhm… I noticed you weren't having a good day, so I got you that coffee you usually like to get." He said softly, holding the coffee cup close to your head as he was looming over your hunched over figure. Your eye twitched. Why did he have to be so… perfect all the time?
"I don't want any." You mumbled, grabbing your bag to try and find the bagged sandwich you haphazardly stuck in there that morning. When you did find it, it was pathetically squished flat. Like, as flat as a board. You heard Clark snicker under his breath at the sight. You could've shoved the sandwich in his face but you didn't.
"Whatever. I don't want the coffee, Kent." You repeated in a venomous tone, annoyance getting the better of you as you open the bag and take the sandwich and ate it.
Clark watched you eat for a moment, trying to see whether you would just give up and take his offer, but you were too stubborn to acknowledge him any further.
"Uhm, alright. I'll still leave this here. Just in case." He said slowly, placing the coffee cup on an empty spot in your desk before leaving you alone.
You didn't know why Clark pissed you off so bad. You kept your thoughts to yourself today because you figured your desk neighbour, Lois, would be absolutely tired of hearing your passionately annoyed rant full of spite about Clark. She's heard a lot about him from you, but they were good friends. Which might've got on your nerves even more. He's manipulating you into falling for his fiendish schemes!, you said once, making her snort with laughter.
Your work was over soon, and you still barely touched the coffee he bought you. You didn't want to drink it, it felt like you were admitting defeat to whatever he was trying to do.
You decided to drink the coffee on the way home because at least Clark wouldn't be there around. But wow, just your damn luck… Some douche managed to speed by you when you weren't paying attention, bumping into you where you dropped both your phone and the coffee cup.
You swore loudly right in front of the Daily Planet, tears starting to prick at your eyes from how overwhelmed you were by all the bad luck.
"Hey, are you okay?" Clark appeared right behind you. Of course he did. He was like a guardian angel, except he was more akin to a devil in your head.
"I'm fine." You breathed out, wiping your eyes hastily as you snatched your phone up from the ground, inspecting the cracks on the screen protector. It'll be fine, you figured. Not like it was the first time you broke a screen protector.
"Are you sure…? You're crying—"
"I'm. Fine." You seethed out, sniffling as you picked up the now emptied coffee cup from the sidewalk, chucking it into the closest trashcan you could find.
"I could get you a new one if you want—"
"Oh my god, just leave me alone, Clark!" He flinched when you snapped at him, the rawness in your voice making him more concerned. He could hear your heartbeat beating erratically with his super hearing, the way your breathing quickened. You were everything but okay, but he didn't want to push any further. So it hurt to just let you walk away.
You wouldn't notice it, but he desperately wanted you to like him. It was a childish notion, he thought in his head. You hated him. Despised, even. He heard every single one of your annoyed rants from across the office to Lois, his heart stuttering every time you mentioned his name with so much venom. He was admittedly sad at how much you seemed to just hate him for no reason. Even so, he still tried to get on your good side constantly. He bought you chocolates whenever you seemed to be in a bad mood. He brought you homemade soup once when you forced your way into work whilst you were sick. Even that morning, he ran out to get you a new set of pants because he didn't want you to be embarrassed at the drying crust of mud on the cuffs of your work pants. Yet you just turned down every single action. He didn't know what he was doing wrong, and it wasn't even in the matter of thinking that he was doing something all women wanted. No, he was just genuinely so curious: Why did you hate him so much? Did he do something that you didn't like once, and he never noticed? Or worse, did he do something whenever he saved you as Superman?
Surprisingly enough, your commute to your apartment wasn't cursed by another alien attack. You managed to get home on time and without being freaked out by another extraterrestrial trying to take over your city. Sometimes you wondered why the hell you even stayed, but the job paid well. Well enough that it compensated the daily problems you had to face.
As you finally changed out of your clothes and into a soft pair of pyjamas, you hoped that the rest of your night went smoothly.
Well, now you've jinxed it.
Just as you were going to sit down, you heard knocking at your door. Whoever was at your door better be praying to every god possible that you wouldn't knock their teeth out in annoyance.
"What?—" You huffed out as you opened the door, only to be met with Clark, looking nervous and holding a bouquet of flowers and… hold on, were those your favourite chocolates?
"Uhm… Hi." He said, a little breathless. He was still wearing his work clothes, and his usually neat hair was a little mussed up from, what looked like, running.
"Sorry, uh, Lois told me your address. I just… I wanted to say sorry. You've… been mad all day, and I honestly can't help but think I'm somehow a part of the problem."
You stared at him, trying to register this entire situation in your head when you realize that he's literally standing out there, holding flowers and chocolates like he was apologizing to a lover. Your heart beat a little faster, but you held your stone cold face.
"You don't have to say sorry. It's not like you did anything wrong." You muttered, sounding extremely bitter about the last part, which caught his attention.
"So, I did do something wrong?"
"No."
"Then why—?"
"It's just that. You're just so perfect at everything and it gets on my nerves. You get all the headlines, you get all the praise, you get everything, Clark. Every. Single. Thing." You snapped, a harsh exhale leaving your mouth as you finally admitted what's been getting on your nerves for the past… forever.
He blinked at you, eyebrows furrowing, "I'm… too perfect?"
"Obviously. Everyone at work probably loves you. All the good articles get written by you. You literally get interviews with Superman. Who wouldn't think you're perfect?"
You could practically see the cogs in his head turning as he thought of a solution. If him being so perfect was what made you hate him, then he'll stop being perfect! But… he honestly didn't know what made him perfect in the first place. So he figured, why not do the next best thing?
"How about I get you an exclusive interview with Superman then?" Your eyebrows furrowed before raising.
"Huh?"
"I'll get you an interview with Superman. You know. Make it… more even? That's why you hate me, right?" He asked, fingers unconsciously playing with the ribbon of the bouquet. Your mouth kind of went agape, trying to figure out his game.
"Why are you… Why do you care that I hate you?" You just asked, a little appalled at the amount of effort he seemed to be going through to try and make you like him.
"… I just do. I… I want you to like me." He said, before slowly holding out the flowers to you.
"So… do you want that interview or not?"
"Uhm, yes." You answered, taking advantage of the situation while it was ahead of you. You eyed the flowers, unsure whether you should take them or not. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your hands at the stem of the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his. You saw his breath physically hitch when that happened.
"Oh, uh… here. I bought these too." He said, a little bashful as he handed you the box of chocolates that you loved. How he knew that you liked them, you weren't sure. Maybe Lois told him.
"… Thanks." You mumbled as he gave you a weak smile, shifting on his feet before deciding to walk away.
"Ah— Uhm… I'll update you when I find a time for you to interview him." You nodded as he finally turned away, speed walking down the hall to the elevator to go back down to the lobby of your apartment.
You closed the door behind you, looking down at the bouquet he got you. Then it hit. All the flowers were ones you've mentioned before in passing in a conversation with Lois. You couldn't help but feel your heart beat a little faster. How did he know? Or really, how did he hear? Was Lois telling him all of this, or did you just never notice him passing by whenever you talked with your best friend at work?
You took out an old vase, one that you haven't filled with flowers ever since your last boyfriend before placing these ones inside. They looked pretty, sitting in the middle of the kitchen island in your apartment. You looked at the chocolates Clark got you, inspecting them. They were the actual authentic chocolates that you really liked. Not some… cheap knock off, but the actual expensive ones. He really did put the effort into trying to apologize for whatever invisible mistake he made. A small scoff mixed with a chuckle left your mouth as you placed the box next to the flower vase.
"… Stupid Clark."
It was probably two days later when Clark walked up to your desk, placing a note on top of a pile of papers.
Friday night. 7 p.m., with an address under it.
If you didn't know it was the Superman interview, you would be creeped out by the cryptic message. Your few days were actually going well, after Clark visited you. It was like he gave you a bout of good luck because you managed to actually get to work on time twice in a row, which hasn't happened since you started this job, and your clothes were neat and perfect for the first time in forever.
Friday rolled around sooner than you admittedly wanted. On the way to the address Clark gave you, you chewed on a pen in the back of a taxi. You thought all the interview questions you had were honestly horrible and overused, and you just felt the amount of nervousness bubbling over in your stomach and making your hands shake. It was the kind of nervous that made you want to throw up. Not because you were intimidated or anything. Okay, well, maybe a little. But for the most part, you were worried that it was going to be a bad interview. That your boss was going to give you hell for messing up an interview with the talk of the city.
The elevator ride up was agonizing. You were scribbling in the corner of your notebook, taking deep breaths.
Walking up to the door, you were a little nervous. Was this Clark's apartment? God, you hoped Clark wouldn't be there watching you spectacularly fail at interviewing a major spectacle in the city.
You knocked on the door with the apartment number on it, triple checking the note Clark gave you. This was the right house, right?
The door creaked open and you came face to— well, not really face to face, since Clark always loomed over you by at least a few inches, but you met Clark at the door, his eyes shining with a nervous energy that made it so obvious he was waiting for you.
"Hey. Uh… He's not here yet, but he'll be here soon." Clark opened the door wider for you, inviting you inside. You followed him inside, looking around the rather fancy apartment. It definitely looked like it costed more than your place, which vaguely surprised you. Maybe he was just secretly rich.
"Do you want anything?" He asked you, as you decided to take a seat on his couch. You shook your head, but he seemed to look at you like he waited for an answer.
"A water is fine." You said weakly, taking a deep breath. He nodded, grabbing you a glass and filling it with water and ice.
You were in the middle of reading your questions, internally rehearsing what you were going to ask. Clark placed the cup of water on the coffee table in front of you, sitting down next to you. You felt the couch sink with his weight, feeling his eyes reading over at your questions.
"Don't be nervous. He won't bite." Clark teased you, leaning forward on his knees as he looked at your concentrated face.
"With my luck, he'll probably explode me with his laser beams." You muttered with a half laugh, half sigh. You saw Clark's smile slightly drop at your words.
"He would never. He's supposed to protect the people, not… blow them up."
"I was being sarcastic." You said, rubbing yours face before brushing your fingers through your hair, stressed. All the questions you had seemed generic. What if Clark already asked him these questions? You honestly barely read the papers yourself.
"You're gonna do great. Promise." He placed his large hand on your shoulder, rubbing your arm with his thumb gently. It barely did anything to quell the anxiety. It just made it worse. And it was as if he could tell, he pulled his hand back, resting it on his knee.
"I'm gonna just go to the bathroom." Clark stood up from his spot on the couch.
You sat there on the couch for several minutes, making you even more anxious as the sterile silence of the apartment.
Suddenly you heard a clatter on the balcony, startling you out of your stupor. And lo and behold, Superman was littlerally standing right outside of Clark's balcony, a little panicked as he accidentally knocked over a potted plant. You rushed over to unlock the balcony door to let him in, seeing him awkwardly try to place the broken pot onto the glass table outside. It was… a little cute. At least you knew Superman had a bit of humanity in him.
"Uhm, it'll be fine. Clark probably won't mind." You said, making him look over at you. He was so much more intimidating up close, and… well, when he wasn't in a frenzied battle mindset where he was just saving civilian after civilian from yet another terrorizing monster.
"Yeah, I, uh, know. Just didn't wanna leave it on the ground. You're Miss…?" He looked at you, his expression softening.
You introduced himself, pushing the glass balcony doors open to let him in. He walked inside, looking around before deciding to sit in a love seat. He looked so comfortable. He's probably been in here so often because of Clark's constant interveiws with him.
"So… Clark said you wanted to interview me?" He said, watching you as you sat down across from his with a nervous cough.
"Uh, yeah— Yes! Yes…" You nodded, fingers shaking slightly as you flipped through your notebook to find the questions. You've never been this nervous to interview anyone, though that may be because you've never interviewed someone of his popularity. Maybe the closest you got was a flash interview with Bruce Wayne, but both of you were rushing off somewhere and the questions were sloppy and on the spot.
"Don't be nervous. It's not like I'll bite." Superman said with a kind smile, noticing how nervous you were. He sounded just like Clark.
You cleared your throat, grabbing your phone to start the recording and starting off with your first question,
"What made you want to take up and keep acting as Metropolis' golden boy, or our hero, basically?"
Superman leaned back, thinking about it for a moment before he locked eyes with you. His blue eyes felt more striking than anything, like he wantde to reach deep inside the mirror of your eyes and touch your soul.
"I mean, I mostly started because Metropolis was going through its share of alien invasions and I wanted to help the people. I know, I myself am an alien, but humans just… They deserve someone to protect them."
You nodded. How… selfless. Sometimes you wished people could be more like him, but knowing the way the world was turning out, it was hard to keep hoping.
"… do you do it for the fame?" You asked, now just personally curious.
"Fame? No, I don't. Sure the… the whole suit kind of makes it seem like I do, but from the bottom of my heart, I do it because I want to. Because humans are worth preserving."
The two of you looked at each other in a moment of silence. Your eyes looked at his, trying to see whether he was lying or not, but you eventually looked away. Your nerves was starting to get the most of you, as your knee bounced anxiously.
"Do I scare you?" He asked softly, though he knew the recording was still going to get that.
"What? No." You said quickly, looking at him. He looked concerned for you. You were so anxious… He didn't like that.
"Don't worry, I'm… fine." You insisted, rubbing your wrists together as a nervous habit.
You continued on with the interview, asking rather mundane questions, but your wanted to dig further. With every simple question he answered, you had follow ups, which carved into his actual thoughts and feelings more than he would want to.
By the end of it, he was honestly relieved he wasn't under your extremely critical eye, as he went to the balcony, with you following behind him with a nervous smile as you turned the recording off.
"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. I… know I can kinda do that." You said, just as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. He smiled back at you, giving a small nod.
"Don't worry. You honestly had really good questions. Better than Clark anyway. See you around, Miss Journalist." He winked at you before flying off. Your stomach jumped at the praise, a slightly giddy smile on your face. It wasn't every day someone said you did good.
You heard a door open and Clark came out of the bathroom.
"Took you a while. Were you swimming?" You teased, a more relaxed smile crossing your face once you finally got it done and over with. Clark raised an eyebrow, seeing how your mood exponentially increased.
"No. I just didn't want to intrude." He muttered, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, "Did it go well?"
"Better than that. He said I was better than you."
"Oh, really?" An amused smile grew on Clark's face at the sight of your smug expression.
"That sets the record straight; I'm so much better than Mr. Perfect, Clark Kent." You announced dramatically, getting a very genuine and very fond laugh out of Clark. Your eyes glanced back at him, not expecting such a reaction. He looked at you with a smitten smile, his eyes slightly creased at the corners. Why was he looking at you like that, like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. You felt your heart pick up its speed once again.
"Well, I should go." You said after a moment, standing up to leave. Clark's eyes widened. He wasn't expecting you to go so soon.
"Hey, why don't you stay for dinner? I'm just about to start cooking anyways, and… well you're already here." Clark offered.
"No, no, really. I'll just go home."
"No, I insist." He said, grabbing your arm gently. His hand was cold, almost like he had been outside. You didn't know how else to protest since he just led you to sit at his dinner table as he turned the stove on to cook some pasta.
Neither of you wanted to start the conversation, so you took the time to edit through the recording, cutting out a few parts where you stuttered through a question and he just let you start the question again entirely. But even though you didn't look up from your phone for several minutes, you could tell Clark was stealing glances at you. Not in a creepy way but… like he was trying to admire you without noticing. How could you tell? Well, he wasn't really being slick.
'Good golly, she's pretty.'
'Darn it, stop staring, Clark!'
You wanted to giggle at all the quiet comments he had about you, but you didn't want to enable that behaviour. Especially not because it was starting to make heat crawl up the back of your neck.
By the time either of you did want to talk, Clark was finished cooking, as he put down a healthy amount of pasta on the table. The setting made it feel as though you were on a date, with the flowers in the middle of the table and with the way he still stayed in his work clothes. Well, both of you were in work clothes, but you remembered what he was wearing that morning. Not because you liked him, you just hated him so much that you always remember what he's wearing.
You ate dinner in a slightly comfortable silence. His cooking was delicious, not that you'd ever admit it out loud. The sauce smelled like the perfect mix of tomatoes and basil, the pasta cooked al dente, a perfect mix of firmness but also chewy and soft. Honestly, he plated it like he was serving it at a restaurant. There was no way he ate like this every day, but you didn't mind the fantasy. While eating, the sounds of the city floors below mixed into the ambience of the quiet dinner, giving the atmosphere such a domestic feeling. Like you were a married couple having dinner together for the hundredth time.
"You look nice, by the way." Clark mumbled as you stood up to wash your plate in the sink, not wanting to be a rude house guest. Yes, you were blatantly rude to him in public, but you had lines you didn't want to cross. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he said that, confused and a little flattered.
"You're… wearing new clothes. Sorry, I could… kinda tell. You haven't washed them. They look stiffer than what you usually like to wear." Clark cleared his throat, taking his plate and going up beside you, waiting for you to finish washing your plate in his sink. The way he stood there felt intimate, his fingers subtly twitching to move closer to you.
"… Thanks. I didn't think it was obvious." You replied, putting your now clean plate in the drying rack. He started to wash his plate when you went to the couch, picking up your bag and phone to leave.
"Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No, it's okay."
"Are you sure? It's dark out. It's not really safe out there at night."
Your heart ached at his concern. He shouldn't be this concerned about you, and you shouldn't be this affected by the way he looked at you as if you were about to leave and never come back.
"I'll be fine. Probably. Besides, maybe Superman will save me if I ever end up in trouble." You joked, pulling your bag over your shoulder, "Thanks for the dinner, Clark."
"Yeah… no problem."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight…"
The next few weeks were full of confusion and some very awkward moments. Lois was starting to get suspiscious of the lack of weekly 'I-hate-Clark' rants, and you were becoming nicer to Clark over the days. And your luck? Yeah, it was somehow improving too. You haven't been late for a while, and your clothes all stayed freshly washed on your way to work. It was like every minute you spent around Clark cleared up your bad luck. Maybe it was karma, you figured.
Clark was not-so-subtly enjoying your new niceness towards him. He got bolder, speaking to you more often and lingering at your desk. He bought you coffee every morning now, with your exact order that he memorized from the first time he bought coffee for his coworkers. He left you little gifts at your table, like a daisy he found at a park when he was late to work one morning trying to save Metropolis. He brought you lunch every few days, sharing them with you whether you brought food or not. Lois and Jimmy watched the two of you with curious glances.
Lois was pleasantly surprised that you finally manged to get along with the one coworker you absolutely despised just a few weeks ago. Jimmy, on the other hand, was interrogating Clark daily.
"Are you two dating?"
"No?"
"Do you like her?"
"… Maybe."
"Are you going to ask her to date?"
"No. She hates me."
"She can't hate you, she literally talks to you every day." Jimmy groaned at Clark's fiftieth denial about whether you'd date him or not. He never knew about your rivalry with him, so he was absolutely appalled by the idea that you hated Clark. Especially not with your new behaviour around him.
"Well, she probably still hates me. I'm not just going to ask her out. The ratio of her hating me versus her liking me is like… 50:1." Clark said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose bridge while he typed away on his computer, busy with a new article he was supposed to be curating. However, he had been busy staring at a certain someone from across the workplace floor.
"Your staring problem versus your work time is 50:1 right now." Jimmy snickered, pushing his office chair over beside Clark. He followed his best friend's eyes as they landed on you, talking idly with Lois. You two were probably actually being productive, unlike the two men.
No, you weren't.
Lois was also investigating this newfound attitude to the Daily Planet's 'golden boy', as you liked to call him.
"You've been acting like this ever since you went to his apartment. Are you sure nothing happened between you?" Lois whispered, crossing her arms with a sly smile as she leaned back in her office chair which was settled right next you, specifically where she blocked your view of Clark.
"Nothing happened." You insisted with a sigh, shaking your head as you worked on the interview report with Superman.
"You sure?"
"… Okay, maybe something happened." You mumbled. Lois' insistence was getting on your nerves and if admitting it got her to stop, you'll do it. She pretended to gasp dramatically, but the coy smile on your face knew exactly what she wanted. All the details.
"… All we did was eat dinner together, okay? No kissing, holding hands, touching, nothing of whatever you're thinking of." You pushed her chair, which spun her a bit but she stopped herself with a hand on your desk as she faced your computer.
"You can tell me the truth."
"That is the truth, okay? Nothing happened."
"Mhm… so why is he staring at you then?" Your eyes glanced over at Clark, who was busy typing away on his computer. Got you.
"Haha. Funny." You grumbled under your breath as Lois laughed.
"God, you like Clark so bad." You felt your eye twitch at the suggestion.
"I don't like Clark. I hate him."
"Denial doesn't look pretty on you, babe." Lois leaned her elbow on your desk, watching your face. It contorted into a sort of disgusted-and-appalled-but-secretly-considering-the-idea kind of expression.
You shook your head, facing your computer screen once again. "I'm not in denial."
"Right. So what's with the being nice to your greatest enemy thing, then?" Lois questioned.
"I'm doing it because he did me a favour. And for some reason… being nice to him gives me good luck." Lois snorted at that.
"Good luck? Maybe you just think that he gives you good luck because he makes you feel happier." Your eyebrows furrowed. But then they relaxed. Maybe that was what's happening. The way that seeing him more often gave you the idea that he gives you good luck because your day gets better when he's around.
"Well, I still don't like him." You huffed.
"Come on, you definitely like him. I literally caught you looking at those sweets at the bakery we went to the other day, and mumbling 'I think Clark would like these'." She said bluntly, catching you off guard. You didn't think she heard that.
"So what? I just wanted to do something to thank him for all the stuff he's doing for me. I mean, he brings me lunch sometimes, he buys me those chocolates I like, he… he's being so weird." You groaned, leaning back in your chair as you decide to take a break from doing the report. Lois smiled weakly.
"You know that means he likes you, right?"
"No, he doesn't." You're so quick to deny it, Lois chuckled.
"He likes you, and it's so obvious. He stared at you like you're the epitome of beauty. He literally gives you flowers every day. I don't know how much more obvious it can be."
You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, "I'm pretty sure that's just what Clark does, Lois."
She shook her head at your words. That's just what Clark does? Yeah right, the most she'll get from Clark is a cup of coffee and maybe a favour. You have him wrapped around your finger and you don't even know it. She's tempted to push your chair across the floor over to Clark and make the two of you admit your disgustingly obvious feelings to each other, but she digressed.
"You better tell him you like him eventually. Or at least reciprocate his feelings more obviously. I've got a feeling he's gonna explode if you don't."
During a lunch break a few days later, Clark went out, telling you he had to do an errand super quickly. You both started to eat lunch together more often, though that usually just meant that you, Lois, Clark and Jimmy sat in a circle within the lunch room to talk about anything that comes up as a topic, and Clark usually sat beside you. This time, he was sitting across from you.
The three of you were talking, but both Jimmy and Lois seemed preoccupied with… well, something that they weren't telling you. They kept looking over at the door, as if waiting for something. At some point, you couldn't keep your confusion and curiosity inside anymore and just asked, "Why are you both staring at the door—"
Then Clark walked back in, with a bouquet of flowers and a small note.
"Uhm… so…" He started, clearing his throat. Lois and Jimmy closed their mouths as they had opened them to say some excuse about Clark being away.
He said your name in a tone that made your heart flutter, making butterflies tumble around your stomach as he stepped closer to the lunch table you all sat at, "I've honestly been wanting to ask you this for a while but, up until a few weeks ago, you've kinda acted like you hated me." Jimmy winced at the delivery, covering his eyes as if this was going badly. Clark glanced at him, looking as nervous as ever.
“Okay, uhm, you’re really pretty and you’re a really interesting person and I know we haven’t been on an actual date but I kind of considered the dinner we had as a date, so uh…. I don’t know. Would you… like to go on a date with me? Some day? Like an actual date! At a… fancy restaurant. For dinner. Just the two of us.”
You stared at Clark for a moment, not looking at Jimmy and Lois’ looks of embarrassment. Clark was so undeniably him, it was… cute.
“Sure, Clark. I’ll go on a date with you.” You chuckled, nodding.
God, if he was this nervous asking you out on a date, imagine how much worse it was when he proposes.
"Rick, I'm busy-- I'm twelve assignments behind! I'm practically f-fffailing, failing all my classes! I'm pathetic, I'm not going to have a future-- I'm-I'm-I'm going to be stuck with a nothing job once you grow sick of me! and, and I don't want to be--"
Rick blows raspberries while Morty's words continue on, spouting about the same problem; repeating the same points over and over. His words aren't processed fully in Rick's head, he sees no point in listening if there's nothing he wants to change. For everything to eat something must be eaten, every rose has its thorn, every silver lining has a cloud.
Morty grimaces at Rick's amusement from the wordplay. "Never change your name Morty, you're-you're a.."
He begins to sway, tumbling from the doorway and forces his weight upon the shelf as he leans on it.
‘I wish he wouldn't make a habit of messing up my room.’
"Rick," Morty breathes in the smell of liquor, "Let's get you back to the garage, alright?"
-------
Morty blows raspberries as he sits on the counter perpendicular to Rick's main workspace.
Rick's a tall drink of water; that, plus the metal that blurs his humanity, makes him heavy. Dragging him by the wrist—while he sways into every other piece of furniture—left Morty with a racing heart. If only he had time to play a sport or go to the gym, he wouldn't be so winded right now.
“Okay, Rick, I'll, uh, leave you to yourself. I have things I need to finish.”
“Wow, wo—w, Morty, you dragged me all the way here because you didn't want to be around Grandpa? Is that right, Morty? You hate Grandpa?” He leans forward in his chair, places his hands on his knees, and forces his face near Morty's, making the young boy lean back and turn away.
“Rick, I was busy! You can't expect me to be around you all the time.”
“You only care about Grandpa when he helps, isn't—HIC—that right, Morty?” He kicks off the counter and leans back in his chair.
Oh my fucking god. Morty looks at him with frustration.
“Yyyyou want dinner? Lunch? I learned to make chicken alfredo.” Morty shifts his center of gravity backward as he leans on his hands and looks at the ceiling. I wonder what other dishes Jessica likes..
His attempt at humoring Rick is met with an eyeroll.
“What? What, you think Grandpa needs his grandson to baby him? You think I'm disgusting, don't you, Morty?”
“Jesus Christ.”
Morty slides off the counter, hits it thrice, and a beer fridge emerges where he applied the force. Upon opening it, cans fall out rapidly.
“Here” he picks on up and hands it to rick
Rick scoffs at him and chugs the beer from Morty's hand before Morty returns to sit on the counter. Rick takes another, and another, and another. The floor is covered in crushed cans. It smells strongly of yeast and alcohol. The world is in the palms of a drunkard.
"Mortyy." Rick rolls his chair over to Morty and lays his head on his lap.
"Morty, you love Grandpa, right? Want to give Grandpa a kiss? A little smooch from my little poo-pa would make Grandpa sooo happy."
Rick’s smart. He smiles to himself as he watches Morty's face contort. Rick’s an asshole; he's just doing what assholes do, but Morty's skin isn't as thick as he wished. How many nights did he spend wishing he'd only dream about Jessica, only to have his mind fixate on the rugged man?
Maybe it would be nice to feel rick, make love,, morty’s heart leaps and functions only to keep morty alive for rick anyways,, its be nice to feel rick’s hands all over him, have his fingers inside of him to do more than force contraband up his ass, maybe instead it could be rick inside of him, and they’ll kiss, and rick could be rough with him and bend him in two while tears swell in his eyes and sob moans of pain and pleasure
Morty shoves Rick’s head off of him and offers him another beer.
Maybe just once he’ll indulge in his fantasies.
As long as nothing changes—as long as Rick doesn't remember—it won't count. It's just to make his desire stop festering. If he has the real thing, then he’ll realize it's not that good.
They've both lost count of how many beers Rick has drunk as the nth one falls to the floor.
Rick squawks something before standing up and stumbling towards the door.
“What?”
“-ɯooɹɥʇɐq.”
Morty stares at him, still unsure what hes saying.
“The fucking bath—URP—rmm...”
‘Oh.’
The younger one grabs Rick’s side as he guides him to the bathroom. There's not much Morty can do; it was hard enough making him walk across the dining room when he was drunk, but now that he's wasted, he's flailing around and seeing double—he's a safety hazard to the house.
"Rick, you done in there??"
An incomprehensible response is bellowed before Rick emerges out the bathroom.
There's more piss outside of the toilet than in it. Or at least that's what Morty thinks it's safe to assume. It's all clear, looking no different from water.
He'll make fun of Rick later for this.
Rick's fly is down. He doesn't bother to clasp his belt together either. Morty doesn't realize how fixated his eyes were on it until Rick tries to stumble past him. He pushes Rick back into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.
‘It's just a hug.’
His ribcage is squeezed to Rick's abdomen and his head is planted in his chest. His heart flutters as he feels Rick envelop him back.
"Awww-HIC-ww m-mymhymy sweet lil grndsn"
Morty wished time could stop right now, to feel his grandfather's warm body for eternity. The hug is awkward, it's slightly uncomfortable with how bony and solid Rick's body is, but it's Rick. It's the man who's in all of Morty's memories, the one who taught him how to use a bong, how to bring an avian race to its knees though inserting a new insect into the ecosystem that completely destroyed their crops; forcing them to move their economy to revolve around vodka, and how to avoid traveling on water. Rick is the reason that Morty is the Morty-est Morty. Rick is an inventor, he's smart and charismatic and easily gets along with everybody-- it's an honor to simply be around him. He fucks what people can't comprehend.
So it's not Morty's fault when he props himself up on the sink and kisses his grandfather's forehead, cheeks, ears, neck,,,
‘Is it really happening if he doesn't remember this?’
‘It's just a kiss. Its nothing. Its for us to go back to being normal, back to a time where we where just family. If i do this then i can get over these feelings and then i can finally have a white picket fence and admire it with Jessica. Its fine. Theres no need to be nervous cause theres nothing at stake,’
He sinks his lips onto his grandfather's chapped ones. As Morty places both hands on Rick's, he forces their faces to collide again and again as Morty gives sloppy kisses.
The towering figure laughs, “wicked boy, evil boy, try-trying to seduce-- URP-- grandpa? Aww so cute”
He plants one hand on the mirror behind Morty. And cups his face with the other before finally reciprocating.
It feels so good to have Rick so close to him. To feel his heat, to taste the beer from his mouth, welcome the bitter flavor and yeasty smell and breathe the same air as Rick and to know what Rick is sharing the same sensations as him.
It's too good. Morty feels his jeans start to tighten. It doesn't help when Rick snakes his hands under the yellow cotton; pulling it up and off Morty's figure.
Morty's mind begs for more. He wishes he was on his bed and on top of Rick, they'd be making out and Morty could hold their chests to one another while running his hand through his hair and tracing stars along Rick's back all while Rick grabs fistfuls of Morty's hair and pulls on it.
Rick's hand explores Morty's body, brushing gently against his neck, chest, arms, and then finally pinching his pretty little buds.
Morty bites Rick's tongue at the new sensation. He jerks back.
"S-s-sorry-sorry I didn't mean to, it feels good I swear, please don't-- please don't stop."
Rick places a hand on his thigh and kisses his neck. His legs feel wet, upon looking down he sees the cloth melting off him.
"Oh Jeez." I liked that pair,,, mom is going to be mad when I ask her to buy another..
He's completely naked now and Rick just looks at him.
He's fucked aliens that look nothing like humans, he has porn of circles fucking on his computer, there's no way Rick is disgusted by my body.
“Look at you and your weird little dick, yeah youre-- HIC-- such a small litttle guy”
Horrified. Morty immediately moves to cover his erection.
"Don't—don't be like that, Morty. It's cute. Come on—you want Grandpa to do this right?"
It's just one time. Everybody wants to fuck Rick, Rick wants to fuck everything. He's fucked planets... Us being together means nothing in the grand scheme of things. People continue to die if this happens, children still starve if we don't, we'll still be a family if he doesn't remember.
Even if he does, he doesnt care. He never does. He can just mindblow himself
It's just one time.
He pulls Rick's belt out and places it beside himself.
Before notes: weird roomate thing going on here, this ‘chapter’ is just robert inviting phm to stay bc hes guilty about letting him loose his job, also robert refers to himself as mechaman in internal monologue. Next one is gonna be phm packing his shit probably
No beta we die like roberts dad
“Hey, Man, im assuming youve heard already” Phenomaman just keeps staring off into the sky. Hes laying upside down on flambaes car this time. he looks a lot like a kicked puppy and mechaman winces a little as he realizes hes talking to him like one. “I wanted to let you know that its not a you thing, there were a lot of reasons that i had to choose waterboy for the team,”
“I know of the reasons you refer to Robert Robertson, i have been made entirely undone by my breakup with the blonde blazer.”
“No, im not talking about your breakup blues, theres practical stuff behind this”
Phenomamans eyes move to roberts and he shifts his weight; making the aluminum creak like an automaton on some midevil streatching rack.
“Ok first of all, my strategy, ive spent literal days of my life optimizing who goes on what jobs where, if i add you to the mix it would be like chucking a brick at a balance scale.”
“Do you really think i could make such a difference in your team if i couldnt even make a difference in my own relationship?”
“No, man seriously, stop that. Youre literally the best superhero of the era; we all have shitty personal stuff happen that puts us out of the game for a while. Its been like what? Three days? Youll be back in no time, thing is though, if i dont take this chance on waterboy, who will? Hes a good egg and he needs expirience on the force before he can start doing anything big.”
“So, you believe that it is enevitable that someone will ‘take a chance on me’?”
Mechaman nods lightly, “yea, man,”
Phenomaman nods back, “okay Robert Robertson. What should i do while i wait for someone to ‘take a chance on me’?”
Mechaman puts his hands on his hips and sighs, “ so the obvious answer is freelance heroing, but i dont really know if thats what you need right now? If you need a place to crash while youre figuring it out you can stay at my place,”
Phenomaman touches his finger to his chin ponderingly, “yes, maybe sharing a domicile with another being would be beneficial,”
“A friend, man”
Phenomaman shows teeth at this, in some weird sad faximile of a smile. Mechaman walks over to the hood of the car and pulls out his notepad and pen. “Heerreee is my address,” he finishes writing and holds out the ripped piece of paper to Phenomaman “take it”
Phenomaman reaches out and takes it between his index finger and thumb.
“Also maybe dont go around compacting peoples cars, flambaes an asshole so he totally deserves it, but its generally not good pratice.”
“Okay Robert, i suppose we will meet again when i ‘move in’”
“Cool, man, ill see you then” mechaman turns on his heel and heads back to the office. Not the worst way to spend his 15 minutes, at least Phenomaman has a place to mope that isnt the parking lot of his old job.
The end of chapter 1!!! Post notes:
I dont have an ao3 so if you wanna repost thats great but lmk so i can stalk the comments
I plan on keeping this thing going until the passion dies so well see what happens
Im not as creative as a lot of you with explicit content but i do have a zinger or two for this one speculative biology is my fav
Au where he manages to keep both sonar and coop by doing some shady shit
User xandar-yee said some shit about robert taking on his family name as part of the mechaman mantle and i was like fuck yea that cooks so im stealing it
Robert is trans because fuck you
Poaching some concepts from alien sex ed because its a literary classic
There will be a wedding very soon!
Robert is friends with both the ladies here and theres a work groupchat/facebook group thing
You can call me Empty (AKA the woman that posts a lot about Donna)! I mainly write about Donna Beneviento and I have a few fanfics and other things about her.
You can DM me or ask me things I always try to answer!
I only write F/F bc I'm a lesbian
Focused on Donna Beneviento, RE8. But I write for other characters too like Grace.
+18, minors don't interact
🪧RULES PLEASE READ
AO3
My account
Serving the darkness
F/F
Between the gloom and the state of panic, you saw her. She, the cause of your suffering—at least that’s who you wanted to blame. If you could, you would tell her, though with your legs trembling every time you saw her, you knew you never would. That dark attire, that terrifying doll... Without a doubt, she looked the most like a corpse turned into an opaque spirit of all the lords.
And you, you were her cleaner, that’s what she hired you for. Right? At least that’s what you wanted to believe. It was much better to think you were her cleaner than her next victim. Those who enter her house never return—at least, that’s what the stories said.
May the wind from the outside never cross the threshold of this house
F/F
The snow and extreme cold surround you as you struggle to stay conscious and move despite the bleeding wound in your side. Each step is a monumental effort: your body begins to give way from exhaustion and the cold, and you start experiencing hallucinations caused by blood loss and shock. Loneliness and fear intensify your despair as you observe tombs, crows, and dangerous structures like unstable bridges.
Amid your agony, you perceive a dark figure approaching: a woman dressed entirely in black, with a veil partially obscuring her face and a disturbing doll in her arms. The figure appears ghostly, her presence blending fear with a strange sense of protection. The black-clad woman interacts ambiguously: she touches, examines, and seems intent on helping, though with unusual and unsettling gestures. The doll, seemingly animated in your perception, adds a surreal and macabre air to the scene.
Chapter 1 on Tumblr
Chapter 2 on Tumblr
Capítulo 3 en Tumblr
Chapter 4 on Tumblr
How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am!
F/F
It was a winter night—cold, unyielding, and cruel.
Cruel, though not as cruel as what they had done to her.
Or at least, that’s what you thought when you saw her.
You still remember.
Chapter 1 on Tumblr
Chapter 2 on Tumblr
Chapter 3 on Tumblr
Delicious poison (Donna's one shots)
F/F
A book with short one-shots about Donna that will also be on my Tumblr.
TUMBLR POSTS
ONE SHOTS
Donna Beneviento
A human is the warmest place to hide
Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem
Donna and Mia doll (idea by @donnasmeatballs)
The pursuit of the unfeasible
Veni, vidi, vici
Grace Ashcroft
Nicotine perfume, part 2 COMPLETE FIC WITHOUT PARTS
Daughter of late-night pleasure
Analysis and more
UNRAVELING THE HOUSE BENEVIENTO PART 1 AND PART2, PART 3
POWERPOINT ANALYSIS UNRAVELING THE HOUSE BENEVIENTO
How Donna is
Dolls faces
Owning dolls
Details off camera gameplay
Donna's dolls +Donna dolls
Paula and Andi interviews
Donna's hips
Donna's pokemon team
Donna using her plants to force you to kiss you (scenario)
I know people shit on Wattpad fanfic authors and praise AO3 a lot more. And while I've definitely found the better quality fanfics on AO3, I've also realised that the AO3 community seems to be a lot more closed off. I get so much more likes and comments on Wattpad, because I feel like people aren't afraid of interacting with the work and the author. On Wattpad no one is afraid to admit they like shitty fanfic. I mean, we are on Wattpad, we are going to expect Wattpad quality. Whereas I feel like AO3 has become more competitive in the sense that it feels like you need to produce literature quality fanfic in order to deserve being on there in the first place. I feel like on AO3 people only interact with fanfiction when they feel like it's being worthy of being being published rather than interacting because they like it.
Comments don't always need to praise the authors work either. I've gotten plenty of comments on Wattpad like "what character A said is so relatable" or "omg me and my friend do this just like character B and C do". Someone told me I was evil for ending the chapter on a cliffhanger and not uploading the next one yet. And I loved every single comment, even when they didn't praise my work but simply interacted with it.
And god, I just love writing shitty fanfiction!!! And I love people interacting with my shitty work. And I love that my work doesn't need to be publish worthy to be liked by someone. Comments aren't just for praising work, they are for interacting with the work. And I feel like AO3 users don't understand that.
So while I will still crosspost on AO3, I will continue to always publish on Wattpad first. My username is Jxwxxngie on pretty much all platforms if anyone cares to check it out.
Shout out to all my shitty amateur fanfiction writers out there. You're doing great, your work is great, you are loved, writing will always be worth it as long as you enjoy doing it. Write for yourself, write for others, who cares, but keep writing.
This fanfic was written all on a shot, which means
- No corrections
- No second thought
- Doing it in limit time
So consider it can and WILL be bad :']
What the FUCK were you were thinking of, Leshy?! - Shamura snaps, looking furiously at the small child tht was on front of them,
The attack of Narinder had left several marks, and the plan of sealing them was working out nicely and fine... Well, that until the smallest of them all snapped at the cat, breaking his chain, and letting one of his enormous hands free to hold himself and try to escape from the torture was ahead
It wasn't MY fault! You said we should defense ourselves, SO I DID! - Leshy snaps, taking a dangeroums step to the spider bishop, his claw-like nails starting to peek on admist the leafed hand
We should just calm down! - Kallamar says in a concerned voice, taking a step to the middle, while Heket, who couldn't takk by the moment because of her crown beign slightly damaged on the previous fight, taking a step too
This is NOT what we agreed! You chained his arm, I chained the other, Heket and Kallamar did with the neck, and we pulled down within the count of three! And I'm the brain damaged one! - Shamura says in a stern tone
You're not making this any brtter! - Kallamar mutters, as Leshy was taking the final step to face his oldest silibing
The dreadful silence set in, as the four bishops, before a joined family, had the first dight out of a big push and shove of the different members. Heket festured Shamura to calm down as she took their hand and walked to the left, and Leshy did relucantly so, with Kallamar holding his hand, to the opposite side.
The splitting of the family left a huge scar, that, by now day, the poor group of former gods, were still doing truces and punches
Whethecer the thing was, Shamura and Heket would always end up having an argue with Kallamar and Leshy, by how they didn't accepted jot forgiving Narinder was stubborn, and how they were egoist, and as for the side of the fourth and the first, argued back they couldn't forget
Leshy? Decided to call Narinder "a thing", with the purpose of deattaching himself from empathizing and thinking he was a feeling, sentient cat
Heket? Daily giving a fight with Leshy, despite her care for him
Shamura? They were by now, busy with finding how to declare their love to another certain.... someone in the cult. Matter of fact, it's another story
Kallamar? Too tired with trying to convice Shamura it was senseless to support Narinder
And Narinder?
Do they really hate me? Am i that bad? - He questions to his lover and confident, Abel, as he clutches on his knees and covers his teary eyes with his paws, patethic, if Leshy said these words
It's just matter of time - Abel reassures, as he seemed to be also concerned about how his family was previously shattered for some silly reason as reviving adepts for showing his silibings love(?)
Anyways, it would take a long time. One that, maybe, won't dare to tell how much.
