#Insecure men in love with other insecure men

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ but he doesn't like me, does he?

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ clark kent x reader

synopsis : There was one thing you knew for sure, absolutely certain: Clark Kent didn’t like you. Not in an angry or rude way, he was still polite, still himself. But you could feel it. His body language and attitude gave everything away. Your coworkers kept insisting you were wrong, but then why did he keep avoiding you?

cw : smut, unprotected sex, coworkers to lovers, idiots in love, insecurities, height difference, chubby reader. (david!clark kent) words : 12.7k

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  masterlist ⋆ ao3 ⋆ more

It was no secret at the Daily Planet that Clark Kent was a gentleman. His coworkers liked to joke that his mama raised him right—but if only they knew, it was actually his pa who was the emotional one.

Still, the truth stood : Clark Kent had been raised right.

He brought coffee to his colleagues in the morning, at least when he wasn’t running late. If someone forgot their wallet, he’d quietly pick up the lunch tab, never expecting to be paid back. He always volunteered for the articles no one else wanted to write, the stories everyone avoided.

That’s just Clark. A pleaser, through and through.

It did wonders for the office. You hadn’t met a single person who didn’t like Clark, he made it so easy to appreciate him. A gentle, big man with a heart of gold, who could hate that? You certainly didn’t. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like you.

Every time he walked past your desk, he avoided your gaze, eyes low and fixed on the floor, hiding his face from you. Sure, he never left you out of his little acts of kindness, bringing your favorite vanilla latte to your cubicle next to Jimmy’s with that soft, polite smile, but he never lingered. Not the way he did at other people’s desks.

At first, you chalked it up to being the new hire. But as the months slipped by, you started to realize, he just didn’t like you all that much. Which was a shame, really, considering the rather enormous crush you’d developed on the man.

You had done a marvellous job of hiding it. You were always polite with Clark, but you never stared too long, never asked your coworkers about him, never lingered by his desk longer than necessary. Still, every time he was near, your heart would pound like crazy, ready to burst right out of your chest. It was ridiculous.

Almost 26, and you still had crushes like you were in high school. You’d thought you were past all that, especially after enduring so many terrible dates. Maybe the problem wasn’t you, maybe it was the men of Metropolis. Because you seemed to have no trouble falling for a man from a small town lost somewhere in Kansas.

“Hello!” snapped you out of your daydream, along with fingers flicking in front of your face. “Have you even been listening to me?” Jimmy asked, exasperation written all over his face.

Obviously not. You hadn’t heard a word.

“Of course, Jimmy,” you said quickly, looking him in the eye.

You’d been staring at the empty coffee cup on the corner of your desk, the very one Clark had brought you that morning. You grabbed it hastily and tossed it into the trash. It had been sitting there like a quiet taunt, mocking you with the reminder that you could never have the one man you actually wanted.

Jimmy frowned at your abrupt action but quickly moved on, picking up where he'd left off with his story about his latest date. You loved him—really, you did—he was one of your favourite coworkers. But god, did he talk a lot. And since your desks were practically conjoined, you were the default audience for all of his dating escapades.

It had been a long day.

You’d spent it covering yet another political scandal, this time in Gotham City. Something about the Mayor being killed. The details were murky, grim, and far too much for a Wednesday. You couldn’t help but wish the day would just end already.

Dropping your head onto your arm, you let out a groan as you remembered the errands still waiting for you. If you didn’t get to the store soon, you’d be dining on water and regret. If Jimmy noticed you disinterest in the conversation, he didn't act on it as he kept yapping about the girl he had seen the night before. 

And to top it all off, you needed a new perfume, your old one was currently sitting in the bottom of your trash can, shattered into a hundred glassy pieces. Just one more little tragedy in a day full of them.

From the moment you woke up, it had been that kind of day. And you couldn’t wait for it to be over.

“Care for a drink tonight?” Lois’s voice cut through the room like a whip, barging in out of nowhere, and mercifully putting an end to Jimmy’s endless rambling.

Normally, grabbing a drink with coworkers would’ve sounded nice. Fun, even. But not tonight.

Your head was pounding, a dull, throbbing ache that had been building for hours. That’s when you realized, you hadn’t had any water today. Just coffee. So much coffee. And now exhaustion clung to you like the plague, dragging you down like a ball and chain around your ankle.

“Not for me…” you mumbled, face buried in your arms. “My head’s killing me, so… no drinks tonight.” 

After a few worried words from Jimmy, which you quickly brushed off, he went right back to talking about his date. This time, to Lois. Which, unfortunately, meant he started the entire story over again from the beginning.

You sat up with a quiet groan, realising you still had about two hours left at work. Deciding to make good use of the time, you started preparing questions for your next interview, then moved on to editing your article about the Gotham City scandal, scheduled to run the next day.

Once you were fully immersed in your work, the background noise faded. Jimmy’s voice, Lois’s witty remarks, none of it registered anymore. It was peaceful, being tucked away inside your own head, fingers dancing across the keyboard with purpose.

Unfortunately, that peace did nothing for your pounding headache, especially since your glasses were currently sitting on your coffee table at home, forgotten yet again.

The voices around you quieted when a bottle of water appeared on your desk, followed by a single aspirin. They had been placed gently on the wood, carefully set down so as not to disturb your focus. It was a quiet, thoughtful gesture, tender in a way that caught you off guard.

Looking up, you found yourself met with soft blue eyes, warm and filled with concern.

“For your head,” Clark said simply, before turning back to his own desk under the watchful gaze of three stunned coworkers.

How had he known?

He’d been at his desk the whole time. When you mentioned the headache, your voice had been muffled into your arms, barely audible even to Jimmy and Lois, who were sitting right beside you. 

But Clark? Clark had heard you all the way across the room?

You couldn’t begin to figure out the logistics of it, but your heart didn’t care. It tumbled over in your chest, stuttering at the unexpected sweetness of it all. 

What you didn’t see, because his back was turned, was the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of Clark’s mouth as he sat back down.

When you turned your eyes back to your coworkers, both Jimmy and Lois were looking at you with raised eyebrows and matching, knowing smiles.

Jimmy had been teasing you about Clark ever since he caught you blushing the first time Clark brought you coffee. And Lois? She never missed a chance to mention the "energy" she claimed she could feel between the two of you, whatever that meant.

“Oh, fuck off,” you muttered, ducking your head and returning to your article as you twisted open the bottle of water. You popped the aspirin and took a long sip, trying to drown the heat rising in your cheeks.

For someone who didn’t seem to like you very much… Clark was oddly caring. 

But that was just Clark. He cared about people, that’s who he was. Thoughtful, selfless, kind to a fault. You were part of his daily life, part of the Daily Planet team, and even if he didn’t like you that way, he would still care.

That’s just how he was. Clark Kent had been raised right. There was no denying that.

A few days later, it was your turn to be late to the Daily Planet. It was rare for you, almost unheard of, but some alien had decided to crash-land on Earth the night before, and the resulting battle with Superman had wrecked part of your subway line.

You’d ended up walking twenty minutes to the office, arriving late, sweaty, and just in time to miss the morning meeting. Your punishment? Covering sports for the day. Fantastic.

You hated sports. Ironic, really, considering some of your old dates used to joke about how unathletic your body looked. Those assholes.

When you finally made it to your desk, your usual iced vanilla latte was already waiting for you, right next to a fresh bottle of water. God. Did he have to be this thoughtful?

It made everything worse. Or better. You weren’t sure anymore. All you knew was that you liked him even more now, which was exactly the problem.

“Thought you were dead,” Jimmy said the second you dropped into your chair. “Was gonna swing by your place tonight and steal your vinyl collection.”

You shot him a flat look. “Yeah, well, if Superman hadn’t turned half the N line into a pile of concrete, I wouldn’t have had to walk twenty minutes to get here.” You groaned and took a sip of your coffee. 

Sweet, cold, just how you liked it. The smallest part of you hated how good it tasted, because it meant he remembered exactly what you liked. Again. And of course, he’d made sure it was iced, the summer heat had already started hitting Metropolis like a brick wall.

Jimmy giggled beside you like a child. You glanced over to see him diving into his assignment, politics, the lucky bastard. He had a long day of work ahead, while you were stuck with nothing interesting. Groaning under your breath, you reached into your bag and pulled out your glasses, resigning yourself to a long, boring day. You already knew you were going to hate it.

“Hey.” A soft voice called from behind you.

You turned, half-expecting it to be someone asking for a stapler or sticky notes. But it was Clark. You offered him a polite smile, assuming, like usual, he was there to talk to Jimmy. You were already halfway turned back toward your screen when you noticed something strange : his eyes were still on you.

You raised a brow, unsure. “Hello,” you replied, voice cautious, heart beating fast. He looked like he was fighting back a smile.

God. That little almost-smile. Your heart tripped over itself. How could someone that big be so ridiculously cute? It made no sense. None at all.

“I know you’re not a fan of sports,” Clark began, his tone gentle, “and I got stuck with local news today… which I also know you like.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t even need to look, Jimmy was absolutely staring at the two of you, probably wearing that smug told-you-so smirk he always pulled when it came to Clark. He’d insisted for months that you were wrong, that Clark did like you.

“He’s just polite,” you used to argue. 

“He’s polite to everyone,” Jimmy would say. “But with you? He’s thoughtful.”

And damn it, now it was starting to look like Jimmy might’ve been right.

“I asked Perry, and he said as long as we’re both okay with it, he doesn’t see any problem with us switching—” Clark stopped mid-sentence. 

He’d stepped a little closer to your desk, his expression soft and earnest… but then something shifted. His brow furrowed slightly, as if catching something out of place. “You changed your perfume?”

Oh.

You had. The other night, when you finally made it to the store, they’d been out of your usual scent. You’d spent a good hour testing every bottle on the shelf until you found one you liked, something softer, quieter. No one else had noticed the difference.

But of course Clark did.

You blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t even that close. You weren’t wearing much of it. How did he notice? You felt your heart knock hard against your ribs. There it was again, that strange awareness. Like he saw and heard and felt things other people didn’t.

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your voice casual even as your pulse betrayed you. “Just trying something new.”

Clark didn’t say anything right away. His gaze lingered a little longer, thoughtful, before that small, secret smile tugged at the corner of his lips again. You didn’t know what that smile meant. But you were starting to want to.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, as if realising how odd his comment about your perfume might’ve sounded. “I figured you might want local news. I really don’t mind sports.”

He offered a soft smile as he handed you the annex documents.

“Oh, thank you so much, Clark,” you said, relieved and maybe a little too enthusiastic, swapping him the sports documents in return.

Your fingers brushed, just barely, and it sent a shiver down your spine. He was warm. Of course he was. He looked like he gave the best hugs. The kind you could melt into and forget the world existed for a little while.

You shook your head subtly, trying to knock the thought loose.

Now was not the time to imagine Clark Kent curled around you in bed during the dead of winter, holding you close while snow fell outside. Not the time to picture flannel sheets and his soft breath against your neck. Those kinds of thoughts were supposed to stay in your bedroom, late at night, when the lights were out and your imagination ran free. 

Not in the middle of the office. Not in the middle of the day. And definitely not while standing in front of the actual man who starred in every single one of those fantasies.

You cleared your throat, eyes darting anywhere but his. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Clark gave you a look you couldn’t quite read, something quiet, maybe a little amused, but he didn’t press. Just nodded gently and stepped back toward his desk. And damn it, there went your brain again. Right back to flannel sheets and the curve of his smile.

“Girl, you are down bad,” Jimmy snorted from behind you, pulling you right out of your spiral.

Without even looking, you grabbed the first thing within reach, a ruler, and threw it at his head. It hit him square on. “Worth it,” he laughed, rubbing the spot before turning back to his screen.

You huffed and tried to do the same, shaking off the embarrassment and diving into your article. What you didn’t catch, too flustered and too focused on pretending not to care, was the quiet laugh Clark let slip from his own desk.

Soft. Low. Amused. Like he’d heard the whole thing… 

You’d never been particularly fond of walking home.

The streets of Metropolis were always crowded, day and night, and ever since Superman had wrecked part of the N line, your commute had grown by twenty exhausting minutes each way.

Why was it so easy to smash half the city every month, but fixing it always took forever?

So you walked. Again. Winding your way toward the still-functioning stretch of the N line, where you could finally hop on a train for the last ten minutes of your journey. You were just passing a little corner restaurant when you heard your name.

Your full name. Spoken in a voice you’d come to recognize far too easily.

Clark.

Your heart jumped. Turning around, you caught sight of him instantly.

He looked the same as he had in the office, same button-up shirt with his sleeves now rolled up to the elbows, but somehow, he also looked softer. His hair had loosened in the summer humidity, and a single curl had fallen down across his forehead.

He looked good. Too good.

“Oh, hi, Clark,” you said, inwardly cringing at how small and soft your voice came out.

He smiled, warm and easy, walking toward you. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Never caught you around this part of town before.”

You shrugged, trying to keep things casual despite the way your stomach flipped. 

“Oh, yeah, no, um…” You stumbled over your words, eyes flicking to the restaurant window behind him like it might save you. “Superman destroyed the N line near the office, so I have to walk all the way to the library station to catch the part that wasn’t damaged.”

Clark winced sympathetically. “Right. The whole N line mess.”

He’d been different with you lately.

Not dramatically, not enough to confirm anything, but just enough to keep your brain in a constant, swirling fog. He talked to you more. Not just about assignments, but about music, coffee, the weather, small things, personal things. His eyes stayed on you when you spoke, warm and focused. He lingered at your desk a little longer than he used to. Not like he did at Lois’s desk, all easy banter and playful grins, but still. It was something.

A start.

And right now, with his sleeves pushed up and that single rogue curl falling onto his forehead, it was definitely doing something to your heartbeat.

There was a pause, not uncomfortable, but charged, and you scrambled to keep the moment going.

“What about you?” you asked, voice softer. “You grabbing dinner?”

Clark nodded, smile easy. “Yeah. I like this place. It’s quiet, kind of tucked away. Close to home.  Good food. I come here sometimes after work. Helps me think.”

His voice was slower now, more casual than at the office. The city buzzed around you, horns in the distance, the hum of summer heat, but this little moment between you felt strangely still.

“Have you eaten?” “Well, have a good night.”

You both spoke at the same time, the words overlapping, catching you off guard.

Laughter bubbled out from both of you, soft and awkward, as you stood there on the sidewalk, caught in that strange, fluttery space between goodbye and something more.

You were so drawn in by him, his eyes, his voice, the quiet warmth he carried, that you didn’t hear the teenager barreling toward you on a skateboard until it was too late. But Clark did.

Before the kid could slam into you, his hand wrapped around your forearm, firm, steady, warm, and in one smooth, instinctive motion, he pulled you into him.

The strength of it startled you. You knew Clark was strong, he was tall, broad-shouldered, always lifting stacks of paper like they weighed nothing, but this was different. He’d pulled you so quickly, so easily, it knocked the breath out of you. You stumbled forward, colliding with his chest, hands instinctively pressing against him to keep balance.

Solid. Warm. Safe.

Before you could even register how close you were, before you could say something awkward to ruin the moment, Clark gently let go of your arm, only after making sure you had your balance again.

“Want to grab some dinner with me?” he asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And really, how could you say no to that?

What you expected to be a quick dinner between coworkers turned into something else entirely, something easy. You shared the food you ordered, Clark was right: the place was good. Casual, quiet, with a back booth tucked away from the crowd where it was just the two of you and the low hum of the city outside.

You talked. About your lives. Childhood memories. Favorite music. Silly stories from high school. Your mutual hatred for Metropolis sports coverage when he told you he actually didn't like covering sports.  

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward. There were no strained silences, no moments where you felt like you had to fill the space. The conversation simply flowed.

And for the first time in forever around him, your heart was quiet. Not because the feelings were gone. But because they finally felt safe.

Of course, Clark being Clark, he insisted on paying and walking you home, or at least to your subway station. He argued it was late, that the streets weren’t safe, as if you lived in Gotham City. That made you laugh. Ever the gentleman, he made sure to walk on the side closest to the road and even offered to carry your bag.

You had refused, obviously. Walking next to him felt strange. For one, he was so much taller than you, fitter, broader. Beside him, you almost looked like a child in comparison. You’d put on your nice skirt that morning, the one that made your ass look great, but it came with downsides, especially after meals.

Your stomach stuck out, bloated from the food, and with the heat, you hadn’t brought a jumper to hide it. That’s why you insisted on keeping your tote bag, slinging it on the side he was walking on, using it to shield your stomach from his view.

What you didn’t know was how Clark couldn’t help his eyes from drifting downward every time he fell a step behind you on the street, not on purpose, of course. But he couldn’t look away from the bounce of your ass, the way your thighs moved with each step. It was mesmerizing to him.

Finally, you reached the subway station. A bit too soon for your liking, it almost felt like you’d just been on the best date of your life. But it wasn’t a date, and Clark was still that coworker who, as far as you knew, didn’t like you all that much. Even if it didn’t truly feel that way anymore.

Maybe Jimmy was right?

“Well, you get home safe, alright?” Clark said, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. Knowing of what, you couldn’t quite figure out.

“Yeah, hopefully Superman took the night off,” you joked.

The smirk faded from his face, just a little, but enough. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You knew he and Superman were... friends, sort of. Clark was, after all, the only reporter in the city who ever got interviews with him.

Your subway ride was filled with secondhand embarrassment as you replayed everything you’d said tonight. You’d been awkward, not really that funny, and, overall, it felt like you’d talked way too much. But Clark had brought up topics you were passionate about, and once that happened, well... you yapped.

You shook your head, trying to shake off the uncomfortable weight of cringe. You’d apologize tomorrow morning, just to be safe. No need to give Clark another reason to like you even less.

Once you arrived home, you looked up at the sky, drawn by strange noises echoing above the rooftops. There he was, Superman, fighting off another threat from outer space. The battle was so close to your building you could see the entire scene unfold with startling clarity. That gave you an idea.

You made your way up to the rooftop, sat down, and pulled out your little notebook. You started writing it all out like a novel : vivid descriptions of the fight, the way Superman moved with precision, doing everything he could to avoid causing damage to the city. You noted how he kept trying to push the alien threat higher into the sky, away from civilians, careful not to hurt the beast more than necessary.

Perry would love these notes. Maybe he’d even let you cover the attack for the paper tomorrow. You kept writing, capturing everything, even the moment the Justice Gang showed up to help contain the creature, working together to finally subdue it.

The air up on the roof was lighter, breezier than the stifling heat you’d endured all day, and it made you want to stay. So you fetched your laptop, opened a blank document, and started shaping your article. Even if you hadn't officially covered the attack, yet, Perry would greenlight it, he always did when your writing spoke for itself.

You lost track of time, deep in your work, until a soft cough interrupted your flow… from the sky?

You looked up quickly, startled, and there he was. Superman himself. You’d never met him in person, but then again, who hadn’t seen him? Everyone knew that face. You knew him even better than most, thanks to Clark, who was always going on about him, especially after those exclusive interviews.

“Well, hello, Miss,” he spoke first.

You snorted softly, eyes still on your laptop screen. Not exactly ignoring him, but definitely unimpressed. Typing away, you mumbled a half-hearted, “Hey.” Maybe you were still a little petty about the N line being down.

“You shouldn’t have stayed outside during the fight,” he continued, landing gently on the rooftop and staying a respectful distance away. “It got a bit too close to your building.”

“Hm?” you murmured, barely looking up. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be alright.” You waved off the concern, trying not to sound as dismissive as you felt.

But you could feel his confused gaze on you, lingering, slightly thrown off. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being ignored. That might do him some good. Might help deflate that ego a bit. You kept typing, your fingers flying across the keyboard, but a small part of you couldn’t resist. He was standing right there. And, honestly, he could be useful.

“So, would you say you were a little in over your head before the Justice Gang showed up?” you asked, voice casual, laced with dry sarcasm. “Because it kinda looked like it from here. The alien was clearly kicking your ass for a minute.”

You didn't mean it cruelly, just honest observation. He had looked a little overwhelmed at first.

Superman blinked, clearly not expecting that kind of feedback. His brow arched, just slightly.

“Is that your professional opinion?” he asked, his voice smooth but amused. “From the rooftop press box?”

You shrugged, not looking up from your screen. “Hey, I had the best seat in the house. Front-row view.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and surprisingly human. Almost familiar. “I’ll admit, he had a few unexpected tricks. But I had it under control.”

“Oh, sure, no doubts,” you said, finally glancing up. “Right up until the part where you got slammed into a billboard. Very graceful.”

He smiled, wry, almost humble. “That was... tactical repositioning.”

You snorted. “Is that what you call getting launched like a ragdoll now? Tactical.”

“Well,” he said, folding his arms, cape fluttering just slightly in the breeze, “you’re welcome for the save.”

“You didn't exactly save me,” you teased, then added with a touch more bite, “Though I will say, I’m glad you didn’t take out the rest of the N line this time.” Your fingers hovered above the keys as you shot him a pointed look. “I wouldn’t have been nearly as nice in the article otherwise.”

Superman’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a laugh, or a wince. “I see. So your forgiveness is tied directly to public transport?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “I can forgive a lot, but making me walk fourty minutes everyday? That’s borderline villain behavior.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Noted. I’ll add subway lines to the list of things to protect at all costs.”

“Good,” you said, returning to your typing. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got an article to write. Since I know you only give your interviews to Mr. Kent.”

You didn’t even try to hide the edge in your voice. Petty? Maybe. Deserved? Also maybe. 

There was a pause. Then, with a teasing voice, Superman spoke again. “Jealous of Clark?”

You scoffed without looking up. “Please. I’m just saying, he gets exclusives, I get the N line destruction and a rooftop cameo.”

Another pause. A longer one this time.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve read your articles.”

That made your fingers freeze for just a second. You had written about Superman before, here and there. Not often, mostly because your beat was international politics. But he’d made waves recently with the Boravian government, and you couldn’t not cover it.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t exactly been... gentle.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he said, laughing softly. Not defensive. Not wounded. Just amused.

“It’s not you,” you said quickly. “It’s your actions. You act like you’re above the law, above international conflict and diplomacy. It was just an objective piece, you know? Freedom of the press.”

You tried to keep it light. You really weren’t in the mood to argue with the most powerful metahuman on Earth.

“I’ve never doubted your objectivity,” he replied, his tone teasing. “You’re with the Daily Planet, after all. Home of the most brutally honest reporters in Metropolis.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from you. But still, something nagged at you. The way he looked at you. The way he spoke, gently, like he already knew how you thought. The rhythm of his voice. That soft smile.

It felt like you knew him.

Not just in the he's a global figure kind of way. But personally. Intimately.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you stared at him. It was so familiar, and yet your brain couldn’t quite latch on to the why. You blinked and shook the feeling off, typing again. Maybe you were just tired. Or maybe Clark had spent too much time talking about this guy.

But the thought lingered.

“Anyway,” you said, stretching your arms with a dramatic sigh, “I’d better get back to my flat. Long day tomorrow, got to write about all the money your heroics cost the city. Call a few insurance companies… you know, the fun stuff.”

You flashed him a teasing grin as you gathered your things.

Superman chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.”

You headed toward the rooftop door, hand on the handle, but paused to glance back one last time. “Goodnight, Superman,” you said, softer this time. Genuine.

“Goodnight,” he replied, already turning slightly as if ready to take off, then paused. “Oh, and… I’m sorry about the N line. I’ll keep an eye on the tracks next time. Promise it won’t get destroyed again ma'am.”

There was a grin on his face as he said it, wide, smug, just a little too pleased with himself. A shit-eating grin. Then he was gone, vanishing into the sky with a gust of wind and a blur of red and blue. You stood there for a second, squinting up at the empty sky.

That grin. You knew it. You’d seen it before, up close, maybe even across the office.

But where?

After that night, Clark started acting... different.

Not in a dramatic way, he was still the same with everyone else. Polite, calm, a little awkward in the way only Clark could be. But with you, something had changed. He was more open, more playful. The teasing started subtly, soft jokes at your expense, quick little comebacks. Nothing cruel. Just familiar. Comfortable.

He stopped watching his feet every time you walked into the room. Stopped leaving the break room the moment you stepped in. And he actually talked to you now, full eye contact, even smiling sometimes like he meant it.

It was whiplash, honestly. Not that you didn’t like it, you did. You just couldn’t figure out why he’d changed his opinion of you so suddenly. 

You hadn’t even had time to apologize for being a little too awkward during dinner that night, before he’d smiled and told you he’d had a great time. Then he suggested doing it again, once a week, until the N line was repaired.

Like a standing dinner appointment. A kind of compensation, he’d said. As if he had been the one who destroyed it.

Of course you’d agreed, on one condition: you got to pay next time.

He’d agreed, smiling that soft, unreadable Clark Kent smile. But it had been three weeks now. And somehow, you still hadn’t paid for a single meal. He never let you.

It was a weird dynamic.

Every dinner with Clark felt like a date. The kind Jimmy wouldn’t shut up about, candlelit, good food, long conversations full of smiles and eye contact. You didn’t really talk about them at work. You mentioned them here and there, but you stayed discreet.

Mostly because you were convinced you were overthinking them.

Clark was one of the kindest, most genuine men you knew. Gentle, respectful, always listening, he asked about your opinions, remembered little details you'd said in passing. And he looked at you like what you were saying mattered. Like you mattered. 

But you couldn’t help but feel it was just friendliness. Nothing more.

Lois and Cat, of course, completely disagreed. They kept telling you you were letting your insecurities cloud the obvious. “He likes you. Like, actual likes you, likes you.” But no matter how many times they said it, the thoughts wouldn’t leave you alone.

Clark was beautiful, annoyingly so. Funny, in that dry, awkward way. Clumsy, in a way that made him human. And strong in a way that made your brain short-circuit if you thought too hard about it. He could have anyone in Metropolis. Girl, boy, model, athlete—you name it.

And still, your coworkers were convinced he wanted to date you. It didn’t make sense.

You weren’t ugly, at least, you didn’t think so. You just weren’t remarkable either. Mundane, maybe. And yeah, you were overweight. You knew it, even if you tried to act like it didn’t matter. But somehow, when Clark looked at you during those dinners, smiling like you were the best part of his evening, it truly felt like it didn’t matter.

And with every passing week, the dinners lasted longer. 

Shaking your head, you looked down at your watch. 

Right now, you were sitting in City Hall, waiting for your interview with the Mayor. You were investigating LuthorCorp and its suspicious investments in political campaigns and city projects as well as foreign politics. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to dig into Lex Luthor’s operations, but every attempt had ended the same way.

He was too powerful. Too calculated. And absolutely unafraid to bribe, threaten, or manipulate any institution that stood in his way.

You’d already been waiting for hours, juggling other article drafts, answering Perry’s increasingly impatient calls every hour about your progress with the Mayor. Which, so far, was absolutely nonexistent.

It was getting dangerously close to the end of your workday—and the end of the Mayor’s. You could already feel the familiar sting of a wasted afternoon.

Looking up from your laptop, you spotted the Mayor’s secretary walking toward you. The expression on his face told you everything before he even opened his mouth. You sighed, here we go.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice syrupy-smooth in a way that only made it more irritating. “But the Mayor won’t be able to meet with you today.”

You almost admired the effort he put into sounding polite, almost. But you knew the truth : everyone in this building hated reporters. Especially the ones who asked the kind of questions you did.

“Tell him he won’t be able to avoid reporters forever,” you said, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice. “And to stop wasting people’s time.”

You shoved your things into your bag with practiced frustration, snapping your laptop shut and slinging the strap over your shoulder. You stormed out through the main doors, the late afternoon sun catching in your eyes as you stepped onto the front steps of City Hall.

You didn’t get far.

An unfamiliar voice called your name from behind you. You froze mid-step, your stomach already sinking. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Lex Luthor himself, stepping smoothly out of the building like he owned it, which, in a way, he probably did.

“I’m quite sorry you couldn’t meet with the Mayor,” he said as he approached, that infuriatingly calm smirk playing on his lips. “We had a lot to discuss.”

You scoffed, lifting your chin to meet his gaze without flinching. His eyes held no remorse, no real apology, only calculation.

“It’s fascinating,” you said coldly, “how every time I have an appointment with the Mayor, you just happen to show up, Mr. Luthor.”

Lex’s smirk deepened, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes like he was genuinely enjoying himself.

“Well,” he said smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back, “some would say great minds tend to orbit the same circles.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Others would say it’s suspicious."

It was his turn to scoff.

You weren’t impressed by Lex Luthor, not like half the city seemed to be. To you, he was just a man. A rich one, yes, with a dangerous amount of power and polish, but still just a man.

For years, every reporter at The Daily Planet had tried to land an interview with him. None succeeded. Lex was meticulous about his image, controlling every frame, every word. He only appeared on talk shows where he could steer the conversation, only issued carefully worded statements, and never, not once, allowed a journalist past the doors of LuthorCorp.

This wasn’t your first interaction with him. But it was the first time you thought you might have a shot at playing the game differently.

“I thought reporters loved suspicious,” he said, stepping closer. Not enough to invade your space, but just enough to remind you of the power he wielded. Political. Financial. Personal. “It’s almost like you enjoy sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You make it easier than most, Mr. Luthor. Corruption has a way of attracting unwanted attention.”

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing, like he was starting to enjoy the direction this was heading.

“Ah,” he said, tilting his head as though you'd just handed him a compliment. “Still, I admire your persistence. Most people back down after one roadblock. But not you. Or your little friends at the Planet.” He spat the word like it tasted rotten, the disdain unmistakable.

“Yeah, well,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly, “we’re not most people, I guess.”

You saw it then, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Anger. Not loud or unhinged, but tightly coiled, controlled. He was a master at that. Lex Luthor didn’t explode, he simmered, he plotted, he waited.

And so you shifted. Softened.

“But I must say, Mr. Luthor…” you added, letting your voice drop just slightly, almost shy, almost deferential. “You impress me too.”

That caught him. His gaze sharpened, not with suspicion, not yet, but with curiosity. You saw the faintest hitch in his breath, the flick of calculation behind his polished exterior. This was unfamiliar territory. Praise wasn’t your usual currency with him, and he knew it.

You smiled, just enough. Meek. Disarming. Let him take the bait.

“You look surprisingly well, considering how much you’re handling these days,” you said, voice casual, light. “Must be exhausting, juggling all those city contracts, private acquisitions… and now all this quiet financing of the Boravian conflict.”

His smirk faltered. Then vanished completely. Silence.

You could almost hear the gears grinding behind his eyes. Then, there it was, the slip.

“How do you know about that?” he snapped, the chill in his voice a sudden, biting thing. “There’s been no official statement.”

Got him. You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that didn’t bother hiding the satisfaction underneath.

“I didn’t,” you said simply, reaching into your jeans pocket. The small recorder glinted in your hand as you held it up between you. “But thank you for the confirmation.”

He stiffened. You stepped back.

“You’ll be hearing from us soon, Mr. Luthor, but I know you won't answer anyway,” you added smoothly. “Have a good evening.”

Then you turned, walking away before he could gather himself enough to spin it back in his favor. Your heart was pounding in your ears, adrenaline surging. You had a lead. You had a quote. And Lex Luthor had finally made a mistake.

Still riding the high of your small victory, you left the City Hall behind in a rush, already pulling out your phone to call Clark. It was supposed to be dinner night, but this couldn’t wait, you needed to tell him what had just happened.

Sure, it hadn’t been entirely ethical. But Lex Luthor never played by the rules, so why should you?

An hour later, you sat across from Clark at your shared table, half-typing, half-talking, your food long forgotten as you recounted every detail of the encounter. He listened patiently, his plate nearly empty, while yours remained untouched, your fingers dancing across the keys in a blur.

“So, let me get this straight…” Clark said, a warm laugh slipping out as he leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t actually record him?”

“Of course I didn’t,” you muttered, not looking up, still deep in the rhythm of your draft. You grabbed a quick bite, chewing fast before continuing, “Why would I have been recording him? It's not like I knew he was gonna talk?”

Clark shook his head, eyes soft, amused. “Not exactly your most ethical moment,” he teased, the smile tugging at his lips belying any real disapproval.

You shot him a look, playful and unrepentant. “Yeah, well, ethics get a little blurry when you're up against a guy who treats international conflict like a business expense.”

He grinned, taking another bite, still watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “Perry’s going to lose his mind when he reads this.”

You smirked, finally pausing to glance at him. “Good. Finally got my front page.”

You looked up, and froze for just a second. He was staring at you with the kindest eyes you’d ever seen. Unwavering. Soft. Like you were something rare and remarkable. Like he saw all of you and still chose to look that way.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. No one had ever looked at you like that. Not like you were just a reporter chasing a story, but like you were everything worth watching. Right on cue, your heart skipped. Flustered, you stabbed another bite of food with your fork and went back to typing, willing the blush from your cheeks.

Eyes still on your screen, you asked, trying to sound casual, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He let out a quiet laugh, warm and low. “No. I’m just… proud of you,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “Even if it was a slightly debatable trick.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, hidden by the screen. “Slightly? You’re going soft on me, Kent.”

“Only with you.” He winked, finishing his own food. 

That made you stop typing. Just for a beat. Then, you swallowed once, quietly, unsure if it was the food or the flutter in your chest, and resumed typing, pretending like the world hadn’t just shifted a little between you.

You spent the rest of the night writing, the soft clack of your keyboard mixing with Clark’s quiet commentary as he leaned over your shoulder. He offered suggestions here and there—cleaning up a sentence, pointing out a stronger lead, helping shape the tone without ever overshadowing your voice.

It was nice. Sweet, even.

You weren’t used to this kind of collaboration, gentle, unhurried, easy. The back and forth between you felt natural, like you'd been working this way for years.

Sometimes your hands would brush when you passed him your laptop, or when you reached over, completely shameless, to steal a bite of his second dinner. He gave up trying to stop you after the third attempt and just started ordering extra. 

He was eating a lot. A lot. But then again, with a body like his, it made sense. Tall, broad-shouldered, solid in a way that felt permanent. You figured all that muscle had to be maintained somehow.

Still, every now and then, you’d glance at the empty plates piling up and mutter, “Where does it all go?”

He’d just grin, dimples and all, and say, “Good metabolism.”

You didn’t believe that for a second. But you didn’t press it either.

The article was nearly done. You were both full, him more than you, and the restaurant had settled into a comforting silence broken only by quiet conversation, shared glances, and the hum of the city through your open window.

Somewhere between line edits and midnight, you realized something dangerous.

You didn’t just like working with Clark Kent. You liked being with him. What had started as a small, harmless crush had grown into something massive, and dangerous.

It crept in quietly at first. But now? It lived in every glance he gave you. Every time his soft, thoughtful smile found you across the table. Every time his hand gently reached out to stop yours from biting at your nails when stress took over. Those small, careful gestures chipped away at your resolve until your heart ached just from being near him.

So when he walked you to the subway that night, the city glowing gold around you both, and pressed a kiss—soft, lingering, infuriatingly gentle—to your cheek… your heart nearly gave out. It thumped wildly in your chest, loud enough to drown out the world for a moment.

You knew you were playing with fire. But God, you longed to get burnt.

You smiled as you descended the stairs into the subway, clutching your bag a little tighter. Hope curled in your chest like something too bold to name.

Maybe, just maybe, one day he’d feel the same way.

Sitting at your desk, you stared at the front page of the freshly printed Daily Planet.

Lex Luthor Admits to Financing International Conflicts

Your name sat proudly beneath the headline.

Perry had been thrilled with the article, grinning like a madman when it hit print, puffing his chest as he waved the paper around the newsroom. The Daily Planet's lawyers, on the other hand, were already on their third round of phone calls before noon. Emails, threats, cease-and-desist letters, they were pouring in from every direction courtesy of LuthorCorp’s legal team.

But Perry had your back. He stood behind the article, behind you, citing freedom of the press with fire in his voice and a cigar practically dangling from his teeth. You hadn’t seen him that fired up in years.

Still, even with the rush of adrenaline and pride, you couldn’t quite relax. You stared at the bold headline again, heart pounding. You’d done it.

You’d poked the beast, and it had roared. But you didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

And just when the nerves started to crawl in again, a gentle tap came on the edge of your desk. You looked up to see Clark standing there, holding two cups of coffee. One was already missing a sip, his.

The other? Yours, just the way you liked it.

“Front page, huh,” he said softly, eyes warm. “Welcome to the club.”

You took the cup, fingers brushing his. That look was back in his eyes again, that same quiet pride from a few nights ago, the one that made your heart trip over itself.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice lower than you meant. 

He smiled again before making his way toward his own desk. 

You felt so proud of yourself. You couldn't help but smile for the rest of the morning, having a hard time focussing on your work for today. Your eyes always lingered back toward the newspaper lying on your desk. All your team had made sure to congratulate you, filling your heart with warmth. 

“Drinks tonight, you can’t say no. We are celebrating you!” Lois’s voice shot across the bullpen like a bullet, barely giving you time to blink before she was already halfway to Perry’s office, heels clicking with authority.

You looked up from your monitor. “I didn’t even say anything yet!”

And she was right, you couldn’t say no. It was Friday night, and you had nothing better to do. You weren’t behind on work, the fridge was stocked, the laundry was done. You had no excuse. And you had made the front page! It was a thing to celebrate. 

And maybe it would help taking your mind of Clark, and your not real dates. 

They were fun, too fun, really. Liberating in the moment, like you could breathe around him. But afterward? The crash was brutal. Your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling, overthinking every word, every glance, every little laugh. It hurt. Even when it shouldn’t.

That’s how you found yourself, hours later, sitting at a sticky table in O’Sullivan’s, Metropolis’s finest pub, surrounded by your favorite coworkers. Clark and Cat were deep in a heated debate about Superman’s very questionable sense of style, while you, Lois, and Jimmy were somehow talking about... toes?

Jimmy had started it. He always did. The man had a gift for derailing any normal conversation within five minutes.

Oh, and Steve was there too. He hadn’t said much, but he was sipping his beer like a man who had no idea how he’d ended up in a conversation about capes and toes.

As the night wore on, everyone was getting progressively more affected by the alcohol. Everyone but one.

Clark.

He was weirdly good at holding his drinks. Thinking about it, you couldn’t recall ever seeing him drunk. You were fairly sober yourself, a little tipsy, pleasantly warm, but nothing like Jimmy and Cat, who were currently butchering We Will Rock You on karaoke with the absolute confidence of people who had forgotten shame existed.

“How come you’re not drunk?” you shouted over the noise, leaning in a little closer. 

He turned away from the chaos, and those soft, annoyingly kind eyes landed on you. Paired with that specialty Clark Kent smile, gentle, quiet, and somehow entirely his, it sent a sudden jolt of heat straight between your legs.

“It’s simple,” he said, holding up his beer. “I didn’t drink that much.”

Sure enough, he was still nursing his first beer, half-full. Meanwhile, the table had gone through at least four rounds.

You stared at the glass, distracted now by the way his fingers wrapped around it, long, strong, careful. The glass looked small in his hands. Like a toy. And for some reason, that sent another ripple of heat through you.

“You seem a little out of it,” Clark added, that soft smirk playing at his lips again, just this side of teasing, but still warm.

You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Hard.

“Oh no, I’m good,” you said, far too loud, and threw both thumbs up in an awkward gesture that immediately felt like a mistake.

Had you been sober, you might’ve cringed. Hard. But right now? Cringing wasn’t on the menu. Not when your brain was soft and hazy, and your eyes were locked on his mouth, on that smirk.

You’d seen it before, of course. He was your colleague, your friend, and Clark smiled all the time. But there was something different about this smile. Something tucked just behind it, something unspoken, almost amused. It tugged at the edge of your memory. Familiar. Too familiar. But just foreign enough to slip out of reach.

Your brows pulled together, the confusion settling in your expression before you could hide it. He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Curious. Patient. Like he knew something. Almost amused. 

“Tell him!” Lois’s voice rang out far too close to your ear, snapping you miles away from your little internal investigation. “Tell him about the little cute alien that was glued to your window for days!”

You blinked, turning to find her grinning like a devil, eyes glassy from one too many drinks. Beside her, Steve looked unsure, eyebrows raised, clearly bracing for whatever bizarre story was about to unfold.

They were both watching you. Waiting.

It was a silly story. Embarrassing, even. But one you liked telling, so you did just that. Animated and loud, hands waving around as you launched into the tale.

What you didn’t notice, though, was the way Clark let out a quiet sigh as you turned away. The tension in his shoulders softened, his body subtly relaxing now that he was no longer under your scrutinising gaze.

The hours passed in a haze of laughter, bizarre stories, and absolutely butchered karaoke performances. It had been a long time since the Daily Planet crew had spent a night like this, no deadlines, no looming crises, just fun.

You felt good. Sobered up completely now, like most of the group, except Jimmy, who was still riding whatever chaotic, alcohol-fuelled high had taken hold of him three hours ago.

Thankfully, he lived near the bar, just a few blocks from Lois and Cat. The two women, still giggling, promised to get him home in one piece. You watched them chase after him with fond amusement as they all disappeared into the night.

Yeah. Tonight had been good.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath as you checked the time. No way you were making the last subway, especially with the fifteen-minute walk to the nearest working station.

“Everything okay?” Clark asked beside you, concern laced in his voice as his gaze dropped to your phone.

You sighed, trying to wave it off. “I missed the last metro,” you said, almost sheepish. Then, looking up at the soft, quiet summer night around you, you added, “But it’s fine. It’s a good night for a walk.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he said simply, firmly. The kind of tone that left no room for argument.

So, after a quick wave and a goodnight to Steve, you found yourself on the sidewalk beside him, heading off into the quiet streets. Of course, you did try to protest. You told him, more than once, that you were fine walking alone, that he really didn’t need to go all the way to your place when he lived so close to the bar.

But he waved off every concern without missing a beat. 

“I’m not letting you walk home alone at nearly 1 a.m.,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My ma would kill me if she found out.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but secretly? You were glad he insisted.

The thirty-minute walk flew by in what felt like seconds. One blink, and suddenly, you were home.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, like it always did since that first dinner. Comfortable. Familiar. He still walked on the side closest to the road, like always. But tonight, he was a little closer than usual. Just enough that your fingers brushed now and then, barely there, featherlight, but every time, your heart skipped like it hadn’t quite gotten the memo to stay calm.

You didn’t say anything about it. Neither did he. And neither of you moved away, either.

You joked about Jimmy and Cat’s drunken rendition of classic rock songs, gently mocked Steve for always looking like he’d wandered into the wrong timeline, and even admitted that you agreed with Cat about Superman’s questionable taste in suits.

Clark had laughed at that, a soft, genuine sound that made something warm bloom in your chest. And just like that, you were standing in front of your building. The night felt too short. The goodbye, too soon.

Standing on the stairs just before the front door of your building, you found yourself eye-level with Clark, a rare occurrence, given the fact that the man was a literal giant. Something in his eyes, in the way his body leaned ever so slightly closer to yours, in the quiet reluctance on his face, as if he, too, was a little sad the walk had ended, pulled the words from your lips before you could second-guess them.

“Wanna come upstairs?” you asked, the question barely louder than the breeze. A whisper, almost lost to the wind.

But Clark heard you. Of course he did.

Not just because he was standing close, but because it was your voice. A voice he would pick out in a sea of thousands. A voice he'd hear anywhere, no matter how far. Though you didn’t know that part.

He nodded, barely, a quiet “Yeah” slipping from his lips like a promise.

It wasn’t long before your back hit your front door, upstairs, his body pressing gently, but undeniably, against yours. His lips found yours with the kind of urgency that had clearly waited too long. Soft, but certain. Gentle, but wanting. The kiss was rushed, but not careless. It felt like everything you’d both been holding in, months of glances, of almost, of quiet moments too full to name.

This wasn’t a kiss just for the sake of kissing.

You kissed him harder, pushing up on your toes to meet him, trying to say with your mouth what your heart had never dared to voice. That you liked him. That you had for so long. That you hadn’t imagined any of it.

Clark groaned softly into the kiss, lowering himself just enough until, without warning, his arms swept around you, lifting you with an ease that felt unfair. You wrapped your legs instinctively around his waist, breath catching in your throat as he deepened the kiss. He let you no time to protest. 

His mouth moved against yours, tongue seeking, exploring, like he had something to say too. Something he hadn’t found the words for yet. And you let him say it this way.

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush, his warmth seeping through your clothes and setting your skin on fire. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as if you might float away otherwise.

The kiss deepened, slow and searching, a conversation without words. His tongue traced yours, tentative at first, then more sure, like he was learning the shape of you, committing every detail to memory. 

Finally leaving the front door, Clark walked inside your flat with the ease of someone who belonged there. Without hesitation, he made his way to the couch and sank down with a quiet groan, the sound thick with relief.

You settled on his lap, feeling the solid weight of him beneath you. At the noise he made, you instinctively tried to shift, to sit beside him instead, worried you might be too heavy. But Clark’s hands found your hips, gripping firmly, holding you in place.

“No,” he murmured, voice low and urgent, his fingers tightening just enough to pull you closer. You froze as his lips found yours again, this kiss deeper, more demanding. You barely had time to protest before his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.

Your breaths tangled together, your heart pounding in a wild rhythm that echoed his own. You felt it under your fingers. Time seemed to stretch, the world outside shrinking until it was just the two of you, suspended in this moment where everything finally made sense.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, shimmering with something raw and real. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “More than I knew how to say.”

Frowning, you let out a confused sound. "I thought you didn't like me." 

Now it was his turn to look confused. Clark blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to process your words. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spread across his face, followed by a laugh, deep, sincere, and filling your flat.

“Is that why you always looked so gloomy around me?” he asked, the smile still lingering.

“You avoided me, Clark. All the time. Watching your feet whenever I was near, never talking for more than a minute, never lingering at my desk unless it was necessary…” you said, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice at his teasing. “How the hell was I supposed to know you liked me?”

“I bring you coffee,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything.

“You bring coffee to everyone,” you shot back, deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

Clark chuckled, shaking his head with that familiar, easy grin. “Yeah, but I always made sure you got the good stuff. Overly sugary milk with a bit of coffee.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. His lips trailed softly from your cheek to your jaw, then down to your neck. He lingered over your pulse point, as if savouring the gentle thrum beneath his touch.

“Just know,” Clark murmured, his head still resting against your neck, “I’ve always appreciated you.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, silencing any argument with a tender, insistent kiss.

The kisses felt euphoric, as if time itself had slowed to stretch them out for hours. With Clark, everything was effortless and unhurried. Unlike your past lovers, there was no rush, he moved as if he had all the time in the world, and right now, so did you.

His hands explored your body with tender care, caressing softly, never demanding, always gentle. He asked before slipping your shirt off, waited for your consent before removing your bra. Once you were bare, he peeled off his own shirt, never making you feel vulnerable or exposed.

His touch was intoxicating, as soothing as his lips. You melted under the weight of his hands, large, warm, and perfectly fitting as they cupped your breasts. His fingers toyed with your peaked nipples, alternating between soft caresses and gentle pinches, an unspoken apology woven into each movement. Paired with his lips tracing your neck and lips, it was utterly overwhelming.

Without even realising it, your hips began to move, grinding softly against him, responding to the slow, delicious tension building between you.

He chuckled softly against your lips as your covered core pressed against his already hard length. It was one of the hottest sounds you’d ever heard, a breathless, teasing laugh that sent shivers straight through you. Jimmy had been right, you were absolutely down bad.

“Keep going,” he groaned into your ear, his voice thick with need, just as you paused to rest your forehead on his bare, warm, and slightly sweaty shoulder.

His breath fanned over your skin, warm and steady, grounding you in the moment. You lifted your head slowly, eyes meeting his, dark, intense, and full of something deeper than desire.

His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of his body seeped into yours, setting a slow, steady rhythm as your hips moved against him. Every touch, every brush of skin, was electric, soft, like he was memorising every curve, every inch of you. You felt safe, wanted, and adored in a way you hadn’t known you needed.

You felt how wet you were, and judging by the hard length pressing against you, you knew he was just as affected as you were. It felt incredible to be wanted by Clark—needed, desired. For months, you had told yourself you were too plain, too overweight, too annoying. But it turned out he liked all of that about you.

You rocked your hips again, frustrated by the layers of clothing between you. Without thinking, you stood up and hurriedly peeled off your pants and panties in a clumsy, rushed way, like the fabric was burning your skin.

Standing naked before him, you noticed the effect it had on Clark. He froze, almost like his brain had short-circuited, not quite processing the very clear message you were sending, that you wanted him naked too. Instead, he simply admired your body, his eyes tracing you slowly and thoroughly, over and over.

Taking matters into your own hands, you knelt in front of him, fingers already fumbling with his belt buckle. That seemed to snap him back to reality. He gently took your hands in his, kissed your fingers softly, then stood up, pulling you to your feet with him.

After slipping off his pants and briefs, he sat back down on the couch and pulled you back onto his lap.

Your breath hitched as his warm hands settled on your hips, grounding you against him. His gaze roamed over your bare skin, eyes filled with awe and something soft, like he was seeing you in a way no one ever had.

You leaned into him, your hands resting lightly on his broad shoulders, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his skin. The weight of him was comforting, a promise of care and tenderness.

Slowly, carefully, his lips traced a path from your neck to your collarbone, each touch igniting sparks along your skin. You sighed, the tension of months of self-doubt melting away under his gentle attention.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured between kisses.

You gasped, eyes wide as a teasing smile tugged at your lips.

"Did Clark Kent just swear?" you teased, knowing full well his reputation at the office for a gentle, swear-free vocabulary. The fact that he’d let loose like this on your skin made your heart swell with warmth.

He playfully nipped at the skin of your breast before his lips closed over your nipple, while his fingers danced teasingly on the other. Your hips began their slow rocking again, finally satisfied by the warmth of his skin pressed against yours.

You felt him twitch against your stomach, biting your lip at the raw desire radiating from him. It had been far too long since you’d felt this wanted.

“Clark,” you moaned softly.

“Hm?” He lifted his head from your breast, eyes searching yours, waiting.

“I need you,” you whispered into his ear, voice tender and full of longing. “Please.”

How could he ever say no when you sounded that sweet?

Clark’s breath hitched, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he pulled you tighter against him. His hands slid down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with a reverence that made your skin tingle.

Without breaking eye contact, he gently tilted your chin up and kissed you deeply, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in this moment where nothing else mattered.

His hands gently lifted your thighs, easing them onto his lap just enough to draw himself closer to your warm entrance. He paused, holding you there, then looked at you through his glasses, silent, searching, asking without words if this was truly what you wanted. You nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

With utmost care, he began to lower you onto his length, inch by inch, never rushing, always attentive to your reactions. The warmth and pressure were overwhelming, but not in a painful way more like a delicious surrender. You should have known, it's always the quiet, nerdy, clumsy ones who surprise you by being big.

Finally settling back onto his lap, you needed a moment to catch your breath. You slumped against him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. His hands were steady and soothing, tracing gentle circles along your back, cupping the nape of your neck with tender care. His soft voice whispered warmth directly into your ear, telling you how good and warm you felt.

He urged you to take your time, to never rush, he could wait as long as you needed, even the whole night. But you didn’t need time. You needed to move. So, slowly and hesitantly at first, you began to rock your hips, a gentle, tentative motion.

It felt good, so good. He was reaching places no one else ever had, not even your toys. The sensation was unfamiliar, almost overwhelming, but far from unwelcome. You kept rocking against him, and each pass of his pelvis against your clit made your breath catch in your throat. It was breathtaking... but soon, it wasn’t enough.

Lifting your head from the crook of his neck, you looked up at him, really looked. You wanted to see his face, his expression, as you began to bounce on him. It started softly, tentative, testing the limits of what your body was discovering. But the more you felt, the bolder you became—and so did he.

His hands found your hips again, guiding them with more purpose, lifting and pressing you down onto him in a steady rhythm. But even that didn’t satisfy him for long. Soon, his hips began to thrust up to meet yours, strong and fast, until his pace overtook yours and all you could do was hold on.

Moans, grunts, whines, and gasps filled the room, raw, honest sounds tangled together with the sharp rhythm of skin against skin. Sounds that had never once filled this flat before Clark.

After a few minutes of his relentless rhythm, you felt your orgasm building, close, achingly close, but just out of reach, like it was trapped behind a wall of glass. You let out a soft whine directly into Clark’s ear, trying to rock your hips in rhythm with his, but you couldn’t keep up. He was too fast, too deep, too much.

But he noticed. Of course he did. The way you whimpered, the way your body tried to move, it told him everything. And he felt it too, in the way your pussy tightened around him with desperate pulses, clenching so hard it almost made him see stars.

He smiled, just a little. His girl only needed a bit more.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers sliding down to where you were joined. At first, he just teased, letting his fingertips brush lightly across your skin. It earned him another needy whine, one that made him chuckle softly against your shoulder.

Greedy little thing you were.

And he adored you for it. Clark would give you anything.

Without holding back any longer, his fingers found your clit, circling it in slow but steady motions, firm, grounded, perfect. The added pressure sent shocks of pleasure through you, colliding with the rhythm of his hips pounding into you. Your toes curled. Your hands dug into his shoulders. It was all too much.

And then it happened, your release crashing over you, breathtaking and unstoppable. The moans caught in your throat, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Clark wasn’t far behind. The sound of your climax, the way your body tightened around him like a vice, it pushed him over the edge. With a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, he came hard, spilling into you, filling you with warmth.

Even as the last waves of your orgasm pulsed through you, Clark didn’t stop. His thrusts slowed just enough to keep from overwhelming you, but they were still deep, intentional. He stayed hard inside you, your slick heat coaxing him to keep moving, to draw every last ounce of pleasure from your spent body.

Finally, after a few more thrusts, he stilled remaining inside you.  A golden, heavy quiet filled the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the gentle thump of his heart against your chest.

Clark didn’t move right away. He just held you. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other stroking your back in slow, grounding circles. His lips pressed soft, breathless kisses against your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, everywhere he could reach without letting you go.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and careful.

You nodded against him, too dazed to form words just yet. He smiled softly and shifted just enough to grab the blanket off the couch, wrapping it around your back without slipping out of you. He stayed seated, still joined, still holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Getting up with you still in his arms, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth, he carried you gently toward the bathroom. He turned on the water, letting it warm up for the both of you, steam already beginning to rise and curl around the tiles.

He set you down carefully on the counter, your body pliant in his arms. Your head came to rest against the cool mirror behind you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in a dazed smile. Clark let out a quiet chuckle at your blissed-out expression, brushing his fingers tenderly across your cheek.

“I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” he said softly, voice full of care, not wanting to startle you or cause any discomfort.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, barely coherent, too tired and thoroughly spent to say more than that.

The shower was quick, quiet, and sweet. Clark was gentle with every touch, washing your body with thoughtful care, making sure not to linger too long or overstimulate your already-sensitive skin. He moved with reverence, like tending to something precious.

When it was over, he didn’t bother trying to dress you. Instead, he wrapped a towel around your damp body, gently patting you dry before scooping you back up into his arms.

He didn’t go back to the living room for his briefs, didn’t bother with anything else. All that mattered was getting you comfortable.

He carried you straight to your bed, settling you down with the same tenderness he’d shown you all night. Then he climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms like you belonged there, like you always had.

The soft throw blanket he’d grabbed on the way to the bathroom now covered both of you, a light layer against the summer night. The duvet was folded off to the side, too heavy, too much, especially with Clark radiating warmth like a human furnace.

You let yourself melt into him, safe, warm, held.

You felt like you were on another planet, drifting through the best dream of your life, half-convinced you’d wake up any minute. Needing to make sure he was real, solid and warm beneath you, you clung to him. One leg curled possessively around his waist as you lay nearly fully on top of him, your bodies still bare, still close.

His semi-hard cock rested dangerously close to your still-sensitive cunt. It was a risk… but one you welcomed. A game you were more than willing to play again if it led to the same beautiful consequences.

Your fingers traced idle shapes along his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. When you looked up, you found him already watching you, glasses still perched on his nose.

Weird.

Had he even taken them off in the shower? You couldn’t quite remember. Your brain had been hazy, your body boneless, your mind confused, but you were almost certain he’d kept them on the whole time. Just like he was keeping them on now, even though you both clearly had no plans of moving anytime soon.

You brushed it off, figuring he just wanted to see you clearly. Maybe it was a comfort thing. Maybe it was just Clark.

The silence stretched for a few more moments, soft and content, until you broke it with a rasping whisper. “You know I had the biggest crush on you for months?”

His lips curved into that smug, infuriatingly cute grin. “Oh yeah. I know,” he said, teasing deep in his voice.

You squinted at him, suspicious. “What do you mean, you know?”

Still grinning, he added—without thinking, way too casually. “I could hear how fast your heart was beating.”

Silence. Your brain stalled.

“You could… what?”

His smile faltered. Fuck. Clark had a lot of explaining to do.

©sillyswriting 2025

im so obsessed with this man i wrote this in two days...

[loveofkatsukislife]

jealous jjk men. No thoughts except that hehe. I just love to think abt how they'd react. Likee?? Toji's obv bold or he'll be smug abt it. Choso being jealous also itches my brain like crazy. Ty for coming to my ted talk🤌🫴🟣 (if you'd like, I'd LOVEE a smau of this)

hii anon !! i would love to do a smau but.. im working on one right now and im going to reallyy strugle if i do both at once, so ill just do a little blurb !

including: gojo, geto, yuta, megumi, yuji, toji, choso, nanami(separate)

gojo

If he sees someone getting a little too comfortable with you - even if it’s innocent — he immediately appears at your side like:

“Heyyyy, sweetheart- Who’s your new friend?”

Big fake smile. Arm around your shoulder. Sunglasses lowered just enough to give the most disrespectful stare to the other person.

geto

If someone flirts with you, Geto doesn’t blow up. He smiles politely. Says something like:

“Ah... I didn’t realize you were so popular.”

But there’s this edge in his tone. A weight behind his words that makes even the boldest people suddenly forget how to speak.

yuta

He doesn’t get mad right away - he just... wilts. Like a kicked puppy.

You say hi to someone attractive? Laugh at their joke? Yuta’s quietly like:

“Oh. Yeah. That guy was... funny. Haha..." But the poor boy overthinks everything. Starts spiraling: “Are they better looking?” “Am I being too clingy?” “Maybe I should give them space..."

(Meanwhile, you literally just said “good morning” to someone.)

megumi

he doesn't say anything when someone flirts with you...but his entire aura goes dark? his jay clenches. his eyes narrow. the silence around him gets heavier. like gravity just shifted and no one knows why. hes just standing there.. plotting.

yuji

He’s not subtle. At all. If someone flirts with you, he literally blurts. “Wait-are you flirting with them???” He knows you’re his but he panics anyway. Like: “We’re together, right???” You reassure him and he immediately melts.

toji

The second someone looksat you a little too long? Toji’s already clocked their height, weight, fighting style, and what it would take to put them in the ground. Doesn’t even flinch. Just mutters: “You know that guy’s staring, right?” Then smiles, very slowly. it’s not insecurity. It’s predatory instinct. You’re his, and he doesn’t share.

choso

Choso doesn’t react right away. He just watches. His stare sharpens. His body stiffens He doesn’t move, but the air around him gets heavy. That other person might not realize they’ve made a mistake... but they feel it. He’ll quietly ask you afterward: “Do you... like them?” And even though his face is neutral, you can hear the hurt in his voice.

nanami

If someone flirts with you? He--doesn’t make a scene. He just goes quiet. Polite. Frigid. He’ll look the person dead in the eye and say something like: “believe you’re being unprofessional.” or “You’ve overstayed your welcome.” It’s not what he says - it’s how. That tone? That flat stare? They will excuse themselves IMMEDIATELY.

im soo glad i was able to get this donee. i had alot of fun making this, anon i hope you enjoyed and same thing for anyone else that read this !! (once again pleasee send in requests)

[vampiricram1]

Did people like forget what like feminism is

Fella like they have alot of the time.

It's supposed to be intersectional

Is supposed to be a fight against patriarchy that's oppressing every human on this planet

Not used as a weapon against those speaking about their pain

Not as an excuse to perpetuate that pain

It's not meant to weed out anything remotely associated with what's they've branded as your "other"

When did hating masculinity either perceived or ones own self personhood replace destroying the patriarchy?

Cause if you think (not the person I reblogged this from this is for anyone reading my post that might be doing this stuff)

Hating trans men's for wanting to be what they perceive as masculine and love there own truth

Hating trans women for trying to be in women's spaces and call them "male bodies"

Hating all men feeling the pain of patriarchy themselves and the stress and corrupted society it credited and are dealing with mental issues that are directly related to the patriarchy oppressive hand on us all and treating them talking about their pain like it's not real

Giving up on guys as a social class saying we shosint try to reach out to the insecure kids who are being influenced by horrible fascists because you think somehow this twelve your old understands the entire patriarchy and isn't trying to activity defend it and isn't jsut an insecure little twerp that's gravitating to the only person talking to him and so he ends up swapped up in an ideology that perpetuated his fears and insecurities instead of showing him a more productive path

Or any form of bigoted behavior or speech towards anyone at all

In any way

You don't deserve to call yourself a feminist

Cause you aren't one

You don't actually truly care about liberation

You don't care about intersectionality

You don't care about eh human being right in front of you suffering

You care about beating down on a perceived other you've labeled as a threat

It's more comfortable for you to take out all your anger on a other group

You have the same ideological baseline as other fascists

Your beating down on a perceived other because you want to place the group you like at the top

Not because you want to seriously liberate anyone and tear down the corrupted system and it's tentacles itself

I know I often don't go on big rants like this but I've been fighting fights like this for awhile I'm all of the left wing spaces I've been in

And I'd be amiss if I didn't make it clear

Transandrophobia/misandry

Is not ok

Its not a solution to the problems it just feeds them

And bigots are not welcome on my blog

Of any shape or form

I may have gotten a little of topic from the main point of transandrophobia but it's pretty clear to me this is related to all the other battles I've been fighting

And theirs a lot of similar though likes arguments and behavior that greatly worries me to see from people claiming to be apart of communities I'm in

Also like uh

When Somone experiencing any kind of oppression is talking about their oppression

Listen to them

Like listen to what they have to say and take it seriously omg

Don't try to get people to "prove it" then walk back the goalposts every time they directly talk about or show you what's happening

Also God I hate some reddit mod teams

I think asking an oppressed demographic to prove they're not bad is, in fact, still an act of contributing to their oppression.

[mishappeningss]

Pretty much everyone and their mothers are in love with YN (as they should) but what about the ones who don't like her? A woman like her (amazing, talented, fierce, beautiful etc) for sure would've a few haters (women or men) there and here. What about them? Did fans or other drivers ever noticed those haters? They could be actresses, WAGs, models, older or younger drivers who couldn't and won't want to believe a woman is better than all of them combined, sleazy and irritating male actors who just needs a good slap on the cheek (repeatedly).... you get the gist.

you know what’s actually so funny? how ppl do still pretend that everyone in the paddock loves her like she’s universally adored, when in reality? there are haters. bold, bitter haters.

and i don’t mean just rivals — i mean grown ass men who can’t stand a woman is not only good at her job, but also powerful while doing it. so let’s talk about them, shall we?

more about driver!yn

helmut marko — the relic who can’t shut up

There has never been a race weekend where this man hasn’t made some widely backhanded comment about her — “Too emotional,” “Too focused on image,” “Not enough discipline,” blah blah. Helmut, please.

This man is allergic to women who don’t shrink themselves to make insecure men feel comfortable. And she doesn’t even acknowledge him — not in interviews, not in passing, not even accidentally.

And Max? Oh, he knows. He literally said, “I think Helmut’s afraid of her” on live TV once. And he was right.

guenther steiner — bitter as hell

Okay hear me out. He has his funny times — sure. But he’s also old school. He never believed in YN. Wouldn’t give her a seat. He’s been pressed since day one because she refused to do a cameo for a docuseries no one watched.

He’d made weird jabs about her being “more influencer than a racer,” which is funny because she’s the one actually putting points on the boards and selling out circuits worldwide.

And she knows. She walked past him in the paddock and said, “Hope you get a clean lap today!” They DNF’d.

valterri botas — lowkey bitter, highkey obvious

This one hurts because we all wanted to root for him. Their vibes were chill until she lapped him in one race and waved — like a little princess wave. Ever since? He’s been calling her a “brand over substance” type in podcasts, casually shading her every other sentence.

He isn’t overly rude, but has made enough passive digs to earn suspicion. Once said, “These days it feels like social media wins matter more than points.”

christian horner — oh, we’re tired

He wanted her. Badly. Tried to poach her when her contract with Mercedes was up. Even sent her flowers. She didn’t respond. Now suddenly he’s talking about how “fame is distracting” and how “the sport needs humility.”

Sir, you let your team run up a petty press campaign every time another driver breathes near your number 1. Maybe redirect that “humility” talk internally?

Everyone knows, the subtext is screaming.

Because she represents everything Red Bull didn't believe in. Because they could've signed her early — and didn't. Because Max respects her, and Horner sees that as a threat.

She's winning over the media. She's front page while his drivers are finishing P7. And every time she stands on a podium with that small smile, he's in the background with his jaw clenched like he's chewing gravel.

So yes, there are haters. But the thing is? They hate loudly because they know she wouldn’t even bother looking in their direction.

Because while they’re busy doing interviews about what she isn’t, she’s on another podium, holding another trophy, doing celebrations with her team and making headlines for being the moment.

She doesn’t respond, she doesn’t need to. Her results do the talking.

[presidentkamala]

The stupidity is infuriating. This is the thing that frustrates me the most - MAGA and leftist both love claiming that Hillary and Kamala didn't have policies and just talked about Trump all day. This isn't true. They both talked constantly about their plans in detail and they both had websites detailing those plans just like every other political candidate. This information was accessible to everyone if they chose to look for it and listen. Part of the problem here is the obvious misogyny and racism. But there is another part- they don't fucking listen to anyone. MAGAs are melting down because they "didn't vote for this" when they did. Trump and Repubs openly discussed exactly what they would do in office and it was this. Project 2025 was not a secret. It was discussed by Dems as a disasterous thing. All of this information was readily available to them and discussed regularly. And they voted for it regardless of all of this information being right in front of their faces. Their biggest problem is that they weren't listening and they don't know what policies are. They don't know what will help them and they can't figure out what they need. They don't listen to Trump because he's incomprehensible and no one can understand what the fuck he's saying. It didn't matter that his policies were obviously a disaster because even if he was coherent they wouldn't have understood what he was saying anyway. And they didn't listen to Hillary or Kamala because they can't understand people who are smarter than them. And then they just get bitter and resentful about it. So they lie and say neither of them had policies so they can feel better for being so fucking stupid. They voted for Trump because they assume the straight, white man must be smart, impressive, and strong. They are hyper-critical of the women because they can't fathom that they might be the more capable ones. And people are more willing to believe lies about women then the truth about white men. The voted for Trump on vibes and easily believed lies told about the women not being good enough because they truly believe women are never good enough (the leftists need to stop lying to themselves about this, it's obvious they hate women). Both sides are not the same. And people did in fact vote for this. They were just blinded by ego, insecurity, and stupidity and couldn't figure it out. And I hope this fills them with so much shame and embarrassment. But I also know they are so fucking stupid that they still won't understand even when people explain it with small words and short sentences or use a meme. We can't fix stupid. Especially when they are trying so damn hard to prove that they are right and better than everyone else. MAGAs want to prove that their backwards traditional values where everyone but straight, white men get put in their place is best. And leftists want to prove they have better morals and more progressive ideas. Both want everyone else to fall in line and submit to them. And it cost this country everything because they need to feel right and better than everyone. They could have just fucking done 10 minutes of research looking up what each candidate said about issues that were important to them. That's all they fucking had to do. But they watched dumb videos by uneducated influencers and repeated what they said instead. It should teach them that straight white men are not immediately the good guy or the smart one. But it won't. They still won't fucking let go of that mindset. And it's why I don't feel sorry for them. I have never seen a group of people more in need of humbling.

Every SINGLEEEE lie they bleat out after the fact is so so so so so insultingly easy to disprove and dispel. PERIODTTT anon ESP what you said abt maga and leftists both needing to be at the top of hierarchy and requiring submission from everyone else and for everyone else to fall in line.

And even more than the stupid its like the pig-headedness and childish refusal to admit fault!!!!!! And to be brave enough to face up to the consequences.....

[faestunna]

I love your little spoon head canons they’re so cute! What do you think its take to get the Jack characters jealous? Including Roy Goode I can’t find almost any fics on him 😭😔

CHARACTERS: oliver mellors, remmick, roy goode, patrick sumner, lion kaminski, james cook

WARNINGS: very slight angst, self-doubt/insecurities, jealousy

A/N: sorry this took long i ended up scrapping it and starting over to add patrick!! i’m really loving these headcanons so pls keep em coming! i hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!

oliver mellors

he wouldn’t have a single jealous bone in his body if it weren’t for martha’s affair. and it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. oliver trusts you with his life. for him, jealous arises not when other men look, but when they think they can take what’s his.

it’s one night when you two decide to wander into the pub. he notices the men in the corner who smirk at you when you walk by. oliver doesn’t confront them simply because he doesn’t need to. “i think those men are looking at me,” you say eventually with his arm slung over your shoulders.

“you think?” he plays dumb. rubs the side of your arm. but he stays aware. and since he isn’t forced to hide his love for you, he puts on a show of it. he’ll run a hand through your hair at the back of your head and push your mouth towards his. lips instantly locking onto yours. it takes you by surprise, but he kisses you with such fervor, you melt into his touch.

his other hand even graces your thigh. he likes the way the men shift in their seats, their eyes now glancing in any other direction. “let ‘em look at a pretty lass for once,” he says when he pulls away. “poor fucks wouldn’t know what to do with you anyway.”

remmick

we talk about jealous!remmick but this idea has been on my mind lately: he knows that it gets a little lonely with him being away so often. he doesn’t exactly want to share you, just let you have a little fun while he’s away. for your own pleasure.

it’s on his own terms, too. he can’t just have some random guy who isn’t worthy enough of you. it’ll be boy your age from your town who thinks you’re pretty. who doesn’t stop by the market you work at just to see the seasonal pick…and he flat out turns the kid. drains him nearly bone dry. he wants any and every memory he can get of you. sees how much this boy adores you—he’d do anything for you, but remmick can still have that control over him so he doesn’t step out of line.

remmick, convinced he’s being romantic, brings him to you like a surprise puppy. “what the hell did you do?” you say, hands on your hips. “well, look, sugar, i got you your own lil’ toy,” he tries to level. “he’ll just do absolutely anythin’ for you. get you anythin' you like when i can’t be there. hell, he can do just about everythin’ i can.”

“wh- remmick…” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose to soothe the headache this would give you. “what?” he shrugs unfairly. “he’ll be real nice, darlin’, i promise. and if he ain’t good enough, we’ll just get you a new one.”

patrick sumner

when patrick is jealous, it’s deeply repressed and restrained. it doesn’t hit all at once and explode like most of the others—it ferments.

he’ll spot you talking to someone else, maybe at a gala or dinner party, and initially won’t think anything of it. but then you laugh a little at the other man’s joke, or maybe his hand brushes your arm. patrick just observes and asks about it alone. “is he a friend of yours? you seemed…close.” he isn’t really accusing you—his jealousy is.

he won’t admit that it’s jealousy though, not even to himself. nevertheless, the feeling brews and he lets himself sit in it rather than talking to you about it. he’ll make connections between the way you look at him and how you look at the other man. but pushing it down only makes it worse. maybe even creates a distance between you two to let the feeling simmer even more.

and then he confronts you. drinks a little bit before he does it since the alcohol lets him really feel emotions. and it’ll be a version of patrick you’ve never seen before. he pulls you toward him, “i’m yours. and you’re mine. all i have for you is this���” he puts your hand over his heart. love. “so just stay with me tonight? alright, love?”

roy goode

this may be a shocker and a let down but roy goode doesn't get jealous. he doesn't have to. you've never given him a reason not to trust you. but it’s natural for him to get protective, and never in a possessive way. he knows you can handle yourself.

he’ll usually let the situation simmer. most times, you’ll shine your pistol at a lingering man, and that’ll do the trick. other times, it takes a little intervention. “you heard the lady. she ain’t lookin’ for any trouble, so don’t go make some.” he never stands in front of you, either. always beside. equal.

he gives them a specific look—always with his head just slightly tilted down so his eyes are hooded through his lids. he curls his lip a little in disgust so the man knows just how much roy disapproves of him. and if that, with your repeated ‘no’s, still aren’t enough….

i imagine a duel. a real proper gunfight between them set in the middle of the street like an old western film. “all this for a woman?” the other man usually says. roy will look over at you for just a moment before smiling. “you ain’t ever gonna know a woman as good as her. worth the damn world.”

lion kaminski

oh, lion. lion, lion, lion. lion listens to you with an admiration and deep love for the person you are. he’s a lover boy deep down that would do anything you asked. it’s not often that he ever feels threatened. but he still isn’t completely secure in himself; every once and a while, he’ll have a reaction.

again, lion isn’t threatened by stan. he knows you absolutely loathe him. but sometimes, older brothers liked to make jokes. ‘little lion’s whipped for his girl” in a mocking voice or a joking “how’d you even get a girlfriend?” and though you always reassure him—“there isn’t anybody else for me, walter. just you”—his mind still wanders at times.

but while he’s good with his fists, he’s better at restraint. something his brother doesn’t have. he prides himself for being to control himself. “he’s straight up disrespecting ya, baby.” he says as his knuckles flex and crack.

“he’s just looking,” you try to reason. it’s still too much for your own comfort, but you don’t want him to cause a scene. lion isn’t gonna do anything you don’t want to. “i’ll beat his ass, honey, just tell me the word.”

james cook

i mean...we're kidding, right? cook get jealous when another guy simply speaks your name. but it depends on if we’re talking about toxic!cook or not

toxic!cook is possessive. everyday, he makes sure you know it and that and everybody else knows it too. “ain’t i got a pretty one?” he’ll tell people while rubbing your cheek or running a hand through your hair. it’s at the point now where everyone pretty much knows not to touch you. but when someone does: “go enjoy his company tonight.” and then, closer to you with his lips inches away, “you think he’ll still want you if he knew what you were like with me?”

cook in general will initially try to play it off. "oi--that your new boyfriend or what?" he half-jokes, but it's because he wants to hear you reassure him. he has to hear it. cook's jealousy will eventually turn into a clinginess. if he notices a guy loitering a little too close or laughing too hard at your jokes: "this one's taken, yeah? just makin' sure we're all clear."

eventually, it'll become a vulnerability that he can't hide, even from you. it's only once in a blue moon when cook really opens up to you. "you could do better, you know that. have more. dunno why you hang about with me, sometimes." but he doesn't stay like that for long. not when you press a kiss to his forehead and hold him long enough till he feel your love in his bones.

© faestunna 2025.

[spencerreidswifeeeeeee]

Chaotic - Charles' Version

Parings: Charles Leclerc x reader, Lando Norris x platonic reader.

Warnings: language

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, kinda toxic boyfriend but not?

Summary: As the F1 season nears its end, tensions rise on and off the track. You're a journalist caught between post-race interviews and pre-race pressure. Charles Leclerc, usually tender, playful, and proud. But after another devastating loss at his home Grand Prix, the man you come home with is distant, jealous, and unraveling. When misunderstandings with old friend Lando Norris ignite Charles’s insecurities, the lines between love and ego blur.

wc: 4452

Emotions ran high, adrenaline pumped, heart raced, chants and cheers filled the air as Lando Norris won the Monaco GP. Fireworks burst in the air as the checkered flag was being waved. Your cheeks hurt so much from smiling, watching as Charles took p3, the familiar 16 Ferrari zoomed past you in a blur of red. The very same red you were dressed in.

You met Charles the very first day you started working as a F1 journalist. It may sound cliche but it wasn't love at first sight, it wasn't even like at first sight. The moment you bumped into him, your hot coffee spilling all over his light wash jeans, colouring him in a dark brown sticky mess. He was anything but polite and you for sure thought he hated you.

But before the day was over, he came to find you and apologized with a cup of coffee, replacing the one you spilled. It was terrible, bitter and way too hot but the redness on his cheeks and ears were enough to tell you he felt bad and was trying to make amends for something that was entirely your fault.

From then on, he made it his mission to bring you coffee every morning, with the same sheepish grin and dimples that made you weak in the knees. You finally found the courage to tell him you hated the coffee and he immediately recoiled, cheeks flushed and it would've been adorable if you didn't feel so bad. But he took this opportunity to ask you on a date, for the sole intention of finding out your real coffee order, of course.

You were set to interview the winners after their podium celebration. You watched with pride as your boyfriend, Lewis and Lando received their trophies, giggling at the excited men drowning each other in champagne. You met Charles' eyes from afar, those blue eyes filled with happiness and a subtle disappointment. You knew how hard he’s worked, you knew how much he wanted to win in his home country. 

Despite this, you watched as the boys celebrated, champagne everywhere, in their faces, down their backs, all over like little boys having a water fight in their backyards. Your hands were clasped together just under your chin, holding back tears.

“From p18 to p1, Lando Norris… what a strategy the McLaren team had today, well done” You gleamed as you held the mic, cameras and reporters everywhere. Lando stood in front of you, sweaty and sticky, the champagne leaving a shiny film on his form. His face was a burning red from the heat of the helmet as he ran his hand through his damp hair, disturbing them from their flat lay on his head.

He grinned ear to ear as he said  “Yeah no doubt, It was a team effort- everyone brought their A game today” he nodded looking at you. He wiped his tongue over his bottom lip, a sheen of moisture then coated them.

“What went through your head the moment you spun out during the second lap? From where I was standing, it looked like the car had to be retired” You raised a brow at the racer, impressed at the feat.

“The track was a bit wet at the beginning of the race…didnt have the proper tires and the wheels locked up a bit but we’ve worked so hard all season and all I could think was ‘dont fuck this up Lando’’ he chuckled, shaking his head but continued “It truly was a team effort you know” He beamed, ever so humble.

“In those last laps, Hamilton really seemed to have given it his all in that Ferrari. How does it feel to have beaten such an accomplished world champion?”

“There’s no greater feeling, honestly. I respect Lewis so much but oof Ferrari? They’ve just given him a shit car..that's all I can say on that” he shook his head and frowned, his brows furrowed at the thought of Hamilton. Or rather the team he drove for.

“Can I even say that?” he leaned closer, whispering, no doubt looking for his PR manager.

“I’ll let it slide this time” You chuckled, your fingers briefly grazing his arm for a second before he resumed his stance.The clouds have started to darken a bit, grey and full in the sky as reporters and cameramen scrambled around, doing their post race interviews with the other drivers.

“This is your second to last race of the season. Any predictions on who might win the last Grand Prix of the season?” You baited.

“The competition this year is tough, so it's hard to say. What are your predictions?” he asked with a grin, both hands now on his hips as he stood with his legs spread a bit. His race suit hung by his waist, leaving him in his black fireproof suit.

“I’m afraid I might be biased”You chuckled, glancing around to see if you could spot Charles.You found him instantly, his eyes already on you, glaring for some odd reason. His shoulders were tense and his forearms flexed unintentionally with the motion as he crossed his arms, waiting to be interviewed. 

“But Mclaren has certainly upped their game this year having won so many races and today’s win has put you on top” You cleared your throat before dragging your attention back to the task at hand, after what seemed like forever, trying to figure out why your boyfriend seemed so grumpy.

“Mclaren has great drivers” Lando chuckled with his usual overly confident grin. The same cocky smile you’ve come to know over the 5 years of working with him.

“No doubt. Thank you so much for your time, appreciate it” You smiled.

“Of course, will you be joining us tonight?” Lando smiles leaning forward to kiss both your cheeks. The smell of champagne and sweat filled your senses as he greeted you. 

“Wouldnt miss it” you answered before you pulled apart.

By the time you and Charles headed back to your Monaco apartment, things were obviously tense on his side. His interview was unusually short and stiff, no lingering glances or smiles, just cold and off putting, awkward even.

You put it off to him just being upset about losing his home race, even though he came 3rd, that was basically losing in his eyes. His body was tense,tight with a sharp sense of disappointment and discomfort. Usually he was so affectionate, hand on your waist, kissing you every two minutes, always touching you..but he didnt even hold your hand. 

You felt a pang of longing in your chest, a sharp double edged knife tracing the lines of your skin where his touch usually resided. His usual presence that demanded to be felt was gone, replaced with a gust of cold wind.

You tried to shake your thoughts, almost annoyed at how needy you sounded.You shrugged your bag from your shoulder and dumped your car keys on the kitchen island before removing your coat in one swift motion. You kicked your shoes off and left them on the kitchen floor, a nasty habit you’ve picked up over the years.

“You alright darling?” You inquired as you watched him plop down on the couch with a sigh. The sound of paws echoing on the floor made it known that Leo, Charles’s beloved dachshund was very much awake and missed him. Leo hopped onto the couch and onto Charles, crawling up to lick his face.

“Oh I missed you Leo” Charles cooed, the tension slowly released from his body as he sank further into the couch, holding the squirming dog close to his chest.The fact that he ignored you stung but you carried on around the island to the fridge, looking for something to eat.

“Are you hungry?” You asked again while your eyes scanned the fridge. You bit your lip, bringing them between your teeth as you anticipated an answer. You felt the exhaustion cling to your body when you closed it.

“I ate at the hospitality” he replied shortly. You were relieved you didn't have to make anything but at the same time, annoyed at his short answers and indifference toward you. You were so confused but somehow used to how quickly his mood could change.

“Will we be joining the others at the lounge tonight?” You spoke, your bare feet padded across the hard wood floor stopping at the opposite side of the couch before sitting down, facing him.

“You’re certainly keen on going” he mumbled, his tone confused you as you frowned, your brows furrowed at his words.His gaze was directed to the dog while he rubbed his fingers on Leo’s stomach, giving him much needed belly rubs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You questioned, watching as Leo hops off his lap, almost as if he could sense the now growing tension between you two.

“Nothing” he dismissed.

“Charles” you deadpanned, looking him straight in the eye, glaring at his ridiculous insinuation.You weren’t stupid or born yesterday, you knew what he meant but it was no use jumping to your own conclusions. You didn't want to, you wanted him to be a big boy and say what he meant.

“All I’m saying is you’re certainly keen on spending time with other guys-”

“What are you talking about?” 

“You might as well have told Lando you’d like to go out on a date, the way you two were flirting” he shot, narrowing his eyes. Charles had always had very expressive eyes, you could read him in an instant and right now, the usual calm blue ocean was a turbulent river, meandering to conclusions and it said ‘you were flirting’..which you knew wasn't true. 

“Flirting? It was an interview” You scoffed when you adjusted in your seat, the cushion now became a block of concrete beneath your bottom.

“Yeah and giggling and touching his arm was part of it?” he accused, his face hot with anger and his hand clenched.

“I was being friendly” You said through gritted teeth, trying not to escalate the situation or focus on how your blood heated up inside your body, threatening to reach its boiling point.

“Friendly my ass” he shot back, face contorted in mockery and ugliness.

“Charles come on, you know it’s my job to make you drivers comfortable, ask the right questions after such a long and hard race on the track”

“It’s not your job to flirt with the drivers” he doubled down.

Sometimes it was hard to convince him or even have a civil conversation when he’s deadset on accusing you of ridiculous accusations or convinced he’s right and you were wrong.

“Great because that’s not what I was doing” you crossed your arms.

“You wanna go and celebrate Lando? Go ahead mon amour, you’re free to do whatever you like” His accent was heavy.

“I wanna celebrate you” You tried to convince him.

“Funny you remembered your boyfriend was also in the race” he rolled his eyes before getting up from his seat. You huffed, annoyed that he would walk away from an argument he started. You knew there was no getting through to him now. Not when he’s so stubborn.

“We leave in 20” He muttered before disappearing into the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

*

You felt bad for even thinking this, but you were glad when Kelly pulled you away from your brooding counterpart. The drive over was tense, filled with nothing but dark clouds and silence. It was almost suffocating.

“You look amazing darling” Kelly greeted, her smile wide as she drank in your outfit. You didn't have much time to put something together but you had to admit.. you looked decent given the circumstances. The air was much cooler in the evening so you settled on your favourite pair of black knee high boots with an oversized crewnecked dress that stopped just above your boot. Your make up and hair was the same as earlier, just reapplied some gloss and touched up your hair.

“Thank you babe, you too” You smiled, drinking in her effortless style. She thanked you under the dark lights, her eyes shining at the compliment.

The lounge was packed, filled to the brim with overly drunk people and smelt of alcohol and sweat. The lights were dim with a disco ball in the middle of the ceiling, circling round and round causing the shimmering lights to glow. You could feel the base of the music vibrating in your lungs, almost deafening.

“It’s so good to see you, it’s been a while since I was able to get a break from the kids” she gushed over the loud music as you made your way to a vacant table in the VIP section. To your left, the boys are talking loudly, wild hand gestures and exaggerated laughs and bellows. They looked like such a fun bunch, carefree after a weekend of hard work.

You were never one to tell Charles how much he could and could not drink, he knew his limit as well as his dietary restrictions as a driver…but tonight may be the night you had to tell him to stop. You watched as he gulped down every drink handed to him, no questions asked in an attempt to catch up to the other boys.

You had to admit, he looked really handsome, even when he was being an ass. The dimness of the club made his skin glow an extra shade darker and you knew he smelt good. His hair was messy but he made it work, the chain around his neck did wonders. You always ran your finger along the silver loops while talking about anything and everything under the comfort of your duvet.

It felt like it's been forever since he’s even looked your way. He spent all day in an awful mood, avoiding your touch, you were afraid he’d feel foreign. Your body was starting to feel the effects of his absence. You and Charles didn't fight often and you pretty much worked the same hours so you were always together on the paddock.

You make a mental note not to drink tonight, wanting to be sober enough to take care of your boyfriend as well as drive the two of you home.

“How’s Lily, I haven't had a chance to formally meet her yet” Kelly’s eyes lit up at the mention of her newborn. Her and Max now had their hands full with little Penelope and Lily…more her than Max.

“Oh she’s amazing, Max insists on facetiming with her every night, afraid she’ll forget the sound of his voice” she smiled, looking over to her boyfriend, Max Verstappen. He was currently lounging on one of the couches with the boys, a drink in hand listening as Lando made another joke, sending them into bursts of laughter.

Lando’s always been a joker, goofy and fun. He’s such a pleasure to be around and you thought maybe Charles felt threatened by him. But how could he when you’ve always treated him like the only man in the world that mattered?

Or did you?

Maybe it wasn't even about your relationship. Maybe it was about him, losing the race he trained so hard for. You couldn't help overthinking things, which was upsetting because you were meant to be celebrating tonight.

“Hey..you okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kelly noticed the distant look on your face and you remember then, that you hadn't even responded to her yet.

“Sorry..I’m a bit distracted” You blushed sheepishly. You crossed your legs one over the other, pulling down your dress as it rode up your thigh with the action. Goosebumps ran through your body at the exposed skin

“Yeah, I can tell..what's going on?” she asked before calling over a bottle girl and taking 2 drinks from the tray and placed it on the table.

When she pushed one towards you, you immediately shook your head, politely declining the drink. It smelt strongly of alcohol, the clear liquid burning your nostrils a bit. She frowned before looking over at Charles and a moment of realisation hits her as she takes in the now red faced Monegasque man. 

“Charles being a dick is what’s going on, he accused me of flirting with Lando during the interview earlier” you rolled your eyes, the words rolling off your tongue before you could even stop it.

“Really?” She raised her perfectly shaped brow at your words, ears perking up before taking a sip of her drink.

“Yeah but trust me, I wasn't" you hesitated “or I don't think I was” you stated as you bit your lip once again.

“I’ve watched the interview. It was a basic interview but who am I kidding? Men will see what they want to” she answered glancing over to Max, who just so happened to call her over. She apologized and promised to be back in 2 minutes.

The seat opposite you was empty for only a few seconds before it was soon occupied with none other than the talk of the town, Lando Norris. Your body tensed up and your nails tapped rhythmically against the tabletop as he sat down. His grin wide and cheeks flushed.The beer in his hand was half empty, sloshing slightly with the force used to put it down.

“Fancy seeing you here” he smiled cheekily, a boyish grin you’ve seen countless times. 

“Told you I would be” you smiled softly, friendly. You were hesitant to talk to him, knowing how upset Charles was about the interview and how it went…. but you and Lando were friends even before you and Charles started dating. It’s not fair of him to be upset over a friendship that existed before you two were together.

Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows dramatically on the table. “Oh good, I was starting to think you ghosted me. Again.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “‘Again’? I literally saw you three hours ago...on international television.” You said in a matter of fact tone.

“Yeah, and I was dazzling, wasn’t I?” he winked, taking a sip of his beer. “Some would say breathtaking.”

 “Yeah, breathtaking like a near spin-out on Lap 2.” you snorted.

“Oi! That was a dramatic flair, not a mistake” he defended, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t disrespect the art.”

You leaned back in your seat, now heavily amused at the direction at which this conversation was going. You felt the tension release from your shoulders as you settled in a familiar rhythm. It was always like that with Lando. “Spinning out is now considered an art?”

“Only when I do it” he grinned, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m thinking of calling it the Norris pirouette.”

“Catchy. Real ballet-core of you.” You entertained his idea, nodding your head thoughtfully. 

He raised his beer in the air. “Thank you. I’ll be expecting merch royalties when it takes off.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence, his grin still present but gentler now as he leaned in closer.

“Charles still mad?” he asked, no malice and no jokes, just a genuine, tipsy curiosity.

You sighed and glanced over at your boyfriend, who was now alone. You felt his stare from across the room, glaring at the sight of you and Lando. Your heart dropped in your chest, a feeling a little too similar to disappointment but mostly rage.

“Not mad. Just… broody. You know how he gets.” You muttered, still staring at the green manchild you’re supposed to go home with tonight. You always loved his attention, you always enjoyed knowing that his eyes would always find yours from across the room. You had a secret language like that, you always wanted to be under his gaze.

But not tonight..tonight you wanted to hide from the green monster and hoped that your usual knight would find you.

“Oh yeah, full French drama. Like ‘Les Mis’, but with more horsepower.”

You chuckled half-heartedly, tearing your eyes away from him.

 “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll race you just to prove a point.”

“I welcome the challenge” Lando said, then added, “As long as he doesn’t throw baguettes at me mid-race.”

“I’d advise him to opt for a fish then” You snorted watching as Lando visibly recoils at the thought. His hatred for fish really needed to be studied… it was unnatural to hate a harmless sea creature that much.

Just as Lando went to open his mouth, Charles showed up, cutting him off with a snarky interjection. “Well this is nice” 

“Mate, we’re just having a conversation” Lando raised his hands in surrender.

“Funny, we were just leaving” he stared Lando down with an uncomfortable intensity. 

“You should go” you gave Lando an out, an apologetic smile adorned your face as he nodded, leaving you with your tipsy, pissed off boyfriend. You glared at Charles, snatching your purse with a quickness filled with anger and embarrassment. Charles knew not to say anything when you stood up and made your way through a sea of people, following you like a lost puppy with the coordination of a blind cat. 

You felt the heat run through your veins as you walked to where he parked the car. You knew this moment and every other moment in that lounge was going to be on the internet but you couldn’t help the way you snatched the car keys from his grip.

You’re both too angry and upset to say anything or do anything other than get in the car. You waited for Charles to find his way to the passenger seat and shut the door. You took a breath, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you lean your head against it.

Charles was silent in the seat next to you, watching you. He knew he messed up, he knew he embarrassed you and the alcohol in his veins did nothing to dull the immense guilt building up in the pit of his stomach. 

You started up the car and began the drive to your apartment. You were thankful for how close the lounge was to the apartment (having lived close to the city). When you pulled into the parking lot of the building, you almost jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut, not even waiting for Charles. You knew you’d pay for that later.

When you entered the silent apartment, you walked in to see Leo sleeping on his dog bed in the corner and quickly moved to remove your bag and place the car keys where they belong. Charles walked in silently after you, not saying a word.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You couldn't help the words that poured from your mouth like a waterfall, with strong and unforgiving currents. 

Charles didn't waste any time answering you with the same feverish tone you echoed through the apartment.

“You’re my problem” He bellowed with an unexpected sharp edge.

“For fuck’s sake Charles, I wasnt flirting with Lando!” Your anger boiled over, watching his expression falter under the lights. You could see his pained expression as clear as day and yet he refused to let you in.

“I KNOW” he yelled back, his voice bouncing off the walls.

“Then what the hell is wrong?” You asked frustrated, threading your fingers through your hair, tugging at it..gripping it into tight fists on your head.

“I just..I feel like I’m failing at everything” He answered after a beat, his voice lowered but you could still hear the exhaustion and anger but mostly you hear the disappointment…His usually bright eyes were tinged with red. 

You felt your resolve crumble at the state of him. His wild hair and untucked shirt was an open display of whatever was going on inside his head.

“You’re not failing-”

“Yes I am! This season has been so shitty… I worked my ass off and now it's almost finished and I have nothing to show for it” his voice travelled through the apartment but you knew it wasn't directed at you. He was frustrated.

You moved to the couch, your legs threatened to give in if you were to stand any longer. The aching in your feet immediately subsided. You looked up at your boyfriend who stood across the room and wanted nothing more than to reach out your arms and comfort him. You wanted to hold him close to your body, run your fingers through his curls and tell him that everything was gonna be okay.

At your silence, he spoke again “Even when things were horrible, I always knew that when I came home you’d be there to tell me how proud you were, no matter what happened” he continued, his voice filled with new conviction.

“So what’s changed?” you asked quietly, wanting to understand him..needing to understand him.

“I don't know..I see you with Lando and everything’s just so easy with him. He beats me, takes the position I worked so hard for and he makes you laugh?-”

“I love you” you shook your head.

“I know that..I just..I dont know what’s wrong-” his voice cracked as he spoke and your heart couldn't take watching him break down. You knew it took everything to admit that his ego was bruised, his pride shattered by a title.

“C’mere” you motioned for him to join you on the couch, the lump in your throat made it hard to speak louder than a broken whisper. It felt like forever since you’ve held him and so when he sat down next to you, you immediately brought him into your arms.

“Je suis désolé (I’m sorry)” he whispered into your hair, arms holding onto you tightly, almost afraid you’ll float away if he let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, caressing him lightly, slowly savouring the feel of his body that close to yours.

You knew that Charles struggled to express himself and preferred to keep things bottled up or to himself. You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad at him because you did the same thing, but you were working on it.

“I know baby” You answered. Truthfully, you already forgave him the moment you realised how broken up he was. 

You knew he didn’t need words or reassurance, he just needed you to be there, be present while he hands you the broken pieces as a peace offering.

He didn't need you to fix him, he just needed you to see him and still choose him, even on the days he couldn't choose himself.

[rainbowsky]

I want to ask you that wang yibo really like men or he only like xiao zhan and he also like women . Does he has interaction with other boys like xz ? plz tell me

Hi priyankakkkmtop,

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

If I'm understanding correctly, you're basically asking if DD is gay or bisexual, or if he only likes GG and not other men. This is a question that's impossible to answer. It's not like he's going to come out and announce his sexuality to the world, for various reasons I've outlined at length in other posts.

And you might not be aware, but the notion that GG and DD are 'only gay for each other' is a very homophobic, fairly widespread attitude in the fandom. A lot of fans only accept GG and DD's queerness insofar as it serves their fantasies about GG and DD's relationship, and beyond that they wrinkle their noses and try to erase it to the best of their ability.

As I've said many times, if we believe GG and DD are in a relationship, we must accept that they are, in fact, queer. Whether homosexuality, bisexuality, pansexuality or whatever - some form of queerness is a prerequisite to them being together. Full stop.

This is an important distinction to make because queer acceptance is under fire across the world, and homophobia in any form serves to further the agenda of eroding and rolling back queer rights. This directly impacts GG and DD and their ability to be together. It directly impacts any queer person in this world. It behooves everyone who loves GG and DD and 'loves their love' to support queer rights and queer protections locally and across the globe.

We can't claim to love them and 'love their love' if we don't support queer rights. It's simply not a coherent position to take. I also believe it would deeply hurt GG and DD to know that we like them but dislike queer people/queer relationships or find them disgusting, or that we like GG and DD but don't support queer rights.

If we love GG and DD, then we need to put our money where our mouth is and find a way to be an ally to queer rights and queer people everywhere.

As for whether DD is gay or bi, like I said, it's impossible to know. I personally believe he's gay, which I talked about more in this post a while back, but that's just my personal perspective. I have no special insight just because I'm gay.

Has he behaved with any other guy the way he behaves with GG? Not really. I've never seen him behave with anyone else in the irreverent, often lewd, crude and rude ways he behaves with GG - at least, not to the same degree. The fact that theyr'e both so impolite with each other is a dead giveaway for how close a relationship they have.

I've also never seen his sajiao emerge so consistently and persistently with anyone besides GG. I've never seen him as gleeful as when he's got something up his sleeve about GG. I've never seen him so incapable of containing himself or schooling his features into neutrality in relation to anyone else but GG.

Yes, he has done some playfighting, joking around, and even whiny sajiao around his Uniq brothers and even sometimes around his DDU brothers, but never to the same extreme, and never with the same tone of sexual/romantic tension as GG.

Having said all of that, I feel it's misguided to fixate on or to compare their relationships with other people vs their relationships with each other. It's unseemly, frankly, to try to discredit the authenticity and intimacy of their friendships with other people just to get a sugar high. GG and DD can and do have good relationships with many people. The fact that they do is no threat to them as a couple, nor to us as fans. They should be respected.

Just because something is a candy to us as fans - say, the fact that they playfight so much - doesn't mean that we own it as a fandom. Doesn't mean that if one of them were to playfight with someone else it would in any way discredit GG and DD's intimacy or relationship. Jealous insecurity is not a quality I respect in fans. In my view it betrays a certain inability to respect GG and DD as individuals.

We also need to learn to take things in their totality rather than focusing on and jealously guarding each individual factor/candy.

Yes, they playfight. Yes, they whine at each other. Yes, they share nasal spray. If someone else were to share all of those factors, it would mean sweet FA as far as I'm concerned.

Does that person also share the same clothing brands/items, the same unusual linguistic idiosyncrasies, the same sense of humor, laugh and other unconscious behaviors, the same interpersonal connections, the same style and approach to studio output, the same interests and goals? Do they have anywhere near the amount and degree of coincidences, compatibilities and connections?

The answer will always be: no.

So I don't get why turtles fixate on things like this, and get insecure if one or two similarities are seen elsewhere in their lives. Nothing will ever match the towering mountain of connections we've observed between them.

You might find my masterlist post helpful. You can find a lot of resources, recommendations and older posts there.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Hungry Heart - Major Gale Cleven

summary: after the war finally let your Buck go, he comes back home and finds you in an unusual setting

After the war, one of your friends from college bought a bar for "morale". You remembered rolling your eyes at the statement, yet the idea wasn't malicious since people did seek comfort in places other than home. Especially after everything they went through.

Kenny asked if you were willing to pop by every now and then, just to help out in the kitchen on Fridays and Saturdays — the busiest days of the week. You teased him for a little bit, but agreed nonetheless. He was a good friend after all — and none other than the one who introduced you to Major Gale Cleven, your Buck.

You were just two kids, laughing quietly in the back of a room. Giddy smiles and disheveled hair, hands tangled whenever you got the chance. His plump lips fell on yours whenever you were around and his eyes — oh those eyes. They sparked with this unprecedented light, staring at you like you had hung the moon.

"I love you, baby.", Buck murmured one day. His hand brushed your hair behind your ear, giving him a clear view of your soft skin. A pink hue stained your cheek, maybe from love, maybe from the strain of him leaving you behind.

"I'm gonna miss you.", you felt a knot in your throat, one you couldn't easily swallow. You held onto him so tightly, like he'd disappear into thin air at any given moment. Buck leaned his forehead to your temple, his hand cradling your cheek.

"I'm gonna miss you too, sweetheart. But you know I gotta go.", his strained voice sent vibrations to your heart, forcing your eyes shut.

"Please stay, Gale. Please.", your tone was pleading and he almost found himself giving in. Your Buck left and you stayed behind, blaming the war for taking the love of your life away from you. The chaste kiss on your cheek lingered for days, weeks, years. You still remembered, for he was no unforgettable man, your Buck.

The war had come to an end and your chest and shoulders could finally sink without distress. Men and women walked in and out of the bar, some broken, some less affected. Everyone disguised their pain in their own ways. The jukebox kept on playing music that brought all people together and the drinks flowed endlessly — all was as good as it could get.

Until one late Saturday evening.

"Major Gale Cleven.", you said with a controlled smile. His blue eyes immediately found yours, like magnets sticking together.

He stood before you wordlessly. You couldn't believe your eyes. You couldn't believe your luck.

"Y/N...", the way he said your name, so carefully, so delicately. You took a moment to take him all in — the beauty, the pain. But he was finally back.

Before he left, there were no lingering words resembling "I'll come back to you.", "Please, wait on me.". He never wrote and quite frankly you didn't either, too afraid that one of the letters might never reach him alive. You didn't officially date and you didn't officially break up — where did that leave you? In a wave of insecurity, unable to figure out your own place.

Should you hug him? Should you kiss him? Or should you go, leaving the fragments of him in the past?

His heavy, piercing gaze was fixated on you solely as he slowly walked up to you. The only sound being the squeak from his boots and the quietude of the jukebox. People had left by now, Kenny being the only one in the kitchen to clean up the glasses and whatnot.

Buck's usually bright eyes resulted dull, void of the joy that made them spark so beautifully. Your heart ached for him.

He was quiet for a moment and then. "I missed you."

The crack in his voice made your hands tremble. A shaky breath left your lips, but you couldn't find the strength to say anything.

"Hey Y/N, did you get the rest of the glasses— Oh."

Your heart thumped at the sound of Kenny's booming voice. Buck flinched, his eyes darting behind you, looking at your friend. You heard Kenny's footsteps approaching slowly.

"I'm Kenny.", the brunette offered a friendly handshake, not thinking anything of it. Gale looked at his hand and then at the proximity of his body to yours.

"I'm Gale Cleven.", he didn't sound particularly prideful or himself, but he shook Kenny's hand nonetheless.

The brunette's eyes widened and a small smile appeared on his lips. "Major Cleven? I've heard all about you.", the smile spread easily in awe at the war-hero, but Gale simply stared back. His brows furrowed unnoticeably as he weakly connected the dots.

You and him. Kenny. It wasn't Y/N and Buck anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.

"A pint of beer, Major? It's on the house.", Kenny wiped his hands with a clean rag, the excited smile still radiant.

Gale shook his head. "I'm alright, thank you.", he said hastily. He looked up at you, his gaze lingering for a moment. "Just wanted to see...", he cleared his throat, his head lowering. "Have a good evening."

He turned on his heel and walked to the front door, the small bell chiming after him. Kenny's smile still couldn't be wiped off as he stared at the door with his hands on his feet.

"What a nice guy.", he said, nodding. "Anyways, I'll grab the glasses, you go after him, love." 

You stilled.

"What?"

"There are obviously so many things left unsaid.", Kenny answered nonchalantly. "Go before it's too late."

You ran, opening the door with power you didn't know you possessed.

"Buck!", you called in the pouring rain. Your eyes darted left and right before they finally spotted him. He looked like a sad, wet, little puppy.

"Y/N?", he turned around and despite the distance, you could clearly detect the confusion across his face.

"Why didn't you write me?", you asked breathlessly.

"What?", Buck's hands found your elbows, stabilizing your wobbly self.

You shook your head. "You didn't write me a single letter. I thought you didn't love me anymore.", you revealed one of your insecurities to him. All your friends that wondered about Major Cleven's whereabouts were left without an answer, for you didn't know either.

"You're the reason I came back.", his voice was barely audible in the rain. "I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for you, baby."

You felt your hands tremble yet again.

"I didn't write because...", he lowered his gaze. "I thought I wouldn't make it. I didn't want you to be hung up on me."

"Buck...", you felt tears forming in your eyes. The vulnerability in his words touched you. His gaze found yours again, only to find his eyes as wet as yours.

“I’m sorry.”, he murmured softly, his tears mixing with the raindrops.

You shook your head, feeling that heaviness on your chest settle.

“But you made it. You came back.”, your words were a mere whisper between the two of you. “You came back to me.”

Without thinking about it too much, your body pressed against his, like in old times. Your face found the familiar warmth of his neck and your hands wrapped around his body like an armor.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t even answer as you pressed your own lips on his.

A/N: thank you so much for reading! next on the list is Bare Souls 2. let me know what you thought about this one 💋

MASTERLIST buck cleven masterlist

[cod-dump]

You said bombard me? So you are going to be getting a hellish amount from me because I love your contents and your opinions.

Starting off with something basic...

Who are your OTP or OT3

@waywardsou2

You come here, to the NikPriceGraves blog, and you ask "What's your OT3?" but no matter what, everytime, I will excitedly say NikPriceGraves because they're funnies, they're underrated. Price is surrounded by two chaos gremlins, Graves has two massive partners who can and will throw him (he's begging for it plEASE-), and Nik has TWO wonderful men he gets to spoil rotten. One of them enjoys this chaos (he will NEVER admit it), one of them requires constant physical contact or he will get insecure, and the others love language is gift giving and acts of service. They're fun, especially with them all being war criminals

[thranduel]

an important reminder about will and el as individual characters, and why this is a big deal when it comes to the ships

something extremely important about will as a character is his identity and sexuality. it obviously isn't ALL that he is, but it plays a huge part in his storyline specifically about his trauma. he's been abused and bullied by his father and school bullies growing up, he struggles with his own insecurities and he's trying to cope while watching the boy he's in love with be with someone else. he thinks he'll never fall in love and has had absolutely no romantic relationships with anyone. he's been alone, excluded and left out, while being forced to watch everyone else be in happy relationships without a care in the world. this has affected him badly, and it's heartbreaking. this is EXACTLY why people are so defensive and passionate about will experiencing romantic love (and why we specifically want him to be with his best friend aka the boy he's been in love with since the beginning), because it's such an important and meaningful part of his journey and there has been so much build up leading up to him finally being happy with him.

something extremely important about el as a character is her discovering her identity as a person and finding her freedom after being born and raised in a lab where she was controlled and abused for most of her life by the men around her. the absolute LEAST important thing about el as a character is to have a boyfriend. i'm not saying that el can't or shouldn't have romantic relationships at some point - of course it's possible for her to experience love, and i think it would've been beautiful to see if they actually gave her time to discover HERSELF first. throwing her into a relationship with mike, a 12 year old boy who she had known for 6 days (while BOTH of them were going through an extremely traumatic time), is absolute insanity to me. ever since that first kiss, they haven't known their relationship to be anything other than romantic and they developed some sort of unhealthy co-dependent trauma bond because of it. seriously, just think about it. mike and el have been in a romantic relationship the entire show. they were only JUST FRIENDS for a few days. A FEW DAYS. and you need to keep el's situation in mind too - this is a little girl with telekinesis that was raised in a lab. this isn't a situation with a friend from school or someone you've grown up with in the neighbourhood. what she went through is unlike anything else. she couldn't even speak in full sentences and had to be taught words, so why on earth did anyone think it was appropriate to give her a boyfriend THIS quickly, before she even developed her own interests? there's nothing cute or romantic about forcing her into romance immediately. again, that's not saying she's not capable of having a romantic relationship or experiencing that type of love. OF COURSE SHE IS. and i am in no way invalidating anything about her - she's one of the most selfless, loving and intelligent girls that is capable of so many amazing things, but i just hate how rushed and forced her romance with mike was, and how they picked the first boy who showed her kindness to put her in a relationship with.

in season 3 max tried helping el discover herself and what she likes WITHOUT any boys getting in the way. not brenner controlling her, not hopper being too protective of her, not mike influencing her. just el on her own FOR ONCE.

even millie has discussed this in interviews and spoken about how there's always someone influencing and getting in the way of el, and it's actually really devastating and frustrating to think about.

but again, both will and el want and need such different things at this point in their lives. they've both suffered so much and they've both felt lonely and isolated, but for very different reasons.

will is gay and just wants to feel normal for who he is. he longs to experience romantic love like everyone else around him because he's always believed that he'll never be able to. el is a girl with telekinesis who was raised far away from everyone she knows with no friends, and just wants to feel normal for who she is. she longs to simply have her freedom, discover who she is, escape from men constantly controlling/influencing her and just wants to belong with others.

will also admitted he'll always need mike, while el chose to walk away and leave him behind (even though owens warned her if the plan fails she may never see him again) because she doesn't need him the way she used to.

and in case you're wondering "where does mike fit into all this? what would be good for him?", i've already spoken about that here and in other posts.

so tell me... which outcome would truly be the most positive and satifying for all 3 of these characters?

[v197sstuff]

hi!! i saw your book review for may pangs book and i was wondering if you had any specific thoughts about yoko and her impact on may/john. i’ve never looked into this aspect of beatles lore and would love to hear your thoughts/opinions before checking out the book!

Oh, I have soooo many thoughts. The problem is how to arrange them.

First: I have two sons and a husband who loves them like only a father can. And they admire and love their father maybe even more than they love me. The love between them is beautiful. I know how important a father is to a child. That's why thinking about Julian hurts so much.

And I'm not one of those people who think that just being a parent makes one a better person, far from it. Bad parenting is the main source of human suffering and it's a generational thing, like it very much was in John's case. I see this daily in my work as a primary school teacher. I tell this about my backgroung because this is my starting point when I think about Yoko as a mother and stepmother and John as a father.

We all know that John was a shitty father to Julian. But Yoko wants us to believe that he was a devoted, loving father to Sean. Well, according to Julian and May he wasn't. As I already wrote in my original post, the man had SEVERE mental health problems. That doesn't make any of it any easier on his sons, but that makes Yoko's blatant lying even more repulsive.

To make things even worse, according to both Cynthia and May, Yoko deliberately sabotaged John's relationship with Julian by making John believe that Cynthia was still in love with him and trying to get him back. The fact that John believed her and allowed it to affect him is just a sign of how bad his insecurities really were.

I focus so much on John and Julian because I think this is one the most profound ways Yoko manipulated John. She wanted to destroy his relationship with his son. When they met, Yoko was a mother herself (anyone remember Kyoko?!) and apparently her reasoning was that since she doesn't have her daughter (hello, mrs heroin!), John must not have any kind of relationship with his son.

Well, fuck you Yoko

May:

Oh my, where to start.

She was so so so young. She was in her early twenties and had been been working for J&Y since she was 19. John was about 30 and Yoko almost in her 40s. The gap in emotional maturity was massive. J&Y were famous, powerful people. And she was their fucking EMPLOYEE. They used and abused her, plain and simple. It's just disgusting.

There's so much fucked up stuff about John, May and Yoko that if you are interested, you must read the book. But one of the stories that I can't shake is the first class flight from NY to LA. John drank and raged. He pulled May's hair and twisted her arms and called her slut (after Yoko had fed him stories about May fucking other men) and vomited. All this on a loop for hours till he passed out, and no one around them did nothing to stop it. Well, it was the 70s and he was John fucking Lennon.

And every time John drank and went crazy and ended up on every front page inUS and UK, Yoko called May, yelling at her for "giving him booze and not doing her job"

But John's time with May was mostly a period of creativity (just look at John's discography), calm, happiness and bonding with Julian. That's not something Yoko wants people to know , and she's been very successful in making her own version the one that's considered to be the truth.

And John kept coming back to May when he was supposed to be blissfully happy and baking bread in Dakota.

Whoah, ok. That was a lot. My final words: read the book!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 122

In place of August Tenth, Promptapalooza 3/ Geralt and Jaskier are traveling through faewood. They can tell it's faewood because the trees glittered and sang about how much closer the two would be if they just told the truth. The woods went back to normal afterward but it was kind of a giveaway. Jaskier starts playing some mindless melodies on his lute as they walk, only for Geralt to suddenly snarl a bit and turn to look at him. "Can you stop playing, Jaskier? I can't hear my self loathing thoughts when you play." They both stare in shock at each other. "That's not what I meant to say." Geralt states, awkwardly. "Do you often think bad of yourself?..." "All the time." "Me too." Geralt frowns. Geralt is a monster. He's a witcher. He's killed so many. Jaskier is perfect. Jaskier is sweet and kind and lovely. What can he hate about himself? "Geralt, please don't ask-" "What do you think about?" They say at the same time. "You'll leave me. You hate me. You'll find me annoying. You'll find me too loud. You'll never love me as I love you. I love you, Geralt. So much. I desire nothing but your arms around me at night, a kiss between us, you telling me I'm worth something to y-" Jaskier slaps his hands over his mouth and glances away. The trees giggle, and Geralt almost wants to launch a sword into the canopies just to fix the horrified expression on his bard's face.

[moonspirit]

Boy what are you doing

[eelclaw]

stupid fucking bastard. i am not coping with the leaks

[vonkarma2]

I dislike mettatenna