#and we will never know about the other half

[quarterlifekitty]

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.

[xnalux]

streamergf!vi hcs

part 1

warnings: none, fem!reader

pictures are from pinterest and they're not mine

streamergfvi: before your relationship was oficcially out she made sure to always post pics on her ig to hint she was clearly taken.

@/vistandsforviolence: sucks to be you ;)

@sevikunt: the girl is a paid actor

@vistansforviolence: go suck a dick

but after she actually announced her relationship to her community she made sure to floods her socials with pictures of you two together she took on past dates or just candind pictures of you (she totally made an album titled ''baby'' the first time she met you in person where she kept all the pictures she ever took of you). Everytime she snatch a picture of you, she usually does it when you are in the worst conditions ever, and you ask her to delete it she just pouts at you.

''but you look so cute baby''

In the end she never deletes the picture.

streamergfvi: who plays on streams every indie games you recommend to her. Her followers are sick of it because she always ends up never sticking to her streaming schedule.

''All right guys, i know we were supposed to play resident evil tonight but...''

and the chat goes wild

@/piltegoth: dude not again

@/chadjayce: you are such a loser for pussy is embarassing

@/Ekk0: weakest butch on the internet tbh

streamergfvi: who when she is not streaming she's probably lost tinkering with some gadget or tech. you find her, more often tha not, in her room cross legged on the floor, hands stained with grease and a look of intense focus on her face that's utterly adorable. She doesn’t ever notice you till you stand right in front of her frame hovering over a half opened computer (yes she totally works on the floor).

''babe?''

she raises her head and her eyes totally brighten seeing you in front of her

''baby you're earlier you were supposed to be here at...''

she takes a look at the her wrist clock face (she wears a clock, it's hot) realising you are definitely not early and she totally lost track of time again.

''shit i'm sorry, the little shit was acting up again and…i'll quickly get ready for our date...''

she ramble getting up and you totally don't give a shit that she is late because her hands are covered in grease, and her muscles are in full view, little droplets of sweat glistening her skin, you thanks whoever invented tank top.

she shuts up only when you surprise her with a kiss, her hands comiung up to grab your waist as she pulls you closer to kiss you back.

''what was that for?''

she smirks at you when you pull away a little breathless. your arms around her neck.

''you look hot''

you just smile at her

''oh you think i'm hot all sweaty and covered in grease?’'

she teases you pulling you closer to her by your waist, one of her hand coming up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear.

''you are gonna get my hair all greasy''

you giggle trying to get out of her grip. It usually ends up with her throwig you on her bed tickling you as you try to block her hands.

''just wait till i wash my hands''

streamergfvi: who has undiagnosed adhd and sometimes when you sleep over she wakes you up in the middle of the night still high on one too many energy drinks because she played a new game during her stream and literally can't wait till morning to show it to you. the only light in the room the one coming from her computer still on on her desk even tho she turned off her stream half an hour ago.

''baby are u asleep?''

You blink the sleep from your eyes and look at her, the picture of confusion and endearment. "What?"

"You've gotta see this! It's like someone took everything I love about games and put it into one amazing package!" she continues, her words tumbling over each other like a rock slide

''love it's 3am''

she gently grabs your wrist to pull you from the sweet cocoon of her bed

"I know pretty, but I just beat the first boss and I can't wait for you to see it!''

you end up cuddled in her lap on her gaming chair as she dives into the game rambling about all the cool stuffs you can do.

streamergfvi: who whenever she's got a new game that allows character customization makes sure to create a second one that looks like you. And it doesn't matter if she is on stream and her chat nags her to hurry the fuck up and just play the fucking game.

@/piltiesniperc: it's been 20 minutes

@/getjinxed: dude it literally looks just like her wtf

@/vistandsforvirgin: start the fucking game and stop being so gay

''just... almost done the lips are bugging me''

streamergfvi: who lets you put all kinds of stickers on her gaming set up and bought matching joystick and matching keychains and matching t-shirt. She literally loves matching shit.

streamergfvi: who thinks it's a good idea to let you cut her hair on stream. you stand there while she waves a pair of cooking scissors in front of the camera because ''scissors are scissors, they are gonna work just fine''.

''hello guys, today my pretty girlfriend is gonna cut my hair''

that's how you end up improvising yourself as an hair-stylist, almost poking one of her eyes out in the process because she can't sit still.

@/piltiesniperc: this is not what a meant when i said i liked lesbians scissoring

@/Ekk0: this is priceless

@/viktorious: omg i love when lesbians:

vi looks at herself in the camera moving her face from side to side, you definitely cut them shorter than expected and it's clear the haircut is uneven.

@/getjinxed: shit you look like a wet racoon, i need to see this irl

@/sevikunt: dumbest butch on the internet

as powder storms in vi room your eyes lingers on vi face and you just ask yourself how is it possible she looks even hotter than before.

''a wet racoon?''

vi asks offendend turning her gaming chair towards powder, who get closer to vi’s face with a little bounce in her walk and flashes her with her phone camera

''omg i need to show vander, you look ridicolous''

vi pouts turning to you

''do I really look like a wet racoon?''

and you can't help but giggle as you pull her from the back of her neck in a little kiss before whispering something in her ear, something that makes her cheeks flush and her lips curl upwards in a little smirks as she get up from her seat lifting you by your waist to get the both of you out of frame. The sounds of kisses and gigglies filling the room as powder quickly get in front of the camera.

''disgusting''

powder groan as she turn off the stream and sprint out of vi's room.

streamergfvi: who comes up with the most random questions. one minute, she'll ask about the plot of a game you’ve played a hundred times; the next, she'll muse on the theoretical physics of a game's universe. Her curiosity knows no bounds, and she's not afraid to dive deep into the rabbit hole of "what ifs" and "but whys" that often lead to the most entertaining conversations.

"Hey babe, do you think aliens would be into streaming games? What do you think their internet setup would look like?"

"If I started a podcast about the history of pencils, would you be my first listener?"

"What would happen if we tried to stream underwater?''

"Do you think I can teach myself to play the guitar while I'm streaming? It'll be fine, I've watched like three YouTube tutorials already."

''would you still love me if i had a third boob in the middle of my forehead?''

and the list could go on forever

streamergfvi: who hates being sick because she needs to stay put and just rest and she hates that but she kinda likes having you as her personal nurse. she wraps you both in a burrito of blankets, her hot skin flushing against yours as she tries to warm up her hands under your shirt.

''I'm gonna die''

she groans in the crook of your neck, her voice gruff due to her aching throat. you pepper small kisses over her head holding her close.

''your temperature is 37.7 baby, you are not gonna die''

you giggle endeared by your girlfriend anticts. she rases her head from your neck and look you dead serious in the eyes.

''i think i'm having auditory hallucinations''

she says and you know she is gonna say something stupid but you can't help yourself from asking anyway

''oh yeah? and what are they telling you?''

she smile playful at you, her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed because of her fever

''that my only chance of surviving this is hide myself between your tits''

and she tucks her head under your shirt as you burst in a fit of giggles.

streamergfvi: who when you are the one sick drops everything she is doing to come to your house. A bag fulls of medicines and your favorites things which include your fav hoodie of hers because she knows it gives you comfort to wear it. she makes sure you are wrapped in as many blankets as she can finds before going to cook you soup and ends up spoon-feeding you while you watch the office.

''just another one pretty, you are doing so good''

she peppers your face with kissed even tho you remind her she is gonna get sick too

''i don't care, just pass all your sickness to me so you can get well''

and brush your teeth after you've thrown up before drawing you a bath and gently massages you shoulders.

streamergfvi: who’s love language is physical touch. And it's not just about the typical cuddling and kissing.

For her, it's about the little things that often go unnoticed, the constant reassurances of presence and connection.

when she's in the middle of a gaming marathon and you are sitting next to her, her love manifests in a gentle head pat, a playful nudge.

the way she always plays with your hair while you're watching a movie, or the constant need to have some part of her body touching yours while you both lay in bed.

And oh, the way she holds you. It's like she's trying to contain a tornado in her arms, strong, yet gentle.

Her love is the way she squeezes your hand tightly during a suspenseful moment in a game stream, transferring her excitement directly to you.

It's the gentle touch of her fingers tracing patterns on your skin when she's lost in thought, or the firm grip of her hand on your thigh when she's trying to focus and needs you as her grounding force.

It's the subtle brush of her hand against your leg while you sit side by side, the way she grabs yours during a particularly intense plot twist in your favorite show, and the warm pressure of her fingers on your back as she guides you through a crowded room. It's the way she kisses you goodbye, like she's trying to leave a piece of herself behind to keep you company until she returns.

Her love is a bit like her streaming setup, a little messy, a bit haphazard but genuine and raw and you wouldn't have it any other way.

an: I had so much fun writing this so let me know if you would like a part 3. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and interact with the part one, i got surprised by all the attention it got <3

I took inspiration from this beautiful art piece for the hair-cut part so credits to @ClaraDeArte on twitter

[lyricwritesprose]

So I've known Winter since she was a weird little goth egg who borrowed my jewelry, but she's never asked for my expertise as a large animal veterinarian before. Winter doesn't have large animals. Winter has three cats, brothers, named Sauce, High Fructose Corn Syrup, and Bobby. (Bobby is the ginger one.)

So I wasn't sure what was up when she told me to bring my "hoof stuff" and not to tell anyone, but you know, she's my friend. An hour's drive and a little secrecy is nothing.

She met me at the door and escorted me upstairs and into her bedroom, and there was a demon lying on the bed. Red. Horns. Tail. Winter's grandma's quilt over him. Very confused expression.

"He says he hasn't had hoof care for a long time," Winter explained. "Apparently conditions in Pandemonium kind of suck."

Well, that, at least, was straightforward. "Yeah, I'll take a look at them. You owe me an explanation or five."

"Not really much to explain," Winter said apologetically. "I needed help with biochem."

"There are about ten thousand ways that statement does not lead to this situation."

"Oh, come on, like you've never tried to summon a demon to do your homework."

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't, because that's academic cheating and as a vet, it could be a life or death matter for me to actually know stuff. Also demons aren't—" You can't exactly say demons aren't real with one watching you. "Necessarily any better at biochem than I am. So you tried some spell and—oh. Ouch. Yeah, that's a gnarly looking hoof, you're going to need some treatment on that. Looks like maybe you haven't been walking around much?" That was to the demon. "Because the edges should wear down if you have proper room to move."

"I don't." His voice was softer than I expected. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Hoof trim," I said, "first of all. Have you had anything to eat? Do you need anything to eat?"

"I ordered door dash from the Indian place half an hour ago," Winter said. "Should be any minute. It's the only decent vegetarian place around here and I really don't want to deal with the whole question of which critters are acceptable to eat across cultural differences, so—yeah. See, the problem is, Asgrvanisaghl has been through a lot since some asshole 'higher demon' put his name in a grimoire, which means that we've got to find a way to block summonings as necessary or at least keep him from getting controlled when they happen."

"I don't do magic," I said, laying out my bag of tools, "I do comfortable hooves. Although, you know, you could call in Shawn. He's got that mythology special interest going on."

"I texted him. He can come by tomorrow but he's doing a thing."

I nodded. "You are probably," I told the demon, "going to have to repeat the name you want me to use for you several times before I get it. I'm not great with pronunciation. Right, so hoof trimming tools probably look different where you're from, but the principles should be the same. This is—"

"Why are you doing this?"

I shrugged. "I mean. We're humans."

"But—no. Humans want great wealth, or they want their rivals removed, or they want the love of the most beautiful woman in the land, or they want—other things—"

"Humans are bastards sometimes and they should not have treated you like that."

He didn't seem to know what to do with that statement.

"But the main thing about humans is that we clump up in groups. You wanna guess what group me and Winter were in, in high school?"

He shook his head wordlessly.

"The group of kids that didn't fit in. Queer, autistic, whatever. And believe me I'm going to call in all of us until we can make sure you're safe."

"But. I'm not one of you."

I shrugged again. "You are now."

The demon collapsed onto your bed. A vacant stare in his eye as he uttered “this is the 10,000th time I’ve been summoned. can we make it easy? Please?”

[reiyaus]

imagine construction worker! toji being in the crew who’s helping you build your dream home.

visiting every week to almost everyday because it was your only way to see him, the thought of just asking him out never came to mind. you weren’t exactly as slick as you thought, however.

it’s when you only approached him everytime you had a question did he realize you had a thing for him. not that he minded, though. he liked how flustered you’d get when he’d flex his biceps or when he’d grunt extra loud if he sensed you getting near.

the way you took so much time to prepare talking to him was cute too. how your throat bobbed up and down before clearing your voice; gently poking his arm (intentionally) before muttering his name.

toji would pretend not to hear at first, and ask you to repeat until you were practically yelling- only because he liked the sound of his name with your voice.

if honest, he didn’t actually know the answers to half of your questions. like how you didn’t know what the stuff you were asking him about meant anyways. for both of you, it was just an excuse to hear each other’s voices a little longer, and to see each other before your house gets complete.

it’s so obvious to his boss and co-workers that you’re absolutely smitted, like he is with you. it frustrates them when the building process fails to meet the deadline, having to work overtime because of a little work romance.

it doesn’t bother you though. there was nothing wrong with staying at your grandma’s a little longer. and he had no problem ditching his friends to have lunch with you.

yet, when the house does get finished, you felt a sense of loneliness, failing to remember that you can still contact each other outside of work. he becomes gloomy too, but watching you walk around and surveil the interior made him proud to have taken part in making your life better.

you’re about to thank all of them when he pulls you aside and brings out a little flip phone, almost like a bread crumb in his hands. his lockscreen was a low-quality photo (fitting to his ‘old-man’ persona) but 3 figures were you able to make out: two furry friends and one young boy in between.

it takes you some time to realize that the picture isn’t him as a young boy, but rather this child. you glance at him, his face practically sweating bullets and a shaky grin on his lips.

“this probably isn’t the best time to say this but, do you want to go on a date… someday? an actual one this time- i mean. i’ll introduce you to my son, and hopefully we can take things further now.”

[warblogs17282]

Sinsmas is coming out today! So let's quickly discuss what we know about the episode right now.

Vivzie's Bluesky Thread:

Things we learn from this thread:

There will be quite a long wait until the start of season three, but we will have closer releases of episodes, considering that the team wants to commit to a more traditional release. This also has double confirmed that season three has 15 episodes. Season three will also be 'bigger and better'.

We will be getting shorts during the wait until season three, I assume it'll be like last time where we get a short every single month.

And of course, we gotta prepare ourselves to go out with a BANG!

Sam Haft calls the episode 'PACKED!', meaning yet again we're in for a ride and a half, that's for sure.

Yea, all the confirmation I need that Octavia's song is going to absolutely destroy us all emotionally when we hear it, SAM HAFT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, WHAT DOES THIS MEA-

Brandon's Instagram Story:

Transcript:

"I'm so anxious for the new helluva boss episode to drop. I went back and I've been rereading the script over and over and over and I don't read."

So we also have Brandon fanning the flames of our anxious waiting as well.

Right as I was in the middle of writing this post Vivzie said that she was doing the final checks on the episode, and that she's in constant awe of what the artists at Spindlehorse are capable of.

The sneak peek gif:

We see a sinner at the I.M.P office, and it looks like the entire I.M.P crew is going on a mission somewhere where it appears to be snowing and naturally has all of the Christmas decorations up as well.

Although I will admit, it kinda strikes me as weird that they'd just leave a sinner completely alone within the building, unless, of course, that there is someone else within the building, with the most likely candidate for that being Stolas, but that's just a theory I'm spitballing here. It does also raise the question of 'where the hell is Stolas during this scene anyways?'

Onto the other not-so-new things, it was confirmed by Sallie May's VA that she is appearing this episode. (The 'next month' is supposed to be 'this month', I think she said at a panel after the first short that she'd be appearing again before this year ends.)

The trailer scenes:

This scene where Stolas appears to be getting attacked by someone while Blitz protects him with some kind of sword, with the floor appearing to suggest that this takes place outside of formerly Stolas' palace, said attacker has been commonly theorized to either be Andrealphus or Paimon.

We see a frozen over version of formerly Stolas' palace in the background, considering the events of Mastermind it now appears like Andrealphus is defending the palace against whatever it is that he's looking at, not a hostile takeover that we assumed it would be initially.

We see Octavia during this scene, everything about this shot seems to suggest that Octavia is getting a song of her own this episode, with this further getting backed up by Sam Haft's response to "Sam what heartbreaking song did you write this time."

It's also very likely that the conflict between Stolas and Octavia reaches it's boiling point this episode, considering that Octavia says "You never loved mother and you don't love me. You love him!" at some point during the episode.

Finally, in the helluva 2022 trailer, we see a shot of Andrealphus (I think this is a beta design of him or something), standing in front of what looks like formerly Stolas' palace, with a bunch of what looks like ice in the background, placing this shot after Mastermind, meaning that this shot also takes place sometime during Sinsmas, if this scene wasn't scrapped.

[revelboo]

I love how instantly protective Rumble is in Alcohol Eyes. He’s very open about what he wants especially compared to the other Decepticons. He knows he likes this human and he’s willing to show the other people around too :)

He’s pretty much in love- or thinks he is. 18+ 🌶️

Alcohol Eyes Pt 6

Rumble x Reader

• Laughing instead of crying, because he’s so serious about it. And of course, he’s a bit off. Actually believes he’s an alien robot because he’s wearing a costume. You’ve always been able to pick them. So it’s no real surprise, just a disappointment. Smile wavering as your eyes dip down. Snag on that bit of his anatomy that’s still happy to see you despite what you’d just done. And, oh. Yeah, that’s not part of the costume. That’s real.

• “Damn, you are an alien.” Uncertain, he watches you flop on your back with an arm across your eyes. Still not screaming, though. “Holiest of shits, I fucked an alien.” Crawling up your body and bracing himself so his face is inches from yours, your hand bumps his jaw when you move your arm to look at him. Aware of his spike pulsing against your belly, as he waits for you to freak out, reject him. Wanting you to want him still.

• “To be fair, we both did,” he says, voice so solemn about it you start cracking up again. Half tempted to drag him down and go another round, since sanity is already out the window. And because that thick spike is rubbing against you as he shifts over you, leaving a wet smear. Gently pushing against his shoulder until he reluctantly shifts to lay sideways beside you, you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed. Pleasantly sore and desperately needing coffee to make any sense of this madness. “Don’t go,” he murmurs, moving to hook an arm around you and drag himself closer. Feel his mouth on your hip and you shiver as you look down at him.

• “I’m not running away,” you say, soft hand touching his helm as he mouths your warm skin. “But I need to do human things. Do you, um eat? Food?” Rumbling softly as he allows you to slip out of bed, he shadows you as you bend to retrieve a sheer covering off the floor and he moves up behind you, hands on your hips. “Guess the whole alien thing explains the stamina,” you moan, a hand landing on your dresser as he finds and enters you again, keeping you bent forward as he ruts against you.

• Can’t stop himself, just wants to lose himself in the scent and feel of you. Because if this is all he’s allowed, he’s going to enjoy it to the fullest. Wonders if he can just keep you, ask for his own quarters and just take you. Keep you in his berth. As tempting as the idea is, he’s not sure that you wouldn’t come to hate him for it. Part of what he enjoys so much about you is how impulsive you are. How wild. Trapping you might kill that spirit. But he could sneak out and return here, couldn’t he? Spend his nights in your bed. Groaning as his hips snap against you, listening to those scandalous, illicit sounds you make as you take his spike, he never wants this to end.

• You’re not going to be able to walk if he keeps this up, already sore in the best way possible, thighs trembling. Not only meeting your need, but exceeding it. In the back of your mind, there’s concerns, because this sci-fi stuff? You probably need to be asking some questions instead of pushing back to meet his thrusts on a breathy moan. Head dropping as your fingers claw at the dresser top when his thrusts become rougher, wilder, you hear the knock on the front door and swear explosively. Feel him shift against you, grinding against you and tipping you over the edge. Coming apart as his hips snap against you with wet sounds before he’s joining you. And whoever it is at the door is banging on it now. “Want me to kill them?” He growls in your ear, hips rocking shallowly against you. Feeling his excess sliding down the inside of your thigh.

• Laughing, you reach back and push against him until he lets you go and you find your coverup again and slip it on. Seeing his lips thin in disapproval. Hearing him growl that he’ll answer the door. Tempting you to point out that he’s just swinging free right now, but hell, if it’s a census worker or a solicitor at this time of morning, they deserve an eyeful of angry, alien junk. Moving into the kitchen, you get coffee going and play with the hem of your sheer coverup. A present from the last guy, it really doesn’t do anything to actually cover anything. When you hear the door close without any screaming, you turn toward the hall and freeze. Oh, yeah. There’d been two of them, hadn’t there. Your alien bestie and his alien twin. Who’s staring openly at you and your everything not at all hidden by sheer lace. Oops.

Previous

[meazalykov]

siblings or dating?

mary fowler x mancity!reader

summary: people never knew what your relationship was like with your doppelgänger

it’s always been something people noticed first. the resemblance.

you still remember the first time you met mary, both of you showing up early to manchester city’s preseason camp. its weird wearing blue, since you were used to the pink you wore for portland. 

the first person you spotted was mary. you spotted her across the field and froze for half a second—she looked like you. same sharp jawline, matching cheekbones, eyes that crinkled the same way when she laughed. 

she must’ve felt it too because when her gaze landed on you, she blinked, tilted her head, and gave you the same crooked grin you wore when you were confused.

“weird,” she’d said when you finally introduced yourselves, shaking hands, studying each other like you were staring into a mirror.

“yeah.. uh.. it’s a little weird,” you agreed, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled in your throat.

it wasn’t until months later that you realized how much weirder it would get. teammates made jokes almost immediately, calling you “twins” when you sat next to each other on the team bus, making you pair up for drills because “you’re basically the same person.” 

you and mary laughed it off at first. then it started becoming a thing. fans pointing it out on social media. commentators stumbling over how to describe you when you lined up next to each other on the pitch. 

your own families were raising eyebrows when you brought mary home over the holidays. it’s impossible not to see it: you look alike.

so when you and mary fell into a relationship—a slow burn that neither of you expected but both of you welcomed—you wondered how the hell you were going to explain it to anyone outside the locker room.

“we’re not sisters,” mary said once, teasing you after a particularly brutal “twin” joke from the team. 

“i promise. i’m just the prettier version of you.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled anyway because, well, you thought mary was beautiful. it didn’t matter that she looked like you; she wasn’t you. she was stubborn and fierce and australian and always knew when to crack a joke to lighten the mood. 

she wasn’t your mirror—she was your partner.

it didn’t stop the world from noticing, though. the viral moment happened on an ordinary saturday afternoon, city up by a single goal against arsenal. you were desperate to close the game out, sprinting into the box as the minutes ticked down. laia sent a pass your way, and you didn’t think—just struck the ball cleanly, sending it past the keeper into the far corner.

the stadium erupted. you spun around, pumping your fists in celebration, and then mary was there, arms wrapping around you from behind, lifting you off the ground.

“yes, y/n!” she shouted into your ear, her voice breaking through the roar of the crowd.

you laughed, leaning back against her, letting the moment settle over you. you could feel her grinning against your shoulder, her excitement bleeding into yours. 

for a second, you forgot that you were on a pitch in front of thousands of people—it was just you and mary, a girl who loved you and who you loved right back.

the moment exploded on social media.

fans who followed you closely were thrilled, posting screenshots of mary’s arms around you, captions calling it the sweetest thing they’d ever seen. but casual viewers, the ones who didn’t know your story, were confused.

“are they sisters or girlfriends?”

“this is so weird. they look identical.”

“is anyone going to talk about how she’s dating her doppelgänger?”

you and mary laughed about it later, scrolling through twitter together on the couch. mary leaned her head on your shoulder, smirking as she read a particularly unhinged comment aloud.

“it’s strange, isn’t it?” you murmured, setting your phone down. 

mary hummed, thoughtful for a beat. 

“maybe. but we don’t have to explain anything to anyone, do we?”

she was right. you didn’t owe anyone an explanation. you didn’t owe them the story of how you met,and  how you fell in love. you’d found someone who made you feel seen and loved and whole—someone who just happened to look like you.

“besides,” mary added, nudging you playfully, 

“you’re lucky. not everyone gets to date someone as beautiful as me.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you kissed her temple. 

“you’re right. i’m lucky.”

and you were.

you didn’t care what anyone else thought. mary was yours, and you were hers, and that was all that mattered.

masterlist

[writing-mlm]

The line we toe

Summary: Why can’t you ever just have Clark? Why is there always a reason he’s only there in your memories and why did he have to ruin your birthday? Pairing: Clark Kent x NFL!Male reader Wc: 14.5k tags: hurt/comfort, not enough Clark groveling IMO, mutual masturbation, needy!Clark, dry humping, reader is also a witch, religion but its not negative, homophobia but its a misunderstanding

If there’s something small towns were known for it's their churches. They held out hope for their religion, spending every weekend in their Sunday best, listening to the preacher go on for hours. But Smallville was different, it always had been. 

Church for the town wasn’t some big event where you come in button-ups, slacks, and polished shoes. Most dressed however they pleased, saving their good clothes for special events. It didn’t go on for hours, one and a half at most. It also wasn’t every weekend, although the priest always went, no one was shunned for not going. No one spoke in whispers because they missed their Sunday service. 

But for most, the service provided the calm that they needed. When business got tough, when the farms didn’t provide enough crops, and things seemed bleak, the pews filled townsfolk. 

You sat in the front, messing with the cross on your rosary as your father preached. Your mother and sister sit next to you; your mother's floor floor-length black dress sweeps over your shoes and her white lace gloves holding your free hand. You don’t know what he’s saying, you never have but you don’t like being alone in your home

so you go to church with them. 

Your connection with God isn’t one you understand through words or through the scripture. It’s more… Flyleaf’s All around me than shouting and claiming you can hear someone speaking to you. Your faith is one to yourself but you can appreciate the church's amens and their hymns. Admittedly you like the hymns, even if they’re different from the ones you’re used to, often lacking the umph you’re used to in New Orleans. 

When church ends, you stand with your mother and find him in the crowd of people deciding if they want to leave or talk to your father. You find him easily, standing with his parents as they head out of the church, smiling as he talks to one of the older men about helping with their yard. Clark Kent. You’d always been drawn to him, somehow you’ve always been in the same class as him. He’s always the first person you see at school. 

Ducking your head, you grab ahold of your sister and head outside through the back door. The field behind the church has a small playground that she and the other kids tended to frequent during and after service. It’s nothing elaborate. A sandpit, swings, a jungle gym, a seesaw. Your father and uncle had built it one summer after he noticed some of the families couldn’t have a good time when their kids wouldn’t sit. 

“Good,” Your older brother groans as you get close. “I’ve had to piss for an hour!” While he heads inside, you see Clark getting into the family truck. His eyes catch yours and he smiles, giving you a small wave. You wave back, your hand barely higher than your hip as the truck pulls off. His blue eyes imprinted into your mind and his smile—

Holding your cross again, you stop the bubbling feeling in your stomach. Instead, you focus your attention onto the kids playing until it’s time to go home. 

At home, your parents start dinner while you finish up your homework. Your brother runs his drills in the backyard while your sister watches, he gives her a whistle so she can feel useful but you think she likes the power the whistle holds. 

“Hey, hun,” Your father enters your room and you look up from your textbook, the cross falling from your fingers and into your chest. “Dinners ready if you are.” He holds onto the doorknob as he smiles. Outside of church, he’s relaxed, more often than not he’s walking around in a white tank and old sweatpants that are probably older than you are. 

“Okay,” Getting up, you see your mother calling in your brother and sister, rushing him into the shower. He runs past you, nearly knocking you down the stairs and you hold onto the banister, glaring up at him. Feeling the cold metal against your fingertips, you continue into the dining room.

The table isn’t set yet, your mother is finishing up her tarot reading and your father is adding the final touches to the dish. Your mother tsks as she flips the final card, the reversed death. She holds the deck in her right hand and you watch as the cards fly into place before it zooms through the house and into the barn. 

It’s probably some lame joke. A priest and a witch getting married on a rainy day. But by the way your father wears her protection spell jar you know their love isn’t a joke. 

She smiles at you, the tension in her face dropping as you help your father set the table. The placements find their spots as you carefully recite the spell, your sister watches through giggles, touching the sparkles that encase your spells. “You’re getting better,” She smiles, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Remind me to add more spells to your grimoire.” You nod and settle down in your seat. When your brother comes down from the shower, everyone starts to eat. 

“I think I’ll make quarterback this year,” Your brother announces as he piles the chicken alfredo onto his plate. He’s mostly been a running back but he thinks being a QB in his final year will help with scholarships. Besides, he’s been encouraging you to be the running back but football isn’t really your thing. But you’ll try out to make him happy. 

“I don’t doubt you,” Your father grabs the garlic bread bowl and takes out two pieces. “Hey, why don’t you and your brother run through old plays before school tomorrow? Get him ready for the season.”

“Sure,” Looking at your brother, you wonder if it’s illegal for someone his size to be a quarterback for a high school team. 

—

“Hey, you okay?” Clark catches up to you as you rub your shoulder on your way to your shared first period. You nod, still rubbing it. Tracing sigils, you feel the pain starting to go away.

“I was running drills with Angel,” You explain. “He wants me to try out for the football team.” Clark smiles at that and you look away from him, grabbing your cross again. 

“You should. I bet you’d make the team.” The way his voice carries such hope, not an inch of taunt in it makes you sick. That stupid feeling in your stomach rises again. “I’m actually the assistant coach for the team.” He continues when you don’t say anything, the awkward pauses feeling like torture for him. You probably shouldn’t try and make the team, then. 

You stare at your classroom door as the halls clear out, not knowing what to say. “Cool, I guess I’ll see you during tryouts.” He smiles, walking away with a pep in his step. Watching him leave, you tear your eyes away as the bell rings. Still fumbling with your rosary, you enter the classroom as the lights in the hallway blow out, sparks flying about. 

Sinking into your seat, the teacher checks the hallway and rushes to pull the fire alarm. Apparently one of the sparks had caught onto a banner that quickly spread to the other posters and banners. 

“Way to go,” Angel punches your shoulder as everyone stands in the parking lot. “Totally missing out on a test cause of this,” Out of three children you’re the only one to have manifested powers. It’s a gene that skips a kid every time and you picked the winning straw by being born second, lucky you.

In the corner, you see Clark covering his ears as the fire alarms continue to blast and the fire trucks approach. He has to walk away, still plugging his ears as the sirens only get louder. No one else notices, watching as the fire ravages what you think is the math room for 11th grade. You haven’t even had that class yet and you destroyed it. Great. 

As far as first days go, this isn’t the worst. Classes still continue and you’re eventually dragged to tryouts by Angel. He forces you into the gear and lugs you the whole way to the field. Coach and Clark are standing next to each other, Clark’s eyes light up when he sees your heels dragging into the turf. 

“Hey, rosary!” Coach calls and you stand up straight, grabbing the rosary you’d tucked into the pants of the uniform. “Give it here, the boys will rip it apart.” Nodding, you hesitate before giving it to him. The cold metal slips from your fingers and you’re suddenly antsy. Bouncing between the balls and heels of your feet, your eyes dart across the field. 

Older kids play tackle each other and toss the football between themselves. Your brother talks with his friends and the freshmen awkwardly stand to the side. You don’t have any football friends, but you know them through your brother. “Rosary, get on the field!” Rushing over to your brother, the coach laughs while Clark offers you an apologetic look. 

Coach runs a test game and you stand behind Angel, wiping your hands on the pants before the ball flies to him. You run ahead and he tosses the ball at you, catching it, you look for a second before you remember. Running back. You gotta run and he points in the direction you go as the others head towards you. You manage a couple of yards before you’re eventually tackled to the ground. Your head bounces and your teeth clamp together as you roll onto your back. 

“Hey, need a hand?” Clark asks when your eyes open. Accepting his hand, he pulls you up and you stumble forward. He catches you with a chuckle. “That was good, you have a good chance of getting on the team.” That’s not what you wanted to hear, but your brother clasps his hands on your shoulder and cheers. According to the others, you made it a good distance. 

Try-outs continue for another hour before it’s time to go home. Your brother takes a shower first but you’re not so sure you want to shower with a bunch of men and get in the bed of your dad's pickup truck. While you’re waiting, Clark rushes over and leans on the edge. 

“Uh, between us, you made the team.” He smiles and then shakes his head. “But I came here to ask if you wanted to come to a Soul Asylum concert? Me, Pete, and Lana are going. Thomas was gonna go but he got grounded and I noticed the patch on your bag.”

Lana. His girlfriend. The thought makes your throat tight and you cough into your fist. “Um… I’ll have to ask my parents. But… I’ll let you know what they say.” 

“Cool… er… here, take my number.” He digs through his bag for a piece of paper and one, scribbling the house number to the Kent’s on it before folding it and handing it to you. “It’s next weekend, we’re meeting at Lana’s at six.” Taking the paper, you thank him and watch him leave. As he’s running away, your brother runs over and slaps the side of the truck. 

“Pop! He’s totally making the team.” Angel climbs into the truck, his praise dying as the door slams shut. The truck starts and you jerk as it moves forward. Riding in the bed isn’t anything new, your father even built-in handlebars for when people do. You catch your father looking back at you after every turn, making sure you’re still on the truck. 

When he parks the truck, you head upstairs to take a shower before joining your family in the living room. Your mother is wrapping her sage bundles and you happily join her as you talk about school. 

“Oh, Clark Kent invited me to a Soul Asylum concert,” The smile that graces your face makes your mother smile. “It’s next Saturday and they’re meeting at Lana Lang’s place at six. I think Pete Crushing is going to drive.” Your parents exchange glances for a minute, their conversation unknown to you and Angel.

“Okay.” Your father nods. “No drinking, no drugs, and you’re tending to the farm this weekend.” The farm has a variety of crops and an apiary with nearly a thousand bees, it’s mainly so your mother and you have easy access to materials for spells and such. Agreeing to the terms, you shake on it and you’re off to your room. 

—

At five forty, you make it to the Lang’s place inside of the town. Your mother does a quick protection spell over you and slips a protection sigil into your jacket pocket before you’re able to leave. She didn’t tell you at the time but she’d done a reading for the night and something was going to go wrong. But she knew you were going to be okay, so she still let you go. 

“Hello,” Clark and Lana are waiting in front of her place. They’re holding hands and your jaw tightens at the sight. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Had a weekend of farm work, but yeah.” Laughing, you join them and wait for Pete to arrive. The whole time the two giggle at each other and you try your best to ignore it, messing with your rosary. 

“Oh, right. Congrats on making the team,” Lana smiles over at you. “Clark says you’re an amazing running back. Must run in the family, right?” 

“Yeah,” A car pulls up and you nearly sigh in relief when it’s Pete. You take the passenger seat at their insistence and listen to the latest Soul Asylum album. It’s nice. And when you get to the venue Lana runs ahead, already scanning her ticket. 

“Right, here you go,” Clark hands you the spare ticket, his fingers brushing against your own. You snatch your hand away and thank him. He just smiles and meets up with Lana, leaving you with Pete. You get it, they’re a couple.

After the concert, you’re drifting off against the window when the car swerves off of the main road. You shout, gripping your seatbelt when you see that Pete had outright knocked out behind the wheel. The car careens and you close your eyes, scrambling for a spell and haphazardly spitting one out. Feeling yourself on the grass, you open your eyes and see the car smush in a ditch, Lana and Pete waking up beside you and Clark rising to his feet. 

A car stops and you turn, seeing it's a state trooper radioing for an ambulance and backup. Clark explains what’s happening as you grip your cross, heart beating out of your chest. The car is wrecked beyond recognition, tipped over, and bent under its own weight. 

When the ambulance and another cop come, you’re all driven back to Smallville where your mother is waiting on the porch with a blanket and cup of warm tea. 

“Hello, ma’am,” The cop nods his head. “Your son was in an accident coming back from a concert. Glad to report there are no injuries.” She pretends to be shocked as she pulls you in for a hug, stroking the top of your head. 

“Thank you, officer,” He nods and leaves, taking Clark back to the Kent’s farm. “Hun, are you okay?” Nodding, she checks on the protection charm and finds that it’s cracked. It did its job, good. “Come on. I made you grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

— 

In the weeks after the accident, Clark constantly checks on you and somehow you’ve been indoctrinated into his friend group. It’s nice since your old friend group has been slowly moving away since middle school but you don’t like being around Clark. He’s nice but he makes you nervous. You know why. But you can’t bring yourself to admit it. 

You love your parents, truly you do, but you don’t think they’d love you if they knew the truth. 

“I saw those damn two again,” Your mother sneers as she does your sister's hair for school. Your sister simply watches the Land Before Time DVD for the hundredth time while eating bits of granola and honeycomb.

“Jane and Betsy?” She groans at the mention of their name and you hide in your cushion. Jane and Betsy are the town's black sheep, they live together in a one-bedroom apartment and Jane has a clean-shaven head. Betsy has an assortment of tattoos and they don’t hide the fact that they’re not roommates but lovers. 

“Honestly, they need to hide their activities from the youth.” She continues on. “Forsaking the rest of us to see them. You know I talked to the Williams and they said they’re planning on opening a business.” Your father makes sounds of disapproval and you head upstairs to continue packing your bag. 

When you go back downstairs, you meet Angel and his friend in their car before heading to school. Once more Clark is the first person you see, although you see Lana not far away. They’re making a point to not look at each other, which makes it a bit awkward when Pete calls out for both of them. Lana looks at Clark before scoffing and walking towards Pete. 

“Hey,” Clark jumps, turning to see you. 

“Hey,” He doesn’t smile as he greets you, but he tries to. “Hey, um… I’ll see you during football practice, yeah?” Nodding, you watch as he walks away from the school. Sighing, you head in for your first class of the day. It’s not like you don’t have the same exact classes. Right. 

Clark doesn’t show up for practice that day or the next day, he’s barely in class but then he shows up and pretends as though the past couple of days hadn’t happened. 

“Want to be partners?” He asks, setting his lunch box in front of you. Choking on your water, he laughs and apologizes. “For the science project.” He clarifies, opening the box. “I know you’re pretty good with bees and stuff, I’m surprised no one has snatched you up already.” In truth, they had but you’d planned on working on the project alone. At least until he asked. 

“Yes. Yeah, sure,” Capping your thermos, you glance around. “So, we’re doing it on bees?”

“If you want,” He adds. “I just figured since you know bees and I’m good with football plays we could do some sort of… bee football game. Now that I say it out loud it does sound stupid.”

“No, it sounds nice. Unique. Uh, do you want to work on it at my place or yours?” 

“My parents are going out this Saturday to prepare for the Harvest Festival, so it’ll be quiet at my place.” He offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

Saturday rolls around and Clark lets you inside, his hair pulled into a pigtail at the base of his neck but some pieces had fallen out and blocked parts of his face. It basically begged you to fix it. But you don’t, instead, you take your shoes off and follow him up to his room. You’d expected to work in the living room, maybe the dining room but being in his room was new. Intimate in ways you didn’t like. 

“You can sit on the bed,” He laughs when you stand at the door, messing with your rosary. Sitting on the bed he laughs again. “Get comfortable, you’re about to fall off.” He drags you back but forgets his strength and suddenly you’re on top of him. He’s still holding your wrist, his barely there grip makes goosebumps run down your spine. Naturally, his other hand had found your back, keeping you in place while you held onto him, clutching his sides. With wide eyes, you scramble off and apologize. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault. Let’s just… get started, yeah?” Waving his notebook you agree and the two of you begin to work on opposite ends of his bed. Eventually, there’s a call from the house phone and a knock on the door. 

“It’s probably my folks checking on me,” The two of you head downstairs and you open the door, finding your mother with a solemn look on her face and her death shawl over her shoulders. At the same time, you hear the house phone drop, clattering on the ground, and Clark staggers into the dining table. 

She drives Clark to the hospital to see Mr. Kent before it’s too late. She told you in the car he only had three hours left, that death was already in his hospital room waiting. She was right, of course. Mr. Kent is pronounced dead three hours later. 

The funeral is held at your church and the entire town attends wearing black. Mrs. Kent and Clark sit in the front, you’re a row behind them listening to your father talk about the life Mr. Kent had lived. His legacy. His family. Eventually, the procession moves to bury his body as it begins to pour down. 

Shifting your grip on your sister, you watch as your mother talks to Mrs. Kent and your father talks to Clark. You don’t know where you fit in all of this. What you’re supposed to do, if you’re supposed to do something. You’re Clark’s friend, his only friend since Lana and him broke up and Pete is trying to pick up where they left off, you should do something. Right? Talk to him at the very least. 

Passing your sister over to Angel, you start towards him. 

“I need some space,” He tells you when you get close. He walks away and you stand there, watching as he walks down the muddy road back towards his house.

—

Some time later and it’s summer break and you’re invited to a bonfire that’s being held by one of the cheerleaders. Angel quite literally drags you along by your neck, tossing you into his friend's car kidnapping style before they speed off. 

Once you’re there, your gaze naturally finds Clark’s. Following the funeral, he hadn’t spoken to you for two weeks. Not even for the project because the teacher automatically passed the two of you due to Mr. Kent’s passing. It was two agonizing weeks where you spent most of the time hating yourself for being upset he wasn’t talking to you. Hating yourself more because he was in your dreams and in them, you were more than friends. It made the silence and the guilt in your body all the more painful. 

You were back to normal now, well as normal as Clark could be following the death of his father and as normal as you could be after having fourteen dreams where you kissed him. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” You admit, taking a seat next to him. He shrugs, looking at the fire in the trash can. Clarks never really gone to one of the parties but you’ve been to nearly all of them since you entered high school. Even if it is to just be a wallflower the entire time and so you can sober Angel up when it’s time to leave. 

“Ma thought it would be a good idea to get some air and I figured you’d be here,” He pushes his shoulder against yours and you nudge his back. “Can I ask you something?” Nodding, you watch as his eyes dip down to your rosary. “I’ve never seen you take it off, why do you wear it? You said you don’t like church,”

“I’m still vaguely religious.” You shrug, holding the cross. “And it was a gift from my aunt. She makes rosaries and made this when my ma was pregnant with me. It just means a lot to me, I guess,” Your hand drops and you see his hand begin to hover. “You can touch it, you won’t burn.” The two of you laugh but he grabs it, gently rolling his thumb over the intricate metal. Gulping, you watch him, eyes darting between his own before he drops it. 

“It’s pretty,” He says after a minute and looks towards the party. It’s loud, speakers all around, and shouting teenagers always makes Clark wince. 

“If you wanna go somewhere more quiet, there’s a creek some ways behind us.” He takes the offer and you guide him towards the creek beyond a small clearing of trees. 

The two of you settle on top of a rock. It’s clear that someone had already been there because there’s a blanket and two empty cans of beer below the rock. Neither of you mind as you flip the blanket and settle down, now sure there’s no bodily fluids touching your pants. “I’ve never been here before,” He said after some time had passed with the two of you spending it watching the water. 

“I come here every bonfire. It’s nice. Most people go the other direction to make out and stuff.” Kicking your foot, you see Clark turn his head towards you. Looking at him, your heart races. Even with the shitty flashlight at the bottom of his rock, you can see his stupidly pretty blue eyes and his smile that he’s slowly getting back. “Not what we’re… gonna… make out,”

He chuckles, looking to the creek for a moment before looking at you again. You’re still dumbstruck, staring at him and his eyes dip to your slightly parted lips. He hears your racing heart pick up when you notice and look back at you, your eyes darting between his. “Forgive me if I’m reading this wrong,” He mutters and leans in. His lips brush against yours and you lean in, closing the little distance. 

Your chest does tricks as you kiss— it feels so right that this couldn’t possibly be wrong. There’s no way this isn’t what you’re meant to do, that this is the wrong path. It’s new but it feels so familiar, kissing him. Across the creek a tree breaks but neither one of you seems to care, you think Clark doesn’t even notice. But when you hear a twig snap you pull away and jump down from the rock, holding your mouth. Clark frowns as he watches you mess with your rosary, hearing you muttering prayers. 

“Ready to go?” Angel slurs against a tree. You basically run to him, dragging him away from the creek. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” When you leave, you don’t look back at Clark but he hears your heart hammering and the way your rosary beads hit each other when you kiss the cold metal he’d touched.

—

That Sunday during church you’re watching the children, listening to the sermon through the open windows the parents use to keep an extra eye on their kids. You’re still thinking about the kiss, hating yourself for how you let yourself fall into temptation. Biting your tongue, you fix your clothes for the umpteenth time and pace about. Angel isn’t there to help, he’s gone off to college to play football across the country. Not that you mind, he’s gotten into a D1 on a full ride. Besides, at least he’s doing better than you are.

In the distance, Clark watches you. His mother had started going to service more often since his father's passing but this time he’d ask to go. You hadn’t talked to him all week, not answering the phone, your mother said you weren’t home whenever he asked but he knows you were inside of the barn with your father. He saw you. Heard you talking about keeping the bees safe for when the cold starts to come around again. This was the only place he could think of to talk to you. 

He excuses himself during prayer, it’s easier to leave that way and heads out towards the playground. You’re helping one of the boys learn to swing when Clark makes his appearance. “You’re a good teacher,” He nearly gets kicked by the boy and takes a comically large step back. You blink, not looking at him as your heart rate increases. “Can we talk?”

“Sorry, I’m busy.” Walking away, you stop a disagreement about toys before going to the edge of the playground again. He follows, dodging running children and stray toys. 

“I just… I’m sorry,” He says once he’s close enough. Your breath hitches and you inhale. 

“We were intoxicated, it’s fine.” Never mind the two of you hadn’t even had a sip of water. Not a pill, not a drink, nothing. Solemnly, he agrees to the lie and walks away. You watch him with a heavy heart, holding your cross as your chest tightens. You want so desperately for things to be different, for this feeling to go away. 

But you can’t. You return to watching the children, the ache never leaving.

That behavior continues as school comes around again. You feel bad, of course you do. It wasn’t a mistake, you’d wanted to kiss him. The issue is you liked it and you want to do it again— Clark liked it and he wants to do it again. He tries to talk to you time and time again but you’re fast and somehow manage to evade him every single time. It’s hard, considering you’re never not around him. 

He continues to show up during church, helping with the kids even when it’s only your sister playing around. She likes him, says that he’s the best at her tea parties that you’ve started to refuse to play whenever he’s around. Clark doesn’t mean to ambush you every Sunday but it’s the only time he can hear your voice. The only time he can be around you for longer than a second before you run away. 

And it’s slowly chipping away at your resolve. 

One day he’d tried seven separate times and you’re glad when you’re home. Angrily kicking your shoes off you turn to head upstairs when you see your parents talking on the phone while holding a card. You recognize their voices, they’re friends from when you lived in New Orleans, and they used to attend service. 

“You’re right on time!” Your mother smiles as she beckons you further inside the house. “You remember Mickey and O’Neil, right?” You nod and your father smiles. It’s nice to be remembered. “We’re planning on flying back to New Orleans for their wedding, they want your father to officiate it, do you want to come? I know you’re back on the football team and everything but I know you miss it there.” 

Your eyebrows cross as you look at her, a wedding— a gay wedding that your father approved of? Your chest tightens as your world spins. You can’t manage a single word as you nod. What was different about them and Betsy? Did they not like gay women? 

“I thought…” You trail, lips pinched shut. “They’re homosexuals.”

“Surely are,” Your father smiles. “Unless one of them transitioned and we haven’t heard yet.”

“You don’t like gay people.” Sharing a look, your parents turn to you. Your chest rises and falls quickly and they can hear you breathing. 

“Honey,” Your mother's head tilts as she grabs your hand. “Why would you think that?” She pulls you down onto the couch and you thread your fingers over your hair. 

“You always talk about Betsy and Jane and how they’re bad people.” Your face twists as you try to understand what’s going on. What are they talking about?

“That’s because they tried to burn down the diner.” Your father explains, the diner your father owns. He does church on the side. “Jane got fired and the two of them decided to try to destroy it. It’s why Mr. Leon is in the wheelchair.” Your shoulders slump as you realize their hatred was never centered around who they loved. 

“So, you don’t hate gay people?” The waiver in your voice carries the pain you’re holding and your parents' hearts ache for you. 

“No, honey. Love thy neighbor. Only God can judge,” Your father presses his lips to the top of your head as you begin to cry. The two of them hold you as you cry, clutching their clothes for reprise. The floors shake as you cry and their grip on you tightens. “We’re sorry that you felt any different.” 

After some time, you pull away and wipe your face. They’re hesitant to let you go, but slowly they unwrap you from their arms and let you stand up. You feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as you walk away. They watch as you go, squeezing each other's hand as a silent promise to each other.

Halfway up the stairs, as all of this dawns on you, you remember. 

Clark. 

You huff a laugh and turn around. Running down the stairs, you stuff your feet into your shoes and run the distance from your house to the Kent’s. 

Your feet bash against the dirt road, ignoring the pain in your calves and the cold air invading your lungs. You’re laughing the whole time, skidding to a halt when you see their mailbox. The lights are on and you see Mrs. Kent in the kitchen. 

Running up to the door, you’re panting as you knock on the door. Mrs Kent opens the door for you with a smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

“Hey, sweetie. What’s going on? Is something the matter?” She asks and you shake your head, holding your knees. 

“Hello, ma’am. I’m here for your son,” You struggle to get out but she lets you in without any fuss. “Thank you, ma’am.” Taking your shoes off, you climb the stairs two at a time before opening his door. He’s on his bed, doing homework, and sits up when he sees you. He doesn’t notice the door closing on its own, not when you’re smiling like an idiot while rushing towards him. 

“I am so sorry,” You say before kissing him. He smiles, holding you close as you continue to kiss before needing air. Holding his face, you can’t stop smiling and admiring him. 

“What changed?” He doesn’t want to ask that, to ruin the mood but he needs to know. It’s been two months of this cold shoulder, of him doing everything short of coming to your home with flowers and screaming your name to the heavens. 

“I might’ve assumed my parents were homophobic,” You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Can we start over?” He nods, leaning in for another kiss, lowering himself onto his bed when his mother walks in. 

Jumping off of Clark, you stare at Mrs. Kent with wide eyes while Clark hides his embarrassed face. You peel yourself from him, sitting on the edge of his bed while pinching your lips closed.

“Let me know if you’re staying for dinner, sugar,” She smiles at you. 

“No, ma’am. My parents are expecting me back soon,” She nods and gives Clark a look before leaving. The door stays open and he starts laughing. 

—

Being a witch, you have certain little traits. You mix cinnamon into your coffee filters on the rare occasions that you drink it, you always have your mini grimoire on hand, and as of late, tracing protection sigils into Clark’s arm. 

You’re at your place after football practice because despite your brother no longer being there to drag you to tryouts, you’ve found you do enjoy the sport. Continuing your role as the best running back with Clark’s plays. 

You and Clark are in the living room under the blanket watching a movie he’d picked out. He’s no stranger to your home, so much so your family has gotten used to finding his shoes neatly placed next to yours. But they’re all out of town picking your brother up from the airport, so the two of you are free to do whatever for the next… you squint at the clock, three hours. 

Sometimes you think about telling him but your mother didn’t tell your father until they’d been dating for three years and it sounds like a solid plan to you. Besides, it hasn’t even been seven months of dating. You’d be foolish to tell him now. Especially when things are going steady. 

Sometimes you worry he’s going to wander into the barn or the basement, finding the assortment of items, and run for the hills. He has this weird way of always knowing where you are when he’s around. Pinpointing you in the crowd as if you’re the only person around. 

“Do you believe in aliens?” He asks as the movie credits begin to roll. 

“I’d be stupid not to,” You hum, turning the TV off. It’s too much work to pick out another movie. “Do you?” With a nod, he sits up and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s cut his hair, it rests around his ears nowadays but he keeps the front longer so there’s one particular curl that rests in the center of his forehead. It’s cute. 

“What if we could travel to outer space? See the stars and the planets like the astronauts do,” His eyes are still cast to the ceiling, darting about as if he’s imagining it. “Would you like an alien?”

“Whaddya mean?” Shifting, you sit with your legs tangled with his. He looks at you, leaning up on his forearms. 

“Would you date an alien?”

“It depends,” You grin, tugging at his pants leg. “Are they as cute as you?” He laughs and lays down again. 

“You hungry? Ma made lasagna last night.” Despite it being your offer and your house, Clark drags you into the kitchen and tosses the dish into the oven. Had he been someone with less restraint he would’ve heated it up himself but instead the two of you sit in the kitchen. You’re on the counter while he’s between your legs, staring up at you. You’re talking about anything and nothing, planning dates for the winter lights show a town over, talking about how much work your teachers had given for the winter break. 

Once the food is reheated the two of you eat like that. Still talking as Clark does the dishes next to you. You cringe as he does them wrong but he looks so happy so you let him. He eyes the bundle of spices above the sink and you try to see if you’ve left anything notably witchy out. Your tarot cards are still on the dining table and you send them down to the basement before he turns back to you. 

He wipes his hands on your sweater before you lean down and kiss him. He holds your legs, pulling you closer and the door opens. This is the fourth time the two of you have been caught, you’d think you would’ve gotten better at hiding it. 

“Woah!” Your brother shouts when he sees you two. Groaning, you look over at him. “Ma, you let them kiss in the house?” Clark dips his head down as you get down from the counter, crossing your arms as they all head inside. 

“Stop teasing your brother,” Your mother shakes her head. “Hi, Clark.”

“I gotta go…” Clark trails. “It’s getting late and my mom—“

“It’s okay, want me to drive you back?” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s only two miles.” He kisses you, a quick fleeting kiss that makes Angel snicker. “Er… see you Mr and Mrs (L/n).” He gathers his stuff and leaves, giving you one last wave before the door closes. 

“Come on, Angel!” You groan, tossing an apple at him. He catches it and takes a big bite before he farts and goes upstairs. “You know, the month before he left he’s the one who spilled all of moms homemade tomato paste.”

“You snitch!”

—

All good things must come to an end. 

Two years, well almost. You started dating in eleventh grade and now it’s the summer before college. The two of you knew that this was going to go one of two ways, long distance or breaking up. You’d gotten into the same D1 college as your brother and Clark was going off to Metropolis to pursue a journalism degree. What you didn’t think would happen was Clark having a completely different opinion from yours.

“There are phones and I have a car now,” You ramble, looking between his bleary eyes and red nose. “There are holiday breaks and long weekends. I’ll be traveling for games and stuff. We can make it work,”

“I can’t.” His lips wobble as he looks away and your breathing skips. “You deserve someone who can be there for you.” Lately, he’s been bailing, leaving dates early and sometimes he doesn’t even show up. Sure, but you’re sure there’s a reason for that. You’re sure of it. You’re willing to put in the work to keep the relationship going, you don’t care. You just want him. And for Clark, that’s the issue. He’s becoming Superman, he’s going to be unavailable and that’s not something you deserve. 

“Please,” Your voice cracks, holding your cross. “I want to be with you, I don’t care—“

“I’m sorry,” He stands and you follow him, desperately reaching out. “This is for the better.” 

“Don’t leave me,” You beg, watching as his jaw tightens. “How can you leave me— us? It can’t be that easy!” You reach for him but he moves away, his eyes flickering to the ground as he apologizes but stands firm on his decision. Clark leaves and you turn around, heading into your house with a heavy heart and a tight chest. 

That night your father holds you as you cry, riding out your first heartbreak while your sister calls your brother; telling him everything. 

Clark doesn’t see you when you leave for college, you don’t expect him to. Considering he’d left the day before. Mrs. Kent apologized for him, explaining that he was having some emotions he needed to process. It didn’t help you, not one bit. 

You spend the flight to school doing readings and getting strange looks from the old man next to you. Each one only makes you more and more frustrated, all of the signs pointing that this is the best course of action. This is how it’s meant to be. You’ve never doubted the cards before, especially when each reading is so similar but you explain it by assuming it’s because you’re so high up. So, you do one as you’re in the car with Angel. 

It’s the same fucking thing. 

“Stop doing those damn readings,” He huffs, waving his hand over the cards but he doesn’t touch them. “Clark broke up with you, so what? You’ve gotten a full ride to the best football college in the nation! You’re a witch! That fuck ass country boy will come crawling back when you’re in the NFL, trust me.”

“I miss him,” You frown, packing the cards back into the tin. Angel groans and smacks your head. 

“You’re not gonna miss him when you see the guys at college; there’s a bunch of Clark Kent’s in this world.” He says that as you look out the window, doubting his words. There is no other Clark Kent. “Even so, I know a couple gay guys. They’d be your type.” 

—

College football, ranked third most popular sport in the US after professional football and basketball, is an extremely taxing thing. Your days start early, running before the sun is up, drills, training until you can’t anymore, ice baths that you’re sure will kill you one day, practice, going to away games on top of maintaining a good GPA. 

You’re running in the cold, wearing shorts as you see your breath leaving your body in a foggy smoke. But hey, Angel was right. You had a couple of flings during college. A couple of DL’s, of course, maybe a single relationship that lasted a month but nothing of substance. You hate that you’re still hung up on Clark; it's ridiculous. You dated for less than two years during high school. He’d gotten over Lana in less time and you’re sure he’s off at school getting with some girl or whatever. 

“Happy birthday!” Angel shouts as the team all sit in a restaurant slash bar, celebrating the fact that the season is over and your school has won nearly all of their games. Plus, one of the guys' birthdays. You’re old enough to drink, but you stick to your water all the same. It’s a bad look for a star athlete to be caught drunk, which is why the team hadn’t gone to an actual bar as intended. 

Your eyes flicker across the restaurant and you catch a guy sitting at the bar. He’s drinking something brown, not even letting the ice have a chance to melt, and pretending he likes his drinks watered down. His eyes catch yours and he grins, turning in his seat to stare at you. You smile and look away, returning to your conversation. 

Sometime later, a waiter comes by and hands you a glass of… something brown. 

“I didn’t…”

“It’s from someone else,” She explains before walking away. Immediately, you find the guy and he raises his glass. Raising yours, you take a sip and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s just sweet tea. Your brother snickers and nudges you out of the booth. The other guys encourage you and you agree, taking a fry before heading to the bar. 

“Hey,” You smile, slinking into the seat next to him. “I’m (Y/n),”

“Bruce,” He responds, shaking your hand. You shake his hand as you take him in, deciding to pursue whatever it is with Bruce. Even if it’s just because he’s nearly identical to Clark. 

Things with Bruce didn’t last long, sadly. Only around six months. He went awol after a bit but you weren’t angry by it. He was nice enough, and surely spoiled you a bit, too. Angel loved that part. 

“Get up,” Angel grumbles as you’re lying on the couch, staring at the Metropolis news channel, waiting for him to appear. His eyes move to the TV and he grumbles, snatching the remote away before changing the channel to ESPN. You grumble back and sit up, watching as he plops himself down, his girlfriend shyly waving at you. You wave back, resting your head on the armrest. 

“Ignore him,” He stage whispers to his girlfriend. “He’s moping about a boy from high school.” She wants to laugh, you can tell, but doesn’t for your sake while he sure enough does. 

“Eat a dick,” You reach behind her and smack his head before heading into the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you hit up that guy from that English class you had? With the red hair, he was cute.” He calls. 

“‘Cause,” You shrug, grabbing a bottle of juice. “Last I heard of him it was because people around campus got crabs from him. It was like thirty people,”

“Oh my god,” She gasps. “James? James uhh… Richmond?” She snaps her fingers and you nod.

“Yeah,” You laugh into the rim of the bottle. “I knew him before the crab's thing, still got tested, though.”

“This is the first I’m hearing about this,” Angel sits up, looking between the two of you. 

“Because you’re not on the men's side of school drama.” You shrug. “A lot of guys on campus get passed around. Especially James,”

“No, yeah, it was gross. My friend hooked up with him. It wasn’t just crabs.” Her face scrunches and you make a similar one. “He also gave her brother crabs and gono.” Tossing the now-empty bottle into the trash, you shake your head. 

“That’s so…” Walking away, you flop onto your bed and pretend to do homework. Instead, you spend your time doom scrolling on your phone. Facebook sure is a strange place.

—

You’d been there when your brother got drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs two years after things ended with you and Bruce. You’d watched from the waiting room as he stood on the stage, accepting the draft pick and getting the jersey number 55. Of course, he became the star quarterback by the time the season was over, cementing his spot on the team. 

This year it was your turn, you’d gone through the NFL combine, painstakingly trying your best to reach the qualifying numbers before getting confirmed you were going into the draft. That in itself was such a relief you literally collapsed onto your bed and cried. Currently, you’re sitting with your family minus your sister in the waiting room, your leg bouncing as you watch the other teams pick their drafts for this round. It’s still the first round of drafts and there are three teams left, so you’re not nervous that your name hasn’t been said yet. 

But man, are you terrified that your name hasn’t been said yet.

Angel laughs the more antsy you get— he thinks you got this in the bag, your father prays next to you and your mother rubs lavender lotion onto your hands. 

The commissioner heads to the stand as the Chiefs lock in their pick in record time. 

You listen as the commissioner reads from the card, your jaw drops as your brother jumps up and cheers, punching the air as your name rings through your ears. You stand, hugging him tightly as your parents join the hug. They damn near suffocate you before your brother pushes you towards the stage. 

Wiping your tears, you rush up and take your jersey, bouncing around with it as people cheer. The announcers talk about the fact that your brother is on the team as he rushes out and tackles you once you get off of the stage. 

“You fucking did it!” He shouts, crying. He pulls you close as you both stumble about. There are some technical difficulties as your excitement reaches the peak but nothing anyone could bring back to you. You don’t doubt someone had managed to get that on video, though. 

That night you sit awake, wondering if Clark had been watching. What would’ve happened if he was there at your side. How he would’ve held you; kissed you. Maybe he’ll text you, you haven’t changed your number since you’d gotten it. Your Facebook is the same, too. You’re still friends on there, he likes your posts sometimes. You look at his but you never interact with them.

But he doesn’t. He reports on the picks because it’s his job, you watch it with headphones on because somehow Angel can always hear when you listen to his reports. The way he says your name crushes you, he says it as if he doesn’t know you, as if you hadn’t spent years together and Angel shouts that you’ve blown out the lights again. He takes your phone away because he knows the lights are always a Clark issue. 

—

After four years of being on the team, you head back to Smallville for Christmas. You’d missed Thanksgiving due to the games (which you of course won) and are more than ready to lay in some snow for a while. Not to mention finally being home for a holiday.

You’re in town, doing some last-minute grocery shopping alone when you see him. He’s in the section of the store you absolutely need to go to, with your brother's wife pregnant she’s been craving nothing more than bacon-wrapped hotdogs dipped in Rotel cheese with pickles. It doesn’t sound half bad, so it’s a family food now. 

You stare at him, taking in his appearance for the first time in eight years. God, eight years. Angel is right, you should be over him by now. But you take him in as your walk slows until you’re standing behind him. He’s bulked up since the last time you saw him, he stands taller too. That shirt looks awfully tight around the arms and when he reaches up to grab a pack of meat the shirt tightens around his back. 

You blink away from him, looking down the empty aisles before you put your big boy pants on and continue to the meat section. Walking next to him, you grab the first three packs of hotdogs you see and turn to leave when he grabs you by the elbow. He softly calls your name and you stop, turning to face him. 

“Hey, Clark,” You greet, your heart pounding in your ears. He says your name again and it falls so nicely that you swear you almost crumble right then and there. 

“I’ve seen your games. You’re amazing,” He smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose. Never mind the fact he’s gotten tickets to six of your games and flown over two others. Not to mention he’s put himself in charge of all football complications at work. 

“Thanks. I heard you’re at the Daily Planet now,” Heard. You found out the day he posted it. Stalking his page like a madman between drills and games. Your TV’s default station is the Daily Planet and you have a monthly subscription to their newspapers. 

“Yeah, it’s great.” There’s a silence that hangs and you go to walk away but he stops you again. “Can we meet up soon? I’m free tomorrow if you are.” The hope in his eyes almost makes you give in but you pick yourself back up and grab another two packets of hotdogs. God, do you even need five packets of hotdogs? Probably not, but you can’t just put them back. It’ll look weird. 

“Maybe,” You shrug. “I’ll see you around, Clark.” Rubbing his face, Clark decides to keep on shopping; his ma doesn’t need much else anyway. He passed you at the checkout. You have all five packets of hotdogs, a gallon of eggnog, various snacks, and about three boxes of Rotel cheese. He doesn’t know it, but you spent extra time getting items hoping you’d see him again. Although he’s ashamed to admit it, he waits in the sky as you leave the market and get into your car, following you the entire way home while you listen to whatever the radio is playing at the time. 

He watches as you enter your childhood home and slowly drops down, standing at the window as you hug your parents. His heart nearly drops when he sees a pregnant woman hug you but he’s relieved when Angel kisses her cheek and she kisses him back. Your head begins to turn to the driveway and he takes off, leaving his footprints in the snow as the only proof he was there. 

You blink at the driveway, sure that something was watching you but your father calling your name drags you back into the house. 

You don’t bring it up when you get back to your family home but your mother knows something is up. Of course, she’d done a reading. But she doesn’t mention it. There’s other topics to talk about, like her upcoming grand baby, your sister making the debate team, your father's retirement, and your latest games. 

Spending time with your family is nice but you’ve spent the entire time thinking about him. How his hair looks better in person, his stupid glasses that kept slipping from his face, his fucking smile. You go for a walk after dinner, not wanting to blow up any more lights than you already have.

You walk behind the barn and stare at the vast spread of land your parents own. You know you’d hidden something somewhere along the property but it was so many years ago you’ve since forgotten. You hope it wasn’t something awfully important. 

“Hey,” Angel calls as you're walking aimlessly in the snow, hoping to remember the spot. “Ma’s worried about you getting sick. Come inside already,” Noddining, you take one last look out before heading inside. 

—

Week eighteen, the final week for the NFL season. It’s the last game before the Super Bowl in February, although you already know you’re a shoo-in for it. You’re up against the Dallas Cowboys, sitting in the locker room laughing and joking before pre-game interviews happen. 

You’re next to Felix Anudike-Uzomah, talking about something that happened in a previous game where Leo Chenal tripped over thin air and went flying into the coach. Leo, somehow hearing from across the locker room, sucks his teeth and tosses a towel at the two of you. 

“Interviews,” The coach announces, entering the room. Everyone settles down, watching as a group of five reporters and five cameramen walk inside. There’s a pair from NBC, Fox, CNN, ESPN, and the one that makes you and Angel look at each other, The Daily Planet. 

Clark stands in the most dorkiest outfit you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing him in. A red bow tie, a pressed blue button-up under a darker blue vest, brown slacks, and a nice pair of loafers. His glasses are resting on the tip of his nose and you can tell he’s put in extra time doing his hair. 

A light blows out above him and Angel smacks your leg, silently warning you to get a grip.

“You’re booked for Rosary,” Coach tells Clark after reading from the chart. Your heart skips a beat and you look at Angel but he just sighs, holding his head. Clark’s eyes find yours easily in the crowded locker room that suddenly feels so stuffy. 

No. You’re upset with him. 

He’s just another reporter you’ll talk to for five maybe ten minutes. Not the guy you’ve been practically obsessing over for eight years. Highly embarrassing for a grown man who pays taxes and has constant offers from very handsome men who would worship him. 

Never mind that, you’re plastering a smile as you shake hands with Clark. No introductions are necessary, but you do meet the cameraman. Clark says he’s working as a fill-in for the usual cameraman, his friend, Jimmy Olsen. He waves, shouldering the large camera on his shoulder. 

“Big game today,” He smiles, the microphone in his hand doing nothing to obscure that bright smile he puts on for the cameras. “How are you feeling about it? You don’t seem nervous.”

“Yeah, sure is.” You nod, looking just under his eyes. It’s less intimate that way. You can’t see his stupid eyes that way. “It's always a bittersweet moment with the guys before the last game of the season. But, you know, we got this in the bag so I’m not sweating it.” He laughs, nodding. Shit, you hadn’t heard that laugh in years and it makes you weak in the knees. A light blows out and Angel looks at you from where he’s being interviewed, you look down to avoid his gaze. 

“Clearly, you haven’t lost a game in nearly thirty games. That’s impressive, recording breaking, in fact.” He says and you swear for a second, his eyes meet your lips. You look away, nodding. He’s making the interview so difficult for no reason, absolutely no reason at all.

“That’s such a blessing. I don’t want to say too much about it, I don't want to jinx anything.” He nods.

“Me neither,” He smiles. You stare at him, waiting for the next question but he just stares for a second before he inhales and composes himself. “There’s a rumor you’re settling down, is that true?” Oh lord, you pocket your hands and shake your head. This time you don’t look at him as you answer the question.

“Definitely not settling down. Maybe put on babysitting duty but nothing personal. I’m not rushing anything.” 

“Taking things slow,” He nods and you nod back. “Well, I think that’s everything. Good luck, (Y/n),” Jimmy puts the camera down and goes to clean the lens but Clark doesn’t stop smiling at you. He doesn’t even walk away.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” He says and you clear your throat, looking along the room. “We didn’t meet up last time.”

“No,” You agree. “We did not. I wasn’t free.” That’s technically the truth, your sister-in-law had given birth and then there were some personal issues you had to attend to. 

“How about—“

“I think coach wants to talk to you. Probably your next interview,” You interrupt and he looks like a damn picked puppy it makes you feel bad when he leaves. 

“You’re a lost cause,” Angel sighs upon seeing your crestfallen expression. You shove him and leave the locker room to get some fresh air. 

“Wait, (Y/n)!” Clark follows after you, his microphone and Jimmy left inside the locker room. You pretend to not hear him, choosing to wander the cold and damp hallways of the stadium before he catches up to you. “Please.” He whispers, unaware he’d caged you between himself and the wall. A corner, at that. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I just want to talk,” He promises. “One conversation. Ten minutes,”

“The game starts in five,” You point out and he huffs, checking his watch. “Bullet points?” His hand drops back to your forearm and he thinks for a second before he smiles. 

“Just this one.” He breathes and kisses you. 

You feel like a fool when you kiss back without any hesitation. There’s not even a seconds delay as your lips move with his, your hands finding his hair and his hands finding your thighs. His fingers press to them in this nearly bruising pressure and you get the hint easily enough. 

While, sure, you’ve kissed plenty of men. You’ve taken men to bed and they’ve taken you to bed. But you’ve never had a guy lift you up before and you imagine if they had, it wouldn’t have been as easy as it was with Clark. 

He holds you in place so well, so secure, that you’re sure he has an insane workout routine. But when you feel his muscles, you know that for sure. His bench press but be insane. 

God, you’re thinking about working out while making out. 

His blunt nails dig into the tights of your uniform and you hiss, opening your mouth in his. Gripping his well-groomed hair, your fingers thread in the dark strands before there’s a throat clearing from the end of the hallway. 

The two of you break apart like magnets and you stare at Angel. 

“Dude,” He sighs and you have to blink in the darkness to see him properly. “Come on, we gotta be on the field in three.” Nodding, you don’t look back at Clark as you run back into the locker room, fearing the earful Angel is going to give you later on. 

To say you won the game would be an understatement. You absolutely demolished the other team on their home field. It was such a sweep that you stopped playing halfway into the game and just had fun with the guys. During every break you’d see Clark in the press pit, watching you with a soft smile. 

“C’mon, gay boy.” Angel grabs you by the helmet and pulls you into the locker room while some teammates do their post-game interviews. It’s empty when you get inside and he’s thankful for that. 

“Making out with Clark is such a low,” He says, holding a hand up before you can start talking. “I get it; first loves are hard. But he dumped you and didn’t even say goodbye. It’s embarrassing that you’re won back so easily. Did he even say sorry?” His foot taps as he waits for an answer but you’re sure he already knows. 

“No…” You trail and he scoffs loudly. “He wanted to talk but I said the game was about to start.”

“Oh, so you skipped the apology and shoved his tongue down your throat?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t mean to!” You shout. 

“You didn’t mean to wrap your legs around him and hold his head? That seemed pretty intentional to me!” He shouts back. 

“Angel,” You huff, head in your hands. He sighs and sits next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“I get it, you’re a big boy who can make big-boy mistakes. This is a pretty big one, though. It’s just you’ve spent years trying to get over him and he’s sucking you back in. I don’t want to see you crying over him again, 'cause next time he does I’m getting ma to put a hex on his ass.” You laugh and shake your head. “I’m serious!” He laughs, knocking your head with his knuckles. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He asks, his hand running over your shoulder to hold his own hand. 

“I won’t,” You promise. “It was just… heat of the moment.”

“Good. Now let’s go, we have a victory to celebrate!”

—

Heat of the moment— you’re a fucking idiot to believe that. To have believed that even, for a split second, that you weren’t still absolutely enamored by Clark Kent. Like some stupid, hopeless, idiot. 

Following the game Clark had messaged you on Facebook— a simple text, a simple congratulations text. You kept it to yourself, texting him on and off as the weeks progressed. Texts turned into photos; nothing scandalous. Pictures of food, selfies showing off his friends at work, your treadmill— simple things. Photos turned into calls. Maybe five minutes long, nothing of substance. 

Five turned into twenty, turned into an hour and suddenly your text and call logs were filled with C.K. 

Ashamed, you didn’t mention it to Angel. You don’t live together anymore, he lives in South Carolina while you moved to New York, closer to Metropolis than to Gotham, though. 

Even more ashamed, you noticed how even through your hundreds of hours talking, there was never an apology. Never an explanation. Nothing. You felt stupid every time you hung up, every time you replied so fast to his text only to be left on delivered for hours at a time. 

So, you started agreeing to dates. Your friends, teammates, and even Angel and his wife would set you up with guys. They were nice enough. Kind men who definitely made you happy, never too eager for something you didn’t want, never too fanboy, and you thought, for a while, that you could be happy with one of them. 

It was six months with him; a great, long six months of getting to know Thomas. He was a little older than yourself, in his mid-thirties. He was absolutely useless when it came to football and you loved trying to teach him. 

“Babe,” He called one day, in a tone that made your heart sink as you rose up from the kitchen island, ignoring the tomatoes that needed dicing. “There’s flowers for you.”

“From who?” He stands at the door with a vase filled with elaborate flowers, colors so vibrant you’re sure it’s fake. He grabs the card and flips it open. 

“I know it’s early, but I’m hoping this gets to you at midnight. Happy birthday, I’m sorry I missed the last eight. Expect more. Love, Clark. Who’s Clark?” He turns to you, shoving the vase into your arms. 

“An old boyfriend,” You blink, setting the vase down to follow after him. 

“You’re seeing him?” He asks, arms crossed, the card between his fingers as he reads over the words. “Expect more, Love, Clark.” He repeats and you sigh, running a hand over your rosary. 

“No! I haven’t seen him in like eight months. He’s a reporter and he came to a game and interviewed me. I haven’t seen him since high school.” 

“So, he’s just some stalker then?” Thomas asks and you bite your lip.

“No,” You drag out, wanting to be open with him and he goes to turn away but you quickly add. “I haven’t spoken to him since our first date. Honest, you can check my phone.” Taking what you say at face value, he puts the card down and purses his lips. 

“How does he know where you live?”

“I actually don’t know,” You admit. “I mean, he could’ve asked my mother. But, I don’t know.” He inhales and then caresses your face, his knuckles brushing against your jaw. 

“Okay,” He smiles and kisses you. “But you’re not off the hook. You didn’t tell me your birthday is in an hour!” You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. 

—

“How’re things with Tommy boy?” Angel asks, pulling you aside as your birthday party rages in your backyard. It’s the day after your birthday and despite yourself, you didn’t cancel the already existing fake surprise party they’d planned for you. 

“He…” You sigh. “We broke up yesterday.”

“He broke up with you on your birthday?” He echos and you nod, eating a piece of cake to drown your sorrow. “Why?”

“…Clark,” He gives you a look and you snort. “Clark kept sending me gifts throughout the day, I kept telling him that I haven’t spoken to Clark in months but he stopped believing me after Clark sent me a signed jersey from that hockey player I like.”

“You only just started getting into hockey, though.”

“That’s what he said; so he thinks I’m still texting him. Broke up with me,”

“I hate to ask,” Angel trails off, face twisting with guilt and you huff, setting the plate down. 

“I haven’t said a word to Clark in ages. I don’t know how he got my address, how he knows these things— I… I don’t know but he just ruined my first good relationship since him.” 

“You think he’s stalking you?” 

“I’ll check later today; I asked mom to help with a reading and then a protection spell. But I really want to get drunk right now.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, let’s go! Aunty Tiff brought her special punch.”

—

Magic is… finicky. Especially when you’re bordering on black-out drunk, stumbling into everything in your bedroom after Angel and forcibly brought you there. The party had since ended, everything was cleaned up and most people went home. 

You stayed up, embarrassed to admit you were drunk texting (and calling) Thomas that nothing was happening between you and Clark. He ended up blocking you and you just laid down, wallowing in your own self-pity before getting up and going for a walk. 

You don’t remember thinking about that teleportation spell, but you did remember suddenly being in the snow, barely able to stand up until you got the alcohol out of your system with another spell. You recognized Smallville and walked around for a bit, you could use the fresh air anyway. 

You don't realize that you’re at the Kent’s until you see the red barn. It just makes you angry and you brush your cold hands against your face, wiping away the angry tears. Turning around, you jump when Clark is in front of you. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. Dressed poorly for the weather, you stare at his red nose and then his eyes. It’s always those damn eyes. Blinking, you look out to the sky and then back at him.

“Fuck you,” You spit, brushing past him before you spin around and shove him. “How’d you get my address anyway? Know about that hockey shit?” 

“I asked your mother and I saw you’d posted it last month,” He explains, eyes flickering between yours. “Was I not supposed—“

“I got dumped on my fucking birthday because he thought I was cheating with you! With you! Oh my god, why can’t you just leave me alone, it’s been almost a decade and you’re still here!” 

“Ma lives here…” He trails and you shout, running your hands over your hair. 

“Here!” You wave your arms around and it clicks for him. “I finally stopped thinking about you and you just swoop back in, ruining everything, again!” 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to show you that I still care.”

“You should've left me alone. You should’ve declined that interview, you should’ve left me alone when I walked out of the locker room. I should’ve ignored your texts and your calls.” You ramble. 

“Is that what you really want?” He asks, standing tall and you mimic his stance. 

“It’s better than whatever the fuck this is!” You shout. “You leaving without a trace and then reappear without an explanation. Expecting me to just go along with it and I fucking do because I’m holding onto some stupid childish hope that maybe you’ll change. Like this is some stupid story!”

“Let’s talk then,” He suggests. “I’ll explain everything— everything. I’ll answer any question you’ll want me to. And if you still feel like that then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Fine.” You huff. He smiles and takes you into the barn. To his credit, it’s incredibly warm inside. The Kent’s don’t own any more animals since Clark left and Mrs. Kent couldn’t tend to them anymore so it’s void of the animal smell you’re used to. 

He closes the door with a gentle thud while you lean against a pillar, watching as he walks in front of you. 

“I’ve wanted to say this since the day we broke up,” He starts. “I love you. I haven’t stopped. But…” Your heart drops as his face falls. “At the time I was coming into my own shoes. It took up my entire life. And it wasn’t going to be fair to you, you don’t deserve a back-burner relationship.”

“Were you doing drugs or something?” You ask, honestly confused out of your mind. This is fucking Clark Kent, a resident good boy who became a reporter. Not Timmy who tried to make meth in the chem lab a week before graduation. 

“No… I—“ He takes a step back and removes his hat. “I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was afraid,”

“You know I don’t like these cliffhanger conversations, spit it out.” You groan and he laughs before clearing his throat. 

“Fine.” He stands up tall. “I’m Superman.” Squinting, you make a noise. You have no idea what he’s talking about. Great. His biggest secret and you’re clueless. “The hero…?”

“Oh!” You gasp and nod. “The one from Metropolis?” Since graduation, you’ve been busy with football. Embarrassingly, you get your news from his Facebook and Angel. 

“Yes, that one.” He chuckles, watching as your face goes from one of realization to shock.

“You have powers, too?” Spluttering, he blinks. 

“Too?”

“I'm a witch,” You trail. “Not nearly as cool as being an alien, but I have cooler powers. So you dumped me to become a hero?” Looking between his eyes, he shakes his head and then nods, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“It’s complicated. But let’s get back to your thing. You’re a witch? Your dad is a priest!” He takes a step closer while your back is still to the pillar. 

“And my ma is a witch. We're from New Orleans, that’s a pretty common pairing. You’re the alien! Are the Kents also aliens?” 

“No, I crash-landed here when I was an infant. Your mother is a witch, too?”

“Yes, it’s a family thing. Your folks hid this for years!”

“You hid this for years!”

“Because it’s a family secret!”

“So is mine!”

The two of you pause, staring at one another. Holding your cross, you don’t know where to go from here. Sinking to the floor, you stare up at him while he slowly gets to the ground too. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” He grabs your hand. “Please, can we start over? With everything on the table, no more secrets. No more running.” 

“Clark,” You wince and he falters. “I can’t go back to us if you’re going to run away again. And I really liked Thomas.”

“You said you liked him,” He grins as though he’d discovered the secret loophole in destroying the bad guy. “Does that mean you’re over him?”

“It’s been a day, asshole. And you didn’t respond to the first part.”

“No-no! I won’t, I promise. We can start slow but I’ve spent nearly a decade missing you. I just need to be close to you.” He pleads with this desperate look on his face that makes you melt. All of your resolve goes flying through the window when your eyes dip down to his lips, red from the cold. Leaning in, you kiss him. 

You’re not clear-minded, this is the years of missing him coming back. It’s because you don’t like being called a liar or being dumped on your birthday so you might as well kiss Clark now that Thomas is gone. You’re acting without thinking, even as he kisses you back and holds you so tenderly. 

He climbs on top of you, caging your legs between his thighs, and keeps you close. Licking his bottom lip he doesn’t waste time in opening his mouth, moaning at the feeling of your tongue touching his. Gripping his head he hisses and pulls away, fumbling with your jacket. You follow his lead, maybe stupidly because you’re eager to get him out of his jacket and then his shirt. He tosses his plaid shirt to the ground and realizes his lips have been off of yours for far too long. 

“Shit,” You hiss when he slams his head into yours, pushing your head against the wooden pillar. He apologizes but you hardly hear it over the kissing and him damn near dry-humping against your stomach. You can feel the wetness through his thick jeans and it gets to a painful point where he takes off his belt. Technically, he rips it off, snapping the belt into two, and undoes the button in a blissful haze.

He shifts on your lap, putting one of your legs between his, and grinds down. His knee presses against your own and you suck in a breath, holding his thighs to keep the pressure there. 

“Can I- fuck,” He pants, moving his hand to his boxers, palming his erection. “I need you,” His eyes find yours, the glasses barely hanging on the tip of his nose. His face is a rosy pink, and flushed and his eyelashes wet. Taking his glasses off, you send them onto the tractor and move your left hand from his thigh to his hard-on. 

“Like this?” You ask, touching him through the wet fabric. Your thumb moves over his tip, using gentle motions that make him whimper against you. His head drops to your shoulder and his hips buck into your hand. 

“Please,” He whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing your own. “Touch me, please.” Shoving your hand into his boxers, he crushes a part of the pillar behind you when your hand wraps around his dick. It splinters and you mutter a spell to fix it while taking care of Clark. 

He’s huge, unnaturally so, it’s probably why he wears such baggy jeans now that you think about it. Smearing his precum against your hand, you start to stroke up and down the shaft. Your other hand starts to work on your own pants but he shakes his head, fumbling with your pants. In his haze, he rips your jeans open and you huff a laugh. 

He apologizes before kissing you, his moans dying inside your mouth while you feel his hand working the outside of your boxers. Your dick twitches in his hand and he uses his free hand to move your waistband low enough that your dick springs out. Glancing down, he spits onto his hand and starts jerking you off. 

“Clark,” You moan, head tilted up while he starts kissing your neck. The noises in the barn are pornographic, the slicking sound of the two of you working on each other, the loud kisses he’s leaving across your body, and the moans you’re both doing nothing to hide. He says your name as his eyes squeeze shut, his hips bucking erratically. 

“I’m close,” He heaves. “Keep doing that, please,” Working his dick, his hand slips from yours but you’re focused on him. Focused on the way his chest rises and falls with each moan, how you can see his moans mixing into the air, how his face is red and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead. He leans back, staring at you as he cums. It sprays, landing on your hand, chest, and neck. He continues to shoot weak spurts that slide down your hand and his dick, coating his boxers and pants. 

But his dick doesn’t go flaccid. 

“‘M sorry,” He pants, watching as your eyes close when he returns to your dick. “It’s the alien DNA… it doesn’t— just let me take care of you,” Nodding, you focus on the feeling of his hand working your dick, how he squeezes every so often and peppers soft kisses against your neck. It doesn’t take long before your back arches and you spill onto his hand. 

Coming down from your high you watch as Clark cums again, this time into his fist. The two of you pant, staring at each other before kissing again. He wipes his hands on his jacket before guiding your hands to his hips.

Yeah, you definitely needed this. 

He walks you home after sneaking you into the house to clean up. You teleport back home, Clark still attached at your hip but a little woozy from the reporting. The two of you catch up while not quite holding hands. It’s a ridiculous sight between two twenty-nine-year-old men but, hey, no one is around to judge. 

“You remember when we went to the Soul Asylum concert?” He brings up when he’s about to leave, finding excuses to stay close to you. 

“Yeah, I saved us,” You nod. He stops walking and you look back at him. “I said a protection spell.”

“I pulled everyone out of the car.” He tells you. You squint. 

“I said the spell first. Maybe it compelled you to pull us out,” You shrug. 

“A spell didn’t compel— yknow what? You’re right,” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We’re going to Smallville to see the lights at six tomorrow,” You offer, barely hiding your smile.

“It’s a date.” Watching as he flies away, you laugh and head inside. 

“You fucked Clark Kent?” Angel asks once you’re inside the house. Your parents, niece, and sister are already upstairs asleep, it’s just him and his wife watching Hallmark movies. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug, leaning against the archway frame. 

“Really? Because you left this house with white a t-shirt and your pants are open,” Looking down, you see the blue jeans with a busted button and plaid button down you’d grabbed and licked your teeth. 

“Maybe you forgot what I was wearing,” He inhales, leaning back on the couch. 

“Mm, so we won’t be seeing Clark around?”

“Who knows,”

—

The next day you meet Clark in town, he not so subtly walks up behind you and places his hands on your hips to get your attention. You smile but don’t look away from the lights and squeeze his hands as a form of recognition. Your folks notice but don’t comment on it. 

The light show is lovely and you don’t blow any of them up by accident. Which your father thanks you for just before you leave with Clark. 

“So, this is real?” He asks, eyes darting between your own. He bites his bottom lip as he waits for your response and you nod, rolling your eyes when he cheers and leans in for a kiss. He peppers kisses along your face and you laugh, holding his neck with your eyes shut. “I promise I won’t hurt you again.” 

“You better,” You sigh and cross your arms. “I heard Superman is allergic to magic.” 

“Maybe a little,” He whispers, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re my weakness, huh?” He chuckles and you snort, pulling away from him. Holding your cross, you find your family walking along the stalls but your brother keeps an eye on you the whole time. 

Clark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and the two of you enjoy the lights and the food for the night. At some point, you end up back at your church. It’s the same as it was when you left, although there’s a pride flag hanging off of the window. Your parents didn’t want anyone to get the wrong message ever again. 

Heading inside because your father never locks the doors, you and Clark settle in the pews and you lay your head along the back of the pew, staring at him. 

“What’s it like? Being an alien?” You ask. “Have you seen the stars?”

“I have,” He smiles, brushing snow from your shoulder. “And it’s… I don’t really feel different. Aside from the x-ray vision, heightened senses, heat vision, and other stuff.”

“Are you a Martian? Is that racist to ask?”

“No, it’s not. I think— I’m the only alien I've ever met. But I’m a Kryptonian, my planet blew up and my birth parents saved me.” He explains. “I’ve never known anything other than Earth, but…” His eyes light up as he realizes something. “My pod had this… crystal and I discovered so much about my heritage. It’s around the time I started pulling away. I have this place in the Arctic, if you’d like to see it.”

“I would,” You nod. “We should go soon, before I have to head back.” He agrees, removing his glasses now that he doesn’t need to keep up appearances. It's more than the glasses, he’d later tell you. Superman stands taller, speaks with more authority than Clark Kent, and a host of other minor differences that add up. It sounds horribly complicated. 

“What’s it like being a witch?” He asks and you huff, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s such a process. Did you know— I know you don’t, don’t worry— that every single witch has a prophecy?” You laugh. “My mother was that she’ll become the reason the wolf becomes victorious.”

“The wolf?” He squints. 

“The Chiefs mascot is a wolf,” You explain and he laughs. “Yeah, her prophecy is the reason I’m in football. Her brother's prophecy was he’d become a zookeeper. Some of them are really mundane.”

“What’s yours?” He asks and you shrug. 

“Something about becoming a red witch. I think it was a rose, or maybe a scarlet. I’m not sure. It’s been years since I’ve read it.” 

“What’s a red witch?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. But, when it happens, I’ll know.” You wave. “It’s probably harmless, the Chiefs are red, so I guess it’s that. I dunno. But aside from that being a witch is cool. I have all these powers that I can do whatever for,”

“I hate to ask,” He cringes. You huff, knowing the question. 

“No, I don’t use them to play football. Only a minor protection sigil so players don’t get injured. It’s engraved on their helmets.” He nods. “Don’t go reporting that, though.” You tease.

“It’s off the record,” He laughs and it slowly dies out. “What about us?” Us. There’s an us now. You stare at him and shrug, slowly smiling as an idea creeps in the back of your mind.

“It would be cool if we announced it at the next Superbowl. Like I win and run and kiss you.” You laugh. “Or you’re interviewing me post-game and we kiss.”

“That’s so corny, we should.”

[bruhnze]

ORNAMENTAL

summary: manivest anon wanted this.. i used the most inspiring line as inspiration 'idk i suck at this'. - it's a christmas fic.. yeah ik i said i wouldnt. It's just fluff, no warnings :)

wordcount: 1.7k

“I don’t know… I suck at this.” Lucy muttered the words, holding a tangled string of Christmas lights in her hands. She frowned at the green mess, squinting as if staring hard enough would magically untangle it.

Ona, standing on the other side of the small Christmas tree they’d set up on a small table in the corner of the room to keep it out of reach of their dogs, raised an eyebrow. “How? We did it in that one Barça video as a challenge!”

Lucy snorted. “Yeah, and did you see how ugly it was? Even the comments said it.”

Ona rolled her eyes. “It’s literally just putting the balls in,” she said, reaching for an ornament.

Lucy’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Oh yeah?” she teased. ‘’That’s-

Ona swatted at her before she could make a filthy joke. “Dumb ass.’’ She looked at Lucy with a mock glare. ‘’You know I was talking about the ornaments. It’s not that hard. Just hang some stuff on the branches, do the lights, and we will be done!”

Lucy shrugged, dropping the tangled lights back into the box. “My mom never let me do it. I broke too many ornaments when I was little.”

That made Ona laugh. Lucy, however, frowned, crossing her arms.

“Don’t take the mick at me,” Lucy said, nodding toward the tree. “I bought this because you wanted it. You do it. I’ll sit over here and watch.” She motioned toward the couch, clearly mentally having abandoned the task already completely.

“Luce,” Ona pouted, her voice mingling with the Christmas music playing in the background.

The tree stood half-decorated, and a little uneven, Ona put in the ornament she was holding after she had turned the volume lower.

“Babe, it’s not about how pretty it’ll be,” Ona said. “It is about doing it together.”

Lucy sighed, leaning forward to grab a pack of round chocolates meant for the tree. “I can’t do it,” she said, popping one into her mouth with a shrug. “I don’t want to do it. And I am here. We’re together. I’ll just watch.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, tension creeping in despite the cheerful tune playing faintly in the background. Ona’s expression shifted, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.

“Fine,” Ona muttered, stepping back from the tree. “I don’t want the stupid tree anymore anyways. Never mind.” She threw up her hands and let out a soft huff. “Perfectionist.”

With that, Ona grabbed her phone and purposefully walked out of the room towards their bedroom.

Lucy bit her lip, watching her go. Slowly, she dropped herself sideways onto the couch, letting her head rest against the armrest.

The half-decorated tree stood accusingly in the corner. Beside it, on the kitchen counter, the gingerbread house kit they’d planned to make after finishing the tree sat unopened. Lucy groaned softly and reached for another chocolate, shoving it into her mouth as she stared at the ceiling.

She let out a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling for a moment longer before gathering herself. She stood up, hesitating for just a second before walking to the bedroom door. Ona was sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling on her phone with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Sorry, Mrs. Claus,” Lucy said, leaning against the doorframe.

Ona’s frown deepened as she looked up, but the corners of her lips betrayed her amusement. “Don’t you start,” she muttered, before grabbing Lucy’s pillow and flinging it at her.

Lucy dodged it easily, grinning. “Ay, I was just about to use that.”

“Were you now?” Ona shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Mm-hmm,” Lucy said, climbing onto the bed. She leaned down, lying half on top of Ona with a grin. “I guess I have to use you now.”

Ona rolled her eyes, trying to suppress her smile. “Is this your dumb way of saying sorry?”

Lucy snuggled into Ona’s neck, ‘’is it working?’’

‘’No,’’ Ona chuckled as Lucy nipt at her skin.

‘’I was kidding, sorry, just had to give you a kiss,’’ Lucy planted her hands on either side of Ona, planking over her. “For earlier I want to say sorry from the deepest bottom of my heart,” she said dramatically. “I’m really sorry baby, I know how much you were looking forward to decorating the tree.” She added honestly.

‘’Decorating the tree together.’’ Ona replied sharply.

Lucy nodded, slowly leaning in, ‘’decorating it together.’’ She repeated.

Ona sighed, her annoyance melting away as she met Lucy’s eyes. It was hard to stay mad at her, especially when she was this close, her warm breath tickling Ona’s skin.

“Okay,” Ona murmured, leaning up from the pillow to press her lips softly against Lucy’s. “I forgive you.”

Lucy smiled into the kiss, pulling back just enough to speak. “Sorry, baby,” she said again, softer this time, before lying fully on top of Ona. “I feel like it’ll go better after a break,” she admitted. “I think I was.. am still a bit overwhelmed from the Christmas shopping.”

Ona hummed, her fingers threading gently through Lucy’s hair, soothing her. “Do you know what I realized while I was sitting here?” Ona chuckled lightly.

Lucy tilted her head on Ona’s shoulder, looking up at her with a glint in her eye. “That your girlfriend sucks and you’re asking Santa for a new one this year?”

“No,” Ona laughed, her fingers giving a playful tug at Lucy’s hair. “I realized we haven’t had lunch yet. You‘re just hangry. Well, both of us, probably.”

Lucy reached for Ona’s phone Lucy’s eyes widened in mock horror as. “Four PM?!” she asked rhetorically, her voice full of exaggerated disbelief.

Ona laughed again and gently pushed Lucy back down. “Yeah. What if I make us a sandwich? We eat, we cuddle, and then we try again?”

Lucy smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Ona’s collarbone before looking up at her. “Mmm, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ona said, her fingers still tangled in Lucy’s hair. “But you will decorate that tree with a smile.”

Lucy groaned, burying her face against Ona with a grin. “I figured.”

‘’Enthusiasm?’’ Ona asked sternly.

‘’I cant wait to decorate the three with you, and it will be perfect even if its ugly, because, we did it together.’’ Lucy said as if she was reading an autocue.  

…

Once they’d eaten a sandwich and spend some time cuddling on the couch, they finally mustered the energy to return to their Christmas tasks.

The tree was a bit lopsided but that kinda had a charm, together they finished hanging everything in it before putting the lights on.

Then, they turned their attention to the gingerbread house. The box sat on the kitchen counter, ready for their hands to get sticky and their creation to either look like a masterpiece or fall apart entirely.

Unexpectedly this part turned out very good, Lucy took the lead and showed Ona how she always did it. Ona asked how it was that she was actually good at this and not at setting up a Christmas tree. Lucy had explained that it had been a yearly competition in the Bronze household and, ofcourse, held the top spot in most wins. It made Ona laugh, she remembered for herself to just put a game element to stuff if she wanted Lucy to participate in the future.

…

“Hey, what if we just order food? This kitchen is already a mess, and I’m tired.”

Ona laughed. “I was wondering what you where thinking for dinner.”

They cleaned the kitchen together, throwing away scraps of wrapping paper and spilled icing. The smell of gingerbread lingered in the air, but the mess was finally under control. When Ona went to put away all the bags with the wrapped gifts they got for eachother and for their family, she spotted something. It was a little mistletoe that she’d gotten for free from a vendor at the Christmas market earlier.

She smiled and placed it on the coffee table, before heading back to the kitchen to help Lucy with the final dishes before they where done.

Lucy, tired but content, leaned back against the counter, arms stretched out. “I’m absolutely knackered,” she admitted, a yawn escaping her lips. “But I had fun.”

She stepped towards Ona and wrapped herself around her from behind, resting her chin on Ona’s shoulder. “Was it like you wanted it to be? Like in the movie?”

Ona hummed softly in reply, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of Lucy’s kisses against her neck. It had been perfect, more than perfect, really. Then, suddenly, her eyes shot open as she thought of something.

“Wait,” Ona said, pulling away from Lucy’s embrace and quickly walking over to the coffee table. She grabbed the mistletoe with a shy smile, holding it above their heads as she returned to Lucy.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, but she smiled as she realized what it was.

‘’I’ve never kissed anyone under the mistletoe before.’’ Ona said as she was close to Lucy and held the branch above them both.

Lucy’s smile widened as she looked at Ona holding the mistletoe for a lingering second.

After the short moment of stillness, Lucy leaned in, ‘’me neither,’’ she whispered before closing the gap, her lips finding Ona’s in a sweet, tender kiss.

It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips, a pretty kiss, just how it was supposed to be under the mistletoe.

Then the kiss got more heated. Lucy’s hand cupped Ona’s face. Ona’s arms wrapped around Lucy’s neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss further, she didn’t even notice the branch prickling in her neck.

Lucy felt the familiar rush flood through her, and without breaking their kiss, she effortlessly lifted Ona, placing her on the kitchen counter. Ona’s legs instinctively wrapped around Lucy’s waist as she pulled her in closer again, her body pressed fully against hers.

But just as Lucy’s hand slipped under Ona’s sweater, the doorbell rang.

“Ugh,” Lucy groaned, pulling back with a pout. “What idiot decided to order food.”

[demonic0angel]

Dan being forced to go to anger management therapy hosted by Harley Quinn.

(I refuse to believe that Dan would be forced into anything, so this is a Dan in Arkham AU lmao)

Wraith huffed angrily. “And that’s why he deserves pain and suffering.”

Harley stared at him in fascination, tapping a finger on her lips. It had been weeks after their breakout from Arkham, and Wraith was quickly becoming a good friend of the Sirens. It had reached a point where now, he was spilling his secrets over a glass of wine (stolen from a Bruce Wayne-endorsed party), about a boy he used to be and the timeline he came from.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing ever, since this was Gotham after all, but it was still both disturbing and thralling.

Harley could not help but stare as Wraith grumbled to himself, blue eyes flashing crimson and sharp fangs being bared in a snarl. Then she asked, “Did your sister ever say anything about this?”

Wraith huffed and swirled his wine lightly. “She said it’s a form of self-hatred. Because I blame myself for our family’s deaths, I blame Danny too. But I don’t care. We are the same person but we are not the same. He is still human, while I have transcended past mankind to be something greater.” His fingers clenched on the stem of the wine glass. “It’s not fair how he gets to be happy, but I can’t.”

A god complex, a superiority complex, and an inferiority complex, all born from the loss of family and self-identity. His psyche was absolutely damaged by his previous experiences, and trauma had made him into something very, very twisted. It was probably true that he was not human anymore, but it was so interesting how he had abandoned his humanity so thoroughly and thrown it aside.

“You can’t?” Harley asked. “Or you won’t?”

Wraith’s expression twisted. “I can’t.”

That didn’t seem right.

He was happy when eating red meat and drinking expensive wine. He was rather happy when they went shopping and included him in their jokes and games. He was plenty happy when he talked about his sisters. He was very happy when interacting with Nightwing, who seemed to effortlessly peel away his layers to reveal a playful, gentle personality that did not seem to be a facade.

“You seem happy around Nightwing,” Harley said. “And us. What do you think of that?”

Wraith glared at her lightly, but he didn’t seem angry, not like how he was when he talked about his little brother, his other self. The venom in his voice and eyes when he talked about his younger self would’ve been better deserved if he was talking about the Anti-Christ, but Harley didn’t voice this.

“Nightwing has the purest soul in this world. It’s strong and beautiful because of how kind it is. It should be a crime to be cruel to it, not when he’s so… good.” His expression gentled and he swirled his wine again before taking a sip. “And you and the others are… nice to me. I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

Harley beamed. “Aww, we like you too, Wraith-y poo!”

Wraith rolled his eyes and took another sip. Harley poured him some more without him asking, and they drank their wine in silence.

Eventually, Harley said, “It’s not healthy to hate yourself so much, y’know? Maybe you don’t want advice, but I think your sister would agree with me. You should let go of the past and live in the present. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore, does it?”

Wraith scowled. “It may not exist anymore, but I came from that timeline. I am who I am because of my family’s deaths and because of Danny.” The hatred in his voice was deep and potent, making Harley shiver. “It can never let me go and I can never let it go either. The past shaped me in ways that cannot be undone.”

Harley took a sip of wine to think. Then she said, “Well. No matter what, me and the girls are here for you. And I think Nightwing really likes you too! Really!”

Wraith hummed, eyes half lidded before he turned and looked at her with a quirk to his lips like a small, genuine smile. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Harley.”

She grinned. “No problem!”

They continued drinking together in companionable silence.

[madridfangirl]

Cricket with the Bellinghams

(Jude & Jobe Bellingham blurb)

'Should we ask her to play as well?’

Jobe asked Jude while nodding in Ananya’s direction. Jude finished setting up the wickets, then turned around to look at his girlfriend who was currently pacing around the living room while on a serious work call. On a Sunday afternoon.

‘She might go all can’t you see I’m dying out here and what makes you think I have time to spare for playing?’

Jobe nodded in support of his brother.

‘Yeah she shooed me away 10 mins ago for breathing too loudly around her.’

‘Exactly. On the other hand, she might go all feminist if we don’t ask her and be like so you assumed I can’t / won’t play just coz I’m a girl?’

Jobe nodded again.

‘Yup, can see that too. What do we do then?’

‘You ask her. She’s sweeter to you.’

‘Oh bollocks. You scared of your girlfriend bro?’

‘Talking about me?’

Both brothers jumped to find her standing right behind them. How did they not hear her come in to the yard at all?

Jude was a little tongue-tied wondering how much she had heard so Jobe decided to take the reins.

‘Just wanted to ask if you’d like to play cricket with us. If your work is done I mean.’

‘Oh it’s not done. It’s never going to be done till I burn that place down. Might as well play a bit.’

Jude scanned her closely - it didn’t look like she had heard much at all. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

‘Wanna bat first?’

‘Sure. Gonna beat your sorry ass with it.’

Jude’s arm dropped from around her, as did his smile, while Jobe giggled behind the stumps. He could already tell this was going to go places.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You know Jobe and I used to play cricket in school right?’

‘And I’ve grown up watching it. What’s your point?’

While Jude was always fiercely competitive, he knew she was a demonic warrior when she wanted to be. This clearly seemed like that day. He still ranked himself far higher in skill, so he knew it would end the way he wanted it to.

‘Game on then.’

‘Yup.’

‘Not gonna go easy on you dove.’

‘Didn’t ask you to.’

Jobe looked between the two of them, wondering how a light fun-filled afternoon had completely turned on its head. What he didn’t know was that the couple had been arguing over small small things all weekend. The kind of fights where you won’t even know half way in what it really was about or where it started from. So what was happening right now didn’t just originate out of nowhere.

Jude counted the steps of his lineup and got in position. Though he had said no mercy, he still decided to bowl slow, just short of out and out underarm. Even with that he was sure he’d beat her. But at least it would look like a contest then.

He bowled the first delivery. She had all the time in the world to step out of her crease, catch the ball mid -air and hit it into the outfield.

It took Jude two seconds to process what he just saw, after which he chased the ball. By then she had taken two runs. Jobe hooted from behind the stumps, patting her on the back.

All mercy went out of the window then. Jude took a proper run and swung his arm fully for the next delivery. The pace of the ball and short length of this make-shift pitch made the ball go over her head for a bouncer.

She gaped and looked at him in horror.

‘That could have hit me.’

‘Please, that would have gone over Jobe as well.’

‘Tryna show off? Or intimidate me?’

‘Just taking the game seriously.’

He shrugged nonchalantly, which annoyed her even more.

‘Good to know there are a few things you still take seriously.’

‘Wait what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just go back and bowl.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Jobe wondered if he should leave them alone and let them sort out whatever the hell was going on here. But both would have given him dirty looks if he even mentioned that. So he stayed shut.

The next ball whipped past her shoulder. Jude just looked her up and down, before walking back for his run-up. The unabashed cockiness pissing her off. He had done that consistently last few days - just setting her off with this air about him.

Next ball came. Straight on her legs. She swung the bat with all her might but couldn’t connect it properly and the ball grazed her front leg.

‘OUT. That’s an LBW.’

‘Nope. That was a no ball.’

‘No it wasn’t. I was way behind my line.’

‘Rubbish. I could see from here it was a no ball.’

‘Jobe?’

Jobe looked between the piercing eyes of both.

‘Yeah I’m not touching that with a barge pole.’

‘Coward.’

They said together, then looked at each other to acknowledge their telepathic connection, corners of their lips threatening to twitch with a smile. But the game was still on and neither was ready to give in.

However, Jobe decided to call it quits and said his goodbye after making some lame excuse. He would rather vegetate in bed than be the go between for this sparring hot headed pair.

‘One final ball. If I get you out I win. If you score even 1 run you win. Else it’s a draw. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Jude weighed his options. Anything above her torso would be risky, she wasn’t good with ducking or swaying in time. But blocking she was quite adept at, from what he had seen just now, so a clean bowled or LBW targeting the stumps would be the way to go.

He stood on his mark. Before starting his run-up, he gave her a final look, almost giving her the window to back out. But she was a woman on a mission today. To humble his sorry ass. No matter what it took.

He bowled the final delivery. It was on target. Right on her front leg. She tried to block well, just like he had predicted. But it was a straight LBW. Clear as day.

However, celebrating was the last thing on Jude’s mind because in her rapid attempt to block, the ball deflected off the edge and hit her on her index finger.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t make any sound. But the bat dropped from her hand immediately and she turned around, holding her finger tightly.

Jude ran to her and was in front of her in a few seconds.

‘Show me.’

It wasn’t a request. He didn’t leave any room for her to be a sore loser & act out. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her other hand away to take a good look at the finger.

Then, he moved it a little bit and on one particular angle she cried out in pain.

‘Sorry, had to check for a fracture. But it’s just a sprain. Wait here.’

Again, it wasn’t a request. Jude came back in record time with a first aid kit and a pack of ice. He applied a quick ointment to soothe the nerves, then covered her finger with an ice pack, keeping it there for 2 mins sharp.

‘Try moving it now.’

She did. And just like that the pain was gone.

She looked up at his concerned face with a half-smile.

‘All good.’

Jude stood there motionless for two seconds. She wondered if he had even heard her.

But then he grabbed her arms and pulled her in for a crushing hug, kissing her head and face all over.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry baby.’

‘It’s fine it was just a sprain and it’s not your fault.’

‘Ofcourse it’s my fault. I hurt you.’

‘Jude, it was an accident.’

‘You got hurt because of me.’

‘Jude, it’s fin…’

He grabbed her face, tilted it up and kissed her like his life depended on it. Her hands came up to his biceps for support.

‘Are you mad at me? And I’m not talking about just now.’

‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’

‘I don’t like us snapping at each other like this. It sucks.’

‘I know baby. It’s just…I don’t know….maybe it’s work…it’s just been super crazy and…..’

‘And sometimes I can be a lot to deal with yeah?’

He looked at her so earnestly that she couldn’t keep herself from giving him a genuine smile.

‘Sometimes. But I know I can be difficult too and it’s just……’

‘Shhhhh it’s ok, it’s fine.’

He pulled her close again, peppering kisses over the top of her head.

‘I know just the thing to let out some frustration.’

‘If you’re talking about sex you can stop talking. I’m still irritated.’

‘Actually that’s an even better idea. But what I had in mind was more like a punching bag. Have one in the gym.'

'That....is a surprisingly brilliant idea.'

He shrugged cockily, and she rolled her eyes at him.

'Wanna give it a go, then? Can show you some punches.'

'Yes pls. Maybe we can make it a thing. I sure might.'

'So long as you don't imagine my face while punching the bag it's cool.'

'We gotta do what we gotta do.'

With that, she turned around and walked back into the house. While Jude stood there a bit, staring after her. She was full of surprises, never a dull moment with her. And Jude loved it all.

...............................................................

Was missing my babies so literally wrote this in 30 mins. Hope you like it :)

[sunderwight]

Honestly fascinated trying to figure out how both of Ambessa's kids ended up being diametrically opposed to her whole jock spartan might-makes-right mentality.

Tthe obvious answer, of course, is that Ambessa's husband (Kino's dad, and the guy Mel thought was her bio dad until recently) was way more of a diplomat and way less of a fighter, both philosophically as well as in terms of skill. And that he's the one who passed this on to the kids.

This fits well enough as an answer. The guy in the portrait certainly looks more like a talker than a fighter, and we know that Ambessa has a thing for pretty, submissive men thanks to her whole introduction in S1. Also, regardless of Mel's genetics this is presumably the man who raised her and is her father in the "nurture" sense of the equation, so it would be completely reasonable for her to take after him.

However, there are a few issues here.

One is the fact that even when Mel is talking to who she thinks is Kino about the possibility of one of them being a bastard, or of a bastard half-sibling existing, neither of them mention their father at all. While I doubt either of them would hold illusions about Ambessa remaining faithful to a spouse (for all we know the guy's still alive while she's off carousing with twinks), you would think that if both kids were close to their dad or took after him particularly, there'd be at least a passing mention of him in the midst of this discussion.

Maybe Mr. Medarda died a long time ago, though. Perhaps it's a topic so buried that it's an established habit to simply never mention it. Or maybe there is an issue of estrangement between him and his children for other reasons. He doesn't seem to have factored into Ambessa's decision to send Mel away, nor is his potential grief brought up around the subject of Kino. Despite confirmation of his existence, he seems (ironically) to be out of the picture, though it could also just be that the writers wanted to leave their options open for what he might be like in case another Arcane-adjacent series comes into production. I am fairly sure that Mel is the most likely character from Arcane to create continuity into a show about Noxus or Demacia or something, if we get another LoL series, especially since her story feels the most unfinished.

However, there's another possibility, which is that Mr. Medarda up there was such a nonentity in his kids lives that he doesn't come up because there's not much of a relationship to acknowledge. In which case, even if he is more of a diplomat (and he and Ambessa were a political marriage, presumably?) it'd be hard to credit him with influencing the kids so significantly.

One of the interesting things about Mel and Kino is that even though they are at odds with their mother on a lot of topics, topics that even seem to tie into prevailing Noxian cultural ideals (so, things they'd have been overall raised to believe in by the rest of their house and not just their mother too), they are also kind of astonishingly confident in expressing themselves?

So, somebody must have been supporting their alternative viewpoints and validating them as opinions worth expressing, even if they weren't things Ambessa approved of or actually wanted to foster in them as opinions/philosophies.

I think an interesting option is that it was Ambessa herself who did this, actually.

Ambessa's lore mentions that she figured out really early on that Kino did not share her temperament at all. Also, that she started searching about for ways of ensuring not only her house's domination, but the survival of her children specifically. Because the succession in a Noxian noble house doesn't seem to be guaranteed by birthright, which means that Kino and Mel would probably face rivals from their own family if they seemed too weak or vulnerable to lead, and someone else contested it. An easy way to remove a "weak" leader would also be to just kill them off. That's even apart from external rivals (like the ones who actually did kill Kino).

Which means that even if her kids had different values and priorities, Ambessa would probably have wanted them to still present those opinions with ferocity and confidence. If they cower to her, they will cower to others, and that's worse than them just not being aggressive combatants or warlord types. If you're gonna be a peacenik weirdo (by Ambessa's standards) in Noxus then you better damn well still be an assertive one.

I like this idea partly because the image of Ambessa trying to balance her kids having totally alien opinions about things like the value of life and importance of compassion, with trying not to actually beat down their spirits about it. Just spending a lot of their formative years being like, ugh, I have to listen to my nerd ass loser children tell me why they think mercy is a good idea. Such a fucking chore. Anyway great job presenting your arguments kids, lots to think about, let's go get ice cream. Then Mother has to fire one of your military tactics instructors for daring to call you a couple of wieners. Again. Even though she's right.

[olderthannetfic]

Of course people are being defensive, Spotify Anon. You rolled into the Fandom Old corner of Tumblr to tell us to examine our biases based on a streaming platform that only half of us even use at all.

Someome compared it to the f/f wank and they're right. If you accuse people of bullshit based on completely ufounded speculation, half of them will block you and the other half will explain to you why you're wrong. And we can't block other people's anons, so you're just going to have to endure a barrage of "this is bullshit and here's why". You asked for this, this is us examining the racial bias in our spotify wrapped and going "huh, it can't show bias if it doesn't exist" or "how does the fact that I listen to weird non-American music you've never heard of say anything about my feelings about the personhood and rights of American popstars I've never heard of?"

--

Spotify wrapped season is really popular broadly (though not so much around here) to the point that I find it very annoying since you apparently have to download the app to see wrapped??? I hate this season every year.

I use spotify via a browser, grudgingly, because some friends' fun guess-the-song stuff is on there. I had to use it at the fertility clinic because that's what they use to play music while injecting you with eggs. (I picked Mono if anyone is curious, but given how insanely painful being inflated with saline was, I should probably have picked D-2. I just thought it wasn't available because Spotify used to NOT FUCKING HAVE most of BTS' side projects because Spotify sucks donkey balls. Have I mentioned lately how much I resent the ubiquity of this piece of garbage? Have I?)

The thing that gets me that I hadn't quite worked out until just now is that 100 songs is the precise right amount to feel huge and significant without actually being so. Top 100 albums or artists is still an illusion of knowing what someone listens to. (Spotify has been improving, but they still routinely don't have the stuff I want.) But at least there, by the time you get to my 100th most listened to artist for a year, you might have some kind of picture of what I listen to.

Now, if you only listen to prog rock on vinyl, maybe your top 100 songs represent about 50 albums. >:D But let's say you're listening to some modern albums with bonus tracks and shit on Spotify. Your top 100 might be March When I Broke Up And Listened To The Same Five Albums Day And Night. No matter how diverse and interesting the rest of your musical diet, your bland-ass breakup playlist is now ninety out of one hundred songs on your Spotify Wrapped for this year.

I think it's that previously not totally conscious thought about how many 100 songs really is that was annoying me until just now.

Sure, it's just one scenario, but I think this sense of what 100 songs means is what's really annoying me about how people go on about Wrapped. Not just here and about racism: All the mainstream blathering about Wrapped annoys the shit out of me too every damn year.

It's a little like kudos. The top 200-500 most kudosed things in a big fandom may well show some pattern I find interesting. The top 100 most kudosed things show that people like that daily updating omegaverse crossover ship epic with Tony Stark.

Okay, okay, with kudos, you could probably exclude the top 10-30 depending on fandom size, but you know what I mean. Your last 100 fics read mean little, IMO. Your last 100 fandoms read, which is likely to be significantly more than 100 fics, is interesting to me.

It's my usual Numbers Are Deceptive complaint about how people love stats but do not contextualize things well.

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

*no special chapter tags*

read below or on ao3

Day 9: 2020

When Tommy walked into his house he immediately knew something was wrong.

Mostly due to the large quantity of boxes near the front door. Last time he checked, he wasn't moving.

He dropped his duffel and continued into the living room, where the sound of Africa by Toto echoed through the house.

“Whatcha doing, Joe?” Tommy asked, causing the man closing up a box on the floor to jump.

He stared at Tommy, wide eyed. “Alexa, turn off!” The music shut off quickly, leaving the two of them in uncomfortable silence. “I- I didn't think you'd be home for another hour.”

“It was weirdly quiet today so they let me leave a little early.” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing, Joe?”

“Tommy, I... It's not you, okay, it's-”

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “You were, what, gonna leave without even telling me? Have me come home to an empty house and you're just gone?”

Joe sighed, stepping closer to Tommy. As he did, Tommy took a step back. “Tommy, it's- we rushed into this. We both know that. It was fun, for a while, but it's... I don't know, it's not the same.”

“I didn't even know anything was wrong, Joey!” Tommy exclaimed. He reached out and flipped the top of an open box. “You weren't gonna at least try to explain yourself first?”

“I really didn't expect you to be surprised!” Joe replied, his voice rising now as well. “We barely see each other, Tommy! We both have weird schedules, rarely eat a meal together, and half the time I wake up you're asleep in the guest bedroom!”

“Because I don't want to wake you when I get home late! I was trying to let you sleep.”

“I'd rather sleep with my partner!”

Joe breathed in slowly, then held his hands up in surrender. “Tommy, I- you only asked me to move in because of covid-”

“No, I asked you to move in because I wanted to be with you and I was pretty sure you felt the same way.”

“I do, Tommy.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away and heading for the kitchen. Joe followed behind him.

“Hey, I do- did feel the same! But we'd only known each other for a few months, Tommy, and then covid happened and I agreed to move in because I wanted to get to see you but I didn't think it through. We didn't think it all through!”

Tommy opened the fridge, reaching in for a beer. He popped the lid and took a sip, then set it on the counter. He stayed quiet, staring down at the glass bottle.

“Aren't you gonna say anything?” Joe asked.

Tommy shrugged. “Not really sure what you want me to say, Joe, you didn't even want me to know you were leaving.”

Joe brought a hand to the back of his neck, trying to massage away the tension. “Listen, I- I want you to be happy, Tommy. I do care about you and I lo- I like you, but this has not been a relationship for a while. I was lying in bed the other night, alone, and I realized I don't know anything about you. You don't talk about your family, I've never met a single one of your friends or co-workers, I don't know anything about how you grew up or what you did before you became a firefighter.”

“I told you, I was a-”

“I know,” Joe interrupted. “A pilot in the army. That's all I ever got.” Joe moved around the counter to get closer to Tommy. Hesitantly, he reached out and put his hand over Tommy's forearm. “Tommy, you are a wonderful person,” his grip tightened when Tommy rolled his eyes and went to walk away. “No, I'm serious. You're a good listener, you're attentive, thoughtful, funny, and a bitch in the best way, but it's not. It's not what I need. And when you let yourself think about it, I'm not what you need either.”

With his free hand, Tommy fidgeted with his beer bottle. “Great day to choose to move out,” he grumbled.

“You don't even celebrate Christmas, Tommy,” Joe replied, his voice staying calm but firm. “Honestly didn't think you'd care about what particular day it was.”

Joe wasn't totally wrong, Tommy did make his hatred of Christmas well known. But what he didn't know was Tommy asked if he could leave a little early. He planned on making them a nice dinner, just like the one his mom used to make. He wanted to try and have a good Christmas for the first time in a long time. He'd even bought Joe a gift. Tucked into his pocket were reservations to a cabin in northern California. He planned on flying them there himself. They'd be going for Valentine's.

Tommy felt hot, and overwhelmed, and like the house was too small and too big all at once. His eyes were starting to get a little blurry and he desperately needed to get out of there.

“I'm gonna go for a walk,” he said, clearing his throat. He freed himself from Joe's grasp and wiped at his eyes, hurrying toward the door with his head down. “I'll be a couple hours, probably. I'll, um, I'll see ya, Joey.”

He managed to get out and shut the door behind him, part of him hoping that Joe would follow. Chase after him. Yell for him to come back, for them to talk, to fight, to figure this out.

But he didn't.

And Tommy walked.

He walked and walked and walked until the sun had set and all the streetlights came on.

Then he went back to a quiet house. A spare key on the kitchen counter as his only reminder that, for eight months, he wasn't here alone.

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓜𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. DR. RATIO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 0.8k ノ gn reader — suggestive. mentions of last night’s activities. nothing explicit. established relationship. domestic sleepy flirting. reposted from my old blog!

The morning sun seeps through the linen curtains, the entire room illuminated in the pink glow of the upcoming day. But it’s still too early for you. Not when your whole body aches from the nightly pleasures, rendering you soppy and melted under the bedsheets, with only your thigh peeking from under covers in the most comfortable position to nap through the remaining hour or two.

Veritas, on the other hand, feels like his routine cannot be interrupted no matter the circumstances, no matter how long he kept you both awake and active the evening before — this, however, he still finds extremely pleasurable and worth the little cost of a shorter sleep.

And so, with his mind refreshed from the quick trip to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, he starts to stretch softly to wake his body, too.

Watching him through the half-closed eyes has become your favourite part of the morning. Once woken up for the first time after falling asleep on your belly, you raise your head only slightly to watch the man doing his exercises in absolutely nothing that could cover his bulging chest muscles, hands crossed above his head as he breathes steadily with each inhale and exhale. It’s fascinating to observe his toned stomach flexing each time, muscles rippling under the creamy skin sensitive to the sun’s warmth.

It was so much to look at, but today you decide to just admire quietly without disturbing Veritas’ routine, even if he already notices your satisfied gaze peeking from the side. With one last move of raising both arms up while taking a deep breath, he puts them down slowly to rest, looking at you with an amused smirk.

“You’re staring,” he points out gently.

“Sorry,” you reply with a light yawn, rolling over to lay on your back. “I really enjoy watching you do this stuff in the morning. Maybe I should start getting up earlier too.”

Veritas scoffs playfully, coming closer to kneel above your legs as he reaches out his hand to place it right behind your nape to push you gently against the sheets. “We both know there’s no way you’ll get up on time. Don’t be silly now.”

His face hovers above yours for a moment as you swallow hard. So handsome and so close to you.

“Don’t put those kinds of ideas in my head!” You protest in return, more worried about your thoughts getting less pure with each moment, brushing your nose against his in a flirty manner before adding. “My body aches all over. I need another day in bed… or two, at least.”

He blinks, hearing you out silently. Then he closes his eyes and laughs wholeheartedly, retreating from your embrace only to straighten his back while sitting above your thighs still, yet this time lifting both arms to rest behind his head, purposefully making it too dramatic for a normal relaxing after the exercise. It was the perfect view — showing off each muscle beautifully and without any shame whatsoever, although his sharp golden sight never stops studying you curiously, reading into every microexpression on your face.

And you were burning.

With a fierce blush blossoming on your cheeks as you let out a soft exhale, raise both of your hands to place them against his hard stomach, unable to not touch him any longer. He is still hot after the workout, fresh sweat dripping down his hairless skin, but it just made him more attractive, rather than disgusting, if someone had to ask you.

It was your little guilty pleasure.

“You’re doing it on purpose now…” you mutter while feeling his abdominal muscles twitching under your fingertips with each move and breath. Your gaze traces up slowly as you look at Veritas again. “I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t say anything to keep you from getting a bigger ego.”

With an amused huff, he finally relaxes his arms, stretching them both out on each of your sides as if he wanted to hug you, leaning towards you.

“But you haven’t said anything untrue so far,” he replies simply, lips pressing a tender kiss against your jawline, his voice lower as he murmurs into your skin. “Am I distracting you with this? More than the last night?”

Your throat goes dry, and your breath is held in for a second. Before you can answer, utterly dumbfounded, he slides off the bed, only to go right to his fresh clothes laid out neatly on the chair by the small table on the other side of the room.

Veritas could read you like a book and loved to tease you even more. He just enjoys how your gaze follows after him with a pout forming on your lips, not so pleased about being left alone, until he disappears behind the bathroom door to clean himself up and get ready for another day full of work and studies.

[helluverse-rewrites]

Rewriting Fizzarolli and Striker

Yeah I'm putting these two together because if I were to just do one it would be to short I feel

Fizzarolli

Fizz is a fucking menace. He causes chaos wherever he goes with no regard for others. He's a selfish jokester and an asshole and legit loves to bully people and make others feel smaller than he feels

I hate how the show ruined his character and just made him uwu sub boy who has to be protected by his big dom daddy. Make him be an asshole. You guys had it in the first half

Sure, he was a jerk before working under Mammon. But after? He can read you like a book. He knows immediately what your biggest insecurity and will bully you mercilessly about it

I'm not going to spoil too much about my rewrite of Fizzmodeus just yet. But they didn't have the smoothest first meeting

Yeah he bullies people using their insecurities, but truth be told, he has a lot of insecurities he hides behind cruel words and snark. He is literally all bark and no bite

Okay he can bully you and he tells you exactly what he thinks of you. But around Mammon? He is very compliant, it's like he's a completely different person honestly

Striker

Striker :)))

We don't meet Striker until the halfway point of season 1, but his character is foreshadowed a lot in the first couple episodes. Wanted posters, offhanded comments, ect. but the thing is... nobody knows it's Striker. When assassinating people, he keeps his identity hidden behind different pieces of clothing. But one thing that points to his identity is that one golden fang. A passerby claims that the assassin's mask slipped off for a split second, revealing a golden tooth. A couple other people has claimed to also see the golden fang. And until his identity is confirmed, they call the assassin Golden Fang. Too bad so many imps do, in fact, have a golden tooth

The only reason the higher ups care about this is because he's killing royals, and that's unacceptable

Striker is a cunning, manipulative, and charming imp. Like I said, we meet him at the Harvest Moon Festival, and it's revealed that he's actually a family friend of Millie and her family. Moxxie immediately doesn't like him and Striker is oblivious

Man, wouldn't it be crazy if he ended up joining I.M.P which creates some fun dynamics 🤔🤔

Oh yeah I should probably go over the reason why he hates rich people. When Striker was only five, his family got killed by the Goetias. His family were trained fighters so they tried to fend off the Goetias. Striker, being smaller than them, and also a baby, just had to hide and hope for the best. He hid under his bed for five hours, hoping his ma or pa would come to retrieve him and tell him everything would be alright. But that never came