#i know updates dragged a little longer than expected with this one but if you do the math it's the same exact length of time

[bellaxgiornata]

Worried About You

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.1k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: soft!Jax, hurt/comfort, migraines

Summary: Normally Jax receives texts from you all day long, but for some reason today he hadn't heard a thing.

a/n: I usually don't accept fic requests, but since I'm a chronic migraine sufferer myself (and I've thought about it with Jax and am a sucker for hurt/comfort), this fic came about from a request by @orymgraves and hopefully I did it justice! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Jax Teller one shot tag list: @kmc1989 @steviebbboi @bear-ink @secretlysamcro @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @bonnyclydecat @nutellajade @aria725 @f1samcro @hiddenwritingsintheworld

Bobby’s voice continued to fill the chapel as he updated Clay, Chibs, Jax, and Opie on the shipment of guns that had just been brought to one of the warehouses earlier this afternoon. The impromptu meeting had started not even fifteen minutes ago, but Jax was having a hard time focusing on club business. 

With his hand slipping back into the pocket of his jeans, Jax's eyes dropped down towards his phone as he slid it out for what felt like the fifth time since he’d sat down in the chapel. Pressing the lock screen button on the side of the device, he frowned at his phone.

Still not a single message from you today.

That wasn’t like you. Normally, he’d at least receive small little texts throughout the day. Often they were some overly cute messages that you’d send him just to let him know that you were thinking about him–ones he’d absolutely be embarrassed by if the guys ever happened to read them. Other times, you might send him something a little naughty and unexpected as the day wore on–even photos if he was lucky. 

But what he’d been expecting today were updates on how you were feeling. He’d never had a migraine before, and despite all the damn times you’d tried to explain to him what they felt like, and how often he’d heard you complain about them, he admittedly still didn’t quite understand what the fuck they were. All he knew was that when you were suffering from one, he’d receive texts about it for multiple days in a row. Sometimes just a text talking about how horrible you felt and how you were struggling at work. Sometimes your texts were telling him that you’d changed plans for dinner to something far simpler because you didn’t have the energy to cook–not that he ever minded. And on occasion, when he was busy with club business late at night, he’d get texts telling him that you felt far too awful to stay awake and wait up for him to return home.

But today? Today he hadn’t gotten a single goddamn text from you. Not some cutesy little midday message, nothing raunchy about what you were wanting to do with him later, and not a single fucking update about the migraine he’d known you’d still had this morning. And while it was kind of nice to not have you blowing up his phone with texts all day considering there was nothing he could ever do to help you, something just felt incredibly wrong about your strange silence.

Frowning deeper, he slid his phone back into his pocket and returned his attention to Bobby as he continued to discuss the upcoming buyers for the guns. But as he sat there in his chair, Jax’s leg began to nervously bounce as half of his mind drifted elsewhere. He planned to stop by the house and check on you the moment this meeting was finished, even though realistically you were probably just at home making dinner right now. He didn’t care though, because he knew that he’d feel far better seeing for himself that you were alright. Your unusual silence had been worrying him today.

But like hell if the meeting didn’t drag on for far longer than he felt was necessary. His knee kept impatiently bouncing beneath the table the longer Bobby kept talking about the damn gun shipment. Though the moment Clay finally dismissed the group, Jax darted out of his chair and headed straight for the chapel doors, yanking them open before hurrying through the main part of the clubhouse like a man on a mission.

Jax had mounted his bike and peeled out of the clubhouse lot before anyone had a chance to pull him aside for anything. Driving through the streets of Charming faster than was legal, his focus remained fixed on you while his mind continued to create ridiculous scenarios as to why you hadn't been messaging him all day like normal. And each scenario grew more absurd than the last, his speed marginally increasing with each thought.

When he finally turned onto the street, making his way towards the house, he could see your car parked in the driveway where it usually sat. The sight of it offered some relief as Jax pulled his bike up onto the driveway beside it. He parked and cut the engine before dismounting his Harley, his feet already briskly carrying him to the front door as he dug his keys out of his pants pocket. 

Jax unlocked the front door in a rush before he stepped inside, pocketing his keys once more in his jeans. But he was quickly caught off guard, hesitating in the entryway as a crease formed between his brows while he looked around the place. 

It was too quiet. Far too fucking quiet for an evening when you were home from work. If you weren’t cooking in the kitchen, you'd at least be in the living room curled up on the couch with the television on low when you had a migraine. Except the living room was empty and the television was off. If it hadn't been for your car in the driveway, he'd have thought you weren't home with how goddamn eerily silent it was here.

Confused, Jax slowly stepped further inside the house, closing the front door after himself before he headed over to the kitchen. Looking around the small space, it was clear you weren’t there, either. And considering there was nothing cooking in the oven or in a crockpot on the counter, it didn't seem like you'd been in here recently.

“Darlin'?” Jax called out nervously. “Where you at?”

Exiting the kitchen, Jax began to make his way down the hall past the living room in search of you. You had to be here, right? Unless one of his ridiculous scenarios had actually been a reality and something had really happened to you. 

As he walked down the hallway, he glanced into the bathroom when he passed it, but you weren't in there washing your face and removing your makeup. Moving further down the hallway, he looked to the right and saw the spare bedroom was also devoid of any sign of you, the space empty as usual. Continuing further down the hall towards the last door, he noticed that it was partially ajar. Which was strange since the only time the door was closed was when you both were in there sleeping.

Reaching a hand out, Jax gently placed it against the door and pushed it open. He was met with the surprising darkness of the bedroom, the curtains still drawn tightly shut just like they'd been this morning. Which was also odd considering you usually opened them after you changed into clothes for work, preferring the natural light while you finished getting ready for the day–something he’d overheard you saying a thousand times before.

As he stepped further into the room, his eyes soon landed on the form huddled in a lump beneath the comforter and blankets. The lump was clearly you looking as if you'd curled yourself up into a ball on your side and pulled the blankets high enough to cover half of your face. 

Jax’s frown deepened as he made his way through the bedroom, walking around the footboard and over to your side of the bed. It wasn't like you to come home from work and go straight to sleep. It had to have been your migraine bothering you, but he'd never seen you just laying in bed like this before.

As Jax came to a crouch in front of where you were laying, squinting in the dark in an attempt to see you better, he reached out a hand and gently rested it on what he assumed was your shoulder. “Babe?” 

A soft groan met his ears in response as the blanketed lump shifted under his hand. Jax’s thumb lightly stroked you from over the top of all the sheets. 

“Why're you already in bed?” he asked softly. “It's not even dinner time yet.”

There was a long silence that met his words as he continued to crouch beside the bed in the dark. After a moment, your head slowly rose from the pillow, the blankets sliding down your face at the movement.

“Jax?” you rasped, voice thick with confusion. “What time is it?”

Jax’s head tilted to the side at the odd question as he eyed you through the dim light creeping in from the hall. “Almost half past five, babe. Why?”

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, a hand slipping out from under the sheets before it ran across your forehead. “I forgot to make something for dinner.”

“‘S’alright,” he assured you, shaking his head as his thumb continued to stroke your arm over the sheets. “Not a big deal. I can grab us something. But why are you asleep already, darlin’?”

“I uh,” you began, voice sounding a bit off as you ran a hand across your forehead. “I didn't–didn't go into work today.”

His eyes narrowed further at your words as he studied you. Your voice sounded hoarse and dry, your words coming out sluggish as if you were having a hard time thinking. Concern hit Jax a bit harder as what you said registered in his mind a second later, his hand now soothingly running over the length of your blanketed arm.

“You didn't go into work?” he repeated. “Baby, have you been in bed the whole day?”

Through the dark, Jax could see you nod. A pang of sympathy ran through him at the sight. That was why you hadn't been texting him today. You'd been in bed sleeping the entire fucking day.

“Still the migraine?” he asked.

His hand left your arm and rose to your face, his fingers gently brushing across your forehead. You nodded again under his touch, leaning into his hand like you were searching for comfort. The corner of his lips twitched at the sight, his fingers tenderly brushing over your skin in an effort to give it to you.

“You take anything for it?” he asked quietly. “Eat lunch today? Been drinking your water?”

There was a long pause before you shook your head, your response coming out almost guiltily. “No.”

“Darlin’,” he began in a lightly chastising tone, “you gotta be eating and drinking. You can't just lay in bed all day neglecting yourself like this. Gonna make yourself feel worse.”

“I know,” you quietly agreed. “But I couldn't get up for long. Too dizzy. And it was too bright in the kitchen, was making me feel sick.”

Jax sighed as he stood up, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. You shifted slowly on the mattress, pushing yourself carefully upright before resting your back against the headboard in the darkened room.

“You could've texted me,” he pointed out gently. “If I'd known you were feeling this bad, I'd have come to check on you. Made sure you were taken care of, baby.”

“I knew you were busy,” you replied softly. “And I feel bad for annoying you with my migraines all the time.”

“Not annoying me, babe,” he assured you.

Hands reaching forward, he pulled you carefully away from the headboard, drawing you into himself. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as one hand gently stroked up and down your back soothingly.

“Just feel bad I can't do shit to help when you get like this,” he murmured. “Always feel so damn useless.”

His head turned as he buried his face against the top of your own. Eyes closing, he pressed a soft kiss against you when he felt you relax in his arms, his lips lingering along your hair as he continued to hold you. Even with the way you were leaning into him, Jax could tell how tired you were. You'd practically melted into him with your entire body weight.

“I'll make a damn prospect bring us something to eat,” he whispered. “Text them in a minute. I don't wanna leave you alone like this, baby. Got me worried about you. But I'm gonna make sure you get some food and water in you. Alright?”

He felt your head nod beneath him, his hand still rubbing along your back comfortingly. Your own arms very gradually wrapped weakly around his waist in return, your face burrowing against his neck.

“I'm gonna take care of you tonight, darlin’,” Jax promised quietly. “Gonna help you feel better.”

[abyssalzones]

the REAL reason why bill wants to leave the nightmare realm: pollution

okay I know I said I wasn't going to upload full chapters here often but LISTEN these first ones are short. and I love being inconsistent. but do check out these pages on Ad Astra Per Aspera's neocities page if you want to see these formatted the way I intended!

[acmeangel]

♡ Levi being awkward about his feelings for you and not knowing how to act around you.

♡ SFW, pretty fluffy ♡ Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi ♡ Word count: 2431 ♡ Summary: You work at the orphanage that Levi helped facilitate. You think he doesn't like you -- he definitely doesn't act like it. But it turns out, you couldn't be more wrong.

Levi tends to visit the orphanage now and then, when he can. He doesn't like to make a big show of it -- he just wants to check in on things, make sure everything is running smoothly and that the children are being properly cared for. After all, this is a project that he had helped bring to fruition.

He's pragmatic with his approach to his visits -- he wants to know updates, facts, and problems to which he can find solutions by leveraging his position as Captain. He doesn't interact much with the children, it's not exactly his strong suit. Still, he seems to linger longer than he needs to. He usually just leans against the fence along the perimeter of the grounds, taking in the idyllic scene of children, no longer lost and alone, playing in the field together.

There was no need for him to do this, but he did it anyway. And you had noticed.

But, you could never get a read on Levi, really. The two of you hardly interacted outside of meetings, during which, you'd often feel his eyes burning into you, narrowed and tense. While others in the meetings talked about numbers, resources, and operations, you typically told stories about the children -- their personalities, preferences, funny habits, concerns you had for each of their small, little hearts. It didn't help that you frequently bent the rules, too, finding them too constricting and unnecessary.

This often dragged the meetings out longer than necessary, and you could sense the annoyance emanating off of Levi. He wasn't fond of you and your sentimental musings -- this much you were sure of.

You missed today's meeting, somewhat purposefully, trying to avoid subjecting yourself to Levi's gaze and mutterings.

It's one of the first Spring days that feels truly in bloom, the sun kissing your skin, blossoms dotting the trees, the grass lush and vibrant. So, you sit out in the field and read a storybook to the children, who are either sitting at your feet or laying down, one of them tucked up into your lap.

Some of them had been falling behind in learning to read and write -- it wasn't their fault, and you wanted to help. You show all of them each of the words in the book and help them sound out the letters, guiding them through the story.

After the meeting inside draws to a close, Levi makes his way out into the field as he always does, expecting to see the children running around as they usually are. Instead, he sees you. His posture stiffens as he approaches you, his expression unreadable.

"That's not your job," he comments, a flat statement, as he leans against the fence. He looks down at you, his gaze scrutinizing. "They have teachers."

You tilt your head up to look at him, a soft smile on your face. "I know, but," you look at the children, "they don't mind that, do they?"

The children collectively shake their heads, tiny giggles rising from the group.

Tch. He's officially annoyed.

"Suppose it doesn't matter then, huh?" His voice drips with dry sarcasm. "Just do whatever you want."

The child who is curled into your lap gently tugs on your sleeve, lifting themselves up to whisper into your ear, not very discreetly, "Miss Y/N, why is Captain Levi always so grumpy?"

You catch Levi's frown, subtle as it may be, and the low rumble that comes from the back of his throat.

You laugh, an effortless, melodious sound, your lips curving into a wider smile that reveals your teeth. "I don't know," you whisper to the child with just as much indiscretion, "why don't you ask him?"

The child's face flushes bright pink, nuzzling their head into the fabric of your shirt, too sheepish to talk to Levi themselves. Your hand lifts up to stroke the child's hair.

For a moment so fleeting you can't be sure it actually happened at all, his eyes follow the tender, gentle motion of your fingers stroking the child's hair, before he looks away. Your gaze lingers on his profile, tracing the outline of it, the way his hair blows in the breeze, revealing a clearer look at his eyes than usual.

He shifts his weight as he stands there, just barely, a signal that he's waiting both for this scene to end, and to speak to you, likely about logistics. You get the hint.

"Alright, my sweethearts, why don't you all head inside?" You look at the group of children, nodding your head toward the large farmhouse. "Go on and get cleaned up for dinner, I'm expecting no dirty little hands at the table, hm?"

The children scramble to their feet and begin running off, giggling and mumbling to each other as they do. You rise up, closing the book and tucking it under your arm and brushing off the blades of grass that have stuck to your clothes.

"Come inside for some tea?" You ask, your eyes drifting back to Levi after you watch the children run off, the bubbly sounds of their laughter popping in the air.

He pauses for a beat. The faintest twitch of his lower lip. "Sure, 'ppreciate it."

You grin. "Okay, great." You begin walking. "You usually decline that offer."

You look at him from the corner of your eye. His movements as he walks are precise, economical, his eyes cemented forward.

"So?" The word is terse, even a tinge defensive. "Doesn't mean I hate tea."

You accept his answer; with him, you tend to take what you get. The rest of the walk is silent, apart from the gentle hum of springtime bursting to life around you.

Inside, the kitchen is washed in golden sunlight, specks of dust hovering in the air as if the moment is completely suspended in time. Without a word, Levi takes a seat at the small table by the window, his head turned to look outside as you set the kettle on the stove. You can't help but catch glances at the back of his head, the tilt of his shoulders.

You make two cups of black tea -- both with milk and a drop of honey. This is how everyone you know drinks it, and you can't imagine anyone would have a preference for it plain, bitter.

You settle into the chair next to his, and you hand him the teacup, which he takes from you by the top, your fingers briefly brushing against his in the exchange. His skin is dry, rough. He peers into the cup, his teeth grinding together imperceptibly as he notes the light, creamy color of the tea; he takes a sip and his eyelid flutters, faintly.

Normally, with anyone else, he'd have pushed the cup to the side, his mouth set in a curt line of disapproval at the unnecessary sweetness. But for some reason that he's not quite sure of, with you, he can't. He sips the tea anyway, forces himself to.

"One of the other workers ratted on you." He breaks the silence. He leans back in his chair, slinging one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. "Told me you let those brats sneak into the kitchen at night and take extra food."

"Oh," your teeth clench together, your nose scrunches, embarrassed to be caught. "Well, the thing with that- it's-"

"Why?" He cuts you off, a single word urging you to get to the point. God, you think, he must think I'm a complete idiot.

You inhale deeply. "I think they're just hungry, you know? Their meals aren't always that big, and they're still growing, so..."

"That's not what I'm asking," his gaze bores into yours with an intensity you're not sure he's completely aware of. "I'm asking why you let them do it."

"Oh," you sigh softly, your eyes tracing over the patterns in the wooden table, collecting your thoughts. "It wouldn't feel right to scold them, to dissuade them from wanting something as simple as food. They've never been allowed to want... anything before. I don't want them to feel like they're not supposed to want even the most basic things. I think it would make them feel like... like they don't deserve anything."

"You're not wrong about that." His voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and he turns his head to look out the window. "I'm not going to stop you from letting them do it. I just... wanted to know why."

You see the clouds swirling in his irises for a moment, his jawline tense with thought, with memory, with contemplation.

You look away, feeling as if you're intruding on something private just by looking at him. You lift your teacup and take a long sip, then set it back down.

At the sound of your cup fitting back into its saucer, he's brought back to reality. His gaze narrows, helplessly fixated on the rim of your teacup, on the faded pink lipstick stain you left on it, that somehow blends perfectly into the intricate floral pattern painted onto the cup. A short, barely perceptible puff of air escapes his nose.

He looks at you, again, his eyes catching the sunlight in a way that makes them look silver, but not icy or cold -- like delicate dew drops that form in the gray early morning mist after a rainy night. Rare, and oddly comforting.

He's too busy looking at you to notice you looking at him. His eyes trace over you, as if he's searching for something. Something that he's not sure if he wants to find, but has to -- in the way the light catches your hair and brings secret tones and shades out of it, the softness of your breathing, the lingering redness from the sun that glows on your cheeks, nose, and shoulders.

He doesn't understand it -- you -- how you've remained good, compassionate, free, warm, even hopeful, despite the cruelty and ugliness of the world you both live in. But he wants to understand it, just by looking at you.

"You look..." he begins, the words tumbling out of his mouth tightly, awkwardly, as if by accident.

Your eyes snap to his, widened slightly like an animal caught in the woods, and your hand flies up to your mouth. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Your fingers wipe across your lips preemptively, the apples of your cheeks and the bridge of your nose turn rosy. He watches this motion, and his brows press together, his jaw clamps down. You think he's become actually repelled by you.

"No. Shit. You look," his voice is flat, dry. His hand gestures vaguely, the movement stilted and rigid, as if he's trying to find the word he's looking for in the air, "nice. Now. In the sunlight." He grumbles the last part.

You couldn't help but smile. It was endearing in a way, seeing Levi, who is typically calm and collected, stumble his way through a simple sentence.

"Thank you, Levi." You mean it, genuinely.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. The grip of his fingers flex slightly, tightening their hold around the rim of his tea cup.

"I always thought I bothered you." Your head tilts to the side, your hair flowing with the movement. A glint of amusement, teasing shines in your eyes.

"You do bother me," he breathes out, firmly, his eyes darting to the side. "Just not in the way you think."

Oh.

"I see..." The words come out of your mouth in a single breath, your heart catching in your throat, preventing you from saying anything more.

He looks at you. The tension in his jaw releases, his lips relax, parting ever so slightly.

"Is that alri-"

"Yes." You cut him off before he can even finish the thought, before he can question this fragile moment and retreat back inside himself.

He nods, strands of his hair swaying in front of his eyes. Your hand, drawn to him by an invisible force, reaches up to his forehead. You hover, hesitantly, before pushing the hair away from his eyes, slowly, your touch feather-light.

Instantly, instinctively, he turns his head away, pulling away from your touch partially. His top lip tugs upward, a movement of subdued discomfort, uncertainty. Your hand slides down to his chin, gently coaxing him back toward you, and he allows it.

"Sorry." He mutters. "I don't..." The rest of the sentence evades him. But you know where it was going. He doesn't do this. He doesn't know how.

You nod, your expression melting into one of understanding. Your eyes glide around his face, your fingers returning to his hair, pushing away the curtain that his eyes often hide behind.

"What are you doing?" He's not defensive -- he's genuinely curious.

"I want to see your eyes better." You tilt your head as you look at him, your eyes meeting his, looking into them for what feels like the first time, with a clarity and honesty that feels palpable. He lets you.

Your lips curl up into a perfect curve, and his eyes shift down to them immediately. His expression doesn't waver, but his dilating pupils reveal his hand.

You begin to lean in, little by little, as if testing how far he'll let this go, what he truly wants. His eyes meet yours again with a softness, a vulnerable longing that grants you permission. Finally, you close the space between the two of you, your lips lightly brushing against his. You feel a small breath escape from his lips, melting against yours.

His head tilts and he leans in further, his lips molding against yours with a whispered intensity. A soft sound rises in the back of his throat, as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair. His tongue presses against your lips, realizing he's enjoying the taste of something sweet for the first time.

He tugs your hair, not forcefully, just enough to pull you back so he can look into your eyes; you can see the thoughts reeling through his head as his eyes shift between the two of yours.

"Y/N," his voice dips into a rare tenderness, "you bother me. A lot."

You're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think you even see the smallest upturn to his lips.

"Then I suppose I'll have to keep bothering you," you match his tone, your words wrapping around him with a warmth he's never felt before.

He makes a hm sound of approval. He nods. He smiles -- you're sure of it this time.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

[paucubarsisimp]

period cramps

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

summary: in which you have cramps but jude is there to make it all better

warnings: mentions of periods

it was one of those days when the weight of everything felt a little heavier. you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to distract yourself with a movie, but your mind and body weren’t cooperating. the discomfort of your period was making everything feel just a little off. your head was pounding, your stomach felt like it had a thousand butterflies fluttering around in it, and no matter how much you tried to relax, the ache wouldn’t subside.

jude was at training, and as usual, you’d sent him a quick message in the morning, letting him know that you were feeling a little off. he’d always been the thoughtful type, checking in on you whenever he could. his response had been sweet as always: “take care of yourself today. i know you’re not feeling great.” he was so good at making you feel cared for, even from a distance. still, it didn’t stop the loneliness from creeping in as the hours dragged on.

you’d spent the day binge-watching your favorite series, but the pain made it hard to focus. you found yourself staring at the clock more than the screen. jude was usually home by now, but it was already nearing evening, and you hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for training. anxiety bubbled in your chest, and your thoughts began to spiral. “what if something happened? what if he’s hurt? what if training ran really late and he’s stuck there?”

you pulled your blanket tighter around you and tried to distract yourself with a snack, but it was no use. the feeling of discomfort from your body and your mind felt suffocating. you reached for your phone and scrolled through your messages, hoping to see an update, but there was nothing from jude. you sighed and set your phone down, leaning back against the couch, trying to relax.

just as you began to feel your worries bubble up again, you heard the familiar sound of jude’s car pulling into the driveway. your heart skipped a beat, and you instantly felt the tension in your body start to ease. you quickly wiped your eyes, realizing you hadn’t even noticed a few stray tears had slipped down your cheek. “he’s home,” you whispered to yourself, grateful for the sound of his presence.

a moment later, the front door opened, and jude walked in. his tall frame filled the doorway, and he dropped his bag with a tired sigh. he looked over at you and paused, his expression softening as he took in your position on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around you.

“hey, baby,” he said, his voice low and warm. he made his way over to you, kneeling down in front of the couch and looking up with concern. “you alright?”

you tried to smile, though it was a little weaker than you intended. “yeah, just tired. thought you’d be home earlier.”

jude’s brow furrowed as he sat beside you. “sorry, training went a bit longer than expected. i didn’t mean to worry you.” he paused for a moment, glancing at the time on his phone. “but i’m here now.”

you could feel the unease lifting as you looked at him, his soft brown eyes searching yours. but before you could say anything more, he grinned and reached for something behind him that you hadn’t noticed. he pulled out a large basket from behind the couch, setting it gently in front of you.

“i came prepared,” he said with a playful smirk.

you blinked, surprised. “what’s this?”

“well,” jude said, “i figured you might need a little extra care today. so, i brought you everything.”

he slowly opened the basket, revealing a carefully arranged assortment of comfort items: your favorite snacks—chips, chocolate, and fruit snacks. a small package of cute, fuzzy socks, and even a cute teddy bear that you couldn’t help but laugh at. there were also heating pads for your cramps and some new makeup you’d been eyeing for weeks, neatly packaged inside a box.

your eyes widened. “jude… how did you—”

“i remembered you mentioning that you wanted some new makeup,” he said, his smile softening. “and, well, i couldn’t forget the snacks. i know how you get when you’re feeling off.” he shrugged. “i just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”

you felt your heart swell, the exhaustion and discomfort you’d been feeling all day melting away as his thoughtfulness washed over you. “you’re amazing,” you whispered, reaching out and pulling him into a tight hug. he chuckled and hugged you back, rubbing your back gently.

“anything for you,” he said softly. “seriously, you deserve to feel good, especially when you’re not feeling great.” he pulled back slightly, lifting the teddy bear from the basket and holding it out to you with a mischievous grin. “and this little guy can keep you company while i make you dinner later.”

you giggled, taking the bear from him. “thank you. i don’t think i can ask for anything more.”

jude leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “just take it easy tonight, alright? i’m here with you.” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze lingering on you. “no more worrying about anything. it’s just you, me, and all your snacks.”

you smiled up at him, feeling lighter than you had all day. “you’re right. no more worrying. just us.”

“exactly,” jude said, settling beside you on the couch. “now, let’s get you comfy. you’ve got a lot of snacks to try.”

you settled back into the couch with jude beside you, the warmth of his presence and the basket of goodies making everything feel better. he gently tucked the blanket around you, making sure you were comfortable.

“i’ll even let you have the first pick of snacks,” jude teased as he opened a bag of chips and held it out to you. “i know you’re probably starving after the day you’ve had.”

you laughed softly, taking the chips and munching on them as you leaned into him. his arm was around you now, pulling you closer so you could rest your head against his shoulder. the tv played in the background, but you weren’t really paying attention. you were just soaking in the quiet moments with jude, the little things that made everything feel normal again. everything felt safe with him, even on days when it felt like nothing was going right.

“you know, i was worried about you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

jude kissed the top of your head. “i know. i hate it when you feel like this. but i’m here now. and i’m not going anywhere.”

you smiled softly, your heart full. “i’m really glad you’re home.”

“me too,” jude said, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. “and i’ll always come home for you, no matter what.”

you rested in silence for a while, feeling the comfort of his words, the steady rhythm of his presence next to you. it was the best kind of peace you could ask for. no more worrying, no more discomfort. just you and jude, curled up together with all the snacks and love you needed.

[kisseobie]

Hello🫣🫣 may I request p1harmony reaction to you wearing something short/revealing when going out clubbing? Thank youuu☺️☺️

p1harmony reacting to you wearing revealing clothes

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

warnings: suggestive

tags: established relationships, clingy piwon, the boys are.. boys, clubbing, drinking (aged up for seobsoul), non idol au

a/n: it’s funny bc i was JUST reading an exact post like this a few minutes ago so anon if u were the same person who sent @ntoniac a request for the same thing i hope i can do it justice bc hers had me giggling and kicking my feet .. ANYWAYS! once again i apologize for slow updates i unfortunately am a student amidst a depressive episode soooooo it takes me a bit longer to write :( i hope u all can understand

𖧷 keeho

is honestly so cheesed. the type to insist to take pictures of you on his phone before you two actually make your way out, already mentally planning out which photo he’s gonna use in his next photo dump. is always super grabby with his hands, but its somehow amplified tonight. constantly has his arm lazily perched on your shoulder, and he often whispers cute little compliments into your ear every now and then. doesn’t really mind when people approach you to talk to you, doesn’t even necessarily care when said people make quick glances at your cleavage and the short length of your skirt. you two have an immense level of trust in your relationship, so he’s not one to feel insecure when people admire his girl. i can see kyo as the type to drag you onto the dance floor too, just so he can spin you around and feel your ass rub against the frontside of his jeans. eventually does end up posting those photos he took of you earlier on instagram, but not without captioning it something like “that’s all me”

𖧷 theo

doesn’t care about how short and tight your mini dress is, just wants it off of you by the end of the night. when you first skipped into the living room, beaming as you showed off your outfit of choice to him, theo had to hold himself back from kissing you silly. just like keeho, the simple concept of his girlfriend wearing a revealing outfit doesn’t make him super possessive, but he does make himself known to onlookers as your boyfriend in other ways, whether that be holding your drink and purse for you without you even asking him to, or sneaking up behind you to pepper kisses along your neck when your in the middle of conversation with someone. he makes his presence known but also wants to ensure that you have a carefree, enjoyable night without feeling like you have to tend to your boyfriend the entire time. taeyang definitely does admire your cleavage when he gets the chance too though, shamelessly stares at your chest and just giggles in reply when you scold him for doing so… loves to flirt with you even more than he usually does tbh

𖧷 jiung

is the overly possessive boyfriend that will whine and beg you to change. in reality, he doesn’t actually expect you to change your outfit, but lets you know (whilst pouting) that although you look hot and he wants to devour you, he also is very nervous about the unwanted attention you might get. it’s not a bad thing really! jiung just wants to be the only man that gets to see you in such a tiny top. although he might complain at first, you don’t miss the obvious blush on his face, silently signaling to you that he secretly loves when you dress this way. he’s not a very touchy person, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t interlock your fingers the entire night, even giving your hand gentle squeezes when you give someone else a little too much attention for his liking. glares at anyone who might whistle at you or even just look in your general vicinity for a bit too long. quickly shuts down offers himself from other guys that have the balls to ask you to dance. yeah, your not being let out of his sight looking that good. he’s just obsessed with you and wants you all to himself, sorry!

𖧷 intak

actually is the one who helps you pick out your outfit! tak himself wants to spend the night out showing off his beautiful girlfriend so he purposely convinces you to wear the shortest denim skirt you own, paired with an equally revealing spaghetti strap crop top. comes up behind you when your adjusting your outfit in the mirror to wrap his arms around your waist and perch his chin on your right shoulder, shooting down any concerns you might have about your outfit being kind of “whorish” (your words, not his!). is your personal hype man. you look good and he’s gonna make you feel good. loves to watch you on the dance floor from a nearby barstool, having the time of your life with your friends. after you’ve tired yourself out, you walk towards him to join him at the bar and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to eye your entire body from top to bottom and let out an obnoxious whistle. he’s sooooo sweet frat boy coded… definitely asks if he can take a body shot off of you whilst winking and you just roll your eyes in response. when he ends up drunk out of his mind and you have to drag him inside your shared cab, he’s mumbling the sweetest praises to you before he falls asleep against your shoulder

𖧷 soul

doesn’t really have much to say, but his body language speaks for itself. like most of piwon, his possessiveness is at a minimum, and like intak, he loves when you feel confident enough to dress this way. maybe it’s the introvert in him, but he lives vicariously through your bold outfit choices. loves to give you kisses on your exposed collarbone as he smoothens out a crease on your silk skirt. he also loves the way your stomach peeks out of your cropped top, and he holds onto your waist when kissing you to circle his thumbs on the area. stares at you lovingly the entire night, and doesn’t falter when your eyes meet every now and then. he comes up to you towards the end of the night and whispers into your ear about how he thinks you look so pretty and that he loves this outfit. you definitely end up seeing a more vocal side of him when the alcohol kicks in, and you swoon at how lovey dovey his words are. he just wants you to feel pretty and confident and he ends up succeeding in proving that to you! makes really bad attempts at flirting which ends up in the pair of you laughing your asses off. overall shota makes you feel beautiful and you make mental notes to bring him out wearing revealing clothes more often

𖧷 jongseob

djsjdkajdjsj i have to write my boyfriend as clingy as possible. he’s definitely the type of boyfriend to sit on the end of your bed, aimlessly scrolling on his phone and taking little peeks at you every now and then while you’re doing your makeup on your vanity. when you finish your makeup and go to your closet to change into the tiny little dress you’ve chosen for the evening, you’re honestly a bit nervous as to how your boyfriend will react to how bodycon and short the attire is, but you look and feel hot and that encourages you to step out in front of him. he notices your presence right away and looks up at your face, then chest, then thighs, and then turns off and tucks his phone into his back pocket and grabs at you to sit on his lap. gives you the sweetest kiss imaginable and pulls away to look at you with disbelief. asks you something along the lines of “how did i get so lucky?” and his hands run all over the material of your dress. his boldness is new but very welcome and he spends a good while complimenting you, asking you where you bought this dress, and playing with your hair with a smug grin on his face. gets soooo excited to take you out and wastes no time in calling an uber so he can show you off to the world. feels like he’s on cloud 9!

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @theyluvsosa @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror

© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

𖧷 ₊ ° .

[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

Summary: the truth comes out. every single fanfic trope in existence: idiots in love, idiots in denial about said love, daring rescues, spa days, farm arc, only one bed, carnival games, ferris wheel

words: 16.5 k (its long i know)

💌 💌 💌 💌

Clark Kent was being haunted.

Not by ghosts, or villains, or any of the usual threats to Metropolis.

No. This haunting was far worse.

It was relentless. It was tailored to his exact life in ways he couldn’t prove, but knew—deep in his bones—wasn’t coincidence.

It was Y/N.

And it was hell.

–

Clark’s first mistake: the rent incident

–

When the documentary moved into the post-production phase, Clark assumed—naively, stupidly assumed—that this meant he’d see less of Y/N.

That their ridiculous, chaotic, timeline-consuming partnership would slow down. That she’d go back to her celebrity life, and he’d return to his normal routine—chasing leads, writing articles, occasionally saving the world, and not being tormented by a pop star with too much power and no respect for his boundaries.

He was wrong.

Because Y/N still made time.

Clark didn’t know why he still let Y/N drag him to her apartment.

He had free time. And yet, here he was, sitting on her obnoxiously expensive couch, half-watching a movie she had already lost interest in, while she scrolled through her phone like she had a personal vendetta against being present.

"Man," Clark muttered, leaning back and stretching his arms over the cushions, trying to make himself comfortable. "My rent’s going up next month."

It was a passing comment. Casual. Unimportant. He didn’t expect a reaction.

Y/N didn’t even look up. Didn’t acknowledge it. She just hummed a soft, noncommittal "Mm," her eyes still locked on her phone screen.

Clark barely noticed.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen.

Landlord: Hey, Mr. Kent, just wanted to give you a heads-up—the building’s been bought out. New ownership. Your rent’s been significantly reduced. You’ll see the updated amount on next month’s statement.

Clark frowned.

What?

His landlord had never sent him a heads-up about anything in his life. He sat up slightly, rereading the message, feeling a strange unease creeping up his spine.

His gaze flickered to Y/N, who was still lost in her phone. Still not looking at him.

But her lips—just barely—curled upward at the corners.

Clark squinted.

No. No, she wouldn’t—

“…Y/N,” he said slowly, his tone wary.

She didn’t even look up, just scrolled a little faster.

“Y/N.”

She sipped her drink, distracted. “What?”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

Y/N blinked at him, all feigned innocence. “Clark, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clark’s phone buzzed again.

Landlord: Oh, also, the new owner wanted me to let you know—‘Enjoy the savings, sweetheart.’

Clark froze. His stomach dropped.

Y/N, finally looking up, beamed.

Clark’s soul left his body.

“Y/N.”

“Clark.”

“YOU BOUGHT MY APARTMENT BUILDING?!”

Y/N stretched, completely unbothered. “You make it sound dramatic.”

Clark sputtered. “It is dramatic! You can’t just—just buy my building!”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes. “Technically, I didn’t. My company did.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Well,” she mused, tapping her chin, “now your rent is shockingly affordable. So I’d say this is a win.”

Clark buried his face in his hands.

–

Clark’s second mistake: the wardrobe incident

–

Clark rushed through the streets of Metropolis, cursing under his breath as he pushed through the crowd. He was late meeting Y/N at her recording studio, and it wasn't even his fault. A last-minute rescue involving a school bus teetering on the edge of the metro tracks had kept him longer than expected. But he didn’t let it slow him down. He was in a hurry, his thoughts already focused on the studio, on Y/N.

When he arrived, she was already waiting for him, having wrapped up her day’s recording session. Clark could tell she’d been watching him approach, and as soon as he stepped inside, her eyes lingered on the mark on his sleeve. He had barely noticed it, but it must have rubbed against the mud in the alley when he quickly changed out of his suit and cape. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the price of being Superman.

Y/N didn’t comment on it, but her gaze had a way of silently assessing everything. Still, she was casual, and they left the studio together, chatting about their days as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Hours later, Clark stepped into his apartment, exhausted but relieved. The door to his bedroom was wide open. He paused, confused. He always closed it before leaving—no exceptions. His stomach dropped. His mind raced through possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last. A supervillain had found out. Someone had figured it out. He wasn’t sure who’d come to his apartment, but his first instinct was to investigate.

Clark carefully approached, muscles taut, scanning the room for any sign of trouble. Nothing seemed out of place, but then his x-ray vision kicked in. The room appeared clear—except for one thing. His wardrobe. It was… different.

He stepped closer and opened the door. Inside, neatly arranged on the shelves, were rows of perfectly pressed shirts, blazers, and expensive-looking shoes. He pulled out a jacket and flipped it around. Valentino. Tom Ford. Some brands he didn’t even recognize.

“What the hell?” he muttered, staring at the high-end clothes in confusion.

He grabbed his phone and texted the one person who could explain this.

Clark: Where are my clothes???Y/N: You’re welcome <33333

Clark blinked at the screen. He stared at her reply, his mind racing. She had done this. And somehow, he wasn’t even surprised.

–

Clark’s breaking point: the coffee machine incident

–

Rolling into the Daily Planet in his new clothes was embarrassing enough, but to Clark’s relief, no one seemed to notice. Everyone was way too cheerful for a normal Thursday. He stepped through the door, trying to act natural, but it was hard with the brand-new, tailored suit hugging him in all the right ways. The fabric felt… well, expensive.

Jimmy spotted him from across the newsroom and flashed a bright grin. “Clark!” he called, eyes practically sparkling. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe your girlfriend upgraded the coffee machine!”

Clark froze. “My what?”

“Is she not?” Jimmy questioned, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Omg, this is even better. Are the clothes from her? She wants you so bad!”

Clark blinked, his brain still processing the fact that Jimmy had just connected his wardrobe overhaul to Y/N—who, by the way, was not his girlfriend. The thought of anyone believing that was enough to make him cringe. “She did what?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though he couldn’t hide the confusion.

Jimmy gestured over his shoulder toward the break room, still talking a mile a minute. “She got us the new coffee machine! It’s insane. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Clark turned toward the counter and instantly saw what Jimmy meant. The coffee machine was a work of art. There were twenty-three different types of milk options lined up next to it, including oat, almond, soy, and something called macadamia milk—which Clark wasn’t sure was real, but it sounded fancy enough. Even crazier, the machine could make latte art in the shape of anyone’s face. His jaw dropped a little as he watched the machine carefully pour a perfect image of Clark’s shocked expression into the foam of Jimmy’s coffee.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a coffee machine do that,” Clark muttered, more to himself than to Jimmy.

But Jimmy wasn’t done. “Dude, you gotta stop playing hard to get. Don’t turn away such a gift,” he said, shaking his head, utterly convinced that Clark had no idea how good he had it. “I mean, look at that! She’s practically throwing herself at you.”

Clark grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, feeling the weight of Jimmy’s words sinking in. His patience was running thin. The whole situation—his clothes, the coffee machine, Jimmy’s clueless teasing—had just gone way too far. This had to end.

“Right,” Clark muttered, already heading for the door. “I’ll talk to you later, Jimmy. This conversation’s over.”

As he left, the sound of Jimmy’s voice calling after him seemed to fade into the background. Clark didn’t have time for this today. Not when there were bigger things to worry about.

—

Clark supersped to Y/N’s apartment, a blur in the streets of Metropolis. As much as he hated to admit it, the shiny new shoes Y/N had gotten him were actually comfortable. His old pair felt like they were about to fall apart, and despite everything, he couldn’t deny how nice it was to have a pair of shoes that fit so perfectly.

He banged on her doorbell, barely registering the wide grin on her face before he barged right in. “Clark-” she started, but he was already turning, a glare in his eyes. “What are you playing at, Y/N? This isn’t funny.”

Y/N went quiet for a moment, her usual mischievousness fading just a little. She motioned for him to follow her into the living room, and despite his irritation, he complied. She led him to the silver guitar hung next to the fireplace, a sentimental relic from years ago.

“You recognized it the first time we met, during the interview, didn’t you?” Y/N asked, turning to face him.

Clark remained quiet. His gaze flickered from the guitar back to her. “We went over this already,” he said, his voice a bit flat.

Y/N cut him off, her tone suddenly apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you then.” She locked eyes with him, a deep sincerity in her gaze that left him momentarily speechless. “You helped me so much, and I never even got to say thank you.”

The words hit him like a wave. He hadn’t expected her to go there, not after all this time. He hadn’t been prepared for the rawness in her voice. And then, just like that, she dropped the line that shattered him.

“I spent years wondering where you were,” she said softly. “I wish you said goodbye.”

Clark froze, his chest tight, as if the air had been sucked from the room. He wished he had too. Deep down, he knew that he owed her something, anything—a goodbye, an explanation. But he hadn’t been able to do it.

“It wasn’t that simple,” he muttered, voice almost a whisper.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. Her grin spread wide across her face, a stupid, too-happy smile that took Clark completely off guard. She wasn’t angry, or disappointed. She was just happy that he admitted it. Happy to have found him again, happy that she could finally put some of those old questions to rest.

Without warning, she launched herself into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face into his chest. “Kal,” she breathed, her voice full of something that made Clark’s heart twist in his chest.

He just held her tighter, burying his face in her hair. The years of distance, of everything they had been through, all of it seemed to melt away in that moment. The silence stretched on between them, comfortable and unspoken. When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him, her grin wide.

“I hoped you were okay,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’m glad you got clean.”

Clark paused, his heart skipping a beat. “Wait, clean?”

Y/N looked up at him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I figured you must’ve been on some crazy steroid-drug combo with how strong you were.” She raised an eyebrow, as if she was waiting for him to confirm it.

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her casual assessment. Did she really think he had been on steroids this whole time? The thought was so far off from the truth it almost made him laugh, but he quickly swallowed the reaction. He needed to play it cool.

“…What drug were you on, anyways?” she pressed, still curious.

Clark’s mind raced. This was it. The perfect escape. It was the kind of ridiculous answer that could cover up his entire secret and make her laugh, all at once. He had to do it.

“...All of them,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh my God, Clark,” she said, her voice dropping to a softer, almost apologetic tone. “I���m so sorry…”

The awkwardness hit him then. She was taking it seriously. Her eyes filled with concern as she reached out to touch his arm, clearly unsure how to respond to this unexpected admission.

Clark gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m fine now,” he reassured her. “It’s in the past.”

But Y/N wasn’t done. She’d already started formulating her plan in that head of hers. He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed slightly, and how her mouth twisted into a determined line. She was going to do something about it, and Clark knew there was no stopping her.

“Well,” she said, a sudden smile creeping back onto her face. “I’m going to add an addiction charity to my portfolio. In your name.”

Clark froze, the grin on his face faltering as he processed her words. “Wait—what?”

Y/N, completely unbothered by his confusion, nodded with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I mean, it’s the least I can do, right? You’ve done so much for me, I want to give back. And what better way than by helping others who might be struggling with the same thing?”

Clark was still in shock. “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, but he could already tell that there was no changing her mind. She was already plotting out the details in her head, no doubt.

“Nope,” she said, grinning as if she’d just won some great battle. “It’s happening. You deserve it, Clark. And that's the spirit of growing up, to help others.”

He shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Y/N just laughed, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I know. But hey, it’s the least I can do.”

Clark couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even if it was small. She was like that—always pushing, always trying to make things better, even when he didn’t ask for it.

— 

A few weeks after the reveal, things were better than ever between Clark and Y/N. It had taken time for both of them to adjust, but now that they had, it was like nothing had ever happened. Their bond was stronger than it had ever been, a quiet understanding that ran deep between them. Clark should’ve known better than to expect anything else; of course, Y/N wouldn’t have pushed him into a confrontation about his secret, and now they were free to just exist in each other’s presence.

The documentary about Y/N’s rise to fame was finally complete, and the results were beyond impressive. Y/N’s foundation had become a powerhouse, and the addiction rates for teenagers in Metropolis had taken a significant dip—thanks, in no small part, to a sizable donation from the Y/N Charitable Foundation. Her name was everywhere now, her influence growing by the day.

In recognition of her efforts, Y/N had received an invitation to the annual Mayor’s Ball as the guest of honor. It was an evening of glamor, good company, and fundraising for a good cause—exactly the kind of thing Y/N excelled at. Dressed to the nines in a darling red gown that hugged her form in all the right places, Y/N looked every bit the star she was. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her smile radiated with the confidence of someone who knew they had earned their place in the world. As the evening wore on, Y/N spent the night dancing with strangers, eating fancy food, and mingling with some of Metropolis’s most influential people. For once, it was about more than just her career. It was about making a difference, raising money for the causes she cared about. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

The first sign something was wrong came when the music abruptly stopped. The room fell into an unnatural silence, the kind of quiet that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. People began murmuring, their eyes darting around the ballroom.

Then, it happened. A group of thugs, armed and aggressive, descended upon the crowd, shouting orders. They wore masks, but their intentions were clear. Guns were raised, and people froze in fear.

"Everybody down! Line up!" one of them shouted, the cold edge of his voice cutting through the panic.

Y/N’s heart raced. She had no time to think. Instinct kicked in as she moved to protect herself. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

But then, one of the thugs—big, broad, and menacing—set his eyes on her. He took a step forward, his gaze sizing her up as though she was just another target. He grinned, a dirty, smug look on his face.

She was about to make a snarky comment, but before she could, the thug grabbed her arm with surprising force. "This one’s important," he said to his colleague. "Take her to the roof."

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Hey!” she shouted, struggling against his grip. "Hands off my arm, idiot! This is my guitar-strumming arm, you know? It’s insured for a number you can’t even count up to!" This caused the thug’s grip to loosen a little while he growled in response.

"Hey! No! You can’t do this!" Y/N continued to shout, but the thug just grunted, his eyes narrowed in irritation. Another thug quickly came to his side, and the two men roughly hauled her away.

“Quit struggling,” one of them barked.

Y/N wasn’t about to make it easy for them, she spent time on the dark streets of Metropolis after all. They weren’t taking her anywhere without a fight. She kicked and twisted, trying to wriggle free of their hold, but it was no use.

Once they reached the rooftop, the thug shoved her toward the edge, and she stumbled slightly, but quickly regained her footing. She glanced around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. It was an isolated place—no one around, no help in sight.

One of the thugs began tying her up with rough, crude rope. It wasn’t exactly professional, but it would do.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Y/N muttered, tugging at the bonds. “This is how you tie people up? What are you, amateurs?”

The thug grumbled under his breath, obviously irritated by her continuous stream of snark. She could see the other thugs beginning to set up their position, preparing for something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what.

“Oh, I see,” she said, cocking her head to the side with mock surprise. “You’re really taking me hostage, huh? How original.”

One thug glanced at her, clearly frustrated. “Shut it, lady.”

“I’ve been quiet for two whole minutes,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “That’s like a new record for me, and you’re still going to complain? Come on, you guys gotta learn to appreciate a good hostage."

She paused for a second, raising an eyebrow as one of the thugs fumbled with the ropes.

“Look, if you’re gonna tie me up,” she continued, “at least do it right, okay? You don’t just throw a person on the ground like that—there’s technique. You can’t just make it up as you go along!”

She could see the thug’s patience running thin, but she wasn’t done yet. There was something oddly satisfying about pushing them to the edge, especially considering how utterly ridiculous they were. One of the thugs growled in frustration and pulled out a knife.

“Oh, now that’s a little more like it,” she smirked. “That’s the kind of intimidation I can work with. You’ve got the right idea, at least.”

He just shot her a glare and tightened the ropes, ignoring her entirely.

Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could only hope help was nearby. Because she was starting to get the feeling that this wasn’t just a random robbery. Something told her they weren’t after money—they were after something much more personal. And with a quick glance at the thug in front of her, she was starting to feel like maybe she was the real prize here.

Then, everything sped up. One minute, Y/N was tied up on the roof, her wrists and ankles bound by the clumsy thugs who clearly didn't know the first thing about professional hostage-taking. And the next, the floor shook beneath her feet, a sudden vibration that ran up her spine, followed by the unmistakable sound of wind rushing past her. She had barely enough time to react before a blur of motion exploded into the room—faster than lightning, faster than anything she'd ever seen.

The thugs were tossed aside like rag dolls. They didn’t even have time to process what was happening as they hit the ground, disarmed, dazed, and completely out of commission. And in the midst of the chaos, the figure slowed to a stop. He turned around slowly, his cape billowing in the air, a gust of wind following in his wake. It was him.

Superman.

Y/N blinked, and her heart did this weird fluttering thing in her chest as she finally caught a clear glimpse of his face. Her thoughts seemed to freeze for a moment. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him before—she had. She had seen him on TV, in the papers, on billboards, everywhere. But seeing him in person, right here, right now, was a different experience entirely.

And then it hit her. Oh.

She didn’t just recognize Superman, though. She recognized something else. Something that made her breath catch in her throat. 

He is so hot.

It was like the world suddenly shifted, and all Y/N could focus on was the man—no, the hero—standing in front of her. The real Superman. His chiseled jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the sheer presence he carried. Even the way his cape fluttered in the wind seemed like it had been choreographed for maximum impact.

Superman, as if sensing her stunned silence, dropped down to his knees in front of her, his movements smooth and calculated, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury. He gently started untying the ropes around her wrists and ankles, his hands deft but careful.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” he asked, his voice soft, yet carrying that unshakable authority that was so unique to him.

Y/N’s brain scrambled to form a coherent thought, but all that came out was a dazed, “You know who I am?”

Superman gave her a grin, the kind that was warm enough to melt anyone’s heart, though there was an underlying sense of amusement. “Of course I do.”

Y/N’s face flushed immediately, and she cursed her inability to control her emotions. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Let’s get you out of here,” Superman said, his voice calm and reassuring.

Before Y/N could even think about responding, he effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, lifting her into a bridal carry. Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red than the dress she was wearing, and she couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp.

Superman’s strong arms were holding her with such ease that it felt almost unreal. As he floated into the air, Y/N’s heart beat faster than she thought was possible. She had seen the man fly on TV, but being in his arms, being so close to him—flying through the air, with the wind whipping through her hair—was an experience she could never have prepared for.

Clark couldn’t help but notice how quiet Y/N had become. She was usually so lively, so full of words, so quick with a snappy comeback. But right now, she was strangely subdued, her entire demeanor different from what he was used to. Concern washed over him. He had been in plenty of situations where people were hurt or shocked after a traumatic event, and he couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to her in the struggle.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. “Did you hit your head or something?”

Y/N flushed even deeper, her cheeks nearly glowing. “No! I’m fine,” she stammered, and then, without thinking, she blurted out, “It’s just… you’re so… big and strong.”

He almost stumbled mid-flight. His heart raced. Did she just— He glanced down at her, feeling his own cheeks heat up. The way she said it—so earnest, so… into it— does she have a thing for Superman?

He felt his own pulse quicken. She was quiet—too quiet—and it hit him like a ton of bricks. This was her first time meeting him. Not Clark, but Superman. She had no idea who he was underneath the cape, and suddenly, the lack of teasing and banter she always threw his way made so much more sense. She didn’t know he was the same guy who she’d been annoying all these weeks.

This was Superman, and she was swooning. Clark's lips curled into a knowing smile.

He didn’t want to miss the opportunity. In fact, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Without missing a beat, Clark let a little teasing edge creep into his voice. “Is this your first time flying?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone light, but laced with that familiar, confident charm. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped up to him, cheeks flushing a bright red. “Wha—what?” Her voice cracked slightly as she looked around, trying to act like she wasn’t completely melting under the intensity of the moment.

Clark grinned, knowing exactly what was happening. She was nervous, and he was going to have some fun with it. “It’s okay,” he continued, his voice smooth, “I’m a pro. I can handle you.”

Y/N cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “I—I’m not nervous.” She glanced down at the city beneath them, her eyes wide. “Just... I’ve never really flown without a plane before. It’s a lot to take in.”

Clark smirked. “You sure you’re not nervous?” He gave a little wink. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who isn’t.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms in a way that was supposed to look confident, but was honestly just adorable. “I’m just... focused. Yeah, that’s it. Totally focused.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Clark teased. “You’re doing great. You’re not even screaming yet.”

Y/N shot him a playful glare, but there was something else behind her eyes—something softer. “I’ll scream if you drop me,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Clark’s grin only widened, leaning a little closer, enjoying how flustered she was. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He let the words hang in the air before adding, “I could drop you just to hear you scream. Not that I’d ever do that, but I’m sure it would sound heavenly.”

Y/N made a strangled sound in her throat and Clark almost felt bad- almost. 

Before she could say anything else, they reached her rooftop, and Clark set her down gently. He paused for a second, his eyes searching hers. “I’m glad I could be here to help tonight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

Y/N, still slightly dazed from the whole experience, nodded slowly. “Uh huh. You too. Dream of me” 

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Clark froze. His grin widened even more, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Oh, I definitely will now,” he said, his voice smooth, and his eyes dancing with playful intent.

Y/N flushed deep red, realizing what she'd said, and how it must have sounded. She quickly looked away, completely mortified. “Ugh, I’m an idiot,” she muttered, her hand coming up to cover her face.

Clark chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the flustered look on her face. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he teased, then turned to leave, glancing back at her once more. “Good night, Y/N. Sleep well. And—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Clark paused mid-air, hovering just above her rooftop. “And... maybe dream of me too.”

With that, he shot off into the night, leaving Y/N standing there, trying to calm the wild thumping of her heart as she replayed everything in her head.

She had absolutely no idea what just happened. But she definitely wasn’t going to forget it.

–

The next morning, Clark was seconds away from imploding. He’d faced world-ending threats, alien invasions, and the occasional supervillain monologue, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

“Oh, but Lois,” Y/N gushed, practically melting into her seat. “His arms! They felt like I was wrapped in two giant tree trunks.”

Lois was thriving. She took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes gleaming with unfiltered amusement as she watched Clark try—and fail—not to react. “Tree trunks, huh?” she mused. “That’s quite the visual.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed dreamily, poking at her fruit bowl with a dazed look. “And his voice? Lois, his voice was insane. It was all deep and smooth and just—ugh.” She clutched her chest for dramatic effect. “I think I blacked out for a second when he called me by my name.”

Lois bit back a laugh. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re in love?”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “I might be. Just a little.” She peeked at Lois through her lashes, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “You think he’d be into me? I mean, he did flirt with me.”

Clark choked on his coffee. Lois smacked his back a little too hard, enjoying his suffering far too much. “Flirted, huh?” she echoed, pretending to be thoughtful. “Well, I don’t know, Clark, what do you think? Think Superman’s into her?”

Clark glared at her. Lois grinned back.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice the silent warfare between them. She propped her chin on her palm, sighing dramatically. “You should’ve seen him, Clark,” she said wistfully. “He was just so charming.” She paused, then furrowed her brows. “Actually, kinda weirdly familiar.”

Clark stiffened.

Lois sat up straighter, clearly living for this.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, then waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, probably just my imagination.”

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax.

Then Y/N took another bite of her food, humming thoughtfully. “I do wonder what he looks like under the suit, though.”

Clark slammed his coffee down so hard the table shook. “Seriously?”

–

Brunch finally ended, much to Clark’s immense relief. Lois was still cackling as Y/N waved goodbye and headed to her car, oblivious to Clark’s ongoing suffering. He exhaled, running a hand down his face.

Finally, Peace.

Or so he thought.

The moment Y/N stepped outside, chaos erupted. A swarm of fans and paparazzi descended like vultures, cameras flashing, voices overlapping in a frenzy.

“Y/N, over here!” “Y/N, just one photo!”

She barely had time to react before someone bumped into her—hard. She stumbled, her ankle twisting at an awkward angle as she caught herself against the car door.

Clark was already moving.

In a blink, he was at her side, steadying her before she could fall. “Easy,” he murmured, his grip firm but gentle.

Y/N winced, gripping his forearm for support. “Ouch. Okay. That’s gonna bruise.”

Clark frowned, scanning her quickly. No serious injuries, just a minor scrape on her arm and what looked like a twisted ankle. But the way the crowd was pressing in, the frantic energy—it was dangerous.

He didn’t think. He just acted.

Without hesitation, Clark ducked his head, shielding Y/N as he guided her toward the car. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his usual mild-mannered tone giving way to something sharper. “Give her some space.”

He pulled the door open and helped her inside, making sure she was settled before shutting it behind her. Then, turning back to the crowd, he gave them one last pointed look before stepping in.

Inside the car, Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the seat. “God, the days before an album drop are always the worst.” She rubbed at her temples, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “Everything’s a mess, people are running around like headless chickens, and I’m just trying not to lose my mind.”

Clark watched her carefully, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He had always known she was famous, but the reality of it—the constant pressure, the lack of privacy, the chaos—was starting to sink in. He had been around celebrities before, interviewed high-profile figures, but this was different. This was Y/N.

And she looked tired.

After a beat, he cleared his throat. “I’m actually heading home for a few days,” he said casually, adjusting his glasses. “The Kent farm, in Smallville. If you want a break from all this… you’re welcome to come along.”

Y/N turned her head, blinking at him. “Wait. You’re inviting me to your farm?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s quiet. No cameras. No crowds. Just fresh air and home-cooked meals.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, like she was trying to figure out if he was serious. Then, her lips curled into a small smile. “Huh,” she mused. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘run away to the countryside’ type, Kent.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘actually consider it’ type, Y/N.”

She exhaled, tapping her fingers on her knee. The idea of disappearing for a few days, away from the madness of album promotions, was tempting.

“… I’ll think about it,” she finally said, flashing him a tired grin. “But only if there’s pie.”

Clark smirked. “There’s always pie.”

–

As the car rolled to a stop in the driveway of the Kent farmhouse, Clark let out a quiet sigh, feeling the familiar warmth of home settle into his bones. The trip had been surprisingly… nice. He had expected Y/N to get restless, to complain about the lack of first-class accommodations or the hours-long drive, but instead, she had spent most of the ride alternating between listening intently to his stories about Smallville and dramatically belting along with the radio.

At one point, he had finally grumbled, “Y/N, it’s not fun if I can’t even hear the actual songs.”

To which she had simply grinned and responded, “People pay a lot for a private concert, Clark. This is a gift.”

Clark had just rolled his eyes, but the truth was, he didn’t really mind.

Now, as he put the car in park and turned off the engine, Y/N inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp country air before flashing him a grin. “Wow. I can actually smell nature. Like, real nature. Not the curated, city-park version.”

Clark chuckled. “Welcome to Smallville.”

She turned her gaze to the farmhouse—a weathered but well-loved yellow home that had stood the test of time. Her smile softened. “It’s cute,” she mused. “Feels… warm.”

Clark stepped out of the car, stretching his arms as he glanced at her outfit for the first time. His lips twitched. “I really hope those aren’t the only clothes you brought.”

Y/N, in a very deliberate pose, placed her hands on her hips, her bright red cowboy boots planted firmly in the dirt. “Excuse you, this is my farm chic look. I thought the boots were a perfect touch.”

Clark gave her a flat look. “Have you ever even stepped on a farm before?”

Y/N gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “How dare you?”

Before Clark could reply, the front door swung open, and out stepped Martha and Jonathan Kent, smiles already forming on their faces.

Clark’s posture relaxed instantly. “Mom, Dad,” he greeted, walking forward as his mother pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, honey, we’ve missed you,” Martha murmured, squeezing him before stepping back. Jonathan clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Good to have you home, son.”

Clark smiled, the warmth of their welcome settling deep in his chest. But then, almost as if on cue, Martha’s gaze drifted past him, landing on Y/N.

“Now, you must be Y/N,” she said kindly, stepping forward.

Y/N, still standing by the car in her carefully curated “farm chic” look, suddenly seemed just a little less sure of herself. She had met countless celebrities, been in rooms with the most powerful people in the world, and yet, standing in front of Martha Kent, she straightened her posture like she was trying to make a good impression.

“That’s me,” she said, offering a slightly nervous smile. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent. Mr. Kent.”

Jonathan chuckled, shaking her hand. “Just Jonathan is fine.”

Martha, ever the welcoming presence, pulled Y/N into a gentle hug, much to her surprise. “Oh, sweetheart, any friend of Clark’s is always welcome here.”

Clark didn’t miss the way Y/N stiffened for half a second before melting into the hug, her usual bravado momentarily fading. He fought the small, knowing smile threatening to form.

As Martha pulled back, she gave Y/N an approving once-over before her eyes landed on the boots. She tilted her head. “Interesting choice of footwear.”

Y/N lifted her foot, admiring the bright red leather. “I thought it was fitting for the occasion.”

Jonathan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, can’t say we see boots like that around here much.”

Clark just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s going to get them ruined within the hour.”

Y/N gasped again, pointing at him. “Why do you keep underestimating me, Clark?”

Jonathan smirked. “Hope you packed extra shoes.”

Martha clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s get you two inside. I just made some fresh apple pie, and there’s plenty for everyone.”

At that, Y/N practically lit up. “Now that is something I can get behind.” She shot Clark a smug look. “Told you there better be pie.”

Clark just rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as they all made their way inside.

Home.

This might actually be fun.

–

After lunch, Clark was already rolling up his sleeves when Jonathan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, son, time to put you to work. Fence needs fixing, and the animals need tending.”

Clark nodded, fully expecting this—coming home always meant being roped into chores. But before he could take a step, Y/N clapped her hands together.

“I’m helping.”

Clark and Jonathan both turned to look at her.

“You?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, me,” Y/N said, already marching forward, determined. “I wanna do farm stuff.”

Jonathan chuckled, clearly amused. “That’s mighty nice of you, miss, but you don’t have to—”

“Nope. I insist,” she interrupted, planting her hands on her hips. “What are we doing? Feeding chickens? Milking cows?” She gasped. “Do you guys have a tractor? Can I drive the tractor?”

Clark rubbed his forehead. “Oh, no.”

Jonathan, however, seemed entertained. “You ever do farm work before?”

“Pfft, no,” she said. “But I am a fast learner, and I refuse to be useless.”

Martha chuckled from the porch. “Well, we won’t stop you, dear. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Clark sighed, already predicting disaster. But if Y/N wanted to do farm chores? Fine.

Thirty minutes later

It had started off fine. She had managed to toss some hay into the horse stalls without breaking anything, and she even filled the water troughs without incident.

But then she got cocky.

“I think I’m a natural at this,” she bragged, hands on her hips as she surveyed the barn. “What’s next?”

Jonathan, clearly humoring her, handed her a bucket of feed. “How about you take this to the pigs?”

“Pigs. Got it.” She took the bucket confidently and strutted off toward the pigpen. Clark followed, arms crossed, watching like a hawk.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“I am a grown woman,” she said. “I think I can handle some pigs, Clark.”

Clark just hummed, unconvinced.

Y/N climbed over the short fence and into the pen, bucket in hand. The pigs trotted up eagerly, sensing food.

“Okay, little guys, let’s get you fed,” she cooed, tilting the bucket.

It happened fast.

One of the pigs nudged her leg, a little too enthusiastic. She staggered. Another pig brushed past her boot.

Her balance wobbled.

“Wait, no—”

And then, in one spectacular moment, Y/N slipped. The bucket tipped forward, sending feed flying as she flailed—before landing directly into the biggest, muddiest patch of the pen with a loud, glorious splat.

Silence.

Clark bit his lip.

Y/N blinked up at the sky, sprawled in the mud, her once-flawless outfit now a complete disaster.

Jonathan chuckled. “Well.”

Clark failed to hold back a smirk. “Natural, huh?”

Y/N groaned, flopping back into the mud. “My boots”

–

Clark led Y/N up the stairs, trying—failing—not to laugh as she squelched with every step. Mud was smeared across her arms, her legs, and somehow even in her hair.

“Y’know,” he mused, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, “I did try to warn you.”

Y/N shot him a glare, her expression made all the more ridiculous by the clump of hay sticking to her cheek. “Shut up, Kent.”

Biting back a chuckle, he nudged open the door to the guest room. It was simple but cozy—quilted blankets, soft yellow walls, and a big window overlooking the fields.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” Clark said, pointing to the door on the right. “You can clean up—”

He barely got the words out before Y/N bolted, leaving a trail of muddy footprints as she went. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

Clark shook his head, amused, and headed to his own room next door.

Then—

“Oh, hell no.”

Clark paused, turning back. “What?”

The door swung open, and Y/N poked her head out, looking deeply betrayed.

“This is a Jack and Jill bathroom?” she accused.

Clark leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah?”

She groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against the doorframe. “So, what, I have to share a bathroom with you?”

“I did live here first.”

Y/N pointed a threatening finger at him before sighing. “Fine. Whatever. But I have a real problem.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

She opened the door a little wider, gesturing at herself. “This was my only outfit.”

Clark frowned. “Wait, you didn’t bring any other clothes?”

“I did,” she said. “They just all look like this.” She gestured dramatically at the muddy mess that used to be her farm chic outfit. “Not exactly wearable.”

Clark exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Alright, stay here.”

A minute later, he was back, holding a worn, soft flannel in his hands. He held it out to her.

Y/N eyed it. “What is this?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “It’s a shirt, Y/N.”

She took it hesitantly, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. It was so soft, and warm like he’d just pulled it from the dryer.

“This is yours,” she said.

Clark shrugged. “You need something to wear. And it’s big enough to cover, so…”

Y/N looked up at him. Then back at the shirt. Then back at him.

Slowly, an evil little smirk curled on her lips.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Clark. Are you giving me the shirt off your back?”

Clark groaned. “Don’t make this weird.”

Y/N clutched the flannel dramatically to her chest. “You care about me.”

Clark turned to leave. “Never mind. Give it back.”

“Nope, too late, it’s mine now.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and Clark swore he heard her sniff the flannel before the door shut.

Clark just stood there, pressing a hand over his face.

–

Clark had woken up early, just as he always did when he was back home.

Mornings at the Kent farm had a certain kind of peace he didn’t find anywhere else—crisp air, soft golden light filtering through the windows, the distant sound of cows and the occasional bark from a neighbor’s dog. He liked to take a moment, breathe it all in, before heading downstairs to help with the morning chores.

Except—

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of something burning hit his nose.

Clark froze.

That was not a usual Kent farmhouse smell.

Then, a clatter, followed by a very familiar voice.

“Okay, okay, okay, I can fix this—”

Clark slowly stepped into the kitchen, only to find Y/N standing in front of the stove, waving a dishtowel aggressively at something that was very much on fire in a pan.

Martha, looking far too calm for the situation, reached over and effortlessly turned off the burner.

Y/N slumped, pouting as she muttered, “Right. That makes more sense.”

Clark blinked. Then blinked again.

“What… are you doing?”

Y/N turned at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up as if she wasn’t in the middle of what appeared to be a culinary disaster.

“Morning, farm boy!” she chirped, grabbing a spatula that looked suspiciously like it had just survived a war. “I figured since I wasn’t super great at the whole manual labor thing yesterday, I’d put my efforts into something else.”

She gestured broadly to the counter, where there was—

Clark had to pause.

Flour.

Eggshells.

Some sort of dough that looked like it had given up halfway through its existence.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N, standing there in his flannel, hair still slightly damp from the night before, looking utterly unbothered by the chaos around her.

Clark exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “You’re cooking?”

Martha patted Y/N’s shoulder with a fond smile. “She’s trying.”

Y/N huffed. “Wow. Way to have faith in me, Martha.”

Martha just chuckled, shaking her head as she went back to kneading dough—properly.

Clark eyed the scorched remains in the pan. “And… what was that supposed to be?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Scrambled eggs.”

Clark frowned. “Scrambled eggs aren’t supposed to catch fire.”

“Apparently!” Y/N threw her hands in the air. “How was I supposed to know they could do that? I thought eggs were, like, hydrated!”

Clark just stared at her. “That’s… not how that works.”

She waved him off. “Well, I know that now, Clark.”

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled, shaking his head. “You really don’t have to do this, you know. You’re a guest.”

Y/N grinned, turning back to the counter. “Nope! I insist. I’m gonna be useful somehow before I leave this farm.”

Clark leaned against the counter, watching her scoop an ungodly amount of flour into a mixing bowl. “You’re really set on this, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

Martha, ever patient, handed Y/N a measuring cup. “Maybe try measuring the flour this time, sweetheart.”

Y/N nodded, determined. “Yes. Good idea.”

–

The smell of breakfast—mostly thanks to Martha’s cooking, not Y/N’s—soon filled the kitchen, and Clark found himself seated at the familiar wooden dining table, across from his parents, with Y/N right beside him.

Somehow, despite the near culinary disasters, a decent meal had been salvaged. Scrambled eggs (courtesy of Martha), crispy bacon, golden toast, and fresh orange juice were set in front of them.

Clark stole a glance at Y/N, who was happily digging into her food, looking far too pleased with herself.

Jonathan, amused, looked at his son before continuing. “You’ve been quite an influence on Clark. We have that magazine shoot of you two lying around here somewhere.”

Clark visibly flinched.

Y/N, on the other hand, lit up.

“He told you?!” she gasped, eyes sparkling with pure delight. She turned to Clark, nudging his arm. “I thought you were so set on nobody knowing it was you.”

Clark glared daggers at his dad, who just sipped his coffee, completely unbothered. “I didn’t tell them,” he muttered.

“Oh, no, no,” Martha chimed in, a little too casually. “We saw it.”

Jonathan smirked. “Pretty hard to miss, son. You’re all over that thing—dramatic lighting, fancy clothes, lying on some velvet couch like you’re in a romance novel.”

Clark wanted to disappear.

Y/N was having the time of her life.

“Jonathan, I love you,” she said, absolutely gleeful. “You just described it so perfectly.”

Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Martha said sweetly. “It was very tasteful.”

“Tasteful,” Clark echoed, dead inside.

Y/N beamed. “Oh, Clark. Sweetheart.”

Clark physically tensed. He knew that tone. That was her ‘I’m about to make your life worse’ voice.

“You know,” she mused, leaning in conspiratorially, “if you guys want a signed copy, I might have a few lying around.”

Jonathan grinned. “Now that would be something.”

Clark was seconds away from throwing himself out the nearest window.

Y/N, positively glowing from this entire exchange, rested her chin in her hand, clearly deep in thought. “You know… I could send one over. Signed, framed, maybe even a little plaque underneath—‘Clark Kent: Fashion Icon.’”

Clark let out a long, suffering sigh. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Martha, completely ignoring her son’s misery, looked at Y/N with curiosity. “How did that happen, anyway? I can’t imagine Clark volunteering for something like that.”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Y/N said, smug. “I bullied him into it.”

Jonathan chuckled, shaking his head. “That sounds about right.”

Clark scowled. “I was tricked into it.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Clark! Don’t make it sound so sinister. I simply… strongly encouraged you.”

“With deception.”

“With style,” she corrected.

“Well,” Jonathan continued, “I am sure you are better at the shoots than what we saw on the farm yesterday. You lasted about ten minutes outside before falling into the mud.”

Y/N groaned. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I’m just saying, for someone who wears thousands of dollars in designer clothes, you sure took a nosedive straight into a pile of it.”

Clark coughed, trying to disguise his laugh as a sip of orange juice.

“I was ambushed by the ground,” Y/N argued. “It came out of nowhere!”

“It’s ground,” Clark pointed out. “It’s literally everywhere.”

Y/N threw a piece of toast at him.

Martha smiled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “At least you were a good sport about it.”

“Oh, absolutely. I accepted my fate instantly.” She gestured dramatically at herself. “I belong to the dirt now.”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Well, you can’t wear that forever.”

Y/N looked down at herself—Clark’s old flannel, borrowed sweatpants, and socks that had definitely seen better days.

"Why not?" she said, clearly amused. “It’s vintage.”

Jonathan snorted. "Clark, take her into town. Get her some real clothes before someone thinks we took in a stray."

Clark sighed. Y/N grinned.

–

Clark stood by the truck, arms crossed, already regretting everything.

He had agreed—against his better judgment—to take Y/N into town for new clothes. It should have been simple. A quick trip, in and out, zero chaos.

But then she had said, “Give me five minutes to get ready,” and Clark should have known.

Because when Y/N finally stepped outside, she was wearing a wig.

Not just any wig.

A ridiculous, platinum blonde disaster that was at least two shades too bright to look remotely natural. It was styled in loose, dramatic curls, the kind that screamed ‘Hollywood starlet in disguise’ rather than ‘completely normal person just trying to blend in.’

Clark stared.

Y/N struck a pose. “Well? What do you think?”

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. “What am I even looking at?”

She flipped her curls over her shoulder. “A flawless disguise.”

Clark exhaled. “Y/N.”

“Clark.”

“You do realize we’re going to a tiny town where everyone knows each other?”

“Yes.”

“So… they’re just going to see me”—he gestured to himself—“and you, in a wig.”

“And?” she said, completely unbothered. “That’s called acting.”

Clark blinked at her, waiting for logic to return. It did not.

Instead, she slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses and smirked. “Come on, farm boy. Let’s paint this town red.”

Clark sighed and opened the truck door.

–

Clark should have known.

He should have felt it in his bones the second they rolled into town, but he had deluded himself into thinking they could just slip in and out, grab Y/N some clothes, and be done.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Because the second he stepped out of the truck—

“CLARK KENT!”

Clark physically flinched.

Mr. Jenkins, owner of the feed store and Smallville’s most dedicated town crier, was already waving him down like he was the Second Coming.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Clark Kent, back in Smallville!” Jenkins called, his voice booming across the street. “Boy, you don’t write, you don’t call—your mama told me you were visitin’, but I figured you’d be hidin’ out at the farm!”

Clark barely had time to muster a polite nod before—

“Clark Kent!”

Mrs. Randall from the bakery had somehow materialized in the doorway of her shop.

She clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, honey, you didn’t tell me you were comin’ into town today! Still takin’ your coffee black?”

Clark sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, you just hold tight, sweetheart. I’ll have one ready before you leave.”

Before Clark could even think about responding, two elderly women sitting on a nearby bench started whispering—loudly.

“Oh my,” one of them swooned, fanning herself dramatically. “Would you look at him?”

“Oh, I see him,” the other one sighed, openly staring.

Then—THEN—Mrs. Dawson, the mayor’s wife, giggled.

She giggled.

“Clark Kent,” she cooed, reaching out to pat his arm like he was a prize-winning show horse. “Oh, you handsome thing, your mother must be so proud of you.”

Clark could feel his soul actively trying to leave his body.

And Y/N?

Y/N was thriving.

She stood beside him, grinning so wide he was surprised her face didn’t split in half.

“This,” she whispered, eyes sparkling with amusement, “is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Clark ignored her.

He just needed to get her clothes, and then they could leave—

But then—

“Mister Kent!”

Clark froze.

A small child ran up to him, looking panicked.

Clark braced himself. “Uh—”

“It’s Mr. Henderson’s cat!” the kid blurted out, pointing frantically toward the general store. “She got stuck in the tree again!”

Clark exhaled sharply.

The entire street had stopped to watch.

Y/N, beside him, slowly turned toward him, vibrating with barely contained laughter.

Clark gritted his teeth.

There was no way out of this.

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of a very angry, very ungrateful cat while half of Smallville watched their golden boy in action.

Y/N, off to the side, cheerfully narrated the whole ordeal like it was a live event.

“Oh, folks, look at that form! The way he grabs the branch with precision— the poise, the grace!”

Clark shot her the deadliest glare imaginable before grabbing the cat and handing it over.

The kid cheered.

The crowd actually applauded.

One of the old women from earlier blew him a kiss.

Clark, utterly mortified, turned on his heel and walked straight to the clothing store.

Y/N had to jog to keep up.

“Oh, Clark!” she called, laughing so hard she could barely speak. “Are you—are you actually mad?”

Clark yanked open the store door. “We’re never coming back here again.”

“Oh, but why? You’re Smallville’s golden boy!” she teased, following him inside.

By the time they left, Y/N had a bag full of normal, Smallville-appropriate clothes—and a new favorite pastime: watching Clark Kent suffer.

–

Clark wasn’t expecting her to be awake.

Not after yesterday’s disaster.

Y/N had fallen asleep on the tractor. Mid-afternoon, full sun, out cold like the hum of the engine had personally sung her a lullaby.

Jonathan had taken one look at her, arms loosely crossed, head tilted back, dead to the world, and decided that was it.

“You’re banned from the farm before nine,” he’d said when she finally woke up. “Don’t need you napping in the grain silo next.”

So this morning, Clark assumed he’d be alone

The house was quiet. Sunlight barely streamed through the window as he made his way to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that connected the guest room and his old one.

His routine was second nature. Splash of water, toothpaste, brushing his teeth while staring half-awake at himself in the mirror.

And then.

The door swung open.

Clark froze mid-brush, toothbrush still in his mouth, as Y/N stumbled in.

She was a mess.

Sleep-rumpled, hair haphazardly pinned up, wrapped in a massive hoodie she had clearly thrown on without thinking. She blinked blearily, not even acknowledging his presence, and moved straight to the sink beside him.

Clark arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Y/N, still half-asleep, turned the faucet on, splashed some water on her face, and then reached for her tiny arsenal of skincare products that now occupied an entire section of the counter.

It was silent.

Clark resumed brushing.

Y/N patted her face dry.

Finally, she yawned, leaning against the sink. “Morning, farm boy.”

Clark spit out his toothpaste. “Morning. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

She hummed. “Woke up, couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Clark gave her a pointed look. “You woke up early? Voluntarily?”

She reached for a serum. “Strange things happen on farms, Clark.”

Clark rolled his eyes.

Another beat of silence passed as she started dabbing product onto her face.

Then—

“You know,” she murmured, watching him in the mirror, “your hair is a disaster right now.”

Clark barely had time to react before she reached up and fixed it.

He stopped breathing.

Her fingers were gentle, effortlessly smoothing the unruly strands, carding through the thick mess of waves like she had done it a thousand times before.

Clark’s brain short-circuited.

“Your hair’s too thick to not use conditioner,” she said absentmindedly, completely unaware of the existential crisis she had just caused.

Clark was dying.

It was such a small touch. Casual. Nothing.

But it felt like everything.

Y/N, oblivious, finished adjusting his hair and gave a satisfied nod. “Much better.”

Then she turned back to her routine, humming as she unscrewed a bottle of moisturizer.

Clark was still standing there, gripping the sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

–-

The afternoon sun poured through the windows of the Kent farmhouse, casting a warm glow over the cozy living room where Y/N and Martha sat, both curled up with cups of tea. The air smelled of fresh hay drifting in from outside, and the distant sound of Clark and Jonathan working on the farm provided a peaceful background hum.

Y/N stretched her legs over the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I swear, this place is too relaxing. If I stay here any longer, I might forget I have an entire career waiting for me back in Metropolis.”

Martha chuckled, setting her tea down on the coffee table. “Well, you’re always welcome to visit whenever you need a break, dear.”

Y/N smiled, glancing at the older woman. She noticed Martha shift slightly, rolling her shoulder with a small wince before reaching for her tea again.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Wait a second—was that a wince? What’s wrong?”

Martha sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. My back’s been aching a bit these past few days. Just part of getting older, I suppose.”

Y/N gasped, sitting up straight. “No, ma’am. That is not just ‘part of getting older.’ That is your body telling you it needs a break. And you know what?” She set down her tea with determination. “That’s it. We’re having a girls’ day.”

Martha blinked, caught off guard by her sudden enthusiasm. “A girls’ day?”

Y/N nodded, already brainstorming. “Yes! You do so much for everyone—Clark, Jonathan, literally the entire town, I bet—but when was the last time someone pampered you?”

Martha chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about pampering—”

Y/N held up a finger. “No arguments! Give me 5 minutes, I have to make some calls.” Leaving the room, Y/N called Sam, her manager. 

–

A few hours later, Clark and Jonathan stood at the edge of the smallville airstrip, arms crossed as they watched Y/N excitedly inspect a sleek, private plane. Martha, standing beside them, looked more amused than anything.

Jonathan squinted at the aircraft. “You’re telling me she’s flying this thing?”

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Dad. She has a pilot’s license.”

Jonathan let out a low whistle. “Huh. Well, that’s something.”

Y/N spun on her heel, clapping her hands together. “Alright, boys! This is where we leave you to your boring farm work while we go have the best spa day in existence.” She turned to Martha, eyes twinkling. “Mrs. Kent, are you ready to experience luxury?”

Martha chuckled. “I suppose I am.”

Clark, still baffled, gestured toward the plane. “Y/N. You own a plane?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Clark, I’m rich. Of course I own a plane. This one’s just rented though”

Jonathan muttered, “Good Lord.”

With that, Y/N grabbed Martha’s hand and led her toward the aircraft. Clark had to admit, watching his mom step into a private jet like she was some kind of VIP was hilarious.

Before boarding, Y/N turned back and shot Clark a smirk. “Don’t miss me too much, Kent.”

Clark scoffed, but his lips twitched. “No promises.”

With a final wink, Y/N disappeared into the cockpit. Within minutes, the plane roared to life, gliding smoothly down the airstrip before taking off into the sky.

Jonathan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, son. You sure do pick ‘em.”

Clark just sighed, watching the plane disappear into the horizon. “Don’t I know it.”

–

The moment Y/N and Martha stepped into the spa, they were greeted with plush robes, soothing scents of lavender and eucalyptus, and the soft hum of a waterfall somewhere in the distance. Y/N turned to Martha with a grin.

"Welcome to heaven, Mrs. Kent."

Martha chuckled as a spa attendant led them into a private suite, complete with warm candlelight and deep, cushioned lounge chairs. "I have to admit, this is a bit fancier than the farmhouse."

"That’s the whole point!" Y/N plopped onto one of the chairs, stretching luxuriously. "This is a no chores, no stress, only pampering zone."

The afternoon was a dream. They started with full-body massages that left Martha sighing in contentment and Y/N melting into the massage table. Then came the mud dips, where Y/N playfully declared, "We are officially swamp creatures now!" Martha laughed so hard that some of her mud mask nearly splattered onto her robe.

"You really know how to have fun, sweetheart," Martha said as they rinsed off in the warm mineral springs.

Y/N smiled, but there was something softer behind her usual playfulness. "Yeah, well, I always wanted to do this kind of thing with my mom. She never really got to have a day just for herself before she passed."

Martha reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently. "I’m sure she would have loved this."

Y/N exhaled, staring at the rippling water. "Yeah. I just— I always wanted to spoil her, you know? Do all the things she never got to do. Give her a day where she didn't have to worry about anything."

Martha gave her hand another squeeze. "Sounds like you had a wonderful mother."

"She was." Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, willing herself not to get emotional. "She worked so hard. She deserved everything good in the world."

Martha’s eyes were warm, filled with understanding. "And now, you do things like this—for me, for other people. She’d be so proud of you, honey."

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You’re gonna make me cry, Mrs. Kent, and I do not need puffy eyes for our next treatment."

Martha chuckled. "Alright, alright. No tears."

After the springs, they were treated to the most luxurious facials, complete with cucumber slices over their eyes. Y/N dramatically announced, "This is it. This is how I choose to live my life from now on."

Martha, lying beside her with a face mask of her own, hummed. "I could get used to this myself."

Next came pedicures and manicures, where Y/N picked out a bold, sparkling red while Martha chose a soft pink.

"Classic," Y/N teased as they admired their fresh nails.

"Timeless," Martha corrected with a grin.

As they sipped on some fresh herbal tea, Martha leaned in slightly, giving Y/N a knowing look. "So… is there a special man in your life?"

Y/N sighed dramatically, her head tilting back as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Yeah…"

Martha perked up. "Oh?"

A dreamy smile spread across Y/N’s face as she sighed, "Do you know Superman?"

Martha almost choked on her tea.

"Superman?" she repeated, coughing a little.

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to Martha’s moment of panic. "Oh my God, Mrs. Kent. He is—ugh—perfect. The muscles, the voice, the way he just swooped in and saved me? Like, hello, literal knight in shining armor moment!"

Martha struggled to keep a straight face. "Superman, huh?"

"Yes! And he’s so charming. And strong. And polite. And—did I mention strong? Because wow."

Martha’s lips twitched. "I think you did."

Y/N sighed again, dramatically clutching the teacup. "And the way he carried me? I thought I was going to die. I was so close to proposing on the spot."

Martha, who knew exactly who Superman was, could barely contain herself. "Does Clark know about this little crush of yours?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah. He was so grumpy about it. He just sat there at breakfast with this look on his face while I was telling Lois all about Superman’s arms."

Martha bit back a laugh. "Clark was grumpy?"

"Yeah! I swear, he was one more compliment away from cutting his ears off." Y/N chuckled. "Honestly, he needs to loosen up. It’s not my fault Superman is the most gorgeous man on the planet."

Martha took a slow sip of her tea, utterly amused. "Not your fault at all, sweetheart."

Y/N groaned, flopping dramatically onto her chair. "Ugh, Mrs. Kent, what do I do? Do I just… throw myself off another building and hope he catches me?"

Martha choked again. "I—no! Absolutely not!"

Y/N laughed. "I’m kidding! I’d never do that. …Probably."

Martha just shook her head, biting back a knowing smile. Oh, if only Y/N knew.

–

By the time Y/N and Martha returned to the farm, the difference in Martha was undeniable. She moved like she was ten years younger, humming to herself as she stepped out of the truck with a bounce in her step. Clark, standing on the porch with his arms crossed, shot Y/N a look.

“What did you do to her?” he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Y/N smirked, throwing her arms out dramatically. “I gave your mother the best day of her life, thank you very much.”

Martha simply patted Clark’s arm as she passed. “Oh, hush, sweetheart. It’s called self-care.”

Jonathan muttered from his rocking chair, “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day my wife came back from a spa day lookin’ happier than a calf in fresh clover.”

Y/N pointed at him. “And that is why I’m getting you in for a deep tissue massage next, Mr. Kent.”

Jonathan snorted. “Over my dead body.”

Despite the fresh manicure on her hands, Y/N, rolled up her sleeves and turned to Johnathan. “Put me to work, boss!”

Jonathan tried to talk her out of it.

“Now, sweetheart,” he said, leaning against the fence as he watched her roll up her sleeves, “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you don’t have to push yourself.”

“I want to,” Y/N insisted, hands on her hips. “I know I’m not exactly built for farm life, but I can learn.”

Clark, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, smirked. “Uh-huh. That’s what you said two days ago. And how’d that go again?”

Y/N shot him a glare. “It was slippery!”

Clark chuckled. “Sure it was.”

Undeterred, Y/N marched toward the barn. “Point is, I’m helping. No take-backs.”

Jonathan sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Well, can’t say no to that kind of determination.”

So, despite Clark’s reluctance, Y/N got to work.

She fed the chickens—this time avoiding the particularly aggressive one that nearly declared war on her the day before. She helped haul lighter hay bales into the barn, grunting with effort but refusing to give up. She even followed Clark as he worked, handing him tools and watching closely when he explained things.

And Clark—well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed.

Sure, she wasn’t a natural, and she had no idea what she was doing half the time, but she tried. She was eager, determined, and surprisingly strong for her size.

Clark found himself watching her more than he should have.

Then—

BANG!

The loud noise from the house had everyone whipping around.

“Oh dear,” Martha’s voice called out from inside.

Clark, Y/N, and Jonathan hurried into the farmhouse, their boots thudding against the wooden floors. They found Martha standing in the hallway, peering into the guest room, water slowly pooling on the floor.

Clark’s eyes went straight to the ceiling. “What happened?”

Martha sighed, shaking her head. “Well, looks like an old pipe finally gave out. Must’ve been weak for a while.”

Clark frowned. That did happen sometimes in old houses like this, but the timing was suspicious. His mom was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them.

Jonathan crossed his arms. “That’s odd. You checked all the pipes last time you visited, didn’t you, Clark?”

Clark’s eyes narrowed at his mother. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Martha remained perfectly innocent. “Well, must’ve missed one.”

Clark knew his mother.

Clark knew when he was being played.

Y/N, completely unaware, frowned at the growing puddle. “Oh no, so I can’t sleep here tonight?”

Martha let out a very casual sigh. “No, I suppose not. What a shame.”

Clark immediately stiffened. His entire soul screamed in warning. Oh, no.

Martha looked up, her face the picture of perfect concern. “Well, Clark, I hate to ask, but would you mind sharing your room?”

“No.” Clark’s response was immediate.

Martha blinked. “Clark—”

“I’ll sleep in the barn,” he said, already turning. “Goodnight—”

Jonathan grabbed the back of his shirt before he could escape.

“Boy, you are not sleeping in the barn,” he said flatly.

Martha nodded. “Don’t be ridiculous. We have a perfectly good bed in your room, and it’s more than big enough.”

Clark gawked at them. “Mom. Dad. I—”

“Wait, I really don’t want to intrude,” Y/N said, holding up her hands. “I can sleep on the couch—”

Martha gasped. “Absolutely not! You’re our guest, sweetheart.”

Y/N hesitated, looking between them. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make Clark uncomfortable—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Martha said sweetly. “Clark is such a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t mind at all.”

Clark nearly burst into flames.

“MOM.”

Jonathan sighed, rubbing his face. “Martha, I swear—”

But Martha, unbothered, simply smiled and patted Y/N’s shoulder. “Well, that’s settled then. Y/N, you’ll bunk with Clark for the night.”

Clark let out an incredulous laugh. “You planned this.”

Martha’s smile was way too smug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jonathan muttered, “Lord help me.”

Y/N, meanwhile, was still completely oblivious to the parental scheming she had just fallen victim to.

“So,” she said, flashing Clark a grin. “Roomies?”

Clark sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Roomies.”

–-

Clark had never known true suffering until this exact moment.

He stood stiffly in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, watching as Y/N flopped onto his bed, arms outstretched like a starfish, groaning dramatically.

"Ugh, this is so much better than that tiny cot in the guest room," she said, rolling onto her side and patting the mattress approvingly. "Your parents are so thoughtful, Kal. This is way comfier."

Clark froze. It was barely a flicker—his fingers twitching at his side, his jaw clenching for a second too long—but the reaction was there. He didn’t like the name.

Y/N didn’t notice. She just sighed happily, stretching out even further.

Clark swallowed hard. "Right. Comfy."

His bed was not big enough for two people.

Well, technically it was, but Clark had spent his whole life sleeping alone in it, and now Y/N was sprawled across it, wearing one of his flannels again, looking way too at home.

She turned her head to him, smirking. "What, Clark? You're standing there like you're about to be sentenced to death."

Clark sighed, rubbing his face. "I’ll take the floor."

Y/N gasped like he had just insulted her entire existence. "Absolutely not! I refuse to be the reason you sleep on the floor."

"Y/N—"

"Nope," she said, sitting up and scooting over. She patted the empty space beside her. "There's room. Suck it up, Kent."

Clark let out a slow, deep breath, telling himself this was fine. Normal. He had superhuman control over himself—surely he could handle this.

Reluctantly, he walked over and eased onto the bed, staying as far to the edge as humanly possible.

Y/N rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, watching him with a teasing glint in her eye. "You know, for a guy who is Smallville’s biggest hero, you're really scared of sharing a bed."

Clark huffed a laugh. "I'm not scared."

She tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "So, what’s the problem? Afraid you'll roll over and accidentally crush me with all that farm-boy muscle?"

Clark gave her a flat look. "I do not roll over."

Y/N grinned. "Ooooh. So you do sleep like a vampire. Arms crossed over your chest, no movement, totally still?"

Clark groaned, covering his face. "Why am I having this conversation?"

Y/N giggled—an actual, evil little giggle—and turned onto her back. "I'm just saying, Clark, if you’re gonna be all tense about it, we can put a pillow wall between us. Real eighth-grade summer camp energy."

Clark shot her a look. "I am not building a pillow wall."

Y/N smirked. "So you're saying you're fine sleeping next to me?"

Clark opened his mouth—then closed it, narrowing his eyes. "You’re messing with me."

"Maybe."

Clark exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling. "Unbelievable."

Silence settled between them, the kind that wasn’t awkward but rather… comfortable. Warm. The farmhouse was quiet at night, the only sounds being the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

For a moment, Clark allowed himself to relax.

Then—

Y/N stretched, her foot accidentally brushing against his leg.

Clark jerked.

Y/N snorted. "Clark."

"That was on purpose."

"It was not!" she said, laughing. "You're so jumpy. Is this really your first time sharing a bed with someone?"

Clark refused to answer that.

Y/N shifted closer, her voice dropping slightly. "Or do I make you nervous, farm boy?"

Clark rolled onto his side, facing away from her. "Goodnight, Y/N."

She chuckled, rolling onto her back again. "Yeah, yeah. Sweet dreams, roomie."

–

Clark was used to waking up early. He had spent his entire life rising with the sun, helping his dad on the farm before school, and later, as Superman, getting up at ungodly hours to save the world.

What he wasn’t used to was waking up next to her.

For a moment, he just… stared.

Y/N was sprawled out in his bed, limbs thrown across the mattress in a way that was both chaotic and kind of adorable. Her hair was a mess of waves against the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other firmly gripping his flannel, like she had subconsciously claimed it as hers in the night.

Clark swallowed, very aware of the fact that at some point, she had gravitated toward him in her sleep. One of her legs had tangled with his under the covers, her foot resting lightly against his calf.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Except for the part where he was incredibly aware of every little breath she took, every shift of her body, and the way his traitorous heart was hammering in his chest.

Then, Y/N made a soft, content sound, stretching slightly before blinking awake.

Clark immediately snapped his eyes away, rolling onto his back like he hadn’t just been staring at her like an absolute idiot.

She let out a sleepy hum, voice raspy from sleep. “Mmm. G’morning, farm boy.”

Clark cleared his throat, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. “Morning.”

Y/N stretched, her foot brushing against his leg again, and Clark had to physically stop himself from reacting.

Then—

“Oh my God, we survived the night!” Y/N gasped dramatically, sitting up. “Clark! You didn’t accidentally roll over and crush me!”

Clark groaned. “Y/N—”

“Truly a miracle.”

He turned to glare at her, but she was grinning, her eyes still slightly hazy with sleep, and suddenly, it wasn’t so easy to be annoyed.

Before he could say anything, a soft knock came from the door.

Martha’s voice drifted through. “Breakfast is ready, you two.”

Y/N threw off the covers, hopping out of bed. “Ooooh, pancakes?”

Clark ran a hand over his face before following after her.

–

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like warm syrup and fresh coffee. Jonathan was already at the table, reading the newspaper, while Martha was at the stove flipping pancakes.

“Morning, kids,” she greeted, sending them a knowing little smile as they sat down.

Clark ignored it.

Y/N, on the other hand, beamed. “Morning, Martha! These smell amazing.”

Martha chuckled, setting a fresh stack of pancakes on the table. “Glad to see you two slept well.”

Clark almost choked on his coffee.

Jonathan hummed, flipping a page in the newspaper. “Must’ve been real cozy, huh, son?”

Clark definitely choked.

Y/N just grinned, stealing a piece of Clark’s bacon. “Super cozy.”

Clark shot her a look. Y/N winked.

Martha stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying herself, before changing the subject. “The Harvest Festival is tonight,” she said, setting down a fresh cup of coffee in front of Y/N. “Are you two planning on going?”

Clark perked up. “Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you about that,” he said, turning to Y/N. “It’s a big annual festival we do here in Smallville. There’s a carnival, a bake-off, pie-eating contests—”

“Wait. Pie-eating contests?” Y/N gasped. “Clark, why have you been holding out on me?”

Clark laughed. “It’s a whole thing. But it also raises money for the local farmers—last year, we raised almost thirty thousand dollars.”

Y/N blinked, her amusement fading into something softer. “That’s… actually amazing.”

Clark smiled. “Yeah. It’s a big deal for the community.”

Y/N leaned forward, eyes bright. “Okay, we have to go. I need to see you in a pie-eating contest.”

Clark shook his head. “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s for charity, Clark.”

Clark gave her a look. “You just want to see me embarrass myself.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

Jonathan, amused, turned to Martha. “Think we should warn the town before she shows up?”

Martha chuckled. “Oh, I think the town will love her.”

Y/N grinned, stealing another piece of Clark’s bacon. “Guess we’ll find out tonight.”

–

The Smallville Harvest Festival was in full swing by the time Clark and Y/N arrived. Strings of golden lights crisscrossed the fairgrounds, illuminating the booths and carnival rides in a warm glow. The air smelled of kettle corn, caramel apples, and the crisp bite of autumn.

And Y/N… oh, God.

She was back in disguise.

Clark had thought she might go with something a little more subtle, given that Smallville was a tiny town where everyone knew everyone, but no. Instead, she had gone full incognito celebrity at the farmer’s market.

A ridiculously perfect blonde wig, giant sunglasses, and, for some reason, a baseball cap with a cow print design. It was all so dramatically unnecessary, especially since the most they had to worry about in Smallville was Mrs. Taylor from the bakery asking if Clark had finally found himself a nice girl.

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize that this just makes you more suspicious, right?”

Y/N grinned. “No idea what you’re talking about, farm boy.”

He gave her a flat look.

She gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh, no. Am I mysterious? Unapproachable? Could it be that the people of Smallville will think I’m some sort of intriguing outsider with a secret past?”

Clark rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re insufferable.”

Y/N linked her arm through his. “And yet, here we are.”

Clark just shook his head, unable to hide the amusement tugging at his lips as they made their way through the festival.

They stopped at a pumpkin-carving contest, watching as kids and adults alike competed for the best designs. Y/N gasped at a particularly well-crafted jack-o’-lantern shaped like a cat, nudging Clark. “That one’s my favorite.”

Clark, still half-distracted by the ridiculousness of her disguise, hummed. “It’s cute.”

Y/N grinned. “Like you?”

Clark choked on air.

Before he could even recover, Y/N grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the game booths. “Come on, let’s win some prizes.”

Clark barely had time to process anything before Y/N came to a screeching halt in front of the ring toss booth, eyes locked onto a plush cow hanging from the top shelf.

She gasped. “Clark. I need him.”

Clark followed her gaze. “You need a stuffed cow?”

Y/N turned to him with wide, pleading eyes. “Clark. His name is Moo Moo. Look at him.”

Clark bit back a laugh. “Okay, okay. You want me to win it for you?”

Y/N scoffed. “Excuse me, I am going to win it for you.”

Before Clark could protest, she was already handing a few dollars to the booth attendant and grabbing the rings.

Clark folded his arms, watching as she lined up her first shot. She squinted, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration, before tossing the ring.

It missed.

Clark bit his lip. “Close.”

Y/N didn’t acknowledge him. She just grabbed the next ring and threw it.

It missed.

Clark coughed. “Almost had it.”

Y/N’s eye twitched.

Her final ring sailed through the air—

And landed perfectly around the bottle.

Y/N screamed.

The booth attendant blinked, looking genuinely startled, before handing her the stuffed cow.

Y/N turned to Clark, triumphant, shoving the plush into his arms. “For you.”

Clark laughed, hugging the ridiculous stuffed cow to his chest. “Wow. I’m honored.”

Y/N grinned. “You should be.”

They spent the next hour bouncing between different games and attractions, Y/N somehow managing to lose every competitive challenge but having the time of her life doing so. Clark even let her pull him onto a few rides, including the Ferris wheel.

As their cart reached the top, the entire festival spread out beneath them in a sea of warm lights and rustic charm. Y/N exhaled, resting her chin on her hand.

“I love Ferris wheels,” she admitted.

Clark glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s like… everything gets quiet for a second. Just you and the view.”

Clark studied her for a long moment.

“…Yeah,” he said softly. “I know what you mean.”

The ride stopped at the peak, leaving them suspended above the fairgrounds.

Clark turned to her. “So… about that pie-eating contest—”

Y/N groaned. “Clark.”

He smirked.

She kicked his shin.

After they got off the Ferris wheel, they wandered toward the food stands, and Clark bought them a caramel apple. He took one bite before handing it to Y/N.

She hesitated for half a second before accepting it, eyes flickering briefly to where his teeth had already sunk into the candy coating.

Clark noticed.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What, suddenly shy?”

Y/N scoffed, quickly taking a bite. “Oh, please, farm boy.”

She absolutely did not blush.

Clark chuckled.

By the time they made their way back to the main stage, the festival’s live band was playing a slow, easy tune, and couples swayed together under the string lights.

Clark glanced at Y/N. “You dance?”

She arched a brow. “I perform in front of thousands of people, Kal.”

Clark’s smile faltered, his grip on Moo Moo tightening just slightly.

Y/N didn’t notice. She just smirked, tilting her head.

Clark recovered, grinning. “So that’s a no.”

Y/N gasped, grabbing his hand before he could react. “Oh, you’re getting it now.”

She pulled him onto the dance floor, placing his hands on her waist and setting hers on his shoulders.

Clark chuckled. “You sure you can keep up, songbird?”

Y/N smirked. “Watch me.”

And to her credit, she did.

They moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music. For a moment, everything else—the festival, the games, the world—faded into the background.

It was just them, bathed in golden light.

Clark looked down at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Y/N swallowed.

Then—

“I still think you should’ve done the pie-eating contest.”

Clark groaned.

Y/N just laughed, leaning into him as they danced.

As the last notes of the song faded and the dancing came to an end, Y/N and Clark reluctantly pulled apart. Clark, still feeling the warmth of her touch lingering on his shoulders, stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck, a little dazed. Y/N, on the other hand, beamed at him like she’d just won a bet.

“You dance better than I expected, farm boy,” she teased.

Clark smirked. “And you’re not as bad as I thought, songbird.”

Before she could retort, a familiar voice interrupted.

“There you two are.”

Martha and Jonathan approached, their faces alight with warmth and amusement. Jonathan clapped Clark on the back while Martha looped an arm around Y/N, squeezing her affectionately.

“You both looked wonderful out there,” Martha praised.

Jonathan grinned. “I don’t know, Martha. I think Clark was just trying to keep up.”

Clark gave him a flat look while Y/N stifled a giggle. Before Clark could defend himself, the festival’s emcee, Mayor Dawson, took to the stage, tapping the microphone.

“Alright, folks, I hope you all had a fantastic evening so far. Now, before we close out the night, it’s time to reveal the final donation amount for our farmers’ fund.”

Applause rang through the festival grounds as people gathered in front of the stage, eager to hear the total.

Mayor Dawson shuffled his papers, clearing his throat. “As you all know, every year, this festival raises money to support our hard working local farmers, ensuring they have the resources they need to keep their farms running. And I have to say, this year’s been one for the books.”

The crowd murmured in anticipation.

The mayor adjusted his glasses, squinting down at the paper in front of him. “Now, uh… let’s see here. Our initial goal was to match last year’s record of $30,000.”

A wave of cheers rippled through the audience.

Mayor Dawson continued, “And thanks to the generosity of our wonderful community, we had already surpassed that goal earlier in the night. But then, folks…” He paused, blinking rapidly as if he had to double-check what he was reading.

“…We received a last-minute anonymous donation,” he said, voice cracking slightly.

Clark frowned, sensing something was off.

Mayor Dawson shook his head in disbelief. “Which brought our grand total to…” He took a deep breath before reading the number aloud.

“One million, thirty-one thousand, nine hundred and forty-three dollars.”

Silence.

Then—

A loud gasp.

A few people coughed.

Someone dropped their drink.

Martha grabbed Jonathan’s arm.

The mayor removed his glasses, looking up at the stunned crowd. “Folks, I thought this was a typo at first. But I’ve double-checked the numbers, and it’s real. It’s real.”

The festival grounds erupted.

People cheered, clapped, and whooped, hugging each other in disbelief. Farmers wiped at their eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of support. It wasn’t just a record-breaking amount—it was life-changing.

And amidst the chaos, the Kents all turned to one person.

Y/N, standing there with her hands in her pockets, looking around innocently.

Clark narrowed his eyes.

Martha’s lips twitched.

Jonathan crossed his arms.

Y/N blinked at them, feigning confusion. “What?”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Y/N.”

“I swear I didn’t do it,” she said, shaking her head. “But whoever did? Hot. I hope they’re single.”

Jonathan scoffed. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean,” she continued, pressing a hand to her heart. “What an incredible and mysterious person. So generous. So selfless. Imagine being that amazing.”

Clark gave her a look.

Y/N pointed at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? I am just as confused as you are.”

Martha chuckled. “Honey.”

Y/N turned to her, all wide eyes and innocence. “Martha, please. I would’ve made sure everyone knew it if it were me.”

Jonathan threw his hands in the air. “That’s your argument?”

“I would make sure they were building a statue of me right about now” Y/N mused. She nudged Clark. “Come on, Clark, you believe me, right?”

Clark crossed his arms. “Not even a little.”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “I see how it is. Framed for a crime I didn’t commit. This is slander.”

Clark rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. He knew Y/N well enough by now to recognize when she was full of it—and she was absolutely full of it. But looking at her now, at the way she was watching the overjoyed families in the crowd, the way her lips curled into something soft and almost shy, he knew she wasn’t in it for the credit.

She just wanted to help.

And for that, Clark felt his chest tighten, just a little.

Martha, sensing the moment, squeezed Y/N’s hand. “Whoever they are, they changed lives tonight.”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Guess they did. Can we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

The mayor was still talking, still reeling, but Y/N let the noise of the festival wash over her. The air was crisp, the sky was painted deep indigo, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something solid beneath her feet. This town—this ridiculous, warm, stubborn little town—had given her a place to breathe. 

–

The drive back to the Kent farm was quiet, the comfortable kind of quiet that only settled after a night full of warmth and laughter. The scent of caramel and bonfire smoke still clung to Y/N’s jacket, and the last of her ice cream was melting in the cup holder. She licked the caramel off her spoon as Clark pulled into the driveway, putting the truck in park.

“I still can’t believe you made us stop for ice cream,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Y/N swung her door open and hopped down, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Clark. I have the means. I will abuse them for snacks.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing the ice cream cup before it could topple onto the seat. “Yeah, I noticed.”

The house was dark when they stepped inside, and the Kents wished Clark and Y/N a goodnight. Don’t stay up too late. Love you both.

Y/N turned to Clark with a grin. “They love me.”

Clark let out a fond exhale, shaking his head as he flicked off the kitchen light. “Upstairs. Now.”

They trudged up to Clark’s room—their room, really, considering how natural Y/N’s presence seemed. Y/N changed into one of Clark’s old shirts without asking, and by the time he turned back around, she was already sprawled on his side of the bed, scrolling on her phone, that ridiculous cow plushie perched next to her. 

Clark crossed his arms. “Move.”

She barely glanced up. “Nah.”

He grabbed her ankle and dragged her over.

Y/N cackled, rolling onto her stomach as Clark settled in beside her, throwing the blanket over both of them.

Silence stretched, the kind laced with the hum of crickets and the soft rustling of trees outside. The night air was cool through the open window, carrying the last traces of autumn warmth. Clark turned onto his side, resting his head on his arm as he looked at her.

“So,” he said casually. “You wanna tell me why you donated a million dollars to Smallville?”

Y/N’s fingers froze mid-scroll.

She sighed, dramatically slow, and rolled onto her back. “Ugh. Fine.” She turned her head toward him. “Was it too little?”

Clark blinked. “What?”

She shrugged. “I could’ve given more, y’know. But I thought I’d keep it lowkey. Didn’t wanna be obnoxious about it.”

Clark just stared. “Lowkey?”

Y/N waved a hand. “It’s chill, Clark. I didn’t even buy a yacht this year, my account books are fine.”

Clark let out a strangled breath. “You own a yacht?”

“I own several things, try to keep up.”

Clark just gaped at her, half-wondering if he’d fallen into some alternate reality where this was a normal conversation. “You donated a million dollars and you’re acting like you just picked up the tab for dinner.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, watching him carefully now. The humor was still there, but it had softened at the edges. “You knew me before all this,” she said, quieter. “Back when I was just some kid trying to survive in Metropolis.”

Clark stilled.

“I was dying for someone to be kind to me back then,” she admitted, her voice steady but distant, like she was speaking to the ceiling more than to him. “I remember nights where I had nothing, where I was exhausted and hungry and—” she exhaled, shaking her head. “Now, I have everything I ever dreamed of. More than I ever thought I’d get. So I don’t really see the point in hoarding that kind of money when it could actually help someone.”

Clark didn’t say anything right away, just watched her. He could still see that girl in her—the one who had played her guitar in subway stations, who had fought to make a life for herself with sheer determination and talent.

She huffed, flopping back onto the pillow. “Besides, I had to help the farms,” she added, grinning now. “Your dad looks too good carrying hay.”

Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

“I mean, have you seen him?”

“I am not discussing my dad’s hay-carrying skills.”

“Missed opportunity, honestly.”

Clark let out a slow, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what all my accountants say.”

He exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, still processing everything. Y/N had always been generous—he had seen it in the way she cared for people, even when she had nothing. This was just another version of that.

His chest ached with something he didn’t quite have a name for.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N glanced at him. “For what?”

“For caring,” he said simply. “For doing this.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ew, get outta here with that sincerity, Kent.”

Clark huffed, reaching over to flick her forehead.

She swatted at his hand, laughing, before burrowing deeper under the covers. “Alright, alright, let’s go to sleep. I need my beauty rest. Gotta stay hot in case I ever need to marry rich.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that’s your biggest concern.”

“Exactly. See, you get me.”

Clark just sighed, shutting his eyes as he settled in. “God help us all.”

–

The last evening in Smallville was painted in gold.

The barn smelled like sun-warmed wood and old hay, the kind of scent that had settled into its bones long before Clark was born. A soft breeze filtered through the open window of the loft, carrying with it the distant rustle of wheat fields stretching toward the horizon.

Y/N stood near the ledge, wrapped in his flannel, her arms folded over herself as she gazed out at the sunset. The sleeves swallowed her hands, the fabric loose and worn in a way that made it feel like she had always belonged here. Like she had always fit.

Clark leaned against the railing a few feet away, watching her take it all in.

“Well?” he asked, voice light. “Smallville’s finest barn. What’s the verdict?”

Y/N exhaled, shifting her weight onto one foot. “It’s… barn-y.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh. “Insightful.”

“No, but really,” she added, tilting her head. “It’s kind of nice up here. Peaceful. Feels… steady.”

Clark nodded, gaze flickering toward the window. The view was one he’d seen a thousand times before—the golden fields stretching far beyond the farmhouse, bathed in the last of the evening light. It was home. Had always been home.

Y/N leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows against the wood. “I think my favorite color is yellow now.”

Clark turned, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

She hummed in confirmation, her fingers tapping against the ledge. “I never really had one before. Used to say blue because it sounded cool. But…” She glanced back toward the farmhouse, the yellow panels glowing soft and warm under the fading sun. “Yellow feels different.”

Clark followed her gaze, looking at the house that had been a constant in his life. The way the light hit it now made it look golden, like something untouched by time.

“To me,” Y/N continued, voice softer now, “yellow feels safe.”

Clark turned to agree, to say he understood, but the words caught in his throat.

Because Y/N—standing there, bathed in the last of the evening light—was glowing.

Not in the figurative sense. Not in the way people described something ethereal or breathtaking. She was literally glowing, her skin catching the reflection of the sun, turning into something impossibly golden. The light curled around her like it belonged to her, soft and warm, like the earth had decided to make her part of the sunset.

And for the first time, Clark understood.

Yellow.

Yellow was gold.

And gold was her.

That’s why it felt like home.

Clark swallowed, something heavy and unfamiliar settling in his chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than before.

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze lingering on her. “Yellow feels like home.”

Y/N turned then, catching him looking, but she didn’t say anything—just offered him a small, knowing smile. The kind that made something deep inside him crack just a little.

Clark forced himself to look away, to focus on the horizon, but it was too late.

The colour had already settled beneath his ribs.

--

a/n: who was gonna tell me you cant post over 17k words on tumblr.... i cut like half this chapter out

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 7 - I wanna be in love

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate class.

Word Count: 3.9K ish

TWs: Possessive kink, dollification if you squint, Elvis is a little dominant, praise kink, use of Daddy in a sexual context, fingering, p in v sex, erectile dysfunction, crying, self-esteem issues.

Elvis spends the rest of the week living in Tegan’s apartment, trying to do something to keep it tidy and also trying to cook them both dinner. He burns a lot of things and ends up ordering a lot of deliveries, but she finds the fact that he keeps trying to do things for her that he’s never had to do for himself incredibly endearing. Elvis likes being in the apartment. It’s harder to feel lonely in a place so much smaller than Graceland, and he looks forward to Tegan coming home from work every day. He buys her little gifts to make up for the terrible food and also for the time when he did a load of washing and somehow managed to dye all of her white clothes pale pink. He reads and sometimes he calls Jerry, who he’s been missing lately and who he wants to update on his relationship more than anyone, for some reason. Maybe he’s trying to give the other man hope for the future, as he goes through what sounds like a messy divorce. Elvis empathises, more than he thinks his friend really realises. 

It’s Friday, and Elvis hears the clunk of the door and rushes to greet Tegan.

“Hey baby. Good day at work?” 

He already has his arms around her and is kissing her neck before she’s even got her shoes off. 

She giggles. “Yes, thanks. Tiring, but good.”

“Thought ya were never comin’ home.”

“Sorry, the session dragged on longer than expected.” She looks around the apartment. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning,” he replies, proudly. “Cleaned the kitchen. Mopped the floor.”

She turns her head and puts a hand up to stroke his cheek. “You’re getting to be such a good little house husband, ‘raur,” she teases. 

He growls in her ear, squeezing her and tickling her and making her squeal and laugh at the same time. “Don’tcha go tellin’ anyone about this. I’ve gotta reputation to live up ta.”

“I promise. I’ll tell them you just laze around all day, when you’re not having sex with supermodels.”

He sniggers. “It’s not lazin’, it’s post-coital recovery time.”

“Exactly.”

They look at one another for a moment and then he leans down and kisses her thoroughly.

“Gotcha a gift, baby.” 

Letting her go, he walks over to the kitchen counter, picking up the fancy bag there and handing it to her. 

“Of course you did, it’s a day with a y in it,” she replies. He pouts and plays at looking dejected, and she kisses him again. “I’m teasing. You know I love presents.”

“Presents,” he repeats, mimicking her accent. “Presents for Queenie.”

She puts the bag down and launches herself at him, telling him off for making fun of her whilst poking and tickling him. He laughs, easily fending her off for a while, but the more she tells him to stop taking the piss out of her accent the funnier he finds it, and he ends up giggling helplessly on the sofa, with her on top of him tickling him and making it worse. 

“Please… please… ahhh... I surrender!” 

She laughs and flops down onto his chest, both of them exhausted and breathing heavily. 

“Ya gonna open them?” He asks, when he’s got his breath back.

She sits up, half on his lap and half on the sofa. “Depends. Are you going to keep taking the piss out of me?”

Elvis bites his lip, sniggering and trying really hard not to make a comment about what she’d just said. “N-no, honey. I uh… I’ll keep quiet.”

“You better.”

He grins as he watches her get up and walk over to the bag. She’s wearing one of her work outfits, a brightly patterned blouse and a form-fitting pencil skirt, and he can’t help wishing that the apartment was wider so that he could watch her walking away from him for a little longer. 

“You looking at my arse, Mr. Presley?” She asks, walking back with the bag now. 

“Guilty as charged, ma’am.”

She snorts, sitting back down next to him and pulling two large boxes out of the bag. They’re both from a fancy clothes boutique, and she opens the first one to a sea of gold material. Finding spaghetti straps she decides it’s probably a dress, and lifts it up by them to get a better look at it. 

“For ya to wear tomorrow,” he says as she stares at it. 

“I thought it was just a casual barbeque?” 

The dress looks like something a disney princess would wear, with an asymmetrical skirt made of layers of gauzy golden material. 

“Yer my Queenie, so ya have to dress like one.” He smiles and kisses her. “Ya want a crown too? I bet I could get Lowell to make ya one.”

She giggles. “I don’t need a crown. Elvis, this is too much. This is something to wear to a fancy dinner, not a barbeque with Lisa and Maria and Sonny.”

He shakes his head. “I said yer wearin’ it, so yer wearin’ it.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she replies, a teasing smile on her lips. 

His hand reaches for the necklace she’s wearing, holding the diamond-encrusted initials between his fingers. “Think ya know I am.”

She blushes, looking down at his fingers around the letters and squeezing her thighs together. He notices immediately and smirks, letting the necklace go and lightly slapping the side of her thigh. 

“C’mon. Open the other one.”

Putting the first box to the side, she pulls the lid off the second one. A gold bikini. She should’ve known. 

“Elvis it’s gorgeous, but…”

His hand, which had been resting on the outside of her thigh, shifts a little and gives her leg another firm slap. 

“Uh-uh. No. Yer wearin’ it under that dress. No arguments.”

She looks up into his bright blue eyes as they stare back at her. He looks deadly serious, but she can’t help pushing him a little. 

“I hope you’re going to be wearing something a bit nicer than this then.” She tugs at the sleeve of his tracksuit top. 

“Oooh woman! Do not test me!” He’s laughing a little at first, as he grabs her and pushes her onto the sofa cushions, rolling himself on top and pinning her beneath him. But then his face changes to complete seriousness. “I will wear whatever I goddamn please, and you will wear whatever I tell ya.” Her heart thumps in her chest and blood rushes in her ears as she stares back at him. 

The seriousness lasts for all of five seconds and then his mouth falls into that cute lopsided grin and his eyes shine with amusement. “I’m kiddin’, darlin’. But I think you’ll look damn good in that bikini and that dress. And I’ll wear somethin’ decent. Got my whole closet at home to choose from.”

She nods, her heart racing.

“You okay, baby?”

She blushes a deeper red and puts a hand over her eyes. “I kind of enjoyed that.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmmm.”

“So you’d like it if I told ya that ya had to wear those clothes? And I want yer nails painted to match?”

She nods, hand still over her eyes. “I kind of enjoyed the way you said it, too.” She bites her lip and cringes a little at her own words. He quite often played with being possessive in bed, telling her that her pussy belonged to him and he could have it whenever he wanted, but this was a bit different. This was something she didn’t know she liked.

Elvis smirks a little at how coy she’s being. He gently takes her hand off her face and gives her a reassuring kiss. Then he shifts so he can push her skirt up, briefly noticing her panties as he pushes them to the side and slides his fingers against her. She definitely had been enjoying it.

“You’re gonna wear what I tell you to,” he hisses, voice low and menacing in her ear. “No more arguments.”

His middle finger slides inside her, curling around and making her cry out. “Oh!”

“You’re gonna wear that goddamn dress tomorrow to the barbeque. I want you ta look good for me.”

His finger pumps in and out of her steadily. She whimpers.

“What’s ‘at?”

“Mmm. Yes. Yes I’m going to wear it.”

“Good girl.”

Tegan can hear her own breath coming out in little pants as she closes her eyes, feeling another finger pushing inside her alongside the first. 

“I don’t like these panties.”

Her eyes spring open again and she looks at him, nervously. “S-sorry,” she mumbles, her head spinning, trying to remember which ones she put on this morning. 

“Get rid of ‘em. I only want ya in matching sets.” His voice is low and even and his face is deadly serious, none of his usual smirking and joking and teasing. He’s enjoying himself though, watching the look on her face and feeling the way her body is reacting to him, her hips bucking into his hand. 

She closes her eyes, half-afraid of his serious expression, half turned on by it. She feels his fingers gripping her cheeks and opens them again. 

“You listenin’ ta me?” His tone is harsh and she nods quickly. 

“Y-yes. I won’t wear them again, I’ll throw them away.”

“Yes, what?” He asks, then presses his lips to her ear. “I know ya wanna call me somethin’, baby,” he murmurs, in an entirely softer tone. 

She’d nearly slipped up a couple of times when they were in bed together, responding “yes, d…Elvis…” and even murmuring “daddy” once, so quietly that he’d almost missed it. Her husband had been a little older, and she’d liked to call him that in bed sometimes. But she wasn’t sure how Elvis would feel about it, especially not after all of the stuff that had been written in the paper about their respective ages. So she’d tried to hold back, sticking to her Welsh pet names for him. But he’d obviously figured it out and now it seems like he wants her to say it. 

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers. 

He growls, pushing her legs back and thrusting his fingers in and out of her harder and faster. She throws her head back and moans. He feels his dick hard in his pants at the same time as she is soaking wet and ready for him, and he doesn’t want to miss his opportunity. They’d fooled around a few more times since the disastrous attempt at Graceland, but she was never quite relaxed or turned on enough and he usually ended up losing his erection mid-way through. 

He hurriedly pulls his sweatpants down along with his boxer shorts, sliding his fingers back out of her as he pumps himself a few times with one hand. Her senses are still reeling, and so she doesn’t realise what’s happening until he starts to push inside her, stretching her so much it hurts a little. 

“Ow. Elvis!”

He looks up quickly, just about managing to pause what he’s doing and praying it doesn’t mean he’s about to lose his erection again. 

“Rub your dick on me, get it wetter.” Tegan knows she’s not really supposed to be telling him what to do right now, but that feels closer to penetration than anything that they’d done before, and she knows he just needs a little more lube. 

He grunts, pulling the tip back out of her and continuing his silent prayers about staying hard. Pulling her panties off and throwing them across the room, he pushes her legs back again and exposes her pussy, groaning at the way it’s glistening with her wetness. They both moan at the sensation of him rubbing himself against her, his foreskin moving back and forth on her puffy clit, desperate for stimulation. 

He huffs out a loud breath. 

“That’s enough,” he says, half to himself but also in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Yer mine and I wanna fuck you.”

She whines at his words and then at his dick pushing inside her, this time making it past the head, the whole shaft sliding inside until his balls rest against her skin. She’s whimpering at how full she feels, and he just stays there for a moment, as the two of them stare at one another in something like disbelief. 

She props herself up on her elbows so she can look him right in the eye. 

“Please fuck me, Daddy.” 

The sofa is not the easiest place to have sex, and his knees slip every so often as he starts to thrust in and out of her. He grabs hold of the back of it for balance and although it’s deep he starts to worry a bit about falling off. Eventually she flops onto her back and holds her arms out for him, so he lays on top of her, kissing her needily as his hips jut into hers and her legs wrap around his waist. 

“Does it feel good?” He asks, between kisses. 

“Mmm. Yes. Really good. You?”

He nods, breathlessly. “Damn good.” His eyes close in pleasure and he buries his face in her neck. 

He starts to try and speed up his thrusts but the sofa cushions start sliding out, unbalancing both of them. 

“Ah, fuck.”

He pauses and they look at one another, both a little sweaty, their foreheads pressed together. 

“You think we can move to the bedroom?” She asks. 

“Think we’ll have ta try.”

They kiss a little more and then Elvis gets up, slowly pulling out, going back to his silent prayers. They shed their clothes as quickly as they can on their way to the bedroom, until they’re both naked in the bed. Elvis looks down and sighs. 

“Think that was one step too far fer the little guy.”

Tegan bursts out laughing. She finds Elvis’ tendency to talk about his dick like it’s its own person absolutely hilarious. 

“Well you laughin’ at him won’t help any, honey.” He frowns. 

“I’m laughing at you, not your dick.”

“Hmmm.” He tries to look annoyed but he can barely hold in his own amusement. 

“Let’s see if we can, er, perk him up a bit,” she says, wrapping her hand around Little Elvis and starting to work him up and down. “Think he liked it when you were kinda bossy to me, earlier.”

“Mmm.” Elvis’ hand strokes her side. “I think he did too.” He thinks for a moment. She’s naked now, so he can’t really say things about her clothes anymore, and he’s done her outfit for tomorrow. He always liked his girls to have nice hair and nails in the past though, and keep them done for him. Maybe that would work. 

“Don’t think yer keepin’ yerself lookin’ good enough fer me, are ya?” He begins.

Her eyes go wide, wondering what he means. “I-I don’t know. I try to look nice…” she trails off, a little unsure. 

He puts his hand in her hair and pulls it a little. “I want you in the salon every week so yer hair’s lookin’ real pretty for me at the weekend.”

She nods, rushing out a quick, “yes, Daddy,” when he looks stern. She feels him start to get harder in her hand again and pumps a little faster. 

“An’ no chips in yer nails,” he continues. “Can’t have ya goin’ round, lookin’ a mess.”

She can hear herself whimpering again, knowing his words are making her wet even as she worries a little that he does think she’s a mess and she’s not really pretty enough to be on his arm. 

His erection is back so he pulls her hand off his dick, knocking her onto her back and pushing her legs up. Continuing to grip her hand in his, he holds it up so he can examine her fingernails. He shakes his head, giving a low whistle and letting her hand drop back down onto the bed. 

“Ya better get those fixed fer tomorrow.”

He lines himself up and pushes inside her again, this time in one movement, making her groan and her eyes roll back in her head. 

“Ya hear me, little girl?”

She nods quickly. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll get them fixed. Ohhhh.”

He starts to move and now he’s on a mattress and not a sofa he goes hard and fast straight away. Holding onto her thigh with one hand and rubbing her clit with the other he pounds into her. Watching as her breasts bounce with every thrust and loving the feeling of her pussy hugging him tightly, he tries to pay attention to her movements, her breathing, her little tells. Wanting to know when she’s close. 

“Whose pussy is this, baby?” He asks, panting, feeling his own release starting to build as he sees her hands grasping at the bedding and balling into fists. 

“Yours, Daddy,” she moans back. 

“Good girl. Cum for Daddy.”

His thumb rubs her clit more firmly as he carries on his assault on her pussy, his orgasm right at the base of his dick now. As she arches her back she feels him hit somewhere inside her that makes her want to scream, and the combination of that and the way he’s touching her with his thumb is finally enough to trigger waves of pleasure washing over her as she cums. Feeling herself let go completely, the noises that fall from her mouth may as well be screams as her walls squeeze and squeeze and tip Elvis over the edge too, making him cum hard and deep inside her. He cries out in ecstasy, falling on top of her, and the two of them lie there together, dizzy with pleasure.

When he finally feels like he can move again, he rolls off her and pulls her into his arms. She puts an arm and a leg around him too, cuddling up close. 

“That was incredible. Baby, we did it!”

She buries her face in his chest. “I can’t believe it,” she mumbles into his skin. 

“Ya had a good time?” He asks, suddenly worried that her response isn’t quite as enthusiastic as he was expecting. 

“Mmm. Yeah, it was amazing.”

He strokes her back. “But?”

There’s a long pause, where she tries to work out what to say, how to phrase it so she doesn’t sound silly. Eventually she just looks up, shyly, and says, “do you think I look a mess?”

Elvis blinks, wondering why she’s asking, and then realises what he’d said to her earlier.

“Oh, no, honey. I think ya look beautiful, all the time,” he tells her, his hand on her face. “But I do kinda wanna show ya off…” he pauses, looking for her reaction. “I mean, I want people ta be blown away by ya.”

“Hmmmm.” She nibbles on her lower lip and digs her fingers into his chest hair. “So you meant what you said?”

He frowns. She’d definitely said she wanted him to talk like that to her, and now she seemed to be going back on it. “I’d never force ya ta do anythin’ ya didn’t want, honey. You don’t wanna wear that dress tomorrow, that’s up ta you. I was only playin’ coz ya said ya liked it. I don’t wanna upset ya.”

Tegan leans her head back down on his chest and sighs. She doesn’t know what she wants. She definitely enjoyed herself in the heat of the moment but now she’s scared again that he’s pretending she’s pretty. 

“What’s a matter, honey?” Elvis’ voice is low and gentle, and he accompanies the question with patterns traced on her back by his fingertips.

She lets out a long breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding in. 

“You could be with someone much prettier than me. And… and now especially after…” she swallows and tries to collect herself and not cry. “...you… you’re going to find someone else.” Her shoulders shake and she finds herself crying anyway, the intensity of her orgasm and the feeling of closeness she’d shared with Elvis making her suddenly feel vulnerable and afraid. 

Elvis’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Hang on a minute…” he tips her face back up towards him and sees it streaked with tears. “What makes ya think I want anyone else? Ya think I’m gonna do yer laundry, cook yer dinners and mop yer kitchen floor and then go find someone else? Why would I do that?”

Tegan wipes her face a little. “Well let’s be honest now, you didn’t really successfully make much dinner.”

He pulls her up his body so that their foreheads are pressed together again. “I’ve never even tried ta make a woman dinner before you.”

She looks at him for a moment and then starts to cry again. 

“Oh baby,” he wraps both arms around her, holding her close. “What’s wrong?”

“Think you only wanted me because I didn’t care about your dick. And now we’ve had sex you’re just going to leave.”

She tries to roll off him again in embarrassment, but he holds onto her tightly, one hand on the back of her head and the other splayed across her back. 

“Tegan bach,” he begins, firmly. “I wanted you before I knew ya didn’t care about it, and after I knew, and I still want ya now, more than ever. It’s not like ya magically fixed me and now I’m on my way to fuck a bunch of supermodels. We’ve got somethin’ special here. Don’tcha think?”

“Y-yes. That’s why I’m a-afraid to l-lose it,” she sniffs. 

He kisses her gently on the mouth. “I’m sorry I ran away from ya so many times before, an’ fucked this up so many times, an’ ya had to wait fer me ta grow up and realise what I’ve got here. But I’m not goin’ anywhere now. I promise.”

She sniffs again and nods, although she’s still afraid. 

“Let’s dry these tears on this pretty little face, hm? See if ya can gimme a smile.” She moves so he can wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He kisses the end of her nose, making her smile slightly. 

“I went ta the store earlier,” he pauses for a minute to reflect and then changes his sentence. “Well, that’s not exactly true. Mary went ta the store fer me, an’ I asked her ta get ingredients for cottage pie.”

“Oh did you?” Tegan is smiling a little more now. “And what are you planning on doing with those then?”

“I was plannin’ on makin’ my Queenie dinner.”

“Well that sounds nice.”

She can almost see him thinking, like he desperately wants to ask her to help him, so it doesn’t end up burnt with lumpy mash, but he also really wants to save face. She decides to put him out of his misery.

“Do you want a glamorous assistant?”

He breathes a sigh of relief at her suggestion. “Fuck yes.”

They both giggle together again and Elvis looks at her lovingly. How she could think he’d want anyone else is beyond him, but he thinks he’ll have to keep showing her how much she means to him. He sits up and looks around for his clothes. The first step of that is making her an edible dinner. 

***

Part 8

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

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[galvanizedfriend]

Fic Update: Speed Dating [4/4]

Roomates!AU. Friends to lovers. Rom-Com Vibes. AH/AU Klaus is having a bad month, so Caroline decides it's a great idea to drag him along to a round of Speed Dating. Other men in the room do not approve. (That's how it starts, anyway) --

Caroline doesn't see Elijah again for the next two days. Whatever has brought him to town, he either glides through the apartment like a ghost or their schedules are totally at odds. If not for the extravagantly tailored wool coat hanging by the door and what Caroline has quickly learned is a very distinctive brand of grumpiness on Klaus, she might have thought he'd already left.

Fate seems to be sparing her the embarrassment of coming face to face with him again after that first encounter, and it's probably for the best. But curiosity gnaws at her like an unscratchable itch. Elijah has intrigued her for years, far more than any of Klaus' other siblings. Finally putting a face - well, a little more than a face - to the name was satisfying, but it has fueled her desire to know more.

The Mikaelsons carry an enigmatic allure, a heady mix of glamor and mystery that is equal parts magnetic and intimidating. Despite living with one and being friends with another, the family remains a riddle to Caroline. The more she learns, the murkier it gets. It's maddening. Nothing about them makes sense. Caroline can't even decide if they have a deep dislike for each other or love one another to unhealthy degrees.

After two days, though, she's just about lost hope of bumping into Elijah again. She doubts he'll be staying for much longer, especially with Klaus' cordial show of hospitality. Not that Elijah seemed bothered - being caustic to siblings for no apparent reason seems to be one of those things that are normal by Mikaelson standards. It's just how they operate.

She is mindlessly scrolling through Instagram after yet another grueling shift at the hospital, waiting for the microwave to deliver her sad leftover dinner. Her feed is embarrassingly weak. It's been ages since she even posted anything new. Her last photo was taken on a night out with Tyler, for crying out loud. Should she even keep it there? What's the proper etiquette for when you break up with someone for no earth-shattering reasons, the relationship just fizzling out and running its course? Is it rude to delete all evidence of him from her social media? Is it expected? Would he even care?

Has he deleted her from his feed?

Come to think of it... Is Tyler even seeing anyone? Read the final chapter here

--

Can't believe I'm starting out my years by actually finishing something. 🤧 After 100 years of pain, it's finally done. If anyone still remembers what this is, I hope you enjoy it! Beware of the smut! As always, your comments/kudos/reblogs are very much appreciated and help to feed the monster who should be working but is writing fic instead. Happy 2025, folks! ✨

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Chapter Index - Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

[desiresiwant]

Something About You Chapter Three

pairing: Seth Clearwater X Black!OC

word count: 3.1k~

summary: Seth Clearwater finally imprints on Diamond Hicks, someone who just isn’t looking love. While she struggles with her feelings and promises, Seth struggles to find a balance between his new and old self so he can become the wolf his imprint needs.

a/n: Sorry for the late ass update, though all have been warned this fic has slow updates. Didn’t expect it to take this long but it happens. Just a pallet cleanser to write for fun until my main ones are completed, but I do have majority of the fic outlined. This chapter was longer than expected so I split it. 2nd update coming tomorrow. If there’s a warning I skipped that’s addressed in the SAY (something about you) Masterlist, let me know. And let me know what you think !

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

Chapter Three | Without A Doubt, I’m Doubtful

La Push, Washington | February 9, 2024

        𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗗𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 Seth needed to carefully plan out before dropping everything for Seattle by sunrise, as the little voice in his head kept pushing him to do. This was his first official responsibility that was bigger than the pack, one that adultized him more than the little boy everyone perceived him as. 

        He knew there was much to improve and was willing to do that and more, but not with this weighing heavily on his mind. 

        Leah was spotted outside their childhood home dragging packed luggages to the trunk of her car as Seth arrived home. The house now belonged to her after their mother moved in with Charlie soon after their engagement. They both agreed not to go all out for the wedding and wanted to keep it small despite their guest list exceeding their expectations. The ceremony was held in Charlie’s backyard. Filled with vampires and shifters forcing themselves to get along for one night.

        Though Seth had a room at Charlie’s and have crashed there a few times, he chose to stay at his childhood home. It was closer to the pack and most familiar.

        Seth rushed to grab the other two suitcases on the porch and handed them off. “Thanks,” Leah took them with ease without breaking a sweat and placed them carefully on top of each other in the back seat. By the looks of them stuffed like burritos, it would’ve been heavy for the average human though it was nothing for either of them.

        “Going somewhere?” Seth asked the obvious, but her leaving wasn’t discussed prior like usual.

        “Oh, yeah. Simone’s going on a business trip to Thailand and I’m her plus one. It was originally a week-long affair, but we added an extra week to do our own thing with Valentine's Day around the corner.” She closed the door behind her, standing like a child who’d been caught with her hands shoved deep in her sweat pockets. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you since it was super last minute on my end. At least you got here before we left so I can tell you now.”

        It was no surprise Leah would follow her imprint and wife, Simone, around the world. Whenever they’re countries away due to the demands of Simone’s job, Seth was forced to endure Leah’s snappy mood swings and late-night sappy moments wishing their distance was closer.

        Simone worked as a marketing consultant. Her office was based in Seattle but was able to work from home the majority of the time. She had been talking about this project for a while about some collaboration overseas to bring their products into the US market, and often stayed up late running off days-old coffee perfecting her appeal. Seth believed in her though. Her talent, determination, and endless creativity was something he admired and wouldn’t replace her with anyone else.

        “You’ll be okay by yourself though, right? You don’t need me to pick up some night lights or call every night to be sure there’s no monsters in the house like old times?” Leah teased her brother with ancient memories from when he was ten and was afraid of the dark since watching that one scary zombie movie their dad told him not to watch. It was all everyone would talk about around the time and he felt excluded from their conversations and watched it anyway. Big mistake.

        Fear of the dark lasted for another two years until he learned to face the fear himself. The movie was a core memory and would forever hold up space in his head.

        “Ha ha. Very funny.” Seth shrugged off her hand that patted his shoulder. “I’ll be fine just like always. It’s you who’ll need me to call every night.”

        “Just to check in and make sure the house isn’t on fire.” She admitted with humor on her tongue, though she was very much serious. 

        “I’m an adult. I can look after myself. No need for unnecessary daily check-ins.”  Seth bit back which Leah didn’t seem to mind and playfully elbowed his chest to lighten the mood.

        “You’ll always be my responsibility no matter your age. Besides, no one protects you better than me.”

        Though it was true and Leah would forever be his protector, Seth didn’t come here for that. He grew anxious the longer he prolonged the conversation, and even debated whether he should wait until after they returned from Thailand or never bring it up. It wouldn’t be fair on them. Leah would kill him, plus he needed her guidance. 

        The second he gained enough courage to speak out, Leah turned her back to him. She noticed one of the bag strings was sticking out from the back car door. Sweat gathered in Seth’s palms and his eyes squeezed shut as he fought again to talk himself out of backing out. 

        Just do it, Seth. Just get it over and done with. 

        “I imprinted.” Seth blurted with his eyes still shut. 

        He peeked open an eye when silence filled the void. Leah immediately stopped what she was doing and spun back around with her eyes nearly bulging out the sockets. She appeared more confused than surprised, studying Seth as if trying to figure out if he was bullshitting her or not. 

        “Oh,” it didn’t sound as exciting as Seth expected. “Oh, wow, you’re not lying. When was this?”

        “Not too long ago. Maybe twenty or forty minutes ago, but it feels like seconds.”

        “Oh.”

        Seth went on to introduce the little information he knew about Diamond, including the fact she lived in Seattle and attended U.W. The crease between her brows deepened as more information was revealed about his imprint, further confirming the truth of this blessing she seemed hesitant about. 

        “Oh,” she said again while crossing her arms with no care for wrinkling her white V-neck t-shirt. 

        Seth kissed his teeth with annoyance. “Can you say anything other than ‘oh’? There’s already a lot on my mind and you’re just adding to it. If you’re not happy for me, at least pretend to be.”

        “O-of course, I am. I’m over the moon happy for you. It’s just—” Leah shook away her thoughts and threw her arms around his body, pulling him into a hug that best expressed her current emotions. “Wow. I knew this moment would come eventually, but I never thought it would be now. My little brother, an imprinted wolf. Sucks you won’t depend on me anymore now there’s someone else depending on you.”

        “I’ll always be Seth.” He hugged her tighter. “Your brother. Your responsibility. I’ll always need you. That never changes no matter what.”

        Seth understood the burden Leah was forced to carry after their dad died. Having to pick everyone up while also struggling to piece herself together was far too much for her to handle. And on top of that, dealt with a horrible heartbreak that left its stamp on the pack. The guilt each of them carried, especially Leah, made her overly protective of Seth and their mom. She promised never to lose anyone dear to her again.

        It was also the perfect distraction when her ex-fiancé and alpha of the Uley pack, Sam, imprinted on their cousin Emily. 

        It took a toll on Leah’s mental health. Everything within the reservation even down to the mind-link was a trigger—constant vivid displays of their puppy love, their constant suffocating presence, and endless apologies. There was only so much a strong woman like Leah could take until she had enough. Until she was willing to risk her safety as a lone wolf and left the reservation to live with a friend in L.A. 

        Nearly radio silent until the wedding and arrived with Simone, her wife. The second recorded imprint between the same sex and the quickest marriage amongst the pack. The first same-sex imprint was Quil’s great-grandfathers. Anything beyond them hadn’t been passed down or simply forgotten.

        Leah hinted before—whenever she remembered she had a phone and very worried family members who needed to hear from her to know that she was alive—that she met someone new but never explicitly stated she’d imprinted. It’s possible she couldn’t believe it either like it was too good to be true. She probably thought something was wrong with her for imprinting on a woman rather than a man, though she’d always been open to both ideas if it worked out.

        She loved telling the story of how it happened. She was heading back to her tiny shared apartment after a long shift where a drunk woman entered the same elevator as her. She wore a black long-sleeved sequin dress with a birthday stash dangling off her shoulders. Her naturally thick hair curling at the roots after long hours spent straightening it. She was a stumbling mess still singing her heart out. Leah thought Simone was noisy but cute…until she threw up on her. 

        But the second she met those big brown eyes, she just knew she would never leave her side. 

        Simone accepted the imprint the second Leah brought it up. She had no fear of wolves because her grandmother spoke of the legends within her own tribe. Her father’s side of the family, who were loudly and proudly Black, were deeply involved in Christianity and didn’t believe in folklore and immediately disputed such ideas. Her mother stayed true to her cultural roots and her father was open to them too, but never brought up stories regarding wolves because the gene wasn’t in their line. But Simone trusted her gut and her grandmother, and was ready to walk to the courthouse to get married. 

        Wasting time wasn’t something she did. Why wait when there’s no reason to? As she infamously said.

        Leah pulled from the hug first. “So I’m assuming you’ll follow her to U.W?”

        “Of course. There’s no other choice, but…”

        Confusion caused the crease between her brows to deepen. “But what?”

        “But I’m afraid to leave home. To leave behind all that I know to start over again.” Seth shamelessly admitted. Once he started, more doubt fed off him. “What if I’m doing all this for nothing? Adjusting my life to be with someone who’ll end up rejecting me?”

        Leah stepped forward and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that.”

        “I’m being realistic. That’s what you taught me; to be realistic about my options because the world isn’t all peaches and cream.”

        Her wide-set eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t listen to me. I was being an asshole around the time because I was in a shitty mood.”

        Which she was constantly in before meeting Simone.

        “But you had a point.” Seth chewed his bottom lip as Embry’s words haunted him again. “Embry says I still have the mindset of a boy and a woman like Diamond wouldn’t go for that type of man. I’m starting to think he’s right.”

        “Embry doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s a fucking idiot and you’re an even bigger idiot for believing him.” Leah said with supportive words that came out very harsh, though it was very true. “You’re so kind and thoughtful and loyal and filled with so much love to give—you’re literally the definition of a man written by a woman.”

        “I have no idea what that means?”

        “It means you’re perfect the way you are. Diamond will love you as you are, not who you’re trying to be from someone who’s gone through the entire reservation. She’s your imprint for a reason. Nobody else but yours.”

        Seth leaned against the car with a sigh. “What should I do?”

        “I think you know what to do. You just need someone to say it out loud, and I say you should follow your heart.” Leah joined his side, pushing back her short, sleek bob. Her tribal tattoo peeked from beneath her short-sleeved shirt, paired with grey sweats easily slipped on after phasing. “Seattle isn’t but four hours away, shorter if you run the distance. The reservation will always be here awaiting your return as well as home. It’s not going anywhere.”

        “I’m scared. Like really scared. I don’t know if I’m ready as excited as I am about it.” Seth admitted, and Leah was forthcoming about this vulnerable moment he wanted to have with her. 

        “No one’s ever ready. There’s no straightforward guide to this, and it might get tougher as you follow along. I don’t want to lose my brother to someone I’ve never met, but I know the consequence of not following your gut.” She said. “I was scared shitless when I left the reservation but I’m happy that I did because I wouldn’t have met Simone. I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. She teaches me the world is bigger than home, and no matter where I make myself comfortable—home is home. My duty to the pack isn’t diminished because of it. Imprinting is a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. Don’t let your fear discourage you from your future. Besides, if Jacob, our alpha, manages the distance with so much shit on his shoulders, so can you.”

        This was a lot to take in but Seth was happy he spoke with Leah. Her encouragement helped silence his fear and motivated him to press the gas pedal full force. More harm would come to this if he hesitated. Diamond didn’t deserve that. 

        Simone came rushing out the house with a last-minute bag she forgot to pack. Leah rushed to help and took the bag from her hands so she could hug Seth upon hearing he imprinted.  

        “You know I have an empty flat in Seattle that I rarely use unless I’m needed at the company for an extensive project. You’re more than welcome to live there.” Offered Simone, already typing in the address to send. She wore one of Leah’s shirts tucked in high-waisted jeans. Her silk press still going strong, wrapped underneath a silky scarf. 

        “I appreciate that. I definitely wasn’t looking forward to apartment hunting.” Or bothering Edward to look for him. 

        “You probably don’t even know where to start.” Leah teased and Seth didn’t take it to heart because she was telling the truth. He had no idea and was thankful Simone did. 

        Simone slapped Leah’s arm, to which she threw out her hands in defeat. Then sought forgiveness by wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer where she molded perfectly. Likely using her heat to get warm. “It’s okay not knowing where to start. My first apartment was a room rented at my roommate's mom’s house who sat on the couch watching TV all day. I didn’t read the details thoroughly and was stuck there for a few months.” She said while fidgeting with Leah’s wedding band. Both were identical with each other’s initials carved on the inside. “Seattle moves fast compared to here. The city is chaotic and filled with impatient people who think the world revolves around them. Don’t let them walk over you. It’ll take some days getting used to the noise, maybe more with werewolf hearing, so I recommend noise-canceling headphones.”

        “I second that or you’ll be dealing with a migraine for weeks.” Leah promoted the usage of noise-canceling headphones.

        Seth made note of that and more advice Simone offered. It was his first time living in the city away from the peaceful setting the reservation offered. He needed every helpful tip to make this transition run smoothly. 

        He hugged his sisters one last time before they drove early to the airport so as not to miss their flight. He promised to keep them updated and when he’d reached the flat safely without a problem. Simone desperately wanted to meet Diamond before they left but there wasn’t any time and promised they would all grab a bite together when they returned. 

        On his way back to the beach, Seth called his mom to tell her the good news. She was surprisingly up, catching up on a rerun of her favorite show. He had to hold the phone away from all her screaming. Charlie busted through with his rifle, convinced intruders had broken in. Though he didn’t understand the concept in detail nor wished to, he was very happy for Seth too. 

        Many promises were made to bring Diamond home so his mother could cook her dinner and likely embarrass Seth with childhood stories and photos. Not something he looked forward to, already feeling his cheeks burn red at the thought. But if Diamond liked that kind of stuff and was interested in knowing more, he was willing to sacrifice his embarrassment. 

        Diamond seemed in a better mood than earlier. She was outside the tent building sandcastles with Kimi and Claire, who talked her ear off about all of her favorite movies and those actors’ upcoming projects. Diamond didn’t seem to mind her yapping and even added new movies to add to her watchlist. 

        Quil didn’t stray far as per usual, but at least he wasn’t hovering. He seemed pleased that Claire was socializing outside of him and didn’t dare interrupt their bonding. 

        Seth liked that Diamond was getting along with the other imprints. She has that aura about her that gravitated people toward her though she didn’t seem the type to meet them halfway given she stuck with those she knew unless they went up to introduce themselves. Like Seth, completely struck by her beautiful smile. So warm and forthcoming, it had him smiling as if she was smiling at him. 

        He quickly bit it back and hid himself before he freaked her out anymore tonight.

        He remained her shadow from a distance the entire night. Aside from ensuring her safety in the safest place she could be, he craved to be within her presence as it still hadn’t processed completely that he imprinted. His wolf couldn’t wait to show how much he loved Diamond and couldn’t wait to be loved by her. 

        Diamond finally grew tired and decided to crash in the tent shared with Kimi and Tayen. Seth propped a beach pillow beneath his head after settling on the side of the tent, unable to leave Diamond alone. The cold didn’t faze him and passed the time scrolling through pictures of Simone’s apartment complex through the site. 

        His sharp hearing couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. Constant giggling and whispers of random phrases with little to no context. Things he couldn’t make sense of. Either they were drunk, texting each other, or that was their usual friendship dynamic. 

        Seth tried to stay up even as exhaustion hung heavy but failed and ultimately dozed off. 

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read more at :

-> SAY Masterlist (everything you need to know about this fic and what it contains, especially important A/N)

-> SAY Chapter Masterlist (easy access to all chapters posted here)

-> Ao3 (if you prefer to read this fic there. It’s cross-posted)

— T A G L I S T —

(Comment if you’d like to be added or if I forgot you)

@queenofviolenceandnerds @dariequeen @mtcloudsworld @yoshiluvs @hrtfem

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a2d3 Addition Post (+1,308 words)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 2,866

TO THE UNAWARE: THIS IS A PROGRESS UPDATE OF A CHAPTER NOT REMOTELY CLOSE TO DONE! PLEASE DON'T EXPECT A FULL OR POLISHED PRODUCT HERE

Notes: The first addition post in the history of the archive! Huzzah! This chapter just keeps growing, I was expecting this to be shorter than Lino's chapter, but I think it's gonna be quite a bit longer. Some genuine editing notes - I think the transition into the flashback is a bit awkward and I would like to smooth out the whole morning sequence. I'm not even 100% sure what that vibe is and it shows. I also don't like the complete change in Reader's mood while she's talking to Jake, so I either have to make her morning more lighthearted or show her shoving her feelings down somehow. I genuinely operate like this, just code switching between private emotions and public face, so idk. What do y'all think? Is it was weird and jarring as I think it is? I also need to find a place to mention that this Stray Kid (dunno if I've mentioned who it is yet - obscuring just in case some of you haven't gotten it yet) is wearing a mask. I completely forgot to, but it's important for later. At a point in this one where I think I need another pair of eyes. Writing by yourself is hard :c

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, Flashback (yelling), pls lmk if this needs smthn more specific

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Main Part

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You brush your teeth while you’re there, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as water-proof as advertised.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the maudlin feeling of the morning, ambling your way into the kitchen. As tired as you are, you still spot your twenty on the counter where you’d left it. You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. The little note on top isn’t new either, usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into your eggs, well. That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

You leave the money where it is.

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. You take a moment to wonder why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels odd to you.

It occurs to you, only after several long seconds of staring blankly at your stomach, that you hadn’t taken the time to look at your mark at all since since you’d met your first soulmate. Things have been... hectic, to say the least.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

The names of the flowers come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many a joyous afternoon learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by your sister’s toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny hands.

You’d spend hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants. What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph. values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak- despair- that marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside. You don’t even remember what he’d said. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time. It might have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled and yelled and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything, hadn’t even made sense. And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, and the soil you’d once called home was no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming fills your soul, and you notice how tightly you're clutching the garden around your waist. You gingerly pry your hands away and study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw-marks in this garden too.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment.

Maybe jogging all the way to gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

After guzzling down half of your water bottle you enter the building, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish, and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do wish you could go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but your mood really hadn’t been helped by running from your thoughts, no matter what you’d hoped.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and so you’ve encountered a member of the public. Shocker. You cross your arms and bite back irritation that this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, your latest obstacle is the only thing around to rest your eyes on, and so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them.

A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it. Large boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists fills in the rest in a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

You can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such beautiful ink is quite a task, but you don’t want to seem judgmental for your admiration. That arduous labor is made infinitely easier by how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his form. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove his man has done it. You’re quite jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they don’t. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now. You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze.

Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to be going a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know this to be true, even the trial period was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

Your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (you think his name is Jake. The owner’s nephew, if you recall correctly) looks relieved to see you after whatver hassling the stranger had given him. He lazily waves the clipboard and it’s sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write. Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

You magnanimously ignore Jake’s gaze wandering to your chest, if only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

“So what was that all about?” You ask him as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you as he types a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Such situations weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw it’s fair share of famous faces.

Security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental stares.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for high-profile clients?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity (?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with it’s quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require it’s security and discretion like some of the other clients did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks as he hands you a different clipboard.

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, starting to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ���some guy” is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “It’s not speculation then.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with it, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

He won’t get fired as long as you don’t blab outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism. You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of you on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful of your offer to find you terribly strange.

I could really use some feedback for this one, if y'all have the time. 人´∀｀) Especially regarding my dialogue and transitions. plsplspls I would be so grateful. My comments, dms, and ask box are all open

[lonelierthanu]

Penmanship

Satoru Gojo x Gender-neutral Reader

series: incomplete

words: 3.4k

warnings: mentions of smoking; funny; meet-ugly; no mentioned female or male anatomy; no spoilers; no curses; slow build; slow to update; college au

summary: you decided you never want to see this man again and fuck the pen altogether. Well, life has other plans.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 …+

Your coffee splashed dramatically against the concrete wall you tossed it at. You’re pissed, to say the least, and the sugarless coffee —that you asked for extra sugar for— was your tipping point.

You were behind some bleachers that laid against the wall outside the dining hall. You’re not sure why these bleachers are here? They seem old and were probably here way before the school was renovated and they put in a huge football field across campus. The school is old so you wouldn’t be surprised if they just left it here. But right now you’re grateful they did because you’re knee deep in a tantrum, if one wants to consider it one, and this is your only sanctuary at the moment.

“Was that necessary?” Aoi asks you, after he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“I thought you said you were going to quit?” Rikki asks from beside him.

“And I thought you said you would never date Tenji,” he mumbles under his breath as he takes another drag and doesn’t bother blowing away from her direction, a courtesy he would have usually given. Rikki scowls at the side of his face.

“We’re not dating.”

“The pictures on his instagram say something different,” Aoi takes another drag.

“I was… drunk…” Rikki crosses her arms as she kicks a rock towards your direction. It lands back in its spot after bouncing off your shoe. It startled her attention towards you, like she suddenly remembered you were there.

You roll your eyes at both of them and lean against the opposite wall from them. Since you’ve known them they’ve had a weird relationship. At least in your eyes. You’ve known them for a little longer than a year and they’ve had an on and off crush on each other since the three of you met. And the two sides have never been on the same page. One person has a crush on the other, then the other gets feelings when the other person loses feelings . It’s a weird dynamic that you wish they’d get over already.

But a part of you wants it to stay this way, so your friendship never changes. But you know that one day this weird game of tug of war will come to an end and it’ll either end in peace, or someone in the mud.

“To answer your question Aoi, yes. That was completely necessary,” You say to break the silence. Rikki jumps at the opportunity to change the subject and cut through the tension. She comes to lean next to you.

“What’s got your panties in a twist anyway?”

“Remember that creepster that thought I was hitting on him for a week?” Rikki tries to hold back her laugh. She fails. You had told her about what happened the next morning after the incident on Saturday. Despite her hangover she found the misunderstanding hilarious. Laughing while saying ‘oh my god, that is so something he would do!’ And you ended up filling Aoi in during one of your class periods you shared with him a couple hours ago.

“Yeah,” she answers, failing to hide her smile.

“Well my professor paired us up for a group project,” you cross your arms.

“At the end of the semester?” Aoi asks as he stomps on his cigarette to put it out, “How does she expect you to get a project done during the week of exams?”

“No, starting next semester is when we start the project. The worst part is, we’ll be working on it ‘till February,” You groaned into your hands, covering your face with them.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Rikki tries to console you by putting a hand on your shoulder. You put your hands down to glare at her.

“Don’t jinx me,” Rikki laughs at you. Aoi smirks, also finding this amusing. “And wipe that smug look off your face,” you point a finger directly in Aoi’s face. He pushes your hand out of the way and rolls his eyes at you, still smug.

You stuff your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to fight off the cold. You’re not looking forward to next semester, to say the least, and when you heard the devastating news of Creepster being your project partner you immediately started thinking of ways to get out of it.

Because since that Saturday you had heard no word of this man until that following Monday. He came in late, like usual, but before he showed up your professor had given the whole spiel about the details of the new project the class would be working on. Everyone picked their own partner but you since there was an odd number of students in the class. Then Creepster walked in.

She told him you’d be his partner and he turned his head to look at you while she vaguely explained the project to him. Your body turned cold when his smirk grew wider. Like he was looking forward to this. The professor dismissed him to his seat saying you could explain in more detail.

When he sat down he faced you, completely ignoring the rest of the professor’s lecture. He leaned his head on his hand, smirk still present on his face. You refused to look at him and continued looking forward.

“Hey partner,” you internally recoiled. He sensed your unease and with the new bout of knowledge that this guy thinks you have some sort of crush on him, or just wanna get in his pants, he probably took your unease for nervousness. The thought alone pissed you off.

He barely got two words out of you in that class, which was yesterday, and today was no better. Though somehow you ended up agreeing to go to his house (his real house) to outline and plan the beginning of the project to finish it faster after the break. It was his idea and it honestly shocked you to hear him suggest a genuine responsible plan. Not gonna lie, you definitely thought the word “ responsible “ didn’t exist within his vocabulary.

You only mildly cared about this idea. You mostly agreed to do so you can finally get that damn pen back before you go on break. You’ll be damned if you go home empty handed when you confidently told your niece you’d bring it back.

“So. What are you gonna do?” Aoi asks, putting his hands into his jacket pockets as well.

“Get my pen back,” you answer, then your phone rings before you can look at his confused expression. It’s your alarm to go to your last class. You leave them to ruminate in their awkward tension.

Creepster told you he’d pick you up after school to take you to his house. You were definitely uncomfortable with the idea of being alone in a car with this man, but you don’t have money for a ride right now, Rikki went to work today, and it beats walking an hour and a half to his place.

You waited at the school's gate for fifteen minutes and was about to text him when you remembered you don't have his number. But before you could stress over that fact, a shiny black Lexus pulled up in front of you. The driver window lowered revealing a strange man at the wheel. He said your name and asked if you were who you were. You didn’t answer at first but then Creepster moved into your line of vision in the passenger seat.

“Get in loser,” he laughed at his own reference, then smiled at you. You rolled your eyes and opened the door to the back seat.

The drive was fairly short, probably a little shorter than ten minutes, and the drive was not silent. But you were glad for that, because if it weren’t for the surprisingly good tunes being blasted through the speakers, you know your awkward uncomfortable air would have permeated through the windows for the other drivers on the road to feel. You’re also glad that you aren’t alone with this guy. That would have been a whole different situation for you.

When you pull up to his house you physically feel the hinges connecting your jaw to your skull unclick. You gawk at the state of his house while you pick your jaw up off the car floor.

His house is fucking huge.

And this is his actual house. You have half a mind to confirm that.

When you head inside you have to put in extra effort to keep your eyes from bulging out of their sockets. It’s just as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside. The difference between this and the frat house is vast.

For starters, it’s furnished way better. Which makes you think he definitely didn’t do it himself. It’s clean, which you weren’t expecting, and it smells nice. Another thing you weren’t expecting but desperately hoping for.

“So, should we get started?” Creepster says from behind you. It startles you how close he is. You jump at least a foot away before turning to him.

“Yeah,” you say, calmer than your heart is beating. He guides you to his dining room where a large circular table resides next to a beautiful huge island with high bar stools tucked into it and a sink in the middle. The dining area is surrounded by windows, letting copious amounts of natural sunlight in. The room is brightly lit without any lights being on. It’s impressive. This is the type of room you’d save in a pinterest board.

He pulls out a chair for you to sit on, but the way he smiles at you after pisses you off so you sit in the chair next to it. He seems amused by this, and chuckles fondly.

“I’m gonna go grab my laptop, I'll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he jokes. You don’t laugh, but he walks away without seeing if you do or not. You see him walk through an alcove in the kitchen and go to the right. Once you know he’s gone you look more thoroughly at your surroundings. You see a set of grandiose stairs in the living room by the entry. And from where you’re seated you can see two halls up there and a third one could exist but it’s too high to tell. You already know you’d get lost trying to walk through here. Your family would have to send a search team to find you.

Your eyes shift over to see grand imposing glass doors that lead to a pool, there could be more land out there but you can’t tell from where you’re sitting. But from how huge the estate is from when you pulled up you already know the backyard is huge. You don’t see any other doors around besides the one in the kitchen, but you just assume that’s a broom closet or a bathroom or something.

Just from looking around you’ve lost a glimmer of hope of finding this pen. It’d be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You’re already preparing the apology to your niece in your head.

“You want a tour?” You whip your head around to see Houdini putting his laptop and bag onto the table and pulling a chair out across from you.

“No,” you answer immediately because the thought of him knowing you’re impressed by his home makes you wanna scratch at your skin. But after a quick second you realize that that could’ve been your chance to find the pen. You curse at yourself. He sits down and opens his laptop. You take yours out from your bag and place it on the table as well.

You want to just open your mouth and ask for the pen again, but a part of you is scared he’ll think you're trying to hit on him again. You agreed to come to his house so that could definitely send the wrong message in this guy’s delusional brain.

“Can I get your notes on the project so far?” He asks without looking up from his laptop. You take your notebook out of your bag and slide it across the table. He shares a doc with you before opening it. So, he really is going to work on this project. A part of you thought this was another ruse to sleep with you. To say you’re relieved is an understatement.

The next half hour goes by with him asking you yes or no questions, finding resources to cite from, quotes, studies, creating the powerpoint and typing in each slide what each should consist of, and starting a rough draft for the essay you’re meant to write. Everything is going pretty smoothly and you’re proud of the progress you’ve made in such a short time. You’re also pleasantly surprised by Herc-Houdini’s work ethic. You’re starting to think he might not be that bad.

And honestly, when you think about the situation, you can kind of see how he misunderstood. It may seem a little absurd to you that asking for a pen correlates to ‘please sleep with me’, but if there are people doing weirder things to get him to sleep with them, then you kind of understand. You’re still not very keen on him though. His reputation and the crowd he’s associated with just puts you off.

Hercules groans loudly as he stretches his arms. The muscles in them tense and show off the gains he’s worked for. A small part of you thinks that he wore that shirt on purpose, but when he’s relaxed he looks as skinny and lanky as always.

I’ll be right back,” he tells you before getting up and heading for that same alcove, going to the left. You vaguely notice him going in a different direction than before and go back to doing your work. You almost jolt with the realization that you could look around and find the pen while he’s gone.

Frankly, this could be a terrible idea. You don’t know what he’s doing so he could be back any moment. You could say you were looking for a bathroom, but then you could’ve just asked when he got back. You’re already up and walking while thinking of the logistics of this plan. It’s stupid, you know, but what if you find the pen? It seems like a great risk to reward ratio to you.

Knowing Sherlock went to the left you check there first once you’ve met the alcove, then dash to the right and go through the first door you see. Unfortunately, you’re met with a bathroom so your excuse has now flown out the window. You could just play dumb.

Before you exit, you listen to the door, then slowly open it to peek outside. Still nothing, so you leave, closing the door behind you before going to the next one. You do this three more times. You were met with two closets and a study, that you did search just in case. When you see the end of the hall you start to feel disappointed, but then you realize there’s a sharp corner. When you turn it, you see a narrow set of stairs.

At this point, you know that you took entirely too long and that Houdini has most likely gone back to the table and realized you were gone. Taking these stairs will make your search even longer and there’s no plausible explanation you could give that’ll justify you snooping around this guy’s house.

You give yourself three seconds to think it over.

Fuck it.

You’re justifying the irrationality of your actions to yourself as you trudge up the stairs, also pretending that the consequences that will undoubtedly follow won’t be that bad. But really? What’s the worst that could happen? He bans you from his home? No biggie. If you find this pen, you don’t plan on coming back anyway.

Or maybe he’ll hate you and think you’re extremely unmannered. Fine by you, then the feeling of dislike will be mutual and he’ll finally leave you alone forever.

Or maybe he’ll lie to his “clique” that you’re a thief and only agreed to do a project with him so you could slither your way into his house and they all make fun of you for the duration of your college career which will then spiral into more awful rumors and you’ll be branded an outcast and be ridiculed so horrendously that not even your friends will want to be around you…

…Or maybe you’re overthinking it entirely and it’ll all be perfectly fine.

As you come to a stop at the top of the stairs you realize that there were three halls up here. You don’t dare check the view below in fear that Sherlock will see you. So, you creep along the wall that you hope isn’t in view from down stairs and bolt for the nearest hallway. Heart beat pumping a million beats per second.

You open the first door, a closet. A second door, a very small bedroom with nothing but a bed and a lonely side table. A third door, a much bigger room with a pretty sweet gaming setup, though it looks unfinished.

The end of the hall, a large room that’s akin to a master bedroom, a bathroom and balcony included. The room isn’t quite messy, but it does appear to be lived in. The bed unmade, a dresser drawer left open, a couple clothing items on the floor near the hamper, and miscellaneous items strewn about in flat surfaces.

A pair of huge, round, dark sunglasses sitting on top of the dresser tell you exactly whose room you’ve stumbled into.

Once you’ve realized, a moment of doubt passes through you. What if he finds you here? But as quickly as it came, it passed. You’ve made it this far unnoticed, what’s one more minute.

A quick glance tells you that the pen isn’t lying about so you begin your search. You only look in places it could possibly be and refrain from his dressers. You check random bags that were in his extraordinarily large walk-in closet. You check in hoodie and pants pockets even. You leave the closet with a fraction less of hope and check under his bed. Still Nothing. You have half a mind to check his dirty clothes but decide to check his bedside drawers before getting that desperate.

It’s when you’re about to wiggle yourself from under Houdini’s bed that you hear it.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to snoop?”

You jolt so hard you hit your head on the bed frame while trying to frantically wiggle free. When you do, you're met with that same smirk. Like he’s amused to find you this way. He walks towards you from the door frame, you unconsciously backup and bump against the side table. He stops right in front of you and bends down slightly to tower over you, his face slightly shrouded in darkness.

“If you wanted a tour you could have just said so,” he drawls deeply, in a quiet tone that sends a shiver down your spine.

“No, I-“ he chuckles.

“You, what? hm?” he takes one of his hands out of his pockets to reveal your pen, “You we’re looking for this?” Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before a glare marks its position on your face. Was he making fun of you?

“Give it to me,” you try to reach for it, but he effortlessly dodges out of the way. He patronizingly waves a finger at you.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he taunts, “I can’t just give it to you now,” irritation bubbles within you.

“And why the hell not?”

“Because. You pranced around my house uninvited and invaded my privacy,” You stand up, refusing to be looked down upon, even though standing up he’s still taller than you.

“So? Then what do you want?” He hums to your question and puts the end of the pen on his chin as he contemplates.

“How much are you willing to do for this pen?” You raise a judgmental eyebrow at him. “Of course nothing drastic,” he adds, “but how far are you willing to go?”

“Well, if i’m willing to stifle through a man’s house like some kind of thief then I guess you can gauge it yourself,” He smiles at that. He lowers his glasses and you see his crystal blue eyes in person for the first time. You’re almost enraptured by them until he opens his mouth.

“Date me.”

(･ω<)☆

when i tell you i didn’t know what the fuck to write 💀last chapter i realized that is abt to be a s l o w b u r n and i’m right there along with you guys wondering what’s abt to happen next 😭 hopefully chapter 5 won’t take 4 months this time 🙃

★prev next ☆

[libby-for-life]

Okay so I've been thinking about it more, I follow way too many fanfic writers with no time to update the ones i've started. (anyway..) For the Just Desserts AU Lucifer is under Adam's control, powerless, back home-to a home that never wanted him in the first place. So he's alone. He can't even explain himself to Adam since the first man hates him so much for ruining his peace. So he doesn't talk, he just takes it-some time he screams, knowing everyone in heaven has much as a blind eye as sinners in Hell. It's just pure torture for him, what the angels would call Just. It would take a while, but i almost can see Adam growing bored. Lilith never returned to Hell, it's not like her daughter will rage against Heaven, she doesn't care for Lucifer either. Adam hates them both, but when he sees how Lucifer looked at their ex. He sees the devil he thought he broke, look just as defeated if not more than he appeared in the golden chains at arrival.

I was thinking along the same lines. Adam had always wanted a servant. In fact, in this one, I've made a little piece in a discord server with some others of what Lucifer's reaction is to Lilith in Heaven. It won't be for a while until Adam feels any semblance of guilt or boredom.

Lute was seen as a hero for killing the devil and Adam watched as she was showered with praise. Lucifer was taken to Adam's house where he would make the ground rules. Lucifer was incredibly light, but he knew the collar and leash would be more degrading.

He paraded him through Heaven as everyone threw trash, hissed obscenities, and glared at Lucifer.

He ignored Lucifer's hiss when a stray rock scraped his cheek, leaving him bleeding.

He deserves much worse considering what he's done.

But as for hands, none were allowed to touch Lucifer except Adam. When they got to his house, he forced him to the ground at his feet. "Alright, snake. We're going over the rules."

First rule, talk of The Wives was completely Off Limits. Second rule. He can never talk with anyone alone. He has to stay with Adam. Third rule, listen to him. He trumps all others when it comes to instructions.

Adam even took him to see a certain special someone in Heaven knowing the outcome before the conversation even began.

When Lucifer saw Lilith, he tried rushing towards her, but the chain holding him prevented him from going far.

"Lilith!" He tried calling out but when she turned to him, she glared when she saw him.

"What the hell is he doing here?" She spat making him flinch. What was going on?

"Hey, bitch. Decided to bring my lap dog around."

"Lily?"

"Don't call me that." She snapped.

"I don't...I don't understand?"

"You still don't get it, do you? You're no longer powerful, I can tell." Why did that matter? "You were useless when we fell and you're even more useless now. At least before, you were the King of Hell. Now? You don't even have that."

Why was she saying this?

"...I love you." Lucifer tried saying.

"And that was your mistake. You have nothing to offer me anymore. You didn't when we Fell, and you don't now." She turned away to look at the ocean. "You're an eyesore." It was a dismissal.

Adam whistled. "Damn, I always forget how cold you are." He dragged a listless and crying Lucifer away.

"How does it feel to be abandoned, hu Lucifer? Hurts doesn't it?" Adam sneered.

Adam did not expect Lucifer to just shut down. It felt good to see him like that. Finally, Lucifer knew how it felt. Knew what it was like to be abandoned by the people you loved and trusted. Knew what it was like to have someone GLOAT about that hurt.

(Lilith never loved Lucifer and only used him for power. Now that he has none, she sees no reason to pretend for his fantasies any longer.)

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Day Two

Tentacles

Captain John Price/Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You broken?” Price asked as he closed the door behind him.

“I’m good.” Kyle was… could he say ‘sat’, when Kyle didn’t currently have legs?

He was overthinking it.

Kyle was sat on the bed against the far wall of the white, sterile examination room, holding up a finger as John opened his mouth again. “And don’t say, you don’t look good. Doc’s checked me out, and I’m fine.”

Price grumbled as Gaz called him out on his default response, which this time was warranted, because Kyle, objectively, did not look good. The entire lower half of his body had been replaced with a mass of purple tentacles. He couldn’t be further from being good. “They know how that stuff works yet?”

Kyle shrugged. “Some guesses. They won’t know for sure until they study the samples they took. I feel fine, John. It feels… normal, weirdly enough. Like, you don’t ever think about how your legs work, you know?”

John nodded. “Do they at least know that it’s not permanent?”

“Yeah. Kate’s been digging through the intel, and it turns out that the stuff was made specifically to perfect the temporary element of the transformation.” Kyle held up his phone. “She’s keeping me updated.”

“There was more than one version of this stuff?”

“Shouldn’t be anymore. Not since we busted up their labs.” Kyle adjusted himself on the bed, the tentacles rolling over each other, revealing the line of small, pale purple suckers running down the insides of them. John tried not to stare as he dragged a chair up next to the bed.

“I’m staying until this wears off.”

“Cap, you don’t have to do that. Couple of hours, I’ll turn right back into a good ol’ bipedal, tentacle free motherfucker. It’s all fine.”

“Even so…”

“Duty of care, sure. Nothing to do with the fact that you’re keen as hell to know how these things work.”

“Dunno what you’re on about.” John mumbled, hanging his head as he made like he was checking his phone.

“Right. That’s why you haven’t made eye contact with me since you’ve entered the room.” At Kyle’s admonishment, John’s head shot up to make eye contact with him, a scowl forming on his face as he realised that Kyle was right.

“You can’t take your eyes off them, can you?” Kyle continued. “There’s just something naturally tempting, alluring about them, that makes them irresistible. You just want to touch them at first, then you won’t be able to let go, you’ll want to hold it just a little bit longer… then…”

“Are you quoting the files Laswell set you?”

“Paraphrasing. Right though, aren’t I?” Gaz grinned, setting his phone aside and leaning towards John.

“Maybe.”

“Yes, or no, John. Science doesn’t work well with fence sitting answers.”

“You want to fuck me with a tentacle for science.” John swallowed as he realised just how appealing the idea sounded to him. He shifted his legs, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he was starting to get hard in his pants.

“I said nothing about fucking…” Kyle held his hands up. “Sounds like you’re volunteering to be fucked by a tentacle for science.”

“Just for science?” John slid up from his chair onto the edge of the bed, leaning closer to Kyle.

“You fucking sap.” Kyle beckoned him close, taking John’s face in his hands as he kissed him. John leaned forward, his hands landing on the tentacles as he tried to balance himself. Kyle groaned, and John shivered, pulling away from the kiss to look down at the tentacles as he felt them in his hands.

“Not what you were expecting?”

“No.” The tentacles were surprisingly soft. They were almost inviting to the touch, if it wasn’t for the muscular strength hiding just under the surface, evident as Kyle easily twisted it free to wrap it over John’s fingers. “I was expecting… slimy?”

“And you still wanted to fuck me? Flattering, that even thought to be covered in slime, I’m still fuckable.”

“Fucking hell.” John shook his head, rubbing his thumb over the coiled tentacle, catching against a sucker that shrank at his touch. As Kyle had predicted, he found that he was unable to just… let go. “How do you plan on fucking me? Hiding a tentacle dick somewhere?”

“No. Going to use one of these.” Kyle shifted the tentacles, sliding them out from underneath Price to around his hips, pulling him close. Price huffed when one he was holding was pulled away from his hand. “Were you not done playing?”

“Shut it.” Price warned, pushing his hands under Kyle’s shirt instead, trying to find the exact point where skin stopped being skin, and started being tentacle.

“You seem very keen on getting fucked, you sure there’s nothing else you want to do?” Kyle watched him, feeling John’s fingers massage along his skin, pushing the material of his shirt up to see how smoothly Gaz’s skin melded into the deep purple of his lower half.

“You- You’re enjoying this.”

“Yes.” Kyle sat up on his hands, using his tentacles to keep John secure in front of him so he could lean in close. “I’m having a lot of fun, in fact. Would you rather I was sitting here, moping, wanting to be fucked better?”

“That’s not what I said…”

“Thought it, though.” Kyle sat back, leaning against the bars of the bed, linking his fingers around the back of his neck.

“These things let you read minds or what?” Price ran his hands down from Kyle’s stomach to the tentacles, feeling over the ones wrapped over his thighs.

“Educated guess.” Kyle shook his head. “Bet I can make you cum without using my hands.”

“You’ve got eight extra fucking limbs, Kyle, that’s hardly a fair bet.”

“Sure. No one says you have to take it. And, it’s going to happen either way, right?”

“Fine. You win, you get…”

“Bragging rights.”

“Sure. You don’t, I get a picture of you like this.”

“You’re on.” In the unlikely event he lost, Kyle could weather one photograph. He pushed two tentacles up under John’s shirt, lifting it up over his stomach. “Take this off, won’t you?”

John pulled it off and tossed it aside, groaning as he felt the tentacles roll up over his bare skin, squeezing him tight as the others fiddled with his belt, trying to push his trousers down.

“Feels better with them against your skin, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…” John trailed his hands over them, picking at where they tightened against his skin, the suckers pinching as they adhered, ready to hold John up while getting fucked. Kyle chuckled, and used another tentacle to pull John’s hands away, wrapping around his wrists to keep them in front of him.  

“Hands to yourself, yeah? I got this.”

Price shuddered but relaxed, tilting head down to watch as the tentacles successfully pushed his pants open down over his hips, bunching them at his thighs. Kyle chuckled at John’s semi hard cock before wrapping a tentacle around it, and sending another scurrying towards his ass. John spread his thighs out as far as he could with his pants caught between them, and Kyle hurried to use two more to each wrap about on of John’s thighs, keeping him seated.

“You look good like this. Shame we’ll only get it the once.” Kyle murmured, more to himself than John, as he moved the final tentacle up John’s torso to his chin, pressing the tip at his lips. “Say ‘ah…’”

Kyle was struggling to keep it together, despite his confidence. His head was fuzzy with how many sensations that were filling it, with so many tentacles to keep track of. It was a lot more than hands and a dick. He dug his nails into the back of his neck, trying to focus around the heat of John’s mouth as the tentacle slid inside across John’s tongue, stilling immediately as John pressed his tongue back against it, trying to rub against it as best he could, making Kyle groan.

He shook his head and tightened the grip on John’s hands as he started pulling them free. Kyle frowning and squeezed the tentacles around John’s ribs, which made him groan and go limp, staying still for a minute so Kyle could collect himself.

He took a deep breath and glanced down to look at John’s cock.

The tip was poking out of the undulating coil, leaking out onto it, dripping to his thighs below. Kyle swallowed and watched carefully, smiling as it jerked up when he pressed the tentacle against John’s ass hole.

John groaned, muffled by the tentacle curling up in his mouth, thighs tensing as Kyle kept his touches teasingly light while working the muscle open, gently hushing John until he relaxed, and Kyle could finally get to the hitherto unexplored realms of biological transformation sex by having him fuck John with a tentacle.

John shivered again as he shifted up as the tentacle pushed inside him, quickly trying to rock his hips to fuck himself on the tentacle, as if he could sense how many sensations Kyle was juggling, and wanted to help, before Kyle started moving the tentacle himself. John stilled, returning to a state of limp pleasure while being held up by the tentacles, trying to find some kind grounding sensation by sucking the tentacle crammed inside his mouth, as he tried to not think about how utterly debauched he must look.

John was close to being overwhelmed. He was being filled and touched in so many places, held upright by Kyle while he worked John’s cock, wrapping it inside warm muscle that squeezed it in time with every slow thrust by the tentacle in his ass. He didn’t know how he hadn’t cum yet. Instead, the pleasure just kept building up and up and up until he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, entirely at the mercy of Kyle.

John managed to crack his eyes open just in time to see Kyle grin, before the tentacle inside his ass went from slowly thrusting in and out, to curling up like a finger bent at the knuckle, and pressing against his prostrate.

John’s wail was pushed back down his throat by the tentacle as his entire body clenched up at once. He could have sworn he was crying, as the tentacle in his mouth pushed too deep and he choked, and fell forward onto Kyle’s chest.

Kyle swore and quickly withdrew the tentacle from John’s mouth, grabbing his face in his hands and pulling it up to his, brushing John’s tears away as his eyes scanning his face, his urgency speeding up the pace at which John was still simultaneously getting fucked and jerked off.

“Fuck, I’m sorry… C’mere.” Kyle cupped John’s jaw and kissed him, wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders as John shook, fucking his hips away from and yet still into the tentacles, as they slowly came to a stop.

“Fuck… You okay?” Kyle lay John on his chest, tilting his head up so he could gaze down at him.

“Yeah.” John pushed to sit up a little as Kyle let go of his hands, grabbing Kyle’s chin. “Very good. You owe me a picture.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, that doesn’t count…” Kyle groaned, shaking his head as the cognisance snapped back into John’s eyes.

“You said, no hands.” John reached up to lay his hand on Kyle’s arm, still wrapped around his shoulders.

“You- fucking, fine. Can’t blame me though. You’re cute when you fall all over me like that.” He relaxed the tentacles, pulling them away from John to use them to roll the pair of them onto their sides. “Go ahead and take it.”

“Hmm. In a minute.” John ran his hand down to grab a tentacle again, feeling the one that was wet with his saliva. “Want to hold these a little longer first.”

[dominimoonbeam]

The Adventures of Stardust and Cosmic. Script 4. Part 10 - 12

I was just working on this story and the update came out! Jouska really brings this script to life! Latest part. and the series!

Scripts below if you want to read them too. <3

The Adventures of Stardust and Cosmic. Script Part 4 (chapters 10-12)

By Domini Moonbeam

10.

[Cosmic waking up on the ship]

[disoriented] St-Stardust?

Are you okay?

[groans] How did you get me back on the ship?

Wait…How did we take off? I thought I locked you out of the controls.

Since when?

You sneaky shit… [sitting up, pained sounds]

Did you…patch me up? That’s not bad work.

No, I’m not thanking you, I’m just saying it’s not a bad patch job. Did they teach you how to close a bullet wound at the same school where you learned to hack ship controls?

…I can’t tell if you’re joking.

Whatever. [getting up] I’m still covered in paint… I’m gonna go clean up.

No, I’m not saying you should have given me a sponge bath. I’m just saying I’m going… [door whoosh, walking down the hall]

[Stardust following. Cosmic groans]

Yes, I’m still mad at you.

Yes, because of that! I can’t believe you put yourself between me and a gun. You could have died. Nothing is worth… [stops, groans] I don’t think this partnership is working.

[snaps] I said it’s not working, Stardust.

Yeah, we get along great, that’s the problem. You’re going to get me killed or I’m—[can’t say it]

Stop. I don’t… I don’t care about you. And if I did, I wouldn’t be hauling your ass toward danger, would I? What sort of asshole would that make me? What sort of person would that make me…

[deep breath] Okay. We’re only a week away from the goal. We’ll make it. We’ll get the loot, hopefully get your cousins off your tail, and then we’ll go our separate ways, just like I said. If it’s the sort of stash you think it is, it’ll be plenty for you to get your own jet and hightail it wherever you want to go.

That’s not funny. Knock it off.

No, you don’t.

No. I meant what I said, Stardust. You’re a bounty. I shouldn’t have let you think otherwise. This…you and me…that’s not a thing.

[sighs and repeats] Friends… No. I don’t want to be your friend. Look at the shit you stir up.

Yeah, I said that but you’re more trouble than you’re worth.

[huffs a laugh] Shit, that’s a hell of an ego. I guess I should have expected that from a primer. Of course, you’d think you’re worth it.

No, I don’t. The only thing I care about it my payday and my skin. I don’t need a partner or a friend or… I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.

[bursts] You’re going to leave either way! [cringing] You don’t belong out here. You’re not a mercenary or a bounty hunter. You’re just a spoiled rich kid playing at crime past the edge for thrills. You’ll get over it and go home to the prime eventually.

[sighs] That’s not the same. Your family is a completely different sort of criminal element, and you know it.

What?

You…

Stop it. You don’t mean that.

[Stardust stepping closer, voice lower] Stardust…

[sighs, so close] I wasn’t scared…

I’m not lying…

[Stardust kisses Cosmic]

[softer, conflicted] Why did you do that?

Don’t say that… Don’t. You can’t.

[another kiss]

Damn it… [Cosmic kisses Stardust, grumbles] You make bad choices, Stardust…

Yeah, this is one of those bad choices. I’m a bad choice.

[huffs a thin laugh] You’re cracked if you think that.

[kiss] You taste like paint… [smirking a little despite himself] I wasn’t complaining.

The what?

The score is not one point five to six now! You did not save me. I saved you. It’s my point. I literally pulled that merc off of you.

Are you seriously reminding me about the human shield incident already?

Yes, it’s still too soon. It’s been less than an hour!

So what if you dragged me back to the ship? You think I haven’t had to wake up and crawl back? I told you, I’ve had worse.

Fine. It’s a scratch. No points for either of us.

[longer pause, ship sounds]

[smirking] …Are you suggesting we clean up together?

I don’t think I’m in danger of passing out again. You patched the gunshot wound, remember?

I mean… Yeah, I’d hate to drown in my shower. That’d be a stupid way to go.

Stardust…Are you trying to seduce me? You know that won’t change my mind, right? You’re still on your own as soon as I get my hands on my half of that treasure.

I’ll call it treasure if I want to.

It is too.

Wait. Do you think arguing is flirting?

You are terrible at seduction…

[laughs] I could definitely do a better job!

No! That first time you stole my gun was a fluke. I wasn’t seduced, I was confused.

Absolutely not. Go use your own shower. [smiling] I can’t trust your motives.

I didn’t say it wasn’t tempting… I said I can’t trust why you’re doing it. You might just want to steal my jacket again. Or my gun. Or my ship.

[thinking] I guess that could be worth the risk…

Okay, Stardust. I’ll call your bluff. [door whoosh] Come on in. I’ll get that paint out of your hair and you can make sure I don’t faint from blood loss in the shower.

[Stardust stepping inside, the door whooshing shut, closer, quieter] Really?

[laughs] Yep. The worst at flirting…

[kiss]

[sighs] Okay. Not the worst.

11.

[hum of the ship, space sliding by outside]

[in bed, watching the stars]

Of course, my room has a window and a real bed.

Your room is a cargo hold when I’m not transporting…well, human cargo. [laughs a little] I guess it’s still a cargo hold. That’s why all the meal bars and protein shakes are in there. Did you think I put them there just for you? That room belongs to them! You’re the guest.

[stretch of quiet, space sounds]

Hm… Roll over again? I want to get another look at that map.

[laughs] Why would I be tricking you? You’re already in my bed. I’ve already seen everything…

[repositioning. Looking at the tattoo] Hm… Yeah, the map has moved a little more. It’s getting closer to the destination. I wonder what it’ll look like when we get there. It’s moving ink, so why not give us little fireworks or something when we reach the treasure?

Knock it off, you know it’s treasure.

Even if there isn’t an X and we don’t have to dig it up, it doesn’t make it not treasure. I don’t know why you refuse to call it what it is. Loot. Bounty. Booty. [laughs]

You mean, will it disappear after we find it? I don’t think so, Stardust… I’ve never known any moving ink to vanish on its own. If it bothers you, we could try to find someone to get rid of it. Once the treasure is already found, you won’t have to worry about someone trying to use it to get there.

…No, you’re right. They wouldn’t necessarily believe us that we’d already found it.

It’s not a bad tattoo. It’s beautiful work.

Stardust…[smiling] are you falling asleep?

Yeah. You can sleep here if you want. I mean…tonight. Not like, every night. Don’t try to steal my room.

[stretch of quiet]

[quieter, serious] You know this doesn’t change anything, right?

No. And we were not partners before we slept together. We’re not partners. We’re just… working together for the time being.

No, I don’t.

Nope.

I meant what I said.

Yes, I did.

I—[groans playfully] Stop it! How do you turn everything into a petty argument?

Yes, you— [stops when he realizes they’re doing it again] You’re evil.

[quiet hum of space and the ship]

[smiling] And how do you still have paint in your hair? I thought we got it all out…

Hm? Why do you want to know that?

[laughs soft] Are you trying to say that my life story is sure to be so boring that it’ll knock you out?

No. They weren’t. The only time my parents were ever on a spaceship was when they were being shipped out to the edge to colonize a new mining settlement. They used to say that I was born looking up… I think they just said that because they’d realized I’d have to go eventually. So, they told me I’d always wanted to be an adventurer and eventually I believed it.

The mines dried up sooner than the corporations expected. They stopped prioritizing the settlement. We’re far out, you know? It was close to the edge and that costs to maintain. When they finally decided it wasn’t worth it, they just stopped coming—stopped paying the mercenaries to guard the colony. Pirates and worse started to set up shop real quick after that. It’s still there, the last planetary settlement before the deep.

Hm? Oh, no, it was just me by then. I got on the first ship that would take me. Scariest ride of my life. That ship was a wreck, barely holding together, and we were packed standing inside it for hours. I can still remember the way it creaked and shook, like it was going to come apart and we’d all just be flushed out into space.

We made it to the nearest station. The captain we’d all paid, tried to double cross us by selling us to a skin ship. I was lucky that some of the others were armed and would rather go down shooting then get on that other vessel. It turned into a firefight right there in the station and we scattered. I stowed away on a big cargo ship and got out of there.

Oh, I definitely got caught, but by then we were away from the station and those cargo ships can’t waste time turning back. I guess they could have jettisoned my ass but the captain felt bad for me. I was barely more than a kid. He said he was short-handed so I could work for my food and board.

I was trying to get to the prime. [huffs a small laugh] I’m probably lucky I never made it. What would I have done there? They probably would have put my ass back on a ship running cargo out here.

…Yeah. [smiles] You’re right. If I’d gotten myself one of those legit long-haul jobs, who would have been out here to save you from those pirates?

I wouldn’t go that far.

Shut up and fall asleep already.

12. 

[space sounds]

[muffled] Stardust!

[distant alarms sounding and then an impact shudder]

[muffled] Stardust!

[Stardust running to the bridge, door whoosh, ship shudder]

[ship] L-Class yacht closing in.

Get in that seat and buckle up!

Your cousin.

I’m pretty damn sure, Stardust. Aside from the fact that no one else out here has a chrome yacht armed to the teeth, he did have the courtesy to call before he started trying to blow out our engines.

[ship control sounds, impact shudder]

I said buckle up!

We’ll go through that debris, fly close to the asteroids and see if we can lose them… That yacht is huge, maybe we’ll get lucky and they won’t want to take the hits going through. Not sure we can hope they’ll break apart but who knows, maybe we have some luck left…

[ship control sounds]

Here. You have access to the guns. Shoot them if they get in range.

I know it won’t do much against their shields but it’s not like we’re just going to give up.

Really, Stardust? You want a breakdown of the conversation, right now?

[groans] He said I could hand you over and walk, or we’d both get a bullet. Now fucking shoot something!

[ship sounds, muffled gunfire]

Fuck… They’re blowing through the debris… It’s not even slowing them down.

We can’t outrun them. The only reason they haven’t blown us to bits is because they need you alive.

[ship] Exiting debris field.

There’s a gas cloud not far from here… Maybe…

[ship] L-Class yacht is too close for safe—

[ship shuddering, hit by the yacht]

They’re ramming us…

[ship alarm in background]

They’re not outfitted to grab and board us. I think they’re trying to disable our flight. If we’re floating dead, they’d have plenty of time to figure out how to get you out.

[ship] Hull damage to starboard side. Maintenance required.

[scoffs, sarcastic] Yeah, thanks ship, I’ll get right on that.

[another hit]

Fuck!

[Stardust unbuckling]

What are you doing? Sit back down! You’re going to get hurt!

What? No!

[Cosmic unbuckling and getting up]

Stop! We’re not doing that.

[worried and frustrated] …No, we can’t get away, but maybe we could…

[pause, Stardust talking]

[stubborn] I am not trading you.

I said no, Stardust. I’m not ditching you.

I’m not saying it wouldn’t work! I’m saying… I’m saying I won’t do it.

Maybe if we pretend to surrender… They can’t kill you until they get to the treasure.

[groans] Do not argue with me about calling it treasure right now…

We could wait until they dock with us and then—

[desperate] I know it’s not likely to work, Stardust, but what other options do we have?

No…No, I can’t do that.

I…I just can’t…I can’t!

[following them to the escape pod]

Stardust stop!

[ship] Escape pod activated.

Stop. [close] Just… Wait.

[ship hit again, alarm in the background still going off]

We’re only a few days out from the target, Stardust… Once they find it, they’re going to kill you.

We can keep going until they either back off or smash us apart… You don’t have to do this.

[ship shudder]

Fucking forget what I said! I’m telling you to stay.

You weren’t just a payday, okay? Now get back in your seat and—

[frustrated] Stardust—

[shudder a breath] Yeah, we almost made it…

They’re going to kill you. Don’t do this. Don’t go.

[pause, alarms and ship shudder background]

Three days…That’s a bad plan.

No, the tracking nanites are still active but they might be able to detect and eliminate them.

Fine. Fine! Yes. I can find you. Three days… I will find you.

[pod door whoosh]

[ship] Preparing escape pod.

[impact shudder, alarms, his shaking breath]

I am going to find you, Stardust.

Yeah… Because you’re my bounty. I told you I wouldn’t let you go without getting my cut, right?

I will find you. Just… try to stay alive until I do.

[door closes]

[ship] Escape pod release.

[aachria]

Hi again! Before I started writing my fic, I just wanted to ask if you would be ok with the ocs I created knowing Ed from before they got isekai'd. I have 2 of them and I'll briefly summarize how each of them knew Ed from 'before' so to speak. Both of them use their 'actual' names which is why it takes them longer to realize Ed is the Ed they knew.

Pathaan D. 'Agh' Akhtar-Waqiyah (I'm using the same surname-first syntax like the One piece characters do) was going to be about 3 years older than Ed and either be a friend of Ed's mysterious sister or a fellow One Piece fan that Ed met at a con for one piece or something pre truck kun. I was planning on having her spend the timeskip under either fujitora's or Hancock's tutelage and refer to Ed as 'Elric' (fmab reference).

As for the other oc, her name is T.T. Josune (and yes the Ts stand for something lol). She was the oc I was a bit more iffy about because when I was fleshing her out, I pictured her to be an ex of Ed's or an old situationship (and yes, i was listening to Chapell Roan drafting these ocs 😔). As a result, I wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with that, so I just wanted to check with you.

If you have any suggestions, it'd be really appreciated and I'd love to add them.

I was also curious abt why you were iffy with Boa. Honestly, there are a lot of reasons for that but i was curious abt it since the latest update.

Wow, this was way longer than I expected 😭 Can't wait for the latest chapter.

Oh having OCs who knew Ed from before is SICK and I love that.

Love the idea of Agh knowing Ed's sister, I'd imagine before the... incident she'd be the cool older sibling who would drag Ed around with her friends to make them be social and just because her friends thought Ed was funny. I don't think Ed was much of a con person (they got that introvertism in them ✊😔) but they could have gone to one or two if you'd like to go that route. And her calling Ed Elric is HILARIOUS and I love it.

T. T. Josune is a BALLER ass name and I love it. Titty jokes galore. Ed is one of those people who figured out romance Was Not for them pretty early on, so they haven't had a lot of RELATIONSHIP relationships, but something with a more queerplatonic or fwb dynamic would work. Ed is very upfront with people about the aromantic thing and communicating that romance is never on the table with them, but they aren't opposed to exclusivity or commitment. Being exes or a situationship is fucking hilarious and has to much potential, I am 100% on board with that.

I love Boa Hancock. She is so very wonderful and such an amazing character, she just touches a loooot of boxes that can be. A little odd. I'm going to try and portray her in a very specific way, but I don't want to change or nudge things so much as to take away from her character. Boa is a very careful balancing act but I have so much love for that insane ass woman.

I wish you the utmost luck with your writing and believe in you fully 🫡