#was it casual when through all timeline I kept coming back to you so *you* would stop my accidental villain arc ?

[hyperfixatedbean]

- A love that transcend time and space, “In all possibilities, it’s you”

[chilling-seavey]

i have such a TWIG moment, George coming back from a double header race late in the evening and when he comes home he sees you in the kitchen tidying up, knowing your son is already in bed. but to his surprise he sees the barely visible baby bump you acquired over the two weeks

I love this sweet idea 🥹 call me picky about my timelines but baby2 would be doing most of her growing during winter break but lucky for your idea here, anon, Winterfest blurbs confirmed baby3 so 🤭 let's progress...

Warnings: Lighthearted banter about body changes

It still impressed you how you managed to wrangle two kids all on your own while George was away for race weekends, especially those multi-headers. Perhaps your two little blessings were just at that age now where they worked with you more than against you, but you still found yourself completely wiped at the end of the night. You silently praised the resilience of single parents.

Your third pregnancy—compared to your first two—was not planned, and maybe it was that deep-seeded truth that made that first trimester feel all the morning exhausting. More often than before, you were debating his suggestion to hire a nanny just to take the brunt of the work off of you when he was away. You had once been adamant that it wasn't what you wanted but, damn, you were seriously starting to count down the days until George was home.

The night he finally arrived home from a double header (you swore if it was a triple you might have lost your mind), it was well into the evening and the kids had already been put to bed. They had put up a bit of a fight, wanting to wait up until George got home, but you promised them he'd check on them and give them a kiss when he got home and that seemed to be enough to pacify them.

As you wiped down the counters from dinner, you noticed the headlights of his car pulling into the driveway through the kitchen window. You kept yourself busy as he parked and grabbed his bag from the trunk. You wanted to finish the chores so you could spend the remainder of the evening with him before your exhausted body would have you falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

And before you knew it, George was in the doorway to the kitchen, resting against the frame, arms crossed casually over his chest. You glanced over at him with a sweet smile, wringing out the cloth into the sink.

"Hi," you greeted softly.

"Hi," he echoed.

George pushed himself off the doorframe and strode over to you as you dried your damp hands on a tea towel and you turned to face him to accept his quick kiss to your lips. His homecoming was second nature to you now.

"Good flight?" you asked, dropping the towel onto the counter so you could drape your arms around his shoulders.

"Mm, fine," he answered absentmindedly, his hands settling on your hips and then moving around over the front of your robe. His fingers gently played over the fabric.

You stared at him for a moment like that, just taking him in in the warm light of the kitchen, even if he was more focused on his hands than your face. You were just glad to have him back in your arms.

Finally, as if explaining his momentary awe, he stated, "You popped since I've been gone, look at you."

You glanced down at yourself too, already having noticed the way your pants had been getting harder to do up and the fact that the fabric belt of your robe was tied in more of an awkward spot than normal to accommodate your rapidly changing body. With a small hum, you agreed, "It started fast. Took almost double this time to start showing with our little guy."

"What are we at now? Nine weeks?"

"Mhm."

"Wow."

"Big already, huh?"

George chuckled lowly, playing into your banter as he finally tore his eyes away from your stomach to look you in the eye, "You're gonna be massive, love."

"Jesus, George, thanks," you laughed before retaliating with a, "Only due to the fact that it's your big ass baby inside me."

His arms slid farther around your waist to pull your body flush against his and he smiled at your playfulness as he stared lovingly into your eyes, "And I'd put fifteen more inside you if I could."

"We agreed we'd stop at two," you reminded him with a poke to his chest but there was no true heat behind your words, "This third one was enough of a surprise as it is. The last thing we need is more."

"But you look so pretty," George moaned in dismay, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, and he nipped at your earlobe. His breath fell warm against the shell of your ear, "And I can feel your little baby belly against me."

You giggled at his statement with your body pressed up snug against his, chest to chest. He smelt like airplane but the fading hints of his aftershave powered through and you ducked your nose right up under his jaw and just breathed him in. His hands slid down and gave your ass a squeeze over your robe.

After a moment of just holding each other, George took a half step back out of your embrace. You set your hands on the edge of the counter behind you and watched as his hands went back to the faint swell of your belly through the fabric of your robe. His fingers toyed with the belt before slowly pulling it undone.

"Sweetheart..." you chuckled faintly, moving a hand to grasp onto the front of your robe to keep it closed.

"Just want to look at you," he protested, lifting your hand up to kiss your knuckles before pulling open the front of your robe.

You watched his handsome face in silence, a fond smile on your face as he admired you in only your underwear in the middle of the darkened kitchen. The under-cabinet lighting created a soft, warm glow across the room and left both of you in long shadows. George still looked incredibly gorgeous...he always managed to look good, even after lengthy flights.

Just then, he crouched down onto the tile floor in front of you, splaying his hands over your bump, and he whispered to it softly, "Hey, little one. It's your daddy. You're growing so fast, aren't you?"

You smiled down at him and raked your fingers through his hair, your heart thudding in your chest at the sight of him like that. Watching him be a father was your greatest joy, and how blessed you were that life brought you him.

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[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[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

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter ten (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Hux has worked himself to the point of a breakdown, but you show up at his door when he least expects it

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; hurt/comfort; description of a panic attack; self-loathing; mentions of self-harm; brief suicidal ideation; memories of child abuse; descriptions of food and eating; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 5031

Author’s Note: first, please do read the warnings here because there's some heavy stuff in this chapter! if you feel like you need to skip this one, I totally understand! ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 second, this is one of the chapters I'm most excited to post, and I really hope that you'll enjoy it (if you do feel comfy reading it), even though it does deal with some heavy stuff! I'm really really proud of how this came out, and I hope you like it as well!! 🥰🥰

Hux was not going to survive this. He buried his head in his hands, loose strands of red hair that had long ago been set free from their usual gelled bonds falling in disarray around him. His normally immaculate desk was cluttered with scattered notes and devices, dotted with empty cups of caf. Most of his uniform had been abandoned in messy piles, fabric wrinkled and boots fallen over, leaving him only in a pair of leisure pants and the thin black shirt he wore under his uniform top. Moments like this were not unknown to Hux – in fact, they were more common than he would have preferred. But that didn’t mean he was used to the crushing, stifling feeling that filled his chest and throat.

He leaned back in his chair, heaving a sigh that did little to release the pressure that was building in his body. He could practically feel the dark circles forming around his eyes. How long had it been since he had slept? He couldn’t quite remember. He didn’t even bother checking his datapad; he knew it was stacked with notifications that kept piling up. Once again, the timeline for Starkiller had been compressed, and Hux could no longer force his fatigued mind to continue making the calculations needed to submit this last plan.

Just a few more numbers and diagrams and he could finally rest, but the figures refused to coalesce in his mind. The clutter in the room was driving him nearly to madness, but he couldn’t stop to clean it when he just needed to focus. He could smell day-old caf and hear his datapad’s soft humming even though he had silenced it and the light was all wrong and he felt chilled but still sweaty and his head pounded and why couldn’t he just kriffing focus.

A buzz at the door diverted his attention immediately. A blaze of anger shot through him as he shoved himself up from his chair and stalked to the door. Certain it was Mitaka or another one of his personal staff come to ask him for something, his frustrated scowl was already painted on his face when pushed the button to open the door. When it whizzed open, he found you instead. The glower fell from his face in an instant, his mind blanking as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

You were leaning quite dramatically against the doorframe, the hyperbolic casualness of it clearly intentional. Your face was so full of cheerfulness that Hux felt he might cry. He realized you were holding a container in your hands as you pushed yourself off the wall with your shoulder.

“Working late, General?” you asked, a brilliant, lightly teasing smile gracing your features. The promise of all the wealth of all the core worlds could have been standing at his door, and it would have paled in comparison to you. 

“I—yes.” He admitted, struggling to form a coherent sentence. He half thought that you might be an exhaustion-induced hallucination, but no: you were real, you were there, you had come to see him.

“May I come in?” you inquired, just the barest hint of hesitation in your voice. You shifted the container in your hands. Come in. You wanted to come in. 

Every expletive Hux had ever heard came crashing through his mind all at once. His quarters were a disaster – wait, no – he was a disaster. He looked down at the sorry state of his clothing and could only imagine the equal nightmare of his face and hair. It was a miracle you hadn’t turned and run the instant you saw him. You probably would do so anyway when you stepped through the door and saw the scene he had made of his rooms. How could he let you see him like this? There was no helping it though – he didn’t have it in himself to turn you away and he so desperately wanted you to stay. But would you even want to after witnessing the utter disorder into which he had thrown his space and himself?

“Y—yes, but… I fear it’s quite a mess.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to tame the rebellious orange strands. “I’ve been… busy.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you promised with a little reassuring smile. Slowly, hesitantly, dreading the moment you saw his shame and left him standing alone and shaking in the doorway, he moved aside so that you could enter. He had dimmed all his lights to near-darkness, unable to think properly with too much light glaring in on him. You stepped in cautiously, and he watched breathlessly as your eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could see you scan the space, probably taking stock of every item out of place, making note of the utter chaos all around you. Hux hadn’t even closed the door yet, facilitating your exit that he knew was just seconds away. 

But you didn’t run. You just turned to face him, eyes soft and glowing and so full of worry that Hux was sure he was about to collapse at the sight. You reached slowly past him and pressed the button to close the door. It whirred shut, trapping you in his self-made disaster with him. Hux wanted to say something – make some explanation or apology – but he couldn’t think. He couldn’t even breathe.

“Armitage…” The sound of his name on your tongue made his lower lip tremble. “I think you should go sit down.” Despite its framing as a suggestion, Hux knew it was a command. It was the kindest, gentlest order he had ever received in his life. He obeyed without question.

From his desk chair, he watched you make one final appraisal of his utter embarrassment of a room before walking swiftly to the kitchen area. Propping his elbows on the cluttered desk and burying his head in his hands, he tried to slow his fevered breathing, to contain his unseemly shaking. He was less than a week out from his second official date with you and you were going to come back into the room and say you were no longer interested. Why would you be? Who would want to be with the human embodiment of a wrecked Star Destroyer? All loose wires and shards of metal that were unsalvageable for any purpose other than scrap. Despite his efforts, his breathing only became more ragged as he shook harder.

He heard your footsteps approach him slowly, and he readied himself for the killing blow. He was too much of coward to even look up, he realized with disgust. Just as he was about to force himself to face you, he felt the weight of your hand on his shoulder, the glowing warmth that he would have recognized anywhere resting on the thin fabric of his shirt, soaking into his clammy skin. He sensed you place something on the desk in front of him. This bitterest part of him mused that it might be a blaster so he could finally put himself out of his misery.

“Armitage?” Even now he couldn’t resist the sound of his name on your lips. He looked up. You were standing next to him, hand still affixed to his shoulder, watching him with so much care and concern that he wasn’t sure he could bear the softness of it. He sucked in an ugly, gasping breath. “Please eat something.”

That’s when he realized that the object you had set on his desk was a bowl of soup, steam rising off the hot liquid in little wispy spirals. He stared at it, feeling like a droid that had malfunctioned, his mind blank and stuttering. Reaching forward with a trembling hand, he grasped the spoon and dunked it into the thick broth, letting the warmth of it slip down his throat and into his stomach. It was immediately apparent to him that you had made the soup yourself; it swirled with gentle spices that he remembered from the other meals he had shared with you. Thoughts came back to him in pieces: was this what had been in the container you had brought? Had you always intended to do this for him? And if so, why? Why? You had seen him for the failure that he was, and yet you were still here, giving him soup and blessing him with your touch. Hux swallowed another bite, determined to show you that he appreciated your gesture far more than he could ever express, even if it was the last thing you did for him before leaving forever.

When you seemed content that he would actually eat as you had asked, you moved behind his chair without fully removing your hand. Instead, you trailed it along the top of his back, over the base of his neck. Hux could feel every brush of your fingertips as they spread trails of sunlight across his shaking frame. When you reached his other shoulder, you let your palm linger there for a moment before lifting it free. Instantly grieving the loss of physical contact with you, Hux snapped his head around on instinct to follow where you had gone. Of course he had been right, he thought as he watched you move through the room toward the door. You would grant him this one last mercy – you were certainly kind enough for that – before disappearing from his life forever, having witnessed the disaster from which you were saving yourself. 

But then you stopped in the middle of the room. Hux wanted to beg you to just leave, to cut yourself free with one definitive slice and spare him the slow torture of watching it happen. But then you bent over and picked something up. Part of his uniform that he had long ago discarded in heap. Straightening up, you bundled it into your arms before locating the next piece and collecting that as well. It took his fatigued brain a frustratingly long moment to figure out that you were cleaning up his things. The realization hit him like the worst kickback from a blaster he had ever experienced. You were helping him? After everything you had seen? There was nothing – not one single thing – that Hux had ever done or ever could do in his life that would make him worthy of this, he was certain of it. He couldn’t allow you to lift one more finger for his underserving sake. Gripping the table, he made to stand.

“I—please—” but his slight movement and feeble words turned your attention to him instantly, and the comforting weight of your concerned gaze stilled him immediately.

“Armitage, please eat,” you entreated him, eyes wide with worry and shining softly in the pale starlight that seeped in through the windows on the far side of his quarters. There was not a fiber in his body that could deny you such a tender request. With a small nod, he sank back into his seat and continued to take slow bites of the soup.

He watched from his periphery as you picked up each piece of his abandoned clothing and deposited it all down the chute that led to the main laundry facilities. With great care, you retrieved his greatcoat from where Hux had carelessly slung it and straightened it on a hanger in his closet. Then you placed both boots neatly in front of the closet door. He looked on in disbelief as you made your way to him and began stacking his embarrassingly large collection of used caf cups together. It was too much for him to bear. As you reached across to grab the final cup, Hux caught your wrist gently with one tremulous hand. You relaxed into his grip instantly, setting the rest of the cups aside as you turned toward him. He clung to your hand like a lifeline.

“Do you need something?” Worry laced your tone as you searched his face as though trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Why are you doing this for me?” The words came out so pathetically desperate, barely above a shuddering whisper as he flicked his eyes over you nervously, trying to unravel the answer to his question. You face softened instantly upon hearing his question, and you shifted closer until your face was level with his. One hand reached up to cup his cheek, the tender warmth of it so improbable against his skin that he couldn’t help but tremble slightly. There was no hiding the watery hiccup in his chest as he leaned against your welcoming palm.

“Because I care about you, Armitage,” you whispered back, the softest smile Hux had ever seen gracing your features, “is that such an unbelievable idea?”

“Yes,” he choked out, that one quivering word finally breaking the dam of pressure inside of him. He was instantly wracked with hideous sobs, vision clouded with hot tears as he gasped for air. On instinct he tried to pull away, a futile attempt to save you from the utter wreck of him. But instead of letting him curl away from you, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. His face found the crook of your neck and nestled there, feeling the comforting press of your soft skin against his cheeks, his nose, his lips. One of your hands wound its way through his disheveled hair, your fingers combing through his orange locks. Your other arm wrapped around his heaving frame, rubbing gently up and down his back. There were no thoughts left to him except the extraordinary sensation of you all around him. This was the closest he had ever been to anyone and yet he wanted – no, needed – to be closer still, to wrap himself inside you until you filled all his senses, until his heart beat in tandem with yours.

Finally, his gasping sobs subsided, and he reluctantly released his desperate grip on you, raising his head from your shoulder as his chest still shuddered with teary breaths. Somehow you had both ended up on the floor, your body no doubt cocooning him in a protective shell as he collapsed into you. You allowed him to pull away from you slowly, hands still cradling him slightly as though you feared he might come undone again. It wasn’t an unfounded fear. Everything in him felt fragile, like one wrong touch would shatter him. But nothing about the way you touched him would ever be wrong. If he broke, it would not be by your hands.

He stared at you incredulously, ready for the moment when everything came crashing down around him, waiting for you to push away from his crumpled form in disgust. But it never happened. Instead, he found you looking back at him, nothing but tenderness in your gaze. He wiped ineffectually as his cheeks, knowing they were tearstained beyond help. That knowledge only made him rub harder, trying to erase the proof of his weakness. Then his fingernails found his reddened skin and he dug them in, the sharp pain a personal punishment for his complete lack of propriety, of control. But before he could drag long claw marks down his face, he heard a sharp intake of breath and suddenly your hands were clasped over his, pulling them away from his raw cheeks.

“Armitage, stop – you’re going to hurt yourself!” The worry in your voice made your words frantic. He couldn’t believe you were seeing him like this. Kriff, you must be so disgusted with him.

“I deserve to hurt,” he murmured through ragged breaths, unable to look at you.

“What?” The question was breathless with horror, your hands gripping his even tighter.

“I deserve to hurt,” he repeated, spitting the words at himself with utter distain, “I deserve to be punished. Forgive me – I was so weak. Pathetic. I’m a disaster.” He couldn’t contain another round of jagged sobs, the salty tears stinging on his raw skin. He ducked his head further under the weight of his shame.

“Who told you that?” Your voice was quavering, but Hux was surprised to realize that he couldn’t tell whether it was sorrow or anger that caused the tremor. You shifted his hands in yours, clasping over his nails so that if he clenched his fists, they would dig into your skin instead of his. He instinctively relaxed the tightened muscles in his fingers. He could never forgive himself for hurting you. He swallowed thickly, trying to force himself to stop crying.

“Armitage, who told you that?” You repeated your question, firmer this time, but somehow no less gentle. You never broke your grip on his hands. 

“My father,” Hux spat, the unwanted surge of memories causing new tears to spill over his cheeks. “Weakness only results in pain. Weakness must be punished.” The barely whispered words were his father’s, not his, but that didn’t make them any less true to him. They had been borne out in nearly every interaction he’d had, over and over again until they were written on stone in his mind. 

“Armitage,” your voice was so sweet, coaxing him out of himself, but he still couldn’t bear facing you. Not like this. “I was weak.” Hux’s sobs faded into little confused gasps. What were you talking about? “I cried on the bridge, in front of everyone. I cried in my quarters in front of you. Apparently it’s obvious to everyone that I’m not cut out for service on a Star Destroyer. I’ve been very weak – do you think I deserve to be punished too?” Your question made Hux’s head shoot up instantly.

 “No – never! Never!” The words shot from his mouth as fast as he could make them. He couldn’t stomach the idea of you thinking such a thing. Now that he was finally looking at you, he saw sorrow brimming in your eyes. He pulled your entwined hands into his lap and cradled them there, whispering the word once more like a promise: “never.”

 “Then why do you?” The question was so quiet, but the weight of it hung heavy in the air around both of you. He looked down at where your hands were clasped around his own, protecting him from himself. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He didn’t know. It had never even occurred to him to ask such a question. Perhaps you saw him struggling, fighting with himself and his years of pain, because you gently loosed one of your hands from his and brought it up to his face. In an echo of his own gesture from weeks before, you rested your fingers against the side of his face, each one a sunbeam on his skin. With a swipe of your thumb so soft that he almost couldn’t believe a touch could be that gentle, you wiped the lingering tears from the sensitive skin beneath his eye. Then you pressed your palm full against his cheek, letting the warmth of you soak in. He tentatively raised his free hand and cupped it around yours, pressing you even closer to him.

He closed his eyes, taking the deepest breath he could manage, trying to focus on the feeling of your touch against his skin. You were here. You were real. You were touching him. He could feel the room beginning to coalesce around him again, his thoughts gradually clearing, his senses returning. He took one more deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. He could see you much more clearly then, the glaze of tears finally fading from his eyes. You were sitting so close to him, one hand still pressed against his cheek, the other clasped with his in his lap. As you watched him, he saw that the worry and sorrow were beginning to clear from your gaze as well.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently.

“Better. A little.”

“I’ll take that,” a tiny lilt of lightness crept into your voice as you caressed his cheek with your thumb once more. His eyes flickered closed again as he melted into the gesture.

“Will you promise me one thing?” you asked, voice soft but serious. He nodded against your hand, eyes still closed. “Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.”

“I promise,” he murmured through a shaky exhale, finally opening his eyes to see you gazing back at him, a small smile just barely forming at the edges of your lips. 

“Good – thank you,” your voice was so sweet as you removed your hand from where it was entangled with Armitage’s in his lap. Hux took this as a cue to drop his other hand that was encasing yours on his cheek. He expected you to pull away from him and stand, but instead you leaned toward him again. With deft fingers, you brushed the errant strands of hair from his face and tucked them away. Curling your sleeves over your fingers, you gently mopped up the tear tracks lingering on his face.

“See? Good as new,” you whispered as you leaned back to admire your work. Hux huffed a small almost-laugh. He knew he was still a complete mess, but if you were pleased, who was he to argue?

“Can you stand?” you asked after a moment. Armitage tried to get a grip on his body, to sense his limbs and see if they had enough strength left to pull him from the ground. There was very little left in him at all, just a deep ache in his bones. But also a growing warmth in his chest as the last of his tears finally cleared and he was able to take relatively stable breaths again. You were still here. You had stayed. You said you… cared about him.

“After all these… incidents… you’re going to think it’s a miracle that I can ever stand upright at all.” He hoped his tone came across as light and joking. He must have succeeded at least a little, since you offered him a cheery giggle in response. It was enough to cause a small smile to pull at the corners of his own lips. 

“Apparently only when I’m around,” you teased back, the hidden laughter in your voice almost infectious.

“I suppose you do have a powerful effect on me.” Armitage swallowed. He tried to keep the joking lightness in his voice, but the terrifying honesty of his words might have scared it all away.

“A good effect, I hope?” He saw you walking the same line with your question, precariously poised between lightheartedness and sincere hope.

“A very good effect.” His voice came out as barely a whisper, any teasing undercurrent gone. But he knew you had heard. Your smile widened and you leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You have a pretty powerful effect on me as well, Armitage,” you whispered, eyes sparkling. Hux struggled for air for a moment. He couldn’t imagine what kind of effect he could possibly have on you – except that of being the most pathetic spectacle you had ever seen – but it caused an excited little catch in his breath to hear you say it nonetheless. You offered him your hand then, and he took it gratefully. Rising slowly, you guided him upwards, your other arm ghosting over him, hovering just inches away in case he should collapse again. He was shaky still, but much to his relief, he didn’t stumble. 

He let you guide him, not really caring where he was going so long as it meant you were close to him, holding his hand. When you stopped and motioned for him to sit, he realized you had delivered him to his sleeping area, and that he was now seated on the edge of his bed. He felt a little rush of embarrassment raise the heat in his cheeks, but at least he spent so little time in this space that he hadn’t been able to make a complete mess of it. That was one small victory. You seemed to make sure he would stay sitting before turning to exit the room. Panic flashed through him like lightning, making the question jump from his mouth.

“Are you leaving?” As much as he wished it had been a casual inquiry, he knew the words had trembled. Not that he would blame you if you were. You had certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty. Far beyond. He had no reason to assume you would stay, despite how ardently he wished that you would. You turned instantly. 

“I’m just going to get you some tea,” you reassured him from the doorway, “I’ll be right back.”

Oh. You weren’t leaving. You were coming right back. With tea. Armitage’s mind struggled to comprehend. He had almost fully processed the fact that you actually weren’t leaving when you reappeared with a steaming mug. You pressed it into his hands. Wrapping his fingers around the warm cup, he raised it to his lips. Somehow he had expected the familiar, bitter bite of tarine, but this was something entirely different. It was faintly floral with a warm, herbal undercurrent. And a little swirl of something faintly sweet.

“What did you put in this?” It wasn’t a sweetener he recognized. Whatever it was had a much deeper, more natural sweetness than the standard fare on Star Destroyers. “It’s good – I just don’t recognize it…” he hurried to add, not wanting you to think he didn’t like it. You could have given him a cup of bolts and oil and he probably would have sipped it happily.

“Honey, from my secret stash,” you offered him a little lopsided smile, “it’s an old trick.”

“A trick for what?”

“To help you fall asleep.” Hux’s eyes shot wide open at your words. Sleep? He didn’t have time for sleep!

“Thank you, but I— No—no I have—I have to work.” He started to push himself up from the bed with his free arm. Your hand placed lightly against his chest stopped him in his tracks. If he thought he had had difficulty regulating his cardiovascular system around you in the past, this was something else entirely. The soft press of your touch over his lungs – over his heart – was wreaking havoc on him. Had anyone ever touched him there so gently? He remembered a constellation of bruises over the ridges of his ribs, courtesy of this father’s boot, and much worse beyond that which he didn’t dare to call to mind for fear of breaking apart again. But never anything soft. Never anything good. Not until now.

“Armitage, you need to sleep,” you entreated him, eyes wide and pleading. He looked down to where your hand was pressing a warm sunburst against his chest.

“I need— I have so much work to do.” He was breathless, the words barely ghosts of themselves.

“You need rest, too,” you reminded him gently. He allowed the soft press of your hand to guide him back to a sitting position on his mattress. You knelt before him then, eyes glowing in the starlight that streamed in through the window behind him. He gripped at his sheets to keep himself upright. 

“Maybe this is selfish of me,” you said, just the faintest hint of teasing in your tone as you lifted your hand from his chest. Armitage fell forward just slightly, trying to follow the receding path of your touch. “But the thing is… I really need you to not work yourself to the point of collapse, because I have a date with you in just a few cycles, and I’m really looking forward to it.” It took him an embarrassingly long moment to start breathing normally again and to process the meaning of your words. 

“Really?” He could feel his brows furrow, incredulous that you were still looking forward to seeing him again after… this.

“Really,” you promised. Happiness bloomed in his chest before he remembered what you were asking of him. He heaved a sigh of defeat and buried his head in his free hand.

“I can’t,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t sleep,” he clarified. “I’ve never… I’ve never been able to.” With that admission of failure, he uncovered his face only to see your expression crumple slightly with worry. 

“Why?” The word was almost inaudible, laced with concern. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged slightly. “Always too much to be doing, too much to think about.” Too much to fear, he added silently. He had slept with a knife under his pillow since he was five. 

“Would you try? For me?” Kriff, with you looking up at him like that, he would try anything. 

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” That seemed to reassure you enough that some of the concern slid from your face.

“How about this: finish your tea, then try to sleep for an hour. If you’re still awake after that, you can work.” Kriff, he really didn’t deserve you.

“That I can do,” he agreed. You beamed at him.

“I’ll just be in the other room,” you told him as you stood, “call me if you need anything.” Then you disappeared through the doorway. 

Hux looked down at the tea you had made for a long moment before drinking the last of it, just as he had promised. Setting the cup on his bedside table, he pulled himself under the sheets. Maybe you were right; his whole body ached, and as soon as his tired limbs felt the soft support of the mattress beneath them, they began unspooling the deeply wound tension from his muscles. It had been a long time since he had felt this tired and had actually let himself try to sleep. He attempted to start puzzling through the last of the necessary calculations, but there was nothing left in his body or mind. The only thing that remained in those moments as he began to drift off was the warm, humming memory of you. He imagined he could almost hear your breathing from the next room. He tried matching the rise and fall of his chest to yours. He dreamed of streaming daylight.

[itsactuallycorrine]

action & reaction

buddie; 1.6K; s08e06 spec; hopeful ending

series now complete: part 1 | part 2

Buck sits uneasily on top of the closed toilet lid, watching as a still red-cheeked and bloodshot-eyed Eddie scrapes a razor along his top lip. 

He hadn’t been certain what he’d do or say when he beelined from his loft to Eddie’s door after his revelation. There’d been a half-formed thought of talking it out, or making some big confession, a vague recollection of a line from some old movie Maddie had loved ringing in his ears about wanting to start the rest of your life as soon as possible. 

Finding Eddie in pieces on his living room floor had thrown all that out.

So had Eddie’s first words when he’d finally calmed down enough to speak:

“I want to shave this fucking mustache off.”

So now, here they are, Buck worried out of his mind and too afraid to take his sights off Eddie, while Eddie shaves his fucking mustache off.

When it’s gone, Eddie stares at himself long and hard in the mirror before cutting a glance at Buck. “So?”

Buck surveys his face and smiles a little. “Still just as handsome,” he teases, smile growing as Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs, pink blooming in the apples of his cheeks. “C’mon, man, you know what you look like. Mustache, no mustache. It doesn’t really make a difference.”

It doesn’t land the way Buck anticipated. “Yeah, I guess not,” Eddie says heavily, turning back to his own reflection. “I thought it’d—never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, what?” Buck asks. 

“I thought it’d be easier to, you know.” He gestures to the mirror. “If I didn’t really look like myself. I could pretend for a while that I wasn’t—that it wasn’t really me this was happening to. It was happening to some other Eddie in some other fucked up timeline or universe or whatever.”

It breaks Buck’s heart even more than he’d thought possible. “Eddie…”

But Eddie shrugs it off, turning his back to the mirror and crossing his arms. “But it is me. There is no mirror Eddie to blame. I did this. I cheated on Marisol, I brought Kim into our life, I…” His voice breaks. “I drove Christopher away. I did it. But” — he sighs, runs a hand through his hair — “I didn’t do it all alone.”

For the first time in months, a spark of hope kindles in Buck’s chest. “No, you didn’t. Kim chose to come back even after you broke it off. Your parents swept Chris away without even attempting to mediate.” He hesitates. “Christopher chose to leave instead of talking it out.”

“Shannon asked for a divorce when I wanted to fix things,” Eddie adds grimly, and Buck sucks in a shocked breath.

“Y-you never told me that. When?”

“Right before she died. She, uh, thought she might be pregnant and I thought that maybe…maybe it was the sign we needed to recommit to each other. But it turns out both of us were wrong—there was no baby, and she didn’t want that, want me.” Eddie shrugs, but it falls short of casual when his shoulders slump forward miserably.

Buck stares as his head spins. He’d always wondered, hadn’t he? He’d always wondered why Eddie kept coming back to this, to Shannon, couldn’t move on no matter how hard he’d tried. Obviously, Eddie had loved Shannon, but the way he spoke about her, the way he put her on this untouchable pedestal for Christopher, who already knew his mother wasn’t perfect, the way he viewed their relationship with rose-colored glasses when Buck knew how messy it had been…it had always concerned Buck. 

But this, this was the ugly, gnarled root of the problem, one that had grown up around Eddie’s ankles, holding him in place, never letting him move on. It ensnared him, kept him caught in the moment, an awful, terrible moment with no closure. Because instead of a divorce and a definitive closed door to their marriage or a reconciliation and fresh start, Eddie watched Shannon die. The diverging path cut short right at the crossroads, the choice taken out of Eddie’s hands. 

“She said that? That she didn’t want you?” Buck asks. Even without his recent epiphany, the idea seems ludicrous. After all, who wouldn’t want Eddie? 

“Well, no,” Eddie admits. “She said she was still figuring out how to be a mother and didn’t think she was ready to be a wife, too.” 

“Okay. Well, w-were you ready to be a husband? Honestly?”

“Would I have offered if I wasn’t?” At Buck’s unimpressed stare, Eddie sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.” 

Buck hums. “So it seems like maybe her decision wasn’t really about you at all, then. You just had to deal with the fallout, along with some truly shitty, tragic timing.”

Eddie says with a half-amused huff, “To put it mildly.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Eddie,” Buck says, softly. “You made mistakes, yeah, but it wasn’t all on you. You’ve gotta stop punishing yourself, man. You’re not just hurting yourself; you’re hurting Christopher.”

Eyes welling, Eddie looks at the floor and nods. “I know. And I think—I think I’m really ready to let go of it now. I am. But, God, I just… how do I move forward, Buck? I’ve been here so long that I don’t know where to go from here. How to start cleaning up my mess, to start fixing the things I let this break. How to live without this looming over me.” 

With a long, slow exhale, Buck climbs to his feet and takes Eddie by the arms, waiting until their gazes lock. “I don’t have the answers either, but we can figure it out. Together.”

A sole tear rolls down Eddie’s cheek as it swells with a shaky smile. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you—I’m here. I’m always gonna be here for you, Eddie, as long as you let me. Always. You don’t have to figure this or anything out alone.”

Eddie just nods as a few more tears spill over. He pulls Buck into a brief, grateful hug, and Buck closes his eyes and savors it. They do this so infrequently, and he’s never understood why. Eddie’s a pretty demonstrative guy, and neither of them are shy about hugging anyone else. But it feels different when it’s them, more weighted, more meaningful—and maybe that’s why. Maybe, subconsciously, Buck knew what it meant all along and held back. 

And maybe along the way, Eddie realized it, too, and didn’t want to encourage Buck or lead him on. Buck pulls back a little uneasily as the embrace breaks, but there’s nothing in Eddie’s expression beyond lingering tears and gratitude. 

They’ve finally made their way into the kitchen, sharing coffee across the table, when Eddie cocks his head. “Did you just drop by to check on me? Or did you need something before I distracted you with all the—” He waves in the general direction of the living room, a little sheepish. 

I love you.

I’m in love with you, and I think we’ve been building a really beautiful life together. 

This, us, our family, is all I’ve ever dreamt of, and if you’d just give me one chance…

Is there any reality in which you could be in love with me, too? Could want me, too? 

But he can’t say any of it, can he? He can’t do that to Eddie now, not when he’s finally ready to shed the past and move forward, not while so many loose ends are still waiting to be resolved. 

“Nah,” Buck says, hiding his farce of a smile by taking a drink. “I guess that call at the well got to me a little and I just…wanted to see you, make sure you were okay.” 

“Okay might be a stretch.” Eddie laughs and gives Buck a soft smile. “But I’ll get there.”

“I know you will.” Buck’s lashes lower as he smiles, a little shyly, and something rolls over in Eddie’s chest, a familiar fondness trussed in ribbons of longing. 

And, look, it’s never really gone away—that tug of yearning he has for Buck, one he’s known for years—but it has been somewhat muted over the past few months while Eddie had more pressing concerns. It used to terrify him, loving Buck the way he does, because he could never reconcile it with the past, with his own identity. 

It still terrifies him, if he’s being honest, because once he digs himself out of the hole he’s created, he’s going to have to reckon with this once and for all, the looming specter over his shoulder that he’s avoided looking at for over three decades. 

He’d been able to cope when he’d thought it was just a pipe dream, when there was no way—even if Eddie did face all his demons head on—Buck would ever feel the same. But then Tommy had come along and fractured that foundational belief, and was it any wonder that Eddie had blown up his own life right after that? 

But here in the aftermath of an emotional day, in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen, it doesn’t seem nearly as scary. Not when Buck’s face is a pretty pink over the rim of his coffee cup, his heart stalwart and steadfast and too damn generous. He hasn’t run from Eddie’s mess, not ever, and he’s just promised to stand by Eddie’s side as he pieces his life back together. How could Eddie do anything but love Buck? 

And for the first time, that feels like more of a blessing than a curse. It’s the light at the end of a very dark tunnel, leading him home, with the hope and faith that Buck will be there waiting for him when he arrives. 

ao3

[bella-atz]

happy birthday to you

timeline: during bouncy era

summary: ateez's maknae receives a "special" present.

For the first time in so long, Bella finally gets to be in her hometown and see her family again.

Unfortunately, she had to wait for this moment because the world was out of place, and she missed being in the same presence as her loved one. The members and Atinys acknowledged that Bella becomes a different person when she is not in Korea. In a good, happy way, to be exact.

The day the group is going to her hometown is on a concert day. It’s also Bella’s birthday. 

Despite her oppas being sentimental and astounded about her no longer being the shy teenager, they are proud that she grew up so beautifully. Bella will forever be ATEEZ’s lovely angel. 

Before the concert day, the guys prepared two cakes for Bella. One for eating and the other for smashing it onto her face. They are planning to surprise Bella towards the end. As a special gift for her family, she gave them free tickets to attend the show. They’ll be witnessing the chaotic moment. 

When the time came, Bella used her energy, and the crowd was in awe. Her gorgeous voice echoed in the air, her dazzling smile had Atinys squealing, and the oppas kept giving her affection because today was all about her. She honestly knew it was her birthday because she saw the fans holding special banners. However, she knows nothing about her surprise. As the night went by, there was nothing but cheers and upbeat energy in the venue. 

Later, the group is in casual clothes and doing their final talks with Atinys. Hongjoong has a playful smirk as he speaks. “Our amazing maknae is grown up now, and we got something for her.” He tells the audience. Bella reacts confused but instantly comprehends when she sees Yunho and Mingi coming from backstage with a cake on a rolling table. 

It’s a super cute Cinnamoroll cake. 

Everyone in the building starts singing the ‘Happy Birthday' song. Bella does a little dance while the cake comes in front of her. She reads the message in royal icing. 

To Our Universe 

From Your Beloved Oppas

“Thank you so much! I love you all!” Bella speaks into the microphone and does a finger heart. 

She also notices there are no candles. Before she could question, Yunho and Mingi smeared icing on her cheeks. Then, in a split second, Wooyoung grabs the cake and smashes it onto her face. At once, the fans and the members are laughing their heads off because of their messy face maknae.

Seonghwa quickly wipes her eyes with his thumb. “Are you okay?” He asked through his giggling. The birthday girl nodded with a big smile. She blinks and turns her head at the evil Wooyoung laughing on the floor. Bella marches up to him. He sees her trying to look mad, but she doesn’t do it because he is lucky that she loves him. 

Wooyoung stands up and tries to catch his breath. “Happy birthday bebe!” He yells through the microphone. Like a command, the audience shouted back and cheered their hearts out for their angel. Bella just accepts it and does a heart pose with her arms. Instantly, the guys brought her into a big group hug. 

[hotchstead]

Friend breakups - Brian Zvonecek

Brian ‘Otis’ zvonecek & fem!reader

Word count: idk I wrote this in my notes app

Requested: no

A/n: this is me coping with this exact situation. If only he were real and yk… alive… sorry for that commentjskdksk

Ty bff for this gif btw you know who

Masterlist

You were sitting at the squad table, texting, well… arguing with your so-called friend. Cheeks red, chest heavy and your thumbs tapping away almost faster than you could put together your thoughts. Something about how they were being selfish. Something else about how you did nothing wrong.

Because you didn’t. All you did was vaguely agree with a mutual friend over an argument between them and now suddenly you were the bad guy. Ten years of friendship with zero arguments down the drain over one tiny comment.

It was bullshit and you were starting to feel the anger building up. Part of you wanted to stop messaging her before you said anything too bad. But the other part of you was being egged on by anger and wanted to hit where it hurt.

The latter one and immediately you felt slightly guilty. But if it was the truth, then why apologize? She always wanted you to be truthful with her anyway so why should this be any different?

The text chain ended with her trying to guilt you into feel bad but it didn’t work. You sent a bland ‘yeah.’ In response, making it hard for her to come back with more crocodile tears and stood, nearly storming your way across the apparatus floor and through the glass door that led to the small gym area.

It was big enough for some weights and a punching bag on the opposite wall. One that became your best friend after sliding the black gloves 51 kept hanging near it on.

Each hit felt more cathartic. Like your anger could finally be directed somewhere that wouldn’t cause you actual bodily harm. You hit and punched so hard the stand tilted slightly, almost falling backwards.

Just as it balanced back up, the bag swaying, Otis came in, his eyebrows raising. “Well… something has you worked up…” he muttered, casually going over to the weights.

You two were close so you didn’t mind him seeing you on the verge of whatever you were feeling right then. Instead you huffed, nodding. “You have no idea.”

One last hit and you were pulling the gloves off, habitually checking your phone. Another text from her sitting in your notification bar.

I’ll come by tomorrow for my things. I have some stuff of yours anyway.

That’s all it said. Sent ten minutes ago. It felt like an actual couple breakup. The sort of split you’d seen friends go through. But none like this. There was always a reason. A valid reason.

Not something like this. Not between someone that you saw as the sun to your moon. Your best friend. The person you’d so fondly and jokingly called your wife.

You’d been by her side through everything. Her grandma dying. Multiple pets passing or running away. When she fought with family you gave her a place to stay. Bought food that she’d make so you two had an excuse to see one another. ‘Accidentally’ forgetting things at your place so she’d just have to come back within her busy schedule.

Tears pricked your eyes. That was it. After tomorrow she’d just be someone that you knew. Someone you loved like family that was now estranged for the rest of your life. All you could muster in response was a measly ‘ok’ before a frown grew on your face.

“Hey… are you alright?” Otis’ voice barely registered in your ears. Regardless a sob left you, a hand coming up to cover your mouth in near embarrassment.

This wasn’t supposed to be hard. It wasn’t even supposed to be happening. Maybe you should’ve known when she didn’t show up to your nanas funeral that she wasn’t going to always be around.

Or when you went days without hearing from her after putting your dog down. The constant cancelations. Or running late. Things being on her timeline and not yours ever. Maybe that should’ve been the clues.

Instead you looked them over because you loved her. Because she was supposed to be the person you still gossiped and laughed with at 93 in the nursing home.

Instead you were crying over her in your works weight room. Otis pulled you into a hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. “You’re okay.. it’s alright.” He muttered, trying to help.

This had to be worse than any sort of breakup you’d been through. The handful of ones that had you rethinking yourself as a person. Even with Otis’ hand brushing through your hair.

This time you were rethinking who she was. And how you ended up here. Without her.

Tags: @otissbluebearshirt is the only one I know off the top of my head and I wanna post this neow I fear… apologies. <3

[stark---contrast]

@stevetonygames team future | Déjà vu | Earth-TRN732 (Alternate 2012 timeline) | 880 words

"—And there, look, that's older me again! In his shitty disguise, just casually watching me have a heart attack, the bastard. And this is when Loki steals the Tesseract—"

Steve tried to focus on Tony gesturing wildly while the security camera footage played in front of them. But no matter what, he couldn't get those words out of his head.

Bucky is alive.

"—And then older me and older Cap walk into an alleyway with the scepter and are never seen coming out," Tony said. "But why the hell does older you teleport right into my half-destroyed lab a few minutes later and leave this…this so-called mind stone—"

"Because he trusts you," Steve said.

Tony looked at him in clear surprise, then huffed a sarcastic laugh.

"That's one of the weirdest parts," Tony said. "And considering there's time travel and alien technology on the table, that's saying a lot."

Steve didn't find their counterparts' teamwork particularly strange. Surprising, maybe, but remembering how easily he and Tony had fallen into step with each during the battle against the Chitauri, a future where they were friends didn't seem impossible.

"Why the hell were future us coming back here, anyway?" Tony kept going. "Just borrowing the scepter? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe it's because of what you saw on the other side of the wormhole," Steve said and regretted it almost immediately.

Tony tried very hard to look unaffected. He kept leaning casually against the desk and scrolling through the footage projected mid-air, but Steve could hear his shallow breathing and the creak when he clutched the edge of the desk.

During shawarma, Tony had mentioned seeing a whole fleet of alien warships, but after Clint groaned and said he never wanted to hear the word "alien" again, they'd all gone back to eating in silence.

"You said you saw an army out there," Steve said. "Maybe this is how we beat them when they come."

"When they come?" Tony repeated, whipping around to look at Steve. "None of you seemed to believe I even saw anything."

"I do now," Steve said. "And we need to prepare to take them on; apparently we'll have to, sooner or later."

Tony took a deep breath and looked back at the projection.

"Okay," Tony said. "I'm not going crazy. You see this too and you're agreeing with me. Shit, we're actually agreeing on something." Tony laughed, but it sounded a little hysterical.

"We also need to find Loki and the Tesseract," Steve said.

"And figure out the mind stone and invent time travel, apparently." Tony groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "We really have our work cut out for us."

"So you're staying in New York?" Steve asked.

"No, I'm flying to Malibu and hiding in my mansion while the aliens invade Earth," Tony huffed. "Of course I'm staying. I have a tower to rebuild and superheroing to do. Offer still stands to move in, by the way."

"I think that would be best," Steve said. The road trip he'd planned seemed so insignificant now—at least compared to time travel and warfare with aliens and "Bucky is alive."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a 'Yes, Tony, that'd be swell, you're so generous and I should have accepted right away'. You're welcome, by the way. I'll try to get the whole gang; Bruce will be here in a few days and Thor will hopefully return from Asgard with Loki-related news. And maybe if I ask nicely, Fury will even let our favorite little spies come."

"I hope so. This is a big undertaking and we need a team," Steve said.

"Teamwork makes the dream work," Tony said, then waved his hand in the air and the numerous screens blinked out. "I'll have JARVIS compile a briefing of everything we found today and send it to whoever answers the batsignal. Anything to add, Cap?"

Steve hesitated. Part of him wanted to keep it to himself, but his older self had left two very clear messages, and he'd left them for a reason. Bucky was alive, and Steve should trust Tony.

"There's one more thing," Steve said. "Something the other me said that I don't want mentioned in any reports or briefings. Not even to the team."

Tony tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow: a gesture that Steve would have found sarcastic not even twelve hours ago but that now came across as merely curious.

"I need your help," Steve confessed. "I think…I think someone really high up might be covering up some very important information—we're talking government, military, or both. I want to dig it up, but I can't do it alone. And I don't know who I can trust."

"And you picked me?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Depends," Steve said. "Think you can hack into SHIELD again?"

"My, a little time paradox and the good Captain is already going rogue." Tony smirked. "Sounds like fun. When do we start?"

And somehow, Steve trusting Tony with this and Tony taking him seriously felt like they'd fixed something Steve hadn't even known was broken. For a moment, he knew with absolute certainty that they'd both find Bucky and defeat whatever threat was looming out there in the universe.

Steve couldn't help but smile. "Well, I've got no plans tonight."

[77angelnumbers77]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ My Fic Masterpost

You Know All Too Well 1.8k, Complete, Rose Lalonde & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Sollux Captor & Rose Lalonde, Teen and Up

You are more the spot reserved in a gallery for a singular breathtaking painting to steal the spotlight and put everything else into stark contrast. Mother kept an empty seat at the table for the woman she decided that you would be from the age of six, back when your memories in this well-rendered format trace back to. Rose flirts with madness. Can be read with Everything Comes in Pieces or separately.

Tags: Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), POV Second Person, POV Rose Lalonde, Insanity, Mentions of Alcohol, Classpect Bullshit, Dissatisfaction, Shameless References to Printer Ink, Doomed timeline Rose - Freeform

Sea Legs 2.2k, Complete, Past Eridan Ampora/Vriska Serket, Eridan Ampora/Sollux Captor, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, Teen and Up

"I have a new kismesis," Eridan says conversationally. To someone else, it might've sounded casual. You? You know her enough to see that she is practically vibrating with the excitement of it.

Tags: Boats, I know nothing about boats but I do know something about ships, Sparring, Bickering, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Healthy?? Kismesissitude, Genderbent Eridan, Genderbent Sollux, Prompt Fill, Time Skip, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, POV Second Person, POV Vriska Serket, POV Eridan Ampora

Twice as Petty 1.1k, Complete, Eridan Ampora/Sollux Captor, Teen and Up

Sollux: why are you puttiing oiil iin iit Sollux: ii2n't iit two oiily Sollux: ii2n't that ju2t what you 2aiid Eridan: i havve no idea howw youre this glubbin stupid Eridan: honestly sol Eridan: its not oily so much as fuckin dry Eridan: im givvin your poor hair its oils back Eridan: your ablutions are too close together for your hair type and your 2-in-1 leavves your hair dangerously dehydrated

Tags: Silliness and Mayhem, Genderbend, fem!Sollux, fem!Eridan - Freeform, Hair, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck)

Everything Comes In Pieces 28.5k, WIP, Eridan Ampora/Sollux Captor, Explicit

It's almost funny how much it hurts to live after the doom you spent your whole life waiting for has come to pass. Chronicles of Sollux's life after death.

Tags: Sollux Captor & Rose Lalonde, Revenge, Violence, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Dream Bubbles, Alternate Universe, Doomed timeline Rose - Freeform, Let Rose be the mess she is, Accidental Quadrant Vacillation, non-sexual choking, Suicide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Panic Attacks, Toxic Relationships, Past Character Death, Rose's Adventures in Psychoanalysis, Wet Dream, Dubious Consent, It will get healthier/happier I promise, POV Second Person, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Sollux Captor Has Dual Bulges, Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Friends

It Doesn't Come Free 1.2k, Complete, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, Teen and Up

It’s familiar. The swoop of adrenaline in your digestion sac before a kill, or when you’re in danger. And every time you’re in danger, it seems, she’s beside you. Your voice of reason, your foil, the reason you push harder. The logos to your pathos. This is different. There is no danger, and the adrenaline is an underlying chemical hum, sharpening your senses and stippling your skin.

Tags: POV Vriska Serket, First Kiss, POV Second Person, Crushes, Bathing/Washing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bickering, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, Before the Revenge Cycle, Terezi Pyrope Isn't Blind, Best Friends, Very Loosely Implied Murder, Vriska's A+ Compartmentalizing Skills, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Roleplay

The Barkbeast Days are Over 1.8k, Complete, Terezi Pyrope & Vriska Serket, Teen and Up

Somewhere inside her is her blood pusher, forcing teal sludge through unfurling veins and arteries, into every single clotted mass of cells, into the tips of her prongs and her strutnuggets and that big, smug thinkpan of hers. In that moment, you hate her with such clarity that it steals your breath. You can almost see it: Terezi from the inside out. The very makeup of her smallest parts. The convergence of blood and the culmination of all the sacrifice you have mustered up over the sweeps, a deeper pitch than you could ever muster for Eridan’s prissiness or Kanaya’s nagging or Tavros, bless his poor, pathetic heart. Then she sits up carefully, rights her glasses, and hoists herself up using her cane. "I know you,"

Tags: Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Suicidal Ideation, Character Study, Regret, blackrom crush, Codependency, No Romance, mild whump, Hurt No Comfort, mentions of violence and murder, excessive use of metaphor, Tension, FLARP references, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, POV Second Person

Don't Leave 2.1k, Completed, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, Explicit

She gave you your gifts – by folly of fate, she made you into the strongest version of yourself that can exist. The price is that you can’t exist without her.

Tags: background rose lalonde/kanaya maryam, Rose Lalonde (Mentioned), Dave Strider, (mentioned), Karkat Vantas (Mentioned), Gamzee Makara (mentioned), Post-Retcon Timeline (Homestuck), Meteorstuck, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Emetophobia, POV Terezi Pyrope, Character Study, POV Second Person, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, Manipulation, Codependency, It's not as bad as all that I promise, Terezi is head over heels for Vriska, Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), And also normal dreams, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No Beta

Everything before these is old and should be considered discontinued!

Credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

[skylarmoon71]

Eobard Thawne- Flash AU Chapter 4

A part of you was still trying to grasp what happened that night.

It still does not feel real.

Eobard Thawne had provided you comfort. You can still feel his arms around your body and it leaves you unsettled.

“This is your apartment.” Iris states. You tune back in.

“Thank you Iris.”

Since that night, you formed somewhat of a temporary alliance. You promised not to instigate anymore fights between Eobard. The team seemed overall relieved. They were all trying to help you make sense of this. Iris presently didn’t have all the answers. So while they all worked together to form a solution, Cisco suggested that you fall back into normal life. Just until they could come up with something solid and safe to get you back.

It was an agreement that you had no choice but to go with. When Iris volunteered to help you get settled, you were relieved. Luckily your apartment had not changed. Unfortunately your occupation had taken a drastic turn. Instead of a coffee barista, you were a college professor. Teaching psychology of all things. This reality really liked messing with you.

So now Iris was giving you a tour of what your life was like here. You were grateful for her help.

“Thank you. I think I can handle it from here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She nods, politely excusing herself. As she’s on her way out, you spot the head of blond hair. She gives him a pat on the shoulder, and Eobard knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”

You nod a bit cautiously. He steps in closing the door, and you physically have to tell your body that it should relax. Your eyes run over his casual wear. He was still wearing his CSI badge. Just off from work it seems.

This would never not be weird.

“You’re really not him.”

This is the first time you’ve spoken to him and it’s not laced with venom.

“I’m me. That’s who I’ve been all my life. Whatever that man did, it wasn’t me. He’s not me.”

He looks sincerely hurt. This is still so strange.

Eobard Thawne is not only the Flash in this reality, but he’s standing in your apartment and not trying to impale you.

“When they told you about your parents you didn’t seem that shocked.”

You shrugged.

“I lost them when I was a baby. There’s not much to remember. Can’t feel sad about something I never had..”

That’s a painful revelation.

“So you’ve always been alone?”

You don’t answer his question, but he notices the tension in your muscles. Maybe he should change the subject.

“Before when you explained your predicament, you said that Cisco made a device?”

You nod.

Although you’re beginning to get into the whole alternate reality situation, being close to Eobard still brings a bit of unease Especially after you’d practically wept in his arms already. The way he held you, so close, so lovingly.

You glance at him, and he doesn’t miss it. The war going on in your head as you try to read him.

He breaks eye contact.

“I don’t think you erased him. I believe that whatever that device did, it must have changed you. Changed us.”

Your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

He takes a seat, running a hand through his hair as he explains.

“This Eobard Thawne, if he’s a true enemy, then he will live. In order to maintain the timeline he will survive in one way or another. So in this universe, rather than the threat you remember, it’s just me. “

A part of you didn’t want to believe it. But Barry told you of his travels to other earths.

It was just hard for you to believe that this version of Thawne was The Flash.

You kept waiting for some master plan. But Barry was alive in this universe as well. If this was the original Thawne, he would have killed him by now. This isn’t a situation where he needs Barry to get back to his time. This Barry doesn’t even have speed. He could easily take him down. Instead they are friends.

Family even.

Everything was warped here.

“I promise whoever you know, that’s not me. You’re my friend. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Those green eyes looked so sincere. You almost want to believe him.

But you couldn’t let your guard down.

“I want to be alone for a while.”

You need some distance to fully process.

This life could be yours now permanently.

You need time to accept that you may never get out of here.

“I understand. If you need anything, just call."

You don’t even reply, and he’s gone in a flash of red sparks.

This would take a lot of adjusting.

[mochis-things]

**Chapter 3.1 - Returning to Work**

---

The post-tour adjustment was always the hardest part.

After weeks of constant travel, loud arenas, and an exhausting but exhilarating schedule, coming back to the normal routine felt almost surreal. The moment they landed back in Seoul, everything shifted back into place—like the tour had been nothing more than a long, vivid dream.

But reality was waiting for them. And for Sunwoo, **it started immediately.**

---

The first few days were packed with back-to-back media interviews, post-tour debriefings with the company, and endless discussions about what was next for aespa.

“Let’s discuss the next comeback timeline,” one of the executives said during their first major meeting. “We want to capitalize on the tour’s momentum.”

Sunwoo barely had a moment to sit before he was being pulled into scheduling logistics, brand deals, and upcoming variety show appearances.

The members, too, were expected to adjust quickly. **No breaks, no time to rest.**

And as their manager, **Sunwoo had to hold everything together.**

---

By the third day, the exhaustion was already creeping in.

Sunwoo found himself flipping through his planner at the dorm’s kitchen table late at night, highlighting notes and double-checking their packed schedule.

“You’re working too hard.”

He looked up to see Winter standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

He rubbed his eyes. “I have to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

Winter scoffed, walking over and snatching his pen. “You’re going to pass out at this rate.”

Sunwoo sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

Winter raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you look like you haven’t slept since the tour ended.”

She wasn’t wrong. **He had barely gotten more than three hours of sleep each night.**

Winter studied him for a moment before grabbing an extra bottle of water from the fridge and placing it in front of him. “At least drink this. And go to bed soon.”

Sunwoo chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Winter smirked. “Yeah, well, someone has to keep an eye on you.”

As she walked away, Sunwoo found himself staring at the water bottle, a small smile tugging at his lips.

**Maybe he needed to start listening to his own advice.**

---

The following morning, the girls had a **major post-tour interview.**

Sunwoo arrived at the broadcasting station early, checking over last-minute details, confirming with the staff, and ensuring everything was ready for aespa’s appearance.

By the time the members arrived, **he was already moving at full speed.**

“Karina, your segment will be first,” he said, passing her a schedule printout. “Then they’ll transition into group questions.”

Karina gave him a nod, taking the paper. “Got it.”

“Ningning, they might ask about your viral concert moment in Bangkok—just keep it light and fun.”

Ningning grinned. “I always do.”

Sunwoo turned to Giselle and Winter, briefing them on their individual questions before taking a deep breath. **Everything was in place.**

“Are you always this stressed before interviews?” Giselle teased, watching him go through his checklist.

Sunwoo shot her a look. “I like being prepared.”

Karina smirked. “And we like making fun of you for it.”

Despite himself, Sunwoo chuckled. **They weren’t wrong.**

---

The interview itself went smoothly, but something was different.

Throughout the segment, Sunwoo noticed subtle things—the way Winter would glance at him between answers, how Ningning seemed **extra playful when responding to personal questions,** or how Karina’s tone softened slightly whenever she mentioned the team’s bond.

And then there was Giselle, **who threw in a comment that caught him completely off guard.**

“So, tell us,” the host said, smiling. “After months of touring together, who would you say was your rock? The one who kept you all sane?”

Sunwoo expected them to mention each other.

Instead, Giselle casually leaned into her mic and said, **“Sunwoo.”**

The room fell silent for a second before the host laughed. “Really? The manager?”

Winter nodded. “He pretty much kept us alive.”

Karina smirked. “He did more than that—he somehow put up with all of us.”

Sunwoo, watching from off-camera, nearly choked on his water.

Ningning grinned at the flustered look on his face. “He acts all tough, but he’s soft. Don’t let him fool you.”

The host laughed. “It sounds like you all really depend on him.”

Giselle gave a small smile. **“We do.”**

And for the first time, Sunwoo realized something.

**He wasn’t just their manager anymore.**

**He was something more.**

And that scared him more than anything else.

---

That night, as Sunwoo went through his usual routine—double-checking schedules, preparing for the next day—**he couldn’t shake the feeling.**

The warmth in their voices when they spoke about him. The way their eyes lingered a little longer than before. **The way things felt different now.**

As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, one thought circled in his mind.

**This was only the beginning.**

[soldied]

SOLDIED. frankie scott from the john wick franchise, heavily headcanon influenced. canon divergent and au based. follows back from the main hub, @astringere. character information under the cut.

SUMMARY

i. born in new york, frankie (full name is francis, but he won't introduce himself as such ever) is the eldest son of francis scott and moira calhoun and you guessed it, winston's older brother. while not an oc, his ties to canon are very basic and my portrayal is based entirely on an alternative version of events where he survives his attempt to steal from cormac. he has left the city and its criminal underworld well behind him and has taken to live in the countryside, tending to his animals and a small farm. biromantic homosexual. formerly: street kid, soldier, drug addict, hitman.

ii. frankie is tall (6'3) and broad shouldered. his frame is not massive, especially when it comes to his waist, but he has strong arms and back muscles that suit his current farm work rather well. his skin is almost always golden from working in the sun so often. hair slightly curly and dark, blue eyes. FC: aaron taylor johnson, andrew lincoln.

iii. easy-going and well versed in casual conversations, but reserved about his past. fluent enough in vietnamise. his pronunciation isn't perfect although he can carry a conversation and understand what is being said. he otherwise speaks english with a distinct american accent.

iv. frankie and his brother aren't the closest, while simultaneously not being estranged. they hear from each other, from time to time, but neither worry if months or sometimes years go by.

v. he still owns a few weapons, kept only for defense. he used to be known for his uncanny proficiency with most firearms, when he still worked for cormac o'connor (the continental's previous manager).

notes. (i) most people don't know him and winston are brothers. your muse probably won't know, unless plotted otherwise. (ii) not john's father, either. (iii) my version of frankie and yen's relationship is strictly platonic.

PINTEREST.

INTERACTIONS IDEAS,

chance encounter somewhere in rural america. after leaving new york behind him (sometime around '78 / 79) frankie spent many years working all over the country, helping farmers and living day to day, season to season. he also worked as a mechanic from time to time and generally just ended up being a handy man for the communities he found himself in.

specific kind of help (closer to the movies' timeline). frankie has made it out a long time ago, burying the hitman life for good. he probably can help others do the same, or at least provide whatever assistance he can in the matter.

& more available through plotting!

[mitsulite]

Actually sick to my stomach looking back…

Ever heard of limerance? Well that’s what I was suffering from last year when I met A. Ugh. I could actually throw up after reading those posts. I felt so strongly and passionately immediately. Because I am an obsessive person who very most likely has bpd, and I latch on fast. We had a whirlwind romance, A and I. He told me he loved me 3 days in. I did not want to say it back but he kept saying it and almost pressuring me to say it back. I said it back to him during sex, and fuck I regret that. This man thought, and still does actually, that I’m his soulmate. He became so committed to me. Which at the time was intoxicating. I had never had someone dote on me and obsess over me the way he did, and I’m toxic and became addicted. As the time passed, and by time I mean a couple weeks!!! He was pressuring me about leaving my 8 year relationship. To be frank, I was looking for an affair, a distraction before I decided if I really wanted to leave. It’s not right and I’m not proud of it. But that’s just the truth. He didn’t want to just be a fling. He was talking about marrying me immediately, about me leaving my gf and my DOG of all things to move with him to his home state. Mind you I absolutely love where I live. And I love my dog more than anything in this world. So neither of those things was gonna happen. But he never stopped. He would casually mention in conversation “when you leave her” like bro what? Let me decide? He was constantly asking for a timeline of when we would move in together. He wanted to by March-may, which would barely even be 6 months of knowing each other. I didn’t even save my ex’s number in my phone til we were together like 2 years.

So after 2 months of this, come December I found myself counting down the days til he went back to his home state indefinitely. In my heart I knew I wanted to end it, but I didn’t have the courage to. Used to being a doormat in relationships. When he did leave, our last night together was very emotional. I didn’t cry in front of him but I definitely cried. But I think I was both sad and also very relieved. He called me every day, which was ok but to be honest, talking on the phone gives me a lot of anxiety and I didn’t really enjoy it. He would want to call me like 3 times a day. Not respecting that I would be with my gf inevitably some of those times. The last straw for me…I had gone out for the night with my gf. I was trying to work it out with her. Apparently I had buttdialed him, I remember looking down to see I was calling him and ending the call immediately. Well he calls me back right away and I deny the call. He keeps calling and then texting asking what was going on and that if I didn’t answer he was going to be upset because he was worried. Like wtf? I remember stepping out to walk the dog so I could call him and I could immediately feel I got the ick as soon as I heard his voice. After that night, he kept apologizing and saying it was ok that we fought. But we didn’t even fight. I was super unfazed by it all. And then immediately emotionally detached myself. This was leading up to my birthday at the end of the year.

Sometime after my birthday, he asked me about the disconnect, that he felt it since my birthday. And I used that as an opportunity to end it. However he completely read between the lines and only took in what he wanted, which was not that we had broken up. He continued to think we were together and it pissed me off that I was being ignored so I ghosted him!!!!

So I completely ignored him from January to probably about June, July or august. The summer. Summer was tough. I met someone through work that I developed a fat crush on. It was how much we genuinely had in common that got me. After meeting this guy, I realized I no longer wanted to continue my current relationship. It was no longer serving me and never would. I attempted to break it off all summer but once again, my wants, needs and desires were ignored. Nothing came of me and my coworker. He went back to his store and that ship sailed. But now I was checked out of my home life, and lonely as ever. Truthfully missing the sex I had with A, but never missing him, LOL. I was thinking with my figurative dick when I started posting on Reddit looking for random hookups, well a long term FWB was the plan. I find a post from a guy describing himself as generally attractive and covered in tattoos. Me, horny as ever and very into tattooed guys, message him. A couple days later he sends me his number and I text him. This was a couple days into September. I send him a picture of me and he is shocked that I am “hot”. You know how it goes on Reddit. I find him pretty cute himself. We weren’t talking too sexually but basically give a quick rundown of what we’re into and agree to meet a few days later, literally to hook up lol. The day comes and I’m nervous as hell but excited. Mind you we were texting everyday. He never stops telling me how beautiful I am. I’m literally shaking on the way to meet him and he texts me that he’s really nervous and I immediately say it’s ok we can meet another day. I was so relieved. And saw that as the biggest green flag. So I go home, and we text all night. We reschedule to meet the next week I believe. I was so nervous driving to the Starbucks we met at that I had to have a laugh attack before getting out the car. I walked up to the car and I could see immediately he was so cute. I get in and he says hi, and right away tells me I have a gorgeous smile and that I was so beautiful. You already know my ass can’t stop smiling and laughing. We just talked for like an hour. We held hands just a little. He kept telling me I was really funny. We didn’t hook up. He didn’t even touch me, aside from my hands. When he takes me back to my car, I say fuck it and I lean into him and kiss him quickly. He was shocked but kissed me back, then hugged me awkwardly. He says he’s so glad he got to meet me and we agree we want to see each other again. I say bye and get into my car. But then the butterflies hit and I’m like what the fuck? I know I said I had never felt anything like I did with A, and I hadn’t. But this was even more different. We hit it off, but it was once I was alone that I felt like I had been hit by a truck. It was this positively looming feeling that my life was going to change. I grabbed my phone and just texted him “fuck” because that’s all I could think. He replied “I know” and I just felt it happening. I was going to fall in love with him. He tells me right then that he likes me and I told him I think I liked him too. Well, we talked every single day after that. Every morning a good morning beautiful text. I don’t even know what we would talk about, it was just constant. I go to see him one day on his lunch break. He put his hand on my thigh and I fucking melted into him. He didn’t even touch me any sexual way, just touched my thigh. We kiss a lot obviously. Talk a lot. I told him about my situation and he was cool. We related to each other on a lot of issues. It was almost like we were too similar especially regarding our toxic traits. I had been there before with M, my first love many years ago. There’s a lot about him that reminds me of M. When I leave his car he reaches over and squeezes my ass and if it’s one thing that drives me crazy…it’s that!!!

It had to have been later that night, or a few nights later. We’re talking sexually and he mentions wanting me to have his baby. I’m like ok don’t play with me I really want to be a mommy. And he says he’s dead serious. That he’s incredibly drawn to me and can’t explain it. That he would love to have our fun and then start a family eventually. Like what?! That was it. That was the fucking moment I was done for. My libra moon said you wanna what?!?! And was 100000% onboard. I warn him that I fall in love fast and if he wasn’t careful I’d fall in love with him soon. He says good and that he wants me to fall in love with him. Well spoiler alert, I do.

Except it goes like this. Our constant talking one day just kinda slows down. I’m already 75% in love so I’m attached and panicking. Becoming depressed on days I don’t hear from him. It’s early December and I am just besides myself as he ignores me. For whatever reason he texts me late that night, asks how I am. I am honest and tell him im having a rollercoaster of emotions and fear I might have bpd. Well, turns out he fucking has it. Says he definitely thinks I am probably bipolar and not bpd. His reasoning? I haven’t went off on him. I tell him I worked on myself for YEARS to not do that. Because the old me would have blown up on him at least several times by then. Probably the first time I felt ignored. We talk all night. Im telling him I don’t care about whatever his issues are, I want to be there with him and for him. That im falling in love and it sucks because that person doesn’t want to let me in. We talk more and more, he’s apologizing saying he will make more effort to be vulnerable and let me in. I get it it’s hard. We’re ending the conversation and bitch…he tells me he loves me. HE says it to ME. I thought I would be first. Then I realize it’s 3 months to the day that we first “met”.

Im genuinely in love. We’ve been talking or ~together almost 5 months now and have never fought. He is really amazing about curving my rage fits. He never allows me to instigate a fight and he never fucking has. He is so calm with me and it’s actually mind blowing. I’ve never gotten that from anyone in my life. When I get upset with him, he listens, acknowledges why im upset, apologizes and promises to work on whatever the issue is. Since we both likely have bpd, it’s always a bit of a struggle but at the same time it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t get to see him as often as I want, but im grateful for taking it slow. Such a vast difference from A. I want to marry J and have his babies. I want to make him home and take care of him every day for the rest of our lives. We both feel so strongly that we would be such a good team. Life gets in the way… but im patient. I know I deserve him. Idk if he knows he deserves me but I hope he does. This is how I wanted it to happen. He gave me the courage to leave my relationship finally. He gave me a reason to want to move on. And guess what? We haven’t even had sex yet. That’s the best (and worst?) part. I can’t imagine what im going to feel the moment we finally do. I would marry him tomorrow if he asked me. I would move across the world if he asked me to. I’d go with him anywhere. I feel like he’s the love of my life to be honest. The stars aligned, finally for me.

[cjsmalley]

Enter, Taishi!

She woke up to find him staring down at her.

With red eyes. There were purple marks on his cheeks. His fangs were enlarged.

Crap.

She remained still, “InuYasha, where’s Tessaiga?”

He wrinkled his nose but laid the sword beside her before growling out, “Soon.”

She tried sitting up and he moved quickly, stuffing more pillows behind her.

“Thank you,” she said when he resumed staring at her, “what’s soon?”

He reached out with an elongated claw, his pointer finger, and carefully tapped her distended belly, “Pup. Soon.”

She was about to argue; she wasn’t in labor. But then she remembered reading about dogs knowing when their owners were sick or in some way off.

And her back hurt.

She bit her lip, “How soon?”

“Soon.” Was all he said.

Well, that was helpful.

But if she was about to go into labor… “We need to move then,” she told him, “go home, to the Realms. Do you remember…”

He looked frustrated but finally nodded, “Garter, Rain, Leo, Kaede. Dam and sire’s den.”

“Yes!” she moved to stand up, he was at her side in an instant, lifting her up gently.

“Sango!” she called, directing InuYasha to their already packed luggage, “Sango!”

The slayer arrived at a run, “Kagome? What’s—oh!”

Sango took a defensive stance but not an aggressive one, “Is everything okay?”

InuYasha growled softly but Kagome shushed him, “She’s pack, InuYasha…Sango, can you have Miroku get Kaede and round up Shippo and Imari?”

“It’s time?”

“InuYasha says soon…dunno how soon but his senses—”

“He can probably tell. Alright.”

She left at a fast walk, even as Kagome reached for the portal-ball kept on the side table and tossed it to the floor.

The portal opened and InuYasha carried her through; his parents were waiting, though surprised.

“It’s time?” Danny stood up, moving to summon Medical.

“Not yet, but he says ‘soon’ so I thought it was a good idea to get here,” Kagome explained.

“Oh, honey,” Sam sighed, coming to cup her son’s cheek, “everyone will be fine.”

He grunted at her, “Soon. Pup.”

“That’s right, InuYasha,” Kagome winced at the pain in her back, as Yetis and Doctor Garter arrived with a gurney, “remember the plan. Do you remember our plan?”

He nodded, laying her down sweetly.

He kissed her forehead, grabbed another portal-ball and went to fetch Isabelle Rain.

She was thankfully not busy when he arrived, though he startled her, “InuYasha!”

Hand over her heart, she peered closely at him and then nodded in understanding, “It’s time?”

“Soon.” He repeated, indicating that she should follow him through the portal.

She nodded again, grabbed the bags she kept in her office for the occasion, and walked through the portal.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted Danny, giving her personal bags to a servant.

“Hello, Isabelle. They’re getting set up in the Medical Wing. We’re still waiting on Leo and Kaede, but Kagome hasn’t started labor just yet,” Danny reported before another servant appeared to lead the doctor off.

InuYasha followed them and planted himself outside the delivery room.

Over the next few hours, the entire family gathered slowly; the timeline was still rather foggy, but nobody wanted to miss anything. Leo Wyatt arrived with Paige and the Halliwells, scrubbing in just in case, while Kaede arrived with Kagome’s mother. Both scrubbed in as well.

Sam was taking InuYasha’s spot in the delivery room; partly due to traditions that Kaede demanded be observed, if possible, partly because everyone worried the various scents of birth may overwhelm him.

Nanny Clara rounded up Imari, Davy, Patrick, and the Skywalker twins and took them to the palace nursery so they wouldn’t get in the way or upset.

Everyone else waiting prepared to restrain the hanyou if need be as they waited; but InuYasha seemed serene.

Not two hours after everyone was accounted for, Kagome’s waters broke.

Those with enhanced senses smelled and heard it happen.

InuYasha looked to Anakin, who was meditating beside him, and asked roughly, “Pups?”

“They’re with Clara,” Anakin replied casually, “she has them in hand.”

The hanyou nodded and settled in to wait. Tessaiga was by his side, Miroku had brought it, but not touching him.

It was clear the youkai half of InuYasha was there to stay for the birth.  

After a while, the door opened, and Kagome shuffled out with an IV pole holding a bag of saline connected to the IV port in the back of her hand.

“I need to move,” she explained to everyone; immediately, Sango and Koriand’r were at her sides as escorts and InuYasha stood up to shadow every step.

The group walked up and down the corridor, pausing every so often for a contraction; occasionally, Kaede or Isabelle would check Kagome’s progress.

Surprisingly, InuYasha remained calm for all of this.

“While allowing his youkai blood to come to the fore was instinctual,” Myoga lectured Danny and everyone else, “to better protect his pack during such a vulnerable time, he must still be aware and know that everything is in hand. It is also rare for male inuyoukai to enter the whelping den during their mates’ labor; other females will assist. He is likely following instinct older than the inuyoukai themselves merged with whatever he recalls of rational thought.”

Danny sighed but nodded, “So as long as he feels she’s safe he’ll stay passive.”

“Lady Kagome specifically, yes, but should anyone of his pack be threatened he will react with extreme violence until the threat is no more,” the flea warned before adding, “he likely sees the extended family as a pack of its’ own, so the threat level of everyone present is something Lord InuYasha considers very low.”

“He knows, deep down, we won’t hurt his immediate pack,” Danny agreed.

“Correct.”

“Excuse me,” Missus Higurashi interrupted politely, “but who are you?”

“I am Myoga, Lord InuYasha’s vassal,” the flea hopped to her and struck up a conversation.

So, time passed; occasionally another woman would relieve Sango or Koriand’r, a rotation quickly being agreed upon without discussion. The men kept their distance, knowing that they would just get in the way or set off the youkai in their midst.

“I normally would ask people to stay home until contractions were closer together,” Isabelle explained, when someone had mentioned it seemed to be taking a long time, “but with all the variables, I’d rather monitor things from the very beginning.”

Soon, night fell; there had been some progress but nowhere near the pushing stage.

Those who weren’t humans, along with the vigilantes who worked ‘nightshift’, stayed where they were while others drifted off to bed.

Kagome herself tried to rest, being kept company by Cass and Stephanie of the Bats, while InuYasha retook his guard position outside her room.

Shippo, rubbing his eyes, wandered over to the hanyou and climbed into his lap to sleep; it was not an unusual thing for him to do. What was unusual was that the hanyou turned full youkai allowed it with barely a twitch. Indeed, he covered the kit with the large sleeve of his haori, having not yet changed into modern clothes.

Danny had servants bring platters of sandwiches and pitchers of cold water for those who were staying up. And blood for Spike, of course.

Periodically, the midwives checked on their patients and all was calm.

Sunrise peeked over the horizon before things really started happening but still it was a wait. Kagome walked the corridor some more, having to pause more often than the day before; when she wasn’t walking, the women were distracting her with card games. (Padme tried teaching her Sabbacc while Koriand’r managed to teach several people a game from Tamaran; though they substituted actual dice for the knucklebones of Tamaranean animals.)

InuYasha remained full youkai and calm, following his wife’s every movement but allowing the women to continue helping.

It was dark again before Kagome was allowed to push; she had decided not to lay on her back, instead a birthing stool had been pulled from storage for her use and she was willing to fully squat or get on all fours.

Kara was enlisted to help support the miko’s weight as she delivered while Kagome’s mother and Sam provided emotional support.

It was a surprisingly short process; Kagome only needed to push three or four times before the baby was born.

The baby was whisked off by Isabelle, keening heartily along the way, for a once over while Kaede handled the afterbirth.

Leo then healed whatever damage had been incurred by simply laying a hand on Kagome’s heaving shoulder.

Once she was medically cleared, Kara moved Kagome to the nearby hospital bed, helped her into the strange fishnet like undergarments that held a heavy-duty pad, then settled her into the bed.

Outside, those with enhanced hearing had perked up, causing everyone else to do so as well; Shippo woke up, grumbling and rubbing his eyes, but quickly sat up.

InuYasha handed the kit off to Anakin, standing up as the door opened and Kaede let him in the room. Sam, Missus Higurashi, Kara, Leo, and the midwives exited.

A terrible thought struck Damian, “Myoga, what happens now?”

“Now, Lord InuYasha will be introduced to his offspring,” Myoga spoke seriously, “and he will decide if they live or die.”

Anakin tossed Shippo to Paige, drawing his saber and preparing to rush in to stop his instinct-driven brother from doing something horrid.

“What do you mean?” Batman rumbled.

“Inuyoukai will destroy any offspring, male or female, with obvious and extreme deformities or weakness,” the flea explained soberly, “the female will do it herself, especially in the case of a litter. However, Lady Kagome is human. Lord InuYasha will see to it himself,” he paused, “I do not believe, in his right mind, that Lord InuYasha would kill his own children unless they were suffering beyond suffering.”

The door opened again; InuYasha stood there, golden eyed once again, and said, “C’mon, Shippo. You’ve gotta meet your brother.”

Everyone exhaled a sigh of relief; Anakin stood down quickly.

Shippo entered the room.

Slowly, people were roused from their beds and gathered outside the delivery room once again.

InuYasha opened the door again, “Barbara?”

The redhead nodded, hefted up her phone, and wheeled into the room.

As she was inside, Tim set up their equipment; a screen that Connor hung from the ceiling, a projector, and a laptop with a cable.

While they did that, a servant went to fetch Imari from the nursery; she was handed off to Miroku.

Miroku, Sango, Imari, and Kirara waited until InuYasha opened the door again, ushering them in.

“Now the immediate pack is introduced,” Myoga explained softly, “including any children of the pack. While Lord InuYasha may be the leader, there is still a chance that the child could be rejected by the pack at large.”

It took twenty or thirty minutes before Barbara reappeared; she was smiling as she handed her phone to Tim who plugged it into his laptop.

A photograph was projected onto the screen.

Kagome in bed, holding what was clearly an inu-hanyou child, silver hair, golden eyes, and all, with the rest of the pack arranged around her. She was clearly exhausted but grinning.

Shippo and Imari were also on the bed, cuddled to their mother and new sibling.

InuYasha exited the room again and announced, “He’s a little boy and his name’s Taishi; Kagome’s fine, pup’s fine so far. Both are tired so we’ll do meet and greets starting tomorrow; grandparents first.”

A cheer went up as he returned into the room.

The next night, after Kagome and Taishi were released from medical, a feast was held for the entire family to welcome Taishi.

Wished Away 8:

“Mom, Dad, help,” Dean said, holding a baby out.

A whirlwind of activity followed.

“He is Nephilim,” Castiel declared, having inspected the boy, “though I cannot tell his true parentage. It is being…hidden from me.”

The pediatricians took over as soon as the angel stepped back.

“Nephilim,” Danny said slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “isn’t that half-angel or something?”

“Precisely,” Castiel said just as slowly, measuring his words like they were his last rations, “They are…it is Forbidden for angels to lay with mortals. The creation of Nephilim is even more taboo as the first, the original, were monsters more often than not. It is an intentional act, to create Nephilim; the angelic parent must give a portion of their own Grace to the child during conception.”

“So they purposely knocked someone up then ding-dong ditched the kid,” Dean growled.

“Perhaps they heard that we are romantically involved, Dean,” Castiel offered, “and hoped we would take in the child as our own.”

“Well, of course we are,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes at his angel who shook his head fondly, “I’ve already picked out a name too. A good human name.”

“Oh?”

“Jack, after Grandpa Jack. Unless, you have a name?”

“Perhaps…James, after James Novak?”

“Hmm…Jack James…James Jack…JJ…no, definitely Jack James. I like it, Cas.”

“Well, little Jack is healthy as far as we can tell,” Doctor Peterson joined the little huddle, “every scan we can perform came up normal, perfectly within range for his age group.”

Both Dean and Castiel visibly relaxed.

“We’ll get you set up,” Sam promised her son and might-as-well-be son-in-law.

A servant brought David’s old wrap and Sam showed Dean and Castiel how to wind it around their bodies to carry little Jack close to their hearts.

“Does the heart even beat?” Danny asked Castiel with interest, referring to his Vessel.

“Yes, I have kept all systems functioning as intended,” Castiel confirmed.

“Good. Because babies this young are used to heartbeats,” Danny explained as Sam worked with Dean, “they just spent nine months with their mom’s in their ears.”

“I see,” Castiel nodded, “well, Dean has assured me that I have a perfectly human sounding heartbeat.”

“What’s the likelihood that his mom was the human?” Danny asked next.

“Oh, quite likely…angels with female vessels most often shutdown the reproductive system. It would also be quite hard to hide the evidence of the gestating Nephilim. His mother likely died in childbirth; her body finally unable to handle his Angelic self.”

Danny winced; that would be a horrid way to die and he fried like a French fry.

Within hours, little Jack was all ready to go home.

Over the next few days, a room in the Bunker became a nursery and supplies loaded in.

[belltrigger]

Not really an question but I just wanted to drop in and say that it's very impressive and admirable that you're still making blankshipping content after all these months! I'm a casual reader of your works (admittedly stopped reading for a while) and your determinism and general vibes are quite inspirational!

Have a good day!

Aw, thanks for the kind words! (੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭ It means a lot to me to hear you enjoy my works! Thank you for reading! ♪(´▽｀)

To be quite honest, I wouldn't be able to write so much, and think and build and create with such energy if it weren't for my friends I've made in the community, as well as the positive feedback from anons.

Obviously, @glassesblu is my partner in crime, and makes the mass majority of content with me. With Riso's help, I've grown my ideas in ways I never thought possible. ddIngo, for example, evolved and expanded thanks to his help, and I honestly would have never thought that story could get so deep and detailed. Whenever I get nervous about my writing, they'll read my WIPs and give me encouragement! Riso came up with the idea for our Submastober, and kept me going strong the whole month!

@eyreyereye was probably the first person I approached in the Blankship community and he was soooo kind and patient with my overenthusiastic approach! I have him to thank for talking with me and helping me cement my fondness for the Twins in the very early days of my interest in Blankshipping. He's so cool to talk to, and honestly I need to gather more spoons to talk with him more often!

@allaboardtheblankship going through RS Submastober with me and Riso was really exciting! I looked forward to every entry and was blown away each time! They kept me and Riso so very hyped up despite how busy the month was! Thank you for the care and interest in our prompts (❁´◡`❁)

@feroluce writes SO much good stuff. Fero also has a very important skill - they are merciless with the whump and tragedy >:) And that is great, because I am too mushy to write it haha! But also, their tags are the sweetest and funny and interesting and insightful. I wish I could convince them to write that in the body of their posts so I could reblog it, eheh!

@dingo-on-a-farm is a beast (ha ha ˋ( ° ▽、° ) , and it's honestly really fun to try and come up with things that inspire him to draw. Also, his art has inspired me more than once to write!!

I do miss @tsumisan6v9 but I know they're verrrrry busy, and peek back every once in a while when they can.

@megadraws makes SO much cool fanart and I get such inspiration whenever I see their art. I've already doodled one of the outfits Mega made for Emmet, and I wanna draw more. (Also, like, have you seen their art for Dear!Emmet and Courier!Emmet and a little cameo by ddIngo??)

@unovanhunny and @tombstone-pisa too! Their stories and idea brainstorming are so exciting to listen to and read. Ehehe, they're both really creative, and inspire me to keep trying new ideas for Blankshipping, both in AU form and in the little one shot stories I like to write that don't exist in any particular timeline.

@alphagodith also!!! was so!!! friendly!! 🥺All the help and encouragement given to me was greatly appreciated. Coloring my art to encourage me, talking to be about making a ko-fi, and helping me with discord really means so much to me.

@feldkommandant has helped me with my more spicy stories on more than one occasion and it means a lot! UwU clearly, I need to write more to show my appreciation.

Man, there are a lot more people out there who inspire me and keep me going. Some of them are on twitter, some are on the discord, and some I don't know if I should tag because of their inactivity here. But I hope they know I appreciate their continued enthusiasm in the fandom!

Honestly, when it comes down to it, people reading and enjoying my stories, no matter how infrequently, is why I keep writing! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ I want there to be lots of stories for people to read, and when I can help do that, I feel happy!

Riso actually commissioned me! So, anyone who enjoys Mermmet (Riso's mermaid Emmet AU) will be verrrrry excited! It might not happen until the new year because I've been driving a lot and also got reaaaaaally sick over the Christmas weekend while out of state. o(￣┰￣*)ゞ

But!!! Thank you again for reading my fics!! I'll keep writing as long as people want to keep reading (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

EDIT: So!! I haven't really talked to @rotting-lilies as much as I would like to, so I was kind of hesitant about being too forward. But I have to say it! Rot's art is so cool and stylish! I'm in awe of the colors and design sense in every picture! It's such an eye catching style. The best artists are blankshippers, it's true!