mauiiscreative

[mauiiscreative]

Immediately skims to find part 2

BRO I LOVE HOW HAPPY CONRAD IS IN THIS FICC he's usually miserable and tormented by belly... I hope we get to see more of this in fics RAAAAHHHH

ઇ ࣪˖ Brush fire

Conrad Fisher x Fem!reader. masterlist.

summary: You and Conrad have been best friends for almost four years. When his brother’s wedding arrived, he asked you to go with him as his date, which you gladly accepted.

warnings: Je**miah Fisher. Fluff. Use of y/l/n. The summer I turned pretty season 3 spoilers (exactly from ep 7). English it’s not my first language.

Author note: Hi! So I didn’t really know what to do with this, so i’m thinking about maybe writing a part 2 of this. Also, this is me praying for my baby connie to find something better and be happy forever.

To say your friendship with Conrad Fisher was boring would be an abomination—completely impossible to understand or accept.

You met him about three years ago—through Agnes—at a small get-together with mutual friends. From that moment on, it was as if a spark of electricity had ignited between you two, and neither of you ever looked back.

As the years passed, you got to know Conrad more deeply, and he got to know you. One night on the beach, under a sky scattered with stars, a glowing full moon, and the crashing rhythm of the waves, you opened up about the pain you’d endured with your ex. Not long after, he shared everything about his past in Cousins Beach.

It wasn’t long before you convinced the brown-haired boy that maybe what you both truly needed was therapy. And to your surprise, Conrad agreed that very day.

Maybe he realized it was the best option.

Or maybe, feeling your support, he knew it was finally the right time.

But it couldn’t have been both… right?

Month by month, your friendship became the kind others envied. The laughter was effortless, the touches became second nature, and the tension in your lingering eye contact grew undeniable. But you were just friends, so all of that was normal… right?

Conrad stared nervously at the floor, scratching the back of his neck. “I need your help.”

You smiled faintly, still typing on your laptop. You’d known he had something to say the moment he walked through your apartment door with two coffees and a waffle—your favorites, of course. He always remembered.

“Tell me, Connie.” you replied, eyes still on the screen.

“You know how I told you a few days ago about the wedding…”

You nodded before he could finish. “Jeremiah and Belly. Yeah.”

Finally, he stopped pacing around the couches and sat down across from you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked you straight in the eyes with a kind of quiet determination.

“I wanted to ask if you’d come with me… as my… date? Or, I mean, just as my plus-one?” He shrugged, tracing slow circles on his knee with his index finger. “If you’re busy, or you don’t want to go, or you already have plans, I totally get it. No pressure.”

“Con…” you began, but he cut you off.

“I think you mentioned something about work this week, something important. I just remembered. Sorry. I really understand if you can’t…”

His gaze dropped again, just as nervous as when he first walked in.

“Conrad!” you exclaimed, shutting your laptop and walking over to him.

Standing in front of him, you leaned down gently, placing your hands on his knees. He looked up, surprised by your sudden closeness, and his eyes met yours—nervous, hopeful, searching.

“I’d love to go with you to your brother’s wedding, Con.” you said softly, your voice warm and steady, like a secret meant only for the two of you.

His expression shifted instantly. The tension in his shoulders melted away, and for the first time in weeks, he seemed to breathe freely. A shy smile tugged at his lips—the kind he only gave when he felt truly seen.

“Really?” he murmured, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.

“I’d go anywhere with you.” you replied, letting your fingers trace a small circle on his knee, mirroring the gesture he’d made moments earlier. “And if that means standing beside you on such an important day, then there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Conrad let out a quiet laugh, the kind only you could decode. It wasn’t nervous or sarcastic—it was grateful. It was tender.

“Thank you.” he whispered, like the words weren’t enough to hold everything he felt.

And in that moment, with the soft glow of sunset spilling through the window and the scent of coffee still lingering in the air, you knew something had shifted between you.

The salty breeze hit you the moment you stepped out of the car, carrying with it the scent of ocean air and sun-warmed sand. The house at Cousins Beach stood just as Conrad had described—weathered in the most charming way, with its pale blue shutters and wraparound porch that seemed to hold a thousand summer memories.

Conrad lingered beside you for a moment, his gaze fixed on the house. You could tell he was somewhere between nostalgia and resolve. He took a deep breath, then turned to you with a soft smile.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low. “They can be a lot to take sometimes.”

You nodded laughing softly, and together you walked up the porch steps. The door creaked open before you could knock. Jeremiah stood there, barefoot, wearing a linen shirt and that familiar easy grin—though it faltered slightly when his eyes landed on Conrad.

“Hey, man.” Conrad said, his tone calm, almost rehearsed.

“Hey, Connie.” Jeremiah replied, with a giant smile that could almost look fake to you. “It’s been a while.”

There was a pause. Not cold, either warm, just a pause that held a lot of history.

Then a brunette girl appeared, you guessed that it was Belly. She was behind Jeremiah, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked to Conrad, then to you, then back to Conrad again.

“Hi.” she said, offering a small smile.

“Hi.” Conrad echoed, then stepped aside, gesturing toward you. “This is—well, you know her name. She’s the one I told you about.”

Jeremiah’s eyebrows lifted, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Ah… so she’s the one you wouldn’t shut up about.”

You laughed nervously, but Conrad didn’t flinch. He just smiled, eyes still on you. His left hand was soft on your back, and you could swear that you felt him caressing it slowly.

“I didn’t talk that much.” he muttered, trying to hide the soft pink coming to his cheeks.

Jeremiah chuckled. “You did. You really did.”

Belly’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then she stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said with her polite tone.

“Nice to meet you too.” you replied, offering a hand she gladly took.

The silence that followed was brief but heavy. Then Jeremiah clapped his hands together. “Well, come in. We’ve got drinks, snacks, and a playlist that’s stuck in 2016.”

Conrad gave you a look—half amused, half grateful—and you followed them inside.

The house was filled with echoes of summers past. Photos lined the walls, laughter drifted from the kitchen, and the sound of waves crashing just beyond the porch reminded you that this place had seen love, heartbreak, and everything in between.

But as Conrad leaned in slightly and whispered, “If it gets to much for you, and you need to take a break just tell me, okay?”

A half smile appeared in your face. “Will do.”

The house was completely charming—just as you’d imagined it after hearing Conrad talk about it. The walls were decorated with family photos, soft blue tones that matched the beachy, nostalgic vibe of the home, and the backyard was stunning, opening up to a breathtaking view of the ocean.

Now you understood why Conrad loved this place so much.

You held a picture frame in your hands, one that had been sitting on the living room table. It showed Conrad and his mom, Susannah, sitting in the sand with the house in the background. They were hugging, both of them wearing huge smiles that made you smile without even realizing it.

“I didn’t know you liked snooping,” said a very familiar voice from the living room.

You quickly placed the frame back where it belonged, feeling like a kid caught doing something mischievous.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip and hiding your hands behind your back.

Conrad laughed, watching your reaction. “I’m messing with you. I don’t mind.” He walked over and glanced at the photo you’d just been holding. “You can keep snooping. Pretend I’m not here.”

You smiled when you noticed the shift in his expression as he looked at the picture with his mom. You knew he missed her more with each passing day, but it comforted you to know you’d always be present for him when he needed it—just like he was for you.

“You look just like her,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

Physical affection between you two wasn’t constant, but when it happened, it was natural. It didn’t happen every day, only in certain moments—but it never failed to send butterflies through both of you.

“I miss her. More in days like this. Being here.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do with all of them on my own.”

You both laughed, glancing out the window toward the backyard. Everyone was singing and jumping into the pool, enjoying the day far more than anyone had expected.

“We should go out there, don’t you think?” you said, raising an eyebrow as Redbird dropped his pants and flashed Jeremiah. “Or maybe not. I don’t think they care.”

You managed to ignore them for a few minutes, but eventually it became impossible. You knew Conrad didn’t always feel comfortable in big social settings, but this was his brother’s day. Deep down, he’d regret not being part of it. So after talking it through, you both decided to head out to the pool.

“Finally! The lovebirds stopped making out!” Jeremiah shouted, raising both hands—each holding a beer.

“We’re not—” Conrad stammered, flustered.

“Sure,” Steven rolled his eyes, then winked at him.

Hours passed as Conrad laughed and shared stories with his brother, Steven, and their friends. Meanwhile, Taylor pulled you into a conversation with Belly and Anika. You got to know them a little, and couldn’t help but genuinely like them.

“Hey, y/l/n!” a familiar voice called from the corner of the pool.

Conrad.

You turned your head. He was pointing to the spot beside him, clearly wanting you to come join him.

When you got to his side, he asked you. “Everything okay?” He couldn’t help but worry about how you were like always.

“Everything is more than fine. In fact they are quite nice.”

Steven interrupted the little conversation, throwing himself into the pool taking a turn in the air, which only made water fall everywhere. You laughed from where you stood near the edge, watching the chaos unfold.

“Classic Steven” he said, laughing at the girl’s reactions. “He’s been doing that since he was ten.” Then he gave you his beer for you to drink a little.

You took a sip, the cold beer being a relief against the heat. “You ever cannonball?”

Conrad smirked. “Once. Broke a pool float and got banned from Belly’s birthday party for an thirty five minutes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thirty five? That’s oddly specific.”

“Steven was the judge. He’s always been dramatic.”

You both laughed, and then Conrad looked at you with a funny face. He was floating lazily, arms stretched out, eyes half closed.

“So” he said, cracking one eye open. “I think it’s your turn to tell me things. What’s your most embarrassing summer story?”

You groaned. “That’s a trap.”

“Absolutely.”

You thought for a moment. “Okay. I once tried to impress a guy by pretending I knew how to surf. Got on the board, immediately wiped out, and the board hit me in the face. I had a black eye for a week.”

Conrad burst out laughing. “That’s… honestly impressive. You committed.”

“I committed to the lie. Not the sport.”

He grinned. “I once tried to serenade a girl at a bonfire. Guitar, candles, the whole thing.”

You blinked. “That sounds romantic.”

“It would’ve been, if I hadn’t forgotten the lyrics halfway through and accidentally started singing a Taylor Swift song instead of the one I wrote.”

You snorted. “Which song?”

He looked sheepish. “You Belong With Me.”

You doubled over in laughter, nearly splashing water. “That’s iconic.”

“She didn’t think so. She thought I was making fun of her.”

“Did you get the girl?”

“Nope. But I got a viral video out of it. Steven posted it.”

You floated closer, the water gently lapping between you. The distance was shrinking, but not quite gone. There was something in the way he looked at you—like he was trying to memorize the moment without saying it out loud.

“You’re different here.” you said quietly.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “Different how?”

“Lighter. Like you’re not carrying the whole world on your shoulders.”

Conrad looked away for a second, then back at you. “Maybe I’m just carrying less of the past.”

You nodded, letting the silence stretch. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of things unsaid. And for some reason, you even started overthinking about it. About the two of you, about everything that has happened all this years.

“Do…”

Jeremiah called out, interrupting you without knowing “Anyone want some burgers?”

Conrad smiled. “We should go before Steven eats all of it.”

You lingered a moment longer in the water, the tension between you like a thread—pulled taut, but not snapped.

As you climbed out of the pool, Conrad offered you his towel, his fingers brushing yours just briefly.

It wasn’t like any other spark.

It felt like a burn that would stay forever marked.

[mauiiscreative]

how i feel opening up tumblr to read x reader ffs at my big age

[mauiiscreative]

Lo’ak leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, like Y/N’s lotion.”

“Her lotion smells good,” Neteyam said defensively, ears twitching. Spider raised a brow.

“Dude. You notice her lotion?”

Neteyam blinked. “No.”

SOOOOO FUNNY AND CUTE ANHDHAHSH OMGGG didn't think I'd need drunk neteyam until reading this masterpiece. And before you say I glaze every fic i read, that's what y'all should do. Writers don't get paid for keeping us entertained. SO I GLAZE THE HECK OUT OF THESE CUTE TOOTHACHY FLUFFSSSS

Will reread again. AND gained a new follower.

Drunk neteyam expressing his lil (or huge?) crush for us is so cute. Imagine having to be tough all day as the older sibling while getting it together and then you get drunk and finally feel free to express yourself and feel soft for the person u like😝😝😝🙏🏻🙏🏻💗💗 btw I really love that were human in this cuz let's be real, I think it's a lot cute when it's neteyam x human reader ahshahshahs me personally... This was so enjoyable to read what the heckieeee

🍹Drunk in Love

Neteyam x Human!Reader | Fluff |

Word count: 2k

The prank was simple.

Stupid, but simple.

“Come on,” Spider had whispered, holding up the metallic pouch. “It’s just a little Earth drink. You know, for humans.”

The drink inside was actually something they found in one of the abandoned RDA supply crates. Still sealed. Still weird-smelling. Still alcoholic — though Neteyam had no clue.

“I thought this was orange juice,” Neteyam muttered, sniffing it once before tilting the pouch into his mouth. “Smells... strange.”

“It’s an Earth thing,” Spider said, barely holding in a snort. “Weird smells are normal.”

Lo’ak leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, like Y/N’s lotion.”

“Her lotion smells good,” Neteyam said defensively, ears twitching.

Spider raised a brow. “Dude. You notice her lotion?”

Neteyam blinked. “No.”

They shared a look.

Ten minutes later, Neteyam was lying flat on his back in the grass with his braids slightly frizzy, cheeks flushed dark purple, and a sleepy, dazed smile stretched across his face.

“She’s just so small,” he said, absolutely starstruck. “Like. Tiny. I could carry her in one hand. Like a leaf. Like...a precious leaf.”

Lo’ak lost it.

Spider was practically wheezing.

“Oh my Eywa,” Lo’ak laughed, dropping to his knees. “We broke him. You broke him.”

“I want to braid her hair,” Neteyam sighed dramatically, eyes glazed. “Her little human hair...so short. But I would do it anyway. I would try.”

“You think we should call her?” Spider asked, wiping his face. “He might start climbing trees and singing love songs next.”

Neteyam, in the background: “Y/N deserves the stars and a stable income.”

Lo’ak groaned. “Yeah. Let’s bring her here before he starts a poem.”

---

You were in the lab, mid-bite of a protein bar, when the door flew open.

“Y/N,” Spider said, panting. “It’s urgent.”

“Did someone get hurt?”

Lo’ak wheezed. “No. Worse. Neteyam’s... drunk.”

Your brain stalled.

“Neteyam? Drunk?”

“Yeah. Spider gave him human alcohol.”

“I told you it was your idea,” Spider muttered.

“Whatever,” Lo’ak said. “Point is, he’s confessing his deepest secrets right now and it’s getting sad.”

---

You followed them through the forest, heart pounding, until you reached a small glade glowing with bioluminescence. Neteyam was sitting cross-legged on the ground, blinking up at the stars, humming a soft, off-key tune.

When he spotted you, his face lit up like you were the second sun.

“Y/N...” he whispered, absolutely awestruck.

You blinked. “Hey, Neteyam.”

He scrambled to his feet — almost tripping over himself — and rushed toward you, arms wide.

“You’re real,” he said, placing both massive hands on your shoulders and leaning in dramatically. “You’re here. My beautiful, tiny, squishy mate.”

You choked. “Wait, what?”

Spider and Lo’ak stood behind you, trying not to laugh.

“Mate,” Neteyam repeated, dreamily. “You smell like books and lotion and those salty snacks you eat in bed.”

“Have you been watching me sleep?”

“I would never do that without permission. Except maybe once. Or twice. But only for your protection.”

You gave Lo’ak a glare. “You did this?”

Lo’ak lifted both hands. “To be fair, we thought he was too noble to drink it.”

Neteyam turned toward them, expression suddenly serious. “I am noble. That’s why I have to confess my undying devotion before I perish of longing.”

You turned back to him. “You’re not dying, ‘Teyam.”

He blinked, then frowned. “Oh. Good.”

“Okay,” Spider said, clapping his hands. “We’ve done our part. He’s your problem now. We’re gonna...not be here.”

They bolted.

---

You sat down beside Neteyam, watching him stare at the stars like they owed him rent.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” you asked gently.

He looked at you with the most serious, adoring expression you'd ever seen on his face.

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “You’re soft. And warm. And human. And I’m...not.”

You placed a hand on his. “I like that you’re not.”

He blinked. “You do?”

You nodded. “You’re smart. Brave. Kind. You help people. And you never make fun of me for using three pillows.”

“That’s because you look really cute, even when you're drooling ,” he said, deadpan. “It’s adorable.”

You covered your face with your hands. “You’re going to remember none of this tomorrow, are you?”

Neteyam leaned in, nose brushing your temple. “I’ll remember. Because I mean it.”

He looked so sincere you almost believed him — big eyes, glossy braids, even the little drunk hiccup that escaped his mouth like a traitor.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he breathed.

“Don’t ever let Spider mix your drinks again.”

---

The Next Morning

Neteyam groaned, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. His head felt like someone had launched a grenade inside it.

He sat up slowly.

Then paused.

You were beside him. On a pile of moss. Still asleep, curled up in one of his wraps.

His eyes widened. No. No way. Please tell me I didn’t—

“Good morning, my noble leaf,” you mumbled sleepily.

He froze. “What.”

You cracked one eye open, grinning. “You confessed your undying love, remember? Called me squishy. Said you wanted to braid my hair.”

His face turned deep purple.

“I’m never drinking again,” he said in horror.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re lucky I like you drunk and sober.”

Somewhere in the trees, Spider and Lo’ak high-fived.

Neteyam glared at the sound.

“I’m going to kill them.”

You hummed, smiling. “After breakfast?”

He sighed.

“Fine.”

---

[mauiiscreative]

Super detailed and super underrated bruuuuuh hopefully this reaches the right audience. I loved the bond we have with them and the whole outcast thing cuz I know how it feels irl too. And sometimes, you just stick out more than most people but that's better than being the same🤷🏻‍♀️

taken in by the sullys (5) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, your birth mother didn’t care to be cautious while pregnant, but at least something good came out of it. ++ spider, and then lo’ak throwing hands for you

+ note! writing these chapters during my commute makes the bus rides sm more relaxing, i’m happy you guys are enjoying the series just as much <33

(1) / (2) / (3) / (4*) / (5 - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

2155 (you were four years old)

the first time you ran out into pandoran air without a gas mask on, jake thought you were going to die

pandoran air was filled with compounds that the human lungs couldn't process efficiently—a danger that threatened jake's life once before

after the war ended and the sky people were banished from pandora, there was a lot of things to take care of logistically

inducting jake as olo'eyktan was one of them, along with an agreement with the remaining humans living on the planet

plus in the aftermath of the war, many other forest clans lost their homes or leaders. jake was determined to accommodate all of them as best he could

his preoccupation left you with little supervision and a lot of free time

jake was visiting norm's lab to check up on the status of their relationship with the clans

he carried you along with him for once, hoping it'd be a fun take your daughter to work day

this is how he held you when you were little btw

as soon as he set you loose, you bolted out the lab

you jumped up and slapped a button, dashing outside when the door opened just wide enough to allow you through.

it slowly creaked as alarms began to blare loudly, an automated voice warning them of the sinking pressure overtaking the room's atmosphere.

"holy shit—" jake shot up, wincing as he slammed his head into the ceiling. "norm?! why didn't you grab her?" he rushed through the corridor, and being incompatible with the space started knocking things over left and right.

"i'm sorry, she has so much experience slipping past me!" norm protested, equally panicked as he held his breath. he scrambled out his seat towards the exit door, dodging jake's thrashing tail.

"no, no, no." jake's body rammed into the door just as it slammed shut. he peered out the frosted window and vaguely caught your shape. his fist collided with the access button. "why isn't this door opening?!"

jake rapidly slammed the button before norm stopped him from breaking the circuits completely.

"the cabin is returning to normal atmospheric conditions," norm gasped for air, finally. "it won't open for another—"

jake backed up, crouching into a lunging position. he bounced on the balls of his feet. "i'm kicking the door."

"what?! jake—"

"i'm breaking the damn door, norm. put a mask on. i'm not waiting." jake snapped, grabbing two masks off the wall and tossing one to the scientist. he surged forward and thrust his leg out, his foot flattening against the door and knocking it clean off its hinges.

norm dove for cover, securing a mask over his face just as all sorts of alarms clamored for attention.

jake ducked through the opening, immediately running to you. he dropped to his knees, taking no notice to the blisters and cuts that broke skin as he slid across the dirt towards you. he snatched you up in his arms, turning you to face him and trying to put the gas mask over your head.

you kept swerving him and blocking him with your hands.

"y/n—baby, please stay still." he tried to contain his worry as he grabbed your wrists in his hand and dropped them away from your face.

"stay still, you need..." he slowed his attempts as he realized... you were breathing just fine. "to breathe..?"

you glared at him in annoyance, confused as to why he was trying to smush glass on your face.

"you don't need the mask?" he asked, unsure himself. he paused for a moment, studying you closely. his hand still firmly gripping the gas mask in case he was mistaken. but you weren't coughing or gasping.

he lifted you up, hands nestled underneath your armpits. he put his ear to your back, listening to the sound of your breathing. no whistles. no wheezing. no rattling. just perfectly normal inhale... and exhale.

"huh." jake's eyebrows furrowed, turning you around and holding you against his chest. he looked down at norm, who had just caught up, pointing a finger at you.

"wanna explain what's going on here?"

the nature of your development and birth allowed for certain mutations surface

your birth mother got pregnant with you on pandora, going out in the atmosphere, consuming the fruits, and maybe getting stung once or twice by strange flowers

with how reckless she was while carrying you, it's no surprise your genome was a bit messed up

after norm thoroughly tested you for other variations, he came up with a comprehensive list

jake was never one for reading—he didn't even read the reports and logs that would've helped him be prepared when first going out with grace and norm

but he consumed every bit of information norm offered him, even asking him to print a copy of the document for future reference

"the subject exhibits accelerated peripheral growth wherein measurements taken supersede the average on earth... what the..." jake rattled off, before tossing the document back to norm with a roll of his eyes. "yeah, you're gonna have to do one in english and then get back to me."

"that just means she's growing faster compared to a normal human child." norm deadpanned. "she had a four year old's height when she just turned two. you were there, didn't you notice?"

jake shrugged, rotating you in his arms. "dunno. still looks pretty small to me." he cooed, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"you're almost 10ft. tall. everything looks small to you." norm turned back to his computer, exasperated. “whatever her mother did messed her up pretty badly.”

jake frowned. your birth mother died two years before he arrived on pandora, but he was sure he wouldn’t have liked her. the stories he’s heard was more than enough to form an opinion. he only tolerated her memory because she gave life to one of his most precious treasures.

“i wouldn’t say messed up. more like…” he pondered, watching the fluorescent ceiling light sparkle in your eyes. “upgraded.”

long story short, your lungs had adapted to draw more oxygen from pandora's atmosphere; you were growing faster; your athletic capacity was just below superhuman; and your senses were abnormally receptive.

whatever your birth mother exposed herself to while you were in there made you a little less human.

jake and neytiri had their suspicions. there was something up with you—how else could you have kept up with neytiri's rigorous training at a young age, human and all, otherwise?

it was almost fitting. you were one of the only two human pandoran natives. children actually born on pandora.

as you grew, you continued to hone your abilities to compete with the na'vi children, but at some point you hit a ceiling.

a little less human was still human at the end of the day.

spider

the other only human born on pandora was miles 'spider' socorro

given how similar your situations were, you were surprised at the drastic difference between your lives

you were two years older than him—he was born just before the first pandoran war

he had adoptive parents, the mccoskers, just like you had the sullys

the mccoskers were residents of hell's gate as per jake's surrender list until the RDA returned under ardmore's command

they left with their own family, spider left behind

spider was then his own boss, doing as he pleased and going where he pleased

above all, he was inseparable from the sully kids—an unspoken, invisible brother

sometimes, you felt awkward when interacting with him because you got lucky with the sullys while he was considered a 'stray'

unlike lo'ak or kiri, you weren't particularly close to him as a friend, but you looked out for him just as you did for the others

"hey," you caught up to him as he was leaving.

spider spending the entire day with the kids was routine. from dawn to dusk, sometimes into the night, he was by their side. you and the kids loved him, and he loved you guys too.

"oh. hey." he turned, awkwardly standing in place. "what's up?"

"wanted to catch you before you left." you loosely gestured to the sky. "it's pretty dark out. i'll walk you home."

he blinked, surprised by the consideration. you felt pity pool in your stomach.

"oh. yeah, thanks." he nodded. you could see a thought cross his mind. he quickly backtracked. "but—but if i'm keeping you, i'm okay to—"

"spider," you smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to walk alongside him. "you're not keeping me. we’re two of a kind so we gotta stick together, right?" you bumped into his side playfully.

he felt at ease, relaxing. "yeah." spider chuckled. he glanced at your face before dropping his eyes. "it's so crazy how you can just... breathe the air. i'm jealous." gesturing to his exo-pack, he continued. "gotta lug this thing around all day."

“the reason why is way less cool, promise.” you muttered, reflecting on your birth mother.

friendly chatter and a few minutes later, you arrived at the human base. you dropped spider inside to his bunk.

he collapsed against the mattress with a lengthy sigh.

you laughed at his antics. “it’s tough keeping up with them, huh?”

“oh, please, i could outrun ‘em any day.” he huffed, grinning lopsidedly.

you pat his shoulder. “make sure to eat something before bed.” walking out, you waved goodbye. “see you tomorrow.”

he felt warm—seen. he waved back. “bye.”

despite the two year age gap, spider saw you as a maternal figure

i mean, you were the only one that willingly made yourself available to him consistently

he would NEVER admit this, though, to himself or anyone else

kiri was a very close confidant, neteyam and lo’ak were brothers, and tuk was the baby

you were the only young adult that made him a priority for care and support

he would be eternally grateful for that, because no matter what he would experience, he knew you were in his corner just like any of the other kids

it made him feel part of something when he had nothing

omaticayan dissent

it was no secret that there were some that disagreed with their clan leaders’ choice to adopt you into their family

and while their hatred and caution was valid—they’ve had many sky people deceive them before—it was poor to direct that anger onto a child

you were essentially a trash bin for their bitterness, a figure to focus their resentment when there were no other ‘bad humans’ around

and despite proving your usefulness time and time again, it was becoming increasingly clear that they were never going to accept you as their own

for jake and neytiri, it was a delicate balance of hearing their people and curbing their behaviour

for your siblings, though? it was gloves off. immediately

“what’d you just say?” lo’ak hissed, grabbing the shoulder of the omaticayan boy and spinning him around.

if there’s one thing about lo’ak, it’s that he rocks for his family.

“lo’ak.” neteyam warned, spawning behind the youngest sully son as if he was summoned the minute lo’ak threatened trouble. “mawey, brother.

lo’ak shoved neteyam’s arm off his shoulders, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy. “he just said—“

“how can you call tawtute a sister?” the boy contorted his face in disgust. “she does not belong here. all the other children know it.”

“olo’eyktan decides who belongs and who doesn’t. that is none of your business.” neteyam said coolly. “she does her part and keeps to herself.”

the boy made a yeuch sound, shuddering. ignoring neteyam’s subtle offer for truce, he continued. “they made a demon who can breathe among us. what’s next, one who can connect with our great mother? you ask yourself what else must they have in store.”

neteyam wanted to set the guy straight, but ever the oldest son, he kept his composure. “our mother and father raised her more na’vi than human. if she had different loyalties, she would have left long ago.”

“well—“

“let it rest.” neteyam cut him off firmly, his expression blank.

the boy could not continue to argue against the chief’s son when he put down a hard boundary. he snarled, baring his teeth at both sons.

“lo’ak, ‘yam—“ you approached them, oblivious to the tension. “mom’s calling for dinner.”

lo’ak seethed silently but after catching neteyam’s firm look, he swallowed his pride.

they walked past the boy, giving him a lasting glare while following behind you.

“freak.” the boy mumbled under his breath when you were out of earshot.

without hesitation, lo’ak shifted his weight and launched his fist across the boy’s jaw.

he got an earful, naturally

the scuffle continued until neteyam was able to break it up

after apologies were forced, lo’ak was subject to your father’s favourite punishment—grounding

you shooed kiri and her unhelpful teasing away, taking over lo’ak’s treatment

you dabbed the cloth to his forehead. “what’d he do?”

lo’ak winced, leaning away from the burning sting of the ointment. remaining silent, he glared at the floor.

“hm?” you egged him on. “you know you can tell me.”

“i…” he began with a sigh before changing his mind. “never mind. doesn’t matter.”

jake sully was a girl dad through and through. in his eyes his girls could do no wrong. he saw a youthful recklessness in his sons, something they undoubtedly got from him, and feared they would go down a path he couldn’t save them from. he was very hard on them, sometimes unfairly so.

you forcefully turned his head to look at you. “course it matters, dummy. you’re telling me the way the boy described it was how it went down?”

his chest rose and fell rapidly as he got worked up again. “he was talking shit about you.” he glanced at you, wondering if he’d get told off for cursing. when you didn’t speak, he continued angrily. “again. i was gonna let it go, i swear! but he ran his mouth right in front of you! how did you not hear?”

“you did this on my behalf?”

“yes! all of them have said something at some point. they don’t have any shame. it’s not fair.” he grumbled, his posture sinking.

you dropped in the spot next to him. “you know i’m proud of you, lo’ak, and i’m grateful you thought to defend me. but you don’t need to get into fights.” you pleaded, trying to catch his annoyed gaze. “cuz then both of us lose.”

he groaned and crossed his arms. “i just— if i feel like this… i just think you would feel ten times worse.”

like this. like an outcast. it was the first time you really considered that it was the truth. growing up, you simply accepted it as a fact of your life.

you softened when you observed his tormented expression. you leaned against him to let him know you understood—that the two of you were more alike than it would seem. you remained there in each other’s company until you were called for dinner.

. . .

thanks for reading <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt

© jsooly ‘25

[mauiiscreative]

Guyz, in a relationship we will always have those moments. We will argue and it'll be flawed. But it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt 🥹🙏🏻 dude, this is why I love angst. It's raw and it's real and most of the time, it's more honest because we're being honest when we're hurt, sad, or angry. When emotions are heightened.

CRY ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! Fem! Reader

🖇️ warn. None, but Neteyam’s a little mean :(

🎥 Neteyam makes you cry during a fight, and instantly regrets it. That’s it. That’s the whole story.

A/N He comes off a little manipulative in this but TRUST he’s not

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

FIGHTS WITH NETEYAM were rare. They barely happened. Since the day you had met him, you a were convinced that you were joined together by Eywa. Truly, you believed that in your soul.

He understood what you were thinking without you having to voice it, and there were strange moments where you would have whole conversations just through the eyes. It was like your hearts were synced to one another’s.

And because of this, fights were rare. But still, there were days when mild annoyance turned into anger, and anger turned into words that were said with the intent to harm.

Today was one of those days.

Neteyam had already been having a bad day. Ao’nung had been spewing subtle mean comments towards him and his siblings, he had gotten thrown off his Ilu three times now, and Loak had gotten himself into trouble again, which meant that Neteyam would also get a lecture from Jake as well.

His body was buzzing with irritation, tail accidentally knocking things over in the hut. You had followed after him, knowing that your duty as his mate was to stay by his side at times of hardship.

Neteyam was crouched down, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. You frowned, your heart squeezing and wishing you could take this irritation and make it disappear for him.

“Ma Neteyam.” You softly sighed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder from behind. You hadn’t expected him to abruptly get up, turning and looking at your with eyes of fury. “What, (Name)? What? What now?” He huffed, the wounds of the words of his father still fresh.

You felt as if you had stepped on a land mine, standing still as you looked at him with wide eyes. Your ears were flat against your head, surprised at his anger, at first. But that surprise quickly morphed into annoyance. He was not about to direct his anger towards you.

“I’ve heard it a hundred times. ‘You should listen to your father more’, ‘Lo’ak is just not mature yet’.” He mocked, causing your brows to furrow. “I was just trying to help, Neteyam.” You huffed, frowning. He scoffed, tail flinging wildly.

“And how were you going to do that? Tell me. Go on.” His arms were crossed across his chest, and he shifted his weight onto one leg. You opened your mouth, but the words were stuck onto your tongue like honey. Your mind was in a maze, not sure what he was so mad at anymore.

Was he mad at you? For what?

“Tell me!” He repeated, raising his voice this time. A small gasp left your mouth. He had never yelled at you before. The anger and annoyance that was frying inside of you disappeared and hurt filled that new void.

“You always take my father’s side, and always defend my brother! You don’t even care about how I feel!” His breaths were rough and heavy, obviously distressed. But still, his words were like knives. ‘That’s not true’, you wanted to say, but your words were stuck in your throat in the form of a lump.

“Ma Netey-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He cut you off, and you found your eyes watering. He was… he was just mad and frustrated. He didn’t mean these things. Deep down, in your heart, you knew that. And still, your mind didn’t know it. The words were oddly confronting, like a chisel that was breaking away the rock around your insecurities that you had buried inside.

You could see the words on the tip of his tongue, and you prayed to Eywa that he wouldn’t say it. Even if he didn’t mean it, you didn’t want him to say it. But Neteyam’s mind was clouded with rage and deep frustration, that the words he hadn’t meant slipped out.

“You are not fit to be my mate.”

The words were like the edges of shattered glass pricking your skin, your chest hurting from the pain of the words. You stepped back, as if it had physically hurt you. A sob had left your mouth, and a hand flew up to cover it.

It was then that the cloud of red finally faded. The sob was like a slap to his face, and he hadn’t realized what he said until it was too late. Your cheeks were wet, and you couldn’t stand looking at him.

You covered your face with both hands, muffling your sobs into your palms.

Neteyam’s shoulders lowered, and his mouth parted open, like he couldn’t believe he had said what he had said. “No, I- I did not mean that.” He breathed slowly, but when you hadn’t moved, when you hadn’t stopped crying, he felt more desperate.

“I’m sorry. Oh, Ma (Name), I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.” He stepped forward, immediately cradling your face in his hands. Your hands lowered to his wrists, to try to pull them away, but when his thumbs started swiping at your tears, you couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

You damned your heart for being so in love with him, for needing his comfort despite the fact that he was the one who made you this way. “I see you, Ma (Name). And- And I will spend the rest of my life proving that you are more than worthy to be my mate.” He huffed, and you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t deserve you, and Eywa knows that. Please, forgive me, (Name). I did not mean it. I was just- I was just mad and frustrated and- And it does not make it okay but please know I did not- I would never-” He rambled, stumbling over his words.

Your crying had calmed down, only occasional sniffles and stray tears falling, but your eyes were still closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

“Please, look at me.” He begged, whispering the words like a prayer to Eywa. Your eyes fluttered open, hesitating to look into his eyes, but when you finally met them, you could see that the words hurt him more than they hurt you.

He hated himself for saying it, and you could feel it in the way he held your face like it was the most delicate flower. You could see it, in the way his eyes searched your expression for any hint of what you might’ve been thinking.

His shoulders relaxed in just the slightest when your eyes met his. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and then finally, pressed a deep, loving one to your lips. It was soft and held meaning.

When he pulled away, he placed his forehead on yours, an intimate and deep gesture of an apology, one that was rare and not often done unless you were begging for forgiveness, not only from the person you were apologizing to, but from Eywa herself.

“Neteyam.” You finally spoke, voice hoarse and quiet. Your hands took his that were on yours face, bring them down and holding them. “You better keep your word. About spending the rest of your life proving that what you said- That it was a lie.” Your eyes averted to the side, just thinking about the words clenching your heart.

There was a silent sigh of relief from your mate, hands holding yours tightly as if you would slip away if he didn’t. “I promise, Ma (Name). I see you.” He whispered the last part, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against yours once more.

You closed your eyes, accepting his apology by pressing back. “I see you.”

[mauiiscreative]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[mauiiscreative]

Hello everyone! You've read my bio right and let me first introduced myself.

My name is Maui, I'm taking a break from writing (my work is on AO3) and this year, I plan to make a big change. (Starting with my account)

To all my fellow readers, silent readers (no shame, ur silent support matters too), I too, used to write and read without interacting. there's nothing wrong with being a silent reader and sharing your support through simple reblogs and liking it, but as a former writer, and I'm sure other writers feel the same, prefer that you give your feedback and I'm talking REAL FEEDBACK. Doesn't have to be detailed, just share how you felt or thought after or during reading it.

You don't need to express it in a grand or great way, all writers appreciate every thought and time given to what you put in your feedback. If you can, start giving your own feedback more as this is what writers look forward to. To what made you sad, what made you happy. Or even what made you dislike it.

I used to be a silent reader but I realized that when I wrote, I barely received any feedback (whether negative or positive) I wasn't a professional, but it still made me feel sad to not receive any.

So this time, my account will be full of just me reviewing fics and other works that i've read and I'll share my honest opinion, thought, and feelings towards what i've read. This time, I'm making the change to encourage other readers, and authors as well ❤️‍🩹

[mauiiscreative]

Most of the time, the fics of x reader tends to be like this: the reader is shy, not taking initiative. Basically like a "damsel in distress" but in this one which btw, I love the portrayal of us having the big fat crush because most of the time it's the other character's pov instead of ours, so reading the opposite is refreshing. And it's so real because that's how I am (me personally) when I have a crush. I analyze small things abt the person lmaoo or the body language and everything else.

It's so funny cuz having a crush is exactly like this. Making you overthink, flustered, the butterflies. So muchhh detail.

Btw in the creepy scene part, it's funny cuz Clark is just a chill guy and most of the time he's really jolly so the duality of him using a serious tone to ward of that pest was rlly cute. He can be serious when he needs to be ARGHSGDHDHD

Let me also point out how Clark ALWAYS finds a way to make the reader feel comfortable. Like before himself, he thinks of the reader first. Like AWWWW same with the citizens

I was reading this during practice and nowadays I have been feeling easily drained so reading here on Tumblr always gives me a boost. So to all the authors, and to you Author aelinwya, if you think what you write never really reaches the right audience, trust that it does and there are people who'll enjoy what you write. I hope authors find a sense of peace knowing there are and will be readers who'll find their work and finish it with joy!!

half my heart is in your chest

clark kent x fem!reader | 7k words

summary : 4 times you and clark cross the line of what friendship entails + the 1 time the two of you do something about it

warnings : power outage, slight insecurity, they have to share a sofa, migraine attack, a creepy guy hits on reader, injuries and blood, two very small suggestive remarks, love confession, inspired by meet me halfway from the black eyed peas

1.

Lois is gaping at you.

Her hand stalls before her lips touch the rim of the mug, no doubt containing a detrimental amount of sugar in it. You worry for her health sometimes.

"Are you in love with him?" She sputters out, furrowing her brows after you hush her quickly.

"No! It's just concert tickets, what's wrong with that?" Self-consciously, you hug the envelope you're holding onto to your chest.

"Just? I, I just mean that concert tickets are expensive! As if that weren't considerate enough, it's his favourite band." Lois shakes her head, her puzzlement evident.

You look down and twist the envelope around. You grit your teeth, sighing. It's just concert tickets, it's simply a thoughtful gesture. You are not in love with Clark. That's a ridiculous notion.

He might be charming, and incredibly handsome, and yes, you have thought about him and his glasses too much, but that doesn't equal to you being in love.

Lois lets out a low gasp. You look back up to see her face contorting in an expression of pure disbelief.

"You- No way! You pressed lipstick kisses onto the envelope! You, Miss it's-just-concert-tickets, are head over heels. Ha, I knew it! Jimmy, get over here!" She pumps her fist in the air victoriously, grinning as wide as she does when she receives a go-ahead from Perry.

Jimmy spares you two a glance from his desk, reluctantly setting down the camera he'd been fumbling around with. He clicks his tongue, but still makes his way over.

"Listen here. She got Clark two concert tickets to the Mighty Crabjoys, and look at the envelope," she points to where you're clutching it. "She even put kisses with lipstick on it. This isn't a thing you do for friends, right?"

"Lois!"

Both of them ignore your hiss, and Jimmy widens his eyes. Not a second later, he smirks and waggles his eyebrows at you.

"Lipstick? That seems to lean towards a gesture the entire population would deem romantic. What's the occasion, Lovergirl? And two tickets? Why?"

You clear your throat. "A thank you present. He got me that Interview with Superman, and one of my articles finally made the front page. It's the least I can do, and the second ticket is for if he wants to invite a friend with him. And don't call me that!"

You whip your head towards the elevators in case Clark has arrived yet. He's late, which isn't unusual at all, but it also means you rarely know at what time he'll arrive. It's a waiting and guessing game each morning, but you're the only one who plays it.

As if on cue, the elevator doors whir open to let out no one other than Clark, who is doing an awkward half-jog and half-run to get to you. Quickly you shoo Jimmy and Lois away, and turn towards Clark the second he's in a smaller distance to you.

He fiddles with his dark blue tie and slows down as he approaches his desk, which is situated adjacent to yours.

"Good morning! How are you?" He sets down a dark grey cup of coffee on your desk, and sets his leather bag down by his chair.

He's oblivious to your panic. A smaller version of you, dressed as an angel, sits on your shoulder and encourages you to give him the letter. To show your gratitude and make him smile, because seeing Clark happy makes your heart soar.

The seat on your other shoulder is similarly occupied by a little you with a pitchfork and dressed in red, swinging its fists up and down and telling you to hide the envelope before he sees it.

You have to give him the tickets. Not only as a thank you, but because you want only joy for him. You want to do something for him too for once, you want to be the reason he's smiling and in a good mood.

You clear your throat and stretch your arm out, holding the envelope with just two fingers. He startles, looks down at the letter and the kisses littering it, resembling a deer caught in headlines.

"A small present. A thank you for landing me an Interview with Superman. You knew how much I was struggling to get on the front page, and you helped me. I owe you one. Thank you Clark."

You know it hadn't been hard for him to arrange the Interview. Superman had shown up, charming and incredibly chivalrous, but his eyes — you had instantly known, they were the same eyes as Clark's. His eyes have been ingrained in your mind from the day you first met him, you would recognise the warm blue of them anytime. You've known from that moment that Clark is Superman. You won't confront him about it, you've decided after a lot of thought. Maybe in the future, but for now, you'd like to avoid that conversation, because how do you inform someone that you are aware of their secret identity?

At your words, a wide smile grows on his face and he looks down, bashful. Meekly, he grabs the envelope with both hands and brushes his thumb over the red prints, his face heating up.

"You, I…This is really sweet, thank you. You didn't have to get me anything." His voice wobbles a small bit.

"Maybe I didn't have to, but I wanted to." You hope your expression conveys the love you feel for him.

Lois was right. You are in love with Clark Kent. There were far more worse fates. If falling in love with him is your fate, then you'll happily accept it. You turn on the spot and sit down in your chair, trying your hardest not to sneak a glance at him as you hear the sound of an envelope being opened slowly.

You click open the report you're currently working on tirelessly, typing lots of random letters to make it seem like you are busy. You hear nothing from Clark for a few seconds and your throat closes up. Does he not like them? Did he already have tickets for their next performance?

He coughs and calls your name with affection imbued in his voice. You look up at lightning speed and are alarmed to see his watery eyes.

"Thank you, this is…" He pauses, speechless. "This is so sweet. Uh, would you like to accompany me? I, uh, I'd love to experience it with you." His gaze drops down every few seconds to blink rapidly.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get caught on their way out. You nod, giving him a soft smile.

For a few moments too long, the two of you share fond looks instead of working, neither of you aware of Lois and Jimmy high fiving a few feet away.

2.

The Daily Planet is much more peaceful in the late evening. The overhead lights are dimmed, the small TV screens mounted to the wall posts have been switched off, and everyone else has gone home. It feels empty, unlike its usual self, like you're exploring an abandoned building where you shouldn't be. The printers have gone to sleep, and all the chairs are tucked into their respective desks. What is the same though, are the piles of drafts, new stories and photographs strewn across every table.

It's how Metropolis's famous newspaper works. It thrives in chaos, always chasing the adrenaline. There's no rest for all reporters, taking the stories from the day back home with them, the heartwarming and the depressing ones. You've gotten used to it. When you'd first started here, it had been a sensory nightmare, and it had taken you some time to get used to it. Now? Now you happily take on the thrill of researching and writing, no matter how stressful. You flourish here, like a surfer choosing the strongest wave, confident and stubborn enough to ride the biggest wave of the daunting ocean.

Clark sits at his own desk, right across yours. He was clever enough to get a small lamp to put next to his monitor, which casts him in a warm, orange light which makes him look like he's basking in a sunset instead of an empty office. You two are the only ones left, working on your respective articles. You would bet your all that he's working on his next Superman Interview with himself, which will surely snag the position as a headliner once again. You can't be one to complain, after all Clark did arrange an Interview between you and Superman and he'd shown up, after you'd let it slip once that you desperately wished for one of your articles to be a headliner too.

Either way, the happiness radiating from Clark each time his name is on the front of the paper is worth it.

Each time his article succeeds, you'll see that bashful smile of his. It's slightly restricted, like he's trying to force it back to not appear as though he is bragging or feeling superior, but still proud of his achievement and wanting to share his joy with others.

And, if anyone deserves it, it's Clark. His heart is so pure, and his actions are always so sincere, that every time he gives you that dorky smile of his you're tempted to offer him everything you have. His happiness is infectious, infecting even those whose hearts are injured. Yes, if there's one thing you know for certain, its that he deserves only the best.

And honestly, if you had a secret identity as a superhero, you too would use it to your advantage.

Your article has been abandoned halfway, and you've taken to admiring him. He's so handsome, surely he must know this? Not only does his soul make him attractive, but for goodness sake, he might be the prettiest man you've ever laid eyes on. It's hard to look away from him. A sigh escapes you, because oh how you wish to let him know everything you've been feeling for him. Falling in love with Clark happened before you had even realised it. Your crush on him has worsened ever since he took you to the Mighty Crabjoys concert with him. The domesticity of doing that together had lured you into a new reality, where the two of you did the most mundane things together. It made you realise you want to live with him, love him, to be together.

You sigh deeply, and it must have been louder than you thought, for Clark, ever the attentive friend, glances up at you, eyebrows raising slightly in curiosity.

"What's wrong? Is it your article? I can help you if you need some feedback or tips."

You scramble your brain for an excuse.

"Yeah, actually. It's just…the sentence structure! Yeah. It's a bit off? I'm afraid it sounds too…clunky, so far. You know?"

He pushes his chair back and stands up, and you have to lean your head back to look up at him. Clark is very tall, even though his shoulders slouch forwards a bit, and you're not ashamed to admit you've thought about climbing him like a koala bear. Only to see what it his point of view is, of course. But then your thoughts would drift off to him giving you a piggy back ride when one of your heels break, like in those cheesy rom-coms that are shown on TV each Friday evening.

Clark rounds the desk and comes to a halt behind you, his left hand grabbing onto the headrest of your chair, and bracing himself on your desk with the other one. He leans down, and his face is impossibly near to yours. In this new angle, you could press a kiss to his cheek if you turned your head any further. Hypothetically. In your dreams.

It would be weird. You're not sure if Clark likes you back yet, so you'd rather not risk ruining your friendship with this. Or worse, HR getting involved somehow.

There aren't surveillance cameras here, right?

"I don't see any issues, this is amazing. The sentence structure is easily understandable by anyone who has more than 86 billion nerve cells. You should send it to Perry when you finish it, this could make the front page!" He grins at you.

You swallow nervously, and return his wide smile with a tiny one of yours. Clark always praises your work, reassuring your hidden insecurities. And he never makes you feel stupid or less intelligent, instead always giving you detailed and helpful advice. He's also still right next to you.

His fragrance is rich, the warm scent of sandalwood enveloping you like a thick blanket on a cold night. You feel yourself relax and lean towards him slightly.

You feel too hot now, even though you know the temperature in the room hasn't changed. But you're finding it hard to breath and your body feels weaker. Not nauseous, necessarily, just a bit winded, like you ran a marathon. You've never actually ran a marathon, but you imagine this is how people feel like after one.

You grin at him and resist the urge to brush away his curls which almost fall into his eyes.

"Thank you Clark. Really, I appreciate it."

"Of course! If you need more help, um, I'm here."

He nods enthusiastically, smiles at you and goes to sit back down. You check to make sure that he's concentrated on his own work again, before opening a new tab and typing quickly.

what does having 86 billion nerve cells mean?

You click on the first page to appear, the site loading.

The human brain is made up of about 86 billion nerve cells, along with…

Aha. Your heart warms. You know it was meant to be a compliment, but there are still people who have all their nerve cells and believe the earth is flat.

Wait.

He does knows the earth is round…doesn't he? He did mention he attended Metropolis University once. You shake your head, what a stupid thought. Of course Clark knows the earth is round.

You peek at him over the top of the display, only to make eye contact with him. Right as your eyes meet, the entire room is clouded in full darkness. Your screen shuts down, and even the tiny lamp on Clark's desk is now dark. The only light that fills the enormous newsroom are the warm city lights visible from the windows, which isn't much of a light source, considering you two are on one of the highest floors of the high-rise building. A startled yelp fills your ears, and it takes you a moment to notice that it came from you.

"What the hey?" Clark's mutter, although quiet, seems so loud to you. You can't make out a lot in the dark, your hearing sharpening in order to accustom yourself to having your sight interfered with.

"Uh, Clark? Is your desktop also not turning back on? I keep clicking the start up button but…nothing."

"Nope, mine isn't working either. And my lamp isn't either!"

Your lips tug up at the corners, and you bite your lip to avoid letting out a chuckle. You can hear the frown in his voice, sounding as though his lamp will never turn back on again. He's so full of love, you think. He cares for everyone, even new people he's meeting for the first time. He loves animals, and now you can add lamps on to the list.

"I think it's a power outage," you head to the windows, and examine the buildings across from you. The other skyscrapers facing you have lit up windows, and one look reveals the streetlamps are in great condition.

"Maybe it was a sign from the universe telling us to go home and get some sleep. Do you want to walk together- what? What's wrong?" As soon as you turn to face Clark, his face makes you halt.

He's grimacing with a guilty expression and is scratching the back of his head. Guilty? Perplexed? You can't tell.

"Uh, I have bad news. Like, bad bad. The elevators aren't working. Because of this power outage. We can't leave the building until the power comes back on."

Shit. You groan and roll your neck, wincing at a small cracking sound that ensues. Your body is screaming for your velvety sheets and your cloud-like mattress.

"That could take until tomorrow morning."

Hm. Clark must be strong. You would know, you've seen his biceps when he stretches his arms during work, the same work you often ignored in order to stare at him. He is Superman after all, he can probably bench press this entire building without breaking a sweat. You can't ask him to do that without revealing you know his secret though.

And then you realise. It's like a light bulb appears over your head, except that it's not an idea, no. It's an enlightenment, because the elevator still needs power to run. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe you're one of those people whose 86 billion brain cells only work part-time.

"So we're stuck here for the night. We can't stay awake until tomorrow morning."

He pouts slightly in thought. "There's a sofa in the break room. I, I don't know long it is though."

You hear footsteps, and you can feel Clark's palm facing upwards, his arm stretched out towards you.

Oh. You're about to hold his hand. You slip your fingers into him, and clutch his hand tightly.

You are so going to take the chance. You're momentarily surprised at how firm, yet gentle his grip is and how his hand almost fully covers your smaller one. Comparisons are running rampantly through your mind, filing this moment away for later when you're trying to sleep. His hands are surprisingly soft, and you feel a sense of safety washing over you.

Clark starts guiding you towards the break room, which is on the other side of the windows, shrouded in darkness. He leads you around the corners of desks and pillars assuredly, and you keep forgetting that he has powers. You know they are the same person, but it always slips your mind because right now, he's just your Clark. A weight settles on your back, and he is holding your shoulders with his arm. Your heart skips a few beats and picks up rapidly, and it's almost as if Clark can sense it, for he softly squeezes your shoulder.

The door to the small, quaint room creaks harshly and you take a sharp intake of breath, the loud noise reverberating in the silence and bearing a resemblance to the sound effects you'd hear in a horror movie.

Clark takes his arm back and fumbles with his pockets and his blazer, although you cannot see what he is searching for in the dark. He lets out a small hum of triumph, and you blink to adjust your eyes as a bright white light illuminates the room for you.

He waves his phone when he sees you turn towards him and nearly stops your heart with his beaming smile and dimples.

The room isn't the biggest, but it does hold a small kitchen and a long sofa, which means you and Clark won't have to craft a place to sleep out of desk chairs.

"You can take the sofa, I'll be alright on the floor."

"Clark, I'm not going to make you sleep on the hard ground, it's about as comfortable as a pile of rocks."

"It's no problem! Really, believe me, I'd feel better knowing you have something soft and warm to rest on." He waves his hands, gesturing for you to lay down.

"How about we…share? That way we can both avoid waking up with our spines in agony. And it's only one night."

The small amount of light helps you see Clark better, and if you're not being deceived by your eyes, a flush creeps up his neck and you can see the gears turning in his head. Probably weighing the pros and cons. Or thinking of how to politely decline.

"Uh, I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"Clark, love, it's okay. If I were uncomfortable at the notion I wouldn't have suggested it. Plus, that way I can leech off of your body heat. I'm quite sure the heaters also went off."

You want to bash your head repeatedly against the broken microwave on the counter at the slip of your tongue. Love? A pet name, really? In your haste to reassure him it had just come out. It saddens you when you see Clark stuttering or sacrificing his own comfort in order to appease others, rushing to get him smiling again.

This time, you can see for sure that he's blushing, the apples of his cheeks taking on a light pink hue. You reach for his hand again, and pull him with you, his feet stumbling behind you.

You come to a stop before the small black sectional sofa, mentally calculating how you're going to fit onto it. The only option that has any possibility of working is if you and Clark lay close next to each other on your sides. You just hope it'll be okay with him. You didn't think about how awkward it would be to actually lie down and you wish you could press a button to skip a few seconds forward.

"You can lay down first, make yourself comfortable. I'll lay on the edge so you don't fall off." Clark speaks to you softly, and you wonder if your distress was apparent on your face.

You push off your heels in the most graceless manner possible, being forced to bend down to loosen the adjustable strap of the shoe. You stagger on the spot when you raise your foot to finally pull it off and you thank all the lucky stars in the sky tonight that you didn't face plant into the floor.

Clumsily, you crawl onto the soft cushions and you rest your back against the pillows. You twist around and grab two decorative pillows, one for you and one for Clark. You set his pillow next to yours and only then do you lay down fully, sinking into it.

In the meantime, Clark has gotten rid of his own shoes and blazer, holding the throw blanket that had been hanging over the back of the sofa. His phone lays on the armrest, the flashlight facing upwards. He hesitates for a split-second, before deciding on his strategy. He sits down and then scoots onto his side, finally settling down.

And if your heart almost beats out of your chest when he delicately pulls the throw blanket over the both of you, tucking it securely around your shoulder, then that remains a shared secret between you and his super hearing.

You pull him closer to you underneath the blanket by his white shirt, the last thing you want is him falling off. He fails to suppress a yawn, which in turn triggers a yawn of your own.

He whispers now.

"Sleep well, I hope you have sweet dreams."

You mumble the words back to him in a hushed manner, your eyes slowly closing of their own accord. With Clark next to you, you fall asleep faster than you ever have.

-

Sunlight is streaming into the large office space in warm rays of dark orange. The Daily Planet has opened for another hectic work day, the first desk chairs are being pulled out, and Lois and Jimmy stand in the door to the break room. They're giggling and shushing each other, silently making their way to the two figures on the sofa.

Mere minutes later, their phones are full with pictures of their two coworkers in deep sleep, their limbs intertwined like a puzzle. Clark's cheek rests against your forehead and your nose is nuzzled in the crook between his jaw and throat. Your arms are wrapped tightly around each other like two puzzle pieces, and they don't have the heart to disturb the two friends who are clearly deeply in love.

3.

Patrons are chattering at top volume, groups of girls are screeching in order to be heard and the bartender is occupied at the other end of the counter, despite your attempts to flag them down.

Steve had invited some of you to a hang out after another week of successful work at the Daily Planet and had not taken any declinations as an answer. Cat, Jimmy, Lois, Steve, Perry and Clark are sitting at a round booth towards the back of the rowdy bar. You'd much prefer to be at home in your pyjamas, stuffing your face with food and watching a new movie, but you don't seem to be the only one.

Clark has been more reserved this evening, a silent tiredness apparent in his posture. His shoulders have been slumped for a few hours now and you've seen him force himself to keep his eyes open. Even his smile is dimmer, so you hope, more for his sake than yours, that you all head out soon.

Superman had caught the attention of the news once again this morning after battling an abnormal and mystifying creature that had spawned out of thin air. Clark had also been late to work today. You're surprised no one else suspects it, but the glasses do their best job at disguising him and keeping his identity from being revealed.

You're about to give up and head back to the table, but someone sidles up closely next to you. You snap your head to your left.

It's not someone you know, instead it's a stranger. He smiles down at you, but it's more of a creepy smirk. Fear creeps into you, dreading the rejection you no doubt have to deliver.

"Hey there pretty lady. What's your name?" His voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard and you clench your teeth.

"Sorry, I'm not interested." You force a fake smile, trying your best to be pleasant. You step back and he grabs onto your arm tightly, forcefully pulling you back forwards.

"Come on, don't be like that."

His grip is bruising and your heart pounds in your chest vigorously. Your mind is running speedily, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. The bartender is still in conversation with other customers, and the people around you seem not to have noticed your predicament yet.

Suddenly a heavy weight settles at your back, startling you. They pry the man's fingers off of you and step in front of you.

"She said she's not interested. Back off." Clark is rigid and he sounds furious. You cannot recall a time where he has ever been angry.

"Dude, we were just talking-" The stranger puts his hands up, shrinking back when Clark interrupts him.

"I suggest you leave. Now. And don't you dare ever lay your hand on a woman again." He leans down to warn the man, who in turn gives him dirty look before storming away.

Clark whirls around, his hands falling to your shoulders and his face a picture of pure concern.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you in any way? What a prick." He lets out a small huff as you launch yourself into his embrace. He wraps his arm around you, burying his face in your hair. His other hand cradles the back of your head and you tuck your head beneath his chin.

Clark doesn't let go of your hand for the rest of the night, and takes to rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand under the table.

4.

Your eyes are blurring, and you can't make out any words that are currently displayed on your monitor. It feels like an icepick is being hammered into your temple, going as far as behind your eyeball.

The inside of your head is pulsating rhythmically, like a monotone beat occurring every few seconds, and no matter how many times you blink or rub your temples, you can feel your eyes throbbing. The blaring light of your screen aren't particularly helping, but what else can you do?

You've taken multiple painkillers already, yet none of them have kicked in.

Shrill telephones ring, workers are bustling around creating a hectic atmosphere in the office, and the overhead lights are a blinding shade of white. It's the same cold and clinical colour as a hospital, and you cannot believe someone truly approved these lights. You're going to put a complaint in. At this point you'll even pay for the costs of new, warmer lamps.

Try as you might, you cannot suppress your yawn, remembering to cover your mouth a the last possible minute. The last thing you needed was someone seeing you with your mouth wide open, resembling a Venus flytrap.

You must look as bad as you feel, catching Lois's eyes. She's twirling a black ballpoint pen in one hand, and holding the standard black Telephone in the other. She waits for you to acknowledge you see her, before mouthing something that looks like "Are you okay?"

You plaster a smile onto your face, throwing her a thumbs up. Although hesitant, she nods once and replies to the other person on the end of the line. She'll definitely come over later to ask you personally, and you'll have to softly ward her off with empty assurances. She swivels in the opposite direction with her desk chair, and you take this as an opportunity to push yourself back with your feet planted firmly onto the laminated floor.

Pushing your keyboard further up, you cross your arms and rest your forehead into them. It's a reprieve from the harsh lighting, and here, in your little safe corner, the strain on your eyes lifts by the smallest bit. Still, it is better than nothing.

Even as you're trying to tune out the sounds from around you, your ears hone in on one sound in particular. Not just one sound, lots of little ones which follow each other. Your heart would recognise that sound even if it were muffled.

Low and deliberate footsteps make their way towards you, increasing in volume the closer they get.

You could recognize Clark with all your senses by now. After growing closer to him over the course of the past year, you can now differentiate him from others simply by the sound of his footsteps. He treads cautiously, almost as if he's holding back from walking too loudly. Like he's trying to avoid drawing attention to him, so he makes himself appear smaller.

"Are you not feeling well?" He asks you in a whisper.

You lift your head and regret it. The dull ache behind your eyes intensifies and you squint your eyes when you turn to look at him, seeing him as a figure blurring over every time you blink.

"It's just a headache, I'll be okay."

"Not to sound mean, but you look like you haven't slept in over a week."

You tilt your head. "It's Friday today. Are you insinuating I've looked like an insomniac all week?"

Behind his glasses, his eyes flare with poorly concealed dread.

"No!" In unison, you both wince at the increased volume. He continues in a low tone.

"You're always breathtaking. I just mean you look like you're tired and in pain. Why don't you go home?"

Your brain short circuits at the first part of his sentence. When you get home later, you're going to write this down in your journal and decorate the sentence with hearts surrounding it. You're always breathtaking.

"I, uh.." You rub your eyes, struggling to concentrate on your answer. "It's Friday anyway, I can make it through another few hours. And I already left early last week when I had a dentist appointment."

"But, you're not feeling well?"

You shrug. Leaving early again, especially as a reporter, isn't seen in a positive light by higher-ups and you love your job. You also love being able to pay rent.

He pokes his cheek with his tongue, looking around the room. He regards you and rushes off towards Perry's office. You blink, staring at the empty place where he had just stood, unable to comprehend why he disappeared.

Clark is back in less than a minute and grips your elbows softly, slowly pulling you up and out of your chair. He ignores your protests and directs you out of the newsroom.

"Clark, where are you taking me?" You mutter lethargically.

"You and I are taking a small trip to the storage room. I told Perry we're going there to find older articles to use as references."

"But we don't need references."

"What Perry doesn't know won't hurt him. At least," he pushes open the door, "there aren't any overhead lights in here. This will help your eyes, even if just for a small period of time. Have you taken any Ibuprofen yet?" He pulls out a chair for you, guiding you to sit.

"Yeah but they haven't kicked in yet."

"If it gets worse, tell me. I'll talk to Perry and walk you home." He nods firmly, waiting for your response.

At your nod of acknowledgement he grins and starts looking through the latest newspaper publications. You clutch the chair handles and your breathing turns heavy at the knots swirling through your stomach. Clark is none the wiser, content with his new task.

He stopped in the middle of his own work to get you to a calmer space to rest.

A few hours later, when the pain medication turns out to be useless, he insists on walking you home. He carries your bag for you and walks you up to your door, bidding you a goodbye and a "Feel better soon, don't hesitate to message me if you need help."

His ears turn a bright red after you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.

+1

Clark is tired. His exhaustion sinks deep into his bones and the cuts on his face and arms are stinging, blood sinking into his suit to leave a stain. He enters his apartment though the floor-to-ceiling windows and drops down onto his lounge sofa. There's sharp stabbing sensation in his side, but one glance reveals he has in fact, not been stabbed.

His groan fills the empty room, right as the light of a Lamp illuminates the previously dark room. He jumps up, so does his heart, and he feels sick to his stomach.

You stand next to the lamp, your arms crossed and a furrow in your brows. Your entire face is twisted into concern and worry, but that's not his priority right now. If this were any other situation he would try to ease your worries, but you're standing in his apartment and he isn't wearing his his Hypno-Glasses.

"Yes Clark, I know you're Superman." Your soft admission disarms him. You've known?

"I, I don't understand? How? When? Why didn't you tell me you knew?"

You let out a deep sigh, your eyes roving over the bloody cuts over him.

"When Superman came for the Interview. I recognised his eyes, Clark. They were yours. I was scared to tell you. How was I supposed to say it? Oh hey, I know you're secretly Superman. Can you come take a look at my article?"

A pause. "You knew it was me, just by my eyes?"

Your mouth sets in a straight line, but Clark knows you. It's your tick, you always have that expression when you're overwhelmed and words have escaped you. He runs a hand through his hair, hanging his head down. He had known the risk of interacting with you as Superman. He had been fully aware, and yet, he had needed to make you happy and get you on the front page. You needed to know your writing was spectacular and lured in everyone who read it, and he wanted to be the one to bring you that joy.

"Clark."

He hums, scared of what you're about to tell him. He knows you would keep it a secret, but what if this had ruined your friendship? What if he wouldn't be able to tell you he loves?

"Take off your suit."

Wait what? At the sound of utter disbelief he lets out, he sees you trying to repress a laugh.

"You're bleeding. Take off the suit. Or roll the sleeves up. And sit down."

Clark sits back down and rolls his sleeves up as much as he can, hissing when he pulls it over the small patches of abrasions and bruises. You come back with a First Aid Kit and perch yourself on the coffee table in front of him, opening the kit of bandages.

"Are you upset with me? Because I didn't tell you?" He asks as you carefully begin cleaning his injuries with a cleansing wipe. He has to know, even if there's a lump in his throat at the possibility that he might have ruined everything between you two.

"No, never." You pause to look him in the eyes. The same eyes that unknowingly gave everything away. You stick a band-aid on over the cut which has ceased its bleeding.

"I understand why you didn't tell me. Why you don't tell anyone. I'm not saying I fully know how you feel, I won't ever be able to see myself in your shoes. I do see why though. If people knew, your entire life would be based on that fact. Your identity as Clark would slowly be stripped away, because everyone would only see the strong superhero in your stead."

A deep feeling of relief spreads through him. He hadn't realised how much it would have crushed him if you'd reacted negatively. Sure, he would have respected your wishes, but with a heavy heart.

"But, you know I'm Superman. Do you not see me as him only? What I mean is-"

"I know you're Superman. But that doesn't mean you're not Clark anymore. You're still the Clark who comes from a small farm in Kansas, and you're still the Clark who is my best friend. You still are the loving person who means more to me than anyone else. Your identity doesn't declare who you are to me. Superman is a part of you, but so is Clark. Nothing has changed, except that now I know why you're always late or sneaking off. You, Mister Superhero, are still my Clark."

He can't describe the feeling in his chest and it's so strong it scares him. You accept him for who he is.

Hiding a secret is hard. Hiding a part of yourself is even harder. It starts to chip away at the soul and it makes you feel isolated, because it means no one truly knows an important part of you. He has found someone here, someone who he loves, and she knows about the half of him he's been hiding. And you're still here. With him. Cleaning up and taking care of him.

"I love you. I have loved you ever since I got to know you. You make my heart happy in ways I can't describe, but it feels like I'm on the highest cloud in the sky when you're near me. My- Half of my heart is in your chest, and I want you to have it forever. I want you so badly that it drives me insane. I want to protect you from everything, and to take care of you and love you for the rest of my life.

"But it's not easy with me. I, sometimes I have to leave during important events because somewhere, someone is in danger. I come home with bruises and you won't always be safe. You could be in danger because of me and if you get hurt because of me, I don't know how I can live with that."

You've stopped your ministrations and he can see tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. You drop the roll of bandages and you lean forward, resting your forehead against his.

"I love you Clark. Nothing will ever change that. I'll be here, by your side, no matter what happens. This is where I choose to stay, here with you. You have half of my heart in your chest too." You lay your hand against his chest, where his heart beats fast underneath.

"I'll take care of your heart if you take care of mine. I'm willing to risk anything, as long as it means I get to love you. I feel such deep love for you, every fiber of my being longs for you. I- It's impossible to put it into words, but you are a part of my soul, Clark. My heart stays here, with you. And when you are fighting something off, I'll be looking out night and day for you."

His face crumples and his chest stutters with a sob, and he cradles your face in his hands. The kiss isn't harsh, nor messy. It's soft and it feels like your souls are merging together to be one, a gentle promise to love each other unconditionally.

Your hand reaches up to rest at the nape of his neck, the other tangling itself into his dark black hair. You two kiss until you can't breathe anymore, separating and gasping for air with your faces still touching. You break out into a smile, and Clark can't help but dive in for another kiss.

"How did you know. That I would be. Coming here injured?" He presses kisses to your lips between his words, unable to stop himself now that he can show you all his love as much as he likes.

"I saw you on the news. You were injured and you looked so worn out that I ran over here immediately."

His heart is doing somersaults and he kisses you deeply, his hands moving to the back of your head and messing up your hair.

Later, when you complain about your tangled hair, he simply pulls you back in with a chuckle.

dividers by @uzmacchiato <3

© aelinwya - please do not copy, repost or translate my work. furthermore, i do not condone my work getting put into any AI.

likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

[mauiiscreative]

this meme has been cracking me up

[mauiiscreative]

me staring at the search bar trying to decide which fictional man I’ll read about tonight:

[mauiiscreative]

I've read two lex luthor fics, this being the second and oooh I dunno how to feel about this but I'm attracted LMAO

Why was this so intimate I felt like I was interrupting something HAHAHA I feel like I just misinterpreted it.

The feeling of trying to leave someone but they won't let you, let alone think about it. Like lex won't beg u to stay cuz you're already convinced not to leave.

Kinda reminds me of avoidant attachment (???)

masterlist | main masterlist

you’ve left lex before.

twice, to be exact.

once with shaking hands and a suitcase half-zipped. once with a cab idling outside, your phone on airplane mode, and a note on the kitchen counter you couldn’t even sign your name to.

both times, he found you.

both times, you came back.

and tonight - tonight, you’re stupid enough to try again.

you wait until after dinner, when he’s in his office, sleeves rolled, top button undone, the glow of metropolis burning in the skyline behind him. he looks powerful there - like something forged from gold and threat. and maybe that’s why your voice shakes when you say it.

“i can’t do this anymore, lex.”

he doesn’t look up. just finishes signing whatever contract he’s already won. “hmm?”

you swallow hard. “us. this. i’m leaving.”

his pen stills mid-signature. just for a beat. just enough to let you know he heard you. then he leans back in his chair, finally meeting your gaze - not angry, not pleading, just unreadable.

“you’re upset,” he says. like it’s a diagnosis. like you’re irrational for daring to say it out loud.

“you don’t get to do that,” you snap. “not again. not- talk me down like i’m hysterical. like i didn’t mean it.”

he stands. calmly. like he’s stepping into a negotiation. “and what do you mean, exactly? that you’re going to walk out? for the third time?”

he circles the desk, slow. deliberate. “you think i’ll let you just vanish into the city with that little overnight bag you hid in the closet?”

your throat dries. “i wasn’t hiding it.”

he smiles - god, that smile - all glacier cool and polished charm. “you always hide it.”

his hand touches your arm and you want to flinch, but your body knows him too well. the warmth of his palm. the precision of it. like even this is strategic - a slow disarmament.

“we both know how this ends,” he murmurs, voice low, threading through you like silk laced with wire. “you’ll go, maybe. spend a night in some boutique hotel. stare at the ceiling. cry a little. maybe even call someone you haven’t spoken to in years just to pretend you’ve got someone else. but it won’t last.”

his thumb strokes just beneath your jaw. “you’ll miss me.”

“you manipulate me,” you say, but it sounds hollow, even to your own ears. because you know what he’ll say next.

“i understand you.”

and that’s worse.

because no one ever has. no one sees through you like lex does. no one sharpens your ambition, feeds it, praises it the way he does. no one else makes you feel like fire in a world of wet matches.

you want to move. to walk away. but your feet don’t. your body stays. your eyes sting.

“you make me feel crazy,” you whisper.

“no,” he says, so softly it could be mistaken for mercy. “i make you feel alive.”

his mouth is close now. the kind of close that makes it impossible to think. “you don’t have to like the way it looks from the outside. but you and i both know - you’re not leaving. not really.”

and he’s right. again.

because when he kisses you, your bag stays by the door. untouched.

and when he lays you back on that too-soft couch and says your name like a promise he never intends to keep, you don’t stop him.

you stay.

just like you always do.

and tomorrow, when you wake up and the sun cuts through the windows like judgment, he’ll still be there - smiling like he won.

because he did.

again.

[mauiiscreative]

"I'm no good without you."

How hg found me after reading this:

I will 4eva be a x reader reader. Like I can read actual characters but I can't help but read a self insert lmaoooo, I especially love it when they don't write details of what the reader looks like. When others do that, I be like "girl that ain't me anymore, that's basically another character"

kiddo pt. 2 | clark kent

pt. 1

fandom: dcu

pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

content: reader is in her early 20’s, clark is older and unfortunately hot about it, mild age gap, established relationship but barely, office gossip ruins everything, insecure clark, confused reader, lois lane mention, miscommunication, hurt/comfort.

summary: in which your newly blossomed relationship with clark kent seems perfect — until he begins to pull away, and you’re left to wonder what’s changed.

tags: @itsjusta-prank-han

You never thought the hardest part would come after everything felt perfect.

After that late Wednesday night, when Clark had confessed — quietly, tenderly, in that impossibly earnest way of his — the depth of his feelings for you. That the nickname, kiddo, had merely been a facade. That what existed between you hadn’t been imagined or one-sided.

It had been real all along.

Loving him had come easily — effortlessly, even. It was holding onto that feeling, keeping steady, that proved more difficult than you could have ever imagined. But perhaps that was simply the cost of loving a man like Clark Kent.

A man who was soft-spoken and devastatingly kind. Who moved through a world of cynics with a quiet determination to prove that gentleness was not a flaw but a strength. Who chose his words carefully, meant every one of them, and loved as if he feared breaking the very things he cherished most.

You had been together for a month, and you hadn’t stopped smiling since.

At least — not until recently. Not until he stopped.

It began subtly. Small absences.

His hand slipped from yours a little sooner. The texts that once brightened your afternoons dwindled until their absence felt louder than their presence ever had. And then one night, he didn’t walk you home — a ritual he’d kept since the night he confessed. He claimed he was drowning in work, needed to stay late. But he left you without a kiss, no backward glance to cling to, and the emptiness of it settled over you like a weight you couldn’t shake, lingering well into the morning.

You told yourself not to spiral. One off day didn’t constitute disaster.

But then it was two. Then four. Then nearly two weeks of hollow smiles, vague reassurances, and a tenderness that felt less like devotion and more like a prelude to goodbye.

Clark wasn’t deliberately pulling away — not exactly. Yet each time he caught a smirk half-hidden behind a coffee mug, each time the air shifted and the conversation stilled as he entered the break room, it seeped into him slowly — like water through a hairline crack, inevitable and inescapable.

It wasn’t shame. He had never, not once, felt ashamed of you.

On the contrary, he remained quietly astonished by your effect on him — how your laughter could ease the tension from his shoulders before he even noticed it, how your voice could transform the chaos of the bullpen into something bearable. How your gaze never once marked him as strange or ill-suited for the world, but simply as a man striving to do his best.

But he couldn’t shake the whispers.

Clark had been weaving through the bullpen, balancing two mugs in his hands — one meant for you — when he heard it.

He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop; he never did. Super-hearing was, more often than not, a curse as much as it was a blessing. But the moment your name surfaced, he went still.

“—(Y/N) and Kent. They’re definitely a thing.”

“She’s what, twenty-one?”

“Yeah. She was still a freshmen when he was already writing op-eds. I mean, what do they even talk about? Mortgage rates?”

His stomach turned.

Another voice joined in, laced with jest. “Maybe she’s into the whole ‘older guy’ thing. You know — mature, emotionally stable, good credit score…”

A laugh followed. “Sure, but still. You’d think someone like him would go for a woman his own age. Not someone barely old enough to rent a car.”

“Guess Kent likes ‘em young.”

Clark hadn’t stayed to hear the rest — if there had even been more to hear.

He pivoted sharply, dumped your coffee into the nearest sink, and disappeared into an empty conference room — where he sat for twenty long minutes, head buried in his hands, utterly still.

Because the comments hadn’t just been cruel — they’d validated his deepest fear: that he had, in fact, crossed a line by pursuing you. That maybe everyone at the Daily Planet had been silently condemning your relationship from the very start.

And you felt the shift the moment that realization took root in him.

That same day, there was no coffee on your desk. No easy stop by your corner of the newsroom. Not even a flicker of his gaze meeting yours.

You told yourself he was just busy.

But he wasn’t.

He was retreating — one clipped word, one abandoned ritual, one disappearance at a time.

And you noticed.

God, you noticed.

Eventually, you broke and confided in Lois over lunch. Your voice barely carried as you pushed your fork through an untouched salad, the weight of your fears finally slipping past your lips.

“Clark’s been distant,” You admitted lowly. “And I don’t know why. I keep wondering if it’s me. If I’m too young. If maybe he just…lost interest.”

Lois’s eyes snapped to yours over the rim of her mug. “‘Lost interest?’ Are you serious?”

Your shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “He called me ‘kiddo’ before we were together, and I thought that meant I didn’t stand a chance. What if he actually thinks that now? That I’m too young? Too inexperienced. That I’m not…enough.”

Lois set her mug down and leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Okay, first of all — Clark doesn’t do anything casually. If he’s pulling away, it’s not because he stopped caring. It’s because he cares too much. Trust me. I’ve known him a long time.”

You raised your gaze, uncertain. “But what if—?”

Lois’s voice was gentle but unwavering. “(Y/N). If you want answers, go to him. Clark won’t lie — not to you.”

So you did.

It was a quiet Thursday evening when you found him — alone in the copy room, the last of the golden light slanting through the windows and pooling across the tiles. Clark stood over the printer, shoulders tense as he wrestled with a stubborn printer jam.

You waited until the machine hummed back to life before clearing your throat.

He turned at once, startled. “Hey.”

You closed the door behind you, soft but deliberate.

The change in his demeanor was instantaneous — his shoulders snapped upright, his expression guarded. “Everything alright?”

You shook your head. “No, Clark. We need to talk.”

He stilled.

“I know something’s been wrong for weeks,” You said, your voice steady even as your chest constricted. “I’ve given you space. I’ve tried to be patient. But I can’t keep pretending nothing’s changed.”

His jaw clenched, though he remained silent.

You drew a steady breath, forcing the words out. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just — please. Be honest. I can take it. I just need to know the truth.”

“What?” His expression shattered then, the answer fierce and immediate. “No. God, no — that’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” Your voice cracked despite yourself. “Because it feels like you’re already halfway out the door.”

He looked like the words were pulling him apart at the seams.

“I overheard people,” He admitted finally, voice low and fraying at the edges. “Talking about us. About you. About the age difference, how it looks. And I started wondering if they were right — if I really did cross a line.”

You stared at him, disbelieving. “And you believed them?”

“I didn’t want to,” He whispered, “But the doubt got into my head. I kept thinking…what if people stopped taking you seriously because of me? What if I’m making things harder for you without even realizing it?”

Your eyes flashed, cutting through his words. “That’s not your call to make. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me without even talking to me.”

He looked gutted, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all. “I just didn’t want to be the reason people judged you.”

“They already judge me,” You said softly, each word deliberate. “Because I’m new. Because I’m young. Because I’m a woman. I fight those battles every day. But being with you…it made it easier.”

You stepped closer, your voice fracturing. “But then you pulled away. And that hurt more than anything they could’ve said about me.”

Clark’s blue eyes shone with barely restrained tears. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was protecting you.”

Closing the distance, you laid a hand against his chest, grounding him. “Don’t protect me from you. I never asked for that.”

A prolonged silence settled between you.

And then, in a voice barely above a breath, he said, “I love you.”

You let out a trembling breath. It was the first time those words had ever left his lips — for you.

“Then stop acting like you’re a burden. You’re the best part of my day, Clark Kent.”

Something in him cracked open at that — some insurmountable barrier finally giving way.

And when he kissed you — God, when he kissed you — it was everything he’d kept buried. Raw, breathless, and unrestrained. It was apology and longing, regret and hope, all folded into one desperate, beautiful moment.

When you finally drew back, he leaned in, gently resting his forehead against yours.

“I won’t do that again,” He murmured. “I’m done letting their opinions get in my head.”

You smiled, even as emotion tightened your throat. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You left the copy room with your fingers laced together. And when someone in the bullpen glanced up and whispered?

Clark didn’t falter. He held your hand like it was a statement — and he didn’t let go.

Not for a second.

[mauiiscreative]

He onto him....

“Any particular reason you ain’t ever take a sick day, Kent? I’m watching you, weird ass motherfucker.”

“I HAVE A HIGH IMMUNE SYSTEM AND YOU KNOW CALLING ME THAT SPECIFICALLY IRRITATES ME!”

[mauiiscreative]

‼️‼️‼️‼️ I feel a strand of my hair fall each time I read him cuss. Lex luthor who???? MAUI LUTHOR. (get it, cuz he's bald.. lmao okay..)

Clark Kent does NOT cuss!!

I just watched the Superman movie like a few days ago and you just know I had to come on here to read some fanfics about Mr. Smallville but i was pretty disappointed to find that in most of the fics that i find, he cusses at LEAST once.

That shit’s so disappointing😓😓😔😔

My baby would NOT do that.

At this point i just immediately scroll past the fic whenever i see him cuss.

[mauiiscreative]

Real

when reading clark kent’s fics and he curses

[mauiiscreative]

im both

[mauiiscreative]

One of the fics that you find randomly while searching and it's exactly what you've been needing without knowing, it's the type of AMAZING fic that you find once a while and btw, no shame to Tumblr but this is Tumblr we're talking about so it is basically one in a million. ABSOLUTELY enjoyed reading, i was basically giggling and smiling and by the way, the fact that there was no mention of how we looked like or etc was chef's kiss if I could, I would kiss the author rn, heck, marry them. And btw, I have not read a fic here in so long, let alone find a good one AND one that's not smut. Like LISTENNNN I'm tired of seeing smut in every damn fic like FLUFF AND THIS TYPE OF GENRE IS SO RARE AND HARD TO FIND. ALSO I ENJOYED IT THAT I LITERALLY READ THE WHOLE THING???? I USUALLY BAIL BUT DUDE U GOT ME INVESTED. So author, you just made my night and my Conrad heart beat and yearn maybe I'm glazing but you literally woke the reader in me that's been asleep for too long cuz I have not found a good one in DECADES.

Me the whole time while reading:

(I think you can guess which part those reactions came from)

The Wedding That Wasn’t

Conrad Fisher x Reader

Summary: In the ruins of a broken wedding, sometimes there is just enough hope for love to bloom

Word Count: 8.4k

Author’s Note: Wrote maybe 80% of this is one day because the inspiration just struck so I hope y’all love this as much as I do !!

Belly had pinned, re-pinned, adjusted and re-adjusted her hair more times than you could count. In fact, you were half certain she might just do the whole thing again if she moved it one more time.

“Belly, you know I love you but if you change your hair one more time I’m going to scream,” You comment bluntly, eying her through the reflection in the mirror.

She looks at you and drops her shoulders, “Does it look bad?”

You stand up from your seat on the floor and go over to her at the vanity, placing your hands over hers to take the pin from her grasp. Belly lets her hands settle into her lap, dropping over the white satin robe. She watches you through the mirror and you smile lightly, fixing the bobby pin back into her hair and smoothing your hands over the hair to make sure it was in place.

“There, perfect,” You assure her, hands moving to rest on her shoulders, “A perfect bride.”

“Bride,” She repeats the word, “I still just can’t believe I’m a bride.”

“You’re not going to believe it until you’re on that aisle,” You laugh, “Maybe not even then.”

“I’m so nervous,” Belly shakes her head, “Like there’s a whole crowd of butterflies in my stomach.”

You squeeze her shoulders reassuringly, “And as soon as you see Jere at the end of that aisle you’re going to wonder why you were ever nervous in the first place.”

If you were being completely honest, you also couldn’t believe today was the day they were getting married. Belly and Jere. Your little sister. The boy you’d treated like your little brother. Married.

But, beyond all of that, the butterflies in your stomach weren’t for the wedding. They were for the boy you’d be walking down the aisle with. You as maid of honor, him as best man. Co-best man. Conrad Fisher. The boy you wished was yours.

It wasn’t a long lost love kind of story. Not one of unrequited love. Not one of long distance or right person wrong time or anything of the sort. It was simply you and him and it was never meant to be. You’d dated for one summer when both of you were 18. Many years ago. You were both too headstrong, too quick to become defensive, too protective of yourselves and everyone else. You were too similar. When you were together, almost always it would end in the two of you bickering about something. Sometimes it was about something you’d seen on the news, more like a debate, and other times it was because he’d taken the bigger muffin and only eaten a bite of it.

And yet there was always something there. When the two of you were together it was like a strange electricity burned in your heart, an adrenaline rush that only he could bring. You’d never thought too much about it. It was easier to ignore. It was one stupid summer fling and nothing else. There might always be something there but it was easy for that to be platonic. But with the wedding approaching so abruptly, it had brought with it a wave of emotion you hadn’t been prepared for. A yearning to be there yourself. At the end of the aisle making promises for the one you loved. And every time you found yourself picturing that exact image, there was only one boy that found himself by your side. Conrad fucking Fisher.

“Okay okay I have coffee I have croissants I have water,” Taylor comes stumbling through the bedroom door, her arms wrapped around the bundle of things in her grasp.

“Here, here, let me take those,” You laugh, taking the tray of iced coffees from her hand, “When did you have the time to get all of this?”

“I sent Steven out,” She shrugs nonchalantly, “The guys literally have nothing to do anyway.”

“I don’t think I can eat,” Belly grimaces, settling her hands over her stomach.

“Make sure you have something,” Taylor encourages, “We don’t want you passing out at the end of the aisle or something.”

“She’s right, Belly, try to have something,” You persuade, “I can get pop tarts from the kitchen too, if you want them.”

Belly shakes her head, “The croissant is fine. When should I get into my dress?”

“After coffee, definitely after coffee,” Taylor nods, curlers wrapped up in her hair, “Then we’ll fix up your makeup and then it’s dress time.”

You’d always thought Taylor was a good person for Belly to have. They could be so completely different, and yet they were the side of each other that they needed to be. Belly was reasonable when Taylor was rash, Taylor was bold when Belly wanted to be timid. They balanced each other out. And you wondered whether that was the fundamentals for any relationship, platonic or not.

You and Conrad didn’t balance each other out. You’d both tip in the same direction until it capsized you. When he’d argue, you’d argue back. When he wouldn’t talk, you wouldn’t either. You’d battle each other, even from the same side. It just wouldn’t function. You didn’t feel like the same person you were when the two of you were together but you still made sure to convince yourself those things hadn’t changed.

“I’ll be back in a second,” You squeeze Taylor’s arm, stepping past the girls and heading towards the door of Belly’s room.

When you were younger, the two of you had always shared. But when you’d turned ten, Susannah had decided you just had to have your own space. You still remember the excitement on her face when she first showed you. Conrad had helped her pick the color, the one he told her was your favourite. She knew anyway, but she wanted you to know that Conrad knew too. Whenever you passed through this house, when it was just you alone with your thoughts, you could still feel her here. She was in the art that hung on the walls, in the creaking floorboards, in the soft touch of a carpet beneath your feet, in the sun that shone through the windows of the kitchen, in the cold run of water before the heat kicked in. She was here, and part of you found comfort in the fact that she always would be.

“How’s Belly doing?”

You hadn’t noticed Steven in the kitchen until he had already spoken. He was already dressed in his grey suit, white shirt, black tie. His hair was fixed in the same way it always was, curls messy. He looked so grown up, and so much like your father.

“She’s okay, nervous,” You smile, “It’s one of the few times I don’t know what to say to make her feel better.”

Steven laughs, “My big sister admitting defeat? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh come on,” You roll your eyes, “They’re young! She’s getting married! The nerves are kind of a given.”

Steven nods and both of you fall silent.

“How’s Jere doing?”

“He’s,” Steven scratches the back of his neck, “He forgot to write his speech.”

“Wh-“ You choke on the air in your lungs, “Are you… are you joking?”

Steven shakes his head, “Conrad’s helping him to write it now.”

“Fucking hell I’m going to kill that guy.”

“Yep, I told him that,” Steven grimaces, “You know what Jere’s like. He’s never serious.”

“Clearly,” You swallow, shaking your head, “As long as Belly doesn’t know, we’re okay.”

Both of you fall quiet again.

Steven was one year younger than you, but it was always like the two of you had been twins. He was another person that balanced you out. He agreed with you when he needed to, but he knew how to make sure you still had fun, he knew when not to take things too seriously, he knew when to reason with you. You’d always been certain that the three of you were meant to be siblings - as if you’d been hand plucked from your parents qualities and morphed into the perfect balance of thirds.

“Did you talk to Belly… you know, about the whole thing with Jere in Cabo?”

Even the words made your stomach twist. Jere. Cabo. It was enough to make you feel sick.

You’d only found out what had happened about two weeks ago. Belly had admitted it to you when you’d overheard Taylor make a comment. Steven found out too, Conrad had told him as soon as he knew. Both of you had reacted in a similar way - in disbelief. For multiple reasons. One that it had taken so long for Belly to tell you, another that Jere had ever even dared to cheat on your baby sister, and another that the wedding was still going ahead, that Belly still loved him enough to marry him.

“Every time I mentioned it she just kept telling me it was a mistake, and blamed herself for him thinking they were broken up,” You clench your jaw, “Apparently it’s not exactly cheating if he thought he was single.”

“Yeah because any guy in love would just jump at the chance to get into bed with the next girl he sees,” Steven scoffs, adjusting his tie, “I can’t believe she forgave him.”

“Belly sees the good in everyone,” You state, “Even when they give her a reason not to.”

“He gave her a pretty fucking good reason,” Steven grumbles, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Steven,” You give him that same tone you always heard your mother use, it seemed to come naturally to you now, “You’ve messed up your hair and your tie now.”

You go over to him and stand in front of him, towering over you even despite his younger age. You fix the knot of his tie, pressing it against the top button of his shirt, moving your hands to fix the few curls he had seemed to set awry.

“Can I at least object or something? Tell them that my sister deserves better than some asshole cheater,” Steven mumbles, eyeing you like he was truly waiting on your response.

“An asshole you are best man for,” You point out.

“Only because Belly would never forgive me if I didn’t do it,” He comments, “Come on, be serious, do you honestly think, without any tiny bit of doubt, that our baby sister should be getting married to him today?”

You step back, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling a tightness wrap around your heart, “That’s not my call to make. Belly’s an adult. She can make her own choices. My job is to be her sister, her maid of honor. And yours is to be her brother and be Jere’s best man. They can make their own decisions and it’s not on us to change that.”

“You can’t be fucking serious I-“ Steven scoffs, “You’re the first one to tell us when we’ve fucked up! You know you’re just as bad as Conrad - he won’t say anything to Jere either, he just lets him get away with shit. Why the fuck-“

“Steven it’s their wedding,” You interrupt, your words cold, “Not like telling them you shouldn’t have ran off at the mall, not like telling them you shouldn’t go on a date with that boy from middle school, not like telling them you shouldn’t have pushed that kid at the park. It’s not my job to save the day.”

He falls silent, knowing now that there was nothing more to say, or at least nothing more to argue, “Okay, okay, you’re right. It’s their wedding. Okay.”

You take a deep breath, “Just please make sure he writes that fucking speech. And please make sure there’s a drink waiting for me after this ceremony, a strong one.”

Your brother laughs, “You got it.”

“I’m going to check on Belly, I’ll see you at the aisle?”

“See you there,” He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets and disappearing back outside.

———

Your fingertips fumbled over the silky material, drawing up the zip against Belly’s spine until it reached the top, clasping together. You smoothed your hands back down the material, freshly steamed.

“You always looked beautiful in white,” You smile behind her shoulder.

“Oh my god she’s a bride!” Taylor squeals, “You look perfect, it’s perfect, this is perfect.”

Belly laughs, “You think so?” Her eyes go to you, like it is only you that can confirm.

“Perfect.”

By now, you and Taylor were dressed in your bridesmaid dresses too - both of a powder blue, both silky and simple and figure hugging around the torso, flowing beneath your waist.

“A little more lipgloss…” Taylor purses her lips together as she applies a thin layer across Belly’s lips, “And your bouquet…”

She hands her the peonies and fixes them to a perfect angle.

“And you… are ready to walk down the aisle,” Taylor grins.

“I can’t believe it’s really happening!” Belly says in that excited tone that only came when there were nerves too.

You feel it in your stomach, the urge to tell her she shouldn’t do this. The urge to tell her it was okay if she didn’t. But instead you say;

“I’m so proud of you Belly.”

She smiles, “I just… I really wish Mom…”

“I know,” You say softly, “I know.”

“Okayyyy,” Taylor clasps her hands, “I’m going to tell the boys to get everyone sat down. We’ve got a wedding to get to.”

She disappears, leaving just you and Belly.

“So, I wasn’t sure when was a good time to give you this, but now feels as good of a time as any,” You smile, reaching into your bag and rummaging around the belongings in there.

You pull out a book, brown backing with a baby blue ribbon tying it together. On the front was a photo of all of you - the Fishers and the Conklins - and you’d set some pressed flowers around the edges, ones from Susannah’s garden.

“When Susannah was sick, you know she wanted to write you letters to know that she was still here for all these big moments for you, for all of us,” You explain, “Well, the wedding of our baby girl Belly just felt like it deserved even more. So, before she got really sick, me and her made this. I, um,” You feel a lump in your throat at the memory, “I had to finish it. But I think it is everything she would’ve wanted it to be.”

You see tears prick in Belly’s eyes, “This is…” Her fingertips smooth over the front, “This is beautiful.”

“There’s, um,” You untie the bow, letting the pages break free, “There’s some photos,” You turn the page to a photo of you and her in wedding dresses when you were only a few years old, “And there’s some messages from all of us. Mom too.”

Your sister lets out an involuntary gasp.

“I know Mom might not agree with all of this but just…” You take a deep breath, “Just read that letter. When all is said and done, she just really wants you to be happy, however that is.”

Belly looks up at you, delicately closing the pages and setting the book down beside her, “Do you… um,” She clears her throat, does that little half-laugh that she does when she’s worried, “Never mind.”

“Belly,” You hold her hands in yours, squeezing the soft skin, “Tell me.”

“Do you think Taylor’s got the boys ready?” She averts her eyes to the door, stepping back from you, letting out a breath, “We should probably go downstairs.”

You feel a sinking feeling in your heart. A little bit of you that had to accept you’d lost a bit of your sister. She wasn’t all bundled into being yours anymore. She was entirely her own person. And today, despite anything you might have thought, she would be marrying Jeremiah Fisher. And you would stand by her side and be there for her. And that was all. That wasn’t changing.

———

Getting married at the house meant that there was an awkward waiting period at the back of the house, where you all had to hover around until it was your time to walk down the aisle. Taylor was checking over Steven’s clothes, making sure he looked ‘presentable’. Jeremiah was already down the aisle, talking with his Dad who had just stood up to adjust the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Conklin,” A voice you’d recognise anywhere.

And, despite all three Conklin siblings being within earshot, they knew being referred to by your last name by that particular voice would only apply to you.

“Fisher,” You turn around, watching as Conrad walks towards you.

He has his hands stuffed into his pockets, glancing up at you with that typical smirk on his face. He had a suit matching his brother’s, a charcoal grey with a black tie. Belly had wanted the boys’ ties to match the bridesmaids’ dresses but Jere hadn’t listened.

“You look very nice,” He nods as he stands in front of you, nodding towards your dress.

“Nice? You sure know how to compliment a lady,” You scoff, “And you don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Hey, I said very,” Conrad points out.

“Hey, um,” You glance over your shoulder to make sure Belly was out of earshot, “Thank you. Steven told me you helped Jere to write his speech so… thank you. I think Belly would’ve crumbled if she found out.”

Conrad shakes his head, “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do,” You assure, “Anything to make Belly’s day smoother, easier, less stressful. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” He half whispers the words, like they get stuck on his lips.

His eyes felt even more piercing against the shades of his suit.

“So I hear we have to walk down together,” Conrad points out, “I’ll try not to trip you up.”

“I figured you’d try to,” You scoff, glancing down at your shoes, “And if you don’t… I think these will.”

“I’ll hold you up, Conklin.”

There it is. The electricity in your heart.

You suppress it.

“Okay, okay, everyone in their places!” Taylor exclaims, waving her hand around to make sure everyone was somewhat in their correct order.

Belly goes to step towards the back of the group of you. After the arguments with your parents, she’d decided to walk herself down the aisle. Your father had been upset, at first, and yet didn’t put up enough of a fight. He’d settled. He’d accepted his fate. Steven had tried to make Belly feel better - told her he didn’t like the idea of your father having to give her away anyway, it was her choice. And part of you thought that was another tiny fight your brother was putting up to sort of remind Belly she still had free will over these choices. One choice in particular.

Belly stands behind you and you glance back at her, smiling brightly.

You mouth the words ‘I love you’ and she settles her shoulders, smiling softly, returning the words back to you.

Steven and Taylor walk out first, her gripping his arm tightly to keep him in check, him laughing at the importance she holds in carrying her bouquet at the right height.

“Let’s do this Conklin,” Conrad links his arm with yours, glancing back to Belly, “See you out there!”

You hold onto him, stepping in time as you move towards the garden doors.

White wicker chairs had been set out in two sections on the garden, only fifteen or so either side. There were white rose petals scattered across the grass, directing the path that the two of you had to follow. A soft song was playing out of Steven’s speaker - you didn’t recognise it, or maybe you just couldn’t focus. At the end of the aisle, an archway of hydrangeas, powder blue. Susannah’s hydrangeas.

“Are you okay?” Conrad hisses from beside you, his arm clenching for you to draw your attention to the contact between the two of you.

You feel your steps falter, your feet stopping all together just momentarily, “It’s-“

It was the sight of Jeremiah there. Somehow smug and all too proud at the end of the aisle. It was then that you felt more confident than ever that Bely couldn’t do this. That you wished for more than anything that she wouldn’t.

“I know,” Conrad assures you, “I know.”

You glance at him and his eyes share the same certainty as yours. And, weirdly, the same acceptance that it was completely out of your hands. For the first time in forever, the two older siblings had to give up all attempts to fix things.

You take another deep breath, walking the rest of the way down the aisle together, smiling at each face you recognised. And one, in particular, a row back from the front - your mother.

“Mom,” You half whisper the word, like a gasp caught in your throat.

Conrad leans into your ear, “I called in a favor.”

You glance to him again and let out a laugh, “You-“

“Don’t thank me.”

He releases your arm at the end of the aisle, squeezing your hand just as it falls to your side. Conrad goes to stand beside his brother and you go to stand beside Taylor.

Your Mom looks up at you, that hint of warmth behind her eyes she always seemed to have when she looked at you.

Jeremiah looks over at you and you return his smile.

And then there she is.

Belly descends the few steps, following the path down the garden, getting closer to the waiting crowd. Her eyes land on you, on Taylor, on Steven, on Conrad, and then to Jeremiah. He faces away, focusing on the hydrangeas. He takes a deep breath. Belly does the same. And then her eyes land on your mother. You see the switch, the shift in her eyes. Belly’s lips part just slightly, like the air has been knocked from her lungs. Her shoulders drop a little, her grasp faltering slightly on the bouquet in her hands.

But it’s her eyes.

There’s something in them that Belly could never hide. Your Mom could see it too. So could Steven. You all knew her too well. Steven looks to you and you can feel the burn of his eyes, but you can’t take yours away from your sister. The crowd are starting to notice too, awkwardly shifting as they stand for the bride - the bride that was yet to move another inch. Jeremiah glances to his best men, evidently also concerned that the song was starting to end and he was still not greeted by his bride.

“She can’t do it,” You mutter the words, mainly to yourself but loud enough that Taylor clocks it too.

“Wh-“ Taylor looks to you, “What do you mean?”

Before you can respond, Belly loses her grip on the bouquet in her hands, and they fall to the floor almost perfectly in time with the tear that slips down her cheek. Her lips part like she is trying to find the words to say, her eyes blurrily focusing on the back of Jeremiah. He turns around then, like he can feel her eyes on him. It’s as if you can see the moment his heart breaks. He doesn’t know what is happening but he knows it isn’t what he had hoped. There she stood, perfect in her white dress, heels starting to dig just a little into the grass beneath her, hands trembling, tears in her eyes.

“Belly…” Jeremiah begins, his eyes only focused on her.

Across the aisle, you clock eyes with Conrad. He held a different expression to yours. You could feel your heart reaching out for your sister, wanting to wrap around hers before hers had the chance to break. He, instead, seemed to want desperately to reach out for his brother, to hold him up in his arms before he had the chance to crumble to the floor. Both of you the older siblings, just waiting for the moment to reach out to your baby siblings and tell them that you could fix whatever had broken. But something here just felt beyond fixing.

Within a second, Belly turns in her heels, hands grabbing at her dress to lift it above her ankles, running back up towards the house.

“Bells!” Jeremiah yells after her, glancing around at the gawking eyes around him, like he’s only just remembered that they are all there.

He goes to hurry after her, at the exact moment that your Mom steps out of her seat. She steps ahead of him and places a hand to his chest, saying nothing and everything in that one gesture - ‘i need to do this, not you’. And then your Mom is hurrying down the aisle, following in her youngest daughter’s footsteps back into the house. Jeremiah stands, defeated, picking up the fallen bouquet from the floor. His shoulders drop, the flowers hanging limp beside his leg. In that moment, he looks like a boy that had borrowed his father’s suit. A boy in an attempt to be a man, suddenly out of his depth and flailing to stay above the surface. He looked younger than his years, no longer a groom but simply a little boy that had lost his best friend. Whilst you would never put aside him cheating on Belly, in that moment your heart ached for him. In fact, your heart broke for him.

———

If it wasn’t obvious, the wedding didn’t go ahead that day. Conrad apologised to the guests, though the small crowd seemed more confused than disappointed. He had offered that they could take some food with them but the whole idea seemed a bit strange, and in the end everybody left sober and hungry as if there had never been a wedding to attend at all. Adam had sat trying to console Jeremiah, telling him that Belly just needed some space and then they could figure it out. Your Mom had been in Belly’s room with her for over an hour. You’d brought them water and tissues and, now, you, Steven and Taylor all stayed in the corridor outside waiting for your cue to her. It felt like a hospital waiting room. Steven had taken off his jacket, undone the top button of his shirt, loosened his tie. He sat on the floor, his suit trousers oddly looking far too small for him as they hiked up the length of his calfs, his knees drawn up, his head pressed back against the wall. Taylor stood beside him, her heels discarded on the floor, her hair still perfectly in place, creases forming in her dress from where she leant back against the wall too. You stood opposite the two of them, all three of you completely silent until Steven says;

“She should have never forgiven him in the first place.”

“Isn’t Jere supposed to be like your best friend?” Taylor squints, “Didn’t you want this?”

“Yeah before I found out that he cheated on my fucking sister,” Steven scoffs, “She deserves better than that.”

“How did your Mom turn up?” Taylor directs her attention to you, “Did you know she was going to be here?”

You shake your head, “I think Conrad spoke to her. I’m glad she came, it’s who Belly needed to see. Maybe Conrad knew that.”

Before you can say anything more, your Mom steps out of the room, glancing between all three of you. She gives you a nod as if an approval to enter and Steven and Taylor burst through the door as if they were animals breaking free from their cage. You pause for a moment, seeing the look on your mother’s face - a strange mix of sadness and relief and pride and worry. You were sure the same expression would echo in your own.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s going to be,” Laurel squeezes your arm.

With that, you step into the room too. Belly was sat in the middle of the bed. Steven sits in front of her, a furrow between his brows. Taylor sits on one side of her, stroking Belly’s hair. Your sister looked strangely older in the moment, not in age but more so in maturity. A full adult. You walk over and take the space on the other side of her. In the blink of an eye, Belly falls into you, her arms wrapping around you, your torso practically holding her up as she sobs against your shoulder. And, just like that, she’s back to being your little sister. You know nothing else in the moment but to be there for her, gripping her tightly, reminding her it would be okay, that she was okay, promising her it would get better. And that is how you stay.

———

The sun is starting to set by the time you leave the room. Belly had fallen asleep and Taylor had promised to stay with her. Steven had gone out to get food with your parents. You close the bedroom door behind you, picking up your heels from the floor and carrying them downstairs. As you step into the kitchen, the house feeling emptier than ever now, you catch a glimpse of one lingering body outside.

“You know I think the wedding is cancelled,” You call over to him, walking across the grass to the chairs and aisle still set up as they were.

Conrad glances over his shoulder, standing up from the chair in the front row, “Are you sure about that?”

“I heard something about it, yeah.”

You both laugh, falling silent a moment later.

“How’s Jere?”

“How’s Belly?”

The words come out together, tangling in the space between you. Conrad lets you speak first, he always did.

“She’s okay, she’s just fallen asleep. I think she’ll feel a bit clearer in the morning,” You nod, “And Jere?”

“Devastated. He’s gone home with Dad, we said it would be best if they just had some space for a day or two. For both of them,” Conrad nods, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, “It was horrible seeing him like that.”

“Do you-“ You wrap your arms over your chest, “Do you think she made the right choice?”

“Absolutely,” Conrad exhales, shaking his head, “It’s just shitty that it had to break Jere’s heart in the process.”

You nod in agreement, both of you falling silent again. When the two of you split up, you both agreed nobody’s heart was broken, it just didn’t work out. It was only one summer. And yet you hadn’t felt complete again until you saw him that thanksgiving. Maybe that was what a broken heart could feel like, a little bit broken at least.

“It’s also shitty that I put all this effort into the hydrangeas for nothing,” Conrad turns around, walking over to the archway of flowers, still flourishing in bloom, seemingly the brightest thing around.

“You did this?!”

“Of course I did,” Conrad smirks, “Jere said they didn’t need anything but, come on!”

“Oh it absolutely needed this,” You reassure him, “I just can’t believe you made it.”

“Well, you underestimate me Conklin,” He nods, his eyes trailing you as you inspect the structure, fingertips brushing over the delicate petals.

“Maybe I do,” You smile, pulling your eyes away from the flowers to glance over at him.

“I, um,” He pauses, “I thought they’d be good if I ever got married but…”

“They’re beautiful,” You beam, “I used to tell your Mom when I was younger that I wanted them at my wedding.”

Conrad knew that, of course he did. That’s the main reason he wanted them at his.

He clears his throat, “Where did everybody go?”

“Well, Taylor is staying with Belly, and my parents and Steven went out for food,” You explain.

“Food?” Conrad laughs, “Have you seen how much fucking food we have for this wedding?”

You grimace, “Isn’t it a bit bad to eat food from a wedding that didn’t happen?”

“Isn’t it bad to waste perfectly good food?” Conrad narrows his eyes at you.

You laugh, reaching up to smooth a hand over your hair. It was a little messier now, the curls frizzing from where Belly had been pressed against you. In that moment, Conrad steps a space closer to you, his fingers lifting to brush a curl away from your face. His eyes flick from your hair, to your dress, to your eyes, to your lips, to your eyes again.

“You know,” He clears his throat, “As best man and maid of honor I think we’re supposed to dance at the wedding.”

“You don’t dance, Fisher.”

“With you, I would.”

He steps back from you, reaches a hand into his pocket and takes out his phone. In a few presses, ‘something, somehow, someday’ starts to play. It’s quiet, just loud enough for the two of you. Conrad sets the phone down onto the floor, beside the archway, and reaches out a hand to you. You oblige.

His hand moves to your back, the other holding one of yours. Your head rests against his chest, feeling a hint of calm for the first time all day. For the first verse and first chorus, you remain like this, until he moves both of his hands to your waist, and yours move to link behind his neck, looking up at him as he towered above you. Barefoot in front of him, you felt shorter than ever against his tall form.

“So, when did you change Fisher?”

“Change?” He cocks a brow, “I didn’t change.”

Perhaps, he’s right. Perhaps this was just you starting to see him again. There’s that electricity in your heart again, that same excitement. It was him. Only he could bring that feeling.

“We had to grow up so fast, being the older ones,” He speaks so softly, “I think in that time I was so focused on being there for them that I stopped thinking about doing anything to grow up myself. If I wasn’t focused on Jere or Belly or Steven, I was focused on impressing my Dad or being there for my Mom. After… when Mom passed, I just realised I had to do something differently. I could be there for Jere but I could also let him fuck up, and I could still kind of hate my Dad but I could also just accept that he was never going to change. I could grieve and be sad in California or I could keep busy - I started cooking more, getting better at making things, fixing things. I don’t know, I just felt like maybe I could be helpful to myself instead of just waiting for someone else that needed help.”

You readjust your hands around his neck, dropping to his shoulders, fingers holding over the muscles there, “I know how you feel. After Belly went to college… I just… you know, I love being their sister, of course I do, but part of me knew I needed to not just be that for a little while. I stopped being so argumentative when I didn’t have my little siblings to defend, I stopped worrying so much when I didn’t have to worry about them too. I feel like I’m more myself.”

Conrad smiles and only now do you realise the song had started playing for a second time. Neither of you make an attempt to move, still swaying back and forth to the lyrics, Conrad’s hands still held firmly on your waist. Your eyes look to the sun setting, to the empty chairs, to the hydrangeas in their perfect arrangement. And yet his eyes don’t leave you.

———

When you make the move to go back inside, Conrad holds the door open for you, the two of you padding over to the kitchen.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we eat some of the food?” You hiss.

Conrad looks back, turning on the low light in the kitchen to illuminate the room a little. You lean down to look into the refrigerator, scanning over the trays of food that were stored. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly.

Within a second, Conrad steps behind you, his jacket draping over your shoulders. Electricity, again.

“We can take this,” Conrad leans over you, placing one hand on your back and the other one reaching over you to take one of the plates.

“This feels like a curse,” You whisper, slipping your arms into his jacket, letting it fall over your form.

You hop up onto the kitchen island, legs dangling over the edge.

“Then we’ll be cursed,” He narrows his eyes at you, setting the plate down beside you, “But if it helps, this is just my leftovers.”

From one of the cupboards, he takes out two slices of bread - a thick farmhouse bread, the kind you’d pick up from the farmers market.

“It does help.”

Conrad takes out slices of grilled chicken and sets them over the slices of bread, taking out lettuce and mayonnaise from the fridge and bringing it over.

“I feel like I should be helping,” You comment, watching as he finishes up with the sandwich.

“Believe it or not Conklin, I’m just about capable of making a sandwich,” He assures you, picking up the sandwich and bringing it over, “You can try first.”

You take a big bite from one side, licking away the mayonnaise from the corner of your mouth, “You are correct, you are capable of making a sandwich, Fisher.”

Conrad leans down and takes a bite from the sandwich still in your hands, his eyes focused on you as he does, “Hm, could be better.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

A growing part of you felt guilty. When you would think back to this day, it wouldn’t only be Belly that came to mind. Not just her. Not just Jeremiah’s devastation. Instead, the day would be laced with these moments with Conrad. These moments that didn’t feel like you and him and yet felt more like yourselves than ever. You weren’t arguing, you weren’t debating, you were just in these tiny moments of harmony with a boy that made you feel electric.

“So, where do you think things go from here?” Conrad asks you, not moving from in front of you.

“I’m hoping Belly goes to Paris, it would be good for her, get some space, clear her head,” You nod, “And I hope Jere is good too, who knows maybe this will bring he and your Dad closer. He can go back to the frat, maybe it will be good for him to just enjoy the last bit of college and figure it out from there.”

Conrad nods, “It’s Jere, he’ll be okay.”

Before you can continue, the front door opens and your Mom and Steven appear.

Conrad clears his throat, stepping back from you.

“Hey!” You smile over at the two of them, “Where’s Dad?”

“He went back to the motel,” Laurel explains, “He’ll come back in the morning to see Belly. Have you seen her?”

You shake your head, “She’s still asleep.”

Steven smiles, “It’s probably the most sleep she’s had all week.”

“Have you two eaten? I brought back some things from the restaurant,” Your Mom hands over a plastic bag of takeaway boxes.

Her eyes glance down at the sandwich on the counter, bites taken from two corners.

“Well, I’m going to go to sleep,” Laurel sighs, squeezing your knee, “Get some rest, it’s been a long day.”

You nod to your Mom and she squeezes Steven’s hand before walking out.

“What did you guys do since we’ve been gone?” Steven asks, filling up a glass of water.

Conrad glances to you, a small glint of a smile, “Nothing exciting.”

“Do you think they’re going to be okay?” Steven turns around, looking to you for his answer as he always seemed to.

“They will,” You nod, the sleeves of Conrad’s jacket hanging over your hands, “Eventually, both of them will know it was the right choice.”

Steven takes a deep breath, “I’m going to crash, I’ve had a headache since this morning.”

“There’s medicine in my toiletries bag, take some before you sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning,” You say to him and he salutes as if following an order.

“Good night, you two,” Steven shuffles out of the room.

Conrad looks back at you. Your hair was messier, your makeup was wearing down, your dress was wrinkling around your thighs where the material had creased, his jacket fell baggy around your torso. You were perfect. To him, you always would be.

“You want to know another shitty thing about this wedding not going ahead?”

“Let me guess, you also made the cake?” You cock a brow.

Conrad rolls his eyes, “No.”

“Then what, Fisher?”

“I-“ He croaks, “I wrote a speech.”

“A speech?” You raise your brows.

“Well, Steven did most of the best man speech but I thought I should say something too so I wrote some things down,” Conrad explains, “It’s in my jacket.”

You grin widely, reaching into the inside pocket to pull out the folded piece of paper.

Scrawled in his hand writing were a few bullet point notes:

- thank everyone

- congrats jere + belly

- mom + laurel

- dads?

And, underneath, scrawled just like the rest, words that struck like a bolt of lightning through your chest. Like you could hear them being spoken through his own voice.

Love like this will never leave you. It will stay with you in every moment you’re together. And in those moments you are apart, you will realise the difference love made when they were there. The person they make you want to be, the way they challenge you, the way you see parts of yourself in them. Love like this will never leave because it is what wakes you up in the morning, what makes every passing day worth it. Whether fleeting or forever, it is love that shapes us and love that makes us carry on.

When you look up, the paper held between your fingers, Conrad is stood leaning against the kitchen counter opposite you. You go to speak but, instead, your lips just part and nothing comes out. You feel a heat build in your cheeks, a clench in your chest. And before you can think, Conrad strides over to you, his hands grasping either side of your face, pulling you into him. His lips find yours, firm and desperate and longing and him. You gasp against the contact, hands flying to his shoulders, twisting at the material of his shirt.

When he pulls away, both of you stop as if the air has been completely knocked from your lungs. His eyes are solely on you, scanning for a reaction - be it good or bad.

You don’t say anything, just drag one hand into his hair at the back of his neck and pull him to you once more, gentle and steady this time.

“I-“

“Me too,” You whisper when his words won’t come out, his forehead pressing against yours.

He smiles, breathless in the hot air between the two of you, “I thought… I just… I couldn’t waste any more time not telling you how I felt.”

You smile too, running your hand through the hair that had fallen in front of his face.

“I mean it,” Conrad persists, “Everything on that paper, I mean it.”

You glance down at the speech notes he’d handed you, discarded at some point on the countertop. You feel your heart swell, less electric this time and more just like it was finally full once more.

“I’ve missed you,” You whisper, smiling over the words.

Conrad grins, shifting his hands underneath your thighs to scoop you from the counter. You squeal, your legs wrapping around him, arms flying to hold yourself around his neck.

He carries you across the kitchen and into the lounge, lowering you down onto the couch before dropping down beside you.

Years ago, the two of you would spend hours like this. It was at the same time that Laurel wasn’t happy with the two of you sharing a room. So, instead, you’d both sneak downstairs and spend hours on the couch. You’d lean back against the arm rest and he would lay down over you, his head against your chest, his legs hanging over the opposite arm rest. He could feel the steady beat of your heart, and the way your chest would shake when you’d laugh. You’d draw patterns over his arms, he’d draw patterns over your thighs.

Like this, the weight of the day seems to fall on your shoulders, your eyes struggling to remain open. You feel your limbs grow heavy, arm draping over him as if you needed even your sleeping form to remember that he was still there.

———

When you wake the next morning, there is no weight on top of you, instead just a blanket draped over. You glance around and don’t see Conrad anywhere.

This is how it was when the two of you first split up. You’d spoken for hours the night before about accepting that it wasn’t working, then you’d both fallen asleep on that couch and the next morning he’d disappeared. Neither of you brought it up again, never spoke about it to anybody else, you just carried on.

You feel a strange clench in your chest at the thought, maybe this was a repeat. Maybe yesterday was just both of you caught in the moment.

As you step up from the couch, your dress creased and bunched around you, the material feeling weirdly itchy and uncomfortable now you’d been wearing it for so long. Your eyes catch sight of a t-shirt and shorts folded on the table beside the couch and you feel your heart swell a little. They were folded neatly - one of Conrad’s t-shirts and a pair of your own shorts you were sure you hadn’t worn in maybe five years. When you try to change into them, the shorts barely reach past your knees but the t-shirt came down low enough around your thighs that you give up on the shorts all together. That would suffice.

You notice a glimpse of someone outside and recognise the mop of hair before anything else. Conrad is stacking up chairs from the garden and carrying them over to one side. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and grey baggy shorts. You smile to yourself. If this was like the first time, you would dread the thought of going out there and letting him confirm your worst fear. But you were older now. More sure of yourself.

You step outside, the door closing lightly behind you as you pad down the stairs and across the garden. Conrad was crouched down now beside one of the chairs, unfastening some flowers they’d used as decoration. He glances up when he sees you walking closer. And, as if a reflex response, his face lights up into a bright smile, standing up from his position instantly.

“Hey you,” He beams, wrapping his arms around you so strong he lifts you up from the ground.

Your arms wrap around him too, breathing in the after-shower scent he always had in the mornings.

As he lowers you back to the ground you find the courage to say, “I thought you’d left.”

“No, no, I just thought I’d clear this stuff up before Belly woke up and-“ It’s then that he realises what you actually meant, not that he’d just left but that he’d left you, that whatever happened yesterday was already over.

He pauses, cupping one hand to your cheek and leaning down to kiss you gently, pulling away and looking between both of your eyes, back to your lips, back to your eyes.

“I’m not leaving.”

You smile, looping your arms around his neck as you feel the relief settling into your chest.

“Thank you for bringing me clothes, I couldn’t wear that dress any longer,” You mention, running your finger through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

“Yeah I brought you shorts too but I-“ Conrad glances back to the house.

You giggle, “Con, I don’t think I’ve worn those since I was like 18, they definitely don’t fit anymore.”

He scrunches his nose, narrowing his eyes, “That would make sense, yeah, that would explain why I found them buried at the back of my closet.”

You laugh, “That would be it.”

“Well, at least you look good in my t-shirt,” Conrad grins, lifting you up, the t-shirt riding up over your underwear.

“Conrad!” You squeal, one hand flying back to try to pull the material back down.

He laughs, setting you back down onto the grass, “Give me five minutes to finish this up and then coffee?”

You hum in agreement and he kisses you gently, and then once more as if he just couldn’t help himself.

He turns around and finds an already empty chair, stepping aside as if encouraging you to sit there. You oblige, drawing your knees up to your chest as he carries on around the garden. He carries over a few chairs to the other side of the garden into the stacks he’d already made, a pile of flowers starting to form on the ground beside them. Then he moves over to the hydrangeas, seconds away from lifting the arch up before he pauses, glancing over his shoulder in your direction. He shifts around for a moment, unfastening one of the large flowers from its arrangement, before turning around with the biggest of smiles on his face.

You giggle as he walks towards you, flower held firmly in his hands as he crosses over the garden to you.

He leans down, settling the flower into your own grasp as his face comes to be level with yours. You smile, feeling your cheeks flush under his attention, your heart pounding with the same electricity. His breath fans hot over your lips, his lips parting just a little as Conrad leans in enough to close the gap between you. His kiss is slow and gentle and yet so incredibly sure of himself it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. This could be it. You and him.

Just you and him.