#it would be something really interesting to look at

[squipa]

touch tank

you're a teacher, currently trying to fill up your summer vacation with freelance work when you stumble into not one, but two situationships with clark kent, the adorkable reporter from the daily planet, and superman, the hero you can't stop running into. overall? you're having a very interesting break.

wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)

the best and the worst part of teaching is that you never stop having summer break— two and a half months of pure boredom and relaxation that always go the same. you find a job, you visit family, you take random classes at the community center just to get yourself out of the house. you really did not expect this year to be any different, any better. you expected the same boredom, the same routine, the same desperation to find someone to occupy your time. 

however, you didn’t count on clark kent to stumble into your life and take your world by storm. 

you met in late may, the first time you came around the daily planet selling pictures for the paper. you spent a lot of your free time behind a camera, capturing moments you didn’t want to lose— and you really needed some extra cash. metropolis might pay better than most cities, but at the end of the day, a teacher’s salary is a teacher’s salary. 

you were hopelessly turned around, clutching a small, manilla file that was nearly overflowing with the photographs you felt were relevant enough to submit with one hand and biting your freshly manicured thumbnail with the other, staring up at the very useless building directory, reading the names and numbers with little understanding. the receptionist had told you to go to perry white’s office for your meeting— but she hadn’t been so kind to tell you exactly where you could find it. 

the signs were no help. you are embarrassingly lost, and—

“need any help?”

you turn around, dropping your hands to your sides. you’re met kindly with the direct view of a man’s chest, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

and there he was. six foot four, built like a linebacker and stuffed into a suit, wearing glasses that looked a bit too small and a smile that seemed a bit too warm. the man you would come to know as clark kent— the center of your universe.

and those eyes. bluer than the ocean, captivating you so wholly you forgot to breathe. one’s that looked to you with such unequivocal kindness, coupled with a smile that was breathtakingly gentle— you forgot how to breathe. 

he’s staring down at you as if he’s not the only one who needs to catch his breath. as though he finds something about you to be just as overwhelming as you find him. 

he pauses, clearing his throat. “i just mean— ah, sorry, you look lost. i-i can help you. i work here. uh, reporter— um, i mean—“ he takes a deep breath, extending a hand. “clark kent.” 

god, he’s adorable. 

you smile up at him, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle shake. you note how large and uncalloused his hand is, and try to ignore the shocks of electricity you feel with that first, all-consuming touch. you tell him your name, thankful that you don’t manage to stumble over your words, and he jots it down in the back of his head like it’s sacred. “i’m looking for mr. white’s office? i have some pictures for the paper.” you explain, holding up your file. 

“oh, yeah, that’s my boss. i’ll walk you there.” he says, looking down at you with a soft grin that renders you so useless you nearly forget why you’re here. carefully, he motions for you to follow him, and you oblige, walking slowly down the arched hallways of the daily planet at his side. your heart begins to pound out of your chest.

there’s a beat of silence as you walk, before he breaks it with, “can i see them?”

he points to the folder in your hands, the one that you’re clutching like a lifeline. you hand it over without a second thought— how are you supposed to say no to the ridiculously cute, dorky guy guiding you through the building? you’re just not. 

he cards through them carefully, commenting on the quality, the angles, the color grading, basically just complimenting every picture while you try not to swoon. he pulls one of the prints out of the file, a rare picture of superman you managed to get two weeks ago. you consider it the strongest picture in your portfolio. most of the photos of superman are blurs of red and blue, or shaky selfies he’s taken with fans. this one is still, certain— hopeful. you took it candidly. he was crouched with a kid, one of your students, helping him fix his broken project with gentle hands. 

you think about that moment every now and then. it changed you from a casual viewer of superman’s heroics to someone who supported him completely. you watched him stop, and with hands capable of much greater things, sooth the worries of a child when he could have been doing anything else. it instilled a kind of faith in humanity you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“i like this one.” he mumbles, sliding it out of the folder, staring at it like it means as much to him as it does to you. superman fan, noted. 

he pauses, staring at it a second longer than he did your other pictures, memorizing every detail before sliding it back inside the folder. “i don’t see how perry wouldn’t buy these— you’re an amazing photographer.” he says with a smile, handing you back the file. 

you do your best not to turn completely red at the compliment, looking up to meet his gaze. “i’m a teacher, actually.” you explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “just looking for a side hustle. that picture of superman? he’s helping one of my kids.” 

“really—? wow that’s really, uh, very cool.” he says, wearing a smile that you try your best not to read into. you both stop in front of an office with the name Perry White stamped across the door in shiny silver lettering. as anxious as you are to start the meeting, your heart sinks when you realize your time with clark is over. “well… good luck.” he says, all shy and dorky in a way that makes your knees weak. “i have a feeling i’m gonna see you around.”

you can’t help but grin, thanking him for walking you— and for the vote of confidence. you really don’t want to say goodbye, not when one look from him already disarms you.

he opens the door for you, and he’s lucky enough that you don’t realize how long he lingers by the office, memorizing every detail he can catalogue— the way you stand so confidently, yet with a demeanor that is so kind and genuine it makes him reevaluate everything he’s been looking for, the way the draft from the vent in perry’s office blows through your hair and makes you look like a movie star, the way you speak like it’s your favorite thing to do. 

you leave the meeting with a steady freelance gig, and a yellow post-it note you hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked into an interior pocket inside your file. 

i really hope you call me (xxx-xxx-xxx) 

-clark :)

you’re in your apartment when you find the note, and you can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, heat rising to your ears and dusting your face a rosy shade of pink. you waste no time dialing that number.

——

you meet superman before you see you clark again. actually, you’re on your way home to get ready for your first date with clark, trying to not let the nerves and anticipation shake you. 

you’re excited. like— bouncing off of the walls, can’t stop thinking about him kind of excited. you text constantly, and he calls you like talking to you is the highlight of his day, not some chore he has to do to maintain a relationship. you’ve been talking for about a week, and all the time with him has done is confirm your many blooming suspicions about him: he’s sweet, gentle, incredibly well-spoken and not afraid to be open about his interest in you in this shy, dorky kind of way that makes you kind of want to melt. 

you’re practically skipping down the street when it happens. it’s barely sunset, but you suppose crime doesn’t really depend on time of day anymore, not in the era of aliens and meta-humans. a hand darts out of the alleyway, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the shadows. before you can think to scream, to ask for help, anything— there’s a knife at your throat and you realize that your silence is a lot more valuable than your survival instinct.

“wallet, now.” you can barely see him— a combination of the dark alleyway and blurry vision. you make out dark clothes, dark eyes, and an expression that tells you to comply with whatever he says. 

your heart is beating so loudly you can feel it in your fingers. you’re shaking like a leaf— fumbling with your wallet, trying to hand it to the mugger. 

it drops from your hands. you look up at the man, eyes wide with the overwhelming fear for your life. you fucked up. it’s over. you can practically envision your funeral: sad, sparse, the death of someone who’s never really lived. you slam your eyes shut.

but then there’s a gust of wind, and the knife disappears from your neck.

it takes a moment for you to breathe, to process, to blink open yours and face a blue chest with a red and yellow emblem.

“are you okay, ma’am?” 

your gaze moves up to meet his. you’re not all there yet. there’s still adrenaline moving like shocks of lightning down your veins and the phantom breath of death sticking up the hairs on your neck. all you can really focus on is his eyes. impossibly blue like the deep sea, captivating you so wholly you forget yourself for a beat too long.

“ma’am?” he repeats, and his voice less authoritative. instead a gentle, concerned call to your senses, breaking out of your haze. 

you down, taking a deep breath. “yes, uh…” your hand darts to your neck, feeling for any imprint the knife could’ve left. you’re grateful to find nothing but untainted skin, like it had never happened at all. “i’m fine.” 

he nods, but there’s something in his expression that tells you he isn’t totally convinced. he hands you your wallet, a small, green leather clutch you’ve carried around since you were eighteen. somehow it had become the last thing on your mind.

“you’re safe, i promise.” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you nearly forget that it’s superman standing in front of you, making sure that you’re okay. “the danger’s gone.”

you look up at him, eyes wide, brimming with tears you don’t know if you can hold back for much longer. he leans in a little closer, just enough for you to notice, his eyes checking over you carefully. maybe you’re just thrown off, because of the whole… mugging situation. but he almost looks a little scared, maybe a little relieved, like you mean a bit more to him than a civilian he saved.

you shake the thought. you’ve heard he’s like that anyways, kind, caring, a boy scout through and through. the look you’re seeing now can’t be anything more than that. 

he clears his throat, leaning back, taking on a more official, heroic posture. “can i take you home, ma’am?” and just like that, the moment’s over.

you nod, letting him guide you out of the alleyway with a touch that is impossibly gentle for someone you’ve seen pummel aliens into the ground with a single punch. a comfortable silence hangs between you, and you’re grateful the streets are empty enough for no one to pay the pair of you any mind. 

you must look ridiculous together. the thought makes you smile, and your adrenaline-induced panic is officially over.

 “thank you.” you say, breaking the silence. you smile up at him, craning your head to meet his gaze. he honestly looks a bit surprised that you’re thanking him. “for… y’know, saving me.”

“of course. i’m glad i made it in time.” he says with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting yours. his smile is so genuine, so human, you wonder how anyone could really hate him. 

you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes. 

you laugh. “me too.” you say, your hands swinging freely at your sides. “i know you don’t normally handle, uh, muggings, so… i feel pretty lucky.” 

his eyes dart away, looking around at the block— anywhere but you, really, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “well, i try to keep an eye on the street. y’know, on the rare days when aliens and robots don’t tear apart the city.” 

you grin, his eyes meeting yours again. “yeah, i know.” you say, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes that make him forget he’s superman and not anything besides the man lucky enough to be by your side.

your eyes are so focused on the god beside you that you miss a step, losing your balance because the tip of your heel got caught in a sidewalk crack. you fall into him— no, you practically dive into him, because of course you do. 

“woah there.” he says. his hands, which are just warm and huge and tender, carefully grab your sides and he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet. 

you pause, flush with embarrassment. “i’m so sorry,” you cringe, looking up at him. “my heel got stuck because i had to humiliate myself and ruin the moment.” 

he laughs, sliding his hands away and looking down at you with a soft smile. “no harm done. just glad i caught you, miss.”

you pause, returning his smile with a grin that you just can’t seem to push down. 

“i saw you once, with one my students. he broke his history project, a popsicle stick model of the golden gate bridge?”

“i remember— jackson, right?” he asks, and there’s something so touching about him knowing the name of the random child he helped— it makes you want to melt. “smart kid, i’ve never met someone so knowledgeable about geography.” he says, nodding towards you. 

“right? he’s a little genius. i’m pushing him into architecture. i teach third grade, which is, i think, the best, ‘cause you get to see their passions develop in real time.” you say. you’re not sure why talking with him feels so easy, so natural. maybe it’s the whole superhero thing, or his impeccable bedside manner— but whatever the reason is, you can’t remember the last time you smiled so much.

“that sounds very rewarding.” he says, a gust of wind blowing his cape through the air. “i wanted to be a teacher, once.”

“got busy?” you ask, gesturing to the suit. 

he laughs in the sort of way where his shoulders shake and his voice booms throughout the street, even though you didn’t say anything particularly hilarious. 

“you could say that. how’s jackson doing now?”

“he’s on his way to becoming a very talented fourth grader.” you hesitate, before you continue. “i got a picture of you two, when you helped him.” you pause, stopping in front of your apartment building. “not in like a creepy stalker way— i’m a photographer too. kind of. hence the photo.” 

he pauses, peering down at you curiously. “may i see it?” he asks. 

you stop, your eyes locked with his. you can’t kick that feeling— how familiar he is. you can’t quite place it, so you push it back down deep for another day. “yeah.” you say, softly, pressing on the door. “i’ll be right back.”

it only takes you about a minute to retrieve the photo, digging through that same manilla file for your spare copy, the same file that clark stuck his number in. god— you were supposed to start getting ready, like, fifteen minutes ago. 

you pray clark is late. 

there’s a shadow over your window before you start heading back downstairs. right. flying. superman can fly. not crazy at all. you stumble over towards your fire escape, grinning up at him while you slide up the window.

you stick your head out, leaning on your arms, halfway out the window. 

“here, uh, this just a print.” you say, handing him the picture. he takes it gently, his fingers brushing against yours. he stares at it for awhile, his eyes tracing over every detail. 

“could i… keep this?” he asks, looking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the world— in a way that knocks the air out of your lungs. 

you nod, because really, how could you say no when he’s staring at you like that? you didn’t have a choice.

“thank you.” he says, before clearing his throat, floating back out towards the alleyway. “i, uh, i should be going.” 

“you got big plans tonight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

he laughs, a soft chuckle that rings like wedding bells in your ears. “something like that.” he pauses again, looking back down at the picture and then up to you. “…see you around… miss.” 

there’s a burst of wind and just like that, he’s gone. 

and maybe, just maybe, you have a tiny crush on superman. 

——

your date with clark was an awkward, disastrous, mess— in all the best ways. the flowers he brought you had somehow gotten smushed, even though he insisted they came from the little shop on the corner right by your apartment— but they were your favorites. the restaurant lost your reservation, so you ended up having a picnic with food from the best food truck you’ve ever been to. the conversation was bumpy, at times a little difficult to navigate, but by the end, you had never laughed so hard in your life. 

you really had never met anybody like clark kent. 

he’s a gentle giant, a man who, despite being extremely built, you truly incapable of hurting a fly. he’s also the perfect gentleman, the definition of a man. for the entire evening, he refused to let you open a door, or pay, and when you started feeling a little chilly when he was walking you back to your apartment, late at night, he tucked his jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain. he’s also just… kind, plain and simple. he stopped to help an old woman cross the street, to ask a kid where his mom was and led him back to his parents, and, no shit, he literally rescued a cat from a tree. mind you, all in the span of four hours. he’s a good person, the kind of guy you read about in fairytales and grow up thinking doesn’t exist.

but here he is. 

“i had a really good time tonight.” he says, lingering by your door. you nodded in absolute agreement, looking up at him with a giant, uncontrollable smile that he returns in full. 

“yeah, me too.” you respond. the distance between you closes quickly, you lean in just enough to feel clark’s breath ghost on your face. 

he flushes and looks down to his feet, like he’s working himself up for something— before his eyes dart back to yours. “i, uh… i really want to kiss you right now.” 

you can feel a red hot fire spread to your cheeks, and you pray that the dim light of your apartment prevents him from seeing it. your eyes meet his, staring through his glasses into a sea of endless blue. 

you’ve never actually wanted someone to kiss you more than you do right now. 

“yeah?” you ask, your voice teasing him ever-so-slightly while you move in closer, your fingertips brushing against his. 

“may i?” he asks, sliding his unbelievably large hands on your sides then down to your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel incredibly warm. you have to physically tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and your mood nearly sours at the idea that at some point you’ll have to pull away. 

you nod, and slowly, delicately, he leans in— pulling your body gently against him, his lips pressing into yours. it isn’t an eruption of passion, or some overwhelmingly fervent kiss, no. it’s soft, slow, sensual, an agonizingly perfect connection that makes you knees go weak when you’re in his arms. 

it’s too short, that’s your only complaint. he pulls away breathless, smiling down at you with a pink tint dusting his cheeks, ushers you back into your apartment and demands that you have a wonderful night, insisting that he’ll call you in the morning. 

you go to bed that night an hour later, only certain of two things.

this was going to be the best summer ever

you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt

you want to see if superman is as good a kisser as clark

——

“here.”

clark pushes a cup of coffee that is somehow still piping hot into your hands, smiling down at you. you’re not sure how he even knew you were coming to the planet today, much less when to meet you at the door, but you liked that about clark. he always knows a lot more than he lets on. you chalk it up to the investigative journalist in him. 

“you got me coffee?” you ask, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through your hand. apparently, no matter how hot it is outside, none of that leaks into the planet. it’s freezing. 

“yeah, i didn’t know what you liked, uh, so there’s cream and sugar— not too much, though, uh, well, i mean, hopefully there’s enough—“

you press a kiss against his cheek and that effectively cuts off his rambling and leaves him quietly flushed, his eyes focused only on you. “thanks, clark.” you say, taking a sip. it’s a bit too sweet, but so incredibly thoughtful you might just start taking your coffee this way. 

he smiles, going red from his neck to is ears— god, he’s so cute. “you’re seeing perry today?” he asks, walking with you down the hall. you nod. 

“apparently he likes my work so much i get a daily planet issued camera.” you say excitedly. clark chooses to leave out the part where he practically begged perry to lend you one, a privilege freelancers don’t usually receive. he has to do an extra mountain of paperwork every night for a month— but gosh was it worth it to see you so giddy.

“makes sense.” he muses. “perry rewards the incredibly talented.”

he says it in a silly way, but you can tell he’s completely serious. he’s so sweet it literally makes your teeth hurt. 

you’ve been on three other dates since the first, and you’ve bumped into each other at the daily planet a couple times before this— everything is going extremely well. he’s so caring, thoughtful, and the more you learn about him the more infatuated you get. you swear, when he puts his hands on you it makes you dizzy. 

it’s perfect. he is. there’s only one issue: his constant tardiness, and his tendency to cancel last minute, or just not show up at all. it bugs you, when you’ve gotten all dolled up just to have to fight back tears at midnight, forced to leave an angry voicemail or two after you’ve downed a glass of box chardonnay, stuck alone, in your living room. 

but he makes up for it with a thousand apologies and small gestures that make you wonder why you were ever mad. 

it’s frustrating— the doubt creeping in about whether or not he likes you, the anger of being left behind without so much as a call, the loneliness that swallows you like a black hole. but when you’re with clark, he makes sure that his feelings for you are never in doubt, swearing up and down that he just has supremely bad luck and it doesn’t have a thing to do with you. still, it makes you wonder: what makes clark kent so busy?

“my lunch break is at one,” he says, taking your folder like it makes all the sense in the world for him to carry it and not you, “if you want to hang around a bit after your meeting, we could grab something together?” 

you nod, looking up at him as you approach perry’s office. “that’s perfect. i was gonna stop at the bookstore down the street and grab something for my mom’s birthday. pick me up there?” 

“yes ma’am,” he says in a way that is all too familiar, and he hands you back your folder, tucking it underneath your arm, his hand ghosting at your side. “good luck.”

“don’t need it. i’ve got you.” you say, opening the door and heading in. you don’t see the way clark flushes, this time redder than a tomato, nor jimmy laughing at him from all the way from across the building.

——

you’re on your way to the bookstore when it happens— the sky opens up, a giant alien-whatever pops down and starts wreaking havoc on the skyline of metropolis. the event is far enough away to where you would normally just shrug and continue on your path towards the bookstore while the people wait for superman to show up. 

except that you’re a photographer now. professionally. and professional photographers run towards their killer shot, not away from it. besides, your meeting with perry didn’t go… the greatest. he said most of your shots were unusable— and he wanted more pictures of superman.

but it would be stupid to run into danger like that— clark would disapprove, so would probably anyone with common sense. the ground is literally shaking because that demon thing knocked a skyscraper over like legos— you really should walk away. 

so, obviously, you end up climbing a tree about a hundred yards away from the creature (and superman, who stepped in about a minute ago), trying to find your perfect shot. it’s stupid, really, the way that you’re about twenty feet off the ground, perched just right on the branch so that if you can get superman and the alien to stay still for half a second— you’ll have your picture. 

unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for the monster to have giant fireballs spewing out of its fingertips, with one specially aimed at you. foolishly, you expected it to be the normal kind of cryptid. 

so, you shut your eyes and brace yourself, praying that you’ll be the sexy kind of burn victim and not a crisp, dead one— but the impact never comes. instead, a pair of arms wraps around you and you’re on a rooftop— ridiculously far away from the scene with no way down. 

“stay here,” superman says, flying back with a harsh burst of air. he sounded… angry, probably from the fight but… you can’t shake his eyes met yours in that single glimpse, before he had gone back into the fray. 

the fight takes four minutes. you’re like, a mile away, on top of some random building with a pretty subpar view of the action— but you manage to still make out the flashes of blue and red that surround the being and shoot him back off to space. 

you frown, peering over the edge of the building. there’s no rooftop access, no door, nothing. you’re kind of just stuck— which is perfect, because it’s 12:55 and clark’s about to get off for lunch, so he’ll get stood up while you figure out how to get down. 

“you need to be more careful.” a voice behind you says, and you jump, nearly toppling over the side of the building. 

a hand grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, steadying you— it’s superman. thank god. 

you nod. “yeah. probably.” he looks unconvinced, and maybe a little pissed. his arm drops back to his side and he shoots you a stern look. 

“it’s irresponsible to run into danger like that. you could have died, ma’am.” he says. his hair looks a bit windswept, curling around the edges like clark’s does when he tries to tame it. his eyes zero in on the camera hanging around your neck. “no picture is worth your life, okay?”

you nod, looking down, a tad embarrassed. “yeah… adrenaline kinda beat me on this one.” 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do anything like that again.” he says. when you look up at him, he doesn’t look angry anymore. he looks scared. its the kind of thing that makes your heart jump into your throat.

“please?” he asks quietly, his gaze locked with yours. 

you nod, swallowing down the strange feelings twisting around in your gut. “okay. i promise.”

there’s a beat of silence before he steps towards you, beaming down at you like you’re any other citizen. “let me get you down from here.” 

“please do.” you agree, and he lifts you by the waist like you’re featherlight, slowly flying you down until your toes touch the concrete. 

“by the way,” he begins, speaking quietly as you land, stepping back, “i framed that picture you gave me. thank you.”

he’s gone before you can say ‘you’re welcome,’ just a blur of red and blue that disappears into the sky like a shooting star.

he remembered you. 

he probably remembers everyone he meets on the street— he’s known for stuff like that, being so kind, so hopeful. 

but he remembered you. and that feels different. 

your phone rings and you shake off whatever you’re feeling, because clark, the guy that you really really like and who really really likes you is calling and there’s no reason you should be thinking about someone as untouchable as superman in the way that you are right now. 

“clark, you will never believe what just happened—“

——

today is july first.

your one month anniversary with clark. the day that marks one of the best months of your life coming to a close— and hopefully a sign that these next months are going to be just as good, if not better. 

this month, clark kent has literally swept you off your feet. perfect dates, amazing chemistry, gentlemanlike in a way that all seems too good to be true. and maybe it is. 

because, well, it’s three hours after your date was supposed to start. clark had been talking about today all week, texting you every free second about the amazing evening he had planned— but he’s not here. he couldn’t even send you a text, “hey, so sorry i can’t make it. raincheck?’ nothing. 

you wonder what the excuse is, this time. had to work late? ma called and he lost track of time? you hate it, how small you feel when he forgets about you. you suddenly wish it was august again, so you could have school and a whole new pack of students to occupy your time with— you wouldn’t even have to think about clark, you’d be so busy.

right as you reach for another glass of wine, there’s a knock at your door. 

you frown, tiptoeing silently towards the peephole like you don’t already know who it is. 

it’s clark— and he looks rough. 

there’s a nasty shiner on his eye, and he’s got blood peeking out from under his collar, and you wonder what other injuries his clothes are hiding. it takes you half a second to swing the door open, your hands flying to his face. 

“holy shit clark— are you okay?” you ask, eyes wide, checking every inch of his face to see just how bad it is. you’ve never seen him have so much as an odd bruise before, but now…? he looks beat. “what happened?”

his eyes don’t follow your hands, or your movements, they don’t stick to the ground, they just find yours and hold your gaze once you’re done giving him an extremely thorough once-over for any prevailing injuries. “you were crying.” he frowns, looking down at you. 

you pause, lowering your hands. “yeah, but—“

he hands— which are notably shaky, press against your biceps, wrapping around your upper arms as if to ground himself. 

“i’m so sorry.” his voice is so tender it practically kills you, pure, genuine guilt and sadness that makes you feel like a jerk for even being mad in the first place. and those eyes— god, those eyes. they take you and they refuse to let go. 

“clark, you look like shit, i’m not upset—“ you start, biting down on your lip. he cuts you off by pulling you into a suffocating embrace, holding you so close and so tight he practically knocks the air out of your lungs, not that you mind.

he traps your lips in a kiss— one that isn’t soft, or gentle, not the way that clark usually kisses you. it’s fervent, sloppy and overwhelming— he surges into you like he never thought he’d be able to do it again. 

what you don’t know is— with the battle he had, the one he lost, that was exactly what was on his mind. 

“i’m sorry i missed our date. i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he mumbles as he pulls away. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you like he can’t get you close enough. you have no idea what’s going on, but you like the way you feel when he holds you, so you don’t stop him. 

you tentatively wrap your hands around him, unaware of the fallen god that has you in his arms. “what happened?” you ask quietly, your voice just a whisper against his ear. 

he gives you a final squeeze that toed on the line of breaking your ribs before pulling back, looking down at you. “uh, i just… this lady got her purse stolen, picked a fight i couldn’t win. i’m fine, promise.” 

you nod, your heart swelling with both concern and pride. you picked the guy who’d risk his own safety to help an old lady get her purse back— the thought makes you all warm and fuzzy, especially now that you know he’s okay. 

you have to push down the feeling that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. 

“do you wanna come in?” you ask, tilting your head. he shakes his head. 

“i uh, i can’t. gonna sleep this off— but i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank. i just didn’t want you to think i flaked for no reason.” 

you smile up at him, shaking your head. he’s too damn sweet for his own good. 

“okay, well, get home safe, okay?” you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek before sending him away with the promise that everything will be fine in the morning. 

——

you didn’t think that “i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank.” meant breaking into your apartment to make you breakfast, but apparently that was clark’s exact line of thought. 

you didn’t even register the sound of him in your apartment when you stepped out of your bedroom— your hair a mess, makeup peeled off, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and your panties. you yawned, stretched, then nearly jumped out of your own skin when you noticed him staring at you from over your stove like you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. 

“what are you doing here?!” you yelled, darting back into your room, searching frantically for a hairbrush. 

“uh, i, um— i wanted to make you breakfast?” he starts, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head. “starting to realize how creepy this is.” 

you sigh, laughing softly to yourself, the shock slowly wearing off. “it’s really sweet, clark, just give me a minute to look… presentable.” you say through the door.

“you look beautiful— but, sorry. take all the time you need.” 

you emerge ten minutes later with your rats nest combed out, your makeup done, and wearing a pair of shorts that fit snuggly around your thighs. clark smiles at you in a sort of, i’m-sorry-for-breaking-in-but-hey-here’s-some-breakfast, kind of way. 

you shake your head, walking over to him and letting him wrap an arm around you, taking a deep breath to smell the absurd amount of pancakes he made for the two of you. seriously, there’s like, three stacks and half a bowl of batter left. you lean against him, enjoying the warmth. 

“sorry for freaking out.” you say as he presses a kiss against the top of your forehead. 

he shrugs. “sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

you laugh. “yeah— how long have you been here, and how did you get in—“ you pause, looking up at him, noticing how clean his face is for the first time. “your bruise is gone.” 

he leans back, rubbing his neck. “yeah, uh… i’m a fast healer.” he pauses and shrugs like that’s the only answer he can give you. “i’ve been here for like, thirty minutes. your neighbor let me in. mrs. stilinsky?” 

you nod— decide not to question anything, moving back to lean on the countertop. you note the way he shifts in the back of your head and move on. 

“i still feel bad about last night,” he starts, pausing to lift you up and onto the counter like you’re featherlight. you giggle, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. “hence the breakfast. if you’re not busy today, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you raise a brow. “you know you don’t have to make up ‘getting jumped’ to me, right? i kind of get that one.”

he leans back to flip another pancake, shaking his head. “this is non-negotiable, honey.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a pancake off of one of the stacks. “actually, i could use another set of hands to help me decorate my classroom…” you say, taking a bite of the pancake, looking up at him. “god, this is good— how did you make this?” you ask, mid-bite. 

he laughs, a motion that moves through his shoulders. “kent family recipe. ma would kill me if i shared.” 

“—is there pumpkin spice in this?” 

——

clark insisted on being the only one to carry anything— so you’re mapping out your classroom while he hauls stuff from your car, little by little. 

you’re switching to second grade this year, so you have a newer, slightly crappier classroom a mile farther from the teacher’s lounge, and a new curriculum to teach— but you don’t particularly mind. eight is a good age, you’ll just need to practice a little more crowd control during your lectures. 

most of your stuff was brought over from your old classroom last week, this is just the stuff you bought with your daily planet money to get a fresh new look for your class. 

clark drops the last of the junk gently by the door, smiling down at you as he approaches. he hooks an arm around your waist and presses a kiss atop your head, giving you a quick squeeze. “so, what are we doing today?” 

you grin up at him, leaning into his side while you begin rambling about your big plans for the room. 

you kinda prefer this to big dates. there’s something special about the mundane when you get to do it with clark. you just like being around him, basking in that sweet farm boy energy that has you totally whipped.

“okay, so, i’m gonna move my bookshelf to this corner, and then i’m gonna put up a bunch of posters in this area and make it, like, a reading corner, right. i’m gonna put up one of my big art wall things here and the other over there, and—“

you’re cut off by an earthquake. 

clark instinctively tightens his grip on you, looking up and around for any danger. your frown, leaning into him. 

he looks up at the ceiling for what seems like a beat too long when the ground shakes again. a couple trinkets fall off of a bookshelf, and one of your boxes topples over. he looks down at you, ushering you out of the classroom. “is there somewhere safe to hide?” he asks, looking up and down the hall. 

“here, c’mon,” you start, leading him down the hall. “kids go in the gym for tornado drills— it’s kind of the same thing?”

he nods, following you with his hand tightly interlaced with yours. the ground shakes again and little bits of drywall fall from the ceiling— none big enough to do any real damage, but enough to spook you. 

you and clark make it to the gym, where the infrastructure seems a lot more sturdy. you run inside— but he hangs by the door. “i’m gonna see if anyone else needs help, okay? i’ll be back.”

“clark—!“ you start, but he’s already gone. 

you frown. the school is empty save for the two of you. he should be back in two, maybe three minutes. 

but he’s not. he’s not back in five. or ten. 

by the twelve minute mark you’re worried in a way that is all-consuming— and the building keeps shaking. you nearly got smashed by a ceiling tile that came loose, and you’ve spent the last few minutes half focused on clark’s survival and your own. 

you give up on waiting, going to the administrative office to check the cameras for him, a relatively easy journey. you flip through them all twice. you give time for him to leave any blindspot. he isn’t there— he just ditched you. 

you try not to throw the computer across the room. you could, logistically, and you could blame the damage on the whatever going on outside— but you don’t. you just storm out of the building, looking up at the sky. 

superman’s fifty feet above your school fighting some robot-looking thing mid-air. to be fair, he’s winning, but not enough for you to be particularly thrilled about the sighting. you look around for clark, and he’s nowhere, which is just great. 

“clark!” you call out, looking for him, ducking debris from the action above you. you turn the corner of the building, looking around by the dumpster, trying to see if he was hiding with some sweet old lady or doing anything besides running away and abandoning you. 

you rush past the wall— and maybe if you were a bit less panicked and a bit more observant you would have noticed the pile of clothes peeking out from under the dumpster, or the glasses that belonged to clark kent reflecting sunlight onto the stack of bricks behind you. 

but you continue, rushing out to the courtyard, met with a great big field filled with nothing but astroturf and gym supplies. 

“clark!” you call again. he’s not there— you know he isn’t and you’re really, really freaking out. what if he got caught under a chunk of debris? what if that robot monster up there crashed into him? what if he really did just abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself?

you brush that last one off. he wouldn’t do that. you know him well enough to know that. he’s good to his core, he’s not the type of guy to run from danger. 

you look up at the fight above you. superman is pummeling into the robot like there’s no tomorrow, getting closer and closer towards the ground. he’s right above the field you’re hanging around, and—

oh shit. 

they both crash against the ground, knocking a literal crater into the field. the impact of the collision knocks you onto your ass, and despite being fifty feet away, the yelp you let out when you hit pavement attracts superman’s attention— and the thing he’s fighting. 

it happens in slow motion: you, with wide eyes, scrambling to get up on shaky legs, the robot, hurling towards you impossibly fast, and superman, an inch behind, trying to stop it

you’re frozen. you can’t run, or fight, or even move— you’re just stuck, shaking, your heart beating out of your chest, adrenaline shooting through your veins like fire. 

you think it’s the end, but superman grabs hold of the thing when it’s an inch away, pulling it back and throwing it across the field so hard the boom that follows sounds like a missile strike. you just stare, your breaths uneven and panicked, watching with teary eyes as superman punches that thing into the ground, ripping the machine’s head off with bare hands, tearing it apart until it’s nothing but scrap metal and wire. 

and then he turns to you, moving faster than the speed of light across the field to gently help you up. 

“are you alright?” he asks, taking your hand. your legs are shaking so bad that he has to practically hold you upright, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

you nod. “yeah, i’m okay.” you say, taking a deep breath, swallowing down your panic. 

he checks you over for any injuries, the same way he did the first night that you met. “you shouldn’t have been out here.” he says, and he sounds frustrated— you feel bad. bad that he always seems to be saving you, and that you seem to be his least favorite regular. he’s saved you once a week for the last month at least, sometimes when you’re taking pictures for the planet, sometimes when trouble just seems to follow you home. either way— you have seen a lot of superman lately. 

“i uh, yeah, i was looking for… clark kent? i know he’s interviewed you before, have you seen him?” 

his gaze softens, and he takes a breath, looking down and shaking his head softly like he’s having a conversation in his head you aren’t privy to.

“he’s fine.” he says, looking up at you. you’re captivated— it’s always those damn eyes. bluer than the pacific, you don’t know how a man so perfect can exist.“i, uh, he was about to get crushed by some debris, so i moved him half a mile west.”

you breath a sigh of relief. “thank you.” you say, steady enough to stand a bit taller. he doesn’t let go. 

“you get into a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asks— not in a, ha-ha we run into each other a lot way, but in a, hey i’m kind of concerned about your well-being kind of way. your heart leaps to your chest. 

“yeah. kept my promise though. didn’t come out here for a picture.” 

he smiles— you almost swoon— and shakes his head. “do i have to start keeping a special eye on you, miss?” 

you try not to blush. you fail. “with my luck, that might just be necessary.” you say, smiling up at him. 

you pause. 

you are totally flirting with superman. and even crazier— superman is totally flirting with you. 

you have clark. loving, caring, sweet, handsome clark. 

but can it really hurt to indulge in the fantasy for a minute longer? 

“well, if you need anything, ma’am, call out for superman, and i’ll be there.” he says.

“anything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “i might just take advantage of that.”

he laughs— a laugh that seems too familiar. “i hope you do.”

you look up at him, tilting your head. “thank you, again, for saving me.”

he smiles, looking down at you, giving your hand a final squeeze before he lets you go. he leans in a bit closer, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump to your throat. “i’m always gonna save you. i promise.”

the way he says you gives you pause. it makes your knees want to buckle. it makes this whole thing seem completely unreal. 

because he’s talking about you like you mean a lot more to him than a pedestrian he’s had to save a couple times. like you’re someone he cares about— which confuses you a lot more than you care to admit. 

he leans back, clears his throat, acts like he said a bit more than he should have and returns to that superman persona he let slip for half a second. “you try to stay safe, okay?” he says, raising an eyebrow, and you nod, a little dazed. 

“on it.”

he steps back and shoots back off into the sky, and you stare until he’s completely gone, now just a whisper of blue in the skyline of metropolis. 

“hey! there you are!” clark’s voice echoes from behind you. you spin around, overwhelmed with relief that he’s safe and running back towards you. 

you practically crash into him, simply relieved that he is safe and not smushed under a building or something like that. his arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe, and you hold him so close you think your arms might break. 

“i got so scared when you didn’t come back.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. he nods, pulling back, looking down at you. 

“yeah, uh, i was looking for others and this giant piece of wall almost got me— superman swiped me out and took me like, three blocks away.” he says, taking a deep breath. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you nod, swallowing down the guilt forming in your chest. here clark is, all worried about you, who literally ran back from half a mile away to come and get you, and you were just flirting with superman. 

“yeah, uh, superman saved me too. guess we both got lucky.” you say, chewing on your lip. you feel horrible. 

he frowns. “a-are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head. you hate how he can read you like that.

you nod. “yeah, uh, i think i just want to go home.”

——

that night you sent clark home, promising you would call him in the morning. you told him that you were just a bit shaken— and you were. but not from the whole… robot trying to kill you thing. from the superman one. 

you just felt guilty about it. confused on what made superman so keen on you. you’ve felt confused a lot, lately. about clark, superman, your own feelings. 

to make it clear: you are 100% whipped for clark. he is your perfect man, and he has never made you doubt for one second that he likes you just as much as you like him. the whole superman thing feels like a fantasy come true— having some angelic, godlike protector single you out. it’s probably very human to have some feelings, to get a little flustered when someone like superman flirts with you. 

there’s just something about superman that feels achingly familiar, in the kind of way that bugs you wholly. his laugh, his voice, his eyes. the eyes get you the most— like there’s something right in front of you that you just can’t see. 

you take another sip of your beer, looking out at the moonlit skyline from your fire escape. 

“are you alright?” 

you jump, whipping your head around to see superman floating ahead, approaching you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll scare. he smiles, leaning against the railing of the fire escape, looking down at you with this weird, soft look in his eye. like he’s worried. 

you nod. “what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “i wanted to make sure you were okay, after today.”  he says, staring at you with those impossibly familiar blue eyes. 

you raise an eyebrow. “do you check up on all the people you save?”

he chuckles, and shakes his head. “just the lucky ones.”

you pause, offering him a beer. he waves his hands no, climbing over the rail to sit with you. 

“you’re real friendly.” you observe, taking another swig of your drink. he shrugs.

“just concerned.” 

there’s a long beat of silence before either of you speak again. you’re not really sure what to say, how to proceed. you can feel him staring at you, while your eyes trace over the buildings around you. 

“how’s your day going?” you ask, blinking back up at him. he stares for a second, then smiles— and those eyes capture you once more. 

“been an odd day. y’know, stray robot attacks and all.” he pauses, giving you a once over. “you?” 

you shrug. “odd’s probably the best word for it.”

“would you like to talk about it?” he offers. “i’ve been told that i’m a good listener.” 

do you wanna talk about it? it’s kind of been an emotional roller coaster of a day. of course, it’s the kind of thing that would only happen to you, having superman on your porch step, asking how you feel. at first, all the running into each other seemed like dumb coincidence— now it all feels a lot heavier. 

“i’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.” you say, tilting back your head to get a better look at him. 

he nods. “is that a bad thing?”

you shrug in response. “it’s an odd one. especially ‘cause—“ you start, cutting yourself off. you look down, chewing on your lip so you don’t confront superman for being a huge flirt. 

he looks at you inquisitively, a small frown playing on his lips. “‘cause?”

you take a deep breath, looking down. “i have a boyfriend. well— he’s not technically my boyfriend, yet. he hasn’t asked, but like, y’know. i really like him.”

you look back up and he’s smiling, almost like he’s trying to suppress a grin, which confuses you even more, because, like, two minutes ago he was acting all into you.

“and how are things going with your not-boyfriend?” he asks, leaning back. 

“great. so i need you to stop flirting with me.” 

he laughs— he actually laughs, with his full chest. acts like you saying that is the silliest thing in the world. like he didn’t randomly show up at your apartment to ‘check on you.’

he smiles up at you with this weird, knowing twinkle in his eye. “you’re right. i’ve got no business getting between you and clark.” 

you pause, your eyebrows knitting together. you didn’t mention anything about clark. 

“how’d you know it was clark?” you ask, frowning. 

he pauses— like his body stutters. “uh, well—“ he starts, stumbling in a way that seems so familiar, just like everything else he does. god, what is it about him? “i assumed, since he was who you were looking for at the school.”

you nod, training your eyes on the loose curl sitting on his forehead. you guess that makes sense, at least, enough for you to not dwell on it any longer. yet, coupled with everything else you’ve noticed, it’s all just… very strange.

“i’m onto you, superman.” you say, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. you see it, just the briefest, tiniest moment of panic in his eyes before the superhero persona sets back in. it’s just enough to let you know that you’re not crazy. 

“onto me?” he asks, slightly incredulous. “what for?” 

you shrug, leaning back against the railing, taking another quick sip of your beer before placing it down against the barred floor of your fire escape. “just whatever it is that you’re hiding from me.”

he nods, like he’s barely entertaining the idea. “i could just stop running into you.” he says, a bit more serious now than he was a minute ago. “if i was hiding something.” 

you smile, shaking your head, standing up and leaning back against the railing. “you could. i doubt you will.” you say, flashing him a grin, hoisting yourself up to sit on the railing. 

he tilts his head. “why’s that?” 

now, you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t at least two beers deep, and right now, you’re three and a half in, so your judgement is maybe… slightly impaired. besides, it’s not like this is the farthest you’ve ever gone to prove a point. 

you slide your legs over the rail, and without a single thought or hesitation, you push yourself off. 

you plummet for a bit longer than you thought you would— not like the drop would kill you, anyways, you live three stories up, but you’re a lot closer to the ground than you thought you’d be when he catches you. 

his arms wrap around you bridal style— and he looks kind of pissed. he doesn’t quite look at you, not until you’re back up safely on the fire escape and he’s floating back out in the alleyway. 

“that was, gosh—“ he starts, looking down at you, arms crossed. “why would you do that?”

“i knew you would catch me.”  you say, your eyes glancing up to find his. 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do that again. ever.” he asks, eyebrows firmly knit together. 

you nod, which, doesn’t seem to be good enough for him, because he tilts his head and looks at you with a gaze that is incredibly stern. you reach out your hand, extending your pinky finger out towards him. 

“i pinky swear.” 

he smiles, locking his finger with yours. “thank you.”

there’s a boom somewhere off in the distance, one loud enough to attract his attention. his hand slips away from yours, and with a nod, he’s gone. 

you’re gonna figure him out. 

——

it’s been two weeks since that night— and that was the last time you saw superman, a new record for you and him. you enjoyed the space as much as it infuriated you— so your time has been spent cataloguing every interaction, sorting through everything that bugged you, even slightly. 

you don’t tell clark about it. it can’t feel good to hear that your girl is constantly thinking about another guy— especially one that is a god amongst men. 

you and clark do have a good rhythm, though. he spends most nights at your place now, and he spoils you with two ‘real dates’ (as he calls them) a week. it’s nice, having him around. someone you can force feed your baking to and cuddle up with when watching scary movies.

it’s nights like tonight, actually, that make you so into him it scares you. he came over after work, and after making you a pasta salad that tasted like heaven on your fork, you sat together on the couch to watch some random sitcom he liked. his arms wrapped around you immediately, and he held you so close and so tight it was basically impossible not to fall asleep in those big, bulky arms of his. 

you blink awake now, soft light and sound still playing on your television despite how quiet everything else seems. you listen to clark’s breathing, steady and even, snoring softly with his grasp loose around you. 

you slide out of his arms quietly, surprised that you didn’t manage to wake him when you knocked into the table behind you on your way to the bathroom. you come back two minutes later, wiping your hands on your sleep shirt and looking down at him. 

he looks so peaceful, so relaxed. it makes you smile. carefully, as to not wake him up, you slide his glasses off of his face and put them on your coffee table, and grab a blanket off of your armchair to throw over him. 

in this motion, you realize you’ve never actually seen clark without his glasses before. you look down at him, tilting your head, squinting for whatever shapes you can make out with such little lighting. 

you didn’t realize how strong his prescription was, because he looks quite different. like— noticeably different. 

huh. he looks a lot like superman. 

you frown. squint a little harder. besides the hair, he’s nearly identical. 

you shake the thought. it has to be some weird coincidence, right? clark, your clark? not possible. you’re too sleepy to give it much thought, anyways. 

still, it bugs you. it bugs you the next morning, when he makes you breakfast. it bugs you the day after, when you see him at the planet. it bugs you for another week, because the similarity is just too damning. 

you stare down at that picture you have of superman. of him, helping your student. the one that inadvertently led you to clark. the one that superman himself framed. you’re looking at all the similarities of note between clark and him. sure, they’re different, but everything different is something easily changed. hairstyles, tone of voice, hell, even posture. 

you chew on your lip. it’s 5:30, clark’s supposed to pick you up in two hours. 

but, hypothetically, if you went to his place now and looked around when he wasn’t expecting you… would you find this picture hung up somewhere? 

it would be just to get the thought out of your head. you’re like, 95% sure there is no way in hell that clark kent can be superman. especially because, if he was, and he’d been flirting with you as superman? you’d be beyond pissed. 

you knock twice on the door. “clark?”

you hear a shuffle and a pause. it takes thirty agonizingly long seconds for him to open the door, but when he does it’s all smiles and laughter— “hey, what are you doing here? thought i was picking you up later.”

he urges you in and gently shuts the door behind you, smiling down at you. your eyes trace every inch of the apartment, looking for something you pray you don’t find. 

“i didn’t want to wait any longer,” you say, looking back up at him, “i missed you.”

he grins, wrapping an arm around you and giving you a squeeze. he looks nice— white button up, black slacks, his hair impossibly perfect. you lean into him, nearly forgetting about your mission. 

“do you want to just hang out here tonight? skip the date?” he asks, sliding your purse off of your shoulder and setting it down on his mahogany front table— one that he made himself when he still lived in smallville. 

“actually,” you say, uncertainly, sliding off your jacket. “that sounds perfect. i wanna talk.” 

he raises a brow, taking your jacket and hooking it the coat rack. you lead him to the living room, flopping down on the couch. “do i need to be worried?” 

he sets himself behind you, leaning against the back of the couch, smiling down at you. you look around, still looking for that picture— one you’re sure you won’t see amongst the decor of his apartment. 

“yeah, maybe.” you say, your eyes meeting his. his smile fades, and those ocean blue eyes stare down at you with just enough concern to make your heart skip a beat. “what are we?” 

you don’t know why you picked that question to stall for time, but here you are. 

he takes a breath, like that question somehow relieves him— what an odd guy. 

“what do you want us to be?” 

he asks it gently, hopefully, like he’s easing you into it. he is— he wants you, bad. more than just a summer situationship. clark isn’t built for that. but he understands hesitation, he understands if you want to take your time. he’s got all the time in the world. 

you pause, taking a breath. “well, i really like you clark.” you say, scooting back on the couch, patting the empty space next to you as a signal. he dances around the side of the couch, extra careful not to knock into anything and disrupt a moment like this one. the couch dips beside you and you sit with your legs crossed, facing him. 

“i really like you, too.” he says, quietly, like it kills him not to say more. 

you nod, chewing on your lip. “and i want to be your girlfriend.” 

he breaks out into a grin, leaning back, looking at you with nothing but love in those ridiculously blue eyes. “yeah?”

“not that you don’t still have to ask me, cause you do, and you have to make it, like, the most romantic thing i’ve ever seen.” you say, smiling up at him. he nods— super serious, like one of your kids planning out an assignment in their head.

“i promise.” he says, leaning in. “i’m gonna romance your socks off, babe.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you. he presses a quick kiss against your lips— one you’re careful not to get sucked into; you’re not done yet.

“now that that’s settled,” you say, forcing him back with a playful push that elicits a groan from him. “if i’m gonna be with you— you can’t hide anything. i need complete, open honesty.” 

he nods, looking away. you frown. “is there anything you haven’t told me? anything important?” 

he pauses, his eyes trained to the wall, like he’s deliberating on something super important. 

were you right? is clark really… superman? 

he looks back at you, smiling, like that moment didn’t happen. like everything is alright. “i stole one the toys from your classroom.” he shrugs, laughing a bit. “the stuffed deer? it reminded me of you.” 

you gasp, feigning offense. “i’ve been looking for him everywhere!” you exclaim in fake horror, but you can’t help but giggle. 

what were you thinking? clark, superman? sweet, adorkable clark? it’s more likely that he’s secretly mother teresa. 

his laugh grounds you, and he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. “i’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “wanna watch a movie?” 

you nod, looking up at him. “i’ll let you pick it if you make popcorn.” you grin, pressing a kiss against his jawline. 

“yes ma’am.” he says, standing up, lingering in your touch a second too long before leaving for the kitchen. 

you watch him, unable to suppress a giant, dorky smile. god, you love him. 

oh god, you love him. 

you decide to table that thought for when you get home. 

“i’m gonna change into one of your shirts!” you call out, standing up and heading towards his room. you’re still in date night attire, and you would much rather be dwarfed by one of clark’s nice, cotton, smallville t-shirts than brave the night in jeans and a tube top. 

“have fun!” he calls back, and you can hear the sporadic popping of the popcorn from the kitchen. 

you make it to his closet, filtering through the half-dozen tees he keeps hung up. he doesn’t have that many clothes, you note, a few dress shirts, a couple cheap suits, two pairs of jeans, and a box of ties below it. you look around a bit more, noting the weird amount of dress shoes he has lined up on the ground when you notice a pair of black wingtips sat above a silver, face-down picture frame. 

huh. 

maybe if you were a bit more trusting and a bit less suspicious you would have left it alone— but that isn’t you. 

your eyes flicker to the doorway, which is empty, and back to the frame. carefully, you crouch down, sliding the shoes down to the ground, tentatively picking up the frame and flipping it towards you. 

your heart beats out of your chest. 

it’s the picture. 

it’s the picture. 

the one you took of superman, the one you gave him that first night, the one he told you he framed— the one that you decidedly did not give to clark, the one that clark never told you he framed, the one that clark would have no reason to hide except—

that he’s superman. 

that you were right. 

that he lied to you. 

you take the picture. hold it so tight your knuckles turn white. walk out of the closet, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. drop it on the countertop so clark can see it. 

the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. he looks shocked, caught, then scared, guilty. his eyes dart from the picture to you in an instant. the microwave beeps three times, the popping slows to a stop. it’s over. 

“i can explain.” 

you shake your head. he doesn’t need to— it’s pretty open and shut. he lied to you, and if it was just him hiding the superman thing, you could understand. “you talked to me as superman— flirted with me, asked personal stuff— you lied. you’ve been lying, this entire time, i—“ you take a deep breath, fighting tears. “i should go.” you say, spinning around on your heels.

he grabs your hand before you can move, squeezing it gently. “please, wait— let me explain it. please. you don’t understand.”

you pull away, looking at him with nothing but hurt in your eyes— because you are hurt, you feel betrayed and broken and everything you thought you wouldn’t feel with clark. you stare at him, trying your hardest not to cry— not in front of him. he looks hopeless, half-defeated, uncertain, and lost in a way that overwhelms him.

you sniffle, shaking your head. “i understand fine, clark.” you say, swallowing down your heartbreak and peeling towards the door. 

“this is over.”

——

the days that follow are bleak. all you have to show for the breakup are dark, lonely hours wasted in pints of ice cream and dirty tissues. your only solace is scrolling through article after article— either ones written by clark, or ones written about him. 

you push yourself through it with everything you can muster, praying that he doesn’t hear your sobs from across the city. you love him. loved him. and you’re not sure you’ll ever be so in love again. 

but he betrayed you, he lied to you— he hurt you in a way that you can’t explain. you don’t want to let that push you down any more than it already has. 

so, you push back. get up, out of bed, get dressed, call your friends, make plans. put yourself in a situation where you don’t have to think, especially about clark. it’s been ten days since you stormed out of his apartment and you have to move forward. it’s the last day of summer before you go back— you can’t have let it all been a waste. 

you club. you party. you convince yourself that you’re having fun. you drink too much and then you spend an hour sobering yourself up before you home. you kiss your friends goodbye and toss the numbers you had pocketed in the trash outside your apartment. you head upstairs, taking a deep breath to try an avoid letting yourself think about the silence.

about clark. 

and, when you get to your door, fumbling for your keys— you notice a piece of neatly-folded card stock taped below your peephole, your name encircled by a heart on the front of it. 

carefully, you take it down, removing the tape with little tear and opening the letter, recognizing the handwriting before you can even read a word. 

to start this, you were right. i shouldn’t have lied, i shouldn’t have pretended i wasn’t lying, i shouldn’t have spoken to you under false pretenses. the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you, and for that, i am so sorry. 

i hope, for you, this past week hasn’t been as miserable as it has been for me. i hoped to have seen you at the planet, or bump into you on the corner, or find some way to see you and try and redeem myself— but i couldn’t wait any longer to explain.

yes, i am superman. i was born on the planet krypton, sent here as an infant, and adopted by my parents, john and martha kent. i have a cousin who too, is from krypton, but remembers much more than me about home, and i take care of her superpowered dog, krypto, in a secret fortress in the arctic. i can fly, i can move incredibly fast, i have inhuman strength, x-ray vision, laser vision from my eyes and breath that can freeze nearly anything, all given to me by the earth’s yellow sun. 

i came to you as superman at first by accident. the night i saved you from the mugger, before our first date. i had spent the days leading up to our date spiraling. you, who are so perfect, so beautiful, and so kind, were going out with me, and i was terrified to mess it up. i realized how easy it was for me to talk to you as superman, when it was difficult for clark kent. the times i saved you, i shouldn’t have lingered. the times i spoke to you as him, i shouldn’t have been there. at first, it had been a crutch, but by the last time, it had become a compulsion. 

i had to see you. to make sure that you were safe, and warm, and happy. i realize now that i violated you in a way i cannot make up for. for this and for everything else, i am truly sorry. while my betrayal is inexcusable, know that i did it because i love you. this summer has been the best of my life, i have never met someone as compassionate, hilarious, talented, and beautiful as you, i have never wanted to be around someone more than you, i have never had someone plague my thoughts and dreams the way you do. you have quickly become my everything, my reason for waking up, for helping people, for pushing through every day.

you asked me, the day of our fight, to make my request for you to be my girlfriend the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen. and i promised you that i would. 

and while i have lied to you, hidden things from you, and hurt you, i have never broken a promise. 

open the door, please. 

you look up from the note, wiping away a river of tears that had just poured out of you. carefully, your hands wrap around the doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. 

and there he is. 

standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a thousand rose petals, holding a giant bouquet with an iron grip. candles litter the foyer, giving his face an ethereal glow in the low light. his glasses are gone. his curls are out. he’s someone between clark kent and superman now, someone who you desperately want to know. 

he clears his throat, his gaze holding yours hostage with those infinity blue eyes captivating you so wholly. 

“i promise never to hurt you again. never to lie to you, or hide things from you, or betray your trust— if you’ll let me be yours again.” he says, smiling down at you like he’s on the verge of tears. “will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, as you approach taking in the entire set up slowly, trying not to lose what little composure of yours you still have. 

you take a breath, your eyes locking with his once more. 

“yes.” you say, grinning while tears— happy ones, slip from your eyes. he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, practically throwing the bouquet so he can wrap his arms around you in a giant bear hug. 

he lifts you up and spins you off of the ground, pulling an exciting giggle from your lips. it takes you a second to realize he’s off the ground too, that you’re both mid-air inside your tiny apartment— but you’re too focused on clark to mind. 

he holds you close, leaning in just enough to warm your face with his breath.

“i love you.” he says, quietly, like if saying it any louder would have scared you away. 

“i love you too.” you say, smiling. 

he grins, leaning into you and crashing against you with a kiss so fervent it nearly topples you over— so passionate it makes your chest explode with warmth. 

and suddenly, just for a moment, just for now— everything is okay again. and you know that as long as you have clark at your side, it always will be. 

——

there are two quick knocks on the door, followed by a rasp “honey? you okay?”

you tremble, sat with your back against the door, bunched up in your wedding dress, trying to force the tears to stop falling to avoid messing up your ridiculously expensive bridal makeup. ten minutes ago the pressure got to you, and five minutes ago you sent your entire party— bridesmaids, stylists, even your mom —out the door so you could properly break down. 

“yeah.” you say, sniffling. your voice shakes so much that the lie isn’t even half-convincing. clark can see right through you anyways (literally), so it’s not like you were really trying to lie. you just didn’t want him all concerned. it’s his wedding day too, you want it to be the happiest day of his life, even if your own experience is a train wreck. 

you can practically hear his frown. “kara told me what happened.” he says, softly. 

oh. yeah. your bridezilla breakdown. not one of your best moments. you aren’t exactly proud of screaming at your mom to stop messing with your hair, or your aunt for commenting on the fit of your dress, or your bridesmaids for giving you all sorts of unsolicited advice. you yelled, threw a fit, and pushed everyone out of the room so you could sob mascara into your veil. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gently, and you let out a weak laugh. 

“the groom can’t see the bride before the wedding, remember?” you say. he groans, sliding down against the door, his back to you. 

“that’s a silly rule.” he says, and you smile. you love how much he makes you smile. 

“i don’t need any more bad luck.” you wince. “did kara tell you about my bitch fit?” 

you hear him snort a little bit through the door. “she used nicer words.” he says, pausing. “wanna talk about it?”

god yes. it’s all you want to talk about. but you don’t want to bring clark down any further than you already have. you want him to have the perfect wedding, even if you are decidedly not. 

“it’s fine. i just needed a minute.” you say, your voice shaking again— enough to where you know clark won’t drop it now. you bury your head in your dress, taking a deep breath. 

“c’mon. i’m your husband in like, ten minutes. you can talk to me.” he says. his voice is so sweet and syrupy— you’re not sure how you can refuse him. 

you lean up, back against the door, shutting your eyes so tight it hurts. the words spill out of you so fast you don’t even think about them before they do. “i wanna be married to you so bad. but god— i know we spent so much on this and we spent so much time planning it but… i just want this over with. my dress is so goddamn tight and nobody can leave me alone for half a second without telling me something i need to be doing or something i’m doing wrong. and i just— it all got to be too much. and now my mom is probably gonna storm out ‘cause i yelled at her and then my dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, and i just ruined everything for no good reason.” 

the end of your rant is met with a beat of silence. a terrifying, overwhelming, moment where you think you might have finally scared off clark. 

of course, you didn’t. you couldn’t. “hey, honey— nothing’s ruined. look, don’t think about what your mom wants, or what your bridesmaids want, or even what i want. what’s gonna make you happy? ‘cause i could fly you off to a courthouse right now and ditch the party. all i want is to married to you— you could be in your pajamas for all i care and you would never have looked more beautiful. i just— darn it, i want you to be happy.”

you’re crying again, but this time you’re smiling, because god, your fiancé is just so sweet it makes your knees weak. 

“what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks again, his voice so soft and tender it makes you turn to putty. 

you sniffle again, wiping your tears with your fingers while trying not to further destroy your $120 makeup. “i really want a hug.” you mumble, staring down at your mascara-stained hands. 

“on it.” he says, and you hear him stand up and try for the door— which is still very much locked. 

you giggle a bit, standing up with him “i can’t let you in, though. the rule?” 

he scoffs. “that rule is just plain— gosh, it’s just ridiculous. let me in, please, or I’m gonna break this door down.” 

you laugh— god, it feels so good to laugh. you haven’t seen him all day and it felt like you were drowning. 

you pause, giving in and slowly turning the lock, but you don’t quite open the door yet. 

“promise me you’ll keep your eyes shut?” you ask, knowing how silly it sounds. god help you, you’re a bit superstitious. 

“scouts honor.” he confirms, and you slowly open the door, peeking out to see clark, who looks breathtakingly stunning, with his tie wrapped around his eyes like a blindfold. 

you laugh, smiling so wide the muscles in your mouth start to get sore. 

“there she is.” he says, reaching out blindly for you, his hands— impossibly warm, feeling around for your shoulders. “you feel very beautiful.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and burying yourself against him, your head in his chest. his arms circle your body and he squeezes you so tight you might faint— exactly the kind of hug you needed. 

you do your best not to let yourself cry, but clark has a way of forcing the tension out of you, one way or another. one hand presses into the small of your back, the other strokes your hair softly. little praises and comforts slip from his lips like sugar, while you sob into him.

“i love you so much.” he whispers, giving you another squeeze.

“i love you too.” you cry, holding him so tightly your arms ache. “i am so excited to be married to you— this is not cold feet i promise.”

he laughs, nodding against you. “i know, honey, i know.” he says, and god, he knows just how to sooth every one of your worries away. 

finally, you pull away, looking up at him. his glasses are tucked into his pocket, his hair is slicked back with one little curl popped out against his forehead. his suit is a deep black, with a navy blue tie (still covering his eyes) and a matching pocket square that makes him look irresistible. 

“you look really nice.” you say, sniffling, but you can’t wipe the smile off of your face. 

he shrugs. “i’m sure it’s nothing compared to you.” and he says it like you aren’t already a mess and you’re not blushing like, well, a bride. 

you grab the edge of his sleeve and use it to wipe away your tears. his thumb brushes against your cheek, falling to your bicep when you let his sleeve go.

“so, what’s the plan, gorgeous?” he asks, grinning down at you with that five-star smile that gets you every time. “are we sneaking out and going downtown?”

you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “no, no we’re doing this.” you say, leaning into his touch. “but if you, say, asked one of your superhero friends to slip a roach down my mom’s dress, i think i’d skip down the aisle.” 

he laughs, squeezing your arm and pulling away. “i’ll see what i can do.” 

you smile, memorizing how dorky he looks with that tie around his eyes and his cute open mouth smile. 

“see you on the other side?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“see you on the other side.” he confirms, stepping back with just enough uncertainty to let you know that he’s not using any x-ray vision. 

you watch him through the crack in the door until he’s gone, smiling so wide you might be stuck that way. 

half an hour later the music starts, your dad takes your hand, and you’re walking down the aisle like nothing ever went wrong.

first you eye the crowd, looking over the array of friends, family, and superheroes that showed up. thank goodness clark is a reporter and not, say, an office worker, because you don’t know how else you could explain the random celebrities like bruce wayne and oliver queen who are sat in the audience. 

then you look at your feet, which, are hidden beneath the dress, but you want to make sure you don’t stumble and embarrass yourself with a hundred pairs of eyes on you. 

finally, you look up at clark, who’s staring at you in the sort of way that makes you feel faint. like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. like you’re about to make his knees buckle. like he’s in pure awe. he doesn’t even look nervous— a trait which you envy, because you’re an absolute mess right now. he just looks captivated.

you make up to the alter, looking up at him with a healthy mix of nerves and excitement. he’s looking down at you like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. 

“i love you.” he mouths, grinning at you.

“i love you more.” you mouth back, and he shakes his head with glee.

“—you may now share your vows.” the officiant says, looking to clark.

he smiles, looking down at his feet, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“for… for a long time i didn’t know what to write. i had about six… thousand drafts, but i don’t think there’s any way i can put into words how much i love you. how much i depend on you, how much of my happiness is thanks to you. i have so much purpose now. because if i can make you happy— if i can make you safe, if i can make you feel loved and supported and half as good as you make me feel every day by just being you… i’ll have accomplished more than i’ve ever dreamed of. i love you, honey, so much it makes my chest hurt. and i am the luckiest man in the world to be the man who gets to marry you— my soulmate.” he looks back up at you with stars in his eyes— your spaceman.

there’s like, five tears sliding down your cheeks by the end of that speech. you literally cannot stop smiling. you expected a lot— his job is writing for chrissakes— but wow.

wow.

“i, uh, wow. i don’t think i can top that.” you say, and a gentle laugh echoes from the crowd. you take a deep breath. “clark, i— i spent a lifetime thinking i’d never find someone like you. you’re, literally my knight in shining armor. when we met, and you walked me to perry’s office when i was so, horribly lost, i remember thinking how much i wanted this guy to ask me out. and then i found your number in my files, and i didn’t even realize how lucky i was. clark— my life has become so much better because you’re in it. having you, my rock, my best friend, my soulmate— i don’t have to dream any more. every morning with you is one come true. you are the incredibly dorky, adorable, and unfathomably amazing love of my life, and marrying you is the best thing i will ever do. i’ve never been certain of anything, but for this i have no doubt: i love you, clark kent, and i will love you no matter what life throws at us— i know that despite any tragedy or circumstance, i am yours, always and forever.”

you smile up at clark, droplets of water falling further down your face while a single tear drops from his eye. he smiles at you like you’re all he could ever want. you are.

“by the power vested in me by the state, i now pronounce you mr. and mrs. clark kent, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.”

clark grins at you and leans in, his lips pressing gently against yours, his hands pulling you in by your sides. the music plays, the church erupts in applause, and your husband knocks the breath out of you and for one moment, just one, everything is completely perfect.

this is so easily the longest fic i've ever written.... i am very proud of her though i very much hope you all enjoy!!

[articl3s]

it would be kinda cool if a show deliberately inverted this somehow, like. okay premise. season one is a show with a character like this, then first episode of season two looks like a future time skip but it's not actually real and some kind of illusion, and the thing that tips off the main character that this is Not Real is that the rebel character becomes a cop. feel like there are other interesting ways to invert this trope (character is not really a cop and is like a mole or something, character has lost their sense of self in someway and quits upon relearning it [not as sure about this one], etc.) but i think the illusion one would probably be coolest

cartoons were wacky for making us believe this trope

[shiny-jr]

into heartslabyul

– Summary: Intro of the characters from Heartslabyul, nation of the Pyro Archon and God of Law.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader. 

– Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Riddle Rosehearts.

– Note: Just a small post I thought might pique more interest into the Empyrean AU.

Count yourself blessed that you have earned the favor of the archons and theirs. Or perhaps it's not much of a blessing as it seems. These are entities that have lived longer than any mortal and perhaps they don’t quite understand love in the same way a human would. Are you sure you can handle it?

ACE TRAPPOLA 

This is one of the closest instances you’ll get to a human among your new admirers. The redhead claims he’s mostly human, with one of his parents being half firefox. However, there is something about him that doesn’t feel quite human. Although if you ask, he only teases you with a knowing smirk, asking if you doubt him so easily. He’s wounded that you don’t believe him. 

Upon meeting the pyro user, you’ve somehow charmed the thief. He jokes you stole his heart, as corny as that is. Perhaps that’s a fair exchange, seeing as he robbed you blind the first time you met. 

Don’t worry though, he doesn’t steal much these days, at least not from you. What he will take are fleeting glances and stolen kisses, if you’ll let him. Ace likes to play it off as a joke, like his affection towards you is nothing but a tool to fluster you and get you to lower your guard. It isn’t a joke anymore. 

“What is wrong with you? Seriously, you’re like a magnet for trouble. I turn around for a second and suddenly you’re in trouble again, it happens every time! If you keep going at this rate, I’m going to start thinking you’re doing it for my attention. What do you mean you wish? Ah, wait, I get it now–– you want me to save you. Fine, since you need me so badly, I’ll lend you a hand.”

DEUCE SPADE 

The only other instance you have of someone mostly human among your admirers. This one says his mother was half fae and his father was full human. However, like the thief, he doesn’t act very mortal-like. He tries so hard to reassure you that he’s very much a mortal, but isn’t that something someone who’s not a mortal would say? It’s easy to tell when he’s lying. 

Upon meeting the pyro user, you’ve managed to disarm the brawler. He tries to protect you in what way he can, teaching you how to defend yourself. He still worries and would prefer if you stuck close to him. 

From the moment he learned of you and what you did, he’s tried to look out for you. Not just anyone can get an infamous fighter like him to basically try and serve as your bodyguard. No, it’s not overkill. Don’t you know how dangerous this world is? Deuce just doesn’t want to see you hurt, that’s all! 

“You shouldn’t run off like that, that’s how you wound up in trouble. Let me take the lead, okay? That way if there’s danger, I’ll take the hit for it. I’ll be fine, I can handle it, really. You’re still worried? What? I’m not being sweet…! I’m just being, uh, rational! Right, rational. Just walk next to me then. If anything comes up, I’ll take care of it. You’re still learning, so depend on me.”

CATER DIAMOND 

So you’ve met your first entity, a rare firefox from Pomefiore. This one is definitely not human, not with those ears that blended into his orange hair. The tail is there, he just hides it with a spell. Usually, firefoxes aren’t too fond of letting people touch, but, he’ll show you and let you touch if you have a chat with him. That’s not such a bad trade, is it? 

Upon meeting the cryo user, you catch his eye. The Head of Investigation takes his job seriously despite what others think of him. So, he enjoys poking and prodding at you for any intel, useful or not. 

You don’t seem like a lawbreaker to him, so he’ll let you off the hook for now. The world is always changing, new things happen all the time, so he’ll come and check in on you every chance he gets! Cater tells himself it's for any leads he can use, but he’s too nervous to admit to himself that may not be the case anymore.

“You still think I’m using you for info, hm? Haha, well, I swear that’s not the case anymore. Do you really think I would’ve told you so much about myself if I still considered this thing between us purely professional? Of course not! This isn’t just a pure transactional thing anymore, you know. Or, well, if you want, I wouldn’t mind swapping more personal secrets, what say you?”

TREY CLOVER 

You’ve found an elf, although he doesn’t say what kind. It is obvious he isn’t mortal with those pointed ears by his green hair and kind old wise eyes behind a pair of glasses. Yes, he’s been around for a while, more than a few centuries. If you ask, he might just recount a few tales. He doesn’t mind, as you seem to enjoy his stories for whatever reason. 

Upon meeting the pyro user, you manage to make the Marquis quite fond of you. He’ll put you at ease with warm fire magic, letting you nap as he accomplishes his duties. Really, he can’t help but spoil you a bit.

Part of you reminds him of a different time when things were tranquil. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much, and has this desire to shield you from anything bad. He’s seen a lot, seen people pass and go, but he doesn’t want to see you change or leave. If he can, Trey will keep things the way they are. 

“You think it’s weird for someone like me to be baking for the King? Is it that strange? You weren’t complaining when you were sneaking in bites. Yes, I saw you. I didn’t say anything because it looked like you were enjoying yourself. Who am I to ruin that? Besides, it’s not an issue. I made more than enough for you too. Here, if you’re so eager, try this one I made.”

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

This is the first archon you meet. You’ve heard many terrible tales of him like his strange laws with cruel punishments or how he brutally dealt with his enemies to keep law and order. Yet he doesn’t quite fit the image of a tyrant in your mind. He’s far too adorable for that. And it seems as if the King of Heartslabyul has found you to be good company.

Upon meeting the pyro user, you surprise the God of Law. You should know that he has respect for those that know and obey his laws, so he’s quite pleased by your obedience. Finally, a subject who is not a lawbreaker! 

You are a pleasant change of pace from the lawbreakers he has to deal with day in and day out. Instead of a beheading or a brand, you are bestowed with a smile and words of praise. You are an exemplary figure, Riddle comes to adore you. Right, he’s made up his mind! You shall stay here, in his palace with him, and prove to everyone that it is not so hard to obey the law! 

“You seem curious about the procession ongoing at the Monastery of the Divine Flame. Those are merely my subjects making their offerings. You may become my disciple as well. It can be done right now, in fact, all you need is to offer me something. It can be a physical object, but I would prefer to accept and be completely content with a vow proclaiming your undying loyalty.”

[rotagnus]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᭄᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎who you are, in this person's eyes.

a pick-a-pile about how this person has decorated you within their imagination. the good, the bad; the accurate, the inaccurate.

p1.

signs: black cat. vultures. 333. purple clothing. meditation. canaries. frutiger aero. childhood nostalgia. anything to do with the number 6. eating food late at night. acceptance of life.

they definitely think that you went through something tragic. you ever look at a person and you're like "yeahhh they got that empty gaze in their eyes" or you see some sadness within their face that's perpetually there? that's what they see you as. to them you're like a martyr, and they may not see you as someone who's positive, and if you are - to them, that's a facade. i don't think many of you interacted with this person deeply, and majority of what they know about you are what people around you have spoken about. they may dream about you and they themselves may be spiritually attuned, so if you have gone through something, then they're simply very intuitive as a person. they're not an obsessive type of person, because they have their own shit to go through; in fact, they may have some sympathy to you because pain recognizes pain. they think that you wallow in your grief, however, they also see you as a go-getter, building everything from nothing. an alchemist of sorts, because you seem to attract people very easily. they can also tell that there's more depth to you than you let on, but they're generally hesitant about you as a person; they're not usually distrusting, but with you - you don't show what you feel very easily, and they can see you change faces between interactions. they understand that there's a lot more to you than you like to let on, which is why they're hesitant. they may be envious (not in a toxic way, but the normal way, if you understand) of you but they don't understand how hard you built yourself up. a certain quality they may be jealous of is your success, or they may be proud of you regarding something. the energy is unclear and i don't know if it's positive or negative, but they definitely don't have a deep-rooted envy towards you.

p2.

signs: birds. elevated areas. insects. silverfish. difference in eating patterns. unicorns. elegance. diamonds. tanks. brutality. dancing. 27, 26, 41, 14, 9.

they think you're a very sleek individual. you may appear to be having features that go well together; either very sharp features, or very soft features, y'know what i mean? you look very put together. they may think that you have a good demeanor and similarly to pile 1, that you have worked very hard for what you got. they see you as someone who's a very interesting person; perhaps you're a foreigner or you have different qualities to them, because they perceive you as rather unique, in their eyes. they think you have a lot of passion for something. maybe a hobby, maybe politics. they also think you're lucky. some may daydream about you; you're a very charming individual to them, even though they most likely don't know a lot about you. they also think you have your hands full; either that your life is fulfilling, or that you're always busy, hustling and bustling. they also see you as smart and innovative, with offers to give. some can perceive you as vengeful and someone who keeps grief tucked in between their teeth at all times. there's this feeling they have about you, where they see through you, and see the parts of you that you really hate. they're a very perceptive person and they see right through you, so i would not recommend trying to lie or play out a fake persona around them. be honest. that's the quickest way to get this person's attention, don't try to pretend you're special. ANYWAYS. they think that you win easily, or that you possess strength. some may go to the gym, or are in a position of power at a job or are simply the eldest child or even a parent. you guys exude strength, but they also wanna let you break down, a little bit, if they've read that much into you. they know that people can't be strong all the time, and it's a little bit confusing how you haven't crumbled. resilient, yes. balancing emotions, yes. but everybody needs a break.

p3.

signs: aquariums. bladerunner 2077. dc comics. halloween time. sugar fixations. rice. nightgowns. white blossoms. appointment coming up. leaps of faith. wind. monsoons.

ahaha they think you're a very valuable person. not in a specific way, other than that you exude such a strong energy of stability. they may think/assume that people are attracted to you very easily, or that your life is relatively easy. however, they do think that this is deserved; they see your morals and your justice, and they understand that you deserve the greatness that you reap day by day. many of them think that you do this with ease; the way that you move may be fluid and soft, and you guys may have a physically softer appearance, with features that aren't extremely sharp. a lot of you have a lot of feminine qualities, not necessarily physically, but you may be motherly or have it balanced/more of those aspects than the divine masculine. however, you guys also know when to speak up, and you don't let your desire to be a good person break your right to talk about things that upset you. they like how you have strong boundaries, but that's also something intimidating for them because for a lot of their life they didn't have that. they may have gone through shit through their childhood and their parents didn't really raise them the way yours did, which can mean many different things depending on who's reading this right now. they may come off as a troublemaker/rebel and they have the impression that you're a balanced person, even if you're not. they also think that you hold way more power than you do (no offense) to the point of idealization (keep in mind this isn't necessarily platonic or romantic). you are this great emblem in their eyes, because you curate your presentation very easily. you may post a lot on social media and they're very influenced by whatever you put on your page, y'know? they may be a bit chronically online.

[wwinterwitch]

all over you – johnny storm x fem!reader

summary: there's this particular thought that's been on your mind lately, but there's just no way that you can say it out loud (read part one and part two first!!) pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader word count: 4.7k tags: tons of fluff of course, what a cute couple this is, meeting the fam!! (as vague as writing a fake family can get so it'd be more reader insert but i did include mom, dad and two younger siblings), one mention of reader being lifted off the ground, love confession omg it's finally happening folks, some minor angst ig?, tried to add some plot to all the fluff basically note: i'm highly considering making another part if i find enough inspo so please let me know if you'd be interested in that...also might be time to add a little smut to the mix??? i feel like i want to go there but then i stop myself lmao idk we'll see how it goes! thank you sooo much for all the love on this series, it really makes me so so happy you have no idea <3

a comment and/or reblog is always appreciated!

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

Diploma in hand, you scan the crowd in search of any familiar face. The atmosphere is surrounded with joy, excitement and a sense of accomplishment as fellow graduates get congratulated by their family and friends. 

This day officially marks the start of a new chapter in your life.

Your mom spots you first, immediately pointing at you as all your family walk towards you. “Congratulations, honey!” she says excitedly, pulling you in for a tight hug, barely able to hold back her tears. “We’re so proud of you!”

Your dad is the next one to hug you, followed by your two younger siblings. The youngest is only four, getting immediately distracted by your mortarboard, stretching her tiny hands up as if there was any possible way she could reach it by herself. Noticing her efforts, you immediately take it off your head before placing it on top of hers, the cap being a little too big for her head.

It doesn’t take long before your mom demands for everyone to pose for a photo. Your dad picks your younger sister from the ground as she quickly puts the mortarboard on and grins wide at the camera. Next to you stands your sixteen year-old brother, awkwardly smiling because he doesn’t enjoy being in photos that much.

“Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself as soon as he realizes who’s approaching all of you.

“Hey, language,” your dad calls him out, but then he realizes too and he immediately understands why his son would blurt that out so suddenly.

Holy shit indeed.

Many other people start acknowledging the presence of The Fantastic Four at the graduation. Sure, everyone in attendance was expecting to perhaps spot Dr. Reed Richards in the crowd since he’s a faculty member, but having all four of them here certainly makes everyone that much excited.

Johnny doesn’t care about the looks or the fact that your family is still frozen just observing all four of them. He only cares about making his way towards you to give you the biggest hug, making you giggle when he’s lifting you up from the ground and spinning you around.

“Here’s my favorite physicist!” he says with a massive smile on his face, finally putting you down before reaching out to fix a strand of your hair. “Now you can’t hold any technicalities against me.”

Your parents are very much aware of your connection to the group of superheroes. They were over the moon when you told them none other than Reed Richards will be helping you on your final project, but they were a bit confused when you finally told them about your relationship with Johnny.

Of course you had to say something because they’d have to meet him at your graduation anyway, so they might as well be aware of the situation beforehand. And it’s not like they didn’t like the fact that you were with him, but of course the timing was a bit off. To be working with your professor and then immediately starting to date his brother-in-law…perhaps in their position you’d also be wondering how that whole thing developed.

You get it. They’re just worried about how that dynamic might look like. You immediately tried to reassure them that everything’s fine and they completely trusted your judgement, so they dropped their concerns…slightly. You were fully aware that they’d still want to get to meet all of them and see that dynamic for themselves before making a definite decision on where they stand.

They not only want to see said dynamic, but they also want to make sure they approve of your new boyfriend. Yes, they love The Fantastic Four as any other regular civilian, but they have to put that aside and see if Johnny Storm is a good candidate for their daughter or not.

“Dr. Richards, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” you hear your dad say politely, immediately distracting you from Johnny as you watch your dad shaking hands with him. 

“Please, the pleasure’s all mine.” 

And so the introductions begin. Internally, you’re freaking out about the idea of your family meeting Johnny’s family, but you see all of them interact and so far you see nothing alarming. Your brother is fanboying over Ben just as you had predicted (he has always been his favorite of the group) and your little sister is giggling at something Sue and Reed just told her.

Then it’s time for the worst interaction. Or best. Depends on how you see it.

Johnny is shaking your dad’s hand and accepting the brief hug your mom gives him before placing a hand on your back. You can tell he’s nervous, almost seeking out your touch for silent comfort. It’s the cutest thing ever.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you,” he starts, offering them a polite smile. You’ve never seen him this…reserved. 

“We were pretty excited too,” your mom replies, leaning closer almost conspiratorially. “She told us a lot about you.”

“Mom!”

“You know, you're the first boyfriend she has ever introduced to the family,” she continues. Like she didn't hear your warning at all. It’s like she enjoys embarrassing you.

Johnny grins as he looks back at you briefly. “Really?”

“Mom,” you insist.

“Yes, really. You know how she is…doesn't like talking about her feelings and all that. But she talks about you, so you might be very special.”

“Alright, that's enough. Too much information,” you interrupt, earning a soft chuckle from her and Johnny. Your mom has always been too good at oversharing. That's definitely something you didn't get from her.

You're a lot more like your dad. He's been quiet the entire interaction, simply being there. It's usually like this with them. Your mom likes being the center of attention and your dad prefers to remain as unseen as possible. It's still a mystery to you how they fell in love. Perhaps there's some truth behind all that ‘opposites attract’ logic.

Thankfully, your sister comes to your rescue when she starts yanking your mom's hand. “Mommy, mommy! The superhero lady said she likes my dress!”

“That's very nice of her to say! Did you say thank you?”

Your sister nods, her eyes immediately focusing on Johnny. “You're the one who turns into fire!”

“That’s right,” he replies to her, kneeling to be closer to her height. The gentle tone of his voice when he interacts with her brings a smile to your face. Is it really necessary to be so goddamn cute all the time? “Can I get a high-five?”

He puts his hand up, your sister immediately accepting the high-five with obvious excitement. “Does it hurt when you’re in flames?” she asks almost immediately, genuinely curious to find out the answer.

“Thankfully it doesn't! Could you imagine if it did?” 

“You'd probably be in pain all day,” she offers, slightly tilting her head to the side. “If it doesn't hurt, then I think you're the coolest superhero because you can burn things and you can also fly. I would like to do that.”

Johnny can't help but let out a little laugh, mesmerized by how cute she is. “You really think I’m the coolest? That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, thank you so much.”

She walks closer to him, giving Johnny a hug he wasn't necessarily expecting, but immediately returned. You feel like your heart might explode any second now. It’s really not necessary to be so goddamn cute all the time.

“Mommy, can I get a picture with him?”

Your mom gives Johnny a look, as if silently checking if he wouldn't mind taking a photo. He doesn't hesitate one bit, carrying your sister in his arms before the two of them smile for the camera. 

Meanwhile, you feel the need to check on your dad. “So?” you ask simply, eyeing him curiously. If Johnny thinks you like to be all cryptic all the time, then he’ll have quite the journey trying to figure out your dad.

There's a brief silence as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, almost like he wants to create some suspense before replying. “I really like him.”

“Oh, you really like him,” you repeat with a playful smile. “Because he can burn things and fly?”

He laughs briefly at your joke. “The eyes,” he says, incredibly casual. You’re almost about to ask what the hell is that supposed to mean before he continues. “I noticed his eyes.”

You don’t dare to say anything else after that, knowing exactly what he’s hinting at. You don’t even want to look back at your dad anymore because he might’ve managed to make you feel even more embarrassed than your mom. 

All you can do is stand there, wondering how you’re going to forget the fact that your dad just told you that he instantly liked Johnny because of the way he looks at you.

“You should take a picture together too,” you hear your mom say, making you snap back to reality as she motions for you to join Johnny for a photo.

He puts your little sister back on the ground before affectionately pinching the girl’s cheek, making her giggle. Your dad steps in, grabbing her hand to guide her out of frame.

“How am I doing?” Johnny asks when you're by his side, immediately putting a hand around your waist. 

“I think you know the answer.”

Neither of you say anything else, posing for the camera together. You can't help but feel a little self-conscious with both of your families there watching you take photos together– not to mention there’s also a bunch of other people that can't seem to look away from The Fantastic Four.

“You guys look so cute together,” your mom smiles, taking a look at the photos she just took.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As much as you would've liked them to stay, your family had to get back on the road to head back home. Your sister is almost passed out in your dad’s arms and your mom gets extremely nervous driving on highways at night.

“We’d love to have you over next time you're in New York,” Sue says to both of your parents. The idea of them planning visits brings you an indescribable feeling of joy. It’s only further proof that everyone got along just fine today.

“That’d be so cool!” your brother exclaims from the car, excitement evident in his face at the mere thought of stepping foot inside the Baxter Building.

“That’s too kind of you, thank you,” your dad replies as he shakes Reed’s hand. “Hopefully we can come back soon enough.”

“Or you can always visit us,” your mom adds with obvious excitement. 

“Heard that?” you ask, walking closer to the car where your brother is sitting. “You can show them all the Fantastic Four posters you have.”

Your brother gets immediately embarrassed by that. “I took those down years ago!”

“We both know you still have them stored in your closet!”

Your brother doesn't say anything else after that, which immediately makes you laugh. “Hey, don’t mind her, kid. I bet those posters are very cool,” Ben chimes in shortly after.

That comment cheers him up almost instantly. “Would you sign them?” he asks, your mom immediately giving him a warning look.

But Ben doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he seems to genuinely like your brother’s enthusiasm. “I’d be honored!"

They all finish saying their goodbye's before your parents finally get in their car and drive off. It's always sad when you have to wave them goodbye, but at least this time you have a second family here in New York City that makes you feel less alone when they're gone.

After officially moving out of your college dorm, you were able to rent your very first apartment. It's nothing fancy by any means, but you were able to achieve it with your savings and a little help from your parents.

Your plan has always been moving permanently to New York City, and even when you don't exactly have a solid plan, at least you’re in the place you want to be– a small apartment, a job in retail that has nothing to do with particle physics, but in New York City. It’s a start. Soon enough you'll figure it out.

“They were lovely,” Sue comments, linking her arm with yours as all of you begin walking to their car. “I was so excited to meet them.”

“I’m glad you all got along.”

“Was Johnny approved?” 

“Here we go,” Johnny mutters right after Ben’s question, lightly shaking his head.

“What? I can’t ask questions now?”

“I was actually wondering that myself,” Reed chimes in, which makes Johnny instantly roll his eyes.

“Yeah, of course you are.”

“Someone’s a little defensive today!” Ben jokes, exchanging a complicit look with Reed while Sue just quietly observes their exchange, visibly amused.

“He was very much approved,” you decide to intervene, finally answering the question.

“Ah, that’s good! You should've seen him before we got here today,” Ben starts, giving his friend a light pat on his back. “He was a mess. I thought he was going to have a heart attack at any moment.”

“I think you're overreacting,” Johnny argues..

“Am I overreacting?” he immediately asks Sue and Reed. They don't say anything out loud, but their faces say enough. “Thank you.”

“It's nice to see which side you are on.”

Sue laughs after her brother’s comment. “I didn't say anything!”

“You don't have to if you make that face.”

“Nonesense! I didn't say anything. I’m on no one's side.”

“I am on Ben's side,” Reed immediately clarifies. 

“Yes, I know. You’re always on his side,” Johnny replies, unamused. “I don't want you in my team anyway, so I actually don't mind.”

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like you're hurt that he's not in your team.” It seems like there's nothing Ben enjoys more than pissing Johnny off.

“I’m hurt my sister is not on my team.”

“We're all on the same team here,” Sue corrects him as you all reach the car.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be on your team, babe,” you chime in, walking closer to him with a smile on your face that he immediately returns.

“And that's all I need.”

He gives you a quick kiss right after, both of you immediately turning to look at Ben after he makes a sound of disgust. “Keep it PG. This is a family event.”

“It’s not like I pushed her against the car to make out with her,” Johnny replies sarcastically. “I thought about it, but I didn't do it.”

“And sometimes you can keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“And perhaps you can start following your own advice.”

“How about you two get in the car already?” Reed suggests, interrupting their chat before they continue bickering

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Johnny has been staying in your apartment a lot. Like, he practically lives here already. Not like you’re complaining though, because you really enjoy his company. 

It’s been a little over a month since you two started officially dating, and that need of being every single second of the day together hasn’t died down one bit. You're pretty sure it'll take you a long time to get over the “honeymoon” phase, as you call it.

“Still no updates?” he asks, watching as you check your email for the hundredth time today. Just then you look away from the screen, eyes focusing on Johnny as he lays down on the couch. 

“No,” you reply with a sigh, obviously disappointed. You applied to a few internships here and there, hopeful that one of them will accept you. Any little amount of experience could be useful to find a more stable job in the future. “Not yet.”

He smiles when he hears your last statement. “That's the spirit! Someone will reach out to you. They can't be stupid enough not to.”

You appreciate his words, but there's that pessimistic part of yourself that wants to take over to remind you that it's very much possible that you won’t get an internship. “I’ll just hope for the best.”

He stands up from the couch, walking towards the kitchen counter where you're sitting. “You'll get an internship,” he insists, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin at the top of your head. “Say it.”

“I don't–”

“No, you have to say it. You need to stay positive, come on!”

“Oh, so you want me to manifest now?” you giggle.

“Is that what it's called?” he asks shortly after. “Whatever it is, it helps. Especially when that little pessimistic head of yours starts acting up.”

You playfully roll your eyes, but you know he's trying to make you feel more confident and positive. “I will get an internship.”

“Yes, you will!”

He gives you enough space to stand up from the stool you were previously seated at, but his hands are soon on your body again as he pulls you close to him.

“Thank you,” you mutter, meaning it tremendously. “I feel like you're always trying to get me to be less negative about…well, everything. I really like that.”

“Hey, I’ll always be here to be insufferably positive for you,” he comments with a small grin. “And to help you manifest.”

His last comment makes you laugh, pulling him in for a hug because fuck is it impossible not be all over him. It's like nothing else matters when he's around. You’re unable to keep your hands to yourself for too long when he’s around.

You've always been good with calculations and analysis, but this right here is something you might never be able to understand or explain in a way that makes sense. It just does not make sense. How could you ever apply any sort of logic to what Johnny makes you feel? It doesn't even feel possible to be this…well, that's as far as you'd allow that thought to go. 

But it's very difficult not to let that thought get into your head, to a point where you feel like you might've actually lost your mind because sometimes is all you can think about. And you feel even more crazy when you catch yourself almost saying that thought out loud.

You think about it when he wakes you up with little kisses all over your face. When he constantly checks on you whenever you two are in public because he knows you don't do well with big crowds. When he's excitedly talking to you about a new collectible car he finished building. When he waits for you in bed with one of your makeup headbands on so you could do his skincare before going to sleep. When he thinks he got away with eating almost an entire box of cereal behind your back before dinner. Even when you hear his little snores at night when he's sleeping next to you.

It's impossible not to think about how incredibly in love you are with Johnny, or how terrifying that feeling is because you never imagined that you'd ever feel this way towards anyone. Ever. 

How does a feeling like this even exist?!

“Can I manifest that we go to bed earlier tonight?”

Johnny laughs this time, the sound of his laughter somehow makes you feel a trillion times more happy. He moves back from the hug, giving you a quick kiss before letting you go entirely. “I think it's about to come true.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

There's nothing like laying in bed with Johnny, the room only illuminated by the moonlight that shines through the window. And there's definitely nothing like having him on top of you, his warm hands underneath your shirt and his lips kissing your neck.

“You know, we could definitely go to bed early more often.”

“I completely agree,” he whispers against your skin, making you almost shiver as his hands move higher up your sides. “You're so pretty…”

He leaves a trace of kisses from your neck to your jaw and then finally he meets your mouth. As silly as it might sound given who Johnny is, everything he does feels addictively fiery. He shows affection to your body with such passionate dedication, it always leaves you begging for more.

From the way his fingers dig onto your skin just enough to the way his mouth devours yours, it's like he's been starving his entire life for you. Like he couldn't possibly get enough, eager to discover more of you and find all the ways he can prove to you just how much he enjoys the privilege that it is to touch you.

Breaking the kiss, he moves a hand up to your face, tracing your skin with his thumb as he just holds you. His eyes scan over your features, silently admiring you.

There's something way too intimate about the way he looks at you, immediately making you feel nervous. “Don't look at me like that,” you whisper sheepishly.

“Like what?” he whispers back, failing to hold back a smirk.

“Like that,” you insist, attempting to roll your head to the side so you could look away, but he immediately grabs your chin to stop it.

“You're so beautiful,” he says not so long after.

You giggle, that dangerous thought from earlier creeping right into your head. You almost have to warn yourself not to say it out loud. “Stop.”

“Am I making you nervous?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

Attempting to look away for a second time, he tightens the grip on your chin just enough. His eyes say it all. A silent authority in them that tells you to stay still. 

“Maybe.”

“I’m just admiring how gorgeous my girlfriend is.”

“Well, then stop.”

“Why? It's not a crime.”

“It should be. You're dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he acts like your comment offends him. “C’mon, I’m a good boy, you have nothing to fear.”

You try to ignore the effect those words have on you as you shake your head. “No, you're not. You’re a public menace.”

He laughs at your last comment, which inevitably makes you laugh too. Your moment of peace doesn't last too long though, because he’s once again contemplating you in silence with that same intensity in his eyes that almost wants to make you hide under a pillow.

And you're about to comment on it again when you hear him speak. It's a faint whisper, but of course you hear it, even if it's quiet– almost like he didn't register that he was saying it out loud.

“I love you.”

It takes you completely by surprise. Never in a million years would you have expected him to say that right here and right now. It's like Earth stopped spinning from the second those words slip past his lips, echoing inside your head as you try to process them.

The realization that he loves you fills you with an incommensurable amount of joy because you couldn't possibly be more lucky to be loved by someone like Johnny. You also feel an insane amount of peace knowing the feeling is very much mutual.

“It's…you don't have to say anything back, by the way,” he eventually speaks, perhaps becoming a bit scared of the fact that you just went completely silent after that confession. “I just–”

You don't let him finish. “I love you.”

He looks a little taken aback at first, but just seconds later he's smiling with obvious excitement. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” you reply immediately, almost upset that he would even dare to question it, but then your expression softens as you look up at him. “I love you so much, Johnny, it's almost scary.”

It's like he can't believe you're saying it again, almost in awe by hearing it coming from your lips. “I love you,” he repeats, in the most sincere and soft tone you've ever heard.

He kisses you again, with that characteristic passion that makes your head spin. But there's something even better about this kiss now. Everything you experience with and because of Johnny might start feeling just that much better now that you know he's in love with you.

Unfortunately, you have to break the kiss when you abruptly feel the entire ground beneath you shaking. At first you thought it might've been an earthquake, but when the floor is shaking again and Johnny's bracelet starts beeping, you know there's something else going on.

He immediately stands up, dressing as quickly as possible. All you can do is sit in bed and watch, the floor once again shaking. Things around your room have fallen to the ground and you hear the commotion outside.

Johnny briefly sits down on the bed with you, hurriedly grabbing your hand. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?” he says, trying to bring you some sort of peace in the midst of this uncertain situation.

“Please, be safe.”

He offers you a smile before giving you a quick kiss. “Always,” he says, as casual and playful as usual, right before rushing out of your apartment.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You practically sat in front of the television all night, watching everything unfold. The Mole had apparently had enough of the surface world, assembling an army of his people to invade New York City. It seemed fitting to attack at night, given many of them can’t stand the sunlight for that long.

Luckily, Johnny and the rest were quick to stop his plans before he got the chance to reach the surface so, although the earthquakes created by his underground devices caused some damage to several buildings, the worst was definitely avoided.

Reed held a small press conference after the villain was officially detained, explaining the overall situation and calming the public before leaving all the diplomatic chatter to Sue, who’s a lot more qualified when it comes to negotiating peace with the people of Subterranea. Ben and Johnny just stood behind them in silence.

It was about two in the morning when Johnny finally made it back to your apartment. You immediately pull him in for a tight hug. “Are you okay?” you ask him, evidently worried, which he can’t help but find incredibly adorable.

“I’m much better now that I’m with you,” he replies to lighten the mood, but he can tell you’re still worried. “Seriously, I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

You take a step back to look at him, almost as if just by looking into his eyes you could immediately tell if he’s lying and there’s an injury he’s not telling you about. He offers you a smile, gently rubbing a hand up and down your arm in an attempt to calm you down. 

“And the rest?”

“We’re all good. Sue will have lots of fun tomorrow trying to get some sense into Elder’s head, though.”

“You think he’ll attack the surface again?”

Johnny really doesn’t want you to keep worrying about it, especially if your concerns come from simple speculation. “I mean…he can certainly try. That’s about all he’ll be able to do.”

His comment does help to bring a smile to your face. “Right. Because we just have such great heroes.”

“Yup,” he immediately agrees, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you towards him. You don’t reject his advances one bit, leaning in to kiss him. He makes a sound of contentment against your lips, immediately tightening his grip around you. “I was already missing this,” he mutters.

“Don’t get too clingy on me, Johnny.” It’s only half a warning, because you couldn’t care any less if he decides to keep his arms around you all day.

“Too late,” he grins, pausing briefly before continuing. “I love you.” It’s like he can’t stop saying it now. 

And, of course, you can’t get enough either. “I love you too.”

Johnny gives you one last kiss before stepping away from you, slightly stretching his arms with obvious signs of tiredness. “I think I’ll take a shower before bed,” he announces with a sigh. “You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

“Very tempting, but I’ll pass for now.”

He inevitably pouts at your reply. “You won’t even join me as a little ‘thank you’ for saving the city again?”

His words make you roll your eyes, walking past him to your bedroom. “Maybe if you don’t take too long in the shower, I might give you a thank you or two before sleep.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

previous part

taglist: @00rangeshoney @dearwalker

[elamarth-calmagol]

This was actually one of the first Murderbot show posts I saw. Now that I've read the books, I think that a canonical SecUnit would be ambiguously brown, because that seems to be the most common "configuration" for people in that universe. Like that image of every person on Earth merged together. Of course, the other characters should also mostly be ambiguously brown, so they wouldn't really have an issue with its race. But it would still have a certain impact on us as viewers.

I'm personally glad there wasn't a black actor. I think I would find it deeply wrong to refer to a black person as "it". I also just don't really want to see SecUnit played by a generic tough black guy, though I can't articulate why. Something about stereotypes regarding violence. A tough black woman would be cool, though.

To me, Skarsgard works because he looks like a fake person who came off a factory line. But I realized last time I tried to write this out that other people probably humanize generic white men more, not less, than interesting people of color.

my father just found out about the murderbot casting and sent me like a dozen angry texts about it back to back, and his take is that for thematic reasons murderbot needs to not be a white man because it is constantly misjudged based on its appearance and assumed to have no real inner life or personhood, which is (1) very insightful, (2) not actually a take i have seen elsewhere in The Discourse so far (though i have not gone out of my way to look for The Discourse tbf), and (3) not remotely what i expected a not-very-online 60something cishet white guy not ordinarily given to literary analysis to say about it??? really caught me off-guard and now i'm also annoyed i didn't think of it. like, i, the litcrit queer am over here going "idk i just think it's the least interesting choice you could make" and he's thinking about the subtextual resonances and/or ways of communicating the marginalized status of a secunit to the audience on a visceral level. goddammit.

[sweetshuga]

「 𝑷𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒄𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒔 ۶ৎ 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒕 」

❝𝑾𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒄𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔.❞

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ +𝟏𝟖 ⋆ pure filth ⋆ best friends ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ sleepover gone wrong (or right) ⋆ birthday sex ⋆ threesome (no incest, don’t be weird) ⋆ soft dom!chris ⋆ rough dom!matt ⋆ pet names ⋆ handcuffs ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ use of a vibrator ⋆ big dick!chris ⋆ big dick!matt ⋆ raw raw ah ah ah or whatever lady gaga said ⋆ making out ⋆ missionary ⋆ chain dangle ⋆ manhandling ⋆ backshots ⋆ multiple orgasms ⋆ spanking ⋆ size kink ⋆ bulge kink ⋆ (slight) pain kink ⋆ choking kink ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ praise kink ⋆ face fucking ⋆ facial ⋆ possessive undertones ⋆ cum dumpster type shit (their pull out game is legendary) + more.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟒.𝟑 𝒌

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: I’m so sorry for how long it took me to post this but I couldn’t get in the headspace to write smut no matter how much I tried. Also, I was just gonna write a short fic but it kinda spiralled outta control... And the fact that they (matt, chris and you lol) were so loud even tho there were people home is really unrealistic so pls don’t think too much of it '~'

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝟐: I hope you enjoy it! I had so much fun writing this. This made me remember why I love writing chratt fics ^-^

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑰𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅: English is not my first language!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: It was just supposed to be an innocent night of sleeping over at your best friends’ house the night before their 22nd birthday—but watching their new video and hearing Matt mention the purple fuzzy handcuffs he has in his room made the night turn 360° around. Two men, aching tension and unspoken feelings... Can you handle it?

"So I think, out of context, the most embarrassing and hardest thing to explain would be like purple fuzzy handcuffs. Probably."

Your eyes widened as you paused the video, laughter bubbling in your chest. You turned your head to look at the pair of brothers sitting beside you on Matt’s bed, staring at you with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

You and Nick were supposed to hang out and watch movies but he was dozing off mid-movie so you made him go to bed early, insisting he’d get some rest since tomorrow was his and his brothers’ birthday. And that’s how you ended up in Matt’s room with him and Chris.

"You still have the handcuffs?" You teased, barely holding back your giggles, making Matt groan in embarrassment.

"Yeah... it’s somewhere in the drawer- Wait, what are you doing?" Matt’s brows furrowed in confusion when you stood up and walked towards his dresser, your mind reeling with ideas to tease him.

You rummaged through his drawers, finding clothes and whatnot—until you reached the bottom drawer. You froze upon seeing the contents of it and your head snapped to the side where Matt sat frozen on the bed while Chris looked confused at your reaction.

"What’s up?" Chris asked, blinking.

"Nothing... It’s, uh, nothing." You said, awkwardly, as you quickly took the handcuffs—that sat among quite interesting objects—and closed the drawer before turning around to face the bed with the fluffy purple handcuffs in hand.

You couldn’t believe Matt had all those... props.

Are those really for a YouTube video...? Or is he into-

You cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his room as if that’d help get rid of the inappropriate thoughts you were beginning to have about one of your best friends. It didn’t help that the fluffy handcuffs in your hands were making your palms feel oddly hot, and that heat seemed to spread through your body—going south.

In a futile attempt to hide how flustered you were, you said something you instantly regretted the moment the first word slipped past your lips, but you—stupidly—completed the sentence.

"Why don’t we try it out? I mean, like, handcuff me or something..."

You didn’t really mean anything by what you said. Even though you were more than into the idea of being handcuffed, you didn’t mean to tell them you liked being bound and helpless. It was just something impulsive. Something you should’ve thought twice before saying.

You hoped they would laugh, even if it was awkward laughter. But all they did was look at you, lips parted, like they couldn’t believe you just said that. Their reactions were like oil to fire, making your face feel hotter, your embarrassment reaching new heights. And unable to look at their shocked expressions anymore, your gaze dropped down to the ground.

"Do you wanna be handcuffed?" One of them suddenly asked.

Your head snapped up at the question, blinking. "What?"

"Do you wanna be handcuffed?" Chris repeated himself, grinning, obviously teasing you. "I didn’t know you were freaky like that."

You scowled at him, trying to seem annoyed despite how turned on you were getting. And seeing your death glare, Chris held his hands up in mock surrender, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

"I’m just messing with ya." Chris chuckled, leaning back on his hands as he watched you with amusement sparkling in his eyes. "But if you keep holding those handcuffs like that... I might think otherwise~"

You quickly tossed the handcuffs onto Matt’s bed as if burned and crossed your arms, lips twitching with a reluctant smile when the brothers laughed at how flustered you became. The friday video was completely forgotten, your mind flooded with sexual thoughts instead.

God. If only they knew what they did to you.

Well. They knew. They’ve known for a while now. They just didn’t know how to approach it, or how to tell you they knew about the feelings you oh-so desperately tried to hide, so they let it be. If you weren’t going to say anything, they weren’t going to do anything. All they could do was wait.

An hour passed by slowly, agonizingly so. You were contemplating whether to stay or leave since the atmosphere had gotten heavier than you anticipated after the stupid things you said without a second thought.

If only you hesitated...

With a quiet sigh, you stood up from the bed, making Matt and Chris look up from their phones. "I think I’ll go home now." Your words made the two brunettes look at each other, confused, before looking at you again.

"Why?" They said in unison, confusion evident in their tones.

"It’s still early you know?" Matt said, trying to keep you from going. He knew something was wrong judging by the tone of your voice and he didn’t want you to go home upset.

"Yeah." Chris chimed in, glancing at Matt, exchanging a silent conversation. He looked back at you, searching your face, his own brows settling into a frown when he saw the frown on your face.

"You said you’d stay over and celebrate our birthday with us tomorrow morning..." Chris trailed off, then continued in a more hesitant tone. "Is it about the handcuffs? If so, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’d never judge you if you do have a kink like that-"

"Kid, you are not making it any better." Matt hissed quietly, elbowing his brother, before looking back at you, gauging your reaction.

Chris grimaced when he saw the frown deepen on your face. "Fuck- Hey... I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise." Chris’ voice became significantly softer, genuinely apologetic as he looked at you.

You weren’t really upset, but you weren’t laughing either. You knew his words weren’t said to ridicule you—it just wasn’t appropriate for the mood. If he said it during one of your banter it wouldn’t have grated on your nerves as much as it did now.

"God. Just... It’s not what you said." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You were being truthful. It wasn’t his fault that your mood had soured; it was the build up of worry and anxiety that came with having feelings for your two best friends. And Chris was just unlucky to choose that time to tease you.

Chris exchanged a confused look with Matt, and Matt spoke next, carrying the same tone of confusion in his voice. "So, what’s wrong then? Is it because you like us-" Chris clamped a hand over Matt’s mouth, giving him a stern look that screamed "you weren’t supposed to tell her that".

Your eyes widened, but you quickly mumbled quietly. "I do like you two. As friends." You emphasized the "friends", hoping they’d fall for your half-assed lie. But they just stared at you deadpanned, making your heart stutter.

"What?" You said, a little too quickly and a little too defensively.

They kept looking at you, as if they knew the truth, as if they knew you were spouting bullshit. And under the pressure of their intense gazes, your composure—or what was left of it— cracked.

You looked away, unable to meet their gaze as you confessed the feelings you were so sure you’d never lay bare and vulnerable for them to decide what to do with.

"Fine. I like you. Both. Like, romantically. I love you. Or something..."

You said it all quickly, as if you’d explode if you said it any slower. And you probably would’ve—mentally that is. Your anxiety was sky high as you waited for them to speak. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms. Their silence didn’t help your agitated state at all.

You finally looked back towards the bed when you heard the mattress creak softly, and you came face to face with the two brothers, their expressions overwhelmingly soft. Almost too tender for you to handle.

"Do you wanna try it out?" Matt asked, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist, tugging you slightly towards himself. "Genuinely. Do you wanna use it?"

"We can, uh, help you use it... If you want." Chris offered with a small shrug as he stepped closer. He said it so casually, as if it was something completely normal and something you can offer your friend without the sexual innuendo behind it.

Both of the brothers were now crowding your personal space, making you more and more aware of how good they looked tonight. God, you’d do anything to have them for one night.

You blinked, confused. "Help me... use it?"

"Yeah." One said. "We’ll help you use it." The other added.

"What?" You asked dumbly. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions—even if you somewhat had an idea of what they could mean by that.

What if you were wrong-

"We’ll handcuff you and help you fulfill your fantasies." Chris promised.

The identical brunette boys—now looking more alike due to Chris’ new hairstyle—stepped even closer. Their bodies were almost flush against yours, sandwiching you between themselves.

Oh...?

"Oh... ffu--uuuckk--" You moaned, your head falling back against Matt’s pillow as the gentle buzzing of the small vibrator—against your slick swollen clit—filled his room. You weren’t even sure when he’d taken it out of his drawer but his bed had adult toys scattered all over it.

Those are definitely not for a YouTube video.

Seeing that you were getting inside your head again, Matt clicked his tongue and pressed the vibrator a little more firmly against your poor little nub, causing your hips to jerk upwards.

"You’re thinking about other things, aren’t you, sweetheart?" He tutted, his free hand caressing your inner thigh as if he wasn’t making you tremble with a vibe. "Can’t have your pretty little mind elsewhere when we’re here."

Chris tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheekbone. "God... You’re so pretty." He murmured, letting the back of his fingers caress your cheek, before cupping your chin with his hand, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip.

Chris’ other hand was already palming his dick through his pants, a large bulge straining against it. Fuck, he was big- no, huge. They both were. Identical sized bulges tenting the front of their pants, giving you quite the preview of what you were getting yourself into.

Matt was the first to catch you looking south, and his lips twitched with a smirk. "Haaahh, look at you..." He chuckled, the sound mocking and raspy, his fingers flexing on the end of the vibe. "Already so fucking horny and looking at our dick’s like you wanna devour them... So fucking desperate."

You let out a choked sound—between a gasp and a broken moan—when the vibrator pressed harder against your clit, pulsing relentlessly against the sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch. Your hands clenched into fists above your head, wrists bound together with the fuzzy purple handcuffs.

"All bound and helpless... Fuuck..." Chris groaned softly. His dick throbbed urgently in his sweatpants, demanding release. The veins along it were probably angry and pulsing with how turned on he was. A small spot on the crotch of his pants was beginning to grow damp with precum.

You rolled your hips, trying to get more friction. You were so close. So close. And Matt could tell. He began moving the vibrator in slow circles on your clit, causing your wrists to strain against the handcuffs.

"Matt-- cummin’—ahnn—m’gonna--" Your words caught in your throat as the pressure in your tummy grew more and more taut. Your thighs trembled as you felt the first wave of your release wash over you, strong and relentless, followed by more waves. White-hot pleasure ran through your body like electricity, eliciting soft whimpers from you.

The brothers looked at each other, their eyes holding the same question: "Who’s going first?"

Before they could decide who would fuck you first, Chris was already climbing off the bed, his hand already going to his pants as he smirked smugly at Matt—who just rolled his eyes but didn’t put much of a fight. It was obvious who was going to take you first.

Chris unbuckled his belt slowly, watching as your body shuddered, your back still arched subtly, eyes closed in bliss. He was so hard and so fucking turned on that he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back from pouncing on you, but he knew better than to rush it; he wanted to savor the first taste of you, after all.

Matt stripped as well, and sat on the bed beside your pleasure-wracked body, in just his boxers, his clothes discarded somewhere on the floor beside his bed. His hand was already on his bulge, fingers twitching with the urge to do something about his aching cock. But he wanted to wait and watch. He wanted to see you unravel before he did, too.

Chris climbed back onto the bed, crawling over your body, having taken off his long-sleeve shirt, now in just his white tank top and boxers. His biceps flexed ever so slightly as he held himself up above you, his hands on either side of your head. He watched with desire as you looked up at him with the prettiest fucking eyes, looking so vulnerable and trusting.

His breath hitched as you parted your legs for him, letting him settle between them. Your hand trailed down his stomach, feeling the muscles contract as you went further down, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

Fuck, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Chris leaned down and kissed you, deep and filthy. His tongue tangled with yours, sucking on it, nipping on your lips, pulling the swollen flesh between his teeth—and repeating. And by the time he pulled back, you were a mess—a beautiful mess. The sight made his cock throb noticeably against his boxers.

He pulled down the waistband of his boxers enough for his hard cock to spring out and slap against his stomach, aching to be inside your warmth. His hand wrapped his base, teasing your slit with his thick head a few times before positioning it at your entrance.

He leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your soft moan as he slowly pushed his cock inside, filling you up inch by thick inch. He wanted to go slow, but your legs wrapped around him so suddenly and so tightly that Chris bottomed out, his whole shaft fitting snugly inside your warm, wet pussy.

"Ohhh—ffuuck...." Chris groaned, breaking the kiss to instead drop his head on your shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his size.

After composing himself, Chris slowly began moving, pulling back and dragging his length across your velvety walls before plunging deep again—and repeating. Hearing your moans of pleasure, and the way your legs tightened around him, made his pace quicken, spurred on by your responsiveness.

"God... You feel fucking amazing," he whispered against your skin. Your walls fluttered around him at his words, eliciting a soft moan from him. The words were said in such an unraveled way that they sounded dirty, filthy, and it would be an understatement to say it turned you on.

The room felt hot—and neither of you were sure if it was because of the summer heat or the heat that came with sex. Either way—Chris was sweating. And the way his tank top clung to his body was making him increasingly irritated.

With an annoyed groan, Chris pulled off his tank, revealing his bare torso. The charm on his chain—his own brand—glinted in the dim light of the bedside lamp, the cool metal contrasting starkly from his heated, flushed skin, making him hiss softly.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw and further down to your collarbone as he fucked you, his pace quickening even further, hands gripping your waist and hip. His hips slapped against yours with loud wet smacks, your sticky juices clinging to his pelvis in small milky strands each time he pulled back.

Your attention was shifted briefly when you felt the bed dip beside your head, making you look to the side, coming face to face with Matt’s heavy cock, all flushed and swollen, veins bulging and throbbing along it. His dick twitched subtly under your heated gaze, a bead of precum slowly forming at the tip and betraying how desperate he was.

"Open up, sweetheart." Matt murmured, gently cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You complied almost immediately, opening your mouth for him to use, making him bite back a groan. The warm head of his cock slipped past your lips, pulsing on your tongue, the musky yet sweet smell of his dick filling your nose.

Chris leaned back on his heels, legs spread for more stability as he pulled your hips towards his, not wanting to pull out. One of his hands left your hip to throw one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around your thigh and opening you up more to give himself an easier and deeper access to your pussy.

He began moving again, biting his lips to not moan out loud at how good you felt. His other hand left your hip, instead reaching out to grip the chain in the middle of the fluffy handcuffs binding your wrists together and using it as a handle to pull you onto his dick in rhythm with his thrusts.

Your eyes rolled back involuntarily, feeling his cock hit your g-spot. The overwhelming pleasure of his tip hitting just the right spots inside you made sparks shoot up your spine. It didn’t help when Matt began moving his hips, fucking your mouth in slow, deliberate thrusts.

You choked and moaned desperately around Matt’s cock, your hands gripping Chris’ hand, fingers digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself from the pleasure threatening to consume you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, too quick and relentless, your pussy fluttering around Chris’ pistoning cock, making the brunette boy above you moan in response.

A few more quick slams—that targeted your sweet spot—was enough for you to fall over the edge. Your body tensed before shuddering, back arching as moans of pleasure vibrated around Matt’s thick shaft, making him fuck your mouth faster, his balls tightening.

The feeling of you coming undone around him made Chris shudder, his hips stuttering.

Fuck, he was so close.

Chris was so close to coming inside you but he used the last ounce of his self-control to pull out and fisted his cock over your body, his hips chasing his hand, as he moaned desperately, his balls tightening painfully. His cum shot out in thick, milky ropes, landing on your stomach and pelvis.

Matt groaned softly, feeling his own orgasm washing over him thanks to the exquisite feeling of your tight throat combined with your sweet moans vibrating around his thick cockhead. He pulled out before coming all over your tits, painting them in his release—marking you with his semen.

You only had a few moments to catch your breath before Matt switched places with Chris, flipping you over with surprising strength, making you lay on your stomach with a gasp. He chuckled softly at the sound of your surprise, running his hand down your back to your ass and giving it a little pat.

"C’mon, all fours baby."

It was his turn now and he made sure to show you he wouldn’t be as gentle as Chris with a sharp slap on your ass the moment you were on your hands and knees, making you yelp and squirm. He palmed your ass cheeks, soothing the sting of his slap, as he let out a breathy laugh.

"Look at this pretty fucking ass..." He murmured appreciatively, voice low with barely contained desire.

He held his hefty length by the base, slapping it against your flushed ass, letting you feel how heavy it was, before teasing your slit with his tip, collecting your wetness, feeling how warm and puffy you were from being fucked so thoroughly by Chris.

Your hips moved on its own, a small whine leaving you as you rubbed your pussy against his hot, throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Matt’s hand came down on your ass again, this time on the other cheek, hard and quick, the sharp slap making you jump.

"So fucking needy," he tutted. "Fucked my brother and still haven’t had enough hm? Need the other brother to keep you in check don’t you?"

You didn’t say anything, too embarrassed to admit how right he was. Your silence made Matt chuckle behind you. One hand gripped your hip while the other gripped his cock, positioning himself against your entrance, his tip pressing against it but not pushing in yet.

"Hope you’re ready for me sweetheart." He grunted as he finally pushed forward, filling you up in one smooth motion since you were already stretched out by Chris prior to this. The fullness was familiar and so fucking delicious.

Matt didn’t waste a second and began fucking you, deep and punishing—as if to prove a point. He was hitting the deepest parts of you, unlike Chris who had focused on your g-spot. The sensation was no less pleasurable.

He was fucking you like he wanted your cervix bruised.

Chris sat in front of you on the bed, his dick twitching back to life at the sight of your lips parting to let out a broken whimper at how slow but deep each thrust was. Matt’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled back slowly before slamming into you, ripping a choked sound from your throat. The depth made your eyes roll back briefly, cuffed hands clutching desperately at the sheets under you.

"Chris." Matt grunted. "Pass me the vibrator."

Chris complied, handing him the vibe, watching intently as Matt paused his movement to turn the vibe on before pressing it against your clit, eliciting a loud, desperate moan from you. Chris’ dick jumped at the sound of your needy moan, his hand wrapping around his shaft, his eyes never leaving your face, watching it contort in pleasure.

Matt reached out with his free hand, wrapping his long fingers around your throat, choking you lightly. The feeling of his thick head slamming against your cervix, along with the feeling of his hand around your throat, made it hard to breathe. You couldn’t even moan anymore—you could only gasp for air and let out choked cries whenever he went too deep.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, as he growled softly in your ear. "You feel s’fucking good—ffuuuck--" His rhythm faltered as you clenched around him, your third orgasm crashing over you without warning.

"Fuckk yes baby... Keep squeezin’ me like that... Like you can’t get enough of this dick." Matt moaned lowly, the slapping sounds growing louder as he lost himself in the feeling of your warm greedy pussy sucking him in.

The vibrator was long forgotten under you as Matt held your hips with both of his hands—no longer choking you—holding you in place for his brutal thrusts and making it impossible for you to squirm away from the pleasure.

Chris’ hand worked faster, twisting his wrist and squeezing more tightly. His hips bucked up, fucking his own fist, lips parted, his chest heaving and breath hitching. Your eyes locked onto his—and he nearly came then, but he held himself back, wanting to feel your mouth around him before he came.

Before you knew it, Chris was in front of you, feeding you his length, groaning low in his throat, talking about how good your mouth feels around his dick. But you couldn’t focus on words anymore, too fucked out. It felt so good. Too good. Their fat cocks filled you up to the brim, one in your spasming pussy and the other deep down your throat.

It didn’t take them long to climax. Their hands were all over you, tugging and gripping, the pleasure making everything blur together. You felt them pulse in you, throb in you, their hefty lengths nestled in your holes, dragging across the sensitive walls.

"Fuuck... I’m gonna cum--" Chris groaned, gripping his base with one hand as he pulled his dick out of your mouth while the other stayed on your head, pulling it back by your hair as he fisted his thick, veiny cock in front of your face, wanting to see you covered in his seed again.

You gasped softly when the first rope of his warm cum landed on your cheek, followed by multiple quick ropes, painting your face in streaks of white. Chris groaned at the sight of your face covered in his cum, something primal in him satisfied that he just marked you up.

Matt followed soon after, pulling out and pumping his shaft quickly over your ass, painting it and your lower back with his pearly release. His hips twitched as he milked the last bit of his cum, letting it drop on your back.

You slumped forward onto the bed—boneless—chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your body was still trembling with aftershocks, face and body covered in their semen. You turned your head to the side, brushing your hair out of your face, and licked your lips, tasting Chris’ cum that had landed on it.

"Don’t do sexy shit like that." Chris grumbled playfully.

It was obvious that you affected him and Matt in ways no one could. Their semi-hard lengths began swelling again, curling towards their stomach.

You were so sure that cumming twice would make their dicks go soft, but—to your absolute surprise—they were hard again. Their hands were all over your body in seconds, as if they were starving for you. And they kinda were.

Well, it’s safe to say that they weren’t done with you. God. They were not done. It would take until dawn to satisfy the hunger they’ve held back for months. And there were still more toys to be used. They still haven’t broken you in yet.

Oh well. It’s their birthday, after all. And birthday boys should get their wishes—their deepest desires and fantasies—fulfilled, shouldn’t they?

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[applejuice382]

Listen, I don’t really buy into the effeminate Stiles thing, but I DO buy into the thought that everyone thinks he’s just a little too pretty.

Like he’s a teenage guy that wears plaid shirts and converse literally everyday and clearly has zero interest in any sort of fashion. He’s not the cutesy shy type of nerd who’s quiet and small. He’s canonically a Star Wars, MMORPG, comic book, info-dumping-the-most-random-shit-you’ve-ever-heard sort of nerd, who’s loud and takes up space. He’s not wearing flower crowns, he’s cracking jokes with people he met on the internet over Skype and building a Death Star Lego set while drinking Mountain Dew into god awful hours of the morning.

So I don’t really have much interest in stories where Stiles is super feminine and frolics through meadows in white sundresses. That just doesn’t feel like Stiles to me.

But I do think Stiles is the type of guy that’s sort of pretty — sort of really pretty, actually, and has Stilinski always looked like that in the sunlight? Not in a way that’s immediately show-stopping in the halls, but in the way that the longer you look at him, the prettier you think he is.

The type of pretty where someone will be in the stupidest argument of their life with him, and somewhere in the middle their mind just sort of… trails off. Because has Stiles always looked like this? Has he always had such a slim face with nice angles and good proportions and the definition of doe eyes? And then Stiles will say something stupid and the spell will break, but now they just can’t see his face the same way again.

The type of pretty where a person won’t notice it for years, even when they pass by him daily in the halls, but one day they catch him staring out the window in class and their mouth goes a little dry. Not enough to fall head over heels instantly or something, but enough that they always look at him a little differently after that.

The type of pretty where Stiles is begging classmate for their homework, or a teacher for an extension, or a deputy to not tell his dad about something, and it’s stupid and they’re unimpressed and… then they get a good look at those big brown eyes with lashes that are criminally long for a guy, and they find themselves sort of caving without meaning to.

And Stiles has no idea.

He’s not really into girly stuff so it just doesn’t ever occur to associate himself with the word “pretty.” He just knows he’s kind of lanky and average height and there’s nothing particularly striking about him. He knows he’s uncoordinated on a good day and into hobbies that land him square in loser territory. He knows he’s not what most girls (or guys) picture when they think of their ideal type.

So he’s oblivious when he gets a little too close and someone stares a half-beat too long, or someone shoots him a second glance, or someone makes a begrudging show about it but still hands him their notes.

Feminine isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe Stiles, but I do think he’s subtly pretty until it’s suddenly not subtle anymore.

(((The exception to this, of course, is Derek. Who noticed. Who’s always noticed. Who’s been so fucking hyperfixated on how fucking pretty Stiles is from the very first second he laid eyes on him. Who loses his fucking mind every time Stiles looks up at him with those big brown eyes, and Derek becomes nothing more than a frothing animal in a man’s body who would give him anything and everything Stiles could ever for)))

[meowkarii]

The autism post: TANGLED THE SERIES X WARRIOR CATS AU (SUNCLAN AU)

Yes, I drew most of the characters as cats because I'm obsessed with warrior cats AUs : 3

SUNCLAN AU 

(I didn’t name everyone so you can all choose the names, I just enjoy making warriors AU so if you wanna hear my yapping be welcomed :333) 

> Basically the plot is similar, but cats. I kinda scratched the magic aspect of the movie and made Goldenpetal (Rapunzel) a prophecy cat chosen by Starclan that was stolen by Gothel (Sunclan’s former med cat that was exiled). Goldenpetal grew up as a kittypet and was kept inside her house by Gothel who told her stories of bloodthirsty clan cats or rogues. Golden had dreams about starry cats telling her to leave the twoleg place and with help of a loner named Flint (later Flintheart) she found Sunclan. 

> I like to think that Sunclan is kinda different from canon clans. Most tom-cats are guards protecting the clan (the guards have matching golden leaves in their fur ;3). She-cats can’t fight, and are more of a gatherers, making the clan look pretty or caring for injured cats (they all have med-cats training). Kestrelwing hates that wholeheartedly. 

> The trash thugs live in a nearby dumpster. They’re mostly harmless > w < 

> Monarchy. Sunclan loves monarchy. 

> Vervainpaw wants to become a medicine cat (which is kinda frowned upon). He’s interested in herbs and finding the new properties of them, which ends pretty badly most of the time. (IT’S MEDICINE, NOT MAGIC!!!!) 

> Sharppaw and Redpaw were abandoned by their parents and welcomed in Sunclan :’’3 Dad Strongclaw <3 (I think their warrior names would be Redsnap and Sharpclaw) 

> The Brotherhood come from the forgotten Moonclan that guarded the moonstone before breaking up. Everyone has a raven’s wing in their fur.  

> The Baron’s group is kinda like Bloodclan - they all have the iconic tooth-collars >;3. EVIL KITTIES. 

> Zhan Tiri is a dark forest cat (sorry i forgot to draw her) mentoring Kestrelwing. 

> Kestrelmoon covers herself in mud and thinks she’s cool (she’s not). She stole Goldenpetal’s nine lives ceremony at the moonstone or something.

> I don’t know much about vat7k, I just really wanted to draw those characters as cats :’’3 

That’s all that I came up with!!!! If you have other ideas I WOULD LOOVEEE TO HEAR THEM.

I’m autistic and my fixation on tts is thriving.

[bluejay720]

I’ve been thinking a lot about Celine and her relationship with the girls and how each side of her would be very different.

Since she raised Rumi, the relationship would be very familial and parent-child. I do think that Celine probably was a lot harder on Rumi than either of the other girls. Kinda like when friends were over and your parents would still parent you but not your friends. I think the relationship was very pragmatic but still loving, I’d imagine Celine is just naturally a more stoic and colder person, so when her lighter, more sensitive side comes through I can imagine her being very gentle with a young Rumi, helping bandage her up when training was too hard, teaching her different techniques and skills, everything she should know to keep herself and her girls alive. I think she expects more from Rumi and pushes her harder, but in a way that stems from love.

Her relationship with Mira I think is really interesting specifically because both Celine and Mira are two sides of the same coin: heavily guarded, stoic and blunt. Mira when she joined Huntrix, would have been an older teen to young adult depending on the timeline (17-19) which means she probably was fresh off the bandwagon of parental control and being a “problem child” I can imagine that she wouldn’t be too thrilled to go to another authority figure who expects strict rules from her. I feel that both Celine and Mira would clash at first, Mira out of spite against authority and Celine because she’s so used to Rumi being compliant and waiting to take orders. Now, this fiery, angry and hurt girl is in her care and she has to figure out a way to make sure she follows guidance. I imagine Celine would be gentler in a way with Mira, not exactly gentle but maybe warmer, praising her for things and treating her as an adult, and I think Mira would realize that’s something her parents never did. I think they would eventually develop a mutual respect for each other.

And lastly, Celine’s relationship with Zoey I think would be the kindest/most gentle compared to the other girls. Zoey has been forced to be in a box her whole life, changing who she was to fit what others wanted. I think that Celine would see her craving positive reinforcement, validation,etc. and tell her she’s doing a good job. In turn, Zoey would work her ass off to get praise and to please Celine. I think that Celine would definitely treat her as the youngest and give her more special attention and care than she does with the others.

Over all I just think that Celine is probably the only positive adult/authority figures that the girls have/had in their lives. I think that all of them had a different relationship with Celine and I’d be really curious to know more about what that looked like for them. I figure that Celine tried her hardest to make sure they would be trained so they could stay alive. (I could see in the second movie we get a flashback training scene with the three girls and Celine mentoring them) but ya I just had a lot of thoughts and needed to ramble, thank you for coming to my ted talk 😌

[super-shenanigans]

Billy Batson/Captain Marvel as the first Superhero

I think it would be really cool if Captain Marvel was the first superhero to start operating in the DC universe.

When he receives his powers at 7, he's supposed to be just protecting the Rock of Eternity and dealing with certain magic threats as the past Champions have, but he can't resist helping people so he also begins watching over Fawcett City.

He sticks to his city for the most part, but every once in a while he'll see a disaster on the news and go help. He's busy with being the Champion of Magic and a homeless kid so he never sticks around for interviews. He's something of a mystery to the world at large.

Five years after he becomes Captain Marvel, Batman and Superman come onto the scene. Superman actually seeks Marvel out for advice when he's getting started. (I love the idea of Captain Marvel being an inspiration for Superman in this universe.)

Eventually when the Justice League forms they invite Captain Marvel to join. He asks for a rain check but gives them a magic mirror to contact him with. He helps them out occasionally and is something of a mentor/advisor to them.

When Robin comes on the scene the League is surprised that Marvel doesn't get upset and Batman. Marvel does however pull him aside and talk to him about the importance of balancing his roles as a mentor and family to the kid.

"He needs to know that being loved and having a home doesn't hinge on how he does as a hero," He tells Batman firmly. "Or if he even chooses to stay a hero."

In this universe Dick and Bruce end up having a better relationship.

He makes sure Robin and then each of the other young heroes that rise up in his wake have an emergency summoning charm for him. The younger heroes view him an honorary grandfather of sorts. They often go to him for advice, especially if they are having a problem with their mentors, since he seems to just get it.

No one's quite sure how old he is. He doesn't visibly age. When asked about depictions of the previous Champions he tells the other heroes that they are and aren't him. (As Marvel Billy has all the memories of the past Champions, but it doesn't quite carry over to his mortal form). When other heroes invite him to share a beer he says he's not old enough. They think he's joking or perhaps that it hasn't been 21 years since he formed (They figure he's weird enough to count it that way).

I'm torn between having him aging normally as Billy and the League not finding out until he's legally and adult or some sort of shenanigans happening in Fawcett resulting in time being messed up there so he's forever 7 (or his age shifts around but he's always a kid.) Both possibilities are interesting.

Either way I love the idea that he's not really hiding the fact that he's a kid from them, he just doesn't view it as relevant. All remarks that he makes that could reveal him as a kid tend to get dismissed as him being a magical being created by the gods or just his odd personality. Bruce hasn't looked for Marvel's secret id because he thinks he doesn't have one. This misunderstanding comes from him taking the League to the Rock of Eternity one time. He has a nice little living area set up where he hangs out sometimes. (Not too often though because time at the Rock of Eternity is weird.) They all just assume he lives there.

[ace-of-toodles]

Honestly, the best way to attentionnmax would be to write down on paper or a notes app a bad habit and pair it with a good habit. When I free time I tend to mindlessly scroll on social media. So I started to carry a book with be wherever I go.

My news years resolution this year was to read more books. To motivate myself and make reading more a habit I set a goal to read 5 books each month. I also wanted to replace the time I’m on social media with reading because I personally think that’s more worthwhile.

To record my progress, I simply created a note on my phone ( I don’t want any algorithm distracting me) and I started a list of books I really wanted to read. Some books recs I scraped from old screenshots or friends. I keep adding books to the list. I always have something to look for at the library.

I’m currently at 36 books and counting.

I have gotten behind a couple of times but I keep reading and eventually I meet my goal.

The key is simple. I read what piques my interest. Observe what commonly captures your attention on social media and find some habit that increases your attention like reading, sewing, making art or whatever.

Reading recommendations

The power of habit by Charles duhigg

Essentialism the pursuit of less by Greg Mckeown

Anything written by Kurt Vonnegut

i dont see why i cant start a trend, so here goes. lets try to build back our attention spans. lets try to focus on just one thing for as long as possible. lets not watch those "asmr for people with adhd" videos where they fuck up adhd folks even worse. lets resist the urge to reach for our phones when watching a movie. lets read the articles we reblog, even when theyre boring. i know its hard, i have adhd too, but its worth it. i also know that this hard work doesnt always seem super impressive to other people, so id love for yall to tell me in the tags or replies if youve done something, no matter how small, for your attention span. you deserve to feel like youve taken back some of what social media has ripped from you

[lightsoutlucky]

Playing for Keeps - Lando Norris

pairing: Lando Norris x (OFC) Daphne Girard

Daphne Girard was many things. A graphic designer, a cat mom, a certifiable love island connoisseur, and kept a secret for most of her life.

Being the bastard sister of Max Verstappen was the least interesting of them all, if you asked her.

content: a semi-slow burn friend's little sister romance, with a side of found family drama and real family angst.

warnings: Jos Verstappen's terrible parenting, anxiety attacks, self-image issues, eating disorders (soft mention), content warnings to be updated with chapters.

Chapter one under the cut!

This story can also be found on Wattpad & Ao3!

2016. HERTFORDSHIRE

A silent dorm. A window ledge seeped in water as the rain came down gently outside. She never quite remembered to shut it.

Her dorm mate Lily slept down the hall, her breaths soft and steady. Daphne pulled the blanket up over her head, cocooning herself in the warmth of the fabric as her laptop screen lit up the now hideaway of her bed.

She wished she could have watched it live, but she knew the risks of being asked too many questions she couldn’t answer. It was also easier to pause the stream when she began to feel her pulse in her own ears as the tension ramped up.

“And welcome back to FORMULA 1, and welcome to the 2016 SPANISH GRAND PRIX! We have what is shaping to be a very exciting race today-“

He didn’t even look nervous.

She watched as he stepped into the car, various straps and belts surrounding him. Watched as he flexed his fingers once, twice. Glimpsed down at her own as they mirrored the habit subconsciously.

Five lights out, and he was off like a bullet. Lap after lap, a pit stop 34 laps in. Daphne picked at her fingers, wincing when she finally drew blood.

He drove like he had something to prove. Maybe he did. So young and yet a raw talent, they were calling him the “one to watch”. To expect great things from the son of two racers. Like he was prophesized. Promised.

He looked like he could carry the weight of worlds on those shoulders. Even so young. She envied that.

A screech of tire and burnt rubber, and shit, both Mercedes were gone.

He was going to—

Max was going to win his first Grand Prix.

“Shit–!.”

Five laps to go. Four, three, two, a bump as he exits too sharply-

“The sun is out, the smiles will be out, at 18 years and 227 days old, MAX VERSTAPPEN WINS A FORMULA ONE GRAND PRIX, WINS THE SPANISH GRAND PRIX, AND IS THE YOUNGEST DRIVER EVER TO WIN A FORMULA ONE GRAND PRIX!”

“You did it.” She whispered, fingers brushing across the screen as his fists pumped in elation.

His first race in Formula 1, and he was a winner. Her eyes were wet, shiny with the weight of all he’d accomplished two countries away. His first on the top step, certain it wouldn’t be the last this season.

It was odd to be so incredibly proud of a boy she didn’t truly know. Knew she’d assigned her dreams and hopes on him, on what a brother could be. She also knew they’d never actually come to reality.

The rest was a blur. The anthems at the podium, the champagne spraying, the look of pure thrill on his face. She fell asleep to the sounds of cheers, his name echoing across the country as if to lull her to his side.

“Max, max, max, max!”

2015. LONDON. BEFORE

Daphne Girard still dreamt of the hazy warmth of Monaco.

England was cold and dreary, and when the heat finally arrived, it was stifling in its dry, cloying way. Five years living in London hadn’t dulled the melancholy of her homesickness, hadn’t lessened the pain of its loss like some phantom limb.

“We cannot go back there, cherie. Not now.”

She hadn’t understood the depth of her maman’s words at nine. Still didn’t understand it now, not really. How someone could be ruled by another so completely. Had cried silently as her nanny helped pack up her pink room with the clouds on the walls. Told over and over how it would be wonderful, a new start, a nice change.

They could start over in London. But why the need for a new start when she hadn’t even grieved an ending to this one?

But her father had convinced her mother it was time to go. A strong argument from a man she saw about three times per year. Even less now that she held opinions more and her tongue less. Anything to make him just look at her.

But Jos Verstappen usually got what he wanted. And he had wanted them out of Monaco.

Five years later, and she was fourteen when the phone rang. “Papa” across the phone screen. He would miss the latest visit, as a work requirement had come up. As if they weren’t both aware that he was in Canada for the Grand Prix.

It was the next point of topic, however, that had her reeling. Daphne had been enrolled at Haileybury boarding school and would start in six weeks. Another choice made for her, another box ticked.

She had never truly enjoyed her new school in London, but she had a few friends, enough of a life here that being uprooted to Hertfordshire felt like yet another starting line she’d missed.

A part of her rebelled at the idea, at yet another paradigm shift in the facets of her life and its stability. But the bigger part knew of certainties she couldn’t say aloud.

One, her mother had very little desire to parent her. Boarding school would rid her of that obligation.

Two, there would be no changing her father’s mind. Not when he still bankrolled a large portion of her very comfortable life, her mother’s trust fund aside.

Not when having her hidden away and quiet in the country would keep his secrets just a little longer.

And then three, the smallest, faintest feeling she identified as hope unfurling in her chest. An ounce of new identity, a freedom to be herself, to explore.

She could take art classes or dance as her athletic class. Sign up for a new foreign language.

Did they offer Dutch?

It would be nice to share a language with her siblings.

Jos only ever let the curse words slip. Everyone knew languages learned by shouting never truly stuck.

2018. HERTFORDSHIRE

Lily Zneimer was an angel in small, British form.

She’d been half terrified and half exhilarated at the thought of a dorm mate. What if they stole her clothes? Or hated how she’d set up her portion of the room? What if they hated reality television? Hiding a Love Island addiction would be difficult for an entire two months out of the year.

Lily had swept in and destroyed each worry before they could bloom. Their decor had matched somehow, their clothing soon becoming one communal closet.

Daphne smiled brighter, laughed longer. She had her first real friend, someone she knew, if given the chance, would stick around for life.

She didn’t believe in higher powers, but she thanked whichever one had brought her Lily. Even if it meant lying to her every day by omission.

At that moment, however…

“I hate you so bloody much,” Daphne muttered, groaning as she felt another tug on her ankle where it stuck out from under her sheets.

“You love me, you lying little liar.” Lily mused with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I’m not the one who set up a 10 A.M study session on our one free Saturday morning. I’m also not the one who decided to stay up late doing god knows what. I saw the light under the door at three, Daph.”

“Got caught up in a rerun.” The blonde whined aloud and burrowed deeper into her pink sheets. The rerun had been the free practices she’d missed that day. It had rained in Spa. She’d been worried, sue her.

The reminder of the study session had her shooting up in bed, every ounce of exhaustion gone from her frame. Lily startled, immediately suspicious of the look on her face.

“What have you done?”

“Whatever could you mean? Am I not allowed to be thrilled for my own education?”

Lily scoffed, eyeing her as Daphne reached for a hoodie to pull over her frame. “You’re not even getting fully dressed? You once said pajamas as day clothes were for those who felt a little too dead inside.”

“Who am I impressing? It’s language tutoring.”

“You aim to impress when we sneak out to the shop down the road, Daph. Suddenly, we’ve stopped caring? Who’ve you got tutoring you in Dutch?”

“Japanese.”

“…..what?”

“I’m being tutored in Japanese today.”

“You don’t take Japanese.”

“That is correct. But Oscar does.”

“Daphne!” She managed to dodge the pillow pelted her way by a hair, though it did skim said hair and make the blond strands stand on end with static. “Lily!”

“You didn’t!”

“I very much invited Oscar to tutor me in Japanese. If he can’t remember that I don’t actually take it due to being too busy staring at you, I am not to blame.”

Lily’s cheeks reddened, the flush high and bright as she slumped onto the bed. “The second he realizes you don’t actually need help, he’ll just—“

“Just what? Find an excuse to sit with you and discuss yet another random topic for far too long? Lils, yesterday at dinner, he managed to discuss a boy band his sister seems to love for an hour. He didn’t even remember the name of the band!”

“But he tried so hard, even described their colorful hair in detail,” Lily muttered, eyes on her fingers as they twisted anxiously in her lap. Daphne rejoined her amidst the unmade blankets, her head finding the brunette’s shoulder.

“He likes you. So, so much. Why you two keep toeing around one another…”

“It’s hard, he’s gone so often for his races.”

“That’s an excuse. He rarely misses class, just Fridays or weekends, and even when he does, he asks for your notes. Even though mine are far superior.”

“Color coding with too many highlighters doesn’t make them better, Daphne.”

“Yes, it does, and you’re avoiding it now. Lils. I won’t push if you don’t feel that way, but the only person stopping you from being happy with him is you. What’s really going on?”

As Lily lay back against the sheets, Daphne followed her down. The two girls stared up at the tiled ceiling in silence.

“He’s going to be someone someday. Soon.” Lily’s voice was almost a whisper, soft and filled with a weight. Daphne felt her chest tighten with a kind of understanding she could never admit, could never really express, that she wanted to relate more than anything.

“And he’d be lucky to have you in his corner when he is. He isn’t like the other rugby boys. Seems…steadier. And like he could use someone like you. Everyone could, let’s be real. But we can settle for just Oscar for now. You’d be the hottest WAG there is. Like Posh Spice.”

Lily rolled onto her side, smile hesitant.

“You’re such a pain, Daph. I love you so much.”

“I love you more. Now go brush your hair, it’s giving pillow fight and not in a cute coming-of-age-film way. I will of course, remain here in my shabbiness.”

When 10 A.M arrived, so did one Oscar Piastri. Daphne swung the door open with a grin, smirking at the deadpan look on the boy’s face.

“Piastri.”

“Girard.”

“You are an angel for doing this, I really have been struggling quite a lot with—“

“Daphne, you take Dutch. You have been taking Dutch since we met. Almost three years ago.”

“So there is a brain in that head full of luscious hair!” She laughed at his harumph, gesturing for him to come inside. As he entered, he spotted Lily in the common area, curled on the sofa as she offered a soft wave. He was quick to offer his own in return, a soft hello to accompany. Her gaze returned to the small screen of her computer in her lap, and his gaze remained on her.

It was Daphne’s soft cough that startled him from it.

“Right, right— sorry.”

“Oscar.” Amusement tinged her voice now, watching him with the look he knew meant she was about to get her way. Daphne was just like that. A smile, a grin, and you were agreeing before you’d even heard the question. She reminded him of his sisters so often it ached. Hattie’s stubbornness, Mae’s sweetness. Edie’s vivacity.

“You don’t need tutoring in Japanese.”

“I do not need tutoring in Japanese. But you should stay.”

They stared each other down, his lips twisting into the soft smirk that mirrored her own. He sighed, one of defeat, tinged with the nerves he worked so hard to hide.

“Well alright then.”

_____

They’d raided the commons for snacks, Daphne even breaking out her emergency stash she had her nanny bring from her trip to Sweden during the last family visitation weekend. Bubs could solve any problem if you ate enough of them.

They’d air-played Lily’s laptop to the small TV on the wall, the three debating what to watch. Oscar was arguing valiantly for last week’s GP, wanting to prove a point he’d been rambling on about with Lewis’ tire strategy. Lily was voting for the terrible reboot of Charmed that she and Daphne had begun the week before.

Daphne had tuned them both out, too busy saving ideas to her theme list for the end-of-year ball.

“You have to see it, Lily, it was mental! He managed to make the one stop last twenty-six laps! Though I sort of do think a two-stop might’ve—“

“Not with how they botched Bottas’ stop so poorly. The man was preserving his sanity. The tire deg alone–” Daphne muttered to herself, freezing in realization as silence settled over the group for a lingering pause.

“What was that?” Oscar sounded far too pleased.

“I don’t care for your tone, Piastri.”

“Fuck my tone, Daphne. You know about Valterri Bottas’ tire strategy from Monza.”

“I saw an article somewhere, it lingered apparently.”

“Sure, nice try.” He’d leaned forward to study her, glimpsing at Lily for assistance but finding only confusion in her gaze. New information for them both, then.

“Daphne—“

“Oscar.”

“—Did I just discover your special interest?” She grimaced, locking her phone and sitting up to meet his gaze as he continued, thrilled. “I did! You watch Formula 1! Who’s your team? Your driver? You’re French, so either Grosjean or Gasly, I’d reckon.”

“I am Monegasque, you cretin! And neither. I don’t watch.” She could feel a tremble begin in her fingertips, the telltale shake in her voice as her chest grew tight.

“But you just…”

“I don’t watch!”

“Oscar.” Lily cut in, her eyes not leaving the now anxious form of her roommate. “Let’s leave it for now. Please? If she says she doesn’t watch, she doesn’t watch it.” She didn’t understand where Daphne’s anxiety was stemming from, but she’d never push her into revealing it, not in front of someone they hadn’t agreed upon.

Oscar glanced between the two of them, taking in Lily’s concern, noting Daphne’s anxious picking at her fingernails. Neither girl would meet his gaze. He softened, the blonde before him reminding him fiercely of his youngest sister. He remembered Mae’s anxiety vividly, the scratching, tinge of hysteria in her laugh when pressed about school, the girls there.

If Oscar was anything down to his core, it was an older brother. He softened, nodded in agreement.

“Right, my mistake. But I still refuse to watch the shitty Charmed reboot. New Girl instead, then?”

Daphne took a deep, shaky breath. And then another. Lily’s hand met her own and squeezed, a nice regulation.

“You’re speaking my language now, Oscy boy.”

_____

The moon’s glow lit the room in eerie softness. The hour was already plenty late as Daphne felt Lily slide into her bed with her. She couldn’t move from where she faced the wall, couldn’t bear to turn around and find disappointment in her face.

“I’m sorry.” The blonde whispered tremulously. It was all she’d been able to focus on for hours. The confusion on Lily’s face, the tremble of her own fingers. The pity in Oscar’s gaze.

“For what, D?” Lily’s hand met Daphne’s shoulder, a silent plea for the girl to turn around. She gave in, and Lily saw the way her blue eyes shone with wetness in the dim light.

“I made it weird. I wanted him here for you, and I spoiled it.”

“You spoiled nothing. ” Daphne felt her fingers held within the other girls and squeezed them back before she could process the shift. “We still had a great time today. I had a great time today. And that was because of you. Oscar understands an awkward moment. He had four today alone, babe.”

Daphne laughed, a wet sound. Lily pushed a bit, hesitant.

“Do you want to talk about what that was, though? You don’t have to, it's just...” She broke off, letting the silence buoy her onward. “I am never one to fault someone for wanting their secrets. But it’s you and me, and whatever it is isn’t new, isn’t recent. You’ve been carrying things since the day we met. And I feel like lately it’s gotten worse.”

Shame filled Daphne at the words. She was supposed to be better than this, supposed to be strong enough to carry the weight of the lies. Because that is what they were. Lies. She was lying to everyone. All the time. And it felt like a foot on her chest, pressing down more and more each day, every minute sometimes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, you never have to apologize for that, okay? I just want to help if I can. You help everyone around you all the time, Daph. I watch you put every single person before you. But not with me. Let me carry some of what this is. If you can.”

The clock in the hallway ticked its cadence like a death knell in the pause. Daphne could feel the words rise in her, feel the ache to share them and not be alone in her grief just this once. But could she?

Wasn’t she allowed someone? She was supposed to have her mother in this, but there was no depth of love felt for her daughter these days beyond how she looked in photos, how impressive she was on paper.

She reached into the sheets for her phone, opening the photos to her favorites tab. It was a good picture; she was six and her blonde braids gleamed in the light of Monaco’s summer. Her back garden, in front of the fairy village she’d created from sticks and ribbon, where she’d whispered secrets to the small creatures she imagined to be inside.

It was her beaming proudly at the camera, leftover ribbon tied to her braids. Her father had an arm wrapped around her, not smiling but not quite the normal frown he wore in her presence as the years dragged on. It was the kindest he ever looked, the most at ease he’d felt to her that day.

“This is my father.”

“That is Jos Verstappen. Your father….is Jos Verstappen?”

Daphne’s eyes shot up to meet Lily’s, surprise and terror wide in her gaze. “You know who he is?”

“Have you met Oscar? He’s given me a rundown on every driver and their history like the nerdiest F1 quiz show there is. Plus, my dad was a big Schumacher fan. Used to play the races on Sundays. Back to the point, Daphne.”

“Right.” She sat up, needing to lean back against the headboard. “He was married when he met my mother. I was not…planned. Wanted? I never fully cared to know the difference. But no one could know. Not back then when he still had his wife. And not now, with—“

“Max.” Lily finished with a grimace.

“He has his whole career ahead of him. A scandal of a bastard sister he’s never even met would mess with that.”

“First of all, you’re not a bastard, and if you say that again about my best friend, we’re gonna have words. But how is any of that fair to you, though?” Lily fumed, sitting up with her and shoving her hair from her face. There was no moment to try and believe her, nothing but absolute faith in what Daphne said. That realization shouldn’t have felt so warm in her chest at the thought.

“You get to spend your life as some dirty secret? You have a whole extended family you don’t get to have because he’s what, scared? It’s not as if your mother is ever caring enough to—“

“Lily.” It was a plea, a whisper of a beg for understanding.

“—Sorry, sorry. That’s not fair of me. Your mother is…your mother.” Neglectful, she wanted to finish. Absent, she wanted to scream out. Never around for you when you need her, when you need someone in your corner. Celia Girard was not in Lily’s good books.

Lily let the anger drain with each breath, each steadying moment. Someone deserved her anger, but it wasn’t her best friend in front of her. The girl who owned so much of her heart and expected nothing in return.

“You have a family, Daphne Helene.”

“I….know? I just showed you my dad. You’ve met Maman.”

“No, not them. They are DNA and financial security. I mean family, family. You still have a family. Me, and Lexi too. My mom adores you, and Dad still asks after you when we chat on Tuesdays.”

“You have me, okay? Oscar, too, even if I drag him kicking and screaming. He’ll appreciate a way to repair the vibes after shoving his foot so far down his throat.”

The tears were swift, a cough that could have been either a laugh or a sob. “You’re insane.” She mused, reaching to collapse into Lily in a hug. “Mental. Certifiably.”

“Nope. I am determined. I’ve decided to adopt you, but like, sisterly. Who needs Jos fucking Verstappen when you have me? I outrank him now.”

Daphne reached into her nightstand drawer, a pink Swedish sweets packet held out in apology. “You absolutely do.”

Lily snagged two from the packet, holding one back out to Daphne for a toast.

They smushed candies amidst giggles, tears slowly drying on Daphne’s pale cheeks. “To family, being what we make it. We build our own here, babe.”

The blonde could only nod, smiling too widely in the dim room to ever deny her.

“To family.”

daphbydesign has uploaded a carousel!

daphbydesign: life lately xx liked by lilyzneimer, oscar piastri, and 220 others.

[aluinwe]

birthday  - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 870

He'd checked James’ bedroom - empty. Wandered through the lounge into the kitchen - both deserted. And even looked over the grounds of Potter Manor only to find his brother napping under a tree, head in Remus' lap, who was reading a book. There was only one place left to look and, well, James couldn't possibly be in the library, could he? It was summer.

But much to his amazement, as Regulus eased open the heavy oak door into the spacious room, there he was. Hunched over the desk, several scraps of parchment and a half-written essay in front of him. A textbook lay open, and James was running his finger along the words on the page, chewing on the end of a quill.

He cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Have I finally succumbed to the Black family madness, or am I actually seeing James Potter completing his summer homework before August 31st”

James' head snapped up at the Intrusion and a wide grin split his face. “Ah, that's where you've misjudged me. If I get it all done now, I'll be the one laughing in a month's time when Pads is trying to cram it all into one afternoon.”

Regulus crossed the room, and perched on the arm of James’ chair, peering over at the contents of the essay and raising an eyebrow in disdain. “Divination? I forgot you studied that rot.”

“Hey, it's not all rot.” James tilted his head up to drop a kiss against Regulus’ cheek. “It can be interesting, too. I'm doing a birth chart analysis right now, but either I'm reading this wrong, or I ‘may have a concerningly positive response to criticism’”

Regulus chuckled. “For once, I think you're actually doing something right”

James visibly preened and said. “Aww, thanks baby.” Regulus leveled him with a smug smirk, as James’ face dropped and he grimaced. “Ah. I see what you mean.”

“As titillating as this is, are you nearly finished?” Regulus leaned down to whisper directly into James’ ear. “Because my brother is currently asleep outside, Remus is trapped with him, we have this whole empty house to ourselves for another hour at least.” He paused and dropped to a much more sultry tone. “I can think of several much more interesting things we could be doing.” 

James gulped and a flush spread across his cheeks. “I need to do 3 more charts, then I’m done. I’ll do Pads and Moony later, but shall I do you now?”

Regulus grumbled. “I wish you would.”

“Oh, calm down. I know I’m irresistible.” He gave a cheeky wink, and Regulus playfully smacked him round the head. “I assume you were born in London? What time?”

Shaking his head, Regulus responded “Around 11pm, I think. Not sure on the exact minute, Mother didn’t deign to record that information.”

“That’s fine, it’s close enough. Might affect your ascendant but….” James trailed off as he scribbled down the information. “And it's just occurred to me that I should probably already know this, your birthday is….?”

Flatly, Regulus replied “July 30th.”

“Ok, perfect. So that makes you a Leo, with an Aries rising and Pisces moon.” James began flicking through his astrology textbook, running his finger along lines on certain pages and making haphazard notes on a piece of parchment. After a minute of this, he paused and his face contorted into puzzlement. He raised his head to look Regulus in the eye.

“Wait… July 30th is your birthday?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Regulus shrugged casually. “Has been my whole life.”

“But- but that was yesterday? You didn't tell me? Sirius didn’t tell me?”

Regulus sighed. “I asked him not to.”

“But… Why?”

“It’s…” Regulus paused, thinking about what he could say. “I don't really do birthdays”

James gestured for Regulus to elaborate, so he took a deep breath and continued.

“At Grimmauld, birthdays were…” Regulus wrung his hands as he considered his next words. “I was always stuffed into these frilly dresses and elaborate hairstyles to be paraded around in front of ‘eligible young men’. I'd have to sit and open gifts of- of hair bows, more dresses, fucking… embroidery sets and plaster this fake smile on my face the whole time. It was… it was a lot. I don't have to do that now, I don't have to do anything. So I didn't.”

“Oh, baby.” James tugged Regulus down from the arm of the chair and seated him sideways across his lap. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

“It’s… well it’s not okay, but it is what it is. It’s over now.” Regulus tucked his head onto James’ shoulder.

“But still, I wish I’d have known. I’d have given you such a good birthday.”

“You did, Jamie.” Regulus peered through his lashes at James, and sighed wistfully. “I got to sit in the sun and finish a novel, I spent time with my boyfriend, and I got to eat your mothers frankly decadent cooking. Sirius even snuck in my room at midnight and split a cupcake with me, like he used to when we were kids. And nobody tried to put lipstick on me even once. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

[cloverapple]

if you can, i’d love to hear more about how reality is an illusion. like everyone else in the world is also conscious (debatable sometimes) but can also be a reflection of our own awareness. everything looks the way it does despite it not being a creation from our mind palace. it’s so interesting to think about

The ouroboros of awareness

(I’m sorry for the incoming word-vomit, but you just did the equivalent of asking a little neurodivergent child with a dinosaur fixation what their favorite dinosaur is :)

When I say illusion, I don’t mean hallucination. I don’t mean what you’re seeing right now isn’t real. Everything you see and experience within awareness is real—your dreams, waking life, the void, your DR, daydreams, all of it. The only thing that separates those things are levels of consciousness. They’re all held in the same field: awareness. And everything that exists in awareness is real.

Illusions are what contradict what you truly are.

You are awareness itself. You observe. And observation creates reality. So, say you intend to have a brand new car—you’re aware of the reality where you have that car. You observe it. Everything else that contradicts that reality (its absence, your doubts, your fears) is the illusion.

But you don’t destroy illusions by manhandling your awareness into obedience. You don’t bulldoze them into submission with reprogramming in the affirming-scripting sense (unless you want to). You dissolve them by recognizing them as illusions. Because by observing the doubt or contradiction as illusion, awareness is now aware of the illusion—and that awareness itself causes the illusion to fade.

Your desires cannot be delayed, because intention is never delayed.

You intend to have $10? It’s yours now. The perceived time between having $0 and then $10 is an illusion of continuity. The consciousness loves continuity because it was raised on it. So continuity acts like a mechanism that delivers the money: someone gives it to you, you win it, you find it. But continuity isn’t what gives you the $10. Intention does—meaning, observation in awareness does. It’s instant.

When you bypass continuity— be it through shifting, manifestation, or states —you break the illusion. You observe a reality where you already have what you want. In that kind of observation, continuity collapses. You say “I have $10” and $10 simply exists.

So you could also say that illusions are everything that contradicts what you intend to be—because you are what you intend. And what you intend, you’re observing.

That’s why I say that: if you’ve been on your shifting journey for so long, you’re already a master shifter and can shift realities at will. The idea that you can’t, your struggles, doubts, etc—however valid they are—are illusions. Because you’ve been intending to be in your DR all this time. But you’re observing the illusions as facts, when they’re just illusions.

Picture awareness as a vast, dark cave that contains everything

Everything that was, is, could be ....is all there, but you can’t see it all at once, because it’s dark. But you know it’s all there, because you are aware of it.

Most people grow up standing under a fixed overhead light, only seeing what it shines on. They live their whole lives under it, thinking it’s the only reality. They don’t realize they can unhook the light and aim it elsewhere like a flashlight.

And so, when someone else shines their light into a different part of the cave—say, aliens, the paranormal, the void—others call them liars, deluded. But really, they’re just seeing what’s always been there, in a part of the cave most people never look at.

To observe something is to light it up. To shift, to manifest, to enter the void is to gain the ability to shine your light wherever you please. That’s why everything is real. That’s why nothing is fake.

You might argue all of this is assumption. And I would ask you: What is aware of the law of assumption, if not awareness itself?

You could say a divine being created all of this. And I’d ask: What is aware of that divine being, if not awareness?

You could say that being created awareness itself, and I’d still ask: Then what observed its creation? What was there to receive the experience?

You might say this entire logic is a self-looping ouroboros, like it’s only true because I’m observing a reality where it’s true. But I’d ask: What is aware of that concept, if not awareness itself?

What, if not awareness itself, is aware of the very ideas by which you disagree with me?

There is no experience without awareness. If there is no awareness, the experience collapses—because it was never observed.

“But all of that is assumption”

You can be aware of something without assuming it—but you can't assume something without being aware of it.

To put it another way: you can be aware of a reality without observing it, but you cannot observe something without being aware of it.

Imagine you just took a test. You're aware that there's a version of reality where you failed—but you're not observing that one. You're choosing to observe (assume) the one where you aced it.

So in my view, assumption is one of the many tools of observation, not the architect of reality itself.

-> and if you still think that folds in on itself as an assumption, know that there is no assumption without an awareness to observe it.

Multiverse theory and consciousness theory are both true because they meet in the same place: awareness.

The multiverse exists inside your awareness, because what guarantees that you experience those realities is awareness. Just like every religion is true. Every framework like law of assumption, multiverse, void, reality shifting is true within awareness. Because anything held in observation becomes real. You are only ever bound by what you observe.

Yes, there are multiple realities, versions of you, and outcomes. But even if you were to live in a Marvel-style multiverse, you still need awareness to experience it.

Even if a universe existed where awareness didn’t exist, the very fact that you’re imagining or experiencing that idea means awareness is present. If life could be experienced without awareness, it wouldn’t be life as we know it. It wouldn’t be experience.

There might be an idea so far beyond me it doesn’t even require awareness —but to experience it, I'd still need some version of awareness.

Maybe one day I’ll expand and become something so incomprehensible to who I am now that I no longer recognize myself. But even then, I will still be awareness. And awareness doesn’t grow. It doesn’t evolve. It doesn’t change. It’s constant.

Which is why I’d argue time isn’t real—because you, awareness, never move. You simply observe movement. You perceive change in the body affected by the change, but you never change.

But back to illusions:

Nothing is created. Everything is recognized.

Everything that ever was, is, or will be already exists in awareness because awareness is infinite. And the way we move through it is by observation.

So if nothing can be created—only observed, remembered, realized—then why did you ask me this if you already knew the answer?

Was it because you were observing me as a vehicle for that recognition?

Because the absence of knowledge becomes an illusion the moment you observe yourself as infinite awareness.

Just like these words I’m writing right now, they came to me the moment you asked.

And I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to explain this part when it comes to other people. Because the truth is: my answer might come off as ignorant or dipped too far into solipsism it can no longer be considered as anything but.

Like… how could I possibly perceive or account for someone else's awareness? I can't step into their perspective. I can't feel what they feel or see what they see. All I can know is that the people I meet, the interactions I have, the different versions of them I experience; they all align with my own path, my observations, my emotional state, my projections. I manifested these versions of them based on my story, my focus. And maybe they manifested me too, and that’s how we meet in the middle.

But do I know for sure how that works for everyone? No, I can’t say I do. And to declare that everything I’m saying right now is the ultimate, absolute truth about reality would be ignorant. And ignorance is the breeding ground for illusions.

All I know is what shows up in my reality, what shifts when I shift. So I’m not going to pretend I have a universal answer. I just follow what resonates, what feels like it clicks into place within my reality. Maybe we’re all little gods bumping into each other at the frequency we’re meant to.

....Or maybe—just maybe—you reading this right now is the only awareness that exists, that ever has existed. And I’m just words on a screen, nothing more. The idea that there’s a person behind them, typing, breathing, existing somewhere beyond your eyes—what’s to say that’s not illusion? Because maybe you were always meant to find these words, to stumble across them at just the right moment. And realize the one thing you’ve always feared deep down:

That it’s only ever been you.

But what’s there to even tell? Well, what makes it true, what makes it real—is awareness. That’s the only measure. So it’s up to you. You decide where to cast that spotlight. What you observe, you confirm. What you turn away from dissolves. It’s not about what’s out there, it’s about what you choose to observe into being.

And maybe everything I just said is illusion. It’s up to you.

In sum:

You are only your awareness

What you point it at (observe), is

Observing is intention

Anything that contradicts intention is illusion and not real to the awareness that’s observing where it wants to be.

You can doubt, spiral, have contradicting assumptions, etc — all because they’re noise inside that observation. So long as you recognize the things you don’t want as illusion, the awareness has no choice but to observe them as such. It’s why I don’t vibe with “you don’t shift because you assume you’re stuck.” If anything, you don’t shift because you’re letting laws, restrictions, rules and anxiety keep the illusion propped up.

Nothing can chain you to its truth.

“oh but if you observe a reality where you can’t shift, that means you can’t shift”

First of all, it’s funny how you think that anything can stop you from shifting. Wtf is a little assumption to a powerful awareness that knows what it wants?

So then:

If you intend to shift, you observed the version where you already did. That means: you shifted. There’s no gap, no need to assume harder, feel it more vividly, or pass tests set by the mind.

The reason I don’t slap the non-duality label on my views is because I deeply believe that action–outcome is the vehicle through which awareness observes.

You observe - you are

You assume - you have

You attract - it comes

You pray - it answers

It’s not separate from awareness—it’s how awareness experiences itself. That mechanism can easily encompass the law of assumption, law of attraction, and all the rest. The real illusion, to me is the idea that you don’t already have what you want the moment you take action (intend) to have it. Action–outcome is just as non-negotiable in my view as the truth that all is awareness.

And all of that, everything I just said, can only exist because there is an awareness to observe it. Just like the concept that there’s a ‘me’ that wrote these words for you. And a ‘you’ that’ll read these words for me.

So to me, all is awareness.

Hence the ouroboros.

[nausikaaa]

when i was 12 my mam bought me Gone Girl, the book, because some of her college students had said it was good and i was a voracious reader. she had no clue what it was about.

i got to the first sex scene and realised that wasn't something i wanted to read. i'd had the puberty and sex talk at school and from her a year earlier but it wasn't something i was interested in yet. so i put the book down and told my mam it wasn't appropriate. she asked if i had read anything that upset me and i said no. that was the end of that.

years later i watched the movie and thank fuck i didn't keep reading. but still, reading that early sex scene, where nothing extreme happens, didn't really affect me. i just stopped reading. if it had been a porn video on the internet, i probably would have just clicked back.

foster an environment where your kid feels safe to take a step back if they're uncomfortable and will go to you if they see something upsetting, be at least a little aware of what they're looking at, whether that be in books or on the internet, and they'll be fine.

may be a hot take but i think the fact minors can access 18+ content by just clicking a button that says 'yes im totally over 18 trust me' is like. totally fine tbh. its a non-issue. i dont care if curious teenagers are looking at porn. they've been doing that for as long as porn has existed. id rather teens explore their sexuality through images on the internet than rush into real life experiences when they're not ready for it yknow. the UK is trying to put stricter age verification in place (which in turn is becoming an online privacy nightmare) and like. for what. who is it helping. why is this a problem.