#want it to be real and you don't want to wake up

[bodhiscurls]

put you in a bodybag or in my bed. ( clark kent )

clark kent is your mortal enemy; it's been a constant battle between who's going to get front page privileges and clark always manages to top you with superman. when you both get a little too drunk and repressed feelings rush to the surface- surely it can't be real? how could it be real when you wake up naked in his bed, unsure of how you ended up there? when you've accidentally sent the department the doc you made in a rage listing all the reasons you hate clark kent? it can't be real so why does it hurt so much when he calls it quits- when you cry to superman of all people- when everywhere you go reminds you of him? (THIS IS CLARK HURT COMFORT FINAL BOSS- you have been warned- also very long soz)

superman! clark kent x fem! journalist! reader (no use of yn- clark nicknames you neutron)

themes: onesided enemies to lovers (you are enemies- he thinks you're lovers but he's also a brat), hidden feelings, workplace rivalry, drunk shenanigans, kissing, implied smut, and love confession, fluff, angst, betrayal (juicy angst), mentions of insecurities, feeling overwhelmed, confiding in superman, previous relationships and an ending inspired by "how to lose a guy in 10 days"

masterlist.

it's the smug half smile that catches your narrowed eye unwillingly, the sympathetic look your best friend jimmy sends your way and the fresh copy that lands at your desk to settle the fire in your blood.

you love the smell of fresh paper printed; the crispness, the warmth of the stories it tells and trusts you with. the faint inky scent that bleeds under your fingertips, excites you to new highs- you're sure this could very well be a strange addiction. but now? seeing clark kent's name printed small under the overbearing headline that's most certainly not yours but very well deserves to be, you've never felt the urge to scrunch it up, crumble it to death as it shreds along with your pride.

metropolis' man in the cape saves again: his thoughts on humanity, hope and his place in the world.

and he might've. you applaud superman, he's a man of the people, a story worth writing and you've even asked to interview him once- he never replied, like a ghost, except he haunted you through repetitive interviews with your mortal enemy clark kent and it burned. and from that day? you preferred batman, at least he rejected you with honesty and a bluntness you could appreciate. he didn't get cosy with the enemy, he punished them and relished in the feeling of it, just how you wished you could do yourself to one person in particular.

"you'll get em next time tiger," and its a stiff pat of the lazily dropped on to your shoulder, a smile imprinted in the air that englufs you. you don't even have to look up to recognise the unwanted looming 6'4 shadow towering above you, as if from that height you couldn't feel anymore smaller- be anymore smaller compared to him. the rage bubbles over in your stomach, steaming at your organs and quietly releases through the air that flares from your nostrils. you're seething and he knows it, he tortures you with the same lame comfort every time he makes the front page and you don't- which these days, feels way more often than not.

but you won't burst, not yet, and definitely not infront of the one person who's waiting for it to happen. you wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he's won, he's under your skin and you let him roam free there. so you grit your teeth, open your document and begin to list all the things you hate about clark kent.

. . .

"golly, if it isn't jimmy and neutron," shining blue eyes twinkle with a tease and you feel the bile rising up in your system already. the play on words had gotten old very quickly; matter of fact a day after he met you quickly and decided that because you were pushing in the field of science journalism, using your physics degree to explore current trends in space with an environmental focus often- clark had used his big brains to label you as neutron, fitting for your best friend jimmy. it was also the last time you wore red, clark's evil pretty smile basically bursting when he saw the correlation and on your first day, before lunch time had even hit- clark kent had made two embarrassing (on your part) mistakes. first, he had thought you were the latest intern and asked for his coffee order and then came the likening you to a fictional character- the nickname sticking to you with hot embarrassment. months later and you're still neutron, you're pretty sure you may die as neutron.

"ha, ha," the stale echo leaves your mouth as you shoot him your best disapproving glare. it doesn't deter him one bit, you get a flash of teeth in return, a blinding superstar grin that just fuels your disgust- god, how could anyone be as obnoxious as him, you think.

"hey clark!" jimmy calls out and clark responds with a wave, you hiss at your friend, the outward act of betrayal infront of your own eyes as you duck your head low to avoid any further confrontations with your mortal enemy. that's enough evilness for one day, anymore and you'll be at the gates of pure hell, clark kent's poster face ready and waiting.

"keep walking jim," you whisper through your teeth, giving clark one last glare before continuing on to the lifts and into your lunch time plans- the weather seemed nice enough to eat outdoors, you two had thoroughly checked the weather days in advance, hoping to get some much needed serotonin, sunshine and serenity the city can offer.

"hey jim, say if you see this nerd about yay big," he levels your height with his hand, purposely making you look smaller, "tell her the second page is looking for her," and you flip him off as you walk away, hearing a loud weight of boyish laughter thud in the air of the daily planet. a sliver of his stupid face disappears once the doors shut, though it lingers at the forefront of your mind- the crevices and lines etched of his skin burnt into your memory as the words echo again. you rub at your temples, massaging them softly as you slump your body against the wall- jimmy immediately taking your bag from you and lightening the load on your shoulders.

he doesn't have to say anything; he knows what has you so uptight and part of him thinks its the funniest and silliest game of cat and mouse that you and clark are locked in, both blissfully and painfully unaware.

"i hate when he calls me that," you mumble into your hands, feeling the anger seethe, bubble and then you mute it down into what feels a lot more like practised exhaustion and fatigue. there's no bark in your bite whenever clark isn't around, there's just something in his presence that greatly amplifies your annoyance and the secondary feeling of insecurities pushing on you. he's clark kent. he's loved by the whole team, he's buddies with superman, he makes the front page like it's his birthright with such ease, he's built like a damn machine and he has a dog, he talks to his parents every other day, he watches star wars and he is kind- albeit kind to everyone but you. you can't help but feel like this is all a personal attack- of course clark kent isn't perfect and has enemies, he chose you as his target, you as his nemesis- he must've seen some sort of match to play though often than you'd like to admit you do feel way out of your sparring depth.

"i think it's cute," jimmy shrugs, and by the downward turn of your curled lip, bordering into snarl territory he knows you disagree- and hard.

"he said i had a big forehead!" you didn't mean to shout, but the outrage is astronomical, the disbelief burns in your veins. clark kent cannot find you cute- he's satan in disguise, this will ruin everything, everything you've worked for and against because that will mean you are wrong and clark kent is actually capable of being a decent person.

"he called you a genius!" jimmy tries to reason and the look you level him with incredulity makes him want to hide away and wait this out.

"a young boy genius-"

"the most renowned of minds," he compliments, trying to make it sound way better than what it is, not that you have a giant forehead or the one instance you wore red and became the butt of a joke. you're his best friend, and he loves you more than anything but some part of him wants to just shake you awake, that clark kent must be drawn to you if he only ever acts this way around you. for two incredible journalists, you two are so stupid with the evidence right there infront of you.

"oh yes jimmy, because that's what every girl wants to hear- not that i'm hot or that my work matters and is good enough to make the print but that i'm a young boy genius with a forehead the size of fucking space- what? why are you looking at me like that?" you take a step away from him as the lift finally opens and leads you outside and on a pathway to the nearest park where you can settle down, let the breeze run through your skin and hair and squash any thought of a certain black curly haired nuisance in your already occupied brain.

"oh nothing," he teases, "why would you care about clark kent, your quote unquote "nemesis", calling you hot?"

"i don't," you immediately spit out, aware of how suspiciously quick the response came and the smug look jimmy olsen tries to hide. it's like your brain had this rehearsed, formulated in a strict "clark kent protocol" and shot it out along with any inclination that you could feel anything other than a strong dislike for your co-worker.

"okay," jimmy shrugs, his hands drop lazily in surrender but the smile he sports is as clear as day; soft as the clouds you sit under as you unwrap your sandwich and kick your legs free.

"i said i don't," you repeat, even minutes after the conversation dies down and jimmy is busying himself trying to find a movie on his laptop, but it bugs you the indifference- no, jimmy not siding with you immediately, like there's some secrecy he's holding to himself instead of defending your honour boldly.

"i heard you the first time babe," he mumbles, scrolling and clicking, "how do you feel about star wars?" he asks, and your heart knocks against your ribcage, a slump at having to work overtime at the constant reminder of clark fucking kent. but you know jimmy, saying no and bringing up clark's strange addiction with the series would only prove his point- that as much as you dislike him, some part of you searches for his opinion in a sick and twisted way.

so you take a bite of your sandwich, swallowing pesto and your pride and let it grow stale in your mouth as you nod, "sounds good to me," you try for a careless, offhanded comment of indifference but it burns, it bothers you in ways you can't even explain.

"okay," fuck you, okay.

. . .

"oh, she loves when i call her that," he doesn't even try to dull out the laughter when he spots your middle finger sent his way, his tongue presses in his cheek, mischief laced in his mind as he watches your form disappear through the doors and out into the wind. he swivels back in his chair, the wheels rolling as the gears in his brain turn- he really needs to think of a new article for next week's brief, check in with perry, come up with something that can top your new advancement on the science column. that task enough was difficult, you were smart and everybody included clark kent knew it and had to deal with it, you really gave him a tough run for his money in the fight to make the front page.

"do you know if she's seeing anyone? she's hardly with anyone other than jimmy- maybe she's seeing jimmy," he mutters as he closes the millions of tabs open on his screen, his stomach rumbles and he's due for a break soon. he was tempted to join your and jimmy's picnic, overhearing you guys from across the corridor and he salivated at the mention of you bringing some banana bread and tea in flasks. he lingered at the printers, waited to be given an invite, even focused on jimmy- the weaker of you two to crumble first but the pure steel you gave him as you moved to the opposite side of the room with your best friend following like a lost puppy as soon as you caught sight of clark staring intently, it was clearly not going to happen.

"clark, what do you care? you give her absolute hell-" lois' warning is cut off by clark's brows shooting to the ceiling at her admission.

"i do not! it's our thing-"

"i think this might be a you thing-" she tries to reason to her colleague, bring him out of the depths of delusion he's ran himself through and back to the surface of reality.

"she likes it!" clark scoffs, you engage in this mini war just the same as he does- the effort does not go unnoticed by him. out of everyone he's ever met, only you've come close to his wit, his intellect, his humour- you're his equal and if he has to mess with you to keep the competition on your toes and your focus on him, clark kent will spend the rest of his life playing this dangerous game. and if anything, he loves a challenge. you didn't swoon when you first met clark, you didn't bat an eyelid or even go out of your way to impress him but you've stolen his attention from the first look and the rest is history.

"and what makes you think she likes it?" you. lois wants to say, but she doesn't think her friend is ready for that type of conversation yet. but the real meaning is unspoken but heard, lingers in the air as his eyes are struck on the spot where you've left.

"she smiles," and he sports one of his own, if lois focused a little longer than maybe she would've heard the subtle pick of his heartrate, the dreamy sigh that leaves his lips followed by a little gasp when he pictures you, how he has to press his lips together to stop himself from bursting out the seams.

"at everyone but you," lois, the true voice of reason and honesty, tries to hit him with.

"exactly," he's smug when he faces his friend, kicking his feet up on his desk and relaxing back in his chair, "mine are reserved," he brags. he thinks about the small smiles kept with clark kent's name attached to them. how they're half teeth but all heart, with your lips pressed together but clark can see the small curve of your lip. the smirks that radiate confidence, how clark marvels at your talent and intellect, the small snarls where you mean to throw disdain but clark catches it with pride that he can rile you up this good. then there's the smiles where you don't think he's watching but he always is, where your eyes crinkle and your whole existence seems to soften with something gentler, something kinder, something so overtly hidden from him that he doesn't want to ruin the moment and let you know he's there.

he must've trailed too far off into the distance, overstayed in the shrine he's built of you in memories that lois' knowing look pulls him back to the surface and he tries to return back to their earlier conversation- the start of it all, questioning the existence if there's someone out there other than clark who is deserving of your attention, "i don't think her and jimmy are a thing, i mean i saw her wrestle him for a coffee mug in the break room earlier," and he tries to hide the fondness with a poorly executed scoff.

"clark again, what do you care?" except this time lois doesn't bother to hide the giggle of stupidity at one of her closest's friends and clark panics, he doesn't care. he can't care- it'll ruin his easygoing relationship with you and if you have to hate him for him to get access to a side you don't give out to anyone else, clark kent will do it.

"i don't, i told you, maybe if neutron got laid or was seeing someone, she'd like i don't know lighten up," he excuses but the words feel as misplaced as they leave him, when they linger in the air and cut through the thickness with a swift elbow jab from lois. it feels wrong, like a branding he's put out there- a label on your character but he needs to throw his friend off his trail. he's clark kent, he's number one and you're the competition. and then a heavy silence takes over and clark trails lois' apologetic gaze to where you stand just a few feet away from him, sporting the same glare you always mean for him but a new faint red blush creeping up your neck.

oh lord, he thinks.

because somewhere along from torturing yourself with star wars and your work nemesis thinking of your smile, you've made it back to the office- forgetting a cup for your flask. and at that moment in time, fate is a cruel twisted and funny thing because your ears burn hot with the intensity of the words he's hit you with and they paint a tomato hue of embarrassment you can't bring yourself to die down.

"dick," you scoff in his direction, disgust laced on your features but its a little more of a weaker whisper than you'd like.

"hey, you can borrow it whenever," he tries to recover, regain the comedic banter and shoots you a wink to recover from his stumble. but you just stare, stare and stare till he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. when you're satisfied with his squirming you turn to head back to your desk to grab a small blanket and some cups.

"i'd rather eat glass," you return smoothly, "glad to know a dry spell is also hitting you too or do you just you offer your services up to anyone?" it's snarky, but if you weren't so thrown off guard, you know you could've done better.

"ah, not anyone, just you babe," another smirk. but when you've disappeared he faces a stern lois who stands with her brows raised clearly unimpressed, theres just something about you that brings out the competitive childish side in him and he doesnt know what to do. his mouth moves far too quick for his brain to keep up with, anything for you keep your eyes on him. until you don't.

"oh gosh," he breathes when you're out of earshot, though he'd never let you hear or give you the satisfaction of throwing him off his usual calm, collected and smooth game.

"a little too far, kent," she pats him on the back, its a little harder but carries the consequences of him mouthing off "keep that up and you'll drive her too far out you'll need a damn map to bring her home."

"oh i'm not trying to bring her home," he rolls his eyes and a beat of silence passes the two of them.

"clark, i think you like her," lois softens.

"i think you're being crazy and should just help me with damn article," he huffs, directing his attention to literally anything but the confession his friend hits him with. he can't like you- he can't, but lois saying it doesn't make it feel any less real. so she lets it go, settles into their easy routine and helps nitpick where he's gone wrong and what he can do better, clark listens obediently and tries to focus but he can still feel you in his orbit. he needs to do something to salvage the mood and so he does what he knows he can do- pure journalism.

"full disclaimer not that i care or anything but for purely based on my outstanding deductive skills as a journalist- that means she's not seeing anyone," he breaks the shifted mood to recall your earlier comment from memory, like his muscles remember the contraction, the wave of oxygen it takes to formulate your name and your entire existence like its a secret oath he's sworn to protect.

"not that you care though right," lois teases and he feels his friendship slowly restores its balance, his earlier slip up not forgotten, just lightly grazed over into something familiar.

"of course not," he confirms and ducks his head lower into his desk, not without sneaking a look in the direction of your desk that still sits empty- you must've returned to your picnic with jimmy and afternoon without the tyranny of clark kent.

"it was on the record- observational, i'm a journalist," he excuses with a shrug. lois catches the ramble fondly but clark is too far in his head to notice. and maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it enough.

. . .

the thing is, clark kent has tried to be nice to you. a truce of some sorts.

it started with coffee cups that he would leave on your desk, watch you sniff cautiously and the first few you spilt down the sink along with his eager-eyed hope for peace. you weren't sure of who was leaving them until you arrived to work a lot earlier than usual- your plans to leave a lot earlier that day and make up the time.

you watched him pick up your mug from the cupboard through blinking tired eyes- it had to have been a blur, a lapse in judgement you were half asleep. but the guilty look, his widened eyes like a deer in headlights, its a look you'll score into your memory.

from there, he still made the coffee and he'd watch you drink it in agonising slow slips, never once did you acknowledge it, thank him other than a slight nod, but he held onto it.

he tried through giving you pointers on your work, just little comments to push you in the direction and you were pushed alright. you didn't speak or look his way for days, the cold shoulder freezing clark out as you poured yourself into long days glued to your desk to come out better, to do better, to be better.

he even offered to walk you home and you looked at him like he was insane; and maybe he was. maybe he shouldve known it came across as weird, out of the blue, i mean you two were hardly even friends and your commute was in the entirely different direction of his but he thought it was gentlemanly, honourable even but you gave him one weird look and left. and he never asked again.

and from then, clark decided there was higher reward that came from annoying you than what came from being nice to you. nice didn't earn him your attention, didn't push him to be his best for you and him, in fact he owes a large part of his career growth to you- it's nice to be challenged but being nice wasn't going to get you to look in his direction and linger. nice was for strangers, for friends and you and clark? he knew your connection was meant for more.

. . .

it's wednesday and you have the mornings off, entering the daily planet just after the callback from lunch is announced and you step into the meeting room ready for a debrief.

you've had your hair cut, clark notices immediately as he catches sight of your frame slipping through the door behind perry. he likes it, a lot, he decides. it looks so soft and bouncy, styled in a blowout that clark for a second, thinks what it would be like to feel the strands through his fingers, like silk. do you use silk pillows?

you catch sight of lois, send her a sweet smile and it drops to a slower polite one at clark, who lets his fingers dance in a teasing wave as you walk past the pair to get to your usual seat- right across from him. he gets a faint smell of vanilla and deeper notes of cherry that intoxicate his bloodstream and lure him deeper in your vicinity- is that a new fragrance? he doesn't have time to notice because a laughter like sunshine streaks through the sky, throwing planet earth off orbit.

"that good?" jimmy murmurs, and you shake your head, eyes widening and flashing in delight,

"incredible," you gush in a whisper and clark feels left out. there's clearly something unspoken in the air, you just feel lighter. you've abandoned your usual slacks for a fairy-like skirt, paired with a simple knit sweater and bow ballet flats, you look ... nice, he wants to say. like, you always look nice but today, you look really nice. you look softer, less guarded and it is drawing clark in like a magnet he can't turn from.

before he can even tease you, the room drifts off into a deep discussion as they pass around their ideas for the week and when it gets to you, clark uses the opportunity to ask you the most useless questions, hold your gaze intently as he quizzes on random hypothetical scenarios and when he hears the frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you pack up your things, clark faces a tired lois, ignoring how he hears you mumble a faint "i'm going to kill him jimmy, i'm going to go down for first degree murder and i give lois permission to have that story."

"what?" he questions. she levels him with a look and he shrugs it off, "she looks different today," he adds a little quieter today.

and then lois swats his shoulder in annoyance, "dude," she breathes, "you know, maybe she finally got laid and eased up a bit" lois repeats a stale regurgitation of his previous words and scoffs at how ridiculous it sounds. and as if by instinct, clark's fists clench and rumble under the table as he pins a dark look to your seat. he can't imagine it- you? sharing an electric chemistry with someone other than him? must be a nightmare he's stuck in because suddenly clark doesn't feel as special anymore. he feels lonely, and a little bit childish for getting such a reaction out of you. he tunes out on lois' teasing and taps his fingers against the table in thought and then without saying goodbye, he leaves lois lane confused behind.

for this type of journalism, clark has to go out on the field.

he tries to find you on many occasions to conduct his investigation on your love life but it seems you're playing hide and seek, though he does spot jimmy olsen refilling his coffee in the break room and very subtly leans his back to the counter, facing jimmy cooly.

"can i help you, clark?" jimmy furrows his brows, looking around to see if there's anyone else clark is here for.

"hey jimmy," he smiles and it's strange, unnerving even. clark has always been nice to jimmy but his little stunt flustering you in the break room after you've clearly had a good morning, jimmy feels the need to protect his honour and show his loyalty today to you today.

"listen, i gotta go," he swats off clark, holding up two mugs and clark catches it instantly- the mug he used to refuel so often for you. he matches jimmy's stride within seconds, his longer legs having to slower down a few steps to keep up in tandem with him. jimmy catches on slowly to what clark's doing and speeds up, narrowing a corner and hoping to lose him.

"what do you want?" jimmy breathes out, trying to catch his lungs up to this metaphorical turned physical chase.

"neutron," clark stops him, extending his arm as a physical barricade to the wall and cutting him off and jimmy nods slowly, careful not to pour any more spillage from the steaming mugs he's transporting. "she uh, she doing okay?" he asks.

"is she doing okay?" jimmy dumbly repeats, "yes?"

"yes?"

"yes?" he repeats,

"why are you saying it like a question, she is or she isn't," clark rumbles in exasperation.

"yes she's fine! what do you care?"

"why does everyone keep saying that!" clark bursts our and quietens down once he sees the few stares that have accumulated his way. jimmy rolls his eyes and sends him a glare, eerily similar to lois' but all clark can focus on is how its nothing like yours.

"clark, you're like, a menace-" jimmy gets out, "in the nicest way possible, i think you're out of your depth," and clark doesn't make a move, just sets his lips between his teeth and sits on it.

"she's not seeing anyone is she?" he speaks low, a depth he's sure can touch the centre of the earth and meant for jimmy's ears only. a smirk settles on your friend's features as he tries to hide the smile.

"you'll have to ask her yourself," he shrugs trying not to act too smug, "her business is her business." and he ducks his head under clark's arm of a barricade and carries on his way, he walks around the corner slightly again out of clark's way but sends a final look back in resignation and slight pity for your work nemesis who's clearly trying to branch out into friends and more territory with no clue how to, "clark?"

"yeah?" he answers hopeful, the beat of his heart skipping as he jumps to each conclusion.

"save her a dance tomorrow, i think she'd like that," and he nods to himself, that's if you don't kill him before the daily planet gala starts.

. . .

"girl, tomorrow you wear the dress. trust me on this, no questions, just do it."

. . .

there's faint buzz of something questionable, something familiar and something that makes the butterflies soar in your stomach as you take a walk around the room. it's been decorated so beautifully and you take the time to just soak up the ambience- the warmth it offers as you're here so often this place is basically your second home, you've made friends, enemies but so many memories that tonight is a celebration.

you let yourself looser, you dance as much as you can and let the liquid courage swim through your veins as you float carefree, until you hit the deep end. 6'4, 240lbs of a deep end.

"clark," you nod and sip into your drink, you had wanted to avoid him tonight but coming to think of it, there's nowhere in existence you could go without clark kent following you at your side.

"neutron or would you prefer my sweet nemesis?" he grins, taking in your attire and he lets his eyes roam on your frame, it warms a different kind of fire in you, a little bit of a burn that wraps around your frame- the kind that comes from a campfire, settling into the sweet night.

"you look well," you get out, ignoring his trap and his smile grows. well. he straightens to his full length, relishing in your compliment and fights back the drawl, he knows he looks good. and he knows that you know he does. he looks fucking incredible in his navy suit, his slicked hair with a small curl that hangs to the forefront. it drops, dangling dangerously infront of you and you feel the urge to reach out and wrap your finger around it, tug it enough for him to fall into you and-

"you look incredible, you know," he leans in with a tease, "for a nerd," and your heart races at the intensity of being so close. you take a step forwards, ignoring the beat of a drum in your ears and the warnings blarring in your mind and you whisper, letting it simmer in the air and lands on his lips.

"you look well," you repeat, "for someone who's about to be second place to me," and he rolls his lips together, melting your words into his soul, imprinting what he knows and loves. clark kent doesn't come second place- it's not in his nature, but the confidence you shoot at him, it sends something straight to his head and his heart. god, he loves a challenge- he likes you. and he just doesn't know what to do with all of this.

he replaces your empty glass of drink with his own, and when your lips touch the mark where his own had been moments before something tingles down his spine. you chug it down in one go and face him with a smile. your best friend's words come to you earlier and remind you that tonight is a party and you're allowed to enjoy yourself. you're a professional, you work hard, you deserve to let loose and you'll be damned if you let clark kent steal all your energy to keep up with his immature banter. there doesn't have to be a fight or arguement tonight, you could be civil coexist in the same place as clark kent and not have everything go to shit.

"jimmy said you were gonna save me a dance or have you gotten all chicken-shit?" you lay the bait and he takes it, burning at the red of your dress that flashes in his brain. he wants to photograph this moment, burn it into his soul for permanent memory because the twinkle in your eyes is dangerous, he's falling in deep. he tries to play it safe, knowing that you'd hardly let him close to you if you were sober and aware- the alcohol numbing your nerves and feeding in his delusions. so his hands find your waist at a respectable distance as he sways you to the beat, your own wrap around his shoulders and before you know it, he's skipping you around the room, twirling you in his arms and all you can feel is him.

"i need another drink," you laugh when you detach yourself from his hold, patting his chest (and pretending like you didn't feel a whole bunch of muscle under that white shirt) in a forced friendly manner and making a bee line for the table set up.

someone needs to stop you before its too late, so he warns your best friend who cheekily nods at him before he takes off in the same direction, needing the same liquid courage that has you seeing stars though clark kent is far from sober himself; his tolerance just a lot higher than yours.

the shots line up and clark takes them with each loosening his muscles and drowsing him with replays of how you smiled at him, how your laughter sounded when he finally let go of you. how tonight you weren't pretend enemies, he was a man standing infront of the most gorgeous woman alive and pretending like he wouldn't sacrifice anything to be close to you.

it's sloppy to get drunk at a work function, but clark decides its sloppier to let the only person who's ever made him feel so alive walk away so he searches for you in the sea of souls, eyes straining as he dodges body to body till he sees a sliver of red make a beeline to the bathroom and he follows.

come on clark, you're superman, you can do this, the alcohol cheers him on.

you can tell her that you love her and it all won't go to shit.

. . .

the knocks at the door interrupt your application of a fresh coat of lipstick, the red as crisp as your dress and you feel yourself blush slightly; you look good and you feel great too, which makes a really nice change for once.

"occupied," you raise your voice and steady yourself at the sink, taking a deep breath in to pace yourself. it might be a good idea to think about turning in for the night, making sure you have enough rest- you have the day off tomorrow but, still. you've had your night of breathless fun and it's time to clock back into being responsible you.

the knocks clutter again and you huff, ripping the door hinges with more force than you intended that you stumble your balance, reach out for the frame to lean on for support and face the almost intruder.

"clark?" you don't mean for it to sound like a question but it just does.

"you are infuriating," he breathes. his speech is slightly slurred and you scrunch your brows in annoyance, then your nose at the smell heavy in the air. god, he's ruining your mood already.

"all you had to do was wait," you hiss, it doesn't come as quick as you'd like but it lands all the same. he's blocking the corridor to get back out on the dance floor with that looming intensity and you wait, tapping your foot- the click of the heel signalling where you want to be.

clark refines the sound and aligns it to his heartbeat, matching each click with a footstep closer to you until he has you up against the wall, milimetres and months of tension separating the two of you. "i've waited so long," he murmurs, suddenly softer and his hand reaches out hesitantly, his fingers stroke your jaw before he cups your cheek in his hand. the other snakes around your waist and you close your eyes, subtly leaning into his touch and he hums.

"this colour on you," its a whisper as his fingers trace your lips and his eyes darken with something heavier and unfamiliar you can't name but it excites you. you wait so patiently any moment now to feel his lips on yours, if you angle your head just slightly, bend your waist into him, you'll be there yourself

"you talk too much," and sparks fly when you decide to close the gap yourself and bridge something new. theres a soft "oomf" as you throw yourself at him and he bends immediately into you, moulding your soul to his as he lets his lips lock into yours, catching your lip between his teeth as he makes further work down your neck.

"clark?" you whisper and he hums against your skin, the breath as warm as the blood pooling through your veins that you have to press your hand against his abdomen to steady yourself.

"look who's talking too much now," he rumbles and a small gasp escapes you when you feel the graze of his teeth.

"clark?" you call out again, tugging the curls of his upwards to lift his gaze to yours and you find a hint of concern hiding in them.

"yeah, baby?" and the gruff sends a new sensation to your heart, bleeding through the edges as you scramble to find a new home where you can slot the words "yeah baby" into existence for the rest of your life. it goes straight to your head, weakening your knees to jelly as you fold. for a moment it reminds you of why you don't like being called neutron when clearly, baby is the best option out there by lightyears.

"not here," you shake your head softly,

"mine?" he asks in the inches that separate you.

"yeah," you breathe before you're tangled in him again.

you're the picture of grace and elegance as you wobble away back out into the main hall. you wave to your friend goodbye and jimmy yells for you to get home safe. minutes later, clark does the exact same except he doesn't stop for anyone. he tears the front doors down like they're a mission and meets you in biting secrets of midnight. a taxi is called, the two of you two drunk to drive and keep your hands to yourself as you land at his door.

with his mouth on yours and his hands clearly busy, it takes four tries to get the key through the door before you almost trip over yourself getting in. he catches you effortlessly and where the door had taken four attempts, it only takes clark one and possibly four seconds to have you undressed and feel his skin on yours, and not just linger under it like he usually does.

it's a night filled with praises, a messy tangle of the months of yearning and miscommunicated feelings that rush to the surface. and as your back hits the soft clouds of his mattress and he sends you to a new type of heaven, you forget all the reasons you've ever hated clark kent. how could you not? when he's hell bent on making sure you're loved enough in one night for a lifetime.

. . .

the first thing that unsettles you is that when you wake there's no sunlight that peeks through your blinds which alarms you dangerously.

it then amplifies when you sit upright and the sheets slip, pooling at your naked waist that you gasp horrified, clutching them back to cover you as you dart your eyes in your surroundings.

the hangover rushes to your head, a drum that pounds with panic as you bite your lip down, blood rising with a bruised ego as you realise just where in the hell you were.

in hell.

in satan's homeland you've lost your dignity.

you stand, the urge to cry in embarrassment as you flush, desperately grabbing your trail of clothes all over the room and dressing at the speed of light. the mirror catches your reflection, the print of pillows that aren't yours etched onto your cheeks, the ruffled of your hair a sloppy mess- a direct echo of how you feel and you shudder at your appearance. this feels like a far cry from how you looked last night- you just look so undone and it nags at you as you plan your escape.

heels may be too loud with their clicking, you ponder so you clutch as the straps and pad barefoot out of the bedroom door. the eery quiet and silence of the house just makes it easier to hear your heart thud in your chest, begging to break free and relieve itself from the anxiety building up in your system.

just a few steps to go and freedom will feel so incredible.

"not even going to join me for breakfast?" and its a deep runble, etched with fatigue and gentleness that pulls you from your escape plan as you freeze. you're mid-tiptoe and pause, turning swiftly to face the bane of your existence, the cause of all your problems and most recent mistake with a cheesy smile.

its a new one, clark thinks and he makes a mental note to jot it down for later safekeeping. it's childish even, curled with nerves at the edges as he watches you try and come up with an excuse. he sets the frying pan down on his oven and makes his way towards you. unlike you, a hot mess, he's dressed in a cotton t shirt and pyjama bottoms- like a normal person would be and you couldn't help but feel more stupid. he plants his hands on your shoulders and steers you into the direction of his kitchen, ignoring your pleads and excuses with a hand firmly pressed to your mouth, stifling you to silence.

"come on neutron," he mumbles, "eat." and the plate placed infront of you unlocks something ravenous, caveman-like, setting back your mannerisms years to the beginning of existence. you swallow your pride and some of the omlette he's made slowly and clark smiles, it feels like the very first time he saw you actually drink one of the coffees he made for you at the office and its funny how the deja vu just hits him.

if he could take it back, he would have tried harder, he thinks. would've made the coffee regularly into a habit, wouldve showed you in the smaller moments that he can be more than the competition, he could be a steady force in your life. or maybe, he could've just pavlov'ed you into expecting a coffee that when it didn't come, it would've caused you to seek him out either way.

"fuck," you mumble, of course clark kent had to have been a good cook too- this feels highly unfair on you, you think.

"yeah we did," he mutters into his steaming mug of coffee and when he feels you freeze under the table opposite him he apologises. its the softest of "sorry"'s you've ever heard in your life, the first from him for sure that you test how it feels on your ears, savour the sensation and decide you like it almost as much as you loved hearing the word "baby" slip from his lips last night. clark sends you a softened look, hoping his slip up hasn't scared you off- gentle steps, he curses at himself. he knows you, knows the structure you value that any sort of off balance will drive you away and he intends to keep you as close as he can.

he waits for you to finish breakfast and you sit there awkwardly, "i can do the dishes?" you offer and he shuts you down instantly, letting you linger in your shame a lot longer than you'd like as you try to come up with new escape routes.

"i can feel you thinking from here neutron," he offhandedly calls as he dries the dishes he lays on the rack, his broad back is still turned to you and you mouth a plethora of curses at the muscle you could recite like its the word of god. "lay that big brain on me, baby."

baby.

and your heart skips too many beats you fear you may go into cardiac arrest, so you settle for deflection instead, "i think last night was a mistake," you rush out. and its painfully slow how long it takes him to put down the rag, turn around and lean against the sink counter, the slight tense of his forearms as they brace at his sides the main inclination he already doesn't like what you're about to say.

"i don't think it was," he tries to catch your gaze and as soon as he does, its an intense lock of eye contact as he searches deep into your soul.

"clark we were drunk!" you try to reason, squirming under the intensity of it all. and that's the last time you'll ever drink, you swear to yourself.

"and i would do it sober," he shrugs, he bounces off the sink with a little leap as he stalks towards you, each step an echo of how he approached you last night and how you know how easy it could be to just slip and fall into his embrace all over again; clark kent is pure poison, evil and intoxicating that you feel a strong dependancy on him. you don't just love somebody like clark kent and when he leaves you make it out alive- you just about tried hating him and it feels like you're hanging on for dear life. the consequences should be earth shattering, heart-breaking disastrous.

"you don't think we have a chance here?" he asks, his fingers tipping your chin upwards to him, crushing some centimetres of distance.

"i don't think we'd work," you softly speak, "up until last night, i'm sure you hated me," and he recoils, letting out a strained sigh before nodding.

"i couldn't hate you, no matter how hard i try. i don't think we hate each other at all," he confesses, "i think we feel a lot for each other, maybe too much we can handle and know what to do with it so it possibly gets misplaced. warped and wrapped up but it's shaped in the love i feel for you," he reaches out for your hand, lays it on his chest where his beating heart rests and spreads your fingers so you can feel the extent of the contraction. "i don't know what to do with all these feelings but i do know, with my life and more than anything, that i want to be with you and i want to try- we worked so well last night, that was just a tester baby, i'd be so good to you, we," he pleads, "we could be so good to each other." and he presses his forehead so tenderly into yours, a greater look into your vulnerable gaze.

"i don't know how to do this clark," you whisper, "i'm scared," and the voice that escapes you is so small and foreign, clark's own heart breaks at the sound of it.

"we'll do this together, slow. i'll take the lead if you want but i won't pursue this if this is something you don't want," if i'm someone you don't want, he doesn't push to say.

"okay," you swallow, blinking back a few stray tears and he narrows his eyes, assessing if there's any underlying feelings you're hiding from him. part of you doesn't know if this is okay, but the word leaves you before you can stop it.

"okay?" he asks, to be sure.

"okay," you breathe and he holds your head against his chest, rocking you into his embrace and you stiffly pat his back. you've never been anything other than clark kent's work nemesis before and part of you feels way out of your league, this is unfamiliar territory and you're wildly unprepared for being someone he could love. but the way he looks at you, like you've lifted the sky to its height and hold the weight of his entire universe, you have to give it a try or it will crush you whole.

. . .

the first time clark kent holds your hand in his you almost scream.

his own is dropped at its side and when he walks with you up to the office, he tries to be subtle with how it knocks into yours. a soft slide of skin as he slows his steps to match yours. it happens four times before you grow suspicious but he doesn't bother to look down at you, the guilt is already lingering in the soft smile he tries to downplay. and then he just interlocks his hands in yours, sends you a sweet smile and carries on walking like it's the most natural thing to do.

it's unbelievably warm, protective and holds what the future could be like for you one day. it swings in tandem as you walk and he only lets go once you've made it to your desk. he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, then to your forehead and whispers "have a good day honey, meet you for lunch?" and all you can do is stand there, dumbly nod as he stretches out his arm to the full length before he actually has to let go of your hand and walks in the direction of his own desk.

you stand and then you sit, trying to regain composure of how different it felt to not have to have the snark ready on your lips, to not have to brace yourself for a day of matching wit- your heart beats softly, telling you to relax, get a grip of yourself- it's still clark. the clark who's showed you the worst of yourself and has still chosen to take an interest in you. he's clark, for god's sake, that hasn't changed.

"what the heck was that?" jimmy's head pops up into your view and you stutter, trying to find the words, but nothing comes up right.

"i don't know," your wide eyed gaze startles your friend. he's seen you seconds before a deadline, after a five coffee caffeine crash, when your past partner broke up with you months ago because of how much of a workaholic you were but the stillness in your gaze as you wander in the direction of where clark sits. as if he can sense your attention like its a damn superpower he meets your stare with a grin, a poke of his tongue out as he waves and you slowly return the wave back. his grin grows larger and he swivels back around but the nerves in your stomach still stay.

"honey, are you okay?" jimmy crouches to your height, "when did all of this happen?" and you look around before whispering carefully, hoping it reaches his ears only.

"i slept with him the night before last and when i woke up i thought we could go back to normal- he hates me, i hate him, whatever but," and you shake your head, "he's being really nice to me and i don't know what to do, this feels so strange, jim, this is," and you groan, dropping your head into your hands.

"oh honey," he sighs, "do you like him?" he asks quietly and you nod slowly, hoping the tears don't start spilling from your waterline and ruining your mascara.

"i think i might," you murmur, "i don't know yet, i haven't given it the time for this all to really settle yet- am i making sense?" and jimmy hugs you gently. he thinks you do already, it'll just take time for you see past the previous persona clark has shown you- that he can be more than a rival, he can be dependable, trusted, loving.

"i'm giving it a try," you add, "i mean you never know unless you try, right?" and he pats your head affectionately.

"i'm here if you need me, my friend," and you pat his shoulder in return, thankful for one thing that hasn't changed in the last few days that have blurred past and thrown you off course.

"thanks, jim."

. . .

your days moves slower when there's no arguing that takes place; it's kind of peaceful, slower paced in a way that lets you regain control of your feet. it feels a lot more intentional; the uneasy weight from the last few days slowly slipping away as you enter this new normal and you've been enjoying it.

the sex is incredible- it's hard to think when clark keeps you busy when you're alone and when he's so soft and tender in the moments after, you feel incredibly grateful to see this new side of him. there's something special between the two of you and you look forward to seeing clark, to spending time with him as you learn more about him.

like how he also loves the theatre.

you find this out when you're catching your breath, your back to his mattress and bare tummy to the air as he lies next to you.

"question," he murmurs, planting a kiss to your shoulder.

"that's not a question," you tease and roll over to your side, he flicks your nose in return and continues.

"last week when you came into work-"

"i come into work every day, clark-"

"well baby, if you let me finish my sentence," he rolls his eyes and it feels like the clark you've always ever known and you really like it. and then there's that damn baby again that has you weak in the knees all over. you smile and gesture for him to continue, "you had your hair cut, you were smiling- but not like you always do- but like," he pauses, "it was radiant, magnetic like you looked happier," and you stop and try to think of what you had been up to recently.

"oh," you mumble into his chest, noticing the slight tense he holds in his frame that you pull back with a wrinkle in your forehead.

"was there someone else?" and its the quietest you've ever heard his voice before, it wobbles a little at the edges and knifes a jagged edge into your heart.

"oh no," and you try to hide yourself in his embrace, an embarrassed chuckle leaving you as you squirm, "you're going to think this is so lame," you groan and he twists so you're underneath him, trapped by his huge arms as he hovers on top of you.

"what?" he chuckles at your sudden nervousness, an astronomical size of relief taken off his soul knowing that there's only him- even when it hadn't even been him.

"jimmy got me tickets to "hamlet" as an early birthday gift and it was incredible," you beam, "the haircut was just an addition but god clark," and when you're excited, rambling underneath him he can't help but linger into your space, cut you off with a swift kiss to the corner of your lips as you chase him for more.

one ends up into two then three and soon enough, forever.

"that's insane," his breath tickles into your skin and you scrunch your nose in delight, "because i also happen to be a former theatre kid-"

"oh my god, clark," you laugh, "who's the nerd now?" and he pinches at your side, "clark kent, a fellow drama lover- who would've thought?"

he talks with you about his favourite plays, how he wishes he had more free time to see them live, how wonderful acting is as a profession and when he lists off all the things that excite you the very same way you realise that maybe after all, you and clark aren't so different after all.

he makes a promise that this friday, the two of you will see "romeo and juliet" live as an official first date and you can't hide the soar of butterflies swirling in your stomach that you check it down into your calender immediately, pepper him with an insane amount of kisses and mentally start preparing your outfit.

he stares at you with such fondness as he listens to you talk about your family out of the city; how it was your mother who first showed you the importance of maintaing a creative outlet when pursuing such an academic and intensive career and he listens and listens and wants to soak up every single word like a sponge and wash away the doubts that have circled in his head the past week.

he worried he was moving too quick, then too slow but all he really had to do was show you he's here, that he wants to get to know you beyond your work ethic and integrity, beyond the conversations he has to search for details about you and slowly, he thinks its all falling to place.

its in the quiet of the night where he asks you again,"you sure you're okay with this?" he wouldn't be upset if you weren't, he'd bear the weight of patience and wait forever for you, he really would with how bad he wants this to work.

"yeah," you breathe and when you say it this time, the earth settles into a slower spin, and when it tilts you're ready to hold your balance. it feels right when you look into his eyes and say just one word, and you really start to believe it that this is okay, more than okay and you're only scratching the surface of how incredible it could be.

. . .

a week into spending more time with each other and dating, it feels like this is what your soul was meant do that you feel silly for even worrying about this all at the beginning.

it's monday, which means there's four days until your next theatre date with clark, you had so much fun last time that you've decide to make this a weekly occurence when you can. it's a secret you're going to surprise him with after work on the way home, you'll lean into his side, whip out the tickets like theyre gold and you know he'll be insanely pleased; its the first time you're making a move in this relationship and it's a big deal for you.

you don't see clark whilst you're at work and you think it's strange- clark's been known to disappear randomly and you've not noticed it too much in the time you've officially spent together to be bothered by it in the slightest. your main concern is finding your boyfriend and seeing if he has plans after work.

its 3pm and you start to worry, you don't want to draw any attention to you by asking others for his whereabouts but you catch lois lane in the far corner of the room who tenses when you come near and its the first warning that throws you off.

"lois?" you call out and she awkwardly turns around, feigning surprise like she hadnt stalked you for a few minutes before making your way over there.

"hey!" and you watch her cross her arms over her chest, a defensive posture, you note. why?

"have you seen clark anywhere?" you ask, and she shoots you a careful look before sighing.

"i think its best if you give him some distance for a few days," and you crumble immediately, panic flaring in your chest as your gaze narrows. god, you knew this was too much- that you were too much, you should've-

"i didn't realise how deep your feelings were for each other," she mumbles and it cuts your spiral off eerily short.

"what?" you pause, "what do you mean?"

"i think the word document says enough," she winces, "i thought the rivalry thing was a joke but.." her words trail off because you don't give her the time to finish. your heart is racing as quick as your footsteps out the door and you break out into a full sprint.

the purring of cars and clattering of metropoliton city drown out the whispers of gossip from the daily planet and your muscles burn but you keep going, you push and push and push till they give way and your heart collapses.

a sob escapes your throat in a raw guttural sound and this time, you can't stop the tears. you have no idea where you are but you know that this all just fucking hurts. your tears well up and are caught in your hands that also carries the weight of your head and the world as you just cry. knees tucked in close to your chest against the side of a building, you just cry. hours have passed and when you look around, hardly anyone around to have noticed your breakdown you just about stand. the energy completely taken out of as you sigh, you wish the ground could just wake up and swallow you whole for how stupid and careless you had been.

of course it was a word document that was going to be your downfall, you had made a lame list of things you disliked about clark and on the torturously long walk to his house they burn in your mind.

i hate the way he laughs so loudly, it rings in my ears i'm pretty sure i could go deaf in the near future.

i hate the way he looks at me like he's got something to say but never does or maybe he's too much of a coward.

i hate the way he's buddies with superman- lame.

i hate the way he sneaks up on me, throws me off guard- he's so big it consumes my space and i can't think.

i hate the way second best to him still feels like its worth something- it shouldn't.

i hate the way he makes me feel.

i hate him.

you've got to find him, you've got to apologise to him, salvage what you can and make it out of this alive, hopefully still with him but each word you remember, each muscle moved to type the childish betrayal raises a fresh new wave of tears and you're a blubbering mess by the time you reach his door.

"clark!" you shout, your voice raspy from crying, exhausted from thinking if you could run quick enough, you'd be able to outrun all your problems. you tap against the door, then full on bang with urgency as you shout his name, "clark, please!" you try, panicking when you can hear the shuffle of footsteps behind the door but no words in reply.

"clark please baby," it slips from your lips- the first time you've ever called him that in a sheer moment of desperation and you recoil, you don't deserve to call him that right now- you had the privilege and dishonoured yourself with it, "clark please open the door!" and you bang your head against it, the hot touch of your forehead cooling against the steel. "i didn't mean it," you cry, "i didn't mean any of it, i swear- i don't hate you, i promise please just let me in, please let me explain," the choked sobs rise and you're mumbling, half coherent but the words land the same. "i wrote it ages ago long before we started to get to know each other, i don't feel that way god no, you just gotta let me explain, i don't hate you, i lo-" and you're cut short by the rapid movements and the sudden open of his door.

he looks devastated and still so beautiful that it knocks the already very little air out of you. like he too had spent the afternoon working mentally in overtime, he shakes his head, restraint evident as he grips the door. his ocean eyes pierce your soul and when you move to take a step forward he grits out a sharp, "don't" and closes the door just an inch.

you can see forever through that sliver, it's so close but it's so far away, just out of your depth and reach.

"clark please," you cry and he shakes his head, torn between wanting to comfort you and wanting to protect you.

"don't," he repeats, its heavier, a little firmer but still somehow hurts all the same, bleeding through your heart as it crackles and lays bloodied and bruised open for him. and he steps on it with his next words, "god some part of me knew this wasn't going to work and gosh," he breathes, "you really do just hate me,"

"no," you shout in desperation, shaking your head and all your senses, "i don't! i swear- clark, i'm in lo-" and he cuts you off.

"i don't think you should say things you're not ready to mean," he whispers and he looks as though he might reach out, grasp your hand a final time but decides better of it.

"you win neutron," he speaks softly, lethally tender and it destroys your entire existence in one soft breath, "i thought for a second we were working, that everything was fine. but, if everything's ever just been a competition and that's all you've ever seen me as, then you win. i give up, this game? it's not for me, not if i'm never going to come first place for you," and he closes the door with a soft thud.

you don't move from your position, crying and knocking on the door once more, "clark, please!" and you fight the urge to just slump and slide against it, to camp out here forever until he opens the door and gives you an inch to redeem yourself, to clear the air and just listen. "clark, i don't hate you- i could never hate you," and fate is a cruel and twisted thing to have you repeating the same words he promised to you the morning you woke and everything changed. "i can explain, please let me explain," and you know it's heard, it just doesn't matter enough to be actioned.

you hang your head low, the image of the door closed bruising your optic nerves that it's time to go home. the damage is done and its time to mourn the casualties of getting crossed in the fire. you knew you'd never come out of loving clark kent alive, you just didn't realise hating him had burned you first long ago.

. . .

you try to catch him at work but he's missing for the first two days and you're subjected to the growing whispers and judgemental looks that are shot your way as he proceeds to just plain avoid you. he's never at his desk when you pass by, he's never at the break room, when he gets an inkling you're in his vicinity he takes off completely in the opposite direction and you can't even feel him, but you can hear the thoughts about him.

"i knew she never liked him,"

"she's actually gotta be deranged to make a whole document- imagine who else she's got written in that death note."

"i don't know babe, clark wasn't exactly the nicest to her."

"didn't they try dating?"

jimmy takes a seat beside you after the great shift where he's noticed you avoiding every single person in sight, including him and it hurts. you try your best to smile at him in greeting, force the ends in an upwards curve that it falls embarrassingly flat.

he sighs, leaving your newly filled coffee cup at your side and rests his head on yours affectionately, a little bump of support to let you know that he's always been on your side and always will.

"people are talking," you mumble, "i get it if you want to take some space," you nod tightly and he scoffs.

"we're not going anywhere," his voice is firm, "i don't care about what they say, you're my best friend and i am here for you." and you breathe out a thanks of appreciation, begging yourself not to cry again as he wraps you in a hug.

"you okay?" he murmurs into your hair and can feel you shake it against him and he sighs once more.

"he'll come around," when he pulls back.

"how can you be so sure?" you whisper, broken.

"because he's clark, he's never been one to stay away from you," he grins but your heart drops. not this time, you think. maybe not ever again.

but still you try, you pull tricks out of his own book in a pathetic grovel of sorts- but you just have to show clark that you're here, you're waiting and you'll do whatever it takes to show him.

so for the next few days you start to get to the office earlier, you make him a fresh cup of coffee and lay it at his desk, you write little pointers of encouragement on post it notes (given the fact that you have no idea of what he's writing to return him the advice he used to give you), but when the end of the day comes and you've tried not to make it obvious the way you stalk his big build that exits through the lifts and takes your heart with him, you make your way to his desk. the coffee sits untouched and cold, filled to the brim but the notes? they've disappeared. the blinding yellow fluroscent isn't pumped at the bottom of his bin with other scraps of paper he's scrunched up. you're embarrassed to admit that you half emptied it to check, they- like clark, himself- have just disappeared and you're left to deal with the radio silence in the aftermath. which somehow hurts more when it leaves everything unsaid and then some.

and like the days that have come before and all of your life before you gave clark kent a try at this thing called love, you walk home alone and lonely, all the same.

. . .

you finally meet superman on your commute home.

its the end of the week, you're final day before you're due to take some time off and you've left the office later than usual, giving clark ample time to avoid you and leave without having to actively dodge you, and then you had to speed up your writing because you've fallen behind on schedule and with everything in your life going to shit, you just needed one thing to be constant and be completely yours.

it's actually good enough to beat clark this time, you think after perry had complimented the first draft earlier. but he's made it clear that this rivalry the two of you were enamored in is no longer something he's interested and the win feels bittersweet, pointless even you could argue, it's just not the same and you hate it.

there's a hum of billy joel "piano man" that dramatically belts through your earphones as you turn the corner of the next block and if it weren't for the extra pair of feet tappering behind your shadow you probably wouldn't have noticed the strange man following you from behind. you take a random turn, panicking and afraid of leading this stalker to your doorstep that you don't recognise the alley you've turned into.

the evening air darkens with the absence of street lamps and you shake your head softly, "please," you quietly plead and at the flash of yellow teeth you throw the first punch. it's lazily and poorly directed that you miss and he grabs at your waist. you elbow him, hit him and then plain knee his nuts as soon as he drops you to the ground. the panic turns to rage and you feel the weight of the week just climb into each punch you land that you don't even feel the body turning eerily limp below you or the flash of blue and red that lowers into the alleyway.

"miss?" a deeper, ruff voice calls out, it catches sight of your side profile and softens, "hey, hey, hey," and arms that feel oddly familiar wrap around your waist and peel you off the weird man who heaves at the floor, "you're safe now,"

"no thanks to you," you almost scream the words, "for fucking superman you sure are slow!" and the agitation turns to straight tears as you just sob, "oh my god, what the fuck even is this week?" you breathe out shakily, "it's just shit after shit and i can't catch a break? i can't even get saved by superman?" and superman (clark) part of him wants to laugh at how strange both this situation and you are right now.

he wished he could've gotten to you quicker, it took him a flash of a second to recognise your scream but of course your rage was faster and you did all the heavy work, the least he could do was lend you a listening ear, even if hearing you open up so vulnerable to him broke his heart even further.

"how are you feeling?" he tries; part of him is easier to be superman like this, he stands at a distance, giving him space between the two of you because he knows he'd just crumble. he wanted to at the first sob he heard that night? the first cup of coffee he noticed, the first yellow post it note that now makes itself home in the top drawer of his desk- he couldn't bring himself to throw your little attempts at love notes away. he pats the ground next to him, offering his cape as a little blanket which you sit gingerly on, sniffles sitting in the centimetres that separate you respectably.

"i don't know if i can tell you," you mumble and his body freezes, surely you wouldn't have caught on to his identity- "you're like clark's buddy aren't you," you scoff and he blinks slowly.

"clark?" he asks, ignoring the huge weight lumbered off his chest and lets himself breathe again.

"6'4, 240lbs of pure muscle mass and glossy onyx curls, god he's just so," you groan, "he's so perfect and i as always," you start to fear the wave of sadness take over and you lower your head between your knees, focusing on how the ground feels underneath you, how the gravel looks a lot more sharper up close, "i ruined everything," and its a heartbreaking admission.

superman doesn't say anything, he stares at you, brows raised waiting for you to continue your story, "clark and i- it was strange. we weren't exactly friends, i mean we work together but it was always different. we used to compete for the spot for the first page privilege and thanks to you," you scoff and he sends you a wince of guilt, "he would come out on top most times- but he always used to push me to just be a better writer. it was petty i know, and for the longest time i just thought thats what we were. we were enemies, we hated each other- he brought out the worst in me," you chuckle,

"and yet he always stayed, he never expected anything from me in return, he was just there, you know and one night, we got together and i didn't think i was ready but i was going to try you know, he asked me for a chance and i gave it to him. i owed it to us, to the special relationship we had, to the way he made me feel like nobody on earth ever has. and you know, i've been in relationships and they've ended terrible- i'm not the best person i know but clark made it feel like it was easy to love me like he saw the worst and loved me despite it- most people would run away but clark he," and you cry, "he was my person."

you feel a hand land on your shoulder, his thumb soothing you in a backwards and forewards motion and through the tears you can't even see superman anymore. "so what happened?" he asks, though he already knows this first hand.

"when i first started the job, clark kent liked everyone but me and it felt personal, it hurt," you gasp, shrugging your shoulders as you relive the memory, "he made fun of me, and before i learned to understand and match the digs, before i found the routine and loved it with him, it honestly felt targeted so i made a word document- this was months ago, you have to believe me," you plead, "i was childish, i started listing these nasty things about him that i hated like god his smile, his laugh, just him- i had to get out all this negative energy somehow and i'm a writer, i fucking took it out on a word document, sue me," you bitterly laugh, "i don't know how it got out but it did, because the world hates me and i'm undeserving of the good things and now, i'm undeserving of clark,"

"he's incredible and i've never felt this way about someone before, but he doesn't believe so with that stupid document and me not showing up in the ways he has when we got together, he thinks that i hate him," you get out, shaking with the thick of emotion.

"and do you?"

you press your lips together in thought, maybe to repress them, if you don't speak it it won't be real, it won't be true, it won't hurt so much. but you're a journalist and your whole career has taught you that the truth is powerful, especially when it can hurt, so you be brave for once and face superman through the tears, "i'm in love with him."

the words don't come, clark feels his heart break through his chest and he wishes, oh he damn wishes that he wasn't superman- that superman doesn't even exist, he wishes he could be clark. your clark in this moment and hold you and tell you that he wants to fix this, that we can fix this and it will be alright again, he's in love with you too, he has to let you know this.

but he can't. because being superman is bigger than being clark kent. so he murmurs some useless advice at how things take time, you'll heal and clark will come back to you if he's the person you've fallen in love with- clark kent is honest and truthful and determined, if he's right for you then he will return.

superman does nothing but let his heart plummet further as you slide a faded white, slightly crumpled ticket his way and his blood freezes at the sight of shakespeare printed in small, "if you see clark, could you give him this? i wanted to take him, make it a regular thing- show him i'm committed to this and having time for it and i know we're not talking and he hates me more than anything but, i think he'll like it."

"then i will make sure he receives it, you have my word," and the world burns when you sniffle, send him a soft smile and get up to stand. to leave your problems in the hands of superman and in the darks of the alley, there's nothing more you can do and honestly you're tired of this all. you've tried and all you can do now is play the waiting game.

"i see why clark likes you, and you owe me an interview soon big guy," you nod and he sends a tight smile back, saluting you with a wave and ignoring the way his bones want to snap at how weak he feels right now. "have a good night, superman," and he waves again.

when he sees your form disappear and his tears fall onto the worn out ticket, still warm from your sweating hands, he whispers an oath, "see you soon, neutron."

. . .

"some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them," the voice of malvolio echoes throughout the hall and you watch intently.

there's an ache as you try not to look beside you, at the empty seat- the clark sized hole that mirrors the vacant area in your heart as you train your eyes forward. the theatre has always been your favourite place to just let go and relax, have someone else feel the emotions for once and bring them to life but it feels lacking tonight, you can't distract yourself enough and suddenly the air weighs down on you and crushes you at a great intensity.

you silently grab your purse, sneak out the back row and head out of the doors. it's time to call it a night, go home and probably call your mom- maybe it's time to go home home, ground yourself with people who do love you and have never treated you any different, to be in an area that just doesn't remind you so heavily of clark, maybe it'd make the healing process a lot easier and you can actually start it.

you wave into oncoming traffic, drawing the attention of a taxi and rocking yourself as you wait for it to pull up near to you. the bag on your shoulder lightly dips as you step off the curb and into the taxi door before an arm pulls you back and youre thrust back into his orbit.

"clark," you breathe as his ocean blue orbs sink and drown you in. you've seen him in the week but this is different; this is upclose and vulnerable, this is intimate and before the world exploded on you.

"where you going?" his drawl lands breathless in lieu of an actual greeting.

"home?" you question and a small curl of his lip extends to the sky, the faint smile lines resting at peace.

"i said where you going, baby?" he repeats, earnest laced in his voice as his hold on you tightens against him, you're breaths are uneven as you intake his breath as your own air and you blink.

"come on man!" the exasperation of a third stranger breaks your trance and clark pops his head into the cab window at your side, lands a fifty note in his hand and grins.

"i'll take this one, thanks, have a good one," he wraps his fist in a gentle tap to the back of the car to signal its departure and the cab driver wolf whistles in return, counting the money and shooting clark a thumbs up for good luck, steering off into the distance.

"clark i-" and he presses his finger to your lips, silencing your tired fight immediately.

"so where you going, hon?" and the frustration builds up inside of you. you don't think you can do this tonight, you need energy, defense, bite and a plan to escape out of this untouched but its the sudden intensity he stares down at you, boyish and determined as he clears his throat, not offering anything else but patiently waiting for you to reply and then it hits you.

oh. home.

he is home.

"clark, i'm sorry," you whisper, "i'm sorry how this started and how it ended but it just goes to show we don't work," you get out, the words betray your voice in a tight strain and you shake your head softly, trying to detach yourself from his hold but he reaches for your hand and interlocks it, kissing your knuckles like its the very first time and then holds it to his chest.

"i don't believe that," he breathes, like its some secret joke only his soul can memorise. "you said you hated the way i laugh- it's too loud," and the words are a sharp stab, even as they spill from his lips.

"it is too loud," you confess, "i can hear it after you've stopped, it rings in my ears like an echo and i start wishing i knew how to make you laugh like that, how to keep hearing that sound again and again," the words start spilling before you can stop them and he softens completely.

"you hate the way i look at you, i'm a coward," he breathes.

"because you look at me like i'm the only one who ever matters and i didn't know what to do with all of that. its heavy, its all on me and i get nervous, clark," you scoff, hitting him lightly, tiny fists against his chest, "its worse when you look at me like you want to say something more but you don't because then i spend all day torturing myself with the what if's and its brutal," you stretch, resting your head on his chest in defeat and his heart sings beneath the touch.

"you hate the way i sneak up on you," he narrows his brows, "i take up too much space," he echoes and you glare at him.

"i know what i said clark," you seethe, annoyance bubbling up inside of you all over, "and you are big, you're fucking massive and you surround me, you consume me and steal all the air like its your birthright and i feel so damn helpless i hate it," you spit, taking a step away from him in hopes the chill of the evening hair will cool the fire that steams from your skin. "i can't even think when you're near and you're the only person who can throw me so hard off my game that i can't even remember my name some days and you do it so easily," you heave.

"do you hate that almost as much as you hate the way i make you feel?"

"oh thats worse, you make me feel like i'm not in control," and you take a step closer to him, "and i've never not been in control, you make second best to you feel like first place- like i'm still a winner because i get that cool look swung my way and i giggle like i'm back in school and i hate it- it's like you take all the years of hard work and practise just like nothing- you took my heart like it was nothing," and the tears are free to fall now, you don't even lift your arm to wipe them away you let him look at you, really look at you and let him feel the extent of the damage he's done- how he's caused you to come so undone.

"you hate me," he laughs, and its the same damn laugh you hate, you hate that you love it so damn much that you want to bottle it and get drunk on it every single night you spend in his absence.

"i do," you giggle and it feels like the most ridiculous thing you've ever said, you blink through the tears and he cups your jaw with his large hands that again, he's here consuming you all over. he presses a soft kiss to your lips and its not as hungry, as devouring and deep as the first drunken kiss you shared on that night two weeks ago. its slow, earnest, filled with the pinings and regrets of never knowing the right way to show your love. its wrapped in apologies and forgiveness and a promise to be brave and loud in how you feel.

"but here's a new one for you," you pause, "i really do hate the way that i broke your heart," you mutter ashamed, lowering your gaze but he catches it instantly with a shake to his head.

"do with it what you will; it was only ever yours to have because i'm in love with you," he smiles when he pulls away and its so loud and large your heart soars, "and you're in love with me," he presses his forehead into yours, uniting your broken hearts.

"i am," you swear, "i don't know when i fell but i know that i'm here in the deep end with you and i'm scared but i'm here clark, i promise," and he wipes away your stray tears.

the bustle of the crowds exiting the theatre breaks you free from his hold and he laughs once more, and then quieter for your ears to burn into memory only, "it's okay," he murmurs into your hair, ogling at the stars swimming in your eyes, "we have next week to make up for it," and you stare at the theatre doors and then at your lover. you lean up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips once again.

"we have forever to make up for this, so take me home, baby," you whisper.

and he does.

he does it for a lifetime and more.

riya saying hi: there's a lot to say but first hello! first clark fic after a few days off 🥺🥺 i poured my whole heart and soul into this one hence how long it is, how angsty it is - this is clark hurt comfort final boss. this by far has to be the best ive written and my most favourite love confession to date. ugh ! i really do hope you like it, i fear it did take a large portion of my energy so i will be focusing on requests for the next few days something easier and slower paced compared this monster.

i do want to reiterate that thank you so much for 1k followers! it means the world, beyond that how much this all feels and god im the luckiest person on earth. its such a gift to be able to create something, put myself in some words on a page and have it liked, and enjoyed my god i am gonna cry- but to celebrate this and you (!) because this in no way shape or form wouldve been possible without you, i am taking in clark requests and will try my hardest to get them out asap so send in whatever ! literally whatever ! (just not smut soz) but again thank you !!!!

and finally, this fic would not have been possible without the incredible, the STUNNING @hangmanwrites - anna i owe you a serious portion of my heart (not that you didn't already have it) for letting me work through this with you, helping steer it in the right direction and bring it to life. youre an incredible writing partner and your support has forever altered my brain chemistry- thank you my love, i appreciate and love you so damn much !!! 🥺💘

and again, to you readers, let me know what you think! my ask box is always open if you ever want to talk (and inbox too if youd prefer a longer conversation) thanks for being here and reaffirming kindness on this blog- love you !

[deepspace-scenarios]

[Scenario/Drabble] Here With You

Summary: LIs react when you're overwhelemed and tearful from dreams and memories- they make sure you feel safe with them. <3 Genre: fluff + hurt/comfort (cw: kisses, cuddles) Notes: I wanted to include all the other LIs, even though this came from a request for Forseer Zayne 🥺💗 References to some LI's Myths but no direct spoilers.

ZAYNE 【Foreseer timeline】

You stumble across the tiled floors of the dimly lit hallway, feeling your mind spin. The Tower of Thorns had shown you too much- centuries of love, loss, and lives. Memories belonging to you, to others. Memories where Zayne’s hands reached for you only to forget. Ones you shouldn't have seen.

You push past the doors of the library, gasping for air, your vision blurred with tears. The warmth of the lanterns does little to soothe the chill in your bones, and the deep ache in your chest. You barely make it to a reading chaise before you collapse onto the plush fabric, gritting your teeth to steady yourself.

Moments later, a shadow moves between the doors.  

"You shouldn’t be here." Zayne’s voice is quiet, but not unkind. “Explain yourself.”

You curl tighter into yourself, only able to breathe out a shaky apology.  

“I asked for an explanation, not an apology,” he murmurs. As he approaches you, he hesitates. With another step, he kneels beside you, gloved fingers brushing your cheek. "…These memories are not yours to bear alone."

You shake your head. “I- I have to. My fault. M'sorry, Zayne.”

He shushes you, placing his hand over yours and squeezing gently.

He remembers just enough to know he’s loved you in every lifetime. And it hurts more than the thorns ever could.  

He gathers you into his arms, his cloak swallowing your trembling form. "Rest. I will keep the nightmares at bay."  

_____

SYLUS 【Current timeline; references to his myth】

The nightmare clings to you- a blazing heat surrounding you, your shaking hands around the hilt of a sword, a burning field and the crushing feeling of emptiness.

You wake to an empty house, the vacant space a looming darkness that is almost disorienting.

"Sylus?" No answer. 

Your texts go unanswered for ten agonizing minutes before he finally replies: "Kitten. Breathe. Wait for me."  

When he steps through the bedroom door just before dawn, the rise and fall of his chest tell you that wherever he came from, he ran.

He doesn't ask about the dream.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, pulling you into his embrace and stroking your back slowly. "Let it out on me,”

You shake your head as you hug him, tighter than you ever have. Hearing his heart beat strongly is all it takes for tears of relief spring to your eyes. He's real, and he's here with you. All is well.

“M’not in the mood for violence, Sy-” 

He chuckles when you squeeze him tighter, “You still have a lot of strength left in you, kitten,”

A shaky breath escapes you, along with the ghost of a laugh. “I don't know how you deal with it-”

“I've had a lifetime to learn,” he muses, voice softer.

His lips press to your forehead. "Dragons live within legends now. And in our world, I'm not going anywhere."  

_____

XAVIER 【Sindersfell Timeline】

The flashes of Linkon haunt you- Xavier’s laughter under the stars, his hands warm around yours as you track Wanderers together. In that world, he lives without the burdens of a kingdom, and loves without fear of loss. Fresh tears stream down your face, refusing to stop even when you try to blink them away.

This Xavier- the Tyrant King- watches you cry with quiet bewilderment.  

"Tell me," he demands, his voice rough.  

You shake your head. "It’s just… the weight of this kingdom."  

He knows it's not the truth. But he doesn’t press. Instead, he pulls you against his chest, his fingers threading through your hair. "Let me carry all of its weight, my love.”

“You're already doing that,” you mumble, tilting your head to look up at him.

“...I'm the only one who should bear the punishment." His thumb swipes your tears, gentle beyond measure. "If I could give you a different world, I would."  

You swallow, the finality of his promise piercing your heart. “As long as I'm with you... it doesn't matter. I'll stay, no matter what becomes of us.”

When his lips meet yours, it is with tender desperation- in this world, and many others, he will continue to love you with everything he has. 

---

 RAFAYEL 【current timeline; reference to his myth】

The dream lingers- Rafayel’s anger, your voiceless pleas as he vanishes into the depths, leaving you in the boundless ocean.

You wake to his steady breathing beside you, but the tears won’t stop.  

"…Cutie?" His voice is sleep-rough. "Are you crying?"  

You bury your face in his chest. "Just a dream."  

He hums, pulling you closer into a warm, solid embrace. "Wanna talk about it?”

“You were angry. And my voice didn't work underwater- and you just. Swam away,” you mumble.

He's silent, but his arms tighten around you. When he speaks, it is with conviction and certainty. “First, I'd never leave mid-argument. Second, I'd rather cuddle a cat than leave you- a hundred cats, actually.”

You huff a watery laugh, and he kisses the crown of your head in return. His fingers card through your sleep-mussed hair, soothing you. For someone who always tries to start silly arguments, Rafayel wouldn't easily admit this- but hates seeing you cry. And if he ever made you feel abandoned- even in a dream, he’d drown the world in apology.  

He kisses your damp lashes. "Next time, pinch me. I’ll chase the nightmares away. Or I'll go yell at the stupid Rafayel in your dreams."  

_____

CALEB  【current timeline; references to story events】

The argument still burns between you- his cold words, your sharp retorts. It is the worst time for this to happen, right before he has a week-long mission to patrol the Deepspace Tunnel. You find him at his desk, shoulders tense under the dim light. 

You take a deep breath and approach him. "Caleb… I’m sorry."

He exhales, turning to face you. "I know."  

You feel the fight drain out of you when you see the glimmer of hurt, remnant in his eyes. You know he's always had to grapple with the Fleet and far more issues than he can tell you. Learning to trust him fully hasn't been easy, but you try regardless, for he carries so much of you in his heart.

The lump in your throat feels even tighter now, and you hug your arms to yourself. “I don't want you to bring all of this to the mission.”

The distance collapses when he pulls you into his chest, then lifts you to head towards the bedroom. "Don't apologize, pips. You have every right to be mad," he murmurs. "We’ll figure it out, yeah?"  

His lips brush your temple. "Let's end the night this way- just stay with me."  

Note: THANK YOU FOR READING 💗 I hope I did Forseer zayne justice bc i dont have his myth so i had to read up on the whole lore to ensure i knew the dynamics. Smol oversharing but hurt/comfort is tricky bc when the LIs are sad, I get sad too 😞 they really all deserve a happy ending aaaaah ANYHOW! Comments + reblogs truly forever appreciated, love yall!! <33

✨️

[pastellaspinkparadise]

part 2 to the siren fic plss, this time can he come up to us the next day and hes like "youre able to talk?" and we essentially gaslight him into thinking that he was so drunk that he hallucinated our voice and that we were just on call with him because he wanted to yap

then after that we go out dinking again a few months later and reader has to drive him home then he clutches onto us and begs us to help him with his boner so we give him a handjob and whisper dirty things into his ear then we gaslight him all over again that he was just drunk😋

anon you're a genius!

Wicked Games

synopsis. Last night was just a moment of weakness. Your voice was meant to be heard by no one. He just sounded so desperate, you couldn't help it. A siren like you can be so dangerous. Just one time, is what you kept telling yourself. Such a silly lie. pairing. Bottom! Male Character x Top! Siren Gender Neutral Reader. ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ nsfw, corruption, voice kink, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, car sex, semi-public sex, drinking, handjob, reader has a dark side, and god is it pretty,

pt.2 of the siren fic, here's pt.1

Imagine your favs!

You wake up from the best sleep you've had in months. Eyesight blurry and body needing a nice stretch. At first you didn't realize what exactly you had done last night, nor the consequences that it came with. But you do when you see him again, standing right at your front door in the morning.

The sound of your doorbell makes you jump out of bed. You panic, only half dressed and you haven't even brushed you're teeth. You don't know it's him and yet you plan for it to be anyways. Your mind races trying to come up with an excuse for what last night was.

It was you bewitching him, that's what it was. With no shame nor remorse either. It was an action from pure want and desire, desire to hear him crumble apart just from your voice. But you can't tell him that, he'll never look at you the same. So instead you continue to lie.

He was drunk... let's just go with that! You think to yourself.

Wasting no more time you open your front door to him. He looks nervous, ashamed almost. You let him in and he immediately plops down on your couch, twiddling his thumbs as if he's trying to figure out what to say.

"So um, I know this is sudden but... I think I'm going crazy..." He says, refusing to look at you, his eyes glued to the floor.

You sit next to him anyways, tapping his shoulder to suggest him to look at you. You decide to go with the lie, seeing just how far you can take it. When he finally looks at you, you shake your head with a confused look on your face that says:

"What do you mean?"

"I...uh... either I was drunk out of my mind or... a miracle happened and... I heard you speak last night..." His cheeks a slight tint of pink.

You smile, faking a laugh as you grab your phone. You open the notes app and type out a message.

"You were definitely drunk."

"Maybe I was... but it sounded so real..." His eyes dig into yours deeply, trying to find the real you. "It felt so real..."

"Having drunk dreams about me? I think you need to lay off the whiskey." You type out.

"S-shut up, I swear it felt real." He smiles. You smile back, cheering silently in the back of your mind.

"What did I sound like in your dream?" You ask.

"It's hard to describe..." He says shyly. "Soft but demanding, the perfect amount of rasp too. We'd all be done for if that was your real voice. I'd follow you to the edge of the earth and more."

Of course you would. You think inside of your head. Anyone would, because that's the kind of power you have.

"Soft but demanding huh...What exactly was I demanding?" You question, deciding to tease him knowing damn well what you were demanding last night. You're teasing makes him fidget, makes him blush red. His reaction makes that desire deep inside of you stronger. You could just make him yours forever, sing him a song and watch his thoughts slowly drain away. But you were better than that.

For now.

"N-nothing crazy! Just...stuff."

"What kinds of stuff?" You smirk, the glint in your eyes is dangerous. As if you're asking him to tread on thin ice.

"I um..." His bottom lip trembles and it takes all of your willpower to not just take him right here right now.

"I'm messing with you." You smile. "You should see your face right now, straight comedy."

"Shut up! You're such a tease." He playfully shoves you.

Before he came over you felt guilty, guilty for taking advantage of him like that. It was wrong, but it felt so right. You both have been pining over each other for years, too afraid to make the first move. It felt good to finally have someone as yours, completely yours even for just a night.

When he leaves and you see that look in his eyes you realize you're playing a dangerous game. Playing with the truth is such a wicked game.

But anything you say is the truth once it comes out of your mouth.

No can deny it.

The next time you see each other is two months later, you've been so busy with shows and writing new music, you've kinda locked yourself in. He thought a trip the bar would loosen you up, give you a nice break from work. And it does, when it's just you and him you enjoy yourself. It's as if everything around you disappears and only the two of you and your unsaid feelings remain.

They won't stay unsaid for long, especially with how obvious he's being. Placing a gentle hand on the small of your back as you walk out of the bar, drunkenly babbling on and on about how "cool you are" and how you deserve every fan you have.

"I mean it...you're so...awesome." His words slut together, maybe he had one two many glasses of whiskey yet again. You didn't drink much, you drove after all.

You shake your head and help him into the car.

Once you pull out and drive off he suddenly goes quiet, which is odd. The radio station plays one of your songs and his eyes light up. But there's still that pout on his face.

"Your voice would do this song so much justice. It was so... mesmerizing...and melodic..."

If you were actually mute you'd probably take offense to that, longing after a voice you could never have. But you weren't.

"Such a pretty voice...matches your pretty face..."

His boldness catches you off guard. You try your best to keep your eyes on the road, but you can see through your peripheral vision how much he squirms just thinking about you. His right hand squeezing his thigh for dear life, his eyes closed and head thrown back.

So damn needy.

"I wanna hear you again. Wanna hear you forever."

It was when you came up to a stop sign you noticed the bulge in his pants.

"Fuck I need you..." His right hand so close to his boner. Left hand gripping the arm rest for dear life. You didn't give in just yet, it was supposed to be just one time.

Just once.

This isn't right. But all ideas of right and wrong get thrown out of the window when he says.

"Please..."

You pull over into a empty parking lot with not a care in the world, if people see so fucking be it. You turn the music down, not completely but just enough to hear the instrumental.

"Tell me, how much you need me." You say and it sends shivers down his spine. His eyebrows furrow together and shaky sigh leaves his lips. His face screams pleasure and you haven't even touched him yet.

"So bad..."

"How bad? C'mon use your words like a good boy." His eyes roll back the second he hears good boy.

"So fucking bad, I'm fucking aching! It feels so good but it hurts." He whines, his left hand gripping the arm rest like it's life or death. He needs relief, he needs pleasure.

"Shhh, I understand baby... I know how to make you feel good." You unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pulling his boxers down until his hard cock is finally free. He whines softly from the cold touch of the air hitting it. "Just listen to the sound of my voice."

You sing the song playing on the radio, it's your song after all and he's right. The lyrics sound so much better coming from your sinful lips. It's so intoxicating, so arousing, desire seeps from every note. And he can't get enough of it.

Your voice mixed with your touch against his cock has him in heaven, and he never wants to come back down. As your hand glides up and down his hard length and your mouth sings those sinful lyrics he moans shamelessly. He's so far gone, his rolled back eyes can see there's not a single thought in that brain of his.

As the guitar solo plays you kiss down the column of his neck and back up again. You bring your lips to his ear and whisper,

"I've resisted doing this for so long...scared that you would hate me. Scared you would reject me. But deep down inside you're such a whore, hungry for my attention, thirsty for my praise." You bite down gently on his ear lobe and lick the shell. "I could whisper sweet nothings in your ear all night and it still wouldn't be enough would it?"

He shakes his head franticly, his hips beginning to thrust up into your hand, chasing more pleasure. "No!....It wouldn't!" He pants.

"Insatiable." You say before you kiss him, his lips slightly chapped and his tongue still riddled with the faint taste of whiskey. You drank his sounds, his whines, his moans, all of it. "You're so close aren't you?"

"Yes!" He begs as your thumb plays with the tip of his cock, gently pressing against the slit. "Oh god please... please let me cum!"

"Do it, cum for me." And he does, covering your hand in white as his body writhes in pleasure. He looks so good like this, all fucked out and obedient. You bring your lips to his ear again.

"Tomorrow, you'll remember this feeling. This feeling of euphoria. You'll remember feeling so good but you won't remember why. You'll just think you were drunk, playing with yourself to the thought of my voice. Except, you won't remember it was my voice, you won't remember it was me all along. Do you understand?"

He slowly nods his head, mind like putty in your fingers. "...Yes..."

"Good. Now sleep."

And he's lights out.

You smirk, not caring about the morality of what you've done. It's simple really, you won this wicked game.

He's yours.

this was fun lol. So evil, making him forget like that just to reel him in again.

[jessxxxfwd]

Spiderman Headcannons spideyjake x reader

Introducing!... Headcannons of your spidey boyfriends secret hero life ! I'm in the atsv brainrot again sos please send help it's consuming me :(

Also I saw a post like this a couple months ago but all the head cannons were written from my own head !!but credit for the idea to the og I saw (I tried to find it but I couldn't remember what it even looked like)

🕸 He's CONSTANTLY late to dates, he doesn't mean to be but he can't exactly rescheduled fights with bad guys for your dates but as soon as he arrives he's a mess, holding a crushed bouquet and a messy dress shirt and he's begging you to forgive him (which we do because he is literally perfect look at himmm)

🕸 He wants to tell you so bad and has literally sat on your roof or outside your windows in full spider-costume but then immediately chickens out and goes home.

🕸 If he ever has to save you he's literally like Pavitr in atsv he is hugging you TIGHT and forgetting you don't know he's spiderman "I thought I lost you... You're okay I've got you" and you're just like... Oh who is you? (I had to I'm sorry </3)

🕸 Once he has told you he will be upside down kissing constantly. They aren't perfect... Your noses hit each time and he's so distracted he almost falls but they're affectionate and real and that's all that matters to him.

🕸 He will come home absolutely beat to a pulp and you will find him on the kitchen floor passed out and covered in whatever plasters he could find quickly. Hello kitty, random cartoon animals and even spiderman ones. He will try to be SO nonchalant once he wakes up. Like wydm he didn't pass out, he just fell asleep! and these plasters and injuries? All intentional TRUST.

🕸 He does worry about you being apart of his life and he worries about you being hurt by his many, many, many enemies. So he tends to be protective but he tries not to show it. He just wants you safe so 🤫🤫🤫

🕸 He loves being spiderman but he's so so confused why people think he's a nuisance?.. Like him... Neverrr! As long as you tell him he's not a nuisance (you tell him he is but still)

🕸 But despite everything he loves his double life and loves that you are apart of both lifes he lives and is so glad that it 1) it didn't scare you away and 2) you're always there for him when it gets too hard to cope with. And if he has that? Then being spiderman isn't too hard for him.

[nonranghaes]

heads up: food mentions

the only reason mark knows you're here is because he can smell breakfast cooking, and as much as he loves his roommates... there's no way in hell they were getting up this early to make him breakfast. so he rolls out of bed, probably ruining a surprise in the process, and makes his way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen where you're humming to yourself. you lift your head for a moment to see him turn the corner, and sigh.

"i was going to bring it to you when i was done," you say, although he gets the feeling you sorta knew he'd wake up and come find you before you were done. "guess i'll have to spoil you some other way."

he giggles a little, and comes over to hug you for just a moment before giving you room to work. his lips graze your neck for a moment, just so he can give you one little kiss for now, and he squeezes you around the middle. "thank you, baby," he grins, settling there for a moment.

before he can pull away, you turn, pulling him in for a real kiss. "happy birthday," you say before letting him go. "i'm almost done. start planning our day, alright? we can go wherever you want. my treat."

and if that maybe ends with a post-breakfast nap before anything else, then you definitely don't mind. especially not when mark snuggles up to you, planting another quick peck on your cheek before he settles to get maybe another hour of sleep before facing the world again.

[elect1z]

I beg for soundwave stuff 🙏🙏🙏 (happy with anything but maybe on how he reacts if the reader has a friendly rivalry with his cassettes for his attention)

.." Static "...

Soundwave x Cybertronian!Reader

cw: fluff, silly stuffs and slight mention of death

⚡︎ Soundwave and you were just friends from the start. Soon, both of you became lovers and finally became conjunxes!! ⚡︎ Soundwave may always be busy all the time, which leads him to sacrifice some sweet alone time with you. But don't fret! When he does have some time with you, he will shower you with all of his love! ⚡︎ When you guys slowly started dating, his minicons were.. pretty annoying. Sometimes, Soundwave forgot that they were still in his chest, and while he was being sweet to you, two of his minicons would speak up to make both of you know that they're still here. It would be very, very awkward and embarrassing-- "Statement: [Y/N] is the prettiest bot in the world <3" "Aww, Soundwave! (≧∀≦)ゞ" "EWWW, GROSS, LET US OUT OF HERE!!! ಥ_ಥ" "...Forgot they existed.. (⊙_⊙;)" >Though you tried your best to like his minicons.

⚡︎ Ravage and Laserbeak are a bit fine, but on the other hand.. Rumble and frenzy is a hassle. They would often prank you, and if they're not pranking you they'll annoy you. They didn't get the title troublemakers for nothin'

⚡︎ This leads to some kind of rivalry with these troublemakers, making Soundwave stressed over both of you arguing. They'll sometimes interrupt you guys. ( Guess someone's mad that about somebody dating their mother )

⚡︎ While the rivalry is strong, the minicons and you love Soundwave so much. When he's having a bad day y'all get into a temporary truce just to cuddle with him. But you guys still hate eachother.

All cuddling Soundwave on the bed.

"(⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ㆁ) ?"

"Accidentally" kicked Rumble off the bed.

"Wha--, HEY!"

"(⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)"

⚡︎ During missions, Soundwave tend to get worried. Which leads him sending you to the medical office everytime, even though you are perfectly fine.

⚡︎ You know Soundwave love to watch those organics that walked on all fours, you would join him watching them from afar. It's like stargazing, but instead of gazing stars it's an interesting life forms.

⚡︎ Showing love to eachother is a must, even when working. You often would hug him from behind while he worked on the giant computer, when someone came in, you guys pretend not to know eachother.

⚡︎ People on the Nemesis knew about the 'relationship' (Thanks to those annoying minicons). It's isn't surprising that you guys will get all cuddly all of the sudden, but the thing is, y'all never did, not on the eyes of public though. You guys rather show love on private, Soundwave don't really like being all soft to his Lord Megatron. 😒

⚡︎ Speaking of Megatron, he didn't mind much. Whatever pleases his third-in-command ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯. I mean, he's literally have some love-hate relationship with his so called 'enemy'.

⚡︎ Soundwave loves you until the end of his spark, when yours extinguishes first, he didn't open his heart to no one. He hoped every night that you would come back to him; you did, but in his dreams. He knows that this version of you isn't real, and yet he wants to stay, never waking up from his slumber ever again.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive lately, school has been though and so did writing.

[infernalfears]

omg omg pls we need lois smut 😭 like nfsw list. sorry english is not my first language but you know those "A-aftercare" etc? plsssss

lois lane nsfw alphabet

template

notes: this is gender neutral. you could imagine yourself with a strap or a penis, it works either way.

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

lois takes a while to catch her breath, as sex often leaves her winded. she’s incredibly clingy post-sex, burying her face in her partner’s neck, wrapping her arms around them, and savoring the closeness as she steadies herself. she lingers in these moments, using them to reconnect and ground herself.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on herself, lois loves her waist—she enjoys being held or lifted there, feeling desired in that spot. on her partner, she’s drawn to their head, adoring their face and hair. she often runs her fingers through their hair (maybe even tugs on it during sex)

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i don't think she is particularly keen on making a big mess everywhere, mainly because she’d have to clean it up and she’s too busy for that. she'd want her partner to cum in her, or at least on her body. if they were to cum on her, she’d wipe it off and then stick her fingers in their mouth for them to taste it.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

i think when you’re dating lois, everything is a dirty secret. it takes a good partner to be able to figure out what she likes because she is not the type to be open about things. however, i do think she likes being manhandled. pick her up and throw her around and she turns into a blushing mess. i also think she has a praise kink. whisper that she's good or that she's pretty, and she'll literally explode 

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

she was for sure a player in college, a real heartbreaker because i just know she’d sleep with people and then leave them the next morning. she has the experience and it shows very very clearly.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

lois favors riding her partner, relishing the control it gives her. she loves seeing their face, touching it, and setting the pace while feeling their hands grip her waist, guiding her as she moves.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

she’s capable of being serious and also being a little silly. if she’s with a partner who is goofy, who likes to make jokes in bed, then she’d play along. 

she likes teasing, calling them strong in a tone that’s almost mocking or that they’re so good for her. it gets a few giggles out of her when she does this, but other than that, she’s serious. 

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

lois keeps things trimmed but doesn’t obsess over grooming, sometimes letting it grow out due to her packed schedule. she skips waxing or elaborate maintenance, it takes too much time out of her busy schedule and honestly, she doesn't care about it enough to be doing all that.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

well, we know that lois has some issues when it comes to relationships, but i think deep down, she's a real softie. she’s just afraid of intimacy, of hurting her partner because of how serious she can get about her work. i think she’s had a lot of failed relationships because she’s very focused on work or school and that can make her partners feel like she doesn't care for them. but she is willing to work on it, and this shows in the bedroom. she will make it a point to cuddle her partner after the sex, hold hands with them, tell them she loves them. and most of all, she makes sure she stays all through the night and is there when they wake up. she has a lot of habits to break and she cares enough to work on breaking them.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

lois is efficient with masturbation, using it as a quick wake-up in the morning or a way to unwind before bed. she doesn't do porn, she just uses her imagination, thinking about her partner or whoever it is that she has a thing for and gets herself off on the thought of them.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

she absolutely adores someone who’s able to match her energy. if you talk back to her and she gets to put you in your place, or the other way around? her panties are sooo soaked.

hair tugging, but only when she’s doing the tugging. she doesn't like having hers tugged. she would pull her partner’s head back by the hair mid-make out just to look at them.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

lois is game for sex anywhere, from every surface in her apartment to risky spots like the planet’s supply closet for quickies. if her partner doesn’t work with her, she’ll invent excuses—like “forgetting” something at home—to get them to the office for a fast, mind-clearing romp.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

her partner being passionate about things. if you start nerding out about something you like, she starts getting the urge to pounce on you

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

bondage. she needs her hands free

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

lois excels at giving head, taking her time to hold her partner’s thighs apart, teasing until they whimper, then asserting control to keep them in line. she loves receiving too, gripping her partner’s head, gasping, and tugging their hair wildly as she loses herself in the pleasure.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

lois typically prefers a slow, sensual pace, savoring the raw passion. when stressed or frustrated, though, she craves fast, rough sex to chase pure pleasure and release tension, with no time for teasing or games.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

like i said in (l)ocation, she LOVES quickes

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

she is all about calculated risks. she’s not reckless, but she loves the adrenaline of pushing boundaries, again- like sneaking away for a quickie at work. experimenting with new positions is okay for her, but she’s less keen on anything too far out of her control, like extreme roleplay or pda. she’ll try new things if her partner suggests them.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

could go on for hours if she has the time. cumming doesn't stop shit for her; she will literally be empty in the tank and still tell you to keep going. Likes the overstimulation, it drives her.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

definitely owned a strap of her own during her college years. maybe a vibrator but she doesn’t use it as often as her own hands

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

lois is a master tease. she loves pushing her partner’s buttons, whether it’s with sultry comments, a playful smirk, or deliberately slowing down during sex just to make them beg. like i said before, her teasing often comes with that mocking tone, like praising their strength or patience in a way that drives them wild. she’ll edge her partner just enough to keep things spicy but won’t drag it out too long—she’s too impatient herself to play unfair for extended periods.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

lois isn’t very loud, she’s vocal in a controlled, sultry way. think breathy moans, sharp gasps, and low, teasing whispers when she’s in the moment. if she’s really into it, she might let out a louder cry or whimper, especially during a rougher session. 

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

lois has a secret thing for leaving her mark on her partner—not in a possessive way, but as a playful reminder. she might leave a subtle hickey on their collarbone or a light scratch on their back, just enough to make them think of her later. she’ll smirk when they notice it, acting innocent but clearly proud of her handiwork.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

lois keeps things practical but sexy. she favors comfortable yet flattering lingerie—something simple lace or cotton sets in bold colors like black, red, or deep purple. 

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

lois has a high sex drive. she craves intimacy a few times a week, whether it’s a quick release or a longer, passionate session. stress or a particularly thrilling day at work can spike her desire, and she’s not shy about initiating when the mood strikes. 

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

lois doesn’t crash immediately—she’s too wired from the adrenaline and her racing thoughts. after cuddling and catching her breath, she might lie awake for 10-20 minutes, tracing her partner’s skin or thinking about her next story. if it’s late and she’s exhausted, she’ll drift off faster, especially if she feels secure with her partner’s arms around her. she’s more likely to stay awake longer after a quickie, still buzzing with energy.

[karaageandtarts]

I didn't mean to post this so late at night omfg

Anyways DREAM MAJOR, his dream takes place in a giant arcade.

Ortho mentions that the dreamer having a strong sense of self, like Jade, may make the dreamer harder to wake up, because they believe in themself the most.

For Major, it's slightly different- It's basically Silver's experience where he immediately woke up because it felt 'wrong'. His sense of 'self' is so deeply rooted in him, the moment the dream tried to change into an 'ideal' he rejected it.

He doesn't have the full context but by the time the others come to wake him up he's hijacked the dream to create the perfect 'version' of himself by HAND, like a character creator game.

It's a bit like Cater's dream where there are multiple versions of herself manning the dream instead, but they're just 'avatars', so they don't have the bird. They don't even recognize the dream Major until he tells them his name, because.. you know. He's not a bunny with black hair and is wearing a mask.

Upbeat Major makes the group play arcade games with her until they get tired, they want to look for the real Major so Upbeat gets pushy, they have a fight, and someone pulls of the LED mask to reveal that there's no face, just blot. They have to fight it.

After a few versions, it's kind of a fade to black (because realistic sprite limitations lol) and the group is complaining about all the versions they've seen- Majors in dresses, in black, crybaby Majors, egotistical Majors, Majors who don't want to be called 'Major'- and none of them are real! The group starts to get frustrated until they accidentally shove a few boxes in an argument (some of them want to leave and think Ortho made a mistake in guiding them to this dream) and reveal an Employees Only door. Trying to open it leads to a lot of Majors to suddenly appear.

Because they're getting attacked, they reason this EMPLOYEES ONLY door must be where the real one must be. But with so many versions attacking them, the only one who manages to slip past is Idia.

I like this song for this scene lol

But the room is a lot comfier, full of pillows and papers scattered about and pasted all over the walls- all concepts of the 'ideal person' Major wants to create, with himself in the middle of it all.

Idia lowkey tells him what he's doing is really stupid lol that's all you're getting from me goodnight!!!!!!!

[rassilonthegreatestlegit]

Torvald, my friend, my good friend and diligent member of Celestial Intervention. You do a good job. Such a good job, I have good news for you. The best news. Not fake but 100% genuine. I, the great and REAL Rassilon, hereby appoint you, Torvald, The Matrix Champion.

Everybody clap, he's earned it. We know Torvald, we love Torvald. But, hnnnn, you know who we don't like. Bad guys. Like The Master or traitors who help him, like Narvin. Narvin illegally sent data to The Master, disguising himself as me. It was very sad, broke my heart. I want peace. I speak for peace, but yknow there's consequences. You cross me, there are consequences. I know we liked Narvin. That's why this is so sad. Saddest moment on Gallifrey. But, uhhh.... Data on future events being sent to fake Rassilons, The Master, no less, just can't be ignored.

We gotta arrest Narvin. We gotta do it. We just gotta. Torvald, as your authority as Commander, depose Narvin for being unfit and have the Chancellory guard arrest him. Wake up Maxil. Give him some bleach, that will clear up the virus. We're gonna clean up Gallifrey. Starting with, Narvin, Nasty Narvin, folks. Can't trust him. He's nasty, like a snake. One second he's giving you cookies and Avatar, the next he's giving up Matrix secrets to The Master.

Someone tell Romana about this. The President needs to get involved. What is she doing, just letting Narvin give out Matrix secrets like that? Letting renegades bring ALIEN Pigeons into the panopticon? What is she doing? I wanna like Romana, I do... But what is she actually doing?

Hello, people of Gallifrey, my children. It's come to my attention that an imposter has been harassing and bullying Narvin. Not cool. He's a fake. FAKE Rassilon. I'm the real Rassilon and we know it... Why? Because I'm great. I anchored the web of time, you see that? I said let's anchor reality in reason, and you know what, we did it.

But enough about me, I'm worried about my friend, the coordinator of the CIA, Narvin. @coordinatorofthecia Narvin, we all love him. House Patrex's finest. He really is. He brought me cookies while I'm in the Matrix. He's a good boy. The best boy. We love him.

Now I want that Deca Boy found. We all know him. We don't like him very much. He's crazy. He really is crazy. Pretending to be me, pestering our great Celestial Intervention Agency. We gotta find him. We're going to find him. That's what they do. Thank you for serving Gallifrey boys, me bless.

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

Martyn: You know what's really werid? It looks like you're cosplaying my wife. Like, that almost looks like a Netty onesie!

Scott: It's my Netty hoodie!

'IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE COSPLAYING MY WIFE' IS CRAZY WORK

[cloudinal]

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

[hoeswater]

hey alan mandel and jonathan williams come over here a minute i just wanna talk

[imagine-your-nonhuman-fo]

You know how lots of birds are notorious human fuckers? That got me thinking about Avian f/o that rather than be put off by your lack of beak and feathers is just fucking enchanted by you, just over the moon about how gorgeous you are.

[musesforthedamned]

[lesbianalanwake]

Alan Wake 2 going up in a popularity contest against things with undeserved hype and sweeping best narrative and best art and game direction regardless

[dalniente]

Usually I just save stuff like this to my drafts until I calm down but you know what, fuck it, I'm done.

Any so-called leftist who refuses to recognize that our options right now are "genocide abroad, progress at home" and "genocide abroad AND genocide at home" and that there is a significant difference between those two options is cordially invited to eat shit and die. We do not have time to entertain your anti-voting hopeless nonsense. A future in which we are able to move towards less death will always be preferable to the one in which we can't, and if you smug, sneering little clowns sacrifice that future on the altar of your own self-righteousness because you're too high on your own farts to realize how far up your own ass you are, I genuinely hope you fucking drown. Specifically, I hope you drown in the blood of the people who will die all over the world as a result of your bizarre refusal to work towards a future that doesn't include ethnic cleansing.

This is the United States. We sell war, here. I don't know how so many of you are only just now figuring that out, but you better get over your shock like yesterday because we are out of fucking time. We ran out of time when Reagan took office if not long before. You think not voting will improve any of this?

Keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming. Governments everywhere are (slowly) beginning to listen. Democrats are (slowly) beginning to listen. But Republicans never will, and if they seize power again next year (which they will absolutely do their damned to attempt), everything will be so, so much worse for everyone, everywhere. The work is slow and painful and imperfect but it will only get done if we show up and do the work, so keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming-- and when the time comes, you show up and vote for the future that lets us build a better tomorrow instead of just choking to death in the steaming shitpile of today.