#you know when youre trying something for the first time and youre like uh oh im having a feeling im not excellent at it from the get go

[flowergirl1243]

in her lane - grid mum

SUMMARY: After a tough quali, Kimi finds comfort, and a “grid mum”, over dinner with George and his wife.

PAIRING: george russell x reader, kimi antonelli x platonic!reader

NOTE: I would be very prepared to make this into a whole series, but we'll see how it goes!!

MASTERLIST ✩~✩ REQUESTS

You spot him behind the paddock hospitality tents, crouched beside a row of crates and keeping very, very still.

The rest of the world is buzzing. It’s the first qualifying of the season. George has just locked out the second row in P4. There’s energy and adrenaline and cameras and chaos, but here, behind the noise, there’s just one rookie in a fireproof suit, head down and chest heaving like the weight of the world has just crushed him.

You glance back once to make sure no one is following you, then quietly step closer.

“Kimi?”

He startles, jerks his head up like a deer caught in headlights, and quickly wipes at his face.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean—” His voice cracks, and he stands too fast. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say gently. “Not to me.”

He stares at the asphalt, jaw tight, fists clenched like he’s still in the car.

“P16,” he mutters. “I’m supposed to be...better.”

Your heart aches.

You’ve heard it a hundred times since he was announced. The heir to Lewis. The prodigy. The pressure. Kimi Antonelli, barely eighteen, shouldering an entire legacy, and already, the headlines will eat him alive by morning.

“I don’t think anyone expects you to be perfect,” you say softly.

He looks up, doubtful.

“Well, maybe the press does,” you add with a small smile. “But they don’t know what it’s like in the car. What it’s like to be you.”

Kimi swallows hard.

“I’ve seen a lot of rookies, Kimi,” you say, stepping close enough to lower your voice. “And you know what sets the good ones apart? The ones who last?”

He waits, eyes red but focused.

“They get back up. Even when everyone’s already decided who they are.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Then, very quietly: “That’s hard.”

“I know.” You reach into your pocket, pull out a packet of tissues and hand it to him. “But you’re not doing it alone, okay? You’ve got your team, and now—”

He raises a brow as you hesitate.

“Now you’ve got me,” you finish.

Kimi blinks. “You?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling.

He gives a soft, watery laugh and presses the tissue to his face. “George knows you’re adopting strays?”

You grin. “He’s used to it. We've adopted three cats and a dog already.”

It starts the way it always does: one open bottle of wine on the counter, the scent of rosemary chicken hanging in the air, and the soft, familiar clink of George’s wedding band tapping the rim of his wine glass.

You’re halfway through plating dinner in the hotel, still in your paddock pass and socks, when there’s a knock on the door.

George, freshly showered and already curled up on the couch in a black tee and grey trackies, cranes his neck and calls out, “You expecting someone?”

You glance toward the door with a frown. “No.”

But when you open it, Kimi’s standing there.

He looks…better. Still hesitant, a little wary around the eyes. But his curls are damp like he’s made the effort, his sneakers are clean, and he’s holding a crinkled bouquet of grocery-store flowers in one hand and a lukewarm bottle of Coke Zero in the other, like he’s showing up for dinner at a friend’s mum’s place and doesn’t quite know the rules.

“Hi,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You, uh. Said I had you.”

You smile, soft and certain. “Come on in.”

He’s quieter than you expected, eating slowly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be on his best behaviour or if this is some kind of test he hasn’t studied for. His eyes keep flicking between you and George, flickering with something cautious, like he’s still trying to figure out if this is actually real, if this warmth, this ease, this invitation is meant for him.

But you don’t push. You let the silence stretch comfortably, let the clinking of cutlery and the hum of the hospitality unit fill the space. You ask about his siblings, how many, how old, if they miss him when he’s away. His answers are a bit shy, but he softens when he talks about his youngest sister. Then he turns the conversation around, asks about your accent and where you’re from and how you ended up married to a Brit who complains about Australian heat while living in lycra.

George tosses in the occasional dry, perfectly timed comment, something sarcastic about Kimi’s hair, or your cooking skills, or how he was definitely the one who found the bakery, thank you very much. And every time, it draws a soft laugh from Kimi, a breathy little snort into his plate like he’s trying to stifle it and failing.

By dessert, George’s favourite caramel slice from that little corner bakery you stumbled across Thursday morning, Kimi’s sitting deeper in his chair, legs stretched out, plate cleaned, his posture relaxed for the first time all day. There’s the beginnings of a smile on his face, the kind that might stick around if you don’t scare it off.

You’re gathering plates and scraping leftovers into a bin when his voice cuts across the quiet.

“You know,” he says, glancing between the two of you, tentative but thoughtful. “You’re kind of like…well, like a paddock mum.”

George chokes mid-sip on his water, spluttering into his napkin.

You whip around, half-laughing, half-offended. “Paddock what?”

Kimi’s already shrugging, wide-eyed and sheepish, but not exactly sorry. “I mean, you found me when I was, like, losing my mind after quali. And then you fed me. And gave me tissues. That feels like a mum move.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, arms crossed. “Are you saying I give off mum vibes? Because I don’t know how I feel about that.”

He grins now, small and a little cheeky, the tension gone from his shoulders. “No offense. Cool mum. Like the ones who swear and make good snacks and don’t care if you put your feet on the couch.”

George’s laugh explodes through the kitchen, head thrown back, chest shaking. “You’ve nailed her, honestly.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Thanks, Kimi. I feel very young and hot now.”

But Kimi just shrugs again, like he knows exactly what he’s doing this time. “Grid mum,” he says, testing it out like a nickname. “Has a nice ring to it.”

P4.

Kimi Antonelli finishes his first ever Formula One race in fourth place.

You’re already out of your seat in the Mercedes garage before the cooldown lap is halfway done. George finishes in P3, but even he’s looking across the paddock toward the black and white of Kimi’s car, grinning like a proud big brother.

You catch him as he’s leaving parc fermé.

He’s breathless, sweating, wide-eyed and beaming, and when he spots you, he practically launches himself forward and hugs you so hard you lift off the ground for a second.

“I did it,” he gasps into your shoulder. “I fucking did it.”

“You did, baby,” you say, heart swelling. “You did so good.”

He pulls back, eyes shining. “Grid mum’s magic.”

George sidles up beside you, now changed into his podium kit. “You’re already giving her a big head.”

Kimi grins, still hugging you one-armed. “She earned it.”

You glance up at George. “He’s invited to dinner again.”

George smirks. “I figured.”

And when you look around and see Kimi, still in his suit, flushed with adrenaline, laughing with your husband and beaming at you like he’s finally home, you realise:

This season? It’s going to be a lot more crowded at the dinner table.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

I love the grid mum concept so much, whoever made this up, kisses forever! Anyway, I decided to do a George one because he is my favourite driver (which you would not believe but I promise I am). Anyway, as always, let me know if you have any requests or additions to this series!

[suiana]

YANDERE COSPLAYER WHO DRESSES UP AS UR FAVOURITE CHARACTERS SO YOU GOON TO HIM INSTEAD OF 2D PORN OF THEM!!!!

Ur a GOONER LOSER and jerk off to your favourite fictional characters every single day. Meanwhile there's, uh, your... Classmate? You think? Someone asked you out on a date but you were too busy thinking about your fictional boyfriend to care about his words that you ended up blurting out this:

"I only date guys like my fictional boyfriend. Goodbye 🙂"

"Wait-!"

"Goodbye 🙂"

You don't know and don't really care. Don't even bat an eyelash when he tries to latch onto your arm and beg you to listen to reason. Something about how he's real and your fictional boyfriend isn't. Whatever, he wouldn't understand the bond you and your hubby shares!

All you want is to get out of this blasted school as soon as possible and get straight home to that sweet SWEET gooncave of yours.

Unfortunately the second you lay down, all cozy and ready to open r34 or something... Your online friend (also a gooner btw) sends you a link to some random adult creator? What the hell! She knows you don't touch your thing to real people! That's so weird!

But instead, she only says that 'you'll like it' and that 'he's ur type'. Whatever, you're sure you won't spend more than 1 minutes scrolling his account-

"Holy shit, is that my favourite character?"

Oh yes it is.

You end up spending way longer than just 1 minutes on his account. What? He just so happened to be cosplaying ALL of your favourite characters! And they all happened to be filmed in such a way that you like! With all your favourite kinks... And scenarios...

You can't even chalk it up to coincidence because like, you didn't realize it.

You're thinking with your ass not your head, stupid.

Anyway! What happens is he ends up becoming your go-to porn from now on. Fuck anything else, he's... He's perfect! Weeks pass by of you jerking off in sync with his homemade porn and fuck, maybe real guys are good..? Also forgot to mention how that annoying classmate keeps trying to confess. You ignore him if course, he could never be like your wonderful porn creator who cosplays as your husband!

Your wonderful husband who could do no wrong... With that beautiful mole of his and sweet moans. You could recognize his vein pattern anywhere!

Save for the fact that you started realizing his posts are getting too specific.

Like, you get trying to dirty talk your followers and shit but this? Why is he acting like he's talking to you specifically?

"I'll wear his skin so you can love me too."

That's the caption of his latest video. For once in your godforsaken life you actually snap out of it and pause. Isn't it weird how this guy looks a lot like the guy who tried confessing to you? Forget the makeup and the cosplay, doesn't that mole on his face look familiar?

You sure as hell weren't paying attention to the guy but you know how to spot a distinctive feature or two.

Also why did you friend send you his account in the first place? Probably to goon tbh and maybe she just wanted to be nice but like-

Wait, she?

Did your online friend ever tell you that she was a girl? Or did you just assume it?

You quickly run to your social media, tapping at your screen with shaky hands. No way, how could you overlook such a small detail? And there it is, the account did in fact not say she/her but he/him pronouns.

Your online friend was a gooner, not a goonette.

And worse of it all, was the tiny link under his bio. You didn't want to believe it, how could such a plot twist happen? All this time, the bonding over goon sessions, kink, favourite fictional guys, and sharing of porn wasn't a #girlhood moment but an attempt to... To get you?

The twitter link stares at you, daring you to open Pandora's box secrets. Shit shit shit, you really don't want to believe it. So you've actually been jerking off to your online friend who happens to be your favourite porn character? A notification suddenly pops up and you swear you feel your heart drop.

deletefrance1000: Will you date me now?

[squipa]

touch tank

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

wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)

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

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

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

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

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

“need any help?”

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

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

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

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

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

god, he’s adorable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-clark :)

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“are you okay, ma’am?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you pray clark is late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

you really had never met anybody like clark kent. 

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

but here he is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this was going to be the best summer ever

you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt

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

——

“here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he remembered you. 

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

but he remembered you. and that feels different. 

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

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

——

today is july first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s clark— and he looks rough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—is there pumpkin spice in this?” 

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re cut off by an earthquake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you pause. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“on it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

“are you alright?” 

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

you nod. “what are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“just concerned.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he nods. “is that a bad thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he tilts his head. “why’s that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i pinky swear.” 

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

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

you’re gonna figure him out. 

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

huh. he looks a lot like superman. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you knock twice on the door. “clark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what do you want us to be?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

were you right? is clark really… superman? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh god, you love him. 

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

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

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

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

huh. 

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

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

your heart beats out of your chest. 

it’s the picture. 

it’s the picture. 

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

that he’s superman. 

that you were right. 

that he lied to you. 

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

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

“i can explain.” 

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

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

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

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

“this is over.”

——

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

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

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

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

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

about clark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

open the door, please. 

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

and there he is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you too.” you say, smiling. 

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wow.

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

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

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

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

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

[iluvmnoori]

I have a request if you’ve got the time!

Saja Boys x Fem (or GN) !Manager!Reader in which they find out she was a child tv star on a music show (think like a live action Backyardigans ig?? I don’t know how to describe it 😭😭) and they immediately go to find old box sets and buy overpriced scalped merch from the show and they just gush about how cute she was (and surprisingly talented!! Since when could she sing and dance!!)

Bonus: They only find this out due to Huntrix seeing Manager and immediately going into fangirl mode!!

I’M A STAR ⭑.ᐟ 

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ pairing: jinu x reader, abby x reader, romance x reader, mystery x reader, baby x reader

synopsis: You are the manager of the new Kpop Boy Group, Saja Boys! With their new single on the rise, you need to put them in their place but why didn’t you mention that you were famous once too?

wc: 636

content: blurb

a/n: first request!!! ahhhhh!! i’m sorry, this is so cringe and probably out of character for all of them but i tried i really did!!! i also tried to make a group that was clear children from the 2000s vibes like Yo Gabba Gabba or something but idk if it worked. also Huntrix mentions included because what would I be without them. anyways, enjoy! ✊

reblogs/comments vv appreciated if you enjoyed! okay buh bye! ⋆ ꩜ ⋆

The Saja Boys were a lot of things: talented, hot, and collectively allergic to being on time for anything. As their manager, you are quite literally barely holding everything together. And you love them, you really do, but today? Today they seem to be anything but loving you back.

“Mystery, stop punching the vending machine. Abby, you can’t bench press Romance. Baby, why do you have glitter in your mouth?” “I was testing if it was edible,” Baby said while chewing on the grains of glitter.

“You guys need to keep it together, the fans out there are—“

Sadly, your much needed lecture was interrupted by a door swinging open. By whom? By them. Huntr/x. They were a different type of girl group, all power and fame. They were practically unstoppable, the talent real, every song tracking number one, and worst of all no scandals. It was hard to bring them down, but the Saja Boys are making a steady track to the top and if the fansign goes well then it will get them one step closer to victory. But no looking at the competition, no—

Zoey made a beeline for you, her face sparkling. What the hell? “Oh. My. GOD.”

You blinked. “Yes…?”

“You’re not seriously standing there pretending that you aren’t Princess Harmony.” A silence fell. “I—uh, I have no clue who the is, sorry.”

“Woah, I didn’t see it before but I totally do now.” Mira exclaimed as she brought her phone next to your face.

Rumi comes up with her hands clasped together in a worshiping manner. “You mean from BoogieBeat Buddies? From the 2000s? Channel Z? You were my favorite member!”

“I had your bedazzled microphone purse!!” Zoey practically screeched. “My favorite was the Bougie Bounce,” Mira commented on the sidelines. “Do you think we get an autograph? You really meant a lot to us when we were younger,” Rumi held your hands in her own, giving you a pleading look.

“…Sure.” The girls cheered, and waved once they got their autograph. And when you turn around…oh boy.

A FEW HOURS LATER

They followed you home and raided the place. Yup. No stuttering with that sentence.

Romance was clutching a signed BoogieBeat Buddies VHS tape like it was the Holy Grail. Jinu found your ancient fan blog.

Mystery held a rare collector’s sticker sheet in gloved hands. He tilts his head, trying to get a good look at all of the stickers that have even the slightest hint of you in them.

“Damn, that’s probably worth more than our rent,” Abby comments while flexing in the mirror. He’s showing off the hoodie he got with your child face on it from a scalper site for a whopping two hundred bucks.

“Hey, [⟡], can you explain this dance?” Baby is in front of the tv watching you and your group doing the choreography of Don’t Forget To Flush, gripping the remote with his hand. Guess you can’t change the channel.

“It…wasn’t that big of a deal guys. I feel like this is an invasion of my privacy. It’s just a job.”

Romance flopped beside you. “It was a beautiful job. You sang like an angel. You danced like an angel. You wore plumbing gear like an angel.”

You slump on your couch. “You guys will never take me seriously again.” Meanwhile, Mystery is swaying side to side with the music.

“At least you guys made good music, that’s saying something.” Jinu notes as Abby sips on a BoogieBeat Juicebox in your honor.

Mystery and Baby are dancing along to the choreography while Romance is sighing dreamily, “You looked so adorable. I feel betrayed. But I’ve never been happier.”

You click your tongue, rolling your eyes. But I guess a trip down memory lane isn’t that bad if it’s with them.

[shysuccubusstuff]

No Running Now pt. 1

Summary: Acting all bratty does have consequences, even for someone as cute as yourself, sadly.

Content: Brat tamer! Caleb + Teasing! Reader; Size difference + Face fucking + Throatpie + Mean! Dom + (Praise kink + Degrading kink); Non proof-reader

Note: I was planning on joining AO3 for the first time ever but it turns out it has a waitlist... I had no idea :(( I was getting so excited already, like planning a new username and everything... I will continue with the requests little by little! Something I find interesting about my requests is the fact that despite I write mainly NSFW stuff, most of my requests are actually SFW! Not complaining, I just found it so interesting! ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ I come here with a recommendation for a new manhwa: "How About Cosmic Horror?" It's a new manhwa so it has like 9 chapters if I'm not mistaken but I enjoyed it, the plot is so interesting and it gave me a few ideas for future works!! Can you all tell that I love a certain trope? I hope so! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

You had chosen to spend the whole day pestering Caleb, how, you may ask.

Of course it was by running your hands around his croch, your hands ghosting that area as if it was completely natural, constantly giving him excuses about how he had stained himself with something, your warm hand pressing on that area and rubbing against it as if he truly had a stain there. Other times, you said that you had dropped something close to him, using his leg to help get yourself off the ground even when he had kindly offered to get it for you, according to you, this was merely because you didn't want to disturb him while he worked on reviewing some papers, but of course Caleb had noticed the way you kept gliding your hands around his cock, with him biting his lips as he cursed inside his brain. Oh, you were so gonna get it as soon as the two of you were alone...

Unluckily for you, the day finally reached the end, allowing the two of you to finally return home, your mind already running in circles trying to come up with what excuses could you create just to avoid whatever Caleb had in mind. Not like you had much time before Caleb grabbed you by your wrist, not losing any time before guiding you towards your bedroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a wicked smile as you heard the click of the door closing. "I'm so glad you had your fun, pips, surely you must have been laughing soooo much each time you noticed my pants getting so tight each time you circled your pretty hands around there, right baby?" You swallowed hard, trying to think of the best excuse ever created just to get away with your little prank. "Oh, come on Caleb, I... I already told you, there were just a lot of crumbles that kind of looked like stains, plus, my hands seem to be made of butter today, you know? Things... Things kept falling off my hands, yeah? I just... Just didn't want you to bother, you were soooo busy today!" You hadn't noticed before, but by the time you had finished blabbering some poor excuses, your back was completely pressed against the wall, Caleb's taller frame making you play with your hands as you tried to avoid his gaze.

"Oh... That sounds so difficult, pips, how about I help you getting a better grip with your hands? Promise you won't ever go around dropping your stuff." Caleb's eyes were now darker than unusual, his slightly cold hands making you shiver as you got ready for whatever was going inside his mind.

Before long, you were already completely cornered against the wall, Caleb's cock bullying your throat each time he forced his whole lenght inside your mouth, both of his hands holding your head while one of them was set on the back of your head, hips moving rapidly while he avoided hitting your head against the hard wall. "You... Just had to keep on teasing me, uh?... Had to keep running your hands around my cock, you just loved seeing my... Fuck... My face turning red each time my dick started to get hard... Guess you just needed me to fuck some sense into your pretty brain, right? Need someone bigger and older to teach you how to behave in public... Right, pretty baby?" Caleb got away for a second, his whole length leaving your mouth, with only the tip of his cock caressing your swollen lips, making them all shiny due to the mixture of precum and saliva. "How about I teach you some manners? What are you supposed to say now?" You tried to get your gaze to focus, vision still a bit foggy due to the tears that had formed in your eyes. "Ple...Please give me your... your dick." Caleb smiled warmly, his left hand petting your hair with extreme love before shoving his whole cock inside your mouth, his tip bruising against the back of your throat as he used his hands to keep your head in place, both of his hands still caressing your hair as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

"So good baby... I'm so close, make sure to open wide so you can get every last drop... Wouldn't want you to have milk my cock again with your pretty mouth, right?... Ugh... Just like that, you're doing so good for me-- Here comes, open wide baby~" Your throat was suddenly filled with heavy, slightly salted ropes of cum, the sudden release making you almost gag as you tried your best to drink every single drop of Caleb's release, his cock slowly leaving your mouth while releasing more of it on your tongue. "Open wide, pips, show me how good you did for me~..." And you did just as he asked, opening your mouth and showing your empty mouth, his chest being filled with a strange mixture of proudness and something quite more twisted.

Surely you had learnt your lesson with this, right?

[zeka-maki]

Hello!!! May I request Sunday, Phainon, Aventurine (and anyone you want!) with a gn reader that laughs at almost everything. Anyway one day they’re with reader and someone makes a joke and reader laughs hard but when they say something reader stops laughing and gets so awkward?!?! And they get cutely jealous😋😋

(this is my first time requesting so I am so sorry if this doesn’t make any sense and Idk if this fits Sundays character…)

Anyway have a great day I love your writing!!!

ʚɞ You're not the only one that I know ʚɞ

Pairings: Phainon x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader

Summary: What he loves about you is your laugh. When you laugh at other people's jokes, he's mesmerised. But your laughter comes to a halt when he's the one making the joke. He sure is jealous and he makes sure he'll match your humor next time.

Tags: Fluff, crack (?), them just being dramatic

A/N: TYSM FOR THE REQ! Eueueueueuueueje i have no thoughts, I'm glad u like my writing heheheheh 😛, hope you enjoy!

⚘ Phainon:

The dawn device bathed Garden of Life, and you were sitting on a luxurious seat with a few Chrysos Heirs. Even Phainon had joined, lounging nearby with arms folded, face tilted slightly toward you though he pretended otherwise.

A wild joke about a Titan (Mnestia) almost tripping over in a banquet sent you into hysterics. You snorted. You wheezed. A single tear gathering in the corner of your eye.

Phainon blinked, then quietly tried one of his own. “...If a Titan laughs in the void and no one hears it, are they still funny?”

Silence. You turned, frozen, mouth half open, too flustered to reply. Your brain blanked. Why did his voice sound so serious when he was trying to be funny?!

Phainon’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You laugh at that—” he gestured vaguely toward the others, “—but not me?”

You stammered. “I didn’t mean—I was just—!”

He crossed his arms tighter, huffing. “Maybe I should fall on my face next time. Seems that’s the bar.”

You pouted. “You’re being dramatic.”

He shrugged, still sulky. But you noticed the faintest pink to his ears as he muttered, “Just… try laughing at me next time. I practiced that one.”

⚘ Aventurine:

At a lounge in Penacony, you were all trading dumb jokes while waiting for your drinks. You were radiant, laughing freely—loud, uninhibited, as someone joked about a winning hand being all Aces and one Uno card.

Aventurine smirked, swirling his glass. “Well, if I were a card, I’d be your wild one. Always changing the game.”

You choked. Not on your drink—on silence. Eyes wide. Palms sweaty. A barely audible “Ha…” escaped.

Aventurine tilted his head. “Oh, that was a joke, sunshine,” he said, raising a brow. “Y’know—funny?”

You looked like you wanted to sink into the velvet seat. “I got it. I just—uh—it’s different when you say it.”

“Different how?” His tone was teasing, but something in his smirk sharpened.

“I dunno! It’s just—when you say it, it’s like… flirty?”

Aventurine leaned in, grin growing. “You only laugh when it’s not me? That’s cold.”

You groaned, face burning, but he was clearly enjoying himself now.

“Next time I’ll wear a clown nose,” he chuckled. “Just to earn that laugh of yours. You’re not getting away with dodging my punchlines, sweetheart.”

⚘ Sunday:

It was a casual get-together in the Golden Hour lounge, with laughter and low music flowing like wine. You were seated comfortably between a few friends—Sunday among them, ever dazzling, ever composed.

Someone cracked a ridiculous pun about dreamscapes and alarm clocks. You laughed hard—too hard, even, doubling over and gasping for air as everyone else chuckled mildly.

Sunday watched with a faint smirk and decided to join in. "Well, if we’re talking sleep, I suppose I’m the only one here who can say they’ve been in your dreams… literally."

Your laughter came to a sudden halt. Eyes wide, posture stiff, your drink halfway to your lips—everything about your body language screamed malfunction. Sunday noticed immediately.

"Oh," he said smoothly, though you caught the flicker of something else behind his calm. "That didn’t land?"

“No, no!” you said too quickly, face burning. “It was—just—unexpected.”

His smile was easy, but the way he leaned in said otherwise. “I see. So they get the laughter, but I get the silence?” he teased softly. “Should I be jealous?”

You buried your face in your hands as Sunday laughed, low and warm. He leaned back, satisfied. “I’ll try again later. Just wait—you’ll laugh for me, starlight.”

[y0inked]

OUT OF HIS LEAGUE (AND UNDER HER)

Virgin!Stanford!Sam x popular!Reader

cw: 18+ MDNI ; mentions of porn, insecure sam, p in v, sub!sam winchester

a/n: this is going to be a multi part series lol bc im in love with stanford sammy. ref

part2

He’s not trying to watch porn for homework.

But here he is—alone in his dorm, headphones in, hunched over his laptop with one hand clenched in his hoodie sleeve and the other awkwardly hovering over the play button. The volume’s down to one. The tab is in Incognito mode. His heart is beating like he’s doing something illegal.

Because you’re—God, you’re you.

You’re in his history class, and you actually talk to him. You laughed at one of his jokes. You said his hair looked “cute messy.” You texted him first. You even kissed him after the library study session last week, right on the mouth, all glossy-lipped and warm and real.

He hasn’t been the same since.

And if—if things keep going the way they are, then someday—soon, maybe—you’re going to want to sleep with him.

Him. Not some fantasy guy with a six-pack and confidence and experience. Just… Sam. Awkward, too-tall, virgin Sam.

And he wants to be good for you. He wants to be so good.

So he watches.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Mostly, he just squints.

The video’s grainy. The guy’s talking dirty in a way that makes Sam physically recoil. The girl’s moaning before he even touches her, and Sam frowns, lips pursed like he’s solving a riddle. His dick’s half-hard in his sweatpants, but it feels more clinical than sexy.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” says a voice behind him. “Because it’s not.”

Sam yelps.

The laptop flies off his knees, slamming shut as he turns to see you, standing in the doorway of his dorm room.

You’re smirking.

He’s dying.

You cross your arms, one brow raised. “Porn? Really?”“I—uh—” Sam fumbles, going bright red. “I was—it wasn’t—I mean, it was, technically, but—”

You step forward, lips twitching. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I just—” He swallows. “You’re so… cool. And pretty. And confident. And I’m just—me. And I thought, maybe if I knew what to do—what would feel good—I wouldn’t screw it up if, you know, things went that way. With us.”

You blink.

Then your expression softens.

“Sam.”

You climb into his lap like it’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made. His hands fly to your waist instinctively, wide-eyed, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you.

“I don’t want the guy from a porn video,” you say gently. “I want you. Dorky, overthinking, trying-too-hard you.”

“But I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur, leaning close enough that your breath ghosts over his lips. “I do.”

You take his hand and guide it to your thigh first. Then your waist. Then under your shirt. And when he exhales sharply and looks at you like you’ve handed him a galaxy, you kiss him.

When you sink down onto him—slowly, giving him time to feel every inch—he almost sobs.

“Oh my god—” “You okay?” “I think I’m seeing god—”

He’s so warm inside you. So wide-eyed and stunned and clinging to your hips like he might float away.

You rock slowly at first, just enough to make him twitch. His mouth is open, his head tipped back against the wall, hair sticking to his forehead.

“F-feels really… tight,” he breathes. “Is it—should it—are you—”“It’s supposed to,” you whisper, leaning close. “You feel amazing, Sammy.”

His hands tighten. His thighs are shaking.

You guide one of his palms to your chest and start moving a little faster, a little deeper. His hips jerk up instinctively and you moan softly into his ear.

“Shit—” he gasps. “I’m not gonna last—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” you say, voice soft, lips brushing his neck. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And when he does—tensing, shuddering, crying out your name like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth—you cradle his face in your hands and ride him through it, slow and sweet and overwhelming.

When he finally opens his eyes, breathless and red-faced and smiling like he just aced the test he didn’t think he’d pass, you kiss him again.

“That,” you whisper, brushing a thumb across his cheek, “was so much better than porn.”

divider by @strangergraphics

TAGLIST

@bowxs, @sammyslittledoll, @nicetomeachum, @castielsonlyangel, @butterphiiss

[the-raindeer-king]

(anxious reader prt 2) prt 1

The end of the week comes far faster than you care for, and your anxiety builds. You can’t sleep, that final night that Simon is home. As you toss and turn in your bed, you can’t figure out why you care so much. Of course you care. He’s your roommate, and you’re finally on friendly terms, but this feels so much more different than just regular concern. 

You sit up in bed as you hear Simon’s door swing open, and then click shut. His footsteps are light, like he’s trying not to make too much noise. But you’re awake anyway, squinting as the light from the hallway spills into your room as he opens the door. 

“Simon?” you croak out, blinking at the sudden harsh light. 

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he replies softly, always so soft when he speaks to you.

The nickname makes your heart flip in your chest, and you choose to ignore it as you climb out of bed, grimacing at the feeling of the cold floor against your feet. “You didn’t,” you reply, shuffling over to the door. “I was awake.” 

Time seems to stop, for just a moment, as you reach the doorway. You stare at each other, something unspoken and unnamed sizzling between the two of you. Simon's hands twitch at his sides, like he's holding back from something. And there's a part of you that wishes he'd just reach out and do it…. Whatever it is. 

“Ya that eager to be rid of me?” He jokes, voice heavy with an emotion you've never heard before. It makes your heart twist in your chest. 

“No. I'm, uh… just worried,” you admit softly, ducking your head to look away from him. It feels silly now that you've voiced it. You've done this song and dance plenty of times. Simon always comes back. But things are different now, and everything feels like you're experiencing it for the first time. 

“Worried? About what? Me?” 

There's a teasing tone to his voice that makes you want to go back to bed and forget this conversation ever happened. Instead, you look up at him, and watch the way his expression falls at the look in your eyes. 

“Oh, love,” he breathes out, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I've got a team made up of the best of the best. I'm going to be fine.” 

***

RIIIIINNG. RIIIIINNG. RIIIINNG. 

Your phone had been ringing the entire drive home, and only now, as you drag yourself into your apartment, do you finally grant the device the attention it's been so desperately seeking. 

If you're being honest, as much as you hate phone calls, it's a welcomed distraction. Simon's been gone for two months, and being alone in the apartment has been weird lately. Your thoughts spiral back to Simon, and all you can do is hope he's okay and that maybe he's thinking of you too. 

“Hello?” 

“Is this…” The man on the other end of the line hesitates, before saying your name. There's an underlying tone of disbelief that makes you hesitate before confirming. 

“This is Captain Johnathan Price. Sorry, I-” He pauses to clear his throat, and then takes a deep breath. “Do you know Simon Riley? He's got you down as an emergency contact.”

“Simon's my roommate,” you explain. It sounds silly once you've said it outloud, but the man - Johnathan - makes a sound of confirmation on the other end. 

“How fast can you make it here? Simon's been injured.”

The drive to the hospital passes in a blur. Johnathan had given you the address over the phone, and you're pretty sure you broke a law or two driving there. But none of the matters as your body moves, following a nurse down the sterile hallway. 

There's two men waiting outside the room. You recognize them both from the picture hanging in the apartment. The man with the mutton chops looks far more tired in real life than he does in his picture, and the other man - the one with the funny haircut - has his arm in a sling. 

Both of them grow quiet as you approach, staring like they've seen a ghost. 

You adjust your bag on your shoulder, desperately trying to swallow down the anxiety that climbs up your throat. This is for Simon. You can do this. For Simon. 

“Well, I'll be damned. You’re real,” Haircut breathes out, breaking the silence. 

You just awkwardly adjust your bag again, nauseous. “I- uh, I’m here for Simon.” 

Mutton Chops steps forward, holding a hand out. “Johnathan. We spoke on the phone,” he says, and thankfully, doesn’t comment on the way your hand shakes as you slip it into his for a handshake. It feels almost unreal, being able to put names to the faces in the photo. It feels like you’ve slipped through a crack, like you’re taking a peek into a part of Simon that he doesn’t want you to see. 

There’s a part of you that wants to run, return to the safety of the apartment and hide until Simon’s discharged. He always comes home, injured or not. Why would this time be any different? 

You don’t get that choice because Johnathan is opening the door to the hospital room, motioning for you to follow him, and your feet move before your brain can make that choice. It would kill you to leave Simon alone during a time like this, but it’s also going to kill you to see him like this. 

He’s laying in the bed, eyes closed but he’s not asleep. Not when his eyes crack open at the sound of the door. There’s stitches closing a long cut on his arm, bandages peeking out from the collar of his hospital gown. His knuckles are bruised, dark marks that creep up his hands to his wrists, and it looks like he might have a black eye as well.

In all the time you’ve lived with Simon, you’ve never seen him look this bad. Maybe he spared you from it. Maybe he was just that good. But seeing him like this only serves to remind you that Simon is human, that he risks his life every time he gets deployed. That there might be a day where he doesn’t come home. 

“Love,” he croaks out, struggling to sit up in bed. He winces, pain shooting through him as he tries to force his body to move. 

“Hey, hey, just stay still,” you say, scurrying over to the side of the bed. Your hands shake as you gently press them against his shoulders, scared to press too hard in case it hurts him. “Don’t… don’t push yourself.” 

Simon huffs softly, lips curled into the faintest smile. “Bossy,” he teases, and it eases you a little. Not a lot, but you’re choosing to take it as a good sign that he’s still got it in him to be teasing you. You let out a shaky breath, trying to smile but based on the concern on Simon’s face, you’re not doing a good job. 

Instead, he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his, thumb rubbing against your wrist. It’s grounding, and you’re grateful for that, some of the tension draining out of you. 

“Wh-what happened?” you ask, voice soft but shaking. Your entire being feels like it’s shaking, like your foundation has cracked and is threatening to crumble under the weight of the situation. 

“Got sloppy,” Simon answers, the only answer he ever gives you when you ask about his injuries, which earns a scoff from the guy with the stupid haircut. 

“Is that what we’re calling it? Ye got caught under a buildin’,” he huffs. 

Everything feels like it’s slowed down at that. 

What? 

Trapped under a building. 

He could’ve died. 

And you… you would’ve never known, stuck in the apartment, wondering if he’d ever come back. Without telling him how you really feel, how much he means to you. How you… Fuck, how you love him so much it feels like it’s crushing you. 

The weight of realization breaks you, taking a step back, eyes wide and breathing shallow. There’s no way you can tell Simon any of this. You’re barely friends with him, and well - look at him! He’s out of your league, and the last thing he needs is you and all your problems to drag him further down than you already have. 

“Luv, it’s fine, really,” Simon rushes out, reaching out for you again, but you pull further back before he can grab you. 

You can’t be here right now, can’t be around him. Not while there’s this steady fire burning in your chest. You need to put space between yourself and Simon, until you can snuff this fire out, let the feeling wash away until it’s nothing but smoke and a forgotten memory. 

“I… I have to go,” you whisper, before rushing out of the room, knowing you’re making a scene over nothing. This shouldn’t be a big deal, but the hammering of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears, it all says otherwise. 

[cheshireliam]

Silvio Ricci 2025 Birthday Story: Chapters 1 — 3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Silvio once told me a story. 

Silvio: When I was a kid, I built a boat on my own.

Silvio: I say “built”, but all I did was tie some driftwood together with rope. Some sorry excuse for a boat it was…

Silvio: But when you’re a kid, you’d think that’s good enough. So I took that flimsy thing out to sea. 

Silvio: Of course, it fell apart almost immediately and I couldn’t swim back then, so I damn near drowned. 

Silvio: Now I’ve got the money to build proper ships, real impressive ones. But that first “voyage”? Nothin’ but a bitter memory. 

(Hearing that story made me think to myself…)

(For his birthday this year, I’m going to give him “that”.) 

…

Silvio: Took you long enough to get back. 

With the soft sound of waves in the distance, I stepped into my room — and instantly froze. 

Emma: … I didn't expect you to be waiting for me, Prince Silvio 

(This atmosphere… uh oh.) 

I shut the door behind me with one hand and faced him with a strained smile. 

Silvio stood tall and firm, the air around him making it clear I was not getting away with anything. 

Silvio: Where've you been?

Emma: In town.

Silvio: Doin’ what? 

Emma: Just out for a walk.

Silvio: At this hour?

Emma: I went to some spots with scenic night views. 

Silvio: If that’s the case— 

Silvio stepped closer toward me, closing the distance between us. 

He reached out and lifted a lock of my hair.

Silvio: Why’s your hair damp? 

(Darn… I thought I dried off properly.) 

Emma: I was caught in an unexpected downpour. 

Silvio: The weather’s been clear all day. 

Emma: It was cloudy in town. 

Silvio: Don’t lie to me. 

He leaned in, like he was trying to literally sniff out the truth.

I held his gaze, but my heart was panicking and hammering against my chest. 

Silvio: You’ve been actin’ off lately.

Emma: In what way?

Silvio: I could go on forever, but what bugs me the most is the way you’ve been walkin’. 

Emma: …?

Silvio gave my head a rough pat and stepped away. 

But it wasn’t over yet. He beckoned me to follow him. 

(It’ll be fine… I’ll just walk like I always do.) 

Feeling oddly nervous, I took a step forward and walked towards him. 

Emma: See? Nothing’s unusual at all.

Silvio: Wrong. Your stride’s shorter than usual, and you’re leaning your weight more on one leg. 

Silvio: That’s how people walk when they hurt their foot. 

(No way. He figured that out just by watching me walk a couple steps!?) 

Silvio: Your shoulder’s in pain too, isn’t it? Bet ya don’t even realise it, but the way ya raise your arm’s lookin’ stiff as hell. 

Emma: …

(He’s sharper than I thought.)

Silvio: Ya gonna come clean or not?

Emma: … Whatever do you mean?

(Even if he’s figured out that something's not right, I can’t back down now.)

(This is all part of my plan for Silvio’s birthday—) 

Silvio: Then strip.

Emma: … Huh?

Before I could react, Silvio grabbed my hand and unhesitatingly began unbuttoning my blouse.

(Wait, he’s serious…!?) 

My heartbeat immediately went into a different kind of frenzy. 

Emma: Hang on. Why are we jumping straight into that!? 

Silvio: Because I'm not lettin’ it slide if you’re hidin’ an injury. 

Emma: I’m not injured at all, really! 

Silvio: I don’t trust people who keep secrets.

Emma: Please believe me, it’s nothing more than sore muscles! 

Silvio: Oh really? 

One look at his face and I could tell Silvio’s trust in me had completely bottomed out. 

Despite my resistance, Silvio’s hands moved with practiced ease and I was stripped down to my underwear in no time. 

(I know Prince Silvio’s always been overprotective of me, but recently it’s starting to get out of hand.)

(Of course it makes me happy to know he cares so much about me… it really does… but…) 

Silvio: No bruises. 

Emma: See? Like I said— ow! 

His hand went to my shoulder and applied just enough pressure to make the pain spike. 

Silvio seemed determined to find out where exactly I was hurt. 

His hand slid from my shoulder down my arm, traced along my waist, and then he lifted me up in his arms. 

He threw me onto the bed, lifted my legs, and began thoroughly examining me from my calf to thighs.

(... More than the pain, this is plain embarrassing.) 

Emma: T-that’s enough. 

Silvio: You've been usin’ your entire body for whatever it is you’re up to. What are you plannin’ for my birthday this year?

(Ugh… he even figured out it’s related to his birthday.)

Emma: It’ll ruin the surprise if I tell you now. 

Silvio: Doesn’t matter. If it’s somethin’ that’s makin’ ya push yourself this hard, I’m not gonna sit around and wait for the big reveal. 

Silvio: But if you're really not gonna talk— 

Emma: W-wait, aah… Prince Silvio! 

His hand slipped beneath my underwear, fingers gliding directly against my bare skin— 

…

Pinning me down on the bed, Silvio ran his hands over my skin under the hem of my underwear. 

His palm traced along my waist, then moved up to cup my breast, making me gasp. 

Emma: … This method of interrogation isn’t fair in the slightest. 

Silvio: If ya don’t like it, then spit it out already. 

He kneaded the soft flesh in his palm, and my body started heating up under his touch. 

No matter how determined I was to bear with it as much as I could, the moment his fingers teased the already hardened tip of my breast, my breath hitched. 

(I mustn't tell him… absolutely not.) 

(With how overprotective Silvio is, he’ll definitely try to stop me if he knows what I was doing.) 

(And this year's birthday surprise will end up being something ordinary and plain. I can’t let that happen, so—) 

I glared up at him through my tear-blurred eyes, but Silvio only smirked and pinched the tip hard.  

Pleasure shot through me like a bolt of lightning, my hips arched and my toes curled. 

Silvio: Hah, let’s see how long you can keep that mouth sealed. 

…

Jeweler: A pleasure to see you in such fine spirits, Prince Silvio. I see you’re accompanied by Lady Emma today as well. 

Silvio: Yeah. Thought I’d take her along for a change, and have her help out a bit with the negotiations. 

The next day — Silvio stepped into a jeweler’s shop with his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder.

The slightest movement from me would earn a firmer pull against his side, leaving me no room to escape. 

(I can't believe it’s turned out like this…)

[ Flashback ]

Emma: Haa… haah….

Silvio: You… you’re really stubborn.

Silvio: You’re already this wet, and yet you’re still not givin’ in.

Emma: … ahh…

Silvio: I gotta give you credit for how hardheaded you are. I won’t force it out of you.

Silvio: But don’t even think of leaving my side, starting tomorrow. 

[ Flashback End ]

(He’s stopped pressing me for answers, but now I have a new problem — I’m physically stuck to him.)

(I haven't finished preparing for his birthday present yet.) 

Silvio: Emma, can you record the meeting minutes?

Emma: Yes, leave it to me. 

Even though he clearly had his reasons for bringing me along, Silvio didn’t intend to treat me like a mere accessory either. 

Now that he’d given me a role, I couldn't chicken out or escape. 

He was way too good at it. 

As much as it made me happy to be needed, it also made me want to scream.

Jeweler: …

The negotiation proceeded without a hitch, and the contract was reviewed and finalised without delay. 

After an hour, everything was concluded peacefully. 

(That’s one business meeting down. But judging by how smoothly it went, he’s probably going to have me record the minutes for the next meeting too.) 

(... I’m in trouble.)

Keeping my smile in place, I cast a quick glance in Silvio's direction. 

Our eyes met, and he shot me a smug, triumphant grin 

(This is so frustrating…)

???: Pardon me for interrupting. 

The conference room doors swung open—

(Rio!?)

Rio, Silvio’s aide and a good friend of mine, strode in with utter confidence and gave me a cheerful wave.

Rio: Emma, Her Majesty’s asking for you.

Emma: Her Majesty?

Silvio: What does she want?

Rio: No idea. But isn’t it kind of tacky for us men to meddle with women's business? 

Silvio: I don't care. I’m going too. 

Jeweler: Please wait, Prince Silvio. 

Silvio: Isn’t the deal closed already?

Jeweler: Yes, but actually there's an update on the market situation I’d like to share…

My eyes met the jeweler’s for a brief moment, and he gave a small nod.

(Oh, could it be—)

I looked in Rio’s direction, just in time to catch him tossing me a discreet wink. 

(... He found out I’m being “held hostage” by Silvio and worked something out.)

The familiar kindness of my old friend calmed my heart, and my cheeks relaxed with a smile. 

Emma: Prince Silvio. If Her Majesty has summoned me, I really must go right away.

Silvio: I never heard of such a thing. 

Rio: Don’t be stubborn.

Silvio: … Oi, ya mutt. Do you know what Emma’s been up to these days? 

Rio: Eeehhh, nope. What is she up to?

Silvio: …

Silvio: Tch, whatever.

Silvio: Make sure you come back before I lose my patience. 

(He let me go surprisingly easily.)

(... Probably because he realised Rio does actually know what I’ve been doing.) 

(That’s what Silvio thinks of me right now…)

(And that's exactly why, no matter what, his birthday present has to be that.)

Afterwards, I continued working in secret while dodging Silvio’s questions, slipping out from under his watch, and enlisting help where I could.

The pain in my body worsened with each passing day, but strangely, the more it hurt, the more confident I felt. 

…

Emma: Once again…

Emma: Happy birthday, Prince Silvio. And thank you for waiting so long! 

Silvio: You don't say. 

Finally, the day I’ve been preparing for arrived — it was his birthday. 

He must've made some arrangements in advance because when the clock struck midnight and I expected the usual storm of well-wishers to come flooding in, it was silent.

In that peace and quiet, I was the only one allowed to stand before him. 

(Lately, I heard that even merchants have been behaving more considerately around his birthday…) 

(It likely means they’re starting to acknowledge how important I am to Silvio.) 

Silvio: You better not disappoint after makin’ me wait this long. 

Emma: Of course I won't. I’ll show you to the venue right away. 

…

Silvio: Ah… so this is what all that was about. 

The courtyard of Benitoite’s castle went through a whole makeover in celebration of Silvio’s birthday. 

The table was lined with a variety of dishes such as fricassée and a spread of seafood, all of which I’d been preparing over the past few days. 

A towering cake, decorated with the theme of ocean waves in mind, stood at the center of it all with a ship sculpted from sugar placed proudly at the top. 

For drinks, I chose the rose wine from Rhodolite that Silvio liked best.

And next to it, carefully wrapped and waiting, was a gift I ordered a long time ago — a custom leather compass case. 

However, — the first thing to catch Silvio’s attention wasn’t the food, wine, or cake. 

It was something floating on the surface of the courtyard pool. 

Silvio: You made that, didn't ya? 

Emma: That’s right, That’s the highlight of this year’s celebration. 

It was a little boat — or rather, something kind of like one. 

A roughly made raft that was made by tying logs together with some rope, and had a simple flag bearing a hand-drawn rabbit as its centerpiece. 

It was simple. Incomplete, even. But it was the first ever “boat” I made, and it held all my feelings for Silvio. 

Silvio: It looks better than the one I built as a kid. 

Emma: I worked hard on it. Also, it’s not just for show. You can actually ride it.

(Although I did capsize when I tested it yesterday…) 

I pulled the raft towards me with the attached rope and carefully set one foot on it. 

The ocean blue dress I picked out for the occasion fluttered in the breeze, throwing me off balance —

Silvio, who was watching me at my side, immediately reached out his arm to steady me. 

But instead of taking his hand, I steadied myself.

Emma: See? I did it! 

Silvio: Barely. That looked dangerous.

Silvio: Still, why a boat?

Emma: Fufu… remember what you said earlier on? That this is “better than” the one you made as a child. 

Emma: That means this boat must look similar to the one from your childhood. 

Silvio: So what if it does? What’s the point of makin’ it look like that thing? 

Emma: You once told me that memory was a bitter one…

Emma: So I thought I’d “take revenge” on your behalf, and turn that memory into something positive. 

(Silvio might not have noticed it himself that day, but…)

(He looked so very sad when he told me the story of his first boat.) 

(I don't know the exact details of what happened back then, but what I knew for certain was that there was more to it than what was shared with me.)

(I know I can’t erase what he’s been through…) 

(But maybe, with this, when he sees another boat like this one… he’ll recall memories of this birthday instead.) 

Emma: I’ve also made a decision.

Emma: Your first voyage was on a handmade boat.

Emma: And from there, you went on to go on many more adventures as you grew. 

Emma: So I wanted to do the same. I’ll start my journey as an adventurer by building a boat too and “set sail” from there. 

Emma: This is my way of saying I’ll walk the same path as you and from now on, no matter the stormy seas we face, I’ll always remain by your side.

Silvio: You…

Even if it was just a tiny raft floating on a pool, a gust of wind could still make it wobble. 

As we talked, I didn’t let go of the wooden pole holding up the boat’s flag. 

Silvio: Hah, can’t say you look that reliable now, though. 

Emma: I know I still have much to learn, but… but… 

Emma: … W-wait, the wind… it’s getting stronger… whoa! 

The raft shook and sent me falling into the water. 

With a dramatic splash, ripples spread through the water surface, and I plunged straight into the depths of the pool, away from the summer heat. 

At the same time my face emerged at the surface of the water, Silvio didn't think twice before diving in after me. 

A pair of strong arms pulled me close to him, and just like that — the uncomfortable feeling of being weightless underwater vanished. 

Emma: … T-thank you. 

Silvio: Knew you were gonna fall in. 

Emma: I thought I could do it…

Silvio: You practiced this a billion times, didn’t you? 

While helping me grab onto the raft, Silvio brushed a hand through my soaked hair.

Silvio: Is this why your hair was wet the other day?

Emma: Unfortunately, you got that wrong.

Silvio: Hah? Quit playin’ dumb already. 

Silvio: Your whole body’s sore too. That had to be from makin’ this boat. 

Emmas … No, that’s actually not it. 

The raft floating on the pool was something I built in a day by following the instructions in a book.

Aside from gathering the materials, it didn’t take much time or effort.

(The real gift I want to give him… is this.) 

(I planned to only show it to him after the whole celebration was over, but since I’m already in the water, I guess I might as well.) 

Emma: Watch this, Prince Silvio. 

Silvio: … Oi! 

I let go of the raft and kicked my legs in the water, refusing to let my soaked dress hold me back. 

I dove under, swimming away from Silvio, and reached the far end of the pool without trouble in a smooth and steady stroke. 

(Yep, I’ve got the hang of this.) 

I emerged from the shimmering water surface with a smile, and gave Silvio a big wave as he stood there dumbfounded.

Silvio: … You could swim like that? 

Emma: I learned how to! 

(Rhodolite has no access to the sea, so I never had the chance to learn how to swim…)

(Silvio always took that into consideration when we’re playing near the sea.)

I took a deep breath of the summer air and swam back to him.

Swimming freely in the water was more enjoyable than I’d imagined. 

Emma: What do you think? Did I do a good job? 

Silvio: Ya must've practiced a hell lot.

Emma: Hmm, who knows? 

(... To get to this point, I’ve practiced way more times than I can remember.)

(Even Rio, who helped me through it all, sometimes worried that I was pushing myself too hard.)

(But that was how badly I wanted to learn to swim.) 

I grabbed hold of the raft again and faced Silvio.

Silvio: Was that part of the present too? 

Emma: That’s right. When I listened to you talk about the first boat you built… 

Emma: I was surprised to hear you didn't know how to swim back then. 

Silvio: Why’s that surprising?

Emma: Because I assumed you always knew how to swim. It's you, after all.

Emma: But then I realised, you definitely started off having to learn from square one too. 

Silvio: … Yeah. 

Emma: That motivated me to work harder.

Emma: I know it won’t be easy to walk the same path you did…

Emma: But one step at a time, I want to learn whatever I can, until I can keep up with you. 

Emma: And this birthday present is step one of that long journey. 

Silvio: … 

Emma: Of course, I’ve been working my way towards that all this while, but…

Emma: I just thought that perhaps now that I can swim, I’m finally at the same starting line as you. 

(Silvio always tells me that he wants me by his side.)

(That’s why I thought showing him this first step would be a gift to him.) 

Silvio: Why the hell are ya always doin’ this stuff that's so damn cute… 

Emma: …? I’m sorry, I couldn't quite hear you… 

Silvio: I ain’t said nothin’. You’re imaginin’ stuff. 

Silvio turned his face with a cough.

But his expression didn't look displeased or annoyed. 

(Thank goodness…)

Emma: That’s not the only reason, though. 

Silvio: There's more?

Emma: If I can do more things on my own, you wouldn't have to be so overprotective of me anymore. Right?

Silvio: …

Emma: That’s the truth too. 

(He clearly trusts Rio, but I still have a long way to go…)

(Next year, and the year after, I’m going to keep improving and earning more of his trust.) 

Silvio: … Just so you know. Even if you can do everything by yourself, I’m still gonna expose every one of your secrets. 

Emma: You don't trust me?

Silvio: Not that. It’s just…

Silvio: I wanna know everything ‘bout you, that's all. 

(...)

Silvio: … Seriously, ya didn't have to make me spell that out. 

(... I see.)

(I see…)

I unknowingly started grinning, and Silvio dove into the water to hide his flustered expression. 

(Ah, he’s hiding.)

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and dove in after him—

(Where is he?) 

I searched for him underwater, arms reaching out to feel for him, but I couldn't find him. 

(Next time I’m going to practice opening my eyes underwater.)

(... Oh.)

Suddenly, a hand grabbed and pulled me. 

There was no hesitation in his movements, it was clear Silvio could see me.

His hand brushed my cheek and touched my head. 

Desperate not to lose him in the water too, I stretched my hand out and managed to touch a part of his body.

(... Maybe this is his neck.) 

As I moved my hands to check, I felt something soft against my lips.

It only lasted a brief moment, but there was no mistaking the feeling of a kiss. 

I did my best to keep my lips shut to avoid going out of breath, and the way his hand stroked my hair with such affection made me part them anyway.

Emma: *Pant*... *pant*... 

Silvio: Hah, at your limit already? 

Silvio laughed as I gasped for air at the surface. 

But it wasn't mockery, nor was it arrogance — it was a genuine laugh of joy. 

(... Seeing that smile of his, I guess this year's birthday was a great success.) 

Silvio: Hold your breath longer next time.

Silvio: That’s how you show your love, ain’t it? 

[bird-in-the-space]

Daily Life of A Retired General 6#

The Autobots discover that you have grandsparklings

Warnings: Sentinel has nothing on you.

______________________________________

*While standing outside the Elite Guard’s flagship*

Jetstorm: *points at something* Brother, is that who I think it is?

The Autobots: *look to see you at a nearby store, holding a shopping bag*

Jetfire: It is!

You: *notice them, your eyes widening when you spot the twins*

Sentinel: Wait, you know that puny organic?

Jetfire: Of course, that’s our—

You: *transform into your Cybertronian form, arms spread open for a hug and a wide smile on your face* Grandlings!

The Twins: *run up to hug you* Gran-Gran!

You & the Twins: *hug each other tightly*

Sentinel: *shocked, never having seen your human holoform* Man’o’War?!

The Autobots: Grandlings?!

Bumblebee: Gran-Gran??

You: *release the twins* Oh, look at you two! You’ve grown so big! The last time I saw you, you barely reached my knee joints.

Jetfire: *proudly* And we’re in Elite Guard now!

You: Wow! Great job. Your parents must be very proud of you.

Bumblebee: *butts in* Hold up. These two are your... grandlings?

You: Yeah. They’re my grandsparklings.

Optimus: I didn’t know you had family on Cybertron.

Sentinel: Or that you had sparklings of your own.

You: Of course I didn’t. It was wartime—I didn’t have time to find myself a Conjux and try for a sparkling. But many sparklings were orphaned that time, so I adopted a few. The twins here are the sparklings of one of my adopted children.

You: But that doesn’t matter. Family doesn’t need to be made by shared energon—it’s made by spark.

Jetstorm: *gets close to you, whispering with a grin* Gran-Gran, last time the Elite Guard was here, Sentinel Prime, sir, got his head taken off by a human unit thing called a headmaster.

You: *grins* Oh really?

Jetfire: Oh, and one time, when we were chasing a fugitive to this island while carrying him across the sea. He ordered us to release him, so we did, and he fell face first into the sand.

Sentinel: Hey, hey, hey—let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

You: *chuckles* Well, can't blame you for doing what he ordered you to do.

Jetstorm: Yeah, but even when we do exactly what he says, he yells at us when it doesn't go like he expected.

You: Oh? *turn your gaze toward Sentinel*

Sentinel: *gulps nervously*

You: *narrowing your optics* Care to add to that, Sentinel?

Sentinel: I mean... well...

You: Because if I hear you've been mistreating my grandlings, I might have a little chat with Ultra Magnus.

Sentinel: *nearly sweating* I... don’t think that will be necessary.

Jetstorm: Gran-Gran, since we’re here—maybe we could look around and see the cool human stuff we keep hearing about?

Jetfire: *excited by the idea* Can we?

You: *smiles* Oh, absolutely. I’ll show you the coolest human things this planet has to offer.

Sentinel: Wait, wait—h-hold on! They're my soldiers! That means I decide when they get a day off! Not you!

You: *narrow your optics at him* Well... I've already decided they can have a day off. And if it's such an issue, we can take it to Ultra Magnus. I’m sure he’d love to hear how his second-in-command is trying to prevent one of Cybertron’s most decorated generals from spending time with their grandlings.

Sentinel: *visibly sweating, voice cracking* N-No! I-I mean, let’s not be hasty! Ultra Magnus is very busy! No need to bother him with… uh… family bonding protocol violations! Y-You know… maybe an educational cultural excursion on this planet isn’t such a bad idea after all.

You: Good. *turn toward the twins* Now, let’s go. *look toward Sari* Hey, Goddaughter—wanna join?

Sari: Uh, Yeah!

Jetstorm: Great! What’s a goddaughter?

You: Think of it as an... honorary little sister.

Jetfire: Sweet. Welcome to the family, honorary little sister. Where do you suggest we go?

Sari: Oh, I know the best places in Detroit. Follow me!

Jetstorm: Right behind you, honorary little sister!

*The Autobots watch you leave with Sari and the twins, then glance toward Sentinel.*

Sentinel: *Whines and grumbles.*

Bumblebee: Whoa... first time seeing Sentinel shut up and admit defeat.

Optimus: *Silently grinning.* I know, isn’t it amazing?

[veryoccasionalwriting]

Pet Name [Part 1]

Mark Grayson is your high school sweetheart. He was strong, sweet in his own awkward way, and completely devoted to you. But things change. He starts holding you a little too tight. Watching you a little too closely. Loving you a little too much. You think it’s just him, you think it’s still love. You don’t know he’s not from this world anymore. You don’t know he’s planning to conquer it, and you don’t realize that you’re not the woman he loves. You’re the one thing that makes him weak. And he’s decided to keep you.

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark x reader

TW: Toxic romance, dark romance, implied abuse, emotional/mental conditioning. Mark is just toxic, reader is currently clueless.

You still weren’t used to the name.

“Pet.”

Mark said it like a joke, like a nickname only the two of you were in on. He’d started it a few weeks ago, always with that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, like it was harmless, like it was cute.

The first time he said it, you’d laughed. “You calling me a dog?”

“No,” he’d said, brushing your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a little too long. “You’re mine.”

You’d kissed him after that. Because of course you had. Mark Grayson had a way of making everything sound sweet, even the things that shouldn’t.

You hadn’t told anyone else about the name. You weren’t sure why.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was a Saturday afternoon. You were upstairs in your room, half-heartedly scrolling your phone while waiting for the sound of his knock on the front door. Your parents were out for the morning, but that didn’t mean Mark would just come in. He still knocked. Always polite, always smiling.

But he didn’t like when you kept him waiting.

You tugged your sleeves down over your wrist before heading for the stairs. The bruise there was still faint, a cloudy purple smudge from two nights ago. He hadn’t meant to do it, just held you too tight when he kissed you, thumbs pressing into your skin like he forgot how strong he was. You’d even laughed at the time. “Careful,” you’d whispered against his mouth, “you’re gonna leave fingerprints.”

Mark hadn’t laughed. He’d just kissed you harder.

The doorbell rang, and you practically jumped.

You opened the door, and there he was, leaning casually on the railing, dressed in his usual dark jeans and sweater combo, That crooked little smile of his never faltered.

“Hey, Pet.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Hey.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his hand settling low on your back as he stepped inside. His palm was warm through the fabric of your hoodie, fingers curving slightly at your waist—just enough pressure to make you wince. You masked it with a smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked, already heading for the stairs like he owned them.

“Yeah, just sore from sleeping weird,” you lied, following him up.

Mark sat on the edge of your bed and watched as you shut the door behind you. He didn’t say anything for a second, just looked around your room with that same unreadable expression he always wore when he was here. It wasn’t disapproval, exactly. Just something... colder. Quiet and assessing.

“You cleaned,” he noted.

“Uh. A little.” You picked up a hoodie from the chair and tossed it into your closet, trying to ignore the way his eyes followed you.

“I like it when it’s just us,” he said, “No parents. No noise.”

You smiled, but your fingers tightened around your sleeve.

Mark stood again and crossed the room, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed your cheeks like you were made of glass. “You looked really pretty yesterday,” he said. “That top you wore at the café?”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head slightly. “The guy at the counter thought so too.”

Your stomach sank, just a little.

“Oh,” you said. “I mean- he was just taking my order...”

Mark’s hands didn’t move, but his grip shifted, ever so slightly. “He called you sweetheart.”

You laughed, a little nervous. “I think he says that to everyone.”

Mark didn’t laugh. “Still.”

You reached up and covered his hands with your own, trying to lighten the mood. “You jealous, Grayson?”

His mouth twitched. “I just don’t like people looking at what’s mine.”

Your breath caught, but not in a bad way. At least, not yet.

That afternoon, when he held you in your bed, one arm slung tight around your waist, his other hand tangled in your hair, you told yourself you were safe.

You told yourself this was love.

And the next morning, when you found a second bruise blooming on your hip, you smiled faintly to yourself in the mirror and whispered, “Just doesn’t know his strength.”

You didn’t see the news.

You didn’t hear about the hospital visit.

You didn’t know that the boy at the café wouldn’t be back at work for weeks.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The stars stretched endless and cold above the atmosphere as Mark hovered beside his father, arms crossed over the Viltrumite emblem stitched into his chest.

“She’s soft,” Nolan said. “You always did have a weakness for softness.”

Mark didn’t look at him. “She’s adaptable.”

Nolan hummed. “You mean obedient.”

“No,” Mark said sharply. “I mean she adjusts. She learns. She won’t need to be broken.”

That earned a rare chuckle from his father. “You think you’re going to civilize her?”

“I don’t need to. [Name]’s smarter than that.”

Nolan tilted his head. “And when the real work begins? When we clear the cities, dissolve the governments, strip this place down to its bones? What then? You’ll keep her around as a pet?”

Mark turned to him slowly, “She’s not a pet,” he said.

Nolan arched a brow.

“She’ll be my wife.”

That actually made Nolan laugh, a full body laugh. “Your wife? You’ve barely begun the work and already you’re playing house with the livestock.”

Mark’s jaw tensed. “She’s not like the rest of them.”

“Oh, please.” Nolan waved a hand through the void. “They’re all like the rest of them. You’re just still young enough to think this one’s different.”

“She is different,” Mark said quietly.

Nolan studied him. For a long time, he said nothing. Then, “You’re sure this won’t interfere with your loyalty?”

Mark's voice was even. “I’m loyal to the Empire.”

“And to her?”

“To both.”

Nolan’s smile thinned. “Then I hope she learns to kneel as well as she learns to smile around you.”

Mark didn’t respond.

But his knuckles were white where his fists clenched in the air.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Mark stood in the dark of his bedroom, eyes fixed on the city lights flickering far beyond the window. He could hear every heartbeat on the block. Every faucet. Every dog barking half a mile away.

Every time [Name] shifted in bed, tangled in his hoodie, miles away in her own room.

She didn’t know what he was yet. Not fully yet, He was trying to ease her into it.

She was adaptable. Sweet, smart. She didn’t argue when he showed up unannounced. Didn’t complain when his hands lingered too long. Didn’t ask questions when she found bruises.

Good girl.

Still, there were things to consider. Details. Infrastructure.

Mark moved to his desk and opened the small black notebook tucked beneath a stack of school binders. Inside, beneath scribbled equations and sketched city layouts, was a list.

He flipped past entries like:

GDA suppression points

Priority targets: Washington, Beijing, Berlin, Tehran

Civilian psychological response models

Cecil- eliminate early

He turned to the page marked simply: [Name]

Relocation: Secure, away from blast zones

Nutritional considerations: She forgets to eat when stressed

Occupation? (Possible reassignment post-transition)

Resistance potential: Low

Emotional stability: High (contingent on direct proximity to me)

Willingness to breed: Unknown (likely improved with conditioning)

He tapped his pen once, thoughtfully, then underlined the final note again. Breeding compatibility: 98.6%

Mark shut the notebook.

This world was messy, but she was the part of it he would keep. The only thing he wanted to keep. The rest could burn.

He would carve out a place for her in the new world. A position beside him. No more hiding. No more human modesty, or culture, or weakness.

She’d learn. She’d adapt. She already was.

And when the time came, when the sky split open and the world began to scream, he’d take her hand.

And say, “Now you understand.”

[snnowwpheenix]

how the Jujutsu Kaisen men react when their kid comes home out of breath, flustered, and panicking with a wide-eyed, “I kissed her!”

Gojo Satoru

“...AWWWW!” Gojo's face lights up like a kid at a candy store. He clutches his chest like he's witnessing a coming-of-age movie in real-time. “Wait—did she kiss you back?! Were there fireworks? Was it under the moonlight??” His kid: “Dad—PLEASE—stop talking—I'm dying.” He takes a selfie to commemorate the moment and probably tells Shoko about it within five minutes.

Geto Suguru

Smiles softly, calm and collected. “That’s a big step. Are you okay?” Talks them through their flustered panic, listens patiently, and helps them process. “Was it something you wanted? Did it feel right?” A+ emotionally intelligent dad. He might tease a little later, but only when they’re calm again. Ends with: “You handled that moment with heart. I’m proud of you.”

Sukuna (separate from Yuji)

“…You what?” Raises a brow, sips his drink like it’s tea, and mutters, “Tch. So soon, huh.” Pretends to be annoyed and gruff, but deep down? Weirdly proud. “At least you had the guts to go for it. Don’t get too soft, though.” Also threatens anyone who dares to break their kid’s heart, all without blinking.

Nanami Kento

Pushes up his glasses slowly. “…That explains the panic.” Sits them down calmly and listens. He’s more focused on their emotional state than the drama. “Was it consensual? Mutual? Do you feel okay about it?” Gives lowkey therapist vibes. Ends it with: “If you’re panicking because you care, that’s not a bad thing. It means you’re taking it seriously.”

Toji Fushiguro

“…Pfft.” Totally amused. “Didn’t think I’d see the day.” Teases them relentlessly, ruffling their hair. But then his tone gets quieter, more sincere. “You alright, though? It’s okay to freak out—it’s your first.” Secretly proud. Will 100% threaten the other kid jokingly. (Kinda.)

Yuji Itadori

“W-WHAAAAT?!” He’s more flustered than the kid. Practically choking on air. “DID YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH? WAS IT OKAY? DO YOU NEED ICE??” The kid: “WHY WOULD I NEED ICE?!” In the end, they sit on the couch, both spiraling, both hugging. Eventually, Yuji smiles wide. “You’re growing up. Just promise to tell me when you get your heart broken, okay? So I can buy ice cream.”

Megumi Fushiguro

“…Huh.” Blink. Blink. He’s too emotionally repressed to react with drama, but you can see the mental crisis happening silently. “Okay. Uh… congrats? Are you okay?” Kind of awkward, but he’s trying. He listens, offers water, and sits with them quietly. Ends up texting Yuji: “It happened. Help.”

Choso Kamo

“You kissed someone?” Immediate protective big-brother energy kicks in. But once he sees how red and overwhelmed his kid is, he crouches down and gently says, “Take a breath. You’re safe. Talk to me.” He’s deeply patient, and might even share his own awkward story to make them feel better. “Firsts are scary. Doesn’t mean they’re wrong.” Then makes sure they know they can always come to him.

Yaga Masamichi

Raises an eyebrow like a concerned principal. “That serious, huh?” He’s firm but kind, listens to the panic first, then checks in. “You didn’t pressure anyone, right? And you’re feeling okay about it?” Takes a deep breath. “I’m proud of you for telling me. That takes courage.” Panda’s in the corner clapping.

Toge Inumaki

Eyes wide. Cautiously signs: “Surprised.” “Okay?” “Need water?” Gently guides them to sit down, listens with big brother energy. He lets them ramble while offering comforting nods and pats. Later writes on a whiteboard: “Love is scary. But brave.” Smiles. “Proud.”

Aoi Todo

“LET’S GOOOO!” Cheers like they just won nationals. “Was she your type?! Tall? Cool? HUH?!” Way too hyped. Does a whole handshake with them even if they’re too flustered to function. But then: “Jokes aside—good job, kid. Be respectful. Be honest. And if anyone hurts you… I’ve got muscles for days.”

Yuta Okkotsu

“Wait—you—oh wow.” He blushes for them. “You kissed her? Like… really kissed?” Turns into a stammering mess but gets serious when he sees their panic. “Hey, hey—it’s okay. Just breathe.” Listens gently, then quietly says, “I’m really proud of you. You did something scary and honest. That’s brave.” Hugs them gently.

Ino Takuma

“Wait wait wait—back up. YOU KISSED SOMEONE?!” Immediately overdramatic. “Are you okay? Was it awkward? Are you gonna faint?” He’s flailing around while the kid’s already halfway to passing out. Eventually plops on the floor with them. “Honestly? You’re cooler than I ever was.” Laughs and adds, “You’re gonna be fine. But like—text them back. Don’t ghost after your first kiss. That’s illegal.”

[logan-fields-official]

Hey! Do you think it's possible to write a SBG main six (separate) with a reader who can and will appear at any moment without warning? Like, reader has very soft and quiet footsteps and is quiet in general so they often spook or startle people whenever they just suddenly appear and either get accidentally smacked by one of the main six cause of it? It can be either romantic or platonic! ☺️

Hi!!!! Yes I can!!!

SBG Main Six x Reader that appears out of nowhere

Ashlyn:

Not gonna lie you scare the absolute shit out of her every time. She hates it she hates it so much. Ashlyn is probably use to knowing when people are at least heading towards her because of her sensitive hearing and she seems like she’d be very observant on her surroundings and all that.

Now Ashlyn has probably at least almost hit you every single time you randomly appear. And holy crap I hope your good at dodging because I swear her kick will take your head off. Like she went straight for the kill. And if you got a dong better protect it because that will be the first place she goes to kick.

This is how it went though. Everyone was going over some new plans for the phantom dimension and well you went off to grab some drinks for everyone which Ashlyn didn’t pay much mind to. You had managed to give everyone a drink without Ashlyn nothing you.

Now you were just standing next to Ashlyn to give her a drink. ‘Hey Ash I got-‘ THUNCK she kicked you straight in the side and it fucking hurt. You immediately hit the floor groaning. She just kind of stares at you for a moment before asking if your okay while the group just stares glad that they were not in your place.

“Oh… uh… are you okay?… how do you feel?” You in response groan and say ‘like I need to start wearing bells or something so I don’t scare you again…' Ashlyn just shrugs slightly “good idea? Until it gets annoying.” You just hold her drink up ‘I hope this explodes in your face…’ Ashlyn takes the drink and stares at you “no you don’t.”

Aiden:

So now Aiden deems me as the kind of person that's hard to scare because he's always scaring people so he expects people to attempt to scare him back. He's honestly the reason you scare him anyways. Like he probably scared you one to many times and for revenge you started trying to scare him and now it's a scare war.

You don't scare him very much or at least he doesn't show that you scared him as he's just smiling and laughing at you. Until one day you had forced Ben into helping you scare Aiden. Ben texted you when Aiden was close to home and you quickly came over and he let you in. Immediately bolting to Aidens room and staying out of view of the door.

You scared him exactly how I've seen the girlfriends on tiktok do it. They paint their face black wear black and hide in the dark. Aiden gets home a minute later and heads up to his room. Aiden leaves the lights off and just plops down onto his bed. You take this as your chance and slowly quietly creep closer.

You wait patiently for the right moment and when Aiden started to relax you open you eyes and smile "Aiden?"... he pauses and just assumes it was his mom/dad calling him because well he didn't know you were there. He was about to speak and glances towards you... his mind just went phantom... THUMP...

He didn't punch you but he 100% tackled you and you both just pause... until you squirm and tell him its you. He just snorts softly acting like you didn't just scare the crap out of him and goes... "really? If you wanted to scare me that bad just dress up as a ceiling. It'd be horrifying."

Ben:

Okay now Ben yeah you 100% scare him, but he'd also calm down quickly from it and you don't scare him every time as Aiden 100% tries to scare him a lot so he's pretty use to it. Now Ben does give off the vibes of someone who swings when someone randomly appears and scares him. He tries not to, but like instinct.

Now like normal you and the group are all hanging out just at Aidens house in the pool. You had headed for some reason... drink, snack, towel, just sit in the sun for a bit? Who knows? Ben was was about to jump in the pool because well why not?

And you just so happen to walk up beside him without him hearing... he with no hesitation throw his hand out and knocked the crap out of you. And straight into the water... hard. You ended up banging your head on the floor and you most likely from one of Ben's hits dazzed as fuck.

Lucky for you though the were well literally right there and Tyler immediately snags you back up to the surface and held you up. Safe to say you were not allowed in the pool for a little and probably had a little concussion.

Ben on the other hand was freaking the fuck out... he just hit you... like really really hit you and you almost drowned because of it. So Aiden went off to comfort him.. and no matter how many times your fine and you don't blame him he doesn't forgive himself for a long time.

Logan:

Another one you scare the absolute shit out of. Remember when Aiden scared the shit out of Logan. Yeah that’s it that’s exactly how he reacts every time. Logan can and will scream and yelp whenever you randomly pop up next to him. Logan is another one that’s use to being observant on his surroundings. Well until someone hides to scare him.

Logan is not the type of person to attempt to hit someone when they scare him, but when he was bullied by Barron he would get scared a lot more and actually look like he’s about to have an anxiety attack when you randomly pop up. You wouldn’t scare him on purpose to often just because of how intense his reactions are, but you also just can’t help yourself sometimes.

So when he hit you by accident it wasn't because you appeared out of no where and scared him half to death it's because he literally didn't know you were there. Logan was just telling the group a random story and he seemed really excited about it talking really fast and with his hands. You had decided to grab something and excused yourself from the group.

About 5 minutes later you were on your way back and you had to walk past Logan to get to your spot... and as soon as you went to walk past him SMACK... Logan immediately paused and just snapped his head towards you staring for a second before asking if you okay. He feels so bad, but he's also really confused like wtf when did you get there?

Taylor:

Taylor's another one that you don't scare to bad... at least not usually... like Tyler if you scare her and she's in a bad mood you might wanna duck real quick... cause it's either a fist or a shoe heading for your head. Though most of the time it's just her laughing nervously and stating that you did indeed scare her.

Now when Taylor ended up hitting you actually not by accident it was because you decided to follow in Aidens lead and chase her around like a phantom you were laughing your ass off... her not so much. Taylor was yelling at you to stop and Tyler got tired at you scaring his sister so he yelled at you to stop or he's gonna throw something at you.

And we'll you didn't stop so Taylor attempted the same threat "STOP STOP IM GONNA THROW MY FLASHLIGHT AT YOU... IM SERIOUS!" And when you don't even stop at her threat she grabs the flashlight and pretty gently but still hard enough for you to feel a slight sting throws the flashlight at you.

Aiden immediately starts laughing and saying that you were asking for it. Meanwhile Taylor just let's out a sigh of relief as you stop chasing leaving you to get scolded by Tyler and Ashlyn... Tyler for scaring Taylor and making her waste her energy and Ashlyn for goofing off and making a lot of noise while in the phantom realm.

Tyler:

Tyler likes to try and act like you randomly appearing doesn't scare him, but it 100% does. He hates it when you sneak up on him whether it's on purpose or not. Though I wouldn't scare him much because he goes from scared to pissed real quick. Like the amount of times he's chased you around and thrown stuff at you is actually sad.

Now to be honest I feel like Tyler would deadass hit you on purpose when you scare him. He doesn't hit you hard because well he doesn't wanna hurt you... sometimes, but he's hoping you'll learn to call out before you appear. He just doesn't like being scared.

You were over at house hanging out with Taylor not that he knew that because he was out on a run. When he got back he expected it to be just Taylor and his mom home. Thanks to you being very quiet on your feet he didn't seem to notice you at all.

Well... until he was talking to his sister and mom on what they should do for dinner

Sorry this took so long! I don't know what happened. I just had like a massive writers block moment. I pulled this up to write and just couldn't think of anything.

[shelleyminx]

this was written for @corrodedcoffinfest Media Mania

Picture This

Prompt Day 31: Closing Time | Word Count: 901 | Rating: G | CW: none | POV: Outsider | Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington | Tags: Eddie has a crush on Steve, Chrissy as Corroded Coffin's manager, end of tour blues/joy, Steve and Robin are two menaces (and sweethearts), all of them are just dreamy young people and I think that's beautiful

Summary:

Corroded Coffin releases many albums, goes on tour, become the main characters of rock n' roll controversies as bands do. But decades later, one specific picture appears on the preface of their photo biography.

One that only exists because of a ridiculous idea and a hot stranger willing to go ahead with it and make it even greater.

Eddie tackles Doug onto the floor and they both gasp when Gareth adds himself to the pile of people. Jeff doesn't seem convinced to join in, but Chrissy gives him a light shove and he lets his own body fall, the four of them kinda laughing as they roll to the side, lying on the stage they just made the last show of their first national tour. The venues are not that big, but it's fulfilling, a sense of dream coming true tucked under layers of hard work, traveling in an uncomfortable bus, eventually sharing motel rooms. It's amazing anyway. The sold out date tonight left them with a burning hope that there will be a next album, another tour, a lifetime of this. They're exhausted, but so happy it's hard to leave the place and pop up the bubble.

“Man, I want to climb that!” Eddie laughs, pointing to the theatrical hardware that holds multiple lightning equipment.

“You don't!” Chrissy, their former classmate and now tour manager answers, eyes widening.

“Uh-” a guy enters the stage. Not someone they know, probably around their age, wearing a plain black shirt tucked under his jeans. He doesn't look like a staff member either. “They're not here!” he shouts at someone backstage “Yeah, I'll let you. Have you tried the back entrance? You know these rock dudes… They just vanish.”

The five at the stage trade suspicious looks. Unknown guy starts picking up stuff like used water bottles and setlist papers and throwing them in a trash bag.

“This might've got you guys some more twenty minutes. Then you have to go, I'm sorry.” he keeps his work, never minding their excitement.

“I doubt it would break just with my weight!” Eddie continues, despite the others' silence.

“It wouldn't. But I don't recommend climbing there. You'll be seen by the lightning guys and probably get a fine.” Trash guy says.

“Hey, you're like a security guy or something?” Jeff inquires, analyzing the way he's dressed; not rock n’ roll at all.

“My dad owns the place. And we're closing, but you seem to be enjoying some last minutes with the stage, so. Have your fun, just don't break anything.”

“Can I like… Pretend to be climbing? If one of you guys give me a hand I'll be able to reach it and we can take a picture and-”

“No. Chance. My shoulder is fucked.” Doug is still lying on the floor, facing the stage turned off lights. Jeff doesn't even bother answering.

“Oh… It would be a cool picture, though.” Chrissy pouts “Gar?”

“Don't Gar me, Chris. I can't and won't lift this sack of bones. Take a normal picture instead.”

“I can do it.” Son-Of-Someone interjects, uninterested. “It seems like a cool photo to have.”

Eddie rolls on the floor and finally looks at him. Tall, broad shoulders, athletic, All-American-Hot-Type. Chrissy jumps excitedly.

“Thanks! What's your name again?” she asks, offering a hand for him to shake.

“Steve.” He smiles charmingly at her, but it's Eddie's stomach that begins to flutter.

“No need to worry, man. I was just joking-” he starts, desperately trying to get himself out of a possible crush and to go back to his post-concert euphoria.

“It's nothing. Actually… Wait here!” and he runs yelling something that sounds like Bob or Rob or whatever before coming back with a girl on his tow.

“Father Harrington is gonna kill you if he hears about this.” she sighs.

“Father Harrington always wants to kill me either way, might as well give him some reason.” He shrugs “Okay, figure out a cool pose or something.” He turns back to the band “You too! Robin will take the picture for you, join them!” Chrissy shyly gives Robin her camera and the others discuss what they should do.

“Hi. You're… Ed, right?” Steve approaches casually, smiling like he's hiding something. Eddie thanks every God for his lack of blushing.

“Yeah, Eddie.” He's still wondering how to greet this handsome stranger when he's interrupted.

“Cool, Eddie. Hop on.” Eddie thanks every God because no one is paying attention when he actually blushes because this stranger is pointing at his own back.

Their pose is kinda stupid. Doug and Jeff hold Chrissy up in their arms and she laughs, surprised. Gareth Kneels in front of them, making Devil horns with both his hands and sticking his tongue out. Eddie climbs on Steve's shoulder and pretends to be trying to reach the hardware with a hand while making devil horns with the other and opening a devilish smile. Robin takes their picture then asks them to hold on.

Corroded Coffin releases many albums, goes on tour, becomes the main characters of rock n' roll controversies as bands do. But decades later, this picture appears on the preface of their photo biography.

She does something they can't see in the back of the stage and two canons shoot bright colorful pieces of paper at them, just like it happened at the end of their last song. Shocked, everyone but Steve looks kinda marveled at the beauty of it and Robin shoots a picture that showcases their spontaneous joyous faces. Steve is smiling with a knowing look, while Eddie looks up to the paper, Gareth falls to the floor laughing in shock, Chrissy is on the verge of tears.

What a way to close. What a way to start.

A/N: and that's it for Corroded Coffin Fest 2025! What an honor it was to participate!!! Joining this fest gave me the courage to post some of my writing, read amazing fics and get a lot more love than I ever thought I would!!!! My first fic for the fest was about pre-concert jitters, so nothing more fitting than the last being about post-concert joy.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little thingy! Immense thanks to the CCfest organizers, writers and readers. I hope I can see you on the pocket events and on the next edition!

[marciaillust]

your design of me

[anghraine]

Speaking of "The City on the Edge of Forever," I've been thinking about how my femslash Spirk AU winds out through the canon TOS episodes, interacts with gender expectations of the show, etc, and am mentally organizing episodes by how drastically affected they'd be.

I'm also thinking of S'paak hiding her ears beneath a beanie in 1930 :P