messylxve

[messylxve]

OPERATION: YOU [ 3 + 1 ]──CLARK KENT!

3 times clark “helped” + the 1 you said thank you

2025!clark kent x reader 2.2k hurt/comfort (?)

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

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A new week presented new opportunities and Clark was determined to get in good graces with you. Not because he felt he deserved it, but because a part of him—a large part of him—couldn’t stand only knowing you under the veil and short hours of night. 

Just as Jimmy said, "Forgiveness can be an uphill battle.”

[ 1—the replacement recorder ]

If you weren’t in a consistent state of being annoyed by Clark’s presence before, you definitely were now since Clark ruined your prized possession of a recorder. One that he eventually came to find out was the first one you bought, the moment you started at The Daily Planet. He remembered when Jimmy told him, you were glaring at him from the corner of your eye, pretending to be too busy to care about Steve guffawing in Clark’s face about the whole ordeal. 

Lois said she’d never seen him so red in the face and as much as he wanted to disagree, he knew it was true. 

So he spent the rest of the week hunting down the exact same version you had, even down to the color. And while it was hard, it wasn’t impossible. 

He wrapped it up nicely, folding its box into your favorite colors and held it with the utmost care as he made his way into the Daily Planet, this time standing just a little bit taller and smile shining a little bit brighter. 

But the moment he walked through the elevator doors, he knew something was wrong. Call it a gut feeling. When he rounded your desk, Cat and Lois stood around you, marveling at something you were presenting to them. 

“My sister-in-law just surprised me with it! I guess she heard my cries all the way from back home.” 

Peeking over Cat’s shoulder, he saw the shiny new recorder in your hand, even better than the one you originally had and likely better than the one the man bought you. 

“Oh! Clark,” Cat exclaimed, shocked to see him standing over her. “When’d you get here?” 

With a plastered-on smile, he tucked the gift behind his back. “Just now,” he breathed. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

His eyes naturally fell on you, watching as you narrowed your eyes at him ever slightly. “What’s wrong with you Kent?” 

Of course you were somehow the one to immediately pick up on his strange behavior, no matter how well he managed to cloak the disappointment in his eyes. 

But he only shook his head and took a stumbled step back. “Nothing,” he pushed out, his voice rising the octave. “Just curious I guess.” 

[ 2—the flower fiasco ]

Clark’s next attempt on you possibly seeing him in a better light included a flower shop not too far from where he lived. 

“Do you um, do you have any that say ‘I’m sorry” while also saying “Please don’t hate me.” 

The store was filled on every surface with various shades of different flowers and while Clark seemed to tower over the whole store, even when hunching down his height, he moved past each one with a gentle hand, terrified it would wilt at a single touch. 

“Well,” the employee smiled. “My first line of advice is to tell your partner that they’re right. Even if they aren’t, they are now.”

Clark’s eyes widened, quick to come to his own defense and failing as he stumbled over his every word. “What? No, no, it’s not, it’s not like that. It’s more like, it is like a coworker.”

She lifted a brow at the man, nodding in amusement. 

“Right,” she drew out. “ Well if you’re looking for something more in the apologies department then these should deliver the message.” 

Clark’s eyes almost sparkled when he set his eyes on them, wanting to reach out and touch them, but drawing his hand back. 

“Do you do deliveries?” 

When Clark arrived the next day, the flowers were already sitting on your desk, blooming somehow even brighter than they did before. But once again, your desk was empty. 

As he settled down, beginning on his own work, he watched as you made your way from one end of the office to the other and back, all morning long. 

“Jimmy,” you called as you passed your desk, scratching the nape of your neck. “Do you have the transcripts from the recent LutherCorp press conference?”

“Got it,” he called from his space. “Sending it over now!” 

“Actually,” you paused, coughing into the back of your hand. “Can you send it over to the printer? Perry needs it stat.” 

“Gotcha.” 

For the first time that morning, you plopped down at your desk, another cough forcing itself past your chest, making you hunch over as you caught your breath. 

“Woah,” Lois expressed, slowing down at your desk. “That cough doesn’t sound good. Are you coming down with something?” 

You shook your head, once more scratching at your neck. “Not that I know of. I was fine until this morning,” you wheezed.

Lois frowned, reaching for your hand and pulling it away, revealing the irritated rash growing on your neck. “Holy shit, your neck!” 

Your eyes widened wildly, freaked out by the woman’s sudden outburst. “What?! What’s on my neck?” 

With a quick but fumbling hand, Lois pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of it. “Are you allergic to anything,” she asked as she presented it to you, flagging down a nearby assistant. 

“Only–,” you cut yourself off, finally resting eyes on the vase situated on your desk. “When did that get here?” 

A younger boy you’d seen around the office was suddenly at your side. “Delivered to your desk this morning.” 

“That’s what I’m allergic to,” you wheezed out, your eyes watering. 

“Oh my god,” Lois muttered. “Call security to get rid of them.” 

“No need,” the boy said, swooping up the flowers and already walking off with them. “I’ll trash them now.” 

Turning back to you, Lois began to gather your things. “Here, take a break, go get some air.” 

You shook your head, stubborn as ever despite literally struggling to breathe. “I’ll be fine, it clears up fast.” 

But the woman wasn’t taking it. “Nope, go home, take extra time for lunch, whatever I don’t care. Go get some air and don’t come back until it’s cleared up.” 

Clark could only watch as she ushered you out of the building. With a frown, he wandered to the scene that just played out in front of you, seeing a note from the flowers.. 

‘Hope you don’t hate this apology as much as the first’ —Clark.

[ 3—celebrating superman ]

Clark had steered clear of your path since ‘the flower situation’ as he liked to put it. Maybe Jimmy was wrong about his approach to you, after all for every other woman giggling in his wake, there was at least one who hated his guts. After a while Clark tended to notice that as good as Jimmy was at starting bonds with people, mending them was not as easy for him. 

So he gave up. Not everyone liked him and he couldn’t control that. 

That’s what it meant to be human, right?

The end of the day was barralling in fast, most people wrapped up with their tasks for the day and preparing for the next few assignments for the next few weeks. That meant a meeting with all of your favorite people (note the sarcasm). 

“And finally,” Perry wrapped up. “Next week marks 18 months with Superman seemingly serving the people of Metropolis and to the mayor’s request, we’re doing a special piece to commemorate him.” 

From the corner of his eyes, Clark saw how you perked up to attention, excitement clear in your eyes at the new possibility. 

“We’ll need all hands on deck for this,” Perry continued on. “18 months, 18 quotes, 18 interviews. All with witnesses or people Superman saved personally. For the brilliant suggestion, Clark will be leading this project, any questions?” 

On a typical day with so many eyes on him, Clark likely would’ve given that smile that only read as humble and embarrassed, his ears going pink at the tip. But this time, all he saw was you from the corner of his eye. It was subtle, but that excitement in your eyes dissolved; reducing itself to a pursed smile and disappointment in your eyes. 

Clark was very rarely an impulsive person, more often than not thinking through his every action. But at this moment, he abandoned that notion. 

“Actually,” he coughed into his fist. “The idea was all their’s,” he motioned to you, confusion immediately flashing in your eyes. “I only spread the word. All credit should go to them.”

Clark looked to Perry first, measuring his options before speaking. “Very well. y/n? Will you be able to take the reins on this?” 

Your mouth fell open for just a moment before immediately collecting yourself. “Yes. Yes sir.” 

“Good. On that note, you’re all dismissed, details on the meeting for any one who misse…”

Perry’s words faded as Clark looked over to you, shocked to see you already looking at him, so many emotions dancing in your eyes. Confusion, gratefulness, confusion, pride. Confusion. 

Clark only humbly nodded at you, wordlessly telling you ‘don’t mention it.’

[  +1—breakroom breakdowns ]

The next few days had been…cordial. You weren’t having fun conversations with him, whispering instead of working, but you also didn’t seem like you wanted to storm out of a room he was in. It was progress. Ironically enough, accidental progress. 

He hadn’t been thinking of how he could make some great show of making it up to you. He just did. And you seemed all the happier from that last minute decision of his.

“Clark!” 

The man poked his head up, Perry standing above him with impatience rolling off him in waves, just as he always was. 

“Yes sir,” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Where are they,” he questioned, motioning to your empty desk. 

He paused, recalling when he saw you leave last, coming up with nothing. “I’m, I’m not too sure.” 

Perry sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Go find them, I need the both of you in my office, preferably five minutes ago.” 

Clark turned to Jimmy once the man walked away. “Did you see where they went?” 

“Ummm,” Jimmy paused, thinking for a moment before his eyes landed on the break room. “I think they got a phone call not too long ago, so probably in there.” 

“Thanks Jimmy.” 

Now, Clark didn’t try to use his super hearing often, especially when he was Clark, but as he neared the breakroom, he couldn’t help but overhear you. First he heard the faintest sound of crying, like someone trying to hold it back desperately but failing. 

Then he heard a particularly loud voice over your phone. She sounded older and upset. 

“You’re selfish,” she shouted. “You always have been and I’m sick of you pretending you are some great hotshot with your fancy job that was handed to you. Your brother actually worked to get where you are. All you did was write until some newspaper decided it was mediocre enough to hire you as an assistant. God,” she scoffed, “You probably found some special way to get to your current position too.”

Clark hadn’t meant to just stand there and listen. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it until your eyes went wide seeing him standing there. 

Like a reflex, you turned away from him, immediately hanging up the phone. “What do you need Kent?” 

Clark bit the inside of his cheek, his words reluctant on his tongue. “Perry….Perry wants us in his office.” 

You sniffled. “I’ll be there in a minute, go without me.” 

Clark had always been stubborn. Without thinking, he approached you, pulling a tissue out of his suit pocket. “Are you okay,” he offered. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes then down to the tissue, tentatively slipping it from the man’s grasp. “Do you always have a perfectly good tissue in your pocket,” you joked. 

You were deflecting, Clark could tell, but it didn’t stop his heart from stuttering, knowing that it was the first time you hadn’t replied to him with some level of sarcasm or formality. 

“As fate has it, only when it’s needed.” 

And you smiled at him. It was short, quickly tucked away by the tissue as you wiped away any sign of your tears. 

“Let’s go,” you ushered, starting for the exit of the breakroom. “Before Perry blows a fuse or something.” 

He followed in step with you. From the corner of his eye as the two of you travelled to your destination, your head hanging lower than it usually did, your shoulders tight and your posture as a whole closed off. 

He’d never seen you make yourself so small. 

Approaching Perry’s office, he let you through first, hearing the quiet words you uttered to him: “Thank you, Clark.” 

He froze, his brain short circuiting as he processed your words. He felt his heart slam against his chest at them. Not because it was the first time you told him thank you, but because it was the first time you didn’t call him Kent.

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[messylxve]

Superman spoilers

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.

.

People complaining about Clark’s “I’m human” speech cause they claim Superman was trying to beat Lex with a speech are not only annoying but a testament to the lack of basic media literacy.

He already had Lex beat at that point. He had fought Ultraman and won, closed the gap that was threatening the city and Lex was already exposed by Lois’ article. That was him finally getting to let out all he was feeling on the man that had tortured him, killed an innocent man and almost started a war while also having it in himself to try to show Lex a better path.

Like just pay attention to the movie you’re watching before you talk out of your ass

[messylxve]

NIGHTTIME HAPPENINGS──SUPERMAN!

2025!superman x reader 1.4k fluff

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

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There was something beautiful about the night that Clark couldn’t help but love. Up above the sleeping city he cut across the cold night sky, his cape leaving a red streak amongst the stars. His world below melted together into a scene of soft twinkling lights, seemingly mimicking the sky above. 

So high above, Clark only felt peace, a final moment of silence as he awaited the next cry for help, but never finding it as the city finally rested.

But that’s not what he loved most about the night. What he liked most about it was you. 

Call them visits, chats, or interviews, ever since that first one he felt some kind of kinship to you. A comforting presence found behind your eagerness that told him he was understood. With you, it was no question of ulterior motives or a fear of turning against the people. 

He wanted to do good. And you understood that. You understood him. 

Even from the first interview. 

──about 18 months ago ──

You weren’t sure how late it was. You lost track of time the moment you came home from work at the cafe, your things abandoned at the door as you ushered to your computer. 

A week ago your blog would’ve looked entirely different, taking on a simple appearance with simple colors and likely filled with inconsistent topics from food recipes to celebrity life hacks. Now however, it took a bold new look, donned with red, blue, and yellow, pictures of the caped man, and filled with features of people recounting their encounter with Metropolis’ new hero: Superman (named by you of course). 

It was a hit, immediately flocking attention all throughout the city and more. It was just missing one more thing: an interview with Superman himself. 

That’s why you sat on your balcony, much later than your usual. You were slumped over in a cheap lawn chair, flashlight in hand as you shone it up straight at the sky. (You’d seen it in a comic book once and prayed your dollar store flashlight would do the trick). 

However, you were losing hope. Nighttime was well set in, the air only seemed to blow colder and harsher, and you were beginning to drift off. 

That’s when you saw it: a bright streak of red and blue splitting up the vast night sky. 

“If you’re calling for S.O.S. then your morse code could use some work.”

You sprung out of your chair as if a fire was set under your seat. “Superman!” 

He floated down gracefully, his boots touching the cold concrete of your balcony as you marveled at his presence once more. 

“Is that what the people are calling me now?” 

You shrugged, fighting back a smile as you feigned a cool composure. “Credit to your very own.” 

The man laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s very…” he thought for a minute, “official.” 

You smiled, tucking your hands behind your back. “Are you? Official I mean or here to stay.” 

You watched as he stood impossibly taller with a sigh, an overwhelming aura of justice radiating from him even as he just stood there with his arms crossed. “So long as the people of Metropolis need help, I’ll be here.” 

The smile on your face somehow burned brighter on your cheeks. “How noble of you Superman. It’s very inspiring. To everyone, not just me.” 

He laughed, then nodded towards the computer seen through your balcony door. “Is that what people are saying on your page?” 

You turned around suddenly, seeing the new notifications illuminating the screen and displaying the latest picture of him you managed to steal before he flew out of sight. “You know about my page?” 

The man shrugged, “I’m not one for social media but I have friends who have mentioned it numerous times.” He gave you a once over, like he was reading you and your poorly hidden enthusiasm. “It’s impressive. I’m shocked you’re not with the Daily Planet the way you work.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Me? A reporter? I never really tried to go down that path.” 

He smiled, taking the smallest of steps towards you. “It suits you.” 

For just a moment, you forgot how to speak. Something in his voice, deep and larger than life yet so grounded. You could only imagine what you looked like, your mouth falling open then shut, looking for that next quip that slowly died on your tongue. 

“Well th–well maybe.” You stopped, clearing your throat as your face grew hot, embarrassed by your sudden stammering. “Maybe you can give me a push in the right direction.” 

You stood up straight, mocking a formal setting. “May I possibly get an interview regarding your recent biggest rescue?” 

You could see the amusement stretch across his lips, shining in his eyes at your question. “I’d love to be interviewed by you.” 

“Wait actually?” Your eyes widened, not actually anticipating the man’s response. “Um, give me one minute, I’ll get my phone to record.” 

Superman watched as you slipped past your sliding doors and frantically ran inside. “There should be another chair out there, feel free to sit if that’s your thing.” 

As he sat down, he heard you move around through your apartment—possibly including the sound of you falling. When you returned, you had a phone in one hand and a notebook in the other. 

With a slight shake in your hand, you placed the phone down on a table in between you two, pressing record. 

“Superman.” 

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and spoke your name like a declaration. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

It became a kind of routine, at first him stopping by once every few weeks for a few questions or an interview, but eventually it morphed into something more. They grew more frequent and eventually started losing the formality and anxiousness, trading it in with a casual air. The two of you became unlikely friends. 

When nighttime came and he did his rounds through the city, he sought you out, knowing whether or not he’d be with you based on if you sat in that lawn chair, watching the skies. 

Tonight was a little different though. 

Your lights were on and he saw the familiar flowing of curtains breezing out of the doorway—even if he’d told you numerous times to close your balcony door at night. You, however, were nowhere to be seen on that balcony. 

Curiosity reached him before hesitation, his boots softly hitting the concrete and trailing a few steps forward. There he got his answer. 

From his place outside, he could see you at your desk, slumped over your keyboard and completely sound asleep. 

He eyed the frame of your door. He’d been inside maybe once or twice, but never without your permission. After a tentative moment, he slid the door open wider and let himself in, shutting it carefully behind him. 

You were in your pajamas, your desk completely cluttered from pens, markers, to a few cups and a plate with utensils, likely from eating dinner at your desk and overworking yourself as always. 

With a quiet laugh, the man put himself to work, reaching for the dishes first. He delivered them to your kitchen slowly, forgetting his superspeed as he tried to move soundlessly. When he returned back to you, he began collecting everything from your desk, organizing how he remembered from all the other visits. 

Once finally clear, he looked over you. You were a surprisingly heavy sleeper, not budging an inch as he lifted you with ease from his chair to his arms. 

His eyes cast over your sleeping image, taking in how peaceful you were. All the stress washed over you as you quickly became comfortable in his arms. 

He almost immediately began missing the feeling when he placed you down in your bed and pulled the covers up to your shoulders. 

A piece of him only wanted to stay and forget about his duties for just one night. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t. 

Without thinking, he leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to your temple, relishing in the feeling of being around you.

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[messylxve]

maybe punk rock are the friends we made along the way <3

god this movie was so amazing

[messylxve]

Farmer boy Clark for the win XD

𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲, 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲

wc: 1,479

summary: clark is unsure of what to do next, and you bring him hope, just like he has for you

warnings: minor spoilers for 'superman', use of y/n

the kansas sun shined down on clark through his childhood windows. it warmed his face, causing him to stir awake. the heavy weight on his chest combined with the soft thuds of a tail, he knew that krypto was waiting for his temporary owner to wake up. clark lifted his hand to rest it on the pup’s head, scratching him behind his ears. “hey, boy,” he greeted softly. “you’re calm this morning.” however, his words were completely disproven when krypto started licking at the man’s face and barking excitedly. “yes! yes, i know! you’re happy, but calm down, please. you’re gonna wake the whole house.” krypto jumped off of clark’s chest, and ran out of the room and all the way outside, now barking at the cows on the farm. clark watched all of this from his bedroom window, laughing at the dog’s antics. he grimaced at the smell of himself, all the blood and sweat on his suit and body.

he peeled the suit off piece by piece, and laid it in the corner of his bathroom, before slipping into the shower. as the warm water ran down his aching body and washed away the grime, he couldn’t help but think about all that has happened these past few days. everything he thought he knew of his parents, their intentions for sending him to earth… he didn’t know what to make of any of it. the water soon began to turn cold, signalling that he had been in there long enough. he turned it off and dried himself off with the towel his ma had set for him on the bed. he noticed that his suit was missing from the corner. most likely taken to be cleaned, and he made a note to thank ma for doing so.

he slowly toed past the guest room, making sure to not wake you up. he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen to see his pa making some pancakes. “i don’t think you’ve ever slept in so late before,” pa jokes, glancing over at his son. clark rubs at his eyes with a yawn. “yeah, had a long day yesterday.”

“that girl of yours still asleep up there?”

“yeah, she is. i want to let her sleep for as long as she can. she’s been working hard.”

pa turns off the stove, plating the now cooked pancakes. “she’s a sweet girl, that one. your ma and i had to almost put her to bed ourselves. she wouldn’t leave your side last night.” 

clark smiled when he heard that. many always claimed that you were too rude and cold hearted, never caring for anyone but yourself. he never believed all those rumors, instead choosing to find out the truth for himself. and he was proud to learn that they were far from the truth. you may have seemed mean on the outside, and your words were sometimes brass, but it was your actions that let your true self shine. clark had been on the receiving end of those kind hearted actions these past three months, and he couldn’t have been more grateful for it. “yeah, she’s… she’s great. she’s perfect,” he whispered.

you woke up to the sound of gentle knocking on the bedroom door. martha peeked her head in, a smile on her face. “oh, i’m sorry if i woke you, honey. i just wanted to let you know that jonathan made pancakes if you want some,” she said softly, laundry basket in hand. you could see the bright blue and red suit inside of it, and you knew that clark was awake. you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and shook your head. “no, it’s okay. i should probably be up by now, anyways. and thank you.”

“of course, y/n.” she shoots you another smile, before walking down the hall to the laundry room.

you stand from the bed, stretching out your limbs. your body was most certainly grateful for the soft bed that the kent’s had leant you for the night. a much better alternative to the wooden desk chair that you had planned on sleeping in. when you descended the stairs, you were instantly hit with the smell of homemade pancakes. last night, when you and lois arrived with clark, it was the middle of the night, so you didn’t see much of clark’s childhood home. but as you passed by the living room, and entered the kent’s family kitchen, you realized just how warm it was. family pictures decorated the walls, alongside all the little trinkets that were on tables and shelves. small chips were on counterspaces and all of clark’s heights were measured on the living room entryway. it was lived in, but it was loved. this was a family that was caring, which now made sense why clark is such the gentleman he is today.

after finishing up your small plate and washing it, you could hear voices coming from outside. you peeked through the screen door, seeing clark and pa talking to each other. and even though you barely made a sound, it was like clark could sense you were near, and perked his head up. the smile on his face widened ten times more at the sight of you. jonathan followed his son’s cheerful gaze, and landed on you. he took that as his sign to give the two of you some time alone, so he patted his hand on clark’s back and trudged up the front porch stairs. he patiently held the screen door open for you, before shutting it behind him.

“hey, clark,” you greeted, sitting beside him on the swing. “you doing okay?” a stupid question, really. you knew he was anything but. he shrugged, nonetheless, leaning into your side. “about as good as i can be.”

you saw right through that bullshit. “come on, don’t lie to me. what’s really going on in that handsome head of yours?” you questioned gently.

clark blushed at the compliment. he knew nothing ever went past you, especially when it pertained to him. “it’s nothing, really. i just… i don’t know what i’m gonna do, sweetheart. everything i thought i knew about my parents is a lie. i wasn’t sent here for the right intentions, not the ones i thought i was. where do i even go from here?”

his hands were shaking, tugging at the sleeves of his flannel patterned bathrobe. a tell-tale sign of his worry and anxiety. you reached towards him, holding his hands in your own. your thumbs ran across the backs of his hands, hoping it would calm his shaking. “you keep being you, clark. nothing more, nothing less.”

“but what if that’s not enough? what if i fail-?”

you squeeze his hand tightly. “you won’t. clark, before i met you, i used to be… angry. and rude. a lot more than i am now. i used to hate so many people because i could never understand why their lives were so much better than mine. why they were happier, or had loved ones, or had a good job. i just… i envied them. but then i got my job at the daily planet. and then i met you. after that, it was like some switch went off inside me and i didn’t find myself so hateful anymore. i then realized it was because of you. you were that reason, clark. because of you, i love, and i have hope. because of you, i’m still here. just like so many others, my life has been changed by you. you’re enough, clark. and there are still others out there who have hope in you, just as much as i do.”

by the end of your speech, clark was looking at you with nothing but love and adoration in his baby blue eyes. he wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he said the next best words. “i love you, y/n,” he admitted in a whisper.

you were takenaback by his words, but then quickly composed yourself. “i love you too, clark.” he pulled you into a soft, yet passion filled kiss. one of his large hands coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers threading into your hair to tug you impossibly closer. after a few more seconds, you pulled away to take a breath. not everybody had the ability to hold their breath for an hour like him. he didn’t let you stray too far, pressing his forehead against yours.

“you’re not rude, sweetheart, or angry. i think you’re really nice,” he whispered. you laughed softly. “thanks, babe. i’m glad you think so.”

neither of you knew what the future would hold, but you knew that when the world called, clark would answer. because they had hope, and that’s what superman was. that was what your clark kent had given you.

a/n: guys.. i love smut as much as the next girl, but can we PLEASE get yearning lover boy clark fics as well 😭 also last part of "smart boy and pretty girl" should be out soon, so stay tuned !! love y'all and pls lmk if u ever want to be added to my taglist <333

[messylxve]

SPILLED COFFEE ──CLARK KENT!

2025!clark kent x reader 1.3k fluff-ish rivals to lovers

!spoil-free for superman (2025)!

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Clark Kent wasn’t Superman. 

Sure physically he was. Behind the glasses, terrible posture, and clumsiness he was the daring, charming, yet humble man of justice the public adored. But when the glasses and tousled hair came back on and he slipped into his desk in front of yours, any trace of that quick-witted, charming superhero persona faded away.

The worst part was, you clearly liked Superman more than you liked Clark Kent and for that, he had absolutely no clue why. It wasn’t like you talked to him long enough to tell him in detail why you smiled less around him compared to everyone else. 

Even now, from across the room, he saw as you held a genuine conversation with Cat over the printer. She was doing most of the talking, her movements rather animated as she told you all about her weekend. But it was your reactions that held Clark’s attention. You held a rare smile—at least one that was rarely pointed at Clark—as you laughed at Cat’s story. 

He recognized your laugh, it wasn’t like your “customer service laugh”, nor the laugh you gave Steve that implied his joke wasn’t really funny. It was open and genuine, the laugh he only got to see when he was Superman. 

Clark's lips dipped down into a frown, his eyes flickering back to his computer where he was looking at the article that published in place of yours.

At the very least, he knew you were upset about that. After all it was your pitch that pushed the story, your groundwork giving it its spine. All he did was get a few more “interview” questions than you did. It was presented to Perry as something to aid you, make the article more complete. When Perry requested it be a collaborative piece, Clark certainly did imagine that meant him accidentally hijacking the whole work. 

If you weren’t snippy around him before, you definitely were now. 

With a final sigh, Clark closed the page and swiveled his chair to face Jimmy who looked to be getting done as much work as him. 

“Jimmy,” Clark coughed. “I need advice on something.” 

With a grin, the boy wheeled over to Clark’s desk, excited for any excuse to pull him away from his screen. “How can I be of assistance?” 

Clark readjusted in his chair, fiddling with his thumbs absentmindedly. “I get this feeling that y/n doesn’t like me much an–,” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he coughed in an attempt—a terrible attempt— to cover a laugh, only making Clark’s face fall. 

“It’s that bad?” 

Jimmy paused, narrowing his eyes like he wasn’t sure if Clark was serious or setting him up for a joke. 

Clark waited, eyebrows raised, but then watched as Jimmy’s skepticism slowly morphed into a smile, then a grin before bursting into a fit of laughter, this time trying—and failing—to stifle it. 

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be laughing but,” he took a moment to catch his breath. “I thought you were meant to be the smart one.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” the man exclaimed, his voice going up the octave much to his distaste. 

“It means,” Jimmy finally sighed, a trace of a laugh still left on his face, “if I had a choice to be trapped in a room between you two, or them and Steve, I’d choose Steve.” 

Clark frowned, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not helping Jimmy. Is it because of the article last week? Cause I tried to apologize, they just kinda brushed me off.” 

“I’d say it’s less of the article and more of all the articles.” 

Clark blinked, confusion now taking his face once more. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s not the first time you’ve overshadowed them for a Superman related project. They tend to keep count,” the boy paused, leaning towards Clark. “Are you telling me you really didn’t notice?” 

Clark squeezed his shoulders in a shrug, recounting the few conversations you had with him Superman. “I did, I just assumed it was something bigger I’d done. Like maybe insult their ma.” 

Jimmy tossed a quick glance over to you, still talking to Cat by the printer. “Look, if you’re trying to get in good graces with them, do something small. Surprise them with coffee, pass one of your ideas off as theirs. Doesn’t have to be a grand show, just show them that you’re not trying to be some sort of rival.” 

Clark thought about it, letting the idea run through in his mind before he wrinkled his nose. “Rival is a heavy word.” 

“But accurate.” 

Clark took Jimmy’s advice to heart, waking up early and going straight to a nearby coffee shop, this time picking up two cups instead of his usual one. 

Mornings in the Daily Planet were busy and crowded, half of the population wrapping up loose ends from the day before and the other half getting in new intel and story opportunities. 

When he arrived to your shared area, you were nowhere to be seen, much to Clark’s disappointment. 

“Uh Lois,” he called to the passing woman. “Is y/n in today?” 

“They’re in Perry’s office running a rough draft on a recent update with the Boravian conflict.” 

Clark pursed his lips together, his plan already not going to plan. He hesitated for just a moment, debating whether or not to hand it to you in person or to just leave it. 

After a moment of thought, he placed it down gently before reaching a sticky note on your desk, scribbling something on it. 

“Hey loser,” a sudden, loud voice exclaimed. “Didn’t see you come in this morning.” 

“Hey Steve,” Clark sighed, still hunched over the note that was getting longer than it was initially going to be. 

Clark felt as Steve went to pat him on the back, as aggressively as usual. However, between being hunched over the desk and the hot cup of coffee dangerously close to his moving hand, he bumped right into the cup and like a domino, the contents on your desk became soaked in the hot drink. 

“Shoot,” Clark exclaimed, reaching for the papers on your desk with hope to save them. Holding one page up hopelessly, he could see the soggy paper and washed away the ink of your handwriting. 

“What. Did you do?” 

Clark stilled like a deer in headlights, turning around to see you with wide eyes, your left one visibly twitching. 

“I thought I could be nice, surprise you but–,” 

But his words went bypassed when your eyes settled on your voice recording device in the middle of the hot brown puddle. 

“Dammit,” you exclaimed, springing forward to fish it out, but the damage was done. It dripped with coffee when you picked it up and the screen was long from turning on again. 

“I had a whole hour of a Superman interview on here,” you said, your voice cracking to a whisper as you shut your eyes and pressed a hand to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” Clark breathed. “I was only trying to hel–,” 

“It’s fine Kent just–,” you paused, taking a deep breath and pressing your lips into a thin line, a dozen unspoken thoughts evaporating behind your silence. “It’s fine.” 

He could only step aside as you brushed past him, cradling the recorder in your hands. 

“That went…” Jimmy trailed off as took a step next to Clark, observing the mess. “Well it went.” 

Clark cringed, turning to the shorter boy. “How did I mess up that bad?” 

Jimmy only shook his head, a semi-reassuring pat left on Clark’s shoulders. “Forgiveness is an uphill battle some days. Trust me, I know.” 

Clark pushed a half-hearted smile on his face. “Try try again, right?” 

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[messylxve]

MEN WHO YEARN>>>>

LOVESICK

clark kent x journalist!reader | note: clark is a lovesick, obsessed puppy in this (just how i like them😛) also, this may be one of my favorite writings ever

clark kent didn’t consider himself a yearner. he wasn’t one of those tragic types who were moon-eyed and love-drunk, penning sonnets in the margins of his notepad. no, he was practical, maybe quiet. a man with responsibilities bigger than himself. but then there was you and suddenly he was bringing two coffees to the office each morning just in case you hadn’t had time. suddenly he was standing every time you entered a room. suddenly he was rearranging his schedule around yours without a second thought, following the sound of your laugh like it was a goddamn north star.

lois called it whipped; jimmy called it pathetic; clark just called it tuesday.

he could hear the click of your shoes from downstairs. he pauses writing mid stroke, eyes zeroed in onto the floor. using his x-ray vision, he saw you tap the elevator door. his chair spun as he sprung out of it. he moved fast—not super-speed fast, not cape-and-crisis fast, but fast enough that jimmy raised a brow from the bullpen and muttered something under his breath about puppy dogs and lost causes. clark ignored him. he straightened his tie (even though it was already straight), swiped the extra coffee off his desk, and positioned himself at your workspace with the same intensity most people reserved for emergency landings. by the time the elevator dinged, he looked casual and effortless. like he hadn’t just rerouted the last five minutes of his life to be exactly where you were about to be.

“hey, clark,” your voice was enough to make him feel lightheaded. he turned his head to meet your gaze and the world shifted under him. you were clad in kitten heels and those pants that accentuated your curves. his jaw fell slack. “is this for me?” you smile, motioning to the coffee in his hand.

he blinked, caught in the orbit of your mouth, your eyes, the way sunlight caught in the strands of your hair. “uh—yeah.” his voice cracked like a teenager’s. he cleared his throat. “yes. i mean, if you want it.”

your smile deepened. “i always want it.” your fingers brush his as you grab the cup. he feels an electric bolt where you touched. “you’re the best.” he swore his knees buckled a little. he didn’t even respond. he just stared at you with that dazed, lovesick look—eyes soft and dreamy, mouth parted and cheeks red. lois, somewhere behind him, let out a very loud jesus christ.

as you put the cup to your lips, it became harder to watch. he swallowed hard, watching your lips wrap around the lid like it was the most important review of his life. you hum in approval, lipstick staining the paper, and clark had to look away before he did something humiliating. like sigh or propose.

“y/n, can i get your opinion on this headline?” lois called from across the office, already spinning her monitor toward where you stood. you turned your head, casual as anything, but clark swore—swore—there was a breeze that hit just right. your hair moved like you were walking off a film set, backlit and glowing, and the smile you tossed over your shoulder nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“of course,” you said. and just before you turned, your eyes caught his again. one last glance. “bye, clark.” two words. simple and completely harmless. yet, they landed like a truck.

“b-bye,” he stammered, too fast, too breathy. “yeah. see you—later. or, uh in five minutes. depending—probably.”

you laughed—you laughed—and kept walking. jimmy snorted so hard he nearly choked on his granola bar. “dude.”

lois didn’t even look up. “we get it, clark.”

he sank back into his chair, cheeks burning, heart thudding out some ridiculous rhythm he was pretty sure wasn’t FDA-approved. but still, he smiled. you’d said goodbye like it meant something and he’d spend the rest of the day pretending it wasn’t the best part of his morning.

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[messylxve]

MEETING SUPERMAN──SUPERMAN!

2025!superman x reader 2.1k fluff

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

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Maybe today was just the worst day of your life. It started awfully when you realized you left your balcony door open, letting in so much rain water that your fresh laundry was now soaked. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you slept through every single one of your alarms, making you more than late for your opening shift. 

You might’ve left with two left shoes had they not already been left by the door. 

“You’re late,” your boss grunted when you finally came in, quick to pick up the coffee order he was working on. “I had to open for you.” 

Ring ring ring. You see a lady at the counter, impatiently slamming her finger down over the bell for your attention. “Excuse me, I’m ready to order.” 

“Just a minute ma’am.” You plastered a smile on your face as you walked by her, following your boss as he began to gather his own things to leave. 

“I know I’m late,” you sighed. “I slept through my alarm and I accidentally left my bal–,” 

“I didn’t ask for excuses,” he interrupted. “You’re late, it goes on record. If it happens again I will fire you.” 

With that, he pushed past you, ignoring you as you followed sharply on his tail. 

Ring ring ring. “Excuse me! I said I’m ready to order!” 

“Just a minute ma’am, please!” You look to see your boss, nearing the Employee’s Only door, ready to flee. 

“Respectfully sir, I’ve shown up every single day I’ve been scheduled and more. I’m here, on time, every day and I’ve had no complaints from any customer. Is there any way you can give me a pass, just this one time?” 

When he finally stopped, you were rather met with the man’s stone face and a finger being pointed in your face. “You’re not special. You are not immune to the rules. If I need to replace you today, I will. If I need to replace you right this second, I will. See that I don’t have to and do. Your. Job.” 

With a final scathing glare, he grasped the door and slammed it shut, violently enough that the window of the door seemed to shake under the force; leaving you alone with the same woman ringing the bell incessantly. 

“Hello! It’s like I’m not even here,” she snarked when you finally met her at the counter, acting as if you weren’t on the verge of tears right in front of her. 

“I apologize for the wait ma’am ho–,” 

“I hope you’re not expecting some tip after this horrible service. This generation doesn’t know the first thing about treating a customer right.” 

On any other day, you might’ve found a way to ease the woman, offer a discount or crack a joke at your own expense, but instead, you plastered a thin smile on your lips. 

“Of course not ma’am, how may I help you?” 

At this point, you had decided it couldn’t possibly be any worse of a day, so you pushed on and let it move past you, flashing each customer the same smile and infuriatingly friendly ‘customer service’ voice. Maybe the universe would grant you some semblance of mercy. 

Ring ring ring

On goes the smile. 

“What can I do for you today, sir?” 

“All the money in the bag.” 

You froze, all color in your face draining as you looked up at the man. He couldn’t have been much taller than you, dressed in all black and a ski mask. From his hoodie pocket you could see the imprint of his hand gripping his weapon, finger wrapped around the trigger, prepared. 

“Don’t scream, just empty the register. Now.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to recall anything on what to do if the store was to be robbed. 

You couldn’t remember a single detail. 

All you could remember was the one thing that would likely get you shot on the spot. “I can–I can’t.” 

Your hands trembled and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes as the man grew visibly angrier. 

“The fuck do you mean you can’t,” he hissed, grabbing the unwanted attention of some of the nearby customers. “Take the money out the damn register and give it to me!” 

“I can’t open the register without a key.” 

He grit his teeth angrily. “Where’s the key?” 

“In the–in the back.” 

You watched as the gears in his head churned, rationalizing his next few decisions. 

That is if a rational decision to him meant sending the mass of customers into a frantic chaos. 

With a grand show and display, he whipped out the gun, firing a warning shot into the air. But before anyone was quick enough to move from his path, he grabbed hold of a woman, pressing the gun into her side. 

“Get the key. Unlock the drawer and give me the money. Every minute you’re back there is another bullet.” 

You nodded your head frantically, practically tripping on your feet as you rushed into the back. Every second felt agonizing as your brain screamed at you how short a minute really was. 

On any other day in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the mess you were making, but it didn’t matter. Every inch of the place was flipped over until you finally got your hands on the tiny metal key. 

BANG

You jumped at the sound of the first gunshot, dropping the key on the ground. 

“Five seconds left,” you heard him scream. “The next one’s going through her!” 

In a trembling panic, you fumbled to pick up the key. 

Like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, your heart slammed violently against your chest as you shoved yourself through the doors, hands in the air. 

“I have it! I have it!” 

The man looked deranged as he shakily pointed the gun back at you. 

“Don’t shoot,” you attempted to reason, stepping closer to the register—and by proxy, him. “I’m unlocking the drawer and we can all move on like nothing happened.” 

You opened the register quick, the soft chime of coins being pushed around and the drawer sliding open feeling louder than ever. Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as you went for the big bills first. 

He kept the gun on you, his hold on the woman only tightening as his eyes twitched, flickering between you and the door, the windows, the street. 

Then you heard the wailing sirens. Quiet at first, maybe a couple blocks away, but they grew louder, nearing closer. 

The man stiffened, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“Did you call them?” His voice, somehow just as threatening, was just a whisper to the thickly tense air. 

You shook your head. “I–I didn’t, someone outsi–,” 

Red and blue flooded into the cafe, painting all the fear on your face as you stared down the barrel of his gun. 

It all moved in slow motion, the noise reaching your ears before everything else caught up to you. BANG!

You saw his finger lay down on the trigger. You saw the anger on his face as his impulses took over. You felt the fear of death drown you in and overwhelm you. But you never felt the bullet. 

One minute your eyes were clamped shut, prepared for the painful impact. The next minute, your eyes peeled open to see a man. Tall, fearless, and dressed in red, blue and yellow. Like something out of a comic book. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, his voice deep yet comforting. “You’re safe.” 

In a blink the man was replaced with a large gust of wind, lifting your hair in a wild mess with you. 

When you looked back to the gunman, his hands were behind his back, bound by the man in blue. “No need to fear,” he assured the room, pushing the man towards the exit. “He’ll be in the hands of the police now.” 

Somewhere between then and him turning the man over to the cops, the room burst into applause, praising the mystery man in a cape. But you were completely and utterly stilled, watching as the man spoke with the policemen. 

“No ulterior motives, no prizes,” he explained to the officers. “All I want is truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.” 

You watched as he cut you one last look before disappearing into the sky. 

“All I’m saying dear is if you had a more stable job, an office job, none of this would’ve happened. You certainly wouldn’t have to worry about looking silly on TV.” 

Night came quick and all you wanted to do was collapse into your bed and forget everything that happened. Instead you were reaching into the second hour of a long extended phone call with your mother as you considered the height below you from your balcony railing

“Mom,” you groaned into the phone. “I’m not having this talk with you again.” 

“We’re not having a talk,” she exclaimed in a tone that suggested the two of you were definitely having the talk. “I just think if you went for something more practical like med school, not study how to write for 4 years.” 

“An English Writing degree is practical mom.” 

“Sure,” she hummed. “For a teacher. I don’t see you applying for any teaching jobs anytime soon. All of your time is spent on that silly blog that no one’s reading anymore. Your brother says you’re running out of material.” 

You sighed, hanging your head over the balcony. “I should turn in for the night. Goodbye mom.” 

You could practically hear her shaking her head at you disappointingly. “Good night dear.” 

With a final click, you shoved your phone in your pocket. Somehow, your headache only worsened since you left work. Because of course it wasn’t the cops interviewing you or being robbed or being held at gunpoint that stressed you out the most, but your mother questioning your life choices. 

You groaned loudly, borderlining a scream if it wasn’t for your neighbors as you ran your hands across your tired face. 

“Long day?” 

You gasped, stumbling back and falling onto the ground below you at the sudden sight of the red caped man hovering in front of you. 

“It’s you,” you squeezed out, crawling backwards in shock as he landed softly on your balcony. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” 

You watched as he held out a hand for you, towering above you. 

This couldn’t be real. You had to be hallucinating. 

“It’s…okay,” you mumbled. You hesitated, scanning his hand as if he’d magically reveal something from it. To your surprise, it was soft, gentle, not what you were expecting from such a grandiose man. 

With little to no effort, he pulled you up to your feet, allowing you to catch yourself on his arm when you stumbled forward. 

“I never got to see if you were okay after today. Imagine to my surprise I see you on your balcony when I fly by.” 

“Fate, perhaps,” you breathed, a part of you still stunned and amazed by the marvel of this man in front of you. “I’m sorry for asking but, who are you?” 

He tilted his head off to the side, measuring his words. “A humble protector of my city. Nothing more.” 

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. “No title, or superhero name? You’ve already got the cape.” 

He smiled. And not a half smile or forced, plastered on smile, but a bright shining smile that only made sense for a man like him. “I haven’t given it much thought. I suppose the people will name me on their own.” 

He was genuine. Something in you could just tell. 

“One more question,” you blurted. 

He lifted his eyebrows, curiosity piquing his interest. 

“Why?” 

You watched as his brows furrowed back down, not quite understanding your question. “Why?” 

“I mean, the world has had its fair share of magically powered people. Not many of them have wanted to do what you’re doing…Why are you doing it?” 

You watched him, studied him as he conjured up some semblance of an answer. “Because I want to see a better tomorrow. And unlike most, I actually have the power to change it. So why not use it?” 

Once again you found yourself nodding slowly, entranced in his every single word, striking you right to the heart. “I for one can’t wait to see it then.” 

The man only smiled, taking his few steps back. “You stay safe.” 

In a gust of wind he was gone, his blue and red losing itself into the night sky. And you watched and waited until his presence faded. 

With an excited grin, you practically threw yourself to your computer, opening the 'silly little blog' your mom couldn’t help but shoot jabs at.

 You thought back to the man, everything you remember about him. Something about his presence just screamed super. Super grand, super humble, super charming. Super handsome. But most of all, a superhero. A real one. 

TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND A BETTER TOMORROW

It was a seemingly normal day at work when a man named Superman saved my life. 

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[messylxve]

CHRONIC WORKAHOLIC ──CLARK KENT!

2025!clark kent x reader 1.2k fluff rivals to lovers

!spoiler-free for the 2025 Superman movie!

next part

You’re not an impatient person, you just hated waiting—at least that’s what you tried to convince anyone who witnessed your impatience. You always had your tells and being around reporters whose job was to pick up the small details, most of your coworkers and colleagues knew when you were getting antsy. 

Your left eye would twitch, you’d start chewing whichever was convenient, your thumb or your pen, you’d begin bouncing your leg or tapping your foot, and most notable, the sighs. 

“Alright,” Lois sighed. “I’ll crack. What’s wrong,” 

You cut her a short glance from your computer and shook your head from where it was propped on your hand. “Just peachy.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” Lois watched as you did essentially nothing, your cursor floating in circles on your screen. 

You looked up at the woman now leaning on your desk and with a final loud sigh you pushed the mouse away and leaned back in your chair. “Perry has yet to approve the article on Superman and it's been,” you checked a nearby calendar, “three days. Nothing. Goose-egg. Big fat zero.” 

Lois hummed in thought. “Did you finish writing that review for the new movie?” 

“Finished and approved on Thursday.” 

“Interview with the Metropolis cop that caught the Gotham inmate?” 

“Fully transcribed for Jimmy to write his piece," you sighed. 

“Extremely thorough by the way,” the boy piped up, swiveling his chair to face you from across the aisle. 

Lois frowned. “Even the article on the botched scoreboard for the sports section you were complaining about the other day?” 

You looked over to the woman with only a deadpan. “Take a fine guess, Lois.” 

“Overachiever alert,” Steve whistled as he passed by. 

Your frown deepened. “Better an overachiever than an underachiever, Steve. How’s that article on the new high school you were supposed to finish a week ago?” 

You wore a triumphant grin when the man ducked his head behind his coffee mug. 

“Sounds like you’re done for the day then,” Lois hummed. “Why don’t you take it easy then?” 

Jimmy laughed out, wheeling his chair out to sit next to yours. “A world where they’re ‘taking it easy’ is a world that doesn’t exist Lois.” 

“See! Jimmy gets it.” You motioned to the boy, eyes wide. “I was literally hired because I write about Superman, yet I haven’t seen a single streak of red, yellow, or blue across my screen under my name for weeks. Make it make sense Lois.” 

Lois didn’t look like she heard a single word of your rant though. Rather she was on her phone, reading a new notification. “Well,” she trailed. “If you stop your dramatic monologues for one minute, you’d see the latest Superman has been published.”

You sat up quickly, fumbling for the mouse to pull up the newest article. 

“Superman saves dozens in a near plane crash,” you read aloud. “Published by…Clark Kent.” 

You fell back into your seat, letting out a sigh of both defeat and disappointment as you crossed your arms. 

“Yikes,” you heard Steve snicker from his desk. 

Jimmy smacked you lightly with a newspaper. “Better luck next time I guess.” 

You looked up to Lois. “I don’t get it. When did he even write for Superman this week?” 

“Turned it in last night,” a new voice spoke up. The object of all your impatience and annoyance. “Why did I miss something?” 

He scowled at him as he stood there in all his innocence as if he didn’t just steal your article again. 

“Long lunch today, huh Clark,” Lois questioned, pushing herself off your desk and walking towards the printer. 

“Bad traffic today,” he coughed. “Some monster terrorizing the city again, y’know the routine.” 

You frowned and squinted at the man. “Traffic? Since when do you have a car Kent?” 

You watched as he stammered over his words yet again. “Foot–foot traffic, I mean.” 

Before any more questions could be thrown his way, he took place in his seat, directly across from yours. “I didn’t miss anything, did I?” 

“Nothing of importance, Kent,” you hummed tiredly, taking your position back with your chin propped on your head and looking for something else to work on. 

You lived alone and you liked it like that. It meant everything got to move at your own pace and no one could butt in or judge you for how you live. 

It also meant that you didn’t have anyone to force you to stop working. 

“It’s getting awfully late don’t you think?” 

Scratch that, you definitely had one person pestering you about that, but at least he wasn’t a roommate. 

From your personal desk, you swung around in your chair to see a man dressed in red, blue and yellow standing on your 11th floor balcony. You had left the sliding door open, in hopes the super would possibly fly by while taking rounds through the city. 

At first you greeted him with a smile, then it shifted into a half-meaned frown. “I don’t think you’re invited tonight Superman,” you crossed your arms and leaned in the doorway. “I’m kind of upset with you tonight.” 

The grand man grinned, mimicking your crossed arms. “And why’s that?”

“Favoritism.”

He stepped forward, sizing you up as he shifted his arms from his chest to his hips. “I love each and every single one of Metropolis’ citizens equally.” 

You pushed out a laugh. “But clearly not the reporters. Mister ‘I suddenly love giving interviews to Clark Kent instead of me’.” 

Superman wrinkled his nose and smiled. “Quite a long and unusual name.” 

“I’d kill you if I could,” you deadpanned, only encouraging his amusement. 

“I’m sure you would.” 

Your deadpan didn’t last long of course. You found something about his laugh contagious. If he was smiling, it was hard not to be smiling yourself. 

“So,” he eventually sighed, leaning against the railing of your balcony. “What keeps you up so late?” 

You looked back at your computer, a bright image of Clark’s approved article on your screen. “Finding a way to strike revenge,” you cringed, squeezing your shoulders up with a plastered smile. 

He only flashed you his same amused smile. “Let me guess…the infamous coworker?” 

“Who else,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “He’s just so infuriating, I mean he shows up late, turns in an article he wasn’t assigned to late, and continues on with his stupid dopey smile without a care in the world with his sweet-boy Kansas accent.” 

“He sounds like a pleasure,” Superman teased. 

“You’d wanna punch him, trust me,” you mutter, more to yourself if anything. 

“Actually, I don’t wanna punch anyone.” 

You roll your eyes and smile at the man, clearly getting a sense of enjoyment from your rambling. “It’s okay Superman, you can drop the Good Samaritan act around me. We’re off the record and I’m shockingly good at keeping secrets.” 

You watched as he laughed and pushed himself off the railing. “How about this,” he offered. “For the next week, only getting interviews from you.” 

You grinned, putting your hand forward. “Sounds like a plan.” 

He chuckled and grasped your hand, shaking it just for your own entertainment. 

“Now you should turn in for the night,” he declared, taking an exaggeratedly boisterous voice. The kind he used when he was really trying to lay it on thick. “Someone tells me you’ve been overworking yourself.” 

You smiled as he flew off with a large gust of wind that surely ruined your hair, but you didn’t care to check as you slid the balcony door shut.

next part

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@enchanthings for divider

@mack-writersblock @whothehellismack @casp1an-sea

[messylxve]

let me love you | remus lupin x plussize!reader

content warning: fatphobia comments with language, verbally abusive ex, body image issues, negative mirrors, self-worth issues. IF THESE TOPICS ARE SENSITIVE TO YOU, KEEP SCROLLING AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF <3

Includes: heavy denial (on readers end), remus being a major flirt, marlene being a darling roommate, hurt/comfort

credit to @enchanthings for the border

A line was beginning to be blurred between you and Remus. It was unspoken, yet well defined in its beginning. On each side, the two of you sat, best friends since forever without ever crossing that line. 

That’s what made the two of you work. It’s how you stayed friends for so long. Before James, Sirius, and Peter, before Hogwarts, even before the glow of the full moon became something to fear. 

“Pieces of a puzzle.” someone once told you. Puzzle pieces don’t overlap, they stay behind their line where they know they fit perfectly. 

That fine line that existed between you and Remus was beginning to become blurred and it was all his fault. 

You weren’t the risk taker in the friendship. That was him. You preferred to stay within your line where you knew no one would hurt you. 

What luck that did for you. 

“Hullo dove.” His voice was hushed as he sat next to you at your designated study spot, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

It was quick and casual, you might’ve missed it. But you didn’t. Your cheek burned where he touched you as you looked at him, shock and hesitation in your eyes. He however didn’t pay it any mind, as if he kissed all of his friends on their cheek in the same way.  

“What was that for?”  

His brown eyes met yours, seemingly admiring you before tilting his head to the side teasingly. “I’m not allowed to show you any love?” 

Something in the way he stared at you forced your eyes into his, no matter how much you felt the need to look away. “Uhm, no it’s.” 

You paused as you realized he was nearing you, leaning in as his teasing grin only grew on his lips. He was enjoying seeing you stumble over your words. 

“Surprised me,” you finally settled on, your voice pitching up to your dismay.“That’s all.” 

Finally deciding you spent long enough tripping over your every word, you stiffly turned back to your work, flipping through your schoolbook. 

With another taunting laugh—taunting to you at least—you felt as he swiftly reached under your chair and dragged your chair, and by proxy, you closer into his space. 

All you could feel was the sudden flames in your stomach, combust inside of you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him. If he knew anything about you, he’d be able to suss out your blushing expression quickly. 

“C’mon,” he mumbled, the soft breeze that was his breath brushing against your neck as he peered over your shoulder. “James stole my book, we’re gonna have to share.” 

You could only push out a hum of a response as you inched the book towards him. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft as he lightly grasped your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. You felt your breath still and your lungs somehow felt like they were freezing over and burning at the same time. “Is that okay with you?” 

Every inch of you was burning alive, hyperaware of everywhere he touched you; terrified of any movement you could possibly make. 

You saw the way he stared at you, flickering across your face so quickly that you could’ve dreamt it. Maybe you did. 

“Okay, Romeo,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, pushing his hand away. “Yeah it’s fine.” 

You pushed the book closer to him, putting more distance between the two of you. You missed the disappointment that flashed in his eyes, stiffly tucking his hands in his lap.  

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

You prayed he didn’t see the way your hands trembled for the next hour. Remus Lupin was going to be the death of you, you just knew it. 

In each dormitory came one large mirror for each resident to share. It was there you spent much of your time. You had heard one of your roommates mumble about you being self-obsessed and vain with how long you’d spend just inspecting your appearance. 

Vain was the very last word you’d use to describe yourself. 

Clothes were strewn across your bed, your uniform long discarded as you stepped in and out of outfits, not quite content with how you looked. 

As of now, you only stood in a sweater and a thick pair of tights, a glare fixated on the reflection of your thighs. 

“Did a niffler get into the room?” 

You didn’t have to look up to know which roommate of yours it was. 

“Hi Marlene.” 

You watched in the mirror as she threw herself in your bed, watching as you ripped off your sweater and tossed around more clothes. “Hey babes, you got a date or sumthing I don���t know about?” 

You snorted, not even looking up at her. “You’re funny Marls.”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes quizzically studying you. “I know I’m funny. I didn’t make a joke, though.”

You cut her another glance once you threw another sweater on. “You know what I mean.” 

A knock at the door cut her off before she could push further. “It’s Remus. Just letting you know I’m ready to go when you are, love. No rush.”   

You could practically hear how Marlene whipped her head back over to you. “You’re going out with Remus! Why didn’t you say anything?”

You huffed at her as you shimmied into your skirt. “I’m not going out with Remus. We’re just going to be out. As friends.” 

You could see Marlene throw her head back with the most exaggerated groan. “The dramatics with you two. You both clearly like each other, just make out and call it official already!” 

“Quiet down,” you hissed, terrified of raising your voice loud enough for him to hear. “Remus does not like me.” 

Marlene was kneeling on your bed now, her eyes squinting as she studied you once again. “But you like him…? You didn’t deny that part.” 

Your silence was exceptionally loud to Marlene as you crossed the room, gathering your things.  “So what if I do?” 

“So what if you do,” she repeated, bewildered. “The poor boy clearly likes you too. Why not do anything about it?” 

“Right,” you snapped, “ because the last time I acted on my feelings it went so well.” 

That silence that hovered over you struck the girl; only able to speak your name first, softly to the air before she climbed out the bed and made her way to you. “Remus is not Zacharius. You of all people know that.” 

You frowned, turning away from the girl. “I never said he was. I just…I just think Remus deserves someone who fits him better okay? I’m not that.” 

Marlene couldn’t find anything to say to that. Not because she believed it true, but because she could see how deeply you believed it. 

With a forced smile, you whisked open the door expecting to only see Remus and not the bright bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his hands. Your mouth fell open as he wordlessly presented them to you, allowing you to carefully grasp them as if they were to wilt at the smallest touch.

“What are these for,” you asked, your brows pinching together in disbelief. 

He shrugged, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I found those in the greenhouse. Reminded me of you.”

Your lips lifted in a hesitant smile, unsure of what to even say. “Well now I feel like I have to get you something in return,” you finally push out with a breathy laugh. 

You were once again rendered frozen as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your hair. “Just keep being you. That’s a gift enough.” 

You might’ve fallen to the ground if you weren’t gripping so tightly onto the doorframe. As cliche as it was, you could feel the butterflies released through your stomach, fluttering about and making you feel dizzy. 

“You’re too sweet Remus.” You pivoted on your feet, placing the flowers carefully onto your bed. But your smile wilted the moment your back was to him, the butterflies with it. You could feel Marlene’s eyes on you as you hesitated, a hand still rested on the flowers before pulling it back.

Marlene only watched as you left with that denial-ridden smile that never quite meet your eyes. 

You knew Remus. You knew his likes and dislikes, what made him laugh and what irked him. You knew that Remus, your Remus, was nothing to fear. 

Despite all this, your hands still trembled when he neared you. Your breath still stopped and stuttered when his warmth reached out for yours. Your brain still went empty when he insisted the two of you walk arm in arm down the icy path through Hogsmeade. 

A year ago this time, this would have come easy to you. Perhaps some conversation passed between the two of you or even some game like I Spy. But now, all thoughts of how to function around this boy that you knew so well, abandoned you. 

You were struck utterly silent as the two of you took to watching third years throw snowballs at each other and run into their unchaperoned freedom. 

At least that’s what you were watching. 

He was watching you. He always was. And he always wondered how you didn’t see it. 

Not just his eyes admiring every aspect of you, but how long they’d shone such admiration. Surely you noticed that newfound gleam in his eyes that the boys complained endlessly about. The involuntary smile that slipped onto his lips whenever he saw you. 

Maybe you never would.

“Broomsticks?” 

He blinked. “Sorry?” 

“Do you want to go into The Three Broomsticks? Warm up some.” 

His smile slipped onto his face easily, shaking away the everlasting thoughts of you that loomed over his head. “Always with you.” 

One look inside the pub you could see that you and Remus weren’t the first ones to think of heading in. It was nearly packed from wall to wall with students and the normal guests, all clamouring for the bartender's attention or ushering for a seat before there were none left. 

“Here love,” he leaned so his breath brushed against your ear. “I’ll get our drinks, you snag a table and I’ll find you, yeah.” 

With a nod and smile, you braved the crowd, trying not to push people to get passed. But the deeper you went into the pub, it proved itself a nearly impossible task. 

Every aisle and table you tried to pass through became what you would deem your worst nightmare with every single chair pulled out as far as possible, leaving you very little to walk through. 

“Excuse me,” you uttered much too quietly as you attempted to squeeze between two louder tables. 

“Keep moving! You’re taking up the path!” 

Heat prickled needles up your neck and all across your face at the person shouting behind you. Your lungs felt like they were burning again, but not like how it did with Remus. It burned with embarrassment as a few of the people from the table turned to your attention. 

You saw the mix of reactions: pity, disturbed, annoyed. 

The feeling only burned louder and brighter when they scootched their chairs closer to their table to make room for you. But you pushed on, rushing out of the aisle and stepping aside to let the man walk ahead of you. 

He didn’t say thank you, he didn’t even apologize. He only pushed past you and with a scoff, “Fatass.”

He hadn’t said it out loud, nor even directly to your face, but it didn’t stop the feeling of the words branding itself onto you for everyone to you. 

Yet you still pushed on. The rest of the time you spent looking for a table went by like a blur, one moment standing in the middle of the pub, drenched in embarrassment, the next sitting at a small table fidgeting with your hands, waiting for Remus. 

He wasn’t far from where you sat; he found you easily. His eyes settled on you from where he was waiting in line, two or three people in front of him. With a broad smile, he waved at you. 

You only smiled back at him, stiff and plastered as you tried to shove away the way your heart wouldn’t calm down. Or how your entire body seemed to betray you, growing hotter and your stomach twisting up painfully. 

But of course the universe wasn’t done with you quite yet. 

Had there been less people you would’ve been wise enough to choose somewhere else to sit, but the only place you could find was right next to a large table of Ravenclaw boys, a certain Zacharius Pritchard seemingly at the center of the table as quiet as he always was. 

Which meant he was likely one of the loudest people in The Three Broomsticks. 

You ducked your head into a menu, praying you could disappear into the background, but you still managed to feel the burning sensations of eyes on your back. 

“Oi mate! Isn’t that your ex?” 

“Merlin,” you heard him groan loudly with a laugh. “Don’t remind me.” 

You refused to turn around. 

“Not the best looker, eh. Looks twice your size, Pritchard.” 

You began to look for the nearest exit route, planning the quickest and quietest way you could possibly bolt out. 

“What made you even go for it in the first place?” 

You heard him laugh as if he was telling some great entertaining story. “Get this, they were the closest I could get to Veronica Corbyn who was desperate enough to think I actually wanted them. Listen, you have to take every single window of opportunity to get what you want, gentlemen, no matter how…well,” he snickered to himself, “large.” 

You sunk deeper into your chair, your jaw grit impossibly shut as you pinched your arm in hopes of preventing the tears from falling. 

You peeked your head up once, looking for Remus, but he was still there, stuck at the bar behind what looked like an argumentative patron. 

“Funny seeing you here.” 

You felt everything in you freeze and your gut drop to the bottom of your stomach. It was, however, the one time your body didn’t feel like it was utterly betraying you. In an instant, all semblance of tears pulled itself back from falling and your lips pursed into an annoyed grimace.

“Pritchard,” you spit out as he pulled a chair up right next to you and threw an arm over your shoulders. “What do you want.”

“Less hostility would be nice,” he snarked. “Did you lose weight? I can’t tell, I forgot my glasses.” 

“Fuck off. That seat’s not yours.” 

He only grinned. “Right, cause you’re on a date? With whom, I’m curious.” 

You could’ve burned a hole into the wall with how fiercely you were glaring at it, avoiding his eyes. 

“Wait,” he laughed. “Don’t tell me…it’s Lupin izzn’t it?” 

You grit your teeth tighter. 

“That is so cute. Merlin knows you’re obsessed with the poor bloke. I’m shocked he hasn’t tried to pry you off already. Must be pity.” 

“What do you want, Pritchard,” you demanded with a final snap. But that didn’t stop the tears that pricked at your eyes. They rimmed red, doing very little to hide the vulnerability from the grinning boy. 

He only pursed his lips and shrugged innocently. “Bored.” 

Any and all thoughts of a swiftly quiet exit flew out the window as you loudly shoved your chair back and began a storm out the door, catching the attention of most of the patrons, including Remus. 

“Woah woah,” he called, abandoning his spot in line to follow behind you. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?” 

“Back to my dorm,” you scoffed. 

The two of you were in the snow when he finally managed to grasp your arm, tugging you to a stop. “Love, talk to me.” 

“Stop it Remus, just stop!” Your cheeks fell freely down your cheeks as you finally turned to face the boy, yanking your arm from his hold. 

The two of you stood in the snow now, isolated from the crowd and exposed to the cold, snow, and nearly deserted street. 

“Stop what?” 

It was rare you saw him like this. Worried, scared, scolded, confused. It wasn’t an emotion usually reserved for you. 

“This! All of this! The kisses and touching my hair and, and the flowers! You’re not my boyfriend Remus so stop acting like you are.” 

Your words stabbed through his chest and you could see it in his eyes. But you didn’t stay. And he didn’t follow. 

It was nearly three in the morning when you finally left your room. Marlene had stayed in your bed that night, holding you as you cried while giving you the courtesy of not asking any questions. 

But eventually she fell asleep and you didn’t, so you slipped out the room and ignited the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. 

It was peaceful, for once. The soft sound of the fire cackling and finally being alone. Your thoughts roared on despite the momentary peace. Thoughts of words you wouldn’t dream of verbalizing in front of Marlene unless you wanted to be scolded. 

Typically you’d shove it down, ignore it, think of something else. But now you only had the energy to let it sit and weigh you down. 

“The boys really let him have it.” 

Your eyes snapped up, taking in Remus’ sudden presence at the base of the stairs leading towards his own dormitory. 

You frowned. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” 

He rounded the couch slowly, measuring the steps he took to you before he was standing above you. “I know.” 

He sat down, putting a distance between the two of you and facing the fireplace. It was quiet, him studying the fire and you studying him. Gone were the flirtations and charms. He was laying himself out for you to observe in full. 

“I really like you.” 

Your mouth fell open and your breath stuttered over itself, but he continued on. 

“I like you so much. And I don’t want to assume whatever you’re feeling but I thought you liked me even though,” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek, “even though you pull away every time.” 

You could feel the way your throat pained, words, tears, and every single emotion clogged in. “You don’t like me Remus.” 

You watched as he turned to you, brows furrowing downwards. “I didn’t know you were a dictator over my emotions.” 

“I’m not,” you scoffed out in a laugh. 

He was fully facing you now. “That’s what it sounds like to me!” 

“I’m saying it because I know, Remus,” you released with a huff and incredulous laugh. “I’m not what guys like you want. I’m not the kind of person someone spots from across the room and falls in love with. I’ve never been. I’ve gotten hurt trying to convince myself otherwise. Not all of us are made to fall in love and that’s okay. I’ve accepted it.” 

You watched as he slowly shook his head, left to right. That was the reaction you anticipated, but the tears in his eyes were not. The hurt that shone through as if these words were directed at him and not you. 

“That’s not true…” 

“It is Remus…if you don’t realize it now you will eventually and then you’ll regret ever trying…” you shrugged and motioned between the two of you, “this. And our friendship will be ruined. I can’t lose that. I can’t lose you.” 

You hadn’t noticed the single tear that strayed from your cheek. All you could see was him and everything he wasn’t saying. The way his mouth hung open, searching for words and coming up with none. The way it looked like he stopped breathing and someone ripped his heart out of his chest.

“Good night Remus,” you whispered, beginning to push yourself off the floor. “I’d really like it if we just forgot the last 24 hours.”

But you stopped when you felt the warmth of his hand, wrapping around your wrist, anchoring you back down to your spot. 

“I don’t want to do that.” 

“Remus–,” but he cut you off. 

“Look at me.” 

You paused. “I am looking at you.” 

“No,” his voice somehow steady. Not demanding but pleading. “Look at me.” 

He held your hand like it was china, carefully and with a fragile hand as he led it to him. A shuttered breath escaped you as the palm of your hand touched his arm, thumb tracing his first ever permanent scar. 

“Do you remember when I showed you this scar? It was a week after I turned for the first time. I ignored you that entire week and planned to do it until you gave up on me. Do you remember what you told me?” 

Your eyes stayed over the three slashmarks streaking up his bicep. You remained quiet. 

“You told me that being a werewolf doesn’t take away you being my friend.” 

His hand moved yours higher, trailing up to the scar across his chest, peeking out from under the crewneck he wore. “I’ve had these scars for years and they will continue to stay for so many more. Do they make me any less worthy to love?” 

Your eyes abandoned where your hands laid. Your eyes met his, greeting all he had to feel for you. Greeting the honey brown illuminated by the burning fire. 

“To love you?” 

His hands were no longer on yours, rather wiping the tears that fell freely down your face. Your own hands continued its journey, across his chest and brushing lightly against the base of neck, tracing his scars. 

“Do they make you love me less?” 

“No,” you breathed. It was the only word you could muster up. 

His other hand found your face, cupping it like he held the most valuable thing in the world. “Then let me love you. Every inch of you in the way you deserve.” 

Upon the thousands and thousands of words you could think of to tell him what you felt, all of them failed you. All you could do was wordlessly nod. 

And when his lips met yours, there were no fireworks, or confetti, or even butterflies. It was only him. 

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@whothehellismack @casp1an-sea @mack-writersblock

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[messylxve]

INVISIBLE STRING, AU — clark kent x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you lock eyes with a charming stranger at a party you’d rather not be at, and now he’s whisking you away on a date. NOTES - leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

three;

Your skin was drowned in amber and cashmere—rich, silken, and sparkling. Your hair was tied up in a bun, allowing a few mischievous ringlets to escape, highlighting the curve of your slender neck, and the pulse racing there.

Your dress was a deep violet, so deep that only under fluorescent lights could you see the purple hue—otherwise, it appeared black.

You looked gorgeous.

And nervous.

Entirely nervous, as you reapplied your gloss and paced the tile floor, where Kate and Axel eyed you suspiciously.

“Y/N, you really need to stop pacing. You’re making me anxious,” Kate snapped, having had enough of your shaky tirade. Axel nodded in agreement. “Calm down, you’re going to scare him away before he even gets here.” You scowled at that.

In the time since you and Clark had shared a quiet moment by the fire, when he trapped a ruby berry between your joined palms and blurted his desire to take you out, you’d texted sporadically and awaited a jolt to snap you from this dream.

“He’s definitely a serial killer,” you decided, and Kate pinched the space between her brows, shaking her head.

“Y/N, if he was a serial killer, don’t you think he would have killed you when you were alone at the bonfire?”

You huffed. “Ted Bundy had a girlfriend he adored. He didn’t chop her up into tiny pieces.”

“Oh my God…” your brother sighed, and Kate snorted.

Vera, Kate’s strawberry-blonde bombshell of a sister, stood and pressed warm palms against your shoulders. “Or maybe… you’re a really pretty girl, and he wants to take you on a date because he likes you. Duh.”

You gazed into the sincerity swimming behind her cyan eyes, nodding hesitantly. No, she was right. Your doubt, your pacing—it was just self-deprecation that had burrowed into your bones over the years. It had been so long.

Your ex was a jerk. Beyond that, he was cruel. His words still echoed in your mind.

You won’t find anyone else like me…

No one can deal with your baggage like I can…

No one else would want you like I do…

When you first dumped him, you were confident—until that confidence slowly evaporated, as time passed. Two years, in fact, with no strong man to keep you warm. All the boys you looked at were either taken or vile creatures who only wanted in your pants. Or worse—they didn’t want you back.

Vance was a great example.

Flirty, but noncommittal.

Yet for some reason, you still pined, and it made you feel pathetic.

The hum of the doorbell made your eyes widen to saucers. A cold chill kissed your skin.

“Do I look okay?” you nearly shouted in a whisper, anxious.

“You look great,” Vera promised, and you nodded, dragging your kitten-heel-clad feet toward the door.

The scent of pine from January’s chill lingered with honeyed whiskey, chai, and… flowers.

Flowers? Oh, you were definitely dreaming.

His glasses were lopsided and fogged, and he bumped them up with his wrist before offering the bouquet of creams, mauves, and navies toward you.

“Hi,” he breathed, furrowing his brows in frustration as the fog filtered his perfect view of his date. But he could smell you, and hummed a low, satisfied sound in his throat that you just missed.

“Hi.” You offered back, glancing anxiously at Vera and Kate, who hid their smiles behind their palms. You gently grabbed the flowers, fingertips grazing his, and brought them to your nose, inhaling their lovespelled scent.

“They’re… lovely. So lovely. Thank you, Clark.” He grinned, less lopsided than usual, and you handed them to Kate, who promised she’d find a vase before waving goodbye as you stepped outside.

A chill ran across your skin, and though Clark couldn’t see you clearly through his foggy lenses—too big for his face—he felt the ice linger on you. Without a word, he draped his suede blazer over your shoulders. It smelled of him, just like the bonfire, and you inhaled deeply, wrapping it closer.

Who taught him to be so… bookish?

“Come on,” he urged gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you to his sparkling navy truck.

You felt every bit the Miss Bennett to his Mr. Darcy as he offered you a warm, far larger than yours, palm and helped you into the elevated truck. Once inside, he quickly rounded to sit beside you. After buckling, he cleaned his glasses with the cloth of his navy shirt before tucking it back into his onyx pants.

Then he faced you and grinned again.

“Well, don’t you look purdy.” He teased, amplifying that Kansas twang, making a flush kiss your cheeks.

He was handsome. So handsome behind those glasses and his books and—well, everything. And here he was, on a date with you, one he initiated.

You’d been anticipating the night to go horribly wrong.

But it hadn’t just yet.

“So, I was thinking, I want to give you options. Mellow, casual—or fancy and… schmancy? Trust me, I don’t mind either. Especially not with you looking like that… uh—not that you don’t always look like that, I just mean—”

You arched a brow, watching the pinch return between his own chocolate brows. He met your eyes, catching the glint of mirth there. He huffed a laugh at his own expense. “I’m bombing this already, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head, his lazy grin making your head spin. You pursed your lips.

“Just a little,” you whispered, grateful that the moonlight cast enough of a shadow over your lips to show him you were joking. He laughed softly. A moment passed, and you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Is this another test of yours?”

His brows shifted upwards, and he smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm…” Fancy schmancy restaurant sounded… exhausting. As pretty as you were, you knew very well you couldn’t keep up a tiresome charade for the entirety of the date. It wasn’t you. His pretty car and his Pinterest-worthy face made him seem like the type to prefer that option. But you decided that after you spoke your next words, he’d likely kick you out of his truck— and maybe that was okay.

“Mellow. Casual,” you whispered, and your heart dropped when his mouth turned into a thin line.

There it was.

Too good to be true.

Your palm itched for your seatbelt before that lopsided grin slid back onto his face.

“You’re trying to steal my heart, huh?” he whispered, perhaps more to himself, eyes roaming over your glossed lips. He offered a satisfied nod. “Okay, Y/N, hot chocolate or chai?”

•••

By the time you reached your destination, your eyes widened in awe at the glowing fluorescent letters.

THE WANDERING QUILL;

A bookstore.

You blinked, glancing toward Clark, who flexed his palm in an anxious manner whilst stepping out of the truck. Before shutting the door, he ducked back through it.

“Stay there,” he ordered, and you had to purse your lips together to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat when he circled to open your door and offer you a veined hand.

Maybe this was a trap. Maybe this perfect stranger was leading you into a slaughterhouse, ready to slice your skin and pick his teeth with your bones.

“C’mon, purdie,” he whispered as you hesitated, grabbing his hand. He led you down with ease, his fingers twitching in your grasp, but he let go, not wanting to push you before he even had you.

“I’m taking you book shopping,” he said, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you through the doors. You were admittedly overdressed, but his suede jacket hid that from view.

It didn’t matter, though. The moment the scent of aged parchment and spiced chai kissed your nostrils, you almost melted in contentment.

“This is my favorite place,” he said, his voice snapping you back to your senses. You looked up, and he was already peering down at you with an anticipatory expression.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, and his lips twitched as he turned you sharply right and led you to a quaint café beside all the books. He was amused, perhaps because it was maybe the third word you’d spoken all evening. A flush spread across your skin at that realization. You were being too shy. He’d undoubtedly grow bored of you, tire of your muteness, and—

“What’re you thinking about?”

Your eyes snapped to attention, and his expression softened when you spoke.

“No one’s ever taken me to a bookstore,” you said, catching yourself. The barista handed him two warm cups of molten chocolate that made your mouth water. Goosebumps erupted as you wrapped your hands around it.

“Do you like it?” His voice carried hope, and you were far too naive to catch it. Your beaming face melted something in him—like a puppet freed from its strings.

“I do,” you promised, and his lips twitched again. He blew on his drink and led you to a corner behind the café, surrounded by gold-dusted pages and crimson and violet-bound books, like something straight out of a storybook. He swapped your cups, less scorching than before, and then grabbed his own. He tilted his chin, signaling you to take a sip.

You did, and when the molten chocolate coated your tongue, you nearly melted too.

Christ.

If he dumped you on the side of the road after this, at least you’d die with a stomach full of this delicacy.

He laughed—a subtle, joyful sound. “That’s good, right?”

You could only nod, sipping again in tandem with him. His eyes wandered over the books around you. Then you blinked when you read the cursive sign that displayed “romance” in bold letters.

“Okay,” he began, taking your cup gently from your hands, making you pout. As if afraid to wilt you, he guided you forward. And god, if your neck wasn’t so close—so suckable—he might have stopped there. “Um…”

You tensed, wondering if maybe your amber-and-cashmere scent was off, if you’d forgotten deodorant. Christ, your stomach dropped.

Then you felt it—his hand at your hip, warm and firm, much firmer than you expected from his sweaters and flannels. Slowly, it snaked around your waist. He was asking permission, not demanding anything.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, so low you almost missed it. His touch wasn’t sexual; it was exploratory, as if seeing just how the pretty, shy girl—who he’d seen in ridiculous hedgehog pajamas before this—could feel in his arms. You exhaled shakily and nodded.

“And this?” he whispered again, guiding you a step back, treating you like the delicate flower you were. You were back to chest with the bookish stranger you’d met just a week ago. Held. Wanted.

And though your paranoid, self-saboteur mind screamed that this would be disastrous, The gentle thrum of your heart told you this was exactly where you needed to be.

A breathy giggle escaped you as he tested a gentle squeeze on your hip.

He felt almost barbaric, on the verge of losing control as he buried his nose into your honeyed locks with a not-so-subtle inhale, followed by a grin. You smelled like fresh linens and gourmands, and if he were a lesser man, he’d tilt your chin up so to taste you with his starved tongue.

But you were shy, and he wasn’t a lesser man. Raised well by his parents, he only swayed you slightly, loosening the tension in your sharp bones.

“Alright,” he whispered, amusement in his voice, dipping his head low as if to shut out the noise of the world around you— as if to trap you both in this moment. He handed you your cup back, warm, though his body was warmer, and it took all your strength not to shiver and melt into him.

“How about this: you pick a book for me, and I pick one for you. We’ll read them, then when I take you out again, we’ll talk about them.”

When.

Already… when.

You swallowed hard, wondering for a moment if he was seducing you or if he was just a little mad. You were shy, quiet, and painfully awkward, yet he was planning a second date already.

Despite your racing mind, how you felt in that moment told an entirely different story. Maybe playing along wouldn’t be so bad.

“Deal,” you murmured, a mirrored grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. He swayed you again.

“Yeah? Okay. Romance only.” You nodded, “Romance only. Got it… close your eyes.”

And he did. His lashes brushed against your silvered ear as he lowered his head to steal another inhale. It took all his restraint not to pull you closer, not to lazily lick at the vanilla coating your skin.

Your fingers skimmed over the book spines for a long moment before settling on the first one that came to mind— Book Lovers by Emily Henry. Fitting, the title alone was enough, but beyond it— the meaning. Girl doesn’t believe in love, boy changes it… maybe this little game he had you playing could be more than just fun— maybe it could tell him something deeper.

For a moment, you considered playing it safer, but in the end, you decided against it, tucking the book to your chest. “Okay, your turn.”

His grin grazed the place just below your ear as he tilted his head up again, moving his hand from your hip to cover your eyes. You giggled, the sound light and sweet.

“No cheating, y/n,” he murmured, waiting patiently as he plucked a gold-trimmed book from the rattan shelf.

“I’m sure you know this one,” he added, tucking it to his side as you turned to face him, free from his warm grasp. You felt cold again.

“On three?” you offered, and the corner of his mouth lifted, a lazy grin spreading.

“Three,” he said, and your eyes widened as you quickly turned your book to him— and he did the same.

The Notebook.

“Oh, Clark.” His gaze shifted from your chosen book to his own, brows furrowing. “You’ve read it,” he concluded, but you shook your head. “Never even seen the movie.”

His brows lifted, blue-gray eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. A ringlet of onyx hair fell across his forehead as he checked his watch.

“Can I steal you for another… two hours?”

You just didn’t have it in you to say no…

[messylxve]

Maybe you dint ask for it but here it is.. Saja Girls~

[messylxve]

i need something beautiful and romantic to happen to me NOW

[messylxve]

Literally the best thing I’ve ever read

Where the Fire Settles

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Rebekah x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Kol Mikaelson has always been chaos wrapped in charm—fire and fury personified. But with you, he's something softer, quieter, settled. You can't help but wonder if Kol really sees you, or a lesser version of what he lost.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst (Of course! Are we surprised?), Insecurity, Hurt/Comfort. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

A/N: This is based on this request. Thank you so much Anon for sending this in. I hope this is exactly how you envisioned it! As always, thank you all so much for reading. I really hope you enjoy and that you have a wonderful day from this point forward!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

The chandeliers above the compound flicker with warm candlelight, casting long shadows over the worn brick walls and aged leather. Jazz drifts in from somewhere deep in the French Quarter—lazy and low—mingling with the clink of crystal and the occasional burst of laughter. Real laughter. The kind this house almost never hears.

At the heart of it all, Kol lounges on one of the vintage leather sofas, grinning like a king who’s conquered death itself. He’s practically glowing—relaxed in the way he only gets when he’s fully adored, which, tonight, he is. Surrounded by his siblings, and for once, no blood spilled, no daggers drawn. Just a toast to his eternal existence.

You’re tucked in beside him, a half-empty glass of champagne in hand, your fingers laced with his. The candlelight catches on the ring he gave you— antique, intricate, older than most empires. It gleams like a promise whispered across centuries. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, lingering just beneath the stone— a grounding gesture you’ve come to know well. He always touches you like he’s making sure you’re still there. 

The room smells like bourbon and birthday cake.

Rebekah is deep into one of her favorite stories, hands carving the air as she reenacts one of Kol’s more infamous escapades.

“You nearly exposed us that night in Madrid,” she says, laughing. “Nik was ready to dagger you on the spot.”

Kol scoffs. “Nik’s always ready to dagger me.”

“Only because you bloody earned it,” Klaus adds smoothly, swirling his bourbon with a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth.

“You impersonated a Spanish nobleman,” Elijah adds with a chuckle, “and seduced both the wife and the mistress. Simultaneously.”

Laughter erupts. You join in, but mostly, you watch. Listen. Trying to imagine this version of Kol— reckless, gleefully unhinged. It feels impossible. Not when the man they’re describing just gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Not when he looks at you like the world isn’t something to burn but something to protect.

It’s like hearing stories about a ghost. A Kol who doesn’t exist anymore.

Your Kol makes you breakfast in bed. He reads to you when you can’t sleep. He kisses your forehead like you’re made of glass. So different from the man who once danced on a burning bar with blood on his shirt and laughter in his lungs. 

Rebekah turns to Elijah, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What about the time he and Davina took on those cursed covens in the Quarter?”

You stiffen, just slightly. But Kol feels it. You know he does.

Davina.

The one name Kol never says around you. The one part of his past that stays locked away.

Elijah’s eyes gleam with the memory. “Ah, yes. Quite the spectacle.”

“She was a hell of a witch,” Klaus says, grinning into his glass. “Young, fierce, dangerously gifted.”

“She matched Kol in every way that mattered,” Elijah muses.

Something inside you twists.  

“They were inseparable,” Klaus continues, almost fond. “He adored that little spell of hers. Snap a neck with the flick of a wrist.”

Kol’s fingers are still laced with yours, but they feel heavier now. Or maybe it’s your heart.

You hadn’t heard much about her—just whispers, fragmented echoes. His partner in mayhem. The girl who nearly became Mrs. Kol Mikaelson. She had magic. Power. She had him when he belonged to the blood and chaos. The world he still carries in his bones. The world you’ll never fully touch.

What were you, compared to that?

Just… human.

Kol turns to you with a lazy smile, eyes warm. “You’re awfully quiet, darling. Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And you mean to be. Because it’s his birthday. He’s happy. And you love him more than anything.

So you swallow the ache pressing against your ribs. You laugh at the next story. You raise your glass when they toast. You kiss him when they cut the cake.

But somewhere deep in your mind, a whisper takes root:

Why would he choose you?

-*-

You stand alone in the parlor, stacking a few stray glasses onto a tray. The air still holds the scent of melting wax and leftover cake. From the kitchen, Rebekah’s voice drifts in—giving Kol hell over something, probably the way he butchered the cake. His laugh echoes back, warm and carefree.

Your fingers drift unconsciously to the ring on your hand. You twist it slowly, again and again, the way you always do when your thoughts get too loud. A silent comfort. A grounding weight.

You should be happy. Content. The night went well. Kol is happy. The house hums with family, laughter, warmth.

But your mind keeps drifting.

To her. To those stories. To Elijah’s voice, low and reverent.  

She matched Kol in every way that mattered.

Your stomach churns. Not in anger. In something softer. Meaner. The slow, creeping ache you could never explain out loud.

Hearing about his time with the witch wasn’t new. You knew the broad strokes— the engagement, the subsequent heartbreak, the legendary love wrapped in blood and fire. You heard the whispers about her. The legacy. The power. Kol never talks about her, but the world does. Witches who whisper her name, Vampires who remember how fiercely they fought for each other. A girl who lit the Quarter ablaze and stood her ground beside an Original Vampire.

And you? You’re just… human.

No magic. No bloodline. No armor.

No place in this world except the one directly next to Kol.

You don’t hear him come in until his arms slide around your waist from behind. He presses a lazy kiss just behind your ear.

“You vanished,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thought I’d been abandoned on my own bloody birthday.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just cleaning up.”

He turns you gently in his arms, his fingers warm against your sides. His eyes— soft, brown, and endlessly mischievous— study you. His gaze narrows slightly.

“You’re quiet, darling. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You look up at him. Hesitant. 

It’s stupid, really. It’s not fair to ruin his night.

And yet.

“She meant a lot to you.” 

It isn’t accusatory. It isn’t bitter. Just factual. But it drops between you like a stone in still water.

You don’t say her name. You don’t have to.

His expression shifts— subtle, but immediate. The warmth drains just a little.

He lets out a slow breath, stepping back just enough to really look at you. He waits a beat, then nods. “She did.”

You nod too. You already knew that. That’s not what hurts.

Your eyes drop to your hands, to the ring on your finger. You twist it once, then again, like the motion might steady your thoughts. Like it might anchor you to him. But tonight, even that familiar weight feels unsteady. 

“She was powerful. Fierce. She was part of your world in a way I’ll never be.”

“Hey,” Kol’s voice sharpens slightly. He lifts your chin with two fingers, trying to catch your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not trying to start something,” you say quickly. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. The stories. The way everyone talks about her like she’s fire and fury. Like she fit beside you. And I’m—”

“Mine,” Kol interrupts, firmer now. “You’re mine. You belong with me.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway through. “Do I? Or are you still trying to convince yourself?”

Kol’s eyes narrow, the first real flicker of temper rising.

You keep going. The words are tumbling out faster than your brain can catch them.

“Everyone looks at us and wonders what an Original Vampire like you is doing with someone like me. And maybe they don’t say it out loud, but I see it. I feel it in every single one of their gazes.”

You take a shaky breath. Your voice softens.

“I don’t have magic, Kol. I don’t have power. I don’t even have a place in this city unless it’s beside you. And I know you love me — I do — but part of me keeps wondering…”

Your throat tightens. The ache crawls higher.

“If you ever miss what you had with her.”

Kol tenses. “This again?”

“Yes. This,” you snap, louder than you intended. “Because she fought with you. Bled with you. She was part of the fire and the dark. And me? I just sit here and hope you come home in one piece.”

Kol’s jaw tightens. “You think that’s what I want? That chaos again?”

“I think part of you misses it,” you whisper. “And if not the chaos… maybe just her.”

Kol runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Maybe I do miss her— at least she didn’t turn every bloody conversation into a trial.”

The words are out before he can catch them.

Silence.

Your breath catches, unable to breathe around the impact. You stare at him— disbelieving, shattered.

Kol’s face shifts instantly. “Wait—darling, that’s not—”

You don’t give him a chance.

“No.” Your voice is low. Flat. “That’s exactly what you meant.”

You step back. The weight of the ring on your finger suddenly unbearable.

“Maybe you should go find her, then.”

You twist the ring off your finger, undoing something that you thought was sacred. You shove the piece of jewelry into his palm like it’s searing through your skin. He doesn’t stop you.

“I’m sorry I’m not her,” you whisper. “But I won’t stand here and be punished for it.”

You turn, tears finally spilling over. The sound of your heartbeat drowning out the sound of your footsteps on the tile. You barely register Rebekah’s voice from the hall. All you see is the bedroom door and the blur of tears as you lock yourself inside. 

And when the sob finally breaks from your chest, it doesn’t stop.

Kol stares at the closed bedroom door, the ring heavy in his palm. The warmth of your hand still clings to the metal like a ghost. His brain hasn't quite caught up to his mouth— the words still hang in the air, ugly and unforgiving.

What the hell had he just done?

He takes a step forward, ready to knock, to beg, to undo it all— but a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and low.

“Don’t.”

Rebekah.

She steps out from the hallway shadows,arms folded, posture stiff with fury. Her heels click against the floor — precise, deliberate — as she closes the distance between them.

There’s a long beat. A quiet standoff between siblings, too alike in their anger. 

“I need to talk to her.”

“No,” she snaps, stepping firmly in front of her brother. “You don’t get to hurt her like that and then chase after her two seconds later like a kicked puppy looking for forgiveness.”

Kol clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” Rebekah cuts in. “I understand that the best thing that’s ever happened to you is in that room, sobbing her heart out, because you couldn’t keep your bloody ego in check.”

Kol flinches, jaw ticking.

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps suddenly, eyes flashing. “You’re the one who brought up Davina in the first place— stirred the pot and walked away. You practically lit the match.”

Rebekah doesn’t even blink.

“Oh, don’t you dare try to put this on me.” Her voice drops low, dangerous. “I mentioned Davina. You turned it into a bloody wrecking ball. Don’t confuse your guilt with my honesty.”

She steps in closer, her presence fierce and unshakable.

“She loves you. Do you get that? Do you have any idea how rare that is? Someone who loves you— not your charm, not your power, not your name. You. She’s stood by you when any sane person would have run. She makes you better, Kol.”

He looks away, guilt twisting his insides.

“You're softer with her. You smile more. Hell, you even think before you kill now— most of the time.”

He lets out a bitter breath.

“She’s not Davina,” Rebekah continues, softer now. “And thank God for that. Because Davina may have matched your darkness, but that girl in there? She made you want to leave it behind.”

Kol’s fingers tighten around the ring, knuckles white.

“She stands by you even when it terrifies her. Even when she feels small and breakable and wrong for you. She worries she’s not enough, that she’ll never be enough for someone like you. And instead of proving her wrong, tonight, you proved her right.”

“I didn’t—” he tries again.

“But you did.” Rebekah cuts in, merciless. “You did, Kol. And you need to fix it. Not with flowers or pretty words or that half-smirk you use to charm your way out of trouble. You apologize. And you mean it. Grovel if you have to.”

Kol is quiet. He looks smaller now— or maybe just exposed. The kind of pain he usually masks with cruelty bleeding through in silence.

Rebekah exhales and softens. Just slightly.

“She’s not a witch. She’s not a warrior. She doesn’t belong to this world like we do. But she’s chosen you anyway. She’s still choosing you. Don’t be such a bloody fool that you make her regret it.”

Kol stares down at the ring.

The weight of it— the weight of everything— presses against his chest.

“Give her time,” Rebekah says, finally stepping aside.Her voice lowers, warning laced with sibling affection. “But when you go to her, Kol… mean it. Or I swear, I’ll dagger you myself.”

-*-

You sit curled on the edge of the bed, knees hugged to your chest, eyes red and swollen. Rebekah steps inside, her heels now silent against the rug. She doesn’t speak right away. She just crosses the room and sits beside you.

The silence between you is gentle. Compassionate.

“I didn’t mean to ruin his birthday,” you whisper.

Rebekah glances over. “You didn’t. He did.”

You let out a small, broken laugh. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. All of it. The stories, the way people talk about her. About them. Like they were this perfect match. What do I have to offer compared to that? I’m just…”

“Human?” Rebekah supplies gently.

You nod, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. “I just don’t understand why me. I can’t fight beside him. I can’t protect him. I don’t belong in this world, Rebekah. I’m not strong. I’m not... anything like what he needs.”

“You are,” she says instantly. “And that’s not me being nice. It’s the truth.”

You let your gaze drop. “I just… I saw him tonight. The way he lit up talking about that time in his life. With her, he was… alive. Untouchable. He didn’t have to hold back.”

“He also left a trail of destruction in his wake,” Rebekah replies, her voice dry. “Kol back then was a storm with teeth. Dangerous, reckless, impossible to rein in. You think that’s something to envy?”

Rebekah’s tone softens. “You don’t tame him. You anchor him. You make him want to be still. To be better. And trust me— Kol Mikaelson has never wanted to be better for anyone.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“And look,” she continues, quieter now, “Kol lives in that same fear. Of being unworthy. Of not being enough. It’s been carved into him since we were children. Which is why what he said tonight…” She pauses. “It was cruel. And he knows it.”

You close your eyes. “It just hurt so much.”

“I know,” she says, placing a steady hand over yours. “But if there’s one thing I know for certain— and that’s saying something— it’s that Kol loves you more than he knows how to handle. That doesn't excuse anything. But it means he’ll fight to make it right.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly you speak, “I don’t know if I can forgive him tonight.”

“Good,” Rebekah says bluntly. “He doesn’t deserve it yet. Let him sit in it. Make him earn it.”

You manage a soft laugh through your tears.

“Come on,” she says, rising. “Take a breather. Let him wonder if he’s truly ruined it.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face. “Okay.”

You stand. Rebekah walks you to the door, arm lightly around your shoulders.

As she opens it, you glance up at her.

“Thank you.”

She squeezes your hand. “Always.”

-*-

You return just after dusk.

The Quarter is quieter now— its usual pulse slowed to a soft hum of distant music and street lamps flickering to life. You walk slowly, trying to breathe in the cool air, hoping it will help wash the hurt away. But your heart is still bruised. Your fingers twist absentmindedly in the absence of your ring.

When you reach the compound, Rebekah is sitting near the door with a glass of wine. She looks up as you enter, eyes scanning your face carefully.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod once, offering a tired smile. “Is he here?”

She sighs. “Upstairs. Been pacing like a madman. Looks like someone gutted him and left him standing.”

You nod again and make your way up. Each step feels heavier than the last.

You open the bedroom door slowly. And stop.

The entire room is covered in flowers.

Hundreds of them— your favorite shade of pink, full and soft, overflowing from mismatched vases, lining the windowsill, scattered in delicate trails across the bed. The air is thick with the scent of honey and roses.

Kol stands near the bed, shoulders rigid, hands twisted together like he doesn’t trust them not to shake.

When he sees you, his whole body stills. His red-rimmed eyes lock on yours, wide with something raw. Desperate.

“Before you walk away again,” he blurts, voice ragged, “please. Five minutes. You don’t have to say a word. You can hate me. Just… let me speak.”

You hesitate in the doorway.

“I’m not ready to talk,” you murmur.

“I’ll talk,” he says. “You listen.”

You step inside.

He doesn’t move toward you. Just begins.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of him, cracked and unpolished. “Not just for what I said— though that alone was bloody awful— but for even letting you feel that way in the first place.”

You don’t speak.

“I was an idiot,” he continues. “No, worse. I was cruel. I lashed out and I used the most painful thing I could find to hurt you because—” He cuts off, jaw tight. “I got scared.”

You blink. “Scared?”

“That I don’t deserve you.” His voice is quiet now. “Because I don’t. I never have. You’re kind, and human, and good. You let me be soft with you, and that scares the hell out of me.”

You’re still frozen in place, but your heart is beating louder now.

“I’ve never had anything this real,” he confesses. “Not in a thousand years. And I’ve done nothing in this world to earn it. So when you started doubting us tonight, I panicked. Because some part of me still believes that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you deserve better.”

His throat works around the next words.

“I don’t want her,” he says. “I want you. The woman who brings me back when my instincts scream to destroy. The woman who looks at me like I’m worth something. The woman who taught me that peace isn’t boring. It’s just... safe.”

You take a trembling breath. Your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small,” he whispers. “You are not. You are everything.”

The quiet stretches long between you.

Then softly, you say, “You can’t expect everything to be okay with an apology.”

“I don’t,” he says. “But I had to try.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls something out.

Your ring.

He walks to you slowly, then kneels— petals crunching faintly beneath him.

“I’ll wait,” he says. “If that’s what it takes. But I’m asking again. Will you still marry me?”

Your lips part. Tears finally spill over, silent and warm against your cheeks. You don’t speak. You just step forward and drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He clutches you like you’re the last thing anchoring him to the world.

“Yes,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. Gently, reverently, he slides the ring back onto your finger, then presses a kiss to your hand like it’s sacred.

“I’m still mad,” you murmur.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“And you still have a lot of making up to do.”

“I plan on it,” he says. “Starting with dinner. Just us. Sushi. The good kind.”

You nod, breath catching on a laugh. “Okay.”

He kisses you then— slow and full of apology. Full of promise. His hands frame your face like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever made him feel steady.

And in that moment, you believe him.

-*-

The next few days are… different.

Kol is everywhere.

He holds your hand when you walk. Wraps an arm around your waist while you make tea. Follows you from room to room like a cologne-wearing shadow who thinks everything you say is the most brilliant thing he’s ever heard.

And he is absurdly affectionate.

Every kiss is too long. Every compliment is too loud. The flowers multiply daily— fresh blooms on your pillow, tucked into your boots, even braided into a crown he insists you wear around the house until Rebekah snaps a picture (and promises to use it as blackmail).

You should be annoyed.

But you’re not.

Because he means every word. Because every brush of his fingers feels like a promise: I won’t hurt you like that again.

This morning, he’s curled beside you on the couch, your legs draped over his lap. The TV hums softly in the background, but Kol is more interested in playing with your fingers, absently twisting the engagement ring like he’s still marveling that it’s back where it belongs.

You sip your tea and side-eye him. “You do realize the ring’s staying on this time, right?”

He grins. “I’m just making sure it fits. Permanently.”

The door swings open. Rebekah strides into the room holding a half-empty vase, her expression one of theatrical exasperation.

“Kol,” she says flatly. “If I find one more flower in my shampoo, I’m going to make Freya hex your eyebrows off.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Please. I’d look dashing with no brows.”

“Seriously,” Klaus calls from the hallway, voice full of disdain, “it’s like a bloody florist exploded in here.”

You glance at Kol, who only smirks.

“I’m in love,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “We’re celebrating.”

“With daisies in my coat pockets?” Klaus mutters.

“You’re welcome,” Kol replies. Then he turns to you and drops his voice to a dramatic whisper, “Ignore them, darling. They’ve simply never known love like ours.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin tugs at your lips anyway.

Rebekah sighs. “I actually liked you better when you were brooding.”

“Impossible,” Kol declares, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m radiant now.”

Klaus snorts and disappears upstairs. Rebekah mutters something about needing more wine.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You know they’re never going to let this go.”

Kol just pulls you closer. “Let them tease. I have you.”

You glance down at your ring again, your heart full.

Peace doesn’t come easy in this world.

But right now, it’s wrapped in a floral-scented Original Vampire who won’t stop looking at you like you hung the stars.

And for the first time in a long time, forever doesn’t seem so scary after all.

If you want to be a part of my tag list, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you (If you don’t specify, I’ll just assume you want to be on the general list)!

Taglist: @chaoticfanpeach @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut @catmikaelson20 @stargirly05 @sc4rrc

[messylxve]

secrets and scars

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 847 words summary: the reader has been scarred for some time now. fiyero discovers them and does something rather... unexpected. a/n: idk what this is. but like... yeah. hope it makes sense. i was gonna queue this and save it for later but i’m gonna go ahead and post it. i have a few queued posts for jonathan bailey characters in the coming weeks so. i’ll try to feed you all for the holidays. ♡ tw: reader has scars? no direct mention of where they are but it could be triggering. slight reference to sexual content, reader is naked for a hot minute but nothing graphic happens. you'll understand when you read.

Scars. They littered your body, an unfortunate reminder of the past you barely escaped. It was as if your body didn't want you to forget.

You wished you could.

You're lost in your thoughts in one of the many archways of Shiz University, staring out at the blue sky above. Your fingers itch to touch your scars—to scratch, to peel them away. You didn't want the reminder of who you once were. You didn't want the reminder of what once happened to you.

In all of Oz, you'd give anything to be able to erase your scars.

Anything.

It's a flurry of a night—confusing all around, and then somehow, Fiyero ends up in your dorm, kissing you, touching you, and by the love of Oz, how is he so quick with your clothing?

But before you can stop him, panic-stricken, he sees them. Your scars.

He's silent, wide eyed as he looked at them, lips parted as his eyes flicker from each mark on your skin.

He licked his lips a bit nervously, glancing up at you.

"You—are—" he stopped himself, seeing the panicked look on your face. "Oh, Y/n," he breathed out, moving to sit beside of you on your bed. He gently pressed a hand to the side of your face. "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

You slowly shook your head. "No. No, it's okay, I just—just didn't expect you to move so quickly. You, uh—"

"Surprised you, hm?" he softly asked. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he found his voice once more. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes fall to your scars, and you can tell he wants to ask you questions—how you got them, what happened, how long ago it happened.

Instead, he says something that takes you by surprise (because of course he did—Fiyero was filled with surprises, was he not?).

"They are beautiful."

"What?"

"Your scars."

You're silent for a moment. "My... my scars? Are beautiful?"

He smiled softly at you, taking ahold of your hand. He looked into your eyes. "Yes. Your scars are beautiful," he softly said. "I won't ask you about them. You can tell me when you decide you are ready, if you ever are."

Your eyes soften as you admire him from your spot on the bed. You feel so exposed—naked to the man not only physically but also emotionally. It was an odd feeling. A... welcomed feeling.

"May I touch them?" Fiyero softly asked.

"My scars?" you questioned for what seemed the hundreth time in the past few minutes.

"Yes. Your scars."

"You want to touch them?"

Fiyero looked at you, an incredulous look on his face. "Yes, Y/n. You can say no, it's quite alright. My feelings will not be hurt if you say no."

You watched him, swallowing nervously. "You... you're so odd," you softly said.

He snorted softly, a smile embracing his features. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

"Only for you."

You gave a small nod in return, and watched as he moved down the bed, focusing on the part of your body with your scars. His eyes flicker up to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to the puckered skin.

"Only for you," he repeated.

You feel flustered more than anything, looking away from him and his beautiful brown eyes.

How odd, indeed.

"I... I don't like them," you softly said.

"You do not like your scars?" he softly asked, a finger gently brushing against one of them. "Did something—"

"—I'll tell you. One day. Just..."

"Of course," he said. "I understand. But... Y/n, I meant what I said. They are beautiful."

You pursed your lips.

"They show how much strength you've had to survive, Y/n," he said, leaning forward and letting his lips connect with yours. "They're beautiful because they show me you've had to be brave. To be courageous in the face of such disaster. Your scars may be something you do not like, but do not wish them away."

You don't look at him, but you do not push him away.

"I do not know how you got them," he said, "and I am so sorry if what happened to you was... well, unsavory. But... they show such strength, Y/n."

"Strength is ridiculous and you know it," you muttered. You just want to rebuke his statement, as sweet as it may be.

He pecked your lips again.

"Perhaps that's not the best way to describe what it is, but I can't think of what would be better," he said. "This brain of mine doesn't want to work when the most beautiful person in all of Oz is letting me see their secrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked up at him, eyes softening.

"You are so odd," you repeated.

He snorted softly. "Yes. We've established this, Y/n. Thank you."

A smile quirked on your lips and you gently grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss.

"You're welcome."

[messylxve]

There’s not a place in the infinitely expanding multiverse where you hate me <3

@whothehellismack

[messylxve]

@whothehellismack