Interviewer: (Laughs) What a great answer, Judeâ which brings me to my next question.
Interviewer raises eyebrows jokingly. Jude laughs and tilts his head back expectantly.
Jude: Now youâre proper scaring me, yeah? (Laughs)
Interviewer throws her head back in laughter, Jude rubs a hand against his face slightly embarrassed.
Interviewer: We know youâve been single for a while (Jude groans and the interviewer and him both laugh), at least let me ask this last question then weâre done!
Jude laughs again, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair in defeat.
Jude: Alright, canât be that bad? (Jude shrugs, but winces and it makes the interviewer shoo his reaction)
Interviewer: The public is dying to know, do you have a type? Is there something youâre looking for in a lucky girl?
Jude sits silently, his lips pressed into a flat-lipped smile as he squints and looks up with a sigh.
Jude: I knew it was a trick!
Interviewer laughs, placing the cards back on the table and gesturing for Jude to answer.
Jude: (Groans) Alright fine. I donât have a type at all, but Iâd say Iâm definitely looking for.. (Taps a finger against his chin, feigning a thoughtful look) Definitely has to be down to Earth, has to know how to drive because unfortunately thatâs the only thing I cannot do..
Interviewer laughs once again.
Jude: Hmm⌠(Crosses hands and tries to hide the smirk on his lips before settling for a smile) She definitely has to make me laugh. Just learned recently how fun it is talking to someone whoâs just proper funny. (Jude turns towards camera with a sudden serious expression) Sheâs not funnier than me, but sheâs funny.
WELP #LOL. BIG moment next chapter ;) anyways love you guys leave a like, comment, reblog, or whatever if you enjoyed and think I was a good girl and deserved it *blushes*
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SHEâS NO GOOD FOR YOU â A JUDE BELLINGHAM SMAU.
( đ ) AUTHORS NOTE⌠part five lol everybody say thank you to @kiwonitea for keeping me in check THANK YOU BOO LMFAOOO anyways I love the support guys seriously I will d*e for every single one of yall NO SHADE itâs us against the world I promise yall itâs us and y/n forever.
( đ đ ) ALSOâŚ.. ** should we double update tonight? đ let me know if thereâs any typos love yall xx weâre getting somewhere omg if yall wanna be one of the comments in the next chapter send me an ask! #interactive eeekkk
I just wanted to see if you were getting on alright.
Y/N
you started it
you saw the thread didnât you
please lie to me đ
JUDE
Never been much of a good liar. đ¤Śââď¸
Y/N
đđđđđ
Iâm fine omg why does everyone keep asking me that omg itâs too much attention đđ
JUDE
You text the exact same way that you speak, itâs incredible.
Y/N
and now youâre saying Iâm incredible Jude please stop itâs too much Iâm a normal person too
JUDE
What do they call it? A micro-niche celebrity. đ
Y/N
i felt like âmicro-nicheâ was too belittling
but no seriously iâm fine lol it wasnât even that bad Iâve read worse
JUDE
Yeah, youâll never get used to it.
Y/N
Oh #okay đ
JUDE
STop typing so fast I canât keep up. [YOURUSERNAME reacted with âđâ]
But I was going to say it gets easier to ignore when you realize those words donât mean anything. Iâve gotten comments like that before, they mean nothing if youâve got a good head on your shoulders.
Sure itâll bother you youâre a human, but once you let that go you remember itâs not worth arguing with people like that. đŞ
Y/N
youâre so inspirational I feel like watching a sports highlight reel
JUDE
Just trying to be serious. đ
Y/N
Itâs okay, I really do appreciate the nice words lol
wow Real Madrid has a dictator AND a peacemaker
what a team
JUDE
Is that what I am now? Might as well be bloody Switzerland. đ
Y/N
switzerland has never seen an ass like that babe đŻ [MESSAGE HAS BEEN UNSENT.]
sorry i was typing too fast and sent a typo
anyways switzerland would be lucky đŻ
JUDE
You flatter me.
Y/N
well you know what they say
JUDE
What do they say?
Y/N
idk i thought you knew thatâs why i said that
JUDE
đđđ
You might as well be apart of the Spence family.
Y/N
you saw me at the family table at that banquet, i am! [JUDEBELLINGHAM reacted with âđâ]
internationaliTEA #TEA-Mates! Breaking news! Our favorite golden boy has been spotted with his favorite girl- Ashley! A close source snapped this pics for us on a luncheon outing they seemed to be at in London after Judeâs first game of the season. Are they rekindling old flames? We donât know much, but we do know these two have been interacted quite a bit since their breakup two years ago.
Stay tuned for more updates!
liked by user1, user2, user3, and 60,755 others
user1 I KNEW IT LOL
user2 he knows where #home is
âł user3 literally
user4 finally the #other propaganda can stop!
user5 j*de just giving it out
user6 here we go again
âł user7 first #junegate now #ashleygate is back đŤŠ
user8 OhâŚ
user9 Bruh LOL
user10 Jude is never going to settle down and you guys need to get this through your heads
âł user11 heâs young and hot let him!
âł user8 wait so itâs okay when Jude gives it out but the girls heâs giving it out to are the problemâŚ? #noticing
âł user11 theyâre the easy ones not me đđđ
âł user8 I see what kind of person u are lol
user12 whatever my king wants he gets
user13 everyone acting like they like AshleyâŚ.?
âł user14 at least we know her đ
âł user13 we donât know any of these people
user15 Iâve seen this movie before
user16 I actually liked him and yourusername):
âł user17 oh sweetie that was never going to happen
âł user16 a girl can dream
âł user18 user16 have better dreams next time
âł user16 oh bitch hoe please
user19 Good for him
âł user22 yall donât know what yall want đđđ
user20 Denise wonât be happyâŚ.
âł user21 itâs not about Deniseâs happiness.., itâs about his?
sorry for the long update AGAIN LOL guys LOCKING in I pinky swear. anyways love you guys leave a like, comment, reblog, or whatever if you enjoyed and think I was a good girl and deserved it *blushes*
summary Ëâ ¡ Âť-âĄâ in which Jude Bellingham is rushed to the hospital with a severe leg injury following the match of England vs. Argentina. amidst the chaos of overnight observation, he meets reader, who is an overworked nursing assistant that is completely oblivious to his worldwide fame. exhausted by a life surrounded by cameras, models, and sycophants, jude finds himself deeply intrigued by the assistant's grounded, ordinary nature.
genre Ëâ ¡ Âť-âĄâ jude bellingham x fem!reader, jude bellingham x healthcareworker!reader, lots of drama, angst, which is mainly inner turmoil, fluff, mildly inspired by the pitt, hospital setting, NOT medically accurate, SLOW burn, pining, tension, eventual smut, ik this reads as a "y/n isn't like other girls!" fic but just read and you'll seeee, girl is overworked and tired, there is humor sprinkled here and there
word count Ëâ ¡ Âť-âĄâ 4.4k words
author's note Ëâ ¡ Âť-âĄâ tad bit indulgent because i work in healthcare but i think the patient romance trope is common (telling myself this so a hot ass soccer player flies me out). this is the beginning of a four chapter series, also available on my ao3! happy reading and comments/feedback much appreciated <3
bitterness swirled in the pools of espresso resting in the sunken depths of jude bellinghamâs eyes. purple marked his underyes, evident from the exhaustion of todayâs match.
jude stared endlessly into the darkness before him. the sun had dipped deep below the stadium, dispersing into the soft beams radiating from the streetlights lining the city of Atlanta, Georgia. cheers had evaporated into soft crickets of the night. jude wished to be at the stadium againâperhaps the roaring of the thousands would subdue the creeping hiss of failure in his mind.
there was no one to hush his insecurities or kiss his bruises away today and perhaps not even in the near future.
his bed had grown cold; desolate; void of life. there was no one to cheer him up.
not his mom because her flight was delayed. impeccable timing.
not ashlyn. they had opted for a break on terms their schedules were far too conflictingâfive months and three weeks ago.
not his teammates because they were away at a pub, partying and drinking their sorrows away.
not even the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, evident of a successful match, because there was none.
jude bellingham had lost.
eyes frantically flickering across the ceiling in desperation to hold onto something, his mind wandered as he revisited todayâs matchâwhy did he lose?
it was England vs. Argentina. he was against messi todayâhis childhood hero.
now, of course, such failure may be an obvious conclusion against the great star lionel messi, but even a star begins to dwindle into mere dust after a while. was it foolish for jude to hopeâbelieveâthat he could win? that England could win?Â
judeâs fingers traveled from behind his head to the warm perimeter of his throat, grazing with soft fingertips that jolted with memories of the game today.
âit was unfair.â jude bitterly thought as he flexed his fingers against the bruise on his throat in frustration.
there were fouls, and despite the politically correct answer that rolled off his tongue in the post-game interviews, his heart was still constricted in grief. England was robbed of a victory, and jude couldnât fathom the unprecedented sequence of events of todayâmessi ambushing him to the side in a chokehold.
a sob croaked deep within bellighamâs throat, as it burned with the memory of messiâs touch. his touch did not feel warm, like the bright sun gleaming at him; consoling him; whispering through its soft rays that he performed well. no, it stung like an electric shock powered by greed and malice.
the skin no longer bore the marks of messi's grip, but the memory remained, charred blacker than any bruise. it wasn't the ache of physical pain that unsettled him. it was betrayal.
as a boy, jude had idolized lionel messi. posters had covered his bedroom walls. he had watched endless highlight reels, trying to imitate every kick, every strategy, every impossible goal.
never once had he imagined that the man he admired most would leave marks around his throat.
perhaps the old saying had always been right.
you should never meet your heroes.
âyo, mate, you coming to the afters with us?â a voice called abruptly. the door had creaked open, revealing a head of tousled hair. it was judeâs teammate. âwe just nipped back from the pub to pick some stuff up, but weâre off to this party in town.â
judeâs breath hitched in surprise, his train of thoughts halted. he swallowed a thick pool of saliva swelling from the back of his throat, thankful the sliver of light from the door didnât cast on his face and reveal his glossy eyes.
ânah, iâm alright. thanks, mate.âÂ
the teammate opened his mouth to insist on the offer, but nodded and closed the door instead, seemingly understanding judeâs current state of devastation and need to be alone.
jude exhaled in relief when the door closed.
he looked back onto the ceiling, thick brows scrunching in exasperation.
âthis is pathetic,â jude murmured to himself, bringing his arms from behind his head and sitting up. âi need to move on.â
jude swung his legs over the bed, planting his feet on the cool tiles. he launched himself, but a sharp sting swiftly struck his right leg, immobilizing him and making him fall back onto the bed with a thud. the athlete gasped in pain and clutched onto his calf, feeling an abnormal heat thumping beneath his hand.Â
judeâs calf was warm and taut beneath his palm. the muscle was swollen just enough to distort its usual definition. a faint purple bloom had begun creeping toward his ankleâjude ripped off his sock only to reveal the joint of his ankle was puffy, too, as he gently pressed his finger against the warm skin. was it an ankle sprain? surely he could sleep it off right? hell, how did he not notice before? was he so concerned with the match that it distracted him from his own healthâhe had to get a hold of himself for the next game; for his country.
a million diagnoses ran through judeâs mind, trying to decipher a possible causeâ âcan i still run for the game, though?â echoed louder than any other thought in his internal frenzy.
he planted his hands beside him again, and on the count of three launched himself again, grunting when his leg staggered beneath him. he shifted his weight to his left foot and sharply inhaled through his nose, pausing to recollect his breath. limping, he trudged across the room to the bathroom, but each and every step felt like he had stepped foot onto hot volcano rocks.
there was no way he could sleep this off. he had to go to the hospital.
âhey, girl, do you mind taking room 10âs vital signs? supplies all in the room. he was transferred from urgent care,â the charge nurse pursued, tapping her pen on her sheet of the patients before unclipping the paper from the clipboard. âweâre monitoring him overnight for his mobility and painâactually could you check how his leg is doing too please?â
âfracture?â you questioned, taking the paper from her hands and scanning over the paper until your eyes landed on the designated room 10.Â
âcalf contusion and some swelling âround the ankle. sports injury.âÂ
you hummed and nodded in agreement. the charge nurse patted your arm and thanked you, winking at you before walking into another patientâs room down the floor. a soft giggle rocked your slumped shoulders at the gesture.Â
it was 12:03 a.m, which was only five hours into your night shift, but oh hospital administration and everything worse, you were tiredâno, exhausted. a deep knot twisted itself into your shoulders and neck, and you had half the mind to ask the floor doctor to diagnose you with scoliosis because you could feel your spine contorting into unimaginable shapes that your legs shouldâve been in instead.Â
âi need to get a hold of myself.â you chastised yourself, rubbing your shoulder blades as if that would ease the jarring soreness.
with an exhale, you walked over to the room, which was on the other floor. your unassigned floor. your nose scrunched in irritation at the thought, and you consoled yourself by telling yourself that at least you had a charge nurse who knew her âpleaseâsâ and âthank youâs.â
you tucked the sheet under your armpit, arriving at room 10. raising your knuckle to the door, you took a deep breath. long did you stop practicing your introduction to the patients when you were fresh in the field, the rehearsal playing itself on your lips like muscle memory.
delivering a rapid set of three knocks, you opened the door and entered the rather large room, focused on the paper you shuffled from your side. you reached for a pen from your right pocket, because the left pocket was stained with orange juice from a hostile patient throwing a tantrum since they wanted coke instead. you didnât blame themâyou wanted some, too, either way.
âhello, iâm [name]. iâll be your nursing assistant for the dayânight, sorry. iâll be taking your vital signs and checking up on your..â you trailed and leaned over, glancing at the big whiteboard scribbled with various notes.Â
â fall risk.
questions: when can i play again?
ah rightâcalf contusion. athlete guy. you recalled, the charge nurseâs words washing over you, and mentally slapped yourself for forgetting. you really needed another energy drink. did you remember to pack an extra one? the hospital vending machines were so expensive, and they didnât even give a discount to the employees!
âmy leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.â a deep voice rumbled, adorned with a rather thick accent. was it British?
yeah, i realize that now! how embarrassing. you thought to yourself, nodding in agreement anyways as you scribbled onto your personal notepad on the rather premium quality countertop.
occupied in your own thoughts, you were oblivious, or perhaps simply accustomed, to your patientâs scrutinizing gaze as you untangled the twisted wires from the vital signs monitor tucked away in the corner, dragging it closer to your patientâs bed. you unwrapped the cuff resting on the bars of the bed, still not looking at your patient.Â
âiâll be starting with your blood pressure, okay?â you finally looked at the patient, narrowed your eyes at the sight of him.Â
the room was dim, but the faint lamplight of the nightstand beside him still illuminated your patientâs features, which were oddly familiar. the warm light served a contrast for the shadows paving under his skyscrapers of a cheekbone. tiny black hair lined his chiseled jaw. his thick brows furrowed together, and the creases in his forehead pressed against each other.
big brown eyes gazed upon you, but they werenât inviting. no, they were dark and stormy and filled with worry. the puffiness underlying his eyes was a telltale sign. you felt a twang of pity.
you could tell heâŚwasnât fully present, but nonetheless, he nodded, urging you to continue.Â
leaning towards him, you gently rolled the sleeve of the hospital gown only to reveal a well-defined bicep. palpable veins jutted out. the phlebotomists would love this.Â
âturn your arm towards me please.â you whispered unintentionally. Â
he hummed in response, softly too, as he flexed his arm towards you. you could feel his prominent muscles stretch in your hold, sharply inhaling through your nose at the feeling. shaky hands hovering around his prominent veins, you quickly pressed your fingers on the spot above the indentation of his elbow for a pulse before wrapping the cuff around his arm and connecting the tube with the machine. it was routine, and you were thankful for your muscle memory carrying you, because why were you being affected by some anatomy?
âiâm going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.â you spokeâthis time loud and clearâas you straightened your posture and reached for the pulse oximeter.
a crack erupted from your back, and a quiet grunt escaped your lips at the jabbing feeling. proper utilization of body mechanics wouldnât make up for the years of fatigue nesting deep in your bones.
your patient stayed silent, simply looking forward now. his eyes drifted toward the whiteboard that reflected both of you.
he watched your movements.
you turned and clicked the green button on the screen of the machine. a faint whir filled the space between you as the cuff tightened around his arm. .
for some reason, you felt awkward, as if you were supposed to say something; ask something; compliment him something.Â
âsoâŚhow does your leg feelâŚâ you trailed off once again, eyes quickly darting to the whiteboard for no more than a second.Â
you didnât want to look any more unprofessional than you felt.Â
 âjude?â
the name left your lips before you could even think about it.
why does that name feel so familiar?
âthe imaging is rather reassuring. thereâs no fracture, no tendon rupture, and no significant muscle tear.âÂ
the physician glanced over the results before looking back at jude.Â
âwhat you have is a mild-to-moderate contusion to the right gastrocnemius, with some muscle spasm and soft-tissue inflammation.â the doctor paused, studying judeâs face; he opened his mouth before clenching his jaw in uncertainty.Â
he was no stranger to an injured athlete's emotions.Â
âthe repeated hits to your leg caused some bleeding and inflammation within the muscle, which is whatâs producing the warmth, tenderness, and swelling.âÂ
jude glanced at his leg, swallowing a thick pool of saliva collecting at the back of his throat.Â
âand my ankle?â
âthe ankle itself isnât injured. the swelling youâre seeing around it is dependent edema. some of the fluid from the injured tissue has tracked downward toward the ankle and foot.â
jude sharply inhaled. only one thought played itself in his mind, like a broken record.
âhow long?â
âif everything continues to improve as expected, you should be back to normal within about seventy-two hours.â
judeâs brows quirked up, and the tension pulling his jaw taut loosened, soft corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly. the doctor chuckled at the familiar sight.Â
âso i can play then?â
âif your pain resolves, your strength and range of motion return, and you pass a proper return-to-play assessment, thereâs no reason to expect this injury to keep you out long-term.â
jude exhaled deeply, as his shoulders sagged with relief. he can play.
âbut i want to keep you here overnight, and possibly through tomorrow, because of how quickly the swelling developed and how difficult it was for you to bear weight when you arrived. weâll monitor the swelling, your circulation and nerve function, and how well you respond to treatment.âÂ
the doctor closed the chart.
âthis isnât because the injury is particularly dangerous,â the doctor tapped his pan on his clipboard. âbut it can be if you push yourself.âÂ
silence fell between them. judeâs eyes fell to his lap, and the doctor knew he was thinking things all athletes thought in crises like these. hesitantly, the doctor stepped forward and tapped his clipboard against judeâs foot resting on the hospital bed, covered by layers of sheets, in a playful manner.
âyou did good, jude. weâre proud of you.â
judeâs eyes shot up in mild dismay at the gesture, and he offered a small polite smile.Â
but it was only polite.
the doctor wouldnât knowâunderstand.
he had toâmustâpush himself. for his team. for his country. there was no other option but to bring it home. hours at the gym, late night practice in the heavy rain, subconsciously practicing dribbling as he walked down the stairs of wherever he wasâit was all to win.
the familiar click of the door closing behind the doctor did not do much to ground him amidst his inner turmoil.Â
seventy-two hours.
would he be able to sprint?
change direction?
strike the ball?
what if the swelling didn't go down?
what if he wasn't cleared?
what ifâ
it was only until a knock on the door interrupted judeâs spiral, and a raspy voice forced through the room.Â
judeâs eyes passed over the girl standing by the doorâanother healthcare worker donned in scrubs carrying a complimentary paper. she didnât look at him. he didnât look at her for long, either, averting his gaze to his leg.Â
she spoke something, perhaps an introduction. jude did not hear, neither did he care really.Â
it seemed she didnât care as much either, as she hesitated with her answer, like she didnât knowâdidnât care to know. why would she? she couldnât possibly understand. jude noticed the pause in her words.Â
âmy leg. i've got a proper dead calf on the right, and my ankle's gone all puffy.â jude twitched in annoyance, bouncing his unaffected leg as he fiddled with his fingers. he flexed the toes of his affected leg, now wrapped in soft cotton, but the soreness halted him.Â
jude wasnât really annoyed, but the game, the injury, his teammates, his coachâhe still didnât notify themâit all drowned him, kicked him to the ground in a state of hopelessness like how messi did on the field.
since his admission, everything was really just a blurâthe entire routine of it all.
another healthcare worker.Â
another set of questions.
another person checking his legsâor vitals, this girl said, too.
he'd lost count of how many people had examined him since he'd arrived, or really throughout his entire football career.
doctor.
nurse.
medic.
physio.
someone from imaging.
they all morphed into one, now, their voices dissolving into one long stream of medical terminology.
judeâs eyes drifted shut in an attempt to calm his bumbling nerves. lord, if they brought in a psychiatrist for his mental healthâ
âiâm going to put this on your index finger, okay, to measure your oxygen.â
jude opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at you. you were standing beside the bed with a clothespin-looking device and an assortment of tubes in your hands. he nodded.
he should contact coach now; tell him of his condition. surely, he will be able to play inâ
warm.
the hairs on the back of judeâs neck pricked up, bristling against his skin like the freshly trimmed grass poking through his socks at practice. a softer shock jostled him at the feeling.
he hadnât realized that he was so cold. even with the upgraded hospital room generously offered by the hospital for someone of his status, a hospital room remains a hospital room. the plethora of white sheets pooling around his legs did nothing to keep him warm. was jude shivering, or trembling from anxiety? jude did not know, only that for a moment his mind was no longer centered on the game.
it slipped somewhere distant.
so did the doctorâs voice.
so did the swelling in his leg.
but the warmth remained.
jude watched your movements through the reflection on the whiteboard. he blinked slowly, as if coming to consciousness, as his gaze followed your hands adjusting the clothespin thing on his finger.
you were careful, but there seemed to be a disconnect in your movements. he noticed the way you flexed your fingers after rearranging the tubes of the machine and the way you seemed to comfort yourself by resting your hand on your lower back.
âso⌠how does your leg feelâjude?â he noticed the pause in your question, again, and this time he did not feel annoyance but rather intrigue.
âitâs better. the physio was helpful.â jude responded, this time less curt and now looking at you fully. âmy leg is still sore, but there isnât as much as pain, yeah.â
you quickly jotted down in your notebook, before walking around the bed and pulling a chair to sit on in front of the bed.Â
âalright. i noticed that in your chart youâre at risk for falls,â you set down your notebook atop of the fluffy white blankets next to his foot. âwould you say itâs less painful to walk now compared to when you first came in? on a rate of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest and 10 the highest.â
jude was fully facing you now. your posture was straight; confident with knowledge in your field, as you spoke as if you were declaring an order. but the shoulders in your uniform were rounded, and the tilt in your head seemed heavy, like the weight of your head was simply too much to bear. jude knew that look from practice when he leaned against his teammates after a long session.
âyeah, itâs about a 4/10 now. it was a solid 8/10 when i first came hereâfelt like i was stepping over hot rocks.â jude admitted freely, straightening his own posture and clasping his hands in his lap like a schoolgirl.
you offered a small smile. nothing more; nothing less.
âiâm going to check the swelling over your foot now, okay, and for any discoloration.â you spokeâdeclaredâas your fingers diligently moved to unwrap the cotton wrapped tightly around his leg.Â
slowly, you unrolled the yellow padded sock and peeled away the covering around his ankle, too. a waft of an earthy musk hit your nose, like moisture trapped inside of a shoe after a rainy day. your nose twitched ever so slightly.
with practiced ease, you pressed your fingers gently around the area.
there it was again, warmth.Â
and also a sting.
âahâ!â jude gasped, instinctively reaching over to his leg and meeting where your hand was.Â
âsorry,â you immediately retracted your hand, trying to ignore the faint spark you felt when your fingertips touched for a split second. âit seems the ankle is fine, but your leg is a bit tender. thereâs also some discoloration, but itâs not as much.â
âitâs alright.â jude murmured, his hand remaining where it was. did your fingers touch? he could feel the jagged edges of your nails.
you pulled back and wrote down something in your notes. jude wondered how you still had space left with all of that notetaking.Â
turning around to face the table of supplies your charge nurse had left, you soaked up a few white towelettes in the basin of water before wringing out all the extra moisture. you wished someone could do that with your spine.
âiâm gonna clean your leg and change your dressing.â you winced as the smell hit your nose again.Â
holding your breath in, you swiftly wiped over judeâs leg and then over his ankle. grabbing a new wet toilette, you twisted your index finger in the middle of the cloth, twirling your finger into the crevices between judeâs toes before wiping over the front and back. the calluses on the back of judeâs toes hitched onto the clothâdry and immovable.
jude had leaned back now, retracting his hand and smoothing over some of the sheets besides his leg in an attempt to aid you. he watched your movements: the way your voice was still firm, yet your touch was gentler than before as you cleaned. his eyes tracked over from your hands to your face, and he quickly grasped a deeper look on the expression you wore on your face: the shadows underneath your eyes were darker than the navy of your uniform, and a few strands of hair had escaped whatever attempt you'd made to keep them in place, framing the perimeter of your face.Â
you looked exhausted.Â
not the polished kind of tired he'd seen on television, where someone smiled through it for the cameras.
you looked genuinely and painfully tired.
a cooling sensation on the back of his toes snapped jude out of his thoughts. you were spreading lotion on his toes, specifically dabbing it on the calluses formed from many a wear of his cleats and a run on the field. he sheepishly smiled at the tickling feeling, biting his lip to refrain himself from cracking a giggle.
you quickly redressed and bandaged the new cloth around judeâs leg before throwing away the old dressing and cleaning up the table, pausing as you finished up your duty. the nagging suspicion your subconscious had developed towards your patient prompted you to say somethingâask:Â
âyou got a question there on the board.â your voice was soft again but laced with unease.
jude glanced at the board, opening his mouth before closing.Â
âiâve got a game in three days,â jude promptly responded, flexing his toes as his mind returned to the game. these past ten minutes were probably the longest he ever went without thinking about the game. âgotta make sure i can kick the ball proper.â
you slowly shook your head in understanding.
âso⌠youâre aâsoccer player?â
âfootballer.â jude responded curtly, blinking at the name. the correction came quickly, almost instinctively, before he could stop himself.
you blinked, too, surprise somehow relaxing your weary features as your brows lifted slightly from their dreadful droop. jude quickly realized that was the firstâno, second, because you had smiled earlier (although it was a very small smile)âsolid expression you made since your visit.
âsorry?â
jude recognized how it sounded and quickly shook his head.
âno, sorry. footballer. we call it football.âÂ
âah,â a small smile of amusement tugged the corners of your lips. âright, then. footballer.â
âfootballer,â you quietly repeated to yourself, as if tasting a new flavor of energy drink and pondering if it was going to become your new regular. you worked with a multitude of different people with diverse backgrounds, and curiosity had kickstarted your brain now.
âi suppose thatâs the⌠British term?â you hesitantly asked, careful to not overstep a boundary.
âyeah.â
you simply nodded again at the confirmation, as if marking away the information on your own very whiteboard in your mind. you were not great at conversing with your patients; it was why you switched to night shift.
âmakes sense.â
a brief silence passed before a strong sense of intrigue had now replaced the simple and polite curiosity within you, spurring you to ask another question, âif you donât mind me asking⌠your accent. itâs from the uk, right?âÂ
jude studied your face.
âyeah. England.â
âoh.â you glanced back at his chart, still completely unaware. âthat explains it.â
jude hummed in agreement.
âso what game, then?â you asked again, becoming more confident in your conversational abilities.
jude grimaced, his brows knitting together and his nose crinkling in utter befuddlement.Â
for years, jude had become accustomed to people knowing him before he introduced himself. fans knew his name. reporters knew his history. strangers knew his goals, his statistics, his performances. healthcare workers often gave him special treatment, like how he was automatically upgraded to a vip room without coachâs request today or how many nurses and doctors would use their position to ask a personal question or an autograph or something else a regular fan couldnât.Â
for some reason though, this very woman before him didnât know anything. she only treated him like a regular man with a regular injury.
âyou donât know?â jude questioned in disbelief.
âknow what?â you retorted with equal confusion.
âwho i am, mate.â
âwell, youâre judeââ you quickly glanced toward his chart, doing a double-take. your eyes darted to the whiteboard, processing the medical notes before the name finally clicked. a sharp gasp cut off your breath. âoh. youâre jude bellingham. that soccer plaâthe footballer.âÂ
jude chuckled at your realization, and your quick correction at yourself.
âyou recognized my accent but not me, darling?â
author's note: poor reader is just trying to do her job but jude's got stinky feet
SHEâS NO GOOD FOR YOU â A JUDE BELLINGHAM SMAU.
( đ ) AUTHORS NOTE⌠part 4 after a gazillion years. sorry guys i got anxiety yall chill it was a lot planning out how i wanted this to end. but i got that down and iâm excited. anyways, today is finally the day <3 a little bit of fan service if ur the one who asked for me to include mbappe some moreâ welcome to the club french-boy.
( đ đ ) ALSOâŚ.. pleaseeee stop complaining about how long itâs taking for jude & y/n to interact i promise itâs all for a good reason lol. part 5 tomorrow I pinky swear if i forget yall can curse me out in the comments lol i take full responsibility! ashlynâs name is ashley and her face is only being used bc im too lazy to get creative sorry i am who i am and you canât change me
user1 You know you made it when you cause all this conversation! OFF ONE HANGOUT LOL
user2 This is DISGUSTING! Sheâs making everyone look so bad and look like they do things that are illegal! They know they cannot drink and smoke itâs disgusting she has them around this! Those poor boys, I donât see her lasting! đĄđĄ
âł user3 theyâre grown men..
âł user2 theyâre grown men with grown careers! If she wants to be ghetto and trashy she needs to do that with her own friends in America and not bring it here! These are experienced world-renowned athletes!
âł user5 didnât they make one for Djed sister too đđ over trent!
âł user4 YESSS LMAO I remember and DJ told them to never post about Brianna again!
âł user5 he needs to sue! Everyone should SUE!
user6 weed isnât that big of a deal
âł user2 it is when theyâre athletes and they need to take themselves more seriouslyâŚ.
âł user6 These are grown ass fucking men btw..
user7 DJ has known her for years guys I donât think itâs that big of a deal itâs his sisters bf
âł user8 and since when was Brianna a good influence? đ
âł user7 honestly they both need to disappear đ two bad gyals so pathetic
user9 here comes the worst archetype of girl ugh why donât they ever date normal girls who donât need to run to the internet for attention and donât do drugs to be cool?
user10 Omg not my sisterâs coworker being on a tea page đđđ
âł user11 OMG ask ur sister about it!!!
âł user10 I did lol my sister said sheâs so funny and sweet, the office loves her. Disappointing to say the least
âł user11 ugh she doesnât even seem like the type, we clearly see the real her in her nasty replies
user12 someone needs to make sure she doesnât have any past boyfriend⌠Judeâs last ex was jumping from rich guy to rich guy! đ
âł user13 the difference is this one looks even worse smh bellingham can do so much better
user14 Jude was just being polite everyone⌠I doubt heâd hang out with someone like this. Heâs definitely too good for her.
âł user15 yeah I agree, everyone loves hanging out with desperate girls like these but they never last wrong đ¤Łâď¸
user16 are you gonna post about the football player supporting trump�
âł user17 so make your own post. Stuff like this matters to people, especially when these men are representing our country and us as people. .. they need to take it seriously
âł user18 theyâre playing soccer not running for fucking president
user19 if I was her, I would respond all day! You guys are MISERABLEEEEE
If I knew this would get so out of hand I wouldnât have invited the boys to the club with us đ¤Śââď¸
Y/N
Iâm glad you did
June and I got along well
DJED
Youâre still calling him that??
Y/N
i plead the fifth
DJED
Are you flirting with my fucking teammate
Y/N
not actively right now no why?? is he asking đđ
DJED
I am going to kill you when I see you
Y/N
tough crowd
anyways no lol heâs just a nice lad
DJED
Who the fuck am I talking to right now
Y/N
?
i respect the brits now
you got me mate
DJED
Please stop trolling me Iâm trying to have a sentimental conversation with you
Y/N
donât piss me off dj you texting me for a reason what is it
DJED
I just said the damn reason! To make sure you arenât paying attention to any of that bullshit online. I donât recommend you answer it either, theyâre going to nitpick you forever
Y/N
i bought you a drink the other night and now youâre sending me sentimental texts???
its been 84 years
i canât believe this is my life
#happiness
#friendship
DJED
Goodbye weâre done here.
Y/N
LMAO
Ok deadass sorry
seriously though thanks lol Iâll be fine I promise lol
and Iâll try to stop responding
sometimes they say something thatâs just too baitable
DJED
Well stop failing
Iâm tired of my mom texting me asking me to check on you
Y/N
LMAOOO mind you weâve talked every day
Thatâs really my girl
Buy her another house she deserves it
DJED
Weâre done here
Y/N
Mr Krabs come back
Sorry
Itâs just too easy see
I canât help it imagine if you were one of âthoseâ people on Instagram ugh đŁ
DJED
Iâm choosing to ignore the first text
Anyways toughen up chin up chest out let it go
And stop flirting with Jude its weird
Y/N
First of all weâre not flirting
second of all are you serious đ§ââď¸
DJED
Iâm not forbidding you to talk to him, Iâm not one of those brothers from a movie
But seriously heâs too soft for you, donât break my teammates heart please we all have a season to play
Y/N
Fuck that season and fuck yall
But no seriously lmao itâs not like that, heâs a nice guy #submissive and I make him laugh #dominant
DJED
Whatever you do just donât make a mess please
Iâm unfortunately involved in this now and I donât feel like cleaning up after either of you
Y/N
you must be fucking with that tea page #OPP
why so negative
we donât flirt dj we were talking about smoking and stuff and he was just asking me stupid questions
not that serious heâs not even my type
DJED
Iâm also ignoring that lie of a text like I didnât see briannaâs texts at the banquet đ¨âđŚŻ
Y/N
#what #dat #mean
DJED
Just make sure youâre comfortable and happy.
Idgaf just stop getting into arguments on Instagram my publicist wants to kill me for letting you and brianna.
Y/N
So youâd kill for brianna and I? đ
#brother #family #happiness
also sorry for being shitty and missing ur first game I swear I forgot I had that deadline for the next edition I thought it was due next week đ
DJED
Myself? Yes.
Anyways itâs fine, just make sure youâre available the week of Aug 9th for my birthday. Weâre going to hawaii this year.
internationalitea #Jude-Mates! A small update on our golden boy of Birmingham⌠Seems a love triangle is forming?
Just last week we caught Jude and a mysterious new girl we donât recognize laughing it up and doing some âquestionableâ things in a club together.. We also forgot to mention weâve had quite a few sources inform us Jude is still in contact with his ex-girlfriend, Ashley. From liking pictures and supportive comments to someone allegedly catching them out to eat breakfast.. Something is going on and you know weâll get to the bottom of it for you!
We donât have any exact details at the moment, but from what we do now.. This golden boy has his options open and heâs definitely interested in scoping them out. Stay tuned for more updates!
liked by user1, user2, judeexgf, and others.
đ internationalitea PLEASE REMEMBER THESE ARE REAL PEOPLE.
user1 Here we go đ¤Śââď¸
user2 why canât these boys ever focus on football omg
âł user3 Iâm sure a 23 year old football player can multitask lol
âł user2 itâs multi-task not multi-women-tasks
âł user3 heâs having his way đ
user4 I wonder what y/n thinks about being mentioned out of nowhere for a week straight and having people make stuff up for no reason
âł user5 hopefully she understand her actions have consequences
âł user4 Oh ok cause we were wondering
user6 I prefer him and Ashley.. she has way better optics
âł user7 I agree, much more class
âł user8 even the pictures match â ď¸
âł user9 the pictures are clearly targeted lol
âł user8 I didnât know yourusername had shooters â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
user9 hopefully she sues yall
user10 everything changed after june-gate
âł user11 đđđđ
user12 they both fine af jude has immaculate taste
âł user13 fuck jude I want them
âł user14 user13 đĽŤđĽŤđĽŤ
user15 not enough hate comments, Iâll be back when you guys wake up.
user16 the World Cup finishes and ofc he feels like throwing himself at every woman around him
âł user17 even the standards getting low đ
user18 pitting two bad bitches against each other should be fucking illegal
FINALLY GOT THE OK FROM DJED THANK GOD WE CAN FUCK JUDE NOW. anyways sorry for the long update guys Iâve been binging my show and you guys know how I get I have an addictive personality lol. anyways love you guys leave a like, comment, reblog, or whatever if you enjoyed and think I was a good girl and deserved it *blushes*
SHEâS NO GOOD FOR YOU â A JUDE BELLINGHAM SMAU.
( đ ) AUTHORS NOTE⌠part three lol letting it build up a bit cause next part is when we FINALLY get what weâve all been dreaming of đ sorry for the late update also guys lol Iâve been binging game of thrones and Iâm trying to feel something again! * a nice chapter to lighten up the HATRED I feel y/n haters!
( đ đ ) ALSOâŚ.. part 4 tomorrow, written part (maybe) maybe tomorrow. leave a comment taking a guess on how y/n and judeâs gonna end up! iâd love to see the theories! also bc weâre all friends pls lmk if there are any typos and inconsistencies lol
Thanks for abandoning I thought you were still in the bathroom ):
Y/N
Iâm sorry Iâve had to pee my life away since we got back to the hotel room and idk if itâs gonna turn into anything else
Y/N
Uk food hitting my ASSHOLE rn
BRIANNA
Screenshotting this and sending it to internationalitea
Y/N
Those women will skin me alive why would you want to see that
BRIANNA
At least they know youâre tea
What are you wearing
Y/N
Whoâs going?
Please just answer I donât have time my stomach is in my ass right now
Why has DJ wanted to hang out with us so much lately đ¤ #thinking #noticing
BRIANNA
idk but Iâm surprised everyone else is lingering too
clearly everyone prefers us to DJ idk why weâd even ask
Y/N
#wait I thought you always hung out with them
I think Iâm gonna wear either a dress or this set I have
Iâm running out of clothes I didnât know weâd be out this much and I only have small fabrics left!!
I might have to get coffee in a poster girl dress
BRIANNA
Ok same letâs keep the vibes going
you wouldnât wear a poster girl dress đ
Anyways I mean idk the last time I saw all of them was at the World Cup and stuff but it seems they all wanna fuck each other at this point & canât get enough
The one Iâm really surprised about is June actually đ¤
Y/N
YOu actually HABE to fucking stop
And feeding my delusions before an outing isnât okay
is he coming by any chanceâŚ. Per hapsâŚ.. per chance⌠đ
BRIANNA
Lol
DJ said heâs coming and then side eyed me
Y/N
Iâm notgoing
He liked mt story by the way
Responded to a comment on Instagram
Bro like honestly itâs so embarrassing đ how desperate he is đđĽ°:DDDD
BRIANNA
Im going to join a Facebook group for people suffering with delusional friends (actually I am noticing and itâs genuinely so weird because this is flirting but itâs not? Youâve only had two conversations that seem barely friendly???)
Y/N
Listen man Iâm just here for a good time
I might be dying inside but the vibes are good
Ok Iâm gonna do my makeup pls remind me to charge my camera
BRIANNA
goddamnit mine is dead
ok hurry up we still have so much of this dead horse to beat on
internationaliTEA #TEA-MATES! This just in! We just got word from a source that Djed Spence and his sister, Jude Bellingham, Marcus Rashford, Trent Alexander, and a few others were sighting out on the town this fine lovely night! They seem to be partying at a club weâve seen them at many times with some mystery women hand in hand!
Djed unsurprisingly seems to be having some fun, but thereâs someone gettingâŚ. cozier (??) than expected: JUDE BELLINGHAM! Englandâs golden boy and brand new bachelor seems to be laughing it upâŚ. with Y/N Y/LN? More news developing! Our sources are working hard to give you the scoop, but honestly speaking, WE didnât even see this coming! Judging from previous experiences this doesnât seem to be someone Londonâs good boy would get along with. Weâll be back ;)
me never uploading the written piece bc I canât decide if I wanna commit to that >> I resonate deeply with y/nâs avoidance :D anyways part 4 coming soon and itâs a hot one so be prepared I love yall so much and I canât thank u all enough for the kind words youâve all sent me! im glad we all love y/n! sorry if you think this one was a little boring itâs to tie some lose strings together for the part 4!
also should I had a next/previous link to each chapter so yall can shift though? anyways love u guys so much i will kiss u all. enjoyed that? leave a like, comment, reblog, or whatever your heart desires! i accept criticism and compliments but I prefer the latter! xox
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Synopsis .âď¸ ÝË-you just wanted one picture with Jobe Bellingham during your family vacation. No big deal. Just a cute memory to look back on. One viral post later, and your life is turned upside down you definitely didn't expect the entire internet to think you're a couple. Now the picture is everywhere,and a certain Birmingham boy found it and from that moment led to another unforgettable memory.
Genre .âď¸ ÝË- Fluff/ family fluff, and a bit of rom com vibes, Fem!reader
Warnings .âď¸ ÝË- none..at-least not yet
Wc.âď¸ ÝË- 7.6k
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Twenty-four hours. That's how long it had been since you were officially sure that Jobe had found your account. That he'd most likely even gone through your highlights. That he'd most likely even seen your cringe pictures from two years ago, the ones with the dodgy filters to be exact, and the embarrassing captions that made you physically recoil now. If you'd only known this was going to happen, you would've redone your whole account and make it more professional. More alluring. Giving him a first impression that screamed "mysterious and cool" instead of "average girl who went through a phase in 2024." But maybe the unexpected authenticity made this whole story even better between you both. Maybe the fact that he'd seen the real youâunfiltered, unpolished, just existing was what made this feel so different. So genuine.
You were scrolling through your own account, trying to imagine what his perspective would've been like viewing you. What did he see? What did he think? Was he laughing at your old posts? Did he find them endearing? You were so deep in your own head that you almost missed it. A message popped up over your screen.
"I'm seeing this picture everywhere, even mom sent it lol"
You rubbed your eyes, assuming you were seeing things. You blinked hard, then blinked again. You spelled out the letters of the username slowly, your lips moving silently as you read them.
J... O... B... E.
"This has to be a joke," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You stared at the screen, your heart starting doing that stupid thing again when you saw him at the beach. And then you saw it.
The blue verification sign next to his username.
"THIS IS NO WAY THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING TO ME," you shrieked, your voice pitching into a register you didn't even know you could reach. "THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO WAY." Your hands started to tremble immediately. Your phone almost slipped from your grip as you scrambled to sit up straighter, your eyes glued to the message.
He messaged me. JOBE BELLINGHAM messaged ME??.
You spent the first five minutes before answering his message hyperventilating, your thoughts spiralling into an absolute frenzy:
" Wait, I can't mess this up.""Absolutely nobody can know about him messaging me.""Is this a test?""I wonder if he's testing me to see if I'll screenshot and post that he DM'd me?""What if this is some elaborate prank?""What if he's just being polite?""What ifâ"
Your head was basically spinning with too many thoughts. It could explode any moment now.
ANSWER HIM!
You shouted at yourself internally, pausing mid-pace around your room. You'd been pacing back and forth like a caged animal, your carpet probably worn down from the sheer nervous energy radiating off you. "Okay, okay, I will," you replied to yourself, almost as if someone else was in the room. Anyone who'd overheard your little crash-out session would've thought you'd lost your mind completely. You sat down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched in both hands, staring at his message like it held the secrets to the universe. What do I even say to that? you wondered, your brain scrambling for options.
"Haha yes, the internet is so obsessed with us!"
Ew. That sounds too fame-crazy. Like you're desperate for attention.
"What did your mom say?"
Uhh, maybe that's a bit too soon? But you actually would love to know though. The curiosity was eating you alive.
"I know right? I'm still trying to process everything."
That one felt right. Honest. Relatable.
You pressed send immediately before your brain had the chance to overanalyse it for another five minutes.
There. You did it. You replied back to him.
You flopped yourself backward onto your bed, letting out a long, shaky sigh. Your phone lay on your chest, screen facing up, just waiting to see what he would say. Would he even reply? a nagging voice whispered. What if that's it? What if that's all he wanted to say and now he's done? You pushed the thought away, refusing to let it dampen your mood.
"It would be so cool if this ends up being the start of us becoming friends," you said aloud, your voice honest and soft. "At least."
You meant it. You'd settle for anything between you and Jobe, knowing deep down your heart obviously desired more. You'd always had a lot of interest in him, not just as a footballer, but as a person. You admired his profession, sure, but it was him that drew you in. The way he carried himself with such quiet confidence. The way he handled being in the shadow of his older brother, knowing the strain it could cause on his mental health. The way he had the courage to pursue the same career as Jude, even knowing he'd constantly be compared. Even knowing the media would have a field day with it. Yet he was always so positive. So bubbly. So unfazed by all the noise. You admired that the most about him. That resilience. That refusal to let anyone dim his light.
*Ding*.
Your phone went off. You snatched it up so fast you almost dropped it again.
It was him.
"it came out really nicely, I liked how I looked in it" he said. Definitely trying to be cocky.Â
You couldn't help the playful grin that spread across your face. You typed back quickly, your fingers flying across the screen:
"You weren't the only one in the picture though"
You watched the screen, your heart pounding. Three dots appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.
He was typing. Then stopping. Then typing again.
Almost like he was contemplating something. Almost like he was choosing his words carefully.
Then the message came through.
"ain't say you didn't look good too, y/n"
You read it once. Twice. Three times.
"He said MY name," you squeaked, your voice cracking. "AND HE BASICALLY SAID I LOOKED GOOD."
"IS THIS FLIRTING?!" you screamed into your pillow, your legs kicking wildly beneath you. You were blushing like crazy, your cheeks flaming red, your heart doing backflips in your chest. Even if this was just a one-time thing, you were making sure to enjoy every moment of it. Every second. Every word.
"Much better đ" you replied back, trying to play it cool despite the fact that you were literally kicking your feet like a lovesick teenager.
Shortly after, you added, "oh also did Momma Bellingham say anything about it? I'm curious "
You held your breath, waiting for his response. The three dots appeared again, and you felt your heart skip a beat.
The three dots disappeared. Then it appeared again. Then disappeared once more.
It took nearly two minutes for his reply to come through, and you spent every second of it chewing on your bottom lip, your nerves stretched thin. Finally, a message arrived.
It was an attachment. A screenshot, at that.
You tapped on it, your heart in your throat. The image loaded slowly, and then you found yourself staring at a conversation between Jobe and Denise. It felt so surreal and personal that this whole moment was even happening. You were casually about to read a conversation between Jobe and his mum as you texted. No big deal. Just something casual, right? Two days ago, you wouldn't even believe yourself if you'd heard this had happened to you.
Reading the messages, you saw Denise had sent him the picture of you and Jobe. Right below it, she'd written:
"I had a feeling this was going to happen with this picture "
Below that, Jobe had replied:
"yeah I saw it""but I don't think it's a big deal""as long as people aren't saying bad things about it, it's fine"
Then Denise's final message:
"She seems nice from what I remembered. But you know how I feel about these things being attached to your name in the media.""Just be careful, Jobe."
You came out of the screenshot. Your smile faltered slightly after reading that last line.
"Just be careful, Jobe."
You had a moment of silence with yourself but not for a bad reason. It was more like reality crashing down on you. It was only right that Denise was very protective. Of course she was cautious. Jobe wasn't just some random footballer; he was her son. And with fame came vultures. People who wanted his money. Girls who wanted to be attached to his name. Girls who wanted to use him for clout.
You could see it clearly now. The wall he probably had built around himself. The constant questioning of people's true intentions towards him. The wariness that came with being in the public eye. You weren't offended. If anything, you respected it. Denise was looking out for her boy, and that was exactly what a good mother should do.You typed out your response carefully, trying to acknowledge what you'd seen without making it weird:
"I saw what your mom said at the end there đ She's just looking out for you though. That's really sweet."
His reply came faster than you expected:
"yeah she's proper strict about that kinda stuff tbh"
You could almost hear the hesitation in his typed words. Like he was testing you. Seeing how you'd react.
"I get it honestly, you know. You can't be too careful with all the attention you get. It must be exhausting having to second-guess everyone's intentions."
You sent it before you could overthink it because you knew you'd spend ten minutes pacing around your room before you'd reply otherwise. Your response was honest and genuine. It was exactly how you felt.
The three dots appeared. Then:
"you get it?" he replied.
"Yeah... well, I mean I'm not famous or anything lol, but I get that people probably approach you for all the wrong reasons at times. So it must make it hard to trust anyone new."
A long pause. Then he finally responded:
"it does actually"
It was very few words, but you could feel the weight behind it. How many times had he been let down? How many times had someone pretended to care just to get close to his lifestyle?
You responded:
"Well, for what it's worth... I just think you're a cool person. The footballer thing is a bonus đ"
You sent it, then immediately felt your cheeks heating up. The conversation was flowing so effortlessly that it almost slipped your mind that it was Jobe you were talking to.
"proper buzzing now innit" he replied, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.
You laughed out loud. Buzzing? He said buzzing. Gosh, you loved the way he typed.
"So you're out here just normally sharing screenshots of your mum's messages with strangers?"you teased, just wanting to be playful.
"Nah, just the ones who watch all my games apparently" he replied.
Your heart did a flip. He remembered you saying that on the beach.
"Look who's got a good memory" you teased back.
"I can't forget that day" he said.
And it genuinely felt serious. Like he meant what he said, and he wasn't just trying to be nice.
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.
.
After spending almost the whole night texting one another, the conversation eventually came to an end naturally. He hearted your last message, saying nothing else after, and you immediately knew it was best to end here.
Tonight was already enough. Already special.
Getting to talk to him like a friend felt amazing. It felt great going to sleep knowing that you'd made him laugh a couple of times. That you'd been genuine. That you hadn't messed it up.
You placed your phone on your nightstand, a soft smile lingering on your face as you drifted off.
Back at Jobe's place, he was in his kitchen alone this whole time texting you. He'd originally come downstairs to grab a snack and had somehow ended up spending a whole two hours leaning against the kitchen counter, entertained through every moment, not wanting it to end.
"Been a while since I've had such a fun conversation like this," he thought to himself. "Much less meeting someone new that felt so genuine."
He'd had to cut the conversation short with you because he knew he'd spend the whole night texting you, and he couldn't afford to mess up his perfect routineâthe one he'd gotten so used to.
He sat for a moment in silence, eating at the kitchen table. Soaking in everything about his current life.
Mum's back with Jude away in Spain. Dad's gone for yet another "business-related trip." And I'm just here in Germany. All alone. As usual.
Jobe thought about it more. The only time he really met new people was at work. On the field. He didn't party, spend his money badly, or hang out every weekend with random girls. He was just either home or on the field.
It felt kinda isolated now that he thought about it.
He thought back on your words again: "Must be exhausting having to second-guess everyone's intentions."
He laughed at himself in pity.
"Huh. If that wasn't the case, maybe I wouldn't be all alone right about now."
"I'd probably be out, innit."
"Enjoying my youth."
The atmosphere shifted. This wasn't the first time Jobe had a moment like this with himself while all of his family was away. It tended to hit him harder. But he always woke up the next day trying to be the best version of himself. "I'm not even hungry anymore," Jobe said aloud to the empty kitchen, getting up from the kitchen chair to head to bed.
Ending the night quietly, but with a lot of thoughts on his mind.Â
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It had been a while since you'd last talked to Jobe. The conversation you'd shared that night was potentially the first and last. Sure, you wanted more from this. You'd thought it was going to lead to something more. But you had to remember after all, you were still just a stranger to him. And he kinda was to you too. Even though you knew a lot about him, it was just what the media shared. Not personally him.
Not really.
But something kept you curious.
He never seemed to stop viewing your stories. Ever since you'd both texted each other, he always watched whatever you would post. He didn't follow you back,obviously, to not cause any more controversy or dating rumours, especially since that picture had stirred up enough already. But he was always stalking. Always the first name to pop up in your views.
Every. Single. Time.
You'd test it sometimes. Post something random at odd hours like a picture of your breakfast, a mirror selfie, a snippet of a song you were listening to. And without fail, within minutes, his name would appear in the views.
Jobe Bellingham viewed your story.
He didn't even try to hide it anymore.
There was no reason for him to do such a thing. Yet he always did. You weren't sure if it was supposed to be a signal of some sort. A way of saying "I'm still thinking about you." Or maybe it meant nothing at all. Maybe he just scrolled through his feed mindlessly like everyone else, and your stories happened to pop up. But every time you saw his name, your heart would do that stupid little flip. And you'd spend the next ten minutes overanalysing what it could possibly mean. Whatever it was, it was confusing.
And what was even more nerve-wracking? The game.
The match was coming up in just a week from now.
You'd started worrying about everything. Getting your hair done. Finding the perfect outfit. Getting a jersey with Jobe's name and player number on it, literally anything to go all out. After all, it was your first football match in person. And your second time getting to see Jobe again. And to be honest? You kinda cared about that more than the match itself.
You'd spent the last few days obsessing over the smallest details. What if he saw you in the crowd? What if he waved? What if he didn't even notice you were there? What if you embarrassed yourself somehow?
Your cousins had been no help at all.
"You're going to look so cute, he won't be able to keep his eyes off you," Mia had said, practically shaking with excitement.
"Just don't trip walking up the stairs to your seat, and you'll be fine," Leah had added with a wicked grin.
"Very helpful, thank you... Leah," you'd replied dryly, shooting her a look.
But the truth was, you were terrified. And excited. And nervous. And hopeful. All at once.
You'd even bought the jersey online, specifically with his name and number on the back. When it arrived, you'd held it up, staring at the letters printed across the fabric.
JOBE. 7.
It felt so real now You were really going to see him again.
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Back in Germany, Jobe was trying his hardest not to think about you.
Emphasis on trying.
He'd found himself checking your story more times than he'd like to admit. It had become a habit at this point,one he wasn't sure how to break. Or if he even wanted to break it. You posted something? He watched it. You posted nothing? He checked anyway, just in case. It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. He was a professional footballer with a rigorous training schedule, and here he was, refreshing your profile like a yearning boy.
But he couldn't help it.
There was something about you that he couldn't quite forget. The way you'd spoken to him on the beach. The way you'd said you watched all his games like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way you'd understoodâlike genuinely understoodâwhy he was so cautious with people. he'd even thought you were going to post your conversation with him everywhere. That's what most people would've done, right? Screenshot the messages, post them online, brag about getting his attention. But you hadn't pushed. You hadn't asked for anything. You'd done nothing after.
And he hadn't stopped thinking about you since. You treated him like a normal person.
While Jobe was hanging out with his friends playing FIFA at home, his phone was beside him on the sofa. It buzzed, and he glanced at it instinctively. A notification. You'd just added a story to your account.
He stared at the screen for a moment, not wanting to put down the controller so suddenly in the middle of the game.
Don't watch it. Don't be weird. Give it a rest.
But not too long after, he placed the controller aside, picked his phone up, turned the brightness down, and watched it.
It was a picture of you holding up a jersey. His jersey. With his name and number on the back. Your face was partially hidden behind the fabric, but he could see your smile just from your eyes. That bright, pretty smile that had been burned into his memory since the
day at the beach. His heart did something strange. A feeling he almost rarely got. You were coming to his game. And it finally clicked to him again. You were going to be in the crowd. Wearing his name. He quickly exited the app, locking his phone and side-eyeing his surroundings immediately. His ears were red. And of course, Carney caught it once again.
"You aite?" Carney asked, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.
"Fine," Jobe said quickly. "Just fine."
Carney didn't look convinced this time. "You did that same thing before, man."
"What thing?" Jobe scoffed, but the heat in his ears only intensified.
"Is there something you're not telling me, mate?" Carney said, grinning now. "You've been on your phone so much recently. It's weird... like you barely use that thing."
Jobe's body language shifted to an awkward, tense position. He tried laughing it off. "You taking a piss? Bro, I always use my phone. What you mean?"
Carney just looked at him for a while and shook his head with a little sigh. "Hiding things from me now?"
Jobe sucked his teeth before picking up his controller. "I swear, I swear I'm really not."
He then added once again, trying to redirect the conversation. "The game's been passed for too long now."
A while after, Jobe went upstairs to use the bathroom.
He washed his face and stared at himself in the mirror for a while, running his hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"What is wrong with me?"
He'd met hundreds of people outside his close friends and family. Thousands, probably. Fans, teammates, acquaintances. But yet, none of them had made him feel this way. None of them made him overthink this much. Why were you making him feel nervous all of a sudden, knowing that you were coming to his game? Wearing his name on your back as well. And why was a part of him so excited to finally see you again
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The day before the match, you took your flight, leaving your hometown to fly to Germany to meet with your aunt. You'd be staying at her place for one week before heading back home after the match to spend time with her as well. Her house was twenty minutes away from where the game would be played and about a good ten minutes from Borussia Dortmund's training ground. Everything was pretty convenient.
Arriving at your Aunt Ida's place at the late hours of the night from the airport, you settled in quickly and caught up with her, reminiscing about all the old memories you'd shared with each other. Sheâs Mia's mother, but Mia had moved out last year to attend one of her dream colleges away from home. Since then, Aunt Ida had been in this house here alone. After chatting, she showed you to Mia's old roomâthe one you'd be staying in for the next week.
"I haven't came in here since Mia left," Aunt Ida admitted when you both walked in with your suitcases.
"I can tell. It feels untouched," you said softly, looking around at the room frozen in time.
Aunt Ida watched around for a moment, like she was reliving all her moments in here with Mia. You could tell she missed Mia's company around a lot. That's probably why she'd rarely ever been at home, to avoid herself from thinking about her.
"Well... here it is!" she said, her voice brightening again. "I hope you make yourself comfy. I'll be upstairs if you need anything."
"Thanks, Aunty," you said, giving her a warm hug.
After she departed, you finished unpacking, showered, and put on your comfy sleeping clothes. Standing in front of Mia's full-body length mirror, you snapped a picture to share on your social media. You added a simple captionâjust a little heartâand tagged the location.
You weren't really thinking much of it. Just wanted to document your arrival.
But after that picture with Jobe, you'd gained a lot of followers that were fans of his. Some followed because of how pretty you were. And some followed because they were convinced you were his secret girlfriend. What you didn't realise was that you were just so happened to be close to the alleged residential area Jobe was speculated to have an apartment at. Everything was starting to feel like it was written in the stars at this point. You didn't even know you were adding more fuel to the dating theories between you both. Much less known about him living so close.
That night, alone in his apartment, Jobe like always, once again found himself scrolling through your profile. He'd basically memorised it by now. He memorized that outfit you wore at that one family gathering you had. He knew your favourite aesthetic. He had a solid idea of what your humour was now. And he still didn't know you. Not really.
But he wanted to.
He viewed your story. First, admiring the picture of youâyour figure, your smile, the way you looked so comfortable and at ease. You were so effortlessly pretty, and it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to. And then he saw the location tag in the corner.
His eyes widened. His stomach dropped.
She's literally five minutes away from me right now.
It hit him again, but harder this time. He was seeing you tomorrow.
His nerves got the best of him. He opened the chat. The last message was from that nightâthe one he'd hearted, the one he'd left on read because he knew if he kept talking, he would never stop. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
"Maybe I should just..."
"No. Don't be a prat."
He closed the app, tossing his phone onto the bed.
He smiled despite himself. A soft, genuine smile that he couldn't quite hide.
"Itâs getting serious now," he whispered to the empty room.
"I gotta give it my all tomorrow."
It was match day.
And you felt constant butterflies in your stomach as you thought about seeing Jobe in person again. You stood in front of the mirror, the jersey perfectly fitted, your hair exactly how you wanted it, and your nerves absolutely through the roof. You looked good. You knew you looked good.
You took a deep breath, grabbing your bag as you headed out the door, your aunt being the driver. The car ride was a blur of nervous chatter and Aunty Ida's reassuring smiles. She'd been to plenty of matches beforeâshe knew the drill. "You'll have a wonderful time, schatz," she said in her soft German-accented English. "Just enjoy the moment."
Easier said than done, you thought, your leg bouncing with nervous energy.
Arriving at the stadium, you found your assigned seat and walked through the crowd. The stadium was electric and loud today for the match against Borussia Dortmund and FC Bayern. You saw the banners and the big gathering of fans in red and yellow in front of your eyes and not over a screen this time. Everything felt so surreal. You couldn't believe you were actually here, witnessing your first match.
Your seat was about four rows behind the front row seats. Not too badâthe view was still pretty nice. But oh, how you wished you were in the front so maybe, just maybe, he would look in your section and see you cheering him on. You weren't sure how he was going to see you, but you hoped maybe he would.
It was still special to see him play, at least.
You recorded moments on your phone to send to your friends and family back home before the match started. The atmosphere was building, the chants growing louder, the anticipation palpable in the air. Finally, the stadium commentator announced that the match was about to start.
"Get ready for your players!"
They all came out one by one, holding the hands of the children alongside them. Your eyes scanned the line, searching for that familiar face. And thenâ
There he was.
Jobe walked out with a young boy holding his hand, his expression focused but soft. He looked so different from the guy you'd met on the beach. Here, he was in his element. Professional. Commanding. handsome.
The camera panned to each player, and you tried to hide your smile as you watched Jobe on the big screen.
"Ugh, I missed that face," you admitted under your breath, trying not to let the couple beside you hear your words.
And then, kick off.
The match started, and the crowd which was already cheering prior to thatâgot louder now. Your eyes were all over the pitch, tracking the ball. You shouted along with others:
"How is that not a foul?" you yelled, pulling onto the shirts of random strangers beside you who did the same. "Did you see that? He's trying to get a free kick!"
"Yess, that littleâ"
The atmosphere was like no other. You could get used to this, you thought to yourself as you watched along, completely immersed in the action. There was a moment when the camera that showed fans on the big screen panned to you. It stayed for a while. Your visuals were pretty and distracting, the jersey, your hair, the way your eyes were fixed on the pitch with such intensity.
You were too busy looking at the players on the fieldâthat being Jobeâthat you missed it entirely.
A guy beside you tapped your shoulder right as the camera went off you. "YOU'RE ON THE SCREEN!" he shouted over the noise. You leaned into him, frowning. "Huh?". "You missed it already! But I said the camera was on you!" he shouted down your ear once more.
"Oh? What the heck, really?" It caught you by complete surprise.
Your cheeks flushed as you realised thousands of people had just seen your face on that massive screen. You glanced around self-consciously, but the crowd was already moving on, their attention back on the pitch. While being on the pitch, waiting for the ball to come his way, Jobe looked up momentarily. And he caught it.
Your face. Just as it left the screen.
His adrenaline grew even more. Just by seeing your pretty face for a second made him look down on the grass, swishing it with his shoes all of a sudden. No way he got nervous from just that.
He saw where the cameraman had panned to, so now he had an idea of the section you were at. Even if he didn't see your face himself anymore, he knew you were there. Watching him. The ball got passed to him, and he was back in focus mode.
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Running to the penalty area, about to take the ball from his opponent, Jobe got smacked by a foot, causing him to fall. The referee blew his whistle immediately.
The crowd went wild. If they potentially got this penalty, the score would be 2-1 and they could potentially win. The referee viewed the VAR and came back onto the field. "After review, number 12 tripped number 7. The final decision is a penalty."
The Borussia Dortmund fans cheered in excitement including you.
And to your surprise, Jobe was taking the penalty. At that time, a photographer was passing around, taking shots of fans in the crowd. Once again, you weren't really paying him much mind since it looked like he was just passing by. You held your hands together against your face, creating a praying sign with watery eyes as you looked on.like that one Bella Hadid picture.
"Please make this shot. Please make it," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. It caught the photographer's attention. It looked so captivating, so cinematic to him. He stood up, angling his lens to focus on you solely.
Click.
He took the shot and passed along, saying under his breath: "Beautiful." Jobe took a deep breath and prepared himself to strike, analysing the goalkeeper's movements, hoping his prediction would be right.
"One... two... three," he mentally counted.
And struck.
The stadium went dead silent for a moment. All watching, some hoping for it to go in. Some hoped for it to not.
He scored. He actually did it.
You screamed and cheered, hugging those close by you. The energy was infectious, the joy overwhelming. Your eyes were watery for a completely different reason now. Jobe ran off from the area where he'd scored his goal and towards the section he'd seen the camera man pan to earlierâwhere your face had appeared on the big screen.
He did a heart shape sign with his fingers as he watched the fans. Your view was being blocked by the people in front of you. You were sure he probably didn't see you. That heart was probably for those girls in the front. You frowned at the thought. "This was the perfect moment for him to see me, and he didn't," you muttered. "Why did I have to be so far behind?" Jobe went back to the field, celebrating with his teammates before going back to play again.
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Then, soon after, before you knew it, the final whistle blew. The match was up. Borussia Dortmund vs FC Bayern: 2-1. The stadium slowly started to empty while the players and players soon left. Some stars were doing interviews, others were in the locker room packing things up and celebrating. You lingered around, walking slower than usual as you left the stadium, hoping that you would somehow see him somewhere. Probably interacting with fans. But nothing. Not a single sight of him anywhere. Your heart sank a little. Maybe this was it. Maybe that was all it was ever going to be. As you were about to make a call for your aunt to come get you, your phone buzzed.
A message came in.
And finally, after all this time, it was him:
"Are you still here?"
You'd never answered a message so quickly in your life.
"Yes I am, I was just planning to leave."
He responded back even faster:
"you got 5 minutes to spare, yeah?"
You smiled at the message like it was a dream come through. At last, you were finally getting to see him up close before you headed home.
"Where the interviews are taking place, can you walk there? And keep going straight down the corridor. I'm outside standing."
Your heart beating fast in your chest as you read his next message:
"I've got something for ya ;)"
You frowned your face in suspicion. Part of you was excited right now, and part of you was curious.
"I'm walking right now," you typed, moving on over to the area he'd directed you towards.
You walked slowly, passing players doing interviews that also watched you with wandering eyes as you made your way through the corridor. Some security even watched you with suspicion but didn't approach you or say anything. You clearly looked like you weren't supposed to be there, yet they let you pass by. You weren't sure why, though. As you kept walking, you saw him.
That familiar build. That height. That face.
He was standing near a door, wearing a black long-sleeved compressed shirt, shorts, slides, and his jersey,the one he'd played with today,in his hand. His hair was slightly damp from the match, a few curls falling across his forehead.
He looked beyond handsome.
You tried your best to hold back your smile.
And he wasn't afraid of hiding his, in that moment. It was bright and charming, reaching his eyes in a way that made your stomach flip completely.
"Y/N!!" he dragged in an excited tone. Your name sounded quite familiar to his tongue. "Jobeee," you did in return, your voice coming out softer than you'd intended. And for a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, looking at each other, both smiling like idiots. The tension was thick. Electric. Perfect. He handed you his shirt before he could even say anything.
"Since it's your first match, I wanted to make it special."
You took it, your hands shaking a little as you held it up, watching it from side to side. And then you noticed his signature on it as wellâscrawled across the fabric in permanent marker. "I hate to be cheesy, but..." you admitted, looking up at him. "I don't think I'll ever forget this moment." Your genuine smile made him smile even more. His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you'd memorised from the beach.
"Glad you liked it."
It was pure silence for a moment, mostly of him admiring you admiring his shirt. You finally broke it.
"How'd you feel scoring that goal out there?" Your tone was soft as you asked.
He chuckled first before he answered. "Don't even get me started, mate. I think that might've been my favourite goal this season. It's a miracle how that went in, honestlyâ"
He started going on and on, just like that moment at the beach. You watched his whole outburst in amazement, even laughing at some moments. And just like that, the 'just a fan and celebrity' status started to drift away between you both. You had him laughing, and he had you laughing. You both leaned against the wall, talking about everything that took place on the field today. He even admitted:
"You know I did my little victory dance by your section because I saw that you were there. Well... not saw you exactly, but the camera man that put you on the big screenâI watched the section he did it at."
You pushed his shoulder with a little teasing smile. "Bro, some guy told me about that big screen thing. I can't believe I missed that!" You sighed dramatically. "I was too busy worrying about you, mate."
He laughed. "Me? What did I do?"
This. A moment like this was something Jobe had always been longing for. And him finally experiencing it had his emotions all over the place.
"I don't want this moment to come to an end," he thought, his smile soft as he looked down at you ranting away. "When will I see her again?" "How long will I have to wait for something like this again?" Thoughts flooded through his mind as he watched you, completely captivated. Your phone rang off.
"Oop, sorryâum my aunt's calling," you said, stepping aside to take it.
He listened silently as you spoke back to her.
"Mhmm, yep, okay... yeah, I'll be out there... yes, I swear I'm on my way."
He knew you were about to leave. And he didn't want to admit it, neither to you nor to himself that he didn't want you to go. You pushed your phone back into your pocket slowly.
"Well..." you said, your tone nervous and sad all at once. "I've got to go now."
He knew it.
"What a bummer," he said, stretching his arms out to pull you in for a hug. You went in for it before your brain could even analyse what was happening fully."YeahâŚ.I know," you sighed, sinking into his buff arms. His biceps covered half your face. Mid-way into the hug, it clicked to you. Your eyes widened, and you naturally gripped onto him tighter.
"Holy crap, I'm hugging him," your brain malfunctioned at that moment.
But you didn't let go. Neither did he. And it was like he didn't want to. Your body heat against his was warm. You felt so soft around him he thought. It was only silence for a moment between you both just savouring the last few seconds. Your phone dinged off, ruining the moment.
"That's probably my aunt again," you said, your mouth slightly muffled by his arms covering you. He laughed before hesitantly pulling away. "Let's not get you in any more trouble now." You let go, holding his shirt close as you waved him goodbye before walking off.He watched you all the way until you weren't in sight anymore.
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On your way back home, you ranted to your aunt about everything that happened today and the game...well almost everything. You made sure not to mention going to meet him. She was fully convinced you got the shirt from him by throwing it into the crowd. It would've been harder to explain how you got it the real way anywayâsince you didn't want anyone to know he'd texted you.You got back home in Mia's room, telling your cousins about the game today and sending them the pictures and videos you took.
 It was getting late.Â
And Jobe was getting frustrated.
He was so eager to see you again that he thought of the most dumbest idea he could possibly think of. One where if his parents only found out about even the thought of thisâit would be 100% be over for him. He needed to not get caught at all if this plan was to unfold.
That plan was bringing you over to his place.
No secret cameras. No people around. Just you two.
It was dumb, and he knew it. Not dumb because of you, but because he barely knew you truly and it was such a risky move to make. This was one thing his parents, his mother especially, would be against. But his feelingsâhe wasn't even sure what to call this feeling whatever it was, it was getting the best of him. All he knew was that he wanted to see you again. Even for just five minutes.Â
In the middle of an ongoing call with your cousins as you brushed your teeth, a message came in.
It was Jobe. In the middle of you explaining how the penalty goal went down, you went dead silent.
"Y/N?"
"The call is breaking up, girl."
"I didn't hear the last part," said Leah. Mia agreed: "Yeah, it went silent."
You stared at the screen.
"Y/N, are you awake?"
You didn't know what to say at that moment because you wanted to scream in excitement and tell them Jobe had just asked if you were awake. But they didn't even know you guys had continued to talk after the picture with him to begin with, and you usually told each other everything.
"Guys..." you started. "I'll have to call you back. Uh... mum's trying to get onto me. Hold on."
You hung up before they could respond. You were fully convinced Jobe was about to ask to call you, so you did up your hair quickly and put on cuter sleeping wear than usual. Sitting on the chair at Mia's study table near her lamp, you responded:
"Hey, yeah I am. What's up?"
"Can I ask you something stupid?"
You laughed at yourself. "Ha, I was rightâhe is about to call me."
"Can you leave your house?"
The air went thin. Your face felt hollow.
"What?" you responded back, extremely confused.
He turned disappearing messages on, saying:
"I want to see you. But you've got to promise you won't try to record or take pictures of anything. You can't... like seriously."
"I'll come get you."
"I believe you're staying 5 minutes away from where I stay."
"All I need to know is if you can leave your house this late?"
He said one after the other.
You read everything with fear and excitement building up in your system. It was 10:45pm. Aunt Ida was in bed, but you needed to leave the house quietly and most definitely be back before sunrise heck, before 12 if you were being honest. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The minute you got back home, this wasn't going to happen again. And his next game wouldn't be in Germany.
"Do it.""No, don't do it."
Your mind was spiralling.
You sent him your location not giving it a second thought.
"Tell me when you're close, and please be quiet when you're pulling up."
He hearted your message immediately. You could tell he was just as nervous as you were, waiting for the final message:
"I'm coming."
"And here I thought him giving me his shirt today couldn't be topped," you whispered to yourself, scrambling around your room. "What did I do in my past to be this lucky?" "What do you mean I'm now about to HANGOUT with JOBE?" You scrambled around your room, looking for the perfect outfit. Tonight had to be a special one. You threw open Mia's wardrobe, pulling out options. Too fancy? Too casual? What do you even wear when a footballer is picking you up in the middle of the night?
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Finally you found the perfect outfit after rambling through anything you could wear. You checked your reflection in the mirror, heart pounding.
Your phone buzzed.
"I'm outside."
Your stomach dropped. Your hands trembled as you grabbed the house keys, your phone, and your jacket. You tiptoed through the dark house, every creak of the floorboards making you freeze. The front door clicked open, and you slipped out into the cool night air.
And there he was.
Jobe was leaning against a sleek black luxurious car, his hands in his pockets, a nervous but excited smile on his face. He'd changed into something more casual, a full all black hoodie and sweats combo with his hood over his head yet he still looked like he'd just stepped off a magazine cover.
"You actually came outside," he said, his voice soft with disbelief.
"You actually asked to see me," you replied, equally in disbelief.
He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid in, the leather seat cool against your skin. He got in on the driver's side, turning to look at you with those dark eyes that made your heart flutter.
"So..." he started, his accent thick with nerves. "What do you wanna do?"
You laughed, the tension breaking. "You're the one who asked me to come out here. You tell me." He grinned, that charming, boyish grin that gave you instant butterflies. "Alright then. Let's just... drive for a bit? Talk?"
"Perfect," you said softly.
And as the car pulled away from the curb, you couldn't help but think that this right here, right now was the beginning of something you never saw coming.
What have I gotten myself into?
But for the first time, you didn't care. You were just excited to find out
Author note.âď¸ ÝË- thank you so much for the overwhelming support and love iâve received for my first ever fanfic on here it still feels surreal to me, I hope you enjoyed this one just as much as the first and Iâm planning on making this story a seriesđ¤
a/n: i havenât written in over a year, so my transitions & storytelling may be rusty.
semi-proof read, sfw, bsf2lvrs
now playing: the light in the painting - lizzy mcalpine
Trivia Night.
The Casselle Cassettes found themselves pre-gaming at the Bar.
âTonight, the shots are on me.â Nikki said proudly, raising a shot glass in the air.
You all followed her lead, an imaginary shot for you as you pledged to sobriety.
âWhoo!â a sharp cheer came from Ian,âSomeoneâs mommy has sugar to spendâ a promiscuous comment only Ian could say.
âEw.â abrupt in unison from you and Sarah, and of course, a small entertained smile from Bear.
Nikki laughs, unapologetically herself,
âHeâs right, you are all my sugar babies, in courtesy of Nikki Freeman. So, drink up bitches!â
Something about that statement, made her so incredibly appealing.
A great start to a night thatâs not going to feel long enough, time never feels enough with Nikki.
You watch the four of them clinking their glasses, your eyes focusing particularly on Nikki, the way she sticks out her tongue in the rush of it all.
âThere you guys have it, Nikki Freemanâs first shot of the night.â Nikki said, you withheld your laugh, wincing instead.
âLetâs not refer to ourselves in third-person for the rest of the night..â You tease the girl, waving off with second-hand embarrassment.
âJust making sure you guys donât forget my name.â She shrugged.
Ian and you bursted out in laughter, what an odd response.
A confusing glint from Sarah and Bear, âWhy would we forget your name, Nikki?â Sarah asked.
Nikki cleared her throat before looking back up at you all. âIâm moving.â
The energy shifted.
âWhat?â you react first, playing off the dryness in your throat with the excuse of your laughter shared with Ian moments before.
âYouâre joking right?â Came from Bear.
Nikki pursed her lips before speaking, âGuys, letâs not make this into too big of a deal. Itâs Trivia Night! Gotta be on our A-game tonight.â She tried to rile everyone up with a motivational smile and a set of mid-air first pumps.
Her smile quickly faded, regretting saying anything before the alcohol truly set in their systems, still receiving monotonous reactions.
She turned her head in Ianâs direction, a signal for help, as he always had the ability to redirect the conversation.
âLetâs make tonight memorable for âdebutanteâ Nikki Freeman, câmon guys!â swiftly taking steer of conversation.
Sarah gave a small smile, chipping in âYeah, letâs keep having fun tonight like we planned. Weâre all happy for you, Iâm happy for you.â Sarahâs affirmations were always the best and needed in moments like this.
However, the moment those words left Nikkiâs mouth, you immediately felt the world caving in on you.
If it wasnât for being designated driver,
the poker face that seemed so eager to linger, wouldâve been gone by the time she finished her sentence.
âWe need to show out!â You chimed in, suppressing your wave of derealization.
The game felt a bit more serious, bittersweetâ thatâs the energy you resonated with.
Ian called it âNikkiâs Last Hurrahâ, as he called for another round of shots.
âIâm taking charge of tabs now, sorry not sorry, Nikki.â He said, using his card when she passed hers along, receiving an eye roll from her.
âYeah, tonightâs about you now. Ian has been now crowned âSugar Mommyââ You joked, erupting unanimous laughter from the group.
You werenât sure why Ian thought being drunk would finalize a victory.
You were peeved at the thought thatâs one of Nikkiâs last game-nights will consist of drunken stupidity and a high chance of losing.
All you wanted was to utilize your time with her wisely, and that meant every potential memory had to feel perfect and happy.
Although, your plans didnât fruit in the way you expected.
You eventually came to terms with how your commitment and competitiveness towards winning was one-sided. you cut your losses the moment you realized how Nikkiâs happiness didnât waver based on whether the Cassettes were winning or losing.
And Honestly, you couldnât blame their drunkness when you were distractedâ completely soberâ due to Nikkiâs intoxicating beauty and presence. The way she latched onto your arm, made unfunny jokes, yet still carried herself with exhilarating confidence.
You liked that, You like her, You admire her and everything she does.
âY/N?â Sarah perks up, reality interrupting your Nikki daydreaming.
âWhat was the question?â You asked squeamishly, embarrassed you were caught mid-staring at the girl whose arms were woven into yours.
The group laughed as Nikki whispered the question into your ear, hoping to shake some embarassment off.
By the end of the night, no one denied the fun you all hadâ thatâs what mattered the most to you.
Even Bear came out of his usual timid demeanor, ironically answering every question handed to him correctlyâ a secret weapon the cassetteâs didnât know they had all along.
You took it as his one last resort to impress Nikki, his limerence for her painfully obvious. Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you, tonight wasnât the best moment to show off his efforts, because the team still terribly lost.
Better late than never.
When you thought he was done performing his last act, he wasnât.
Trivia Nightâs over.
The Casselle Cassettes are in the parking lot of Barkerâs Pub.
Sarah and Ian are insisting that they bar hop, that âthe nightâs still youngâ.
âNikki wants to head home, shouldnât we respect the farewelling girlâs wishes?â You sighed, taking the pressure off her.
Nikki clapped, âThank you Y/N!â
âAnd anyone who chooses to continue the night without me, is ultimately manifesting me to crash on my departing plane.â She continued.
Rough Crowd.
Sarah and Bear looked at each other in disapproval.
Ian and you laugh like hyenas once again at Nikkiâs theatrics.
âDonât even joke like that, Nikki.â Bear said, making the joke so much harder to laugh at.
In which you did. Stopped laughing. Crossed your arms on top of it.
What an odd guy.
âBear, itâs just a joke.â She smiled, pushing his arm lightly.
Her ability to act oblivious and give Bear the genuine reassurance he shouldnât be given the access to, repulses you. Your fingers tap along your arms, the interaction between them stretching unnecessarily long.
And then, an atomic bomb, âI can drop you off home if youâd like.â He offered.
You bit the inside of your cheek, the audacity of his existence and serving Nikki in any capacity pissed you clear off. Youâre a petty person!
Before Nikki could awe at the gesture you intervened with a quick refusal, âNo.â
âTell me, Ian and Sarah. How are you two getting home?â You asked, turning towards them, to use them as an example.
âAn uber.â Sarah replied, Ian nodding in agreement with a thumbs up.
You turn back to Nikki and Bear, âExactly. So, Bear.â Your hands clasp together, aligning with your jaw, your lips pouting in feigned sympathy. âThat offers nice, but youâll take an uber and Iâll drop Nikki off home. I havenât drank all night.â You said sternly, channeling a protective energy.
Ian and Sarah rightly staying quiet at a distance, pursed lips and smugsâ their faces said enough.
Nikki squealed, using her index finger to drag across your arm, âI love a woman whoâs in touch with her dominant side.â She joked, one she wouldnât have had the courage to say to you sober.
A heat crept up your neck.
You tried immensely not to fumble your next set of words, âThanks, Nikki.â You laughed off.
Bear quickly felt embarrassed, shaming and cursing himself internally. For starters, forgetting he drank, and then, proceeding to offer a ride home to his ideated lover under the influence. it doesnât get more humiliating than that.
do not drink and drive.
There goes his hopes and dreams, walking with you towards your car.
You two bid farewell to the remaining cassettes, your main priority getting a sleepy Nikki home.
âSee you guys tomorrow at 9!â She waved, her back now faced to youâ walking backwards to look at them.
As loud as she can be, âTonight was awesome. I love you guys!â sign language-ing the phrase of endearment in the air.
âMwah, Mwah!â Her last act of affection, receiving reciprocating blown kisses from Sarah, big smiles all around.
You chuckled at the sight of her.
This is why you loved Nikki, seeing her be her loving authentic self made your heart swell, more than you wanted to admit.
âAlright, letâs get you in lassie.â You encouraged her, ensuring she got into your passenger seat safely.
âI can take care of myself, vaqueritaâ matching your country-twangâ in which you didnât understand. you donât speak spanish, but that didnât mean your body didnât react to whatever the hell she said. speaking a foreign language did well enough to your ears and your body, the way her accent rolled out of her tongue made your stomach churn. your mind wandered off, thinking and visualizing of the more explicit things Nikki Freeman could do with her tongue.
You buckled her seatbelt despite her attestation. âAnd what does that mean?â You ask, hands at your hips, looking down at her now.
âIt means little cowgirl. Since you called me lassie.â She explained.
âAh.â You said, the lingual association clicking.
You get into the drivers seat, inserting your key as you twist it into ignition.
You looked over to Nikki, admiring that she already appeared to be sleepy as she leaned her head against the window. Nikki was tiny, lying at five feetâ so she could make herself quite comfortable, lifting her feet to her chest in fetal position.
You refrained yourself from audibly aweing at the sight of her. Instead, you simply smiled, an express you would like for her not to notice.
Mid-drive, you turned over to Nikki, surprised the sleep hasnât consumed her.
âThought you were sleeping.â You said, halting at a red light.
âNo.â She said softly, her eyes darting between the surrounding city lights outside.
You could tell she had thoughts keeping her awake. âA lot on your mind?â You asked softly.
She took a deep breath, a heavy exhale leaving her nostrils. âYeah, with moving.â
Ah. You almost completely forgot about the whole thing, honestly hoping that at some point Nikki would take it back as a joke.
âWhen are you moving?â You asked, maybe talking through it would help her nerves, and your own.
Your fingers fidgeted along the wheel. The light turns green as she responds, âThree days after I complete my two weeks notice.â
âWow, thatâs really soon.â You said, silence filling up the carâ almost an intensity, a quietness that neither of you really wanted to sit in.
âWhatâs with the sudden change?â You asked, before correcting, âNot sudden, because I know moving has always been in your plans to pursue writing, but youâve only told us now.â
The weight of her guilt had been stirring in Nikki, not saying anything sooner. With another deep breath, âYeah. I got an offer as an intern for Colden Books in New york 2 months back.â
Your eyebrows raised at the omitted confession.
âI thought that pushing down the day it comes and allowing myself to experience the time I have with you all in normalness would mask my fear.â She continued.
You noticed how vulnerable this was for her. You so badly wanted to pull over to reassure her of any fears coming her wayâ to look intently in her eyes and touch the back of her hand while speaking through her to ensure your commitment in making her feel seen and heard and nothing goes unnoticed by you.
âNikki..â you said softly, giving her a quick glance where you wore furrowed eyebrows and a weakened smile.
âWhat do you have to be afraid of? You have nothing to fear. Within your few months in, iâm sure you be promoted in 3 months with a manuscript, completely your own, posted on the front of the paper.â
Nikki smiled at that, not that you could see. It made her sad, knowing the support she longs for would be so so far away.
âThe cassettes will always be cheering for you from here. Yâknow that.â You felt stupid for saying your group name aloud, a corny name stemming from an inside joke.
Nikki audibly laughed now, âGosh. Iâm gonna miss you guys.â
Your heart swelled at the sound of her hearty laugh, âAnd, weâre in a day and age where Facetime exists. Our bi-weekly calls will be no different Niks.â Your voice laced with a gentle warmth that made Nikki pout, hearing that childhood nickname with your fragility ached.
âYâknow I only ever get to talk about this with you. Be this vulnerable.â She said looking at you, before she focused on her chipped polish.
âMy fear isnât just whatâs out for me in New York.. but maybe the unspoken things that may not come to light in the life in time. I just hope I donât leave with anything left unsaid and regrets.â She explained.
You couldnât help but tease her way of words, âThe author side of you is coming out.â In reality, you were masking that you couldnât fully understand what unspoken things she was referring to.
She chuckled softly to your oblivion, but how could you know?
No one knows when she likes someone, sheâs very private with that aspect of her life.
__
When you arrived home, instead of sleeping, the events of the night ruminated in your head.
With a shift in five, you were lying down in your bed, sitting with the fact that Nikki Freemanâ your all-time best friend and crushâ was moving. leaving you, leaving this life, slipping from your fingers.
The idea of acting on your confession started to become uncomfortably real, you could no longer run away from the fact that you have intense feelings for the girl.
____
This thought didnât stop circulate the moment you woke up, like you had hoped. Nor the moment you clocked into Cassellâs, or clocked out for lunch break. The thoughts only heightened: when you were around Nikki, when you noticed her favorite vinyl on the shelf, when you look in the corner of the shop and replay the memory of her terrible attempt at playing violin.
When you go to the bathroom and look i. the mirror, remembering the way Nikki likes your hair and how she likes when you only secure a button or two on your uniform instead of them all.
You washed your face to replenish the energy you lost from lack of sleep.
When you walk out, Itâs Nikki.
âI wouldnât go in there. Bombed the bathroom.â You said.
Nikkiâs face contorted, âEw!â, she repulsed at your disgusting honesty.
Just kidding.
âGotcha!â You said, pewing some fingerguns like a childâ when youâre actually 24.
âY/N. Youâre so not funny. Who even joked about that?â She shook her head, fighting a grin as she walked passed you.
Before closing the door she looked back, âYouâre coming tonight right?â
âAt Ianâs?â You checked, âOf course. Wouldnât miss it for the world.â You assured her.
âGood.â She smiled, a little bit too hard.
As the door closed you pitched in another piece of news, âExpect to see me actually drinking tonight too!â
Youâve been sober for 7 months, but you want to celebrate for Nikki.
âWhat?!â She said, a bit muffled from the door between you.
She quickly opened the door again, âGod. Canât let a girl piss in peace?â Before the conversation could change, she recircled back to your statement, âAre you serious?â She asked, taken aback.
âOne-Hundred Percent.â You said, as if it were no big deal.
âOh my gosh, Y/N! Iâm happy that you feel safe enough to do that, and how breaking your sobriety comfortably would be for me.â She awed, taking your hand in yours.
âHey, did you even wash these?â You teased, pulling your hand away, the vulnerable moment of the conversation quickly fading.
She rolled her eyes, âI didnât even piss yet! Thanks to you.â
She punched your shoulder, playfully.
âOw!â You feigned hurt from her impact.
âSeriously though, you donât have to if you donât want to. I want this to be a decision you make, completely on your own, for you.â Nikki pressed.
âNikki. I promise. This is for me.â You said sincerely, taking her hand in yours again.
The interaction felt a bit intimate for the workplace, which made you appreciate her thoroughness with you ten times more.
___
Ianâs Kickback.
Ian commemorated tonightâs kickback to Nikki. He set up her favorite foods, games, and had cardboard print-out of all Nikkiâs hear me outs.
Why wasnât there one of you? you donât know.
Ian likes to half-ass a lot of things, so his effort to arrange everything meant a lot
The room was filled with people Nikki loves and knows.
The Cassettes, of course, and some secondary-tier friends and then third.
Nikki was soaking up so much attention from everyone, as sheâs entitled tooâ she doesnât get to see this many of her friends in a room often, especially so last minute.
You were just very desperate to have a moment with her, the urge just increasing as you kept entertaining yourself with shots.
Fuck it.
You approach Nikki as she was mid-conversation with a girl you didnât care to know the name of.
âOutside?â You asked, a question that was more of a pleadâ the single-worded question a reflection of your drunkness.
She found your inability to find the words to articulate yourself cute.
Nikki gave a small smile to the girl she once was talking to, being pulled away by you out to the backyard porch.
âYou okay?â She asked, a bit worried since itâs your first time drinking in a minute.
âMore than okay. Why?â You ask, before stopping, âDonât answer.â you said, âShh.â you shushed her, your pointer finger placed on her lips.
Nikki pulled away, giggling at your unusual demeanorâ it was very entertaining, seeing such ditziness coming from you.
âI wasnât even gonna say anything the moment you told me not to answer.â she replied.
Nikki grabs you by your hips, guiding you to sit down on the porch swing, taking her place next to you.
Maybe not the best idea when youâve drank as much as you have.
âIâm gonna lay down on you. I feel sick.â You said dramatically.
âJust donât throw up on me.â Nikki said.
âDonât swing the seat then.â You said quick-witted, more-so a warning for the both of you.
You rested your head on Nikkiâs lap, looking up at her.
Her hair was long enough for you to play with a section as you looked at her.
Nikki smiled, âYouâre clingy tonight.â
âIâm just drunk.â You explained.
âIs it?â Nikki questioned, making you laugh nervously.
âOf course,â you said too quickly.
âBut Iâm also gonna miss you. Will you deny me of my clinginess? If so, thatâs quite cruel, even for you Freeman.â You teased, your sole purpose is making her feel guilty in questioning your antics.
Nikki shook her head, a smile plastered on her face at your cheekiness. âYou are right. I am wrong. I wonât deny you in your clinginess.â She said, what sounded like music to your ears.
Nikki caressed the shell of your ears. You know she likes it done to herself so she was reciprocating that comfort unto you, you found it endearingly sweet.
Your breathing became unintentionally synchronized as your eyes darted between eachothers coincidentally. This felt solemn.
âAre you gonna miss me?â You asked softly.
Nikki pouted, âIâm gonna miss you the most Y/N.â She answered quickly, like it should never be questionedâ you both found yourselves unraveling your truths.
âThat should never be a doubt that comes across your mind,â she said sternly, âBi-weekly FaceTimes, remember?â
âPinky promise?â You pulled out your pinky.
Nikki scrunched her face, âY/N⌠are we children?â
Your chest ached, âStop. Iâm serious.â your face conveying your impatience.
âIâm serious too.â She played, âOkay. I pinky promise to continue our Bi-Weekly FaceTimes.â Intertwining her pinky with yours.
After sealing the pinky promise, you readjusted yourself to where youâre sat on Nikkiâs lap.
The eye-tag felt a bit more intense, the distance between you too intimately closer.
You opened your mouth, impulsing on your thoughts to confess âNikki⌠I,â
âI know what youâre going to say.â Nikki interrupted.
She looked at your hand below, clasping them with her own, holding onto them tightly before reaching your gaze again.
âYouâre drunk.â
Your eyebrows furrowed, âAnd?â
âAnd.. if you have anything to get off your chest.. that involves us. I want you to feel in controlâ fully.â
You pull back, creating a bit of distance between you, almost feeling a bit of rejected so you attest to that, âI am drunk. But I am sure about you.â
âY/NâŚâ she said hesitantly.
You leaned in again, cupping her face with your palms, trying to look for an open gateway to release whatâs been on your mind for years.
She laid her hands on top of yours, pulling them back down again, looking into your eyes. âA lot goes into our friendship, okay? I just donât want to risk misplacing words that significantly mean something.â She advised.
Now, you were getting annoyed, âSo you donât feel the same way?â
âWhat? No, Y/N. I just donât want to take advantage of you, you havenât been under the influence in months.â She tried to explain.
âThen hear me out Nikki. Youâre not taking advantage of me, I can take care of myself.â You said, Nikki finally nodding.
âSober or not. I know, iâm choosing to say this in a way that I wasnât expecting, but it doesnât make it any less true.â You started off, before saying those big three words.
âNikki, I love you.â
You felt Nikkiâs breath hitch, so you paused momentarily before you read her signals to continue on.
âI have liked you, always, as a person, even more as a friend. I feel compelled to tell you how I feel, especially with you leaving.â The reminder, causing tears to well up that you quickly wiped away.
You swallowed down your emotions, âLike I said, I like you. Itâs the way you speak. The way you speak about yourself, and others. Whenever youâre in the room, my eyes donât leave you, like how I canât look away from you right now.â
Nikki smiled, trying to fight back tears.
âAnd I donât know why I took so long to say anything. I was scared of risking our friendship. And the rest of the group. I didnât want to make it weird yâknow? And Bear.â Oops. The mention of his name confusing Nikki, but a conversation for another day.
âI always feel the need to take care of you, and right now iâm letting the roles reverse for once. Donât let that make you think I have my guard down though. Iâll sober up for you if anything happens to you.â You managed to assert your need to protect her through your confession, typical.
Nikki listened intently, noticing how the alcohol made you ramble, but she wasnât complainingâ she enjoyed it deeply to hear what you thought of her and how she affected you in the ways sheâs been hoping.
âAnd I, I love you Nikki. Thatâs it, thatâs all. Deep Down, I donât want you to go to New York. ButâŚâ You breathed heavily before committing to the next bit, but you didnât need to worry.
Nikki stopped you.
âI know, baby.â She shushed you.
âWe can talk about it another day.â She smiled.
âHow are you such a know-it-all? How do you know what Iâm going to say?â You protested.
âBecause, youâre predictable. I know you. Thatâs what happens when you love someone.â She says, sharing her reciprocality.
âSo you do feel the same way?â
Nikki shook her head, which made your heart drop.
âWhat did I say about doubting? Drunk or not, you will always overthink something, huh?â She teased.
âI love you.â The big three words youâve been waiting all night to hear. All those years have been placed brick by brick for this moment.
âI love you Y/N.â She repeated.
You tucked her misplaced strands of hair behind her ears, âI really want to kiss you.â you said.
âI really want to kiss you too.â Nikki said.
âBut,â she started, making you roll your eyes and lean your head back in pent-up impulsivity.
âYou really donât know how to be romantic do you?â You asked.
âClearly, you havenât had experience with girls.â You continued. The statement puncturing a wound into the girlâs heart.
Her tiny self picked you up, hauling in her armsâ a romantic gesture.
âNot taking advantage of a girlâs drunken state isnât romantic these days?â She said sarcastically.
âI feel pretty sobered up, please just kiss me!â You whined, you felt as if you were being withheld of a way to live.
Nikki placed you down, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek. Your cheeks plumped at her chaste touch.
âWhat a polite lady you are, Ms.Freeman.â You giggled.
âItâs not taking advantage if iâm the one initiating it right?â You asked, but not taking no much for answer.
You placed your hands on her jaw, reeling her into you, your bodies against each other as you tilted your head into a kiss. a real kiss. this is the kiss you were sought out for.
Nikkiâs guard finally wavered, and she felt herself melting into you, her hand wrapped around her waist as she kissed you back. She couldnât restrain herself from her urges much longer. Her thumbs rolled against the bone of your hips, her repetitive motions became a reminder that this moment is real. The softness of your lips she constantly thought about didnât compare to how plush they were against her own, and the way your body heat and synchronized hearts reacted against each-other in the cold frigid air.
It didnât last long,
an unwanted presence interrupted the fated interactionâ Bear.
He had opened the sliding door, only seeing Nikki in-view.
âThere you are Nikki, everyoneâs been looking all over-â
Your eyes fluttered open, quickly pulling back, peaking over Nikkiâs shoulder.
Bearâs body immediately tensed, a sight that you felt cruelly lucky enough to see. A salt on his lingering wound from the night before. Ouch.
âOh shit, Iâm sorry, I didnât mean to- Iâll leave.â Bear stammered, quickly shutting the slide door as he husked inside.
You two looked at each other, stone-cold faces erupted into laughter.
âGosh, the poor guy!â You mocked.
âLooks like weâll have some explaining to do when we get inside.â Nikki said.
You played with her hair, shaking your head in dismissal. âBear wouldnât hurt a fly. Heâs not gonna say anything.â You assured.
Nikki chuckled, âI know, but I want to.â
âYouâre the closest thing to heaven, Iâm going to exercise my bragging rights.â
N4sty Tells!Boyfriend-Jobe! x BlackFem reader: Something short and sweet, Jobe is trying to get a vacation so he could spend time with you but it seemed a screen got more attention than him.
R3y info!No warnings, fluff, cute, etc.
Sidenote: the only reason we got this is from my old ass wattpad imagine i haven't published so here we are.
Enjoy!
It was the breezy night in the UK, the wind making the curtains genuinely lift and fall while you stood in the kitchen making yourself popcorn, since you wanted to relax and watch a movie.
Jobe was in the living on a phone call with his manger about this upcoming games and such that have been popping up. He wanted a break, he wanted to be with you.
Once your popcorn was done you gently walked to the living room, grabbed a blanket from the close guest room and started up the movie.
It was a sappy romcom nothing too crazy since you just wanted to relax and let loose. Jobe was still on the phone with his manger. He seemed to getting ticked off by the minute from what you could hear but you didn't pay much mind.
đđ°đŁđŚ'đ´ đđđ:
"The season is almost over there's no point in me being there, you can sub someone in for me there's loads of people on the damn team" I said while rubbing forehead. Can a man not take the damn hint.
"jobe we need you, Ill give you a few days off but it can't be more than 5 that's that. I'm bending anything or moving anything around." he bargained making my sigh in defeat. I'm already tired I don't need anything else bothering him.
"Fine I'll take the 5 days, no calls though. I'll see you next week Tuesday" I said before hanging up.
I walked back into the living room with a gentle Huff and looked around before heading to the book shelf to grab something to read.
I sat down in my reading chair and got through a few pages before my eyes drifted from the page to the couch where the love of my life laid watching TV.
I watched the way her eyes flickered smoothly around the screen. Her eyelashes kissing her cheek with every blink. The way her afro would shudder and every laugh that escaped her soft lips.
A smile slowly grew on my lips before I gently bit down on my bottom limp out of interest.
I let out a breath and closed my book and went over to her to see what had her so amused.
I gently sat next to her and immediately felt her heat radiate onto me. God I loved it.
I chuckled when her eyes stayed glued on the screen, it was if she was trapped in whatever situation she was watching. It was cute. She was cute.
"Darling"I said softly and I went through one ear and out the other making me warm heartedly roll my eyes.
I traced her face with my eyes. Then her neck. Then her exposed back from her blanket being casted aside.
I bit my lip and lead forward and kissed her shoulder. I turned my eyes up to see if she was paying attention but she was still doll eyeing the screen.
"oh come on baby" I chuckled before kissing her neck and rubbing her back.
When she still stayed quiet I gently grabbed her chin and kissed her on the lips making her giggle against mine, before she kissed back.
Once I pulled back and looked down at her. Her eyes were huge. Doll like. The warm brown that gazed at me through those long whisky lashes caught my heart like nothing else.
"wanna explain you airing me like I was a dust bunny under your couch?" I teased gently leaning down. My lips peppered kisses down her neck. I felt the hitch in her throat and smirked.
"The movie was really interesting, I couldn't help it." she giggled pulling back from my hold to look at me.
"Yeah right, it can't be that interesting"
"wanna bet mate?" "Mate? You're pushing it baby" I chuckled while laying back and gently lifting her onto me.
"I'm sorry, I mean đ˝đđđŽ" she teased resting her chin gently on my chest. Her afro leaning forward to cover her face since it was blown out.
"stop hiding under your hair. Let me see that beautiful face" I said while rubbing her back before lowering my hands to rest on her ass.
I watched as she lifted her head and looked at me, I parted my lips once my eyes locked on hers. I removed my right hand from her rear and lifted her chin and kissed her.
It was slow. Sweet. Warm.
He wasn't looking for anything more than just her embrace and attention.
It was his favorite.
it uses "Jobe's POV" thats how you know its bare old yeah, but short and sweet stufff.
like, comment (dont be shy) gimme a kiss/j and reblog. bye!
SHEâS NO GOOD FOR YOU â A JUDE BELLINGHAM SMAU
( đ ) AUTHORS NOTE⌠part one lol i really wish i could just blink and everything i want to be written would just appear. anyways welcome to the introduction for the vibes. part two with jude coming later tonight after I finish editing â WARNINGS explicit language, jokes, some mean comments but ur a soldier boo donât even blink
( đ đ ) ALSOâŚ.. ** please let me know if yall want this to also have any written parts.** i can always focus the book on social media and add little fics on the side for the in person parts. itâs up to yall (I might do it anyway lol read it or donât we ball! itâll provide more details. + I hope yall like the layout. if not lmk and Iâll change it. :)
internationaliTEA #Tea-Mates This just in! Englandâs National Team seems to be celebrating their third place World Cup victory with their annual bromance conference this weekend!
If our sources are correct, the team seemed to graciously hand out several RSVP invitations paired with: NDAâs? A complete change from the mess at last years self-hosted gala that resulted in some of the most delicious nights of drama yet!
ICYMI: Last yearâs banquet was held in Oxfordshire, and was the birthplace of one of the most infamous nights in football tea history. From the (âallegedâ) explosive arguments between an uninvited Mbappe and an annoyed Trent, to Bellinghamâs breakup from his long term girlfriend of 2 years, weâll make sure we find a way to keep you all updated the night of!
Turn our post notifications on!
liked by user22, user 23, and others.
VIEW ALL COMMENTS.
user22 Of Gosh, another one??
âł user23 itâs an ANNUAL gala you idiot
âł user22 you mean an annual night where these degenerates can get together and do what? how about they practice for next World Cup instead
âł user23 get a life bro
user24 omg i wonder if jude will bring his gf!
âł user27 did you even read the caption? They broke up đ
user25 only here for the wag looks that night đŤ
user26 canât wait!
user27 hopefully mbappe crashes again lol
âł user27 nvm i need madrid to get along this yr bruv PLEASE
user28 ndaâs for a gala? #haha
user29 yayyy Trent was invited (â:
user30 wait, I know mbappe made up with everyone, but what happened with Jude???
âł user31 basically from what this page confirmed, they disappeared 15 min into the dinner and jude came back along without her! no one knows how she left and immediately after that night she deleted all her posts with him and literally just never mentioned him again. we donât know exactly what happens but people think she mightâve cheated
âł user30 damn thatâs crazy
âł user31 yh lol some people I know in the uk say they still see them together sometimes but I take it with a grain of salt
next part is long & messy lol be ready. enjoyed that? leave a like, comment, reblog, or whatever your heart desires! i accept criticism and compliments but I prefer the latter! xox
â this is exactly how it should feel when itâs meant to be. â
â UNTHINKABLE, Alicia Keys.
đđ â A SOCIAL MEDIA AU, MATURE, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, CONTAINS MEMES, USE OF INSTAGRAM/TWITTER, CRACK!FIC, FRIENEMIES TO LOVERS, JUDE IS A SWEETHEART & A YEARNER, READER IS CONTROVERSIAL & AVOIDANT, DISCUSSES RACIAL STEREOTYPES & OTHER TOPICS
STARRING⌠#JUDEBELLINGHAM & POC-AMERICAN!READER
Ë ËË âââ ââ âââ ËËË
AUTHORâS MESSAGE⌠hello everyone! new crackfic to have something to update to when iâm losing it. this will be full of stuff thatâs funny to me bc I might be self inserting. NO FACE CASTS, THE PICTURES ARE JUST MEANT FOR POSE & OUTFIT INSPIRATION. itâs okay if every picture is of a different person lol use ur imagination thatâs why weâre here! NONE OF THE PHOTOS ARE MINE, ALL CREDS TO PINTEREST (:
PLEASE BE AWARE this fic will touch base on a lot of drama â i.e., the stereotype of footballers only dating white women, racial stereotypes other countries have for americans/poc/black women & men, and many more. reader smokes weed & reader drinks, if any of this makes you uncomfortable please donât read cause I donât care. i also donât care if something i say doesnât seem realistic THIS IS JUST FANFICTION. some names were changed around (djedâs sister & a few more) just to keep the point of imagination up.
Ë ËË âââ ââ âââ ËËË
đđ â you just turned 25. young, freshly graduated from your dream school of NYU, and ready for the world. during your freshman year, you meet a new face that becomes close enough to a second half for you- your roommate brianna spence. together, you two spend the rest of your college years joined at the hip and traveling the world. it helps when her brother plays for englandâs national football team.
youâre a woman of many words. very strong-minded, strong-willed, and strong-hearted. you came from a single mother home, with only one sister and the incessant need to provide for them wheneverâs possible. you scored an editorial position at the Vogue office in the financial district and just moved into your one bedroom apartment in the heart of the city (with an amazing view). sure you smoke and drink, and curse and cry, but the world is at your fingertips and youâre enjoying what itâs got to offer. everything in your life was going perfect.
until he finds you on instagram one nightâ and then everything changes forever.
Ë ËË âââ ââ âââ ËËË
ONE . â TWO. â THREE. â FOUR. â
FIVE. â SIX. â
Ë ËË âââ ââ âââ ËËË
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if you made it this far, i will give you a kiss muah thank u for taking a chance on a random crackfic that has no expectations and maybe even some mischaracterization for the plot i love u and i hope u enjoy
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Summary: Youâve always loved Clark, but it wasn't so easy. There were rules to these things, you know.
Word count: ~7.7k
Contains: Fluff/angst. Friends-to-lovers, seniors at Smallville High (everybody is 18, mentally more mature). Suspend your disbelief bc the gang is Pete/Chloe/Lex/Lana/Lois. Idiot!Clark and Booksmart!Reader. Unrequited-to-requited love, confessions, drama in friend group. 10 Things I Hate About You homage & corniness all around. Reader is nicknamed Cap lol it's cute I swear. Happy ending :)
A/N: I really really love how this one turned out :,) hope you guys do too. Wish tumblr had better formatting tho this looks cuter on ao3 lmao. I imagine reader a lot like my beloved Pam Beesly when she walks the coals. Girls, speak your minds. We only have so much time to be free and easy. Enjoy anon <333
Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
That was the first commandment of your personal holy text. A list, scribbled hurriedly in the back of your notebook when you were eleven, weathered by years of spilled sodas and tears. The rules were there to protect that part of you which would take the longest to evolve as you became a young woman: your heart. Really, they were quite infallible rules. Though quite juvenile in conception, and a bit poorly worded, the ideas had to be taken down. You often found yourself struggling to cope in situations that were completely normal, like the average mall afternoons and classroom projects. You needed to have something tangible to follow when you could not function in the wake of Clarkâs sunshine. And in your devoted way, you lived by them. From middle school all the way until your senior year you adhered to these guidelines without fail, and it helped you survive lifetimes of being best friends with the golden and angelic Clark Kent, small town hero⌠and Lana Langâs admirer. Â
It was a poor hand to be dealt, to love a boy who didnât know what he wanted. It was not that Clark was a bad person, but he certainly had no proper guidance on the subject of love. His parents were a one in a million example, and they set up quite unattainable expectations for true love in the teenage world; not to mention the series of significant others his friends blew through (especially Lex), proving oppositely that love had a time limit, and breakups usually ended badly, or that people did not last if they did not communicate. It seemed every example presented to him made love seem both aspirational and impossible, and for a boy so intent on having it, he was completely conflicted. His only good example was you, and that was the worst one to have, because it was completely invisible. Friend-love. Always-there-but-never-explored love. Too-late love.
The worst of it came from his unfortunate object of affection. Ever the dreamer, Clark latched onto Lana Lang from a young age and had never let go. Something about her aloofness, like a lovable cat who worked on her own clock, ensnared him. He timed his every breath to fit her whims, following the tides of her affection in and out, always waiting for when theyâd grace him once more. Even after she had boyfriends, and even after she said sheâd never reciprocate the feeling, and even after he promised to get over it, Clark just could not retract his claws. You could not blame him, because you technically did the sameâ but at least you were quiet about it. What nobody knew didnât exist and could not be judged. That was Clarkâs failureâ he was too sweet, open, and trusting. Everyone knew his love. Nobody knew yours.Â
There was nothing wrong with Lana Lang. In fact, you liked her very much. It was hard not to. She was gentle and understanding, she got good grades, she worked hard, she showed up when it mattered. She was a good friend to Chloe and Pete and you. But as these things go, you just couldnât shake the dreadful ache in your stomach when she came around, smiling with white teeth and tossing that glossy hair over her shoulder. There was nothing wrong with her, which made her perfect, and that meant you had to live in her shadow. Anybody would be a little resentful, however selfish or mean-spirited that might be. You were not perfect. Someone had to have flaws.Â
You managed well for a long time. You became close friends with Clarkâs group, seeing as you were around longer than all of them (you were sandbox, they were grade school), and considered Clarkâs most prized friend. You were at the top of your class alongside the quarterback. You went to every Friday night football game and cheered him on wearing the homemade Kent jerseys you and Chloe had bedazzled. You worked your shifts in the Talon without complaint and lived your life in silence. You grew up between braced smiles and new clothes each September, and surprise birthday parties planned by Clark alone, all for you, because he loved you, and you were his best friend, and the world revolved around that. The fabric of your life was repetitive and woven into his, and that of Smallville and all it contained, so you had to be content with it, because you knew nothing else. Did not want to know anything else, really, no matter how painful it became. Every year you got older, loved him more, and hated yourself in a new way. You kept on.Â
Somewhere along the line, though, you lost touch with that desire to keep hiding. One person could only take so much self-loathing and pity before they started to hate themselves for hating themselvesâ it was a slippery slope. You did not look at the sacred list anymore because you had trained yourself in its craft, which in turn morphed you into a shell capable of little more than behavioral adaptation. Nobody could sense it, not even Clark, but you knew. You seemed normal, like the same girl youâd always been, still intelligent and quirky and plump as the day the world met you. But you could feel in every step and breath how you moved mechanically, analyzing your every facial expression and word, making sure you gave nothing away and never truly let anybody see the truth. It was exhausting, and the only way you knew how to behave. You became the rules, and now that you were close to losing this curated life, you were restless. Tired of this game, of this fear. Terrified to stop, but needing to change.
By âlosingâ, college is implied. College and the changes of a young womanâs life. For you, that was a much more loaded event than for others.Â
Turning eighteen early was what ignited the turnaround. You reached the milestone sooner than most of the kids in your grade. You were light years ahead in maturity, already focused on your acceptance to MetU and counting the days until you could escape forever and be someone who was a part of a bigger world with other chances to be loved. After so much time spent giving back to Smallville and surrounding yourself with the things that looked, felt, smelled, tasted like the love of your life, you were growing weary. You had endured the pain as long as you possibly could, and now it was breaking you. There were only so many sleepovers and lake trips and study nights you could spend with your circle before it all felt like playing house with a handful of dolls, positioning yourself in a plastic chair to reenact a life you had never truly been living around people who thought you were present. No wonder you were an old woman trapped insideâ you had heaped on more emotional damage than any eighteen year old should ever sustain.Â
Graduation was a few weeks away, and you had an early MetU start in July, so you had two options now that your heart was finally evolving. Or rather, now that you have become self-aware. You could come clean before you go and leave the baggage behind, or you could keep your secret forever and hope it doesnât bite you in the ass when youâre gone.Â
Everything was so confusing now that you werenât sure which path to choose. You were not a confrontational person, and you knew that Clark would only meet you with a slurry of apologies and soft rejections, so it would be safest not to say a word. But the grown part of you, the piece that was forged in the sole flame of your heart that knew you deserved peace, felt he deserved to know. With everything heâs been through these last few years, all the leaning heâs done on you, all the heartbreaks youâve sheltered, he should know it wasnât done selflessly. He should learn not to trust those who surround himâ heâd believed in a fraud for too long. Gave her gifts and movie nights in the truck bed without knowing he was sitting beside a motivated girl. Then again, that might break him. He was so empathetic he might just die from knowing what he put you through. See? Confusing. Impossible. It seemed like there was no way to know how to handle the situation.
Then again, you had always been prepared, hadnât you? You had a list for these things. A scripture to abide by. So, with just mere days standing between you and the rest of your life beyond Clarkâ who was still unsure of following you and Chloe to MetU, or Lana to Central Kansasâ you decided to revert to your best shot at getting through the change alive. You dug through your bedroom for the sacred notebook and laid your eyes on a page you neednât touch since the age of fourteen. And upon reading it, you devised your plan.Â
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
The look on Clarkâs face was worse than all those years of imagination could have ever conjured. It was a bad place to do it, but you just didnât have the patience to wait any longer. It was gnawing at your body like a parasite, and you suddenly had to spit it out after harboring the secret so long. Granted, you could have waited until you were in a position to leave swiftly, and not done it in the car when there was another fifteen minutes to spare before he reached your house.Â
âYou⌠what?â He gulped, eyes wide as a deerâs while his fatherâs old farming truck rumbled down the county road.Â
You sighed in resignation, regretting the impulse. âI love you,â you repeated. âIâve been in love with you for a long time. A-and Iâm sorry to say it now. Itâs bad timing, I know, but I just⌠canât be quiet about it anymore. I feel like you deserve to know.â
The boyâ well, young man now, isnât he? Eighteen like you, grown up, beautiful, strong, your best friend after so much timeâ clutched the steering wheel like a buoy. His words drowned beneath his heavy tongue. âCap⌠how long?â
That was easy. âSince I was ten, at that Christmas party in Ms. Maryâs class. When you kissed me under the paper mistletoe.â You smiled a bit at the nickname. Everyone started calling you that when you captained the debate team in middle school. Even in a moment like this, he let it slip.
Clark dared to glance at you, relieved to find you were not looking back. Your eyes were trained on the cornfields outside the window, and your polished nail fiddled with the crank. Your face had not changed since ten years old. Your cheeks were still round, and they got red as apples in the cold or when you felt afraid. They were a deep Gala shade now, like the ones his mother picked from their tiny orchard along the edge of the farm. It was June, so it had to be the other catalyst for bloodflow. âYou remember that?â
âYes, I remember that,â you nodded, dropping your limp hand into your lap. âAll this time weâve been friends. And you love Lana, I know that. I never tried to tell you because it was pointless, but I donât know, something in me justâ just canât keep lying. Itâs not right. To me or to you.â
Clark had to remember he was driving and to keep his eyes on the road as you shifted in the cab. He blinked a few times, as if he could see all the moments of your shared life flashing before his eyes and was trying to scrutinize in vain, attempting to find any moment that stood out which might point towards a sign that youâd shown your love and he was too blind to recognize it. But nothing was memorable. That was your intention, after all. To go unnoticed.
âI donât expect you to say anything,â you said softly, breathing deeper, âor to apologize. Nothing is your fault. And itâs mean to just drop this on you, I know, but I donât want to upset you or confuse you, okay? Thatâs not the goal. I just wanted you to know, thatâs all. I donât⌠need anything, or, like, want anything from you. I donât need anything to change. Youâre still my best friend and Iâm yours, unless you say otherwise. Itâs just been a long time coming, and with me going to school soon and everything moving along, I felt like if you didnât know Iâd be cheating you, or something. Failing to be the friend Iâve been. I know how important it is to you for people to be honest, thatâs like your number one thing, and I wasnât brave enough where it mattered for a really long time. So Iâm sorry. And I hope youâre not angry, or sad, or⌠whatever.â
The sound of you breathing had always been so familiar to him, but as it sounded now, you were entirely new. Clark wasnât sure if he was feeling anger or remorse or a thousand emotions in-between. He wasnât sure of anything after hearing such unexpected words. He wanted to tell himself that he shouldâve known better, but how could he? You never seemed to care about him any more than just special, true friendship. In a way, he never assumed you would, so that might have helped blindfold him. You were this untouchable thing all his life, a constant between every heartache and failure; the one person he knew would never change, who always had his best interest at heart. And here you were, admitting to keeping a secret he wouldâve wanted to know. It could have been handled. You could have been cared for. He didnât know how to feel, and he definitely didnât know what to say.Â
But for you, the feeling was a better outcome than the payoff. The weight lifting from your chest made you wonder if youâd ever truly breathed right at all since you met Clark. The icy fear in your veins began to warm in his silence, and while you still wondered if you had ruined everything, you were less afraid to find out. You read somewhere that when people are finally ready to have an important conversation, they will know, because the idea will stop feeling like pressure and start feeling like an urge. That was exactly it. You had stopped wondering how long can I keep this up, how long before he finds out, when will I have to come clean, and begun thinking if I donât do it now, Iâll regret it. The change occurred without you even knowing. Finally, for the first time, you had broken the primary rule, and it felt good.Â
Clark didnât say anything that night. He just drove you home, and when you smiled and thanked him for the ride, he watched you leave with tears in his eyes, feeling so very confused, like heâd always been.Â
Rules For When Youâre Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clarkâs First Rule: Be honest with yourself
âIt came out of nowhere.âÂ
âI donât think so, Clark,â Martha sighed, running her fingers gently through the thicket of hair at the base of her sonâs neck. âShe might have hid it from you, but she didnât hide it from the world. That girl has always had eyes for you.â
âWhy didnât she say anything?â Clark sniffled, swiping tears away from his reddened eyes. âI feel like such an asshole.â Martha gave him a friendly whack on the neck and he winced. âSorry, Ma.â
âYou are nothing of the sort,â Martha hummed, pursing her lips in disapproval. âYouâve just had your head set on Lana. It wouldn't have helped for you to know.â
âYes it would!â
âHow, honey?â Martha gave a pointed glance. âWould it have made you like Lana less? Are there feelings there for you?â
Clark broke down into another sob and clutched at his hair. âI donât know, I donât knowâŚâ
He curled into his motherâs arms and cried for a long while. Clark didnât cry much, he was always the stoic type, but something inside him felt sick and rotten and he wanted to wretch until he rid himself of it. Never in his life had he felt more responsible for someoneâs pain than now. All he could imagine was little you, chubby and covered in glitter from art class, pining after him while he pined after Lana. Lana, who never wanted him back. You, who hugged him every time he was reminded of that reality. You, who forced him to watch 10 Things and Clueless and Sheâs All That, as if theyâd cheer him up. You, who never turned him away. It must have been torture to sit idly by and love him when he had his head too far up his own ass. You were his twin flame, the one he came to for everything, over even his own parents. Nobody else knew all of his secrets and mistakes. Nobody else could remember his favorite songs or what kind of publisher he liked to buy fromâ Oxford Classics, not Penguin, because he liked white spines. Not a soul could promise him everything would be okay and mean it like you did. And all heâd given you in return was a shotty friendship where his heart was somewhere else and his need with you.Â
Martha shushed into his hair as his breathing began to level. âShh, Clark, itâs alright⌠what are you thinking, huh?â
Clark croaked, âThat Iâm a terrible person.â
âOh, you are not,â she tutted, petting his ears. Clark lifted his sore eyes and gazed up at Martha. âYouâre a kind, generous person, thatâs why youâre so upset. You love her and you donât want to see her hurt.â
Clark rubbed his dribbling nose on his sleeve. âI donât know what to do, Ma. Iâm so confused.â
Martha tilted her head and brushed a few drying tears from his soft cheeks. âWell, do you love her too?â
Clark grunted in frustration. âNo! Yes! I donât know!â He added quietly, âI love Lana. Or, I think I love Lana. I just donât know. I always wanted it to be Lana.â
âBut it isnât. And it wonât be. I know that hurts, but you have to dig deeper than that now. You have to look at your life. You have to admit a few things to yourself, honey.â
âI want her to be happy,â Clark rasped, and he wasnât sure which girl he meant.
âLet me ask you differently,â Martha sighed, sitting back against the couch. She could answer the question for him, but he had to be the one to understand, not her. âWhen you think about her, and about Lana, which one do you feel sure with?â
Clark scratched between his eyes. âWhat?â
âWhich one makes you feel sure, sweetheart? Unafraid, happy, confident? Which one makes joy easy?â
Clark had never asked himself that question before.Â
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either
âIâm sorry, come again?â
âCome on, Chloe, donât make me do this over and over,â you mumbled, nudging the microscope towards her. The metal screeched on the black lab table, and she winced as she slid a new slide onto the plate. âIs it really so surprising?â
âYes!â She hissed, giving you a look of incredulity. âWhy did you never tell me? Youâve seriously just been, like, hiding this? Forever? Never thought it would help to let somebody know?!â
You huffed and scribbled a few notes onto the lab sheet. At the front of the room, Mr. Gable was grading the most recent quiz while the chemistry class did filler work. You could do this sort of thing with your eyes closed. âIt wouldnât have helped. Heâs always loved Lana, you know that. Wouldâve wasted my time and gotten me hurt way worse.â
Chloe frowned as she shoved the microscope back. âDid you not trust me?â
âOf course not! I trust you with everything. I just⌠you know. It wasnât something I wanted anyone to know about, okay? Too personal. Too⌠much.â
Chloe reached over with her pen, some sky blue doodad with a fuzzy top, and jotted a detail onto your sheet. She peered up at you from beneath her light eyes and sighed. âI canât say I donât get it. Weâve all had our things for Clark. Itâs hard not to,â she offered, âbut⌠jeez. Eight years?â
You shrugged. âHeâs my best friend.â
âSo you suffered in silence. Like a hermit. Or a monk.â
âI wouldnât say it was that extreme,â you fibbed.
âCome on.â
âIt just wasnât worth it, Chlo, okay? Now, can we please move on?â
âNo,â Chloe waved her fluffy pen in front of your nose. The interspersed tinsel shone under the fluorescent lights. âWe need to figure this out. What are you going to do?â
âNothing.â
The girl nearly choked. âNothing?â
âWhat do you expect? He still loves Lana!â You grumbled, glancing around. Everyone was busy pretending they were finishing the lab, itching for the bell to ring and set them free. Senoritis had a ghastly grip on the student population now. âPlus, Iâm going to MetU in a few weeks. He doesnât know what he wants or where heâs going, and I have to let go. I need to be able to start fresh.â
âSo youâre telling me, what, youâre doing some crazy mental purging so you can run away to Metropolis and pretend it never happened? He wonât let you go that easy and you know it. He loves you. Heâll miss you!â
âI didnât say we canât be friends,â you sighed.
âBut youâre treating it like heâll never want to see you again.â
You glanced at her, trying to find a reasonable rebuttal, but Chloe had a point. Maybe you were trying to shelter yourself, hoping the brave thing would eliminate the problem, and therefore circumvent the pain. Could you have been both brave and cowardly in the same moment? Would he see it that way?
âDid he say anything?â Chloe tacked on.Â
You shook your head, flipping the packet over to keep writing. âNo. I did tell him that he didnât have to, though. Itâs been a few days, I did it after the game last Friday. I havenât seen him since. I worked all weekend, so I donât really know what heâs thinking.â
Chloe frowned and rubbed your arm. âOh, babeâŚâ
âDonât do that,â you begged, âthis is why I didnât tell anyone! Iâm not some kicked puppy.â
Chloe leaned her head on your shoulder and said, âWell, it wouldnât hurt you to be one for a while. Feel something. Want something. He does, so why canât you get a chance?â
You stiffened a bit at the advice and stopped writing. Chloe could be very astute when she wanted to be.
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there â friends will snitch
âYou have to talk to us at some point, Cap,â Lois grumbled, âbecause Clark certainly wonât.â
You flushed and adjusted your jacket sleeves. âThatâs his choice. Also my choice.â
âBullshit,â Lois frowned, tugging her own coat on. That early summer chill was rolling over the darkening town, and the lake was too cold to stay much longer. âWeâre all in this, like everything else.â
âActually, Lois, we arenât,â you snipped.
As Chloe stoked the fire, everybody seemed to quiet down real quick. You were not known to assert yourself, especially against the big and mighty daughter of General Lane. Lana and Pete shifted uncomfortably in their Adirondack chairs, eyes flitting toward the shoreline where Lex stood beside Clarkâs shadowy frame. They were skipping rocks and undoubtedly avoiding you.Â
Loisâ frown deepened. âSo, what? You come clean with this crazy secret and expect it not to change the dynamic? Clark barely talks to anybody now, and neither do you! Itâs been two weeks of awkwardness! You guys need to work this out or else everyone is going to get real distant,â she warned. âWeâre about to graduate. You really want to end on this note?â
You sighed, feeling how her jabs rolled right off you like water on a duckâs back. Everything did, now that you had released the fear. Nothing seemed to matter so much, but not in a bad way. Everyone around you took everything as if it was the end of the world, in the customary teenage fashion, and you were growing out of that. The world did not end when you told Clark you loved him, and it wouldn't end with a few angry friends. And for any of them to share in Loisâ sentiments would prove that they cared more about preserving the illusion than performing the actual act of friendship. âLois, I get that itâs awkward, but really, this isnât about you or anybody else. Itâs between me and Clark. If you want to talk to him, talk to him. Iâm not gonna just air my shit out here.â
âShe has a point, though,â Lana interjected, sipping a Coke with nervous eyes. âWe just donât want it to ruin the group.â
Funny that the wedge between your heart and Clarkâs would feel comfortable enough to drive deeper in this moment, isnât it? That soft voice always seemed to grate you. Sometimes you wanted to tell her to stop speaking everything in whispers. But you affirmed your indifferent face and shifted your attention to Lana. âThe only thing that would ruin our friendship is if you guys canât get over it.â
âYou donât think thatâs a little harsh?â Pete furrowed his brow. âI mean, you guys are like our family. Everyoneâs just a little blindsided.â
âWell, Iâm sorry you feel that way, but Iâm not sorry I said it,â you shrugged, staring into the rekindled fire. âIt was a long time coming, and I can finally be proud of myself for something. I feel like I could say anything now, I feel that good.Â
âAnd you know what?â You continued, âI think itâs wrong that you guys are blaming me. Whatever grudge you have against me finally speaking my mind isnât my job to fix. If anything, Iâm just sorry I let everyone get so used to me being quiet. Iâve felt a lot of things, big things, for a really long time, and I never told any of you out of fear. Good thing, since now I know how youâll handle it. I didnât intend to upset anyone, but this isnât a group ordeal, yâknow? This is me and Clark. The Clark I knew before anyone else. Maybe it would do you guys some good to think about that before you judge me for putting myself first for once.â
The circle of shocked faces listened raptly as your even, gentle tone said things they would never have imagined you to think in a million years. You werenât angry, you didnât scream or cry, but you spoke with a level of confidence unseen. You werenât the girl theyâd come to know at all. You were someone entirely different, and a low cloud seemed to settle over each of their heads, shrouding them in the shame of being unobservant and judgemental enough to never look past your veiled surface.Â
You stood up spryly, smoothing out your jeans, and you smiled at them all with no resentment attached. âIâm gonna go home. If you want to talk to Clark, go ahead. I hope you get what you want from him. Iâll see everybody on Monday.â
âWaitââ Chloe began, her face sullen as the rest but eyes much more bright, because she was proud of you. One out of four ainât bad.Â
You cut her off with a smile. âItâs okay, Chloe. Iâll call you.â
After grabbing your bag from the sand, you clodded up the incline to the street, leaving your friends to sit around that stupid fire and wonder. They would have to think now about what it means to take care of yourself after being stuck in the center of a feeding circle, where everyone saps each other and never puts their personal growth in the way of the group. They would have to compromise with the knowledge that you wouldnât be held back, nor would you leave, but had committed some third thing born of a need to set free the girl youâd bound beneath your rules, and theirs.Â
Clark turned to see you leaving, and he saw the way you smiled. He heard you, even down at the shore. You had never looked happier, he realized. He did not follow you. He didnât have all the right words yet, and he wouldnât try until he knew what to say.Â
Rules For When Youâre Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clarkâs Second Rule: Be honest with others
Clark turned around again and thumbed the smooth, flat rock beneath his thumb. Lex watched the cold water ripple around his feet as he swirled one ankle in the lake.Â
âWhat are you gonna do, then?â Lex inquired, picking up the previous chat theyâd put on hold. Clark paused him to listen to you. âSeems like she just handed them their asses. Quite eloquently, I might add. Then again, that girl always knew how to make herself clear. When she actually tried, that is.â
Clark gave a slight chuckle and tossed the rock with a calculated flick of the wrist. It skipped on the water four times before sinking under the moonlight. âI still donât know.â
âWell, I think we talked enough about Lana. Youâve had time to mull it over. What conclusion have you come to? Anything you can credit me with?â
Clark smirked at the man to his side and ran a hand through his hair. âActually, there is something. The other day, you said something about love being hard, and needing a lot of maintenance.â
âYeah,â Lex nodded, bending down to pick up some new stones. âGreat stuff.â
âI donât think thatâs right.â
âOh, really? Are you the love expert?â Lex snickered.
Clark gave his friendâs shoulder a shove. âObviously not. But I asked my momââ
âOh, goodieââ
âShut up, will you? Listen,â Clark sighed. âI asked my mom, and the first thing she said was that she wasnât the least bit surprised to hear about all this. Which made me feel incredibly stupid. But then we got to talking, and I told her about Lana. Yâknow, how I always admired her, and wanted to make her happy. But when I got to thinking, I realized how hard that was, and it wasnât even reciprocated. What Iâve been feeling for her all these years has been at my expense, hasnât it? Iâve just been getting myself hurt over and over, and for what? To prove I could love somebody long enough it might wear them down? She never loved me back, but man, did she lead me on. That relationship is hard, and it took more work than I think was fair. And I wouldnât call that love at all. I would just call it⌠I donât know. Codependency, or⌠something.â
Lex straightened up again, pausing before tossing a rock over the water. âSo, you think you never really loved her?â
Clark rubbed his eyes. âItâs hard to say. Maybe thereâs a difference between loving someone and loving someone.â
âThatâs actual gibberish,â Lex grinned.Â
âMaybe it is,â Clark groaned, shaking out his arms. âBut you know what my mom asked me? Because I told her I was confused, right, and maybe it was possible I did have feelings somewhere deep down. She asked me, âWho makes you feel sure?â And when I really thought about what that could mean, it sort of⌠all opened up.â
âMeaning?â
âAll I ever did when I was around Lana was doubt myself. I pushed too hard, or worried too much. I would change how I acted and what I cared about for her. I second-guessed my every move.â
Lex stifled a laugh of agreement. âOh, I know.â
âBut with Cap, I canât think of a time when I wasnât sure.â
âLike, you never doubted anything?â
âNever. I trust her with it all. We could always talk, no matter what it was about, and she thinks Iâm funny when I know the joke is bad, and she never once did anything to make me feel like I needed to change, or feel differently about something,â he muttered. âWhen Iâm with her, Iâm not thinking about what I should be doing or who I need to be to make her happy. Everything just feels easy, and when she leaves, I wish she would stay. I always felt that way, even when I was hung up on Lana. Like, when she leaves, nothing is the same anymore.â He wasnât sure when Lex began staring, but he was well into it now. âWhat?â
Lex blinked at him, and said it plainly: âDude, I think you love Cap.â
Clark stared back, and wondered if that was the look of surprise he sprouted when you had confessed a couple weeks back. He nodded simply. âI think maybe I always did, but because I thought love had to be hard, I never knew it.â
Lex looked back out over the water and asked, âDo you think we fucked you up, man? All of us, with all these dysfunctional people?â
Clark managed a smile and took a stone from his hand. âI donât know. Maybe. All I know is that she never did. And now I wish I could just go back and see it all from the start, and do it right this time,â he admitted, âshe must be scared. We havenât talked.â
Lex nudged his elbow. âYou heard her beforeâ I think sheâs just fine. Youâre the scared one, buddy. So, I think I have to ask againâ what are you gonna do?â
âI think Iâm gonna tell her.â
âHow?â
Clark really smiled this time, and he watched his stone skip eight times. A record. His number, too. His number⌠âI have an idea.â
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #4: Always be one step ahead
When you went to the last pep rally of the year, you did it alone. Chloe insisted you were still welcome to sit with your friends in the bleachers, but ever since the night at the lake, the others have been avoiding you at all costs. You would be better off without the stress, and you didnât want to make them more uncomfortable eitherâ their pettiness was beyond your ability to help. So, you sat down front by yourself, near the gate. You were only there for Clark anyway.
It was a lively night. The weather was warm and dry, and the sun was just cresting over the stadium seats. All of the Smallville teams were making their entrances across the field, receiving their praises for another year well-played. This rally was a send-off for the seniors who were graduating, and so it was always the brightest, loudest, and most populated event of the year. The eldest members across the field were tossed around atop strong arms, painted in the school colors; the marching band blared their instruments loud in vaguely familiar pop renditions; the teachers and coaches took their time calling awards and honors into the microphone, giving everyone their chance to stand in the spotlight before the curtain closed at graduation in three days. It was a sweet thing to see, and now that it was Clarkâs turn, there was no way youâd miss it, even if you guys hadnât talked yet. He won the championship for the school, after all, and he worked harder than anybody on that team this year. He deserved his flowers.Â
You sat through soccer, field hockey, wrestling, and every other team on the list before they closed the night out with the long-awaited senior varsity football players. The stands roared as Clarkâs teammates rushed the field, and you saw him holding up the end, carrying a duffel bag. Props, you figured, and you clapped as the coach took the microphone.Â
âLetâs hear it for our championship winners!â The coach rumbled, and the floodlights gleamed as the stands rallied.Â
The players were bustling around Clark, right on the fifty yard line. You could barely make his mop of hair out in the commotion. You watched suspiciously as the coach smiled and raised a hand.Â
âNow, I think weâve seen enough awards and hubbub for one night, how about you, Smallville High?â As he received an affirmative cheer, he divulged, âOur varsity players chose not to take their sendoffs this year in favor of pulling together for one standout senior alone. Theyâve put together a little number for youâ havenât you, boys?â
As the coach swiveled to address his players, they all scattered from the center of the field and lined upâ in tutus and tiaras. You let out a shocked laugh as Clark emerged in the center, wearing a crappy kingâs cape over his shoulders to complement the red jersey underneath, #8, and a plastic gold crown on his head. He strode forward to take the microphone and shoo his coach off the grass. You sat in utter confusionâ Clark hated public speaking. What in the world was this about to turn into? Out of curiosity, you turned around and glanced up the bleachers toward Chloe, who was beaming like she knew a secret you didnât. She winked at you and pointed back at the field. You turned again, stomach suddenly dropping.Â
Facing the crowd of friends and family who would certainly never let him forget this as long as he lived, Clark raised the mic to his mouth and said, âHowâs it going, Crows?â Another roar shook the field, and his laugh fluttered through the speakers. âAll of us seniors have been so lucky to play and win for you, so thank you for all the support tonight. But we have a little problem. While everybody else on this team is ready for the future, I still have one problem to solve.â
You shifted in your seat, heart pounding. Clark stopped to scan the crowd, and you saw how his eyes searched above, where he expected you to be with the others. When he couldnât find you, his voice cracked: âCap, are you here?â
All that echoed in your head was, Holy shit. Without missing a beat, you stood up and braced the fencing in front of the stands. âIâm over here!â
At the sound of your voice, Clarkâs lips turned up. You knew that face. He was up to no good. His eyes finally fell on you, all the way at the edge of the bleachers, and he beckoned you with an open hand. âWould you please come down to the field?â
The stadium erupted in sound, every voice cheering you on as you fumbled through the gate and walked onto the mushy grass, knees wobbling. You forced yourself not to look at the crowd, or else youâd spook and run. You werenât even halfway into the green when the speakers began blaring a song which stopped you in your tracks. The soft trumpets crooned in a decreasing arpeggio, and you felt blood rush to your head and fingers and toes, all at once.Â
âYou know I canât sing to save my life, but I seem to recall you having a favorite movie scene,â Clark began, stalking closer. The sparkly seniors behind him began moving in sync, displaying poorly rehearsed dance moves. âWhere Patrick sings to Kat in the stands, making up for being a complete idiot.â
In the crowd, you heard muddled voices joining in: Pardon the way that I stare, thereâs nothing else to compareâŚ
âEveryone, this is Cap, although you might know her as the valedictorian, or the president of the literature club, or the debate team, or the Torch writer,â Clark gestured to the audience, who waved their happy hands. âShe is my very best friend. My oldest friend. The only girl in my life who loved me when I was the worst person to love, and the one girl I never learned how to give it all back to.â
Rules For When Youâre Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clarkâs Third and Final Rule: Do what will make the ones you love happy
Clark held out a hand, and when you took it, yours was trembling half as bad as his. He was pink as the setting sun sky above, and his eyes glistened as they gazed down at you. People were starting to buzz in their seats as the trumpets picked up. He carefully tucked your hair away with the microphone-clutching hand, and he spoke for everyone to hear. âIâm sorry it took me so long to find the right words to say, but I wanted to do it right. And I wanted to be sure that you knew I meant it. Is this public enough?â
You laughed weakly, trying to swallow tears. The color of your eyes gleamed like little planets, drawing him in by force. So familiar, and as beautiful as the day he met you in the sandbox. You nodded without a word.Â
âGood,â he grinned, voice shaking. âI wanted to say that I hope you can forgive me for everything Iâve put you through, and that thereâs nobody in the whole world that is more important to me than you are. Iâm an idiot, baby, but I love you. I have always loved you, only you, even when I didnât know it, and Iâll embarrass myself in public like this every day until you believe me.âÂ
He would not have thought a town could be so loud if he did not hear the evidence for himself. The force of their cheers nearly shattered his eardrumsâ Frankie Valli washed over the field like a spell, and everybody was teeming in the stands, awaiting your answer and trying not to burst into song too soon. His teammates were leaping around you, calling out words of encouragement. As mortifying as all this was, they were willing to give up their last chance at small-town fame for him to make this moment special. He would have to find some way to thank them later.
You stood stock still, trying to gather the facts. He saw your gears turning. He imagined the inside of your brain, hearing your analytical voice which always made him laugh inside his own head. What he did not know was that it was then you realized your rules would not serve you anymore; because no matter how this played out, there was absolutely no way for you to be ahead of the curve. Clark had beat you at your own game. All there was left to do now was surrender.
âSo?â he asked.
As he tipped the microphone against your lips, you managed a soft, albeit meek, response: âI believe you.â
I believe you, you said. It sounded a whole lot like I still love you.
Clark let the equipment fall to the ground as the pep rally broke out of control, people bringing the party to the grass like nothing could stop them now. You were jostled around until Clark wrangled you into his arms, and before you had the opportunity to ask why he did all this, he was cupping you by the cheeks and pressing his lips to yours. Your ears ached from the volume and your body shook in the crowd, but his mouth tasted like red Gatorade and he smelled like the blue 3-in-1 body wash in his bathroom, and his arms around you did not feel new at all, but like every other hug you had ever shared. He loved you just as you loved him all that time, and you knew it because nothing felt different at all, except that you were free. Free as a bird, and easy. That was the word. Easy.
You hadnât yet lost your hearing, though, because his words were crystal clear against your lips. âIâm sorry for everything,â he repeated, âtake me back?â
You giggled like an exploding star, bathing him in light. âI never let you go.â
You were about to kiss him when you paused, remembering the last rule. WaitâÂ
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!
......
But then he was kissing you again, and you found the rule still held up. You couldnât talk about Lana Lang with a mouth full of love. Youâd bring it up later, after you ripped the page out of that notebook and threw it away. She didnât matter. Nothing mattered but you and him.Â
You felt Clark rest the plastic crown on your head, and he tucked his face into your neck, squeezing you so tight you could pop. âItâs always been you.â
You laughed as your feet left the ground. As Clark spun you on the fifty yard line, you clung to the crown and teased, âYou think?â
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either
Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there â friends will snitch
Rule #4: Always be one step ahead
Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!
Rules For When Youâre Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clarkâs First Rule: Be honest with yourself
Clarkâs Second Rule: Be honest with others
Clarkâs Third and Final Rule: Do what will make the ones you love happy
Summary: Clark fucked up, and you have to choose between your desire to win, or your desire for⌠well, him.
Word count: 3.5k
Contains: Humor-angst, smut. Clark and reader fight bc heâs an idiot. Questionable power dynamic thoughts. Teasing, tension, make-up sex. Bunny kink (our beloved!). *Cunnilingus, riding.
A/N: Trying to fight through a slump⌠bunny clark helped. Hope you enjoy :))))Â
This had to be some kind of intergalactic punishment. Did Jor-El find a way to reach him beyond the Fortress? Were there aliens hiding like nanobites in your skin somewhere, controlling you, making you incredibly unreceptive to him and all his Kryptonian wiles? Seriously, something was either terribly wrong⌠or maybe heâd just really done it this time. Selfishly, he hoped it was the nanobites thing.Â
In reality, he knew it was his own fault. He should have been a better listener. Maybe if he wasnât so busy trying to research a lead while you were talking over the phone, he might have remembered his very important job the next day. Perry sent you to California for a culture column assignment on Napa Valley, and you were going to land at the airport in the afternoon. Someone had to come pick you up, and you were foolish enough to think your boyfriend would be the one to do itâ your boyfriend who adored you, who missed you every moment you were gone, and who simultaneously got distracted when a string of suspiciously kryptonite-like crimes broke out across the city.Â
You were stranded in the airport for nearly two hours, calling again and again, waiting for him. When it became apparent that traffic was not the problem for a man who could fly, you flagged a cab and got home by yourself. When Clark came tumbling through the apartment door that night, beaten from a day of fighting crime, to see you sitting at the kitchen counter and looking inconsolably angry, he realized just how stupid he had been. Three days passed and you still refused to speak to him.Â
He felt like the act of ripping his hair out would be more pleasant than this. Every night you made him sleep on the couch, and you turned down his usual offer to fly you to work. You did not eat lunch with him, you refused his apology coffees, and you slept in only your own clothes. What was this, some form of mental prison? Maybe he was having a nightmare. Or was hooked up to an evil machine somewhere, and someone was playing on his worst fears. Either way, he felt like dying. Death was a sweet embrace in the wake of your cold shoulder. He had to win back your affection, or else all hope was lost.Â
He had tried everything. He ironed your clothes before you woke up, he left you drinks on your desk, he wrote little messages of love in your idea notepad; he even attempted homemade cookies, instructed by his mother over the phone, and although they burned, they were edible to a degree. But another three silent days passed. He was starting to lose hopeâ maybe you were too angry this time, and heâd done something to lose you. That is, until he had a stroke of genius.Â
You were a well-oriented, intelligent, independent, and powerful woman. You were also stubborn and vengeful, and had a fearful temper. There were many impenetrable qualities you possessed which made him love you as well as foster a healthy dose of fear around you (which exhilarated him in ways he didnât like to think about.) But he also knew you better than anyone in the world, and after six days of anger, there would be something you needed that he could provideâ something only you would have to cave for, leaving him there to resolve the rift by sweet providence, all because you just couldnât help yourself. And maybe it was mean, and a little demeaning, but it was nonetheless true. He only resorted to the tactic since he knew if you fell prey, it meant you still loved him. The means served the ends.Â
Alright, out with it: being angry makes you incredibly horny.Â
If you were going to overcome the conflict, you would do so one of two ways. Through him or through someone else. And with his luck and trust in you, he decided to play the waiting game. You would come to him when the stress was too much, and you would reconcile with the intent to bone. He had to hold out.
It was on the ninth day that you began to feel weak. It broke your heart to stay angry, but for some reason, his every apology did not satisfy you. It was hard to describe why. Clark was not a bad boyfriend, and certainly was not a bad personâ you loved him, and he loved you. It was a mistake. A stupid but absolute mistake. And yet you were beside yourself with anger. Something about being abandoned, albeit not intentionally, had scared you. He failed to realize that. In fact, he failed to realize a lot of things. Nobody ever assumed aliens could be stupid, but he sure made himself an anomaly.Â
You probably could have gone on forever if you werenât so⌠desperate.Â
You had not known a life without sex since you met Clark. The two of you couldnât seem to pry free of each other. It was an easy way to be together, and sometimes you just loved him so much you couldnât see straight, and sex was how you showed him. It was a Thank you, and an Iâm sorry at times, and even a Never do that again when necessary. But this time you didnât want to give in. It gave him all the power. But you were so angry, so pent up; you missed him like hell and he knew it, the smug bastard. The longer the days drew, the more you knew you wouldnât last. You felt like you might explode. It was a matter of who could wait longest, and you were losing.Â
You tried to stay strong, but the universe had other plans.Â
Clark started tempting you. It was in little ways, ways no one else would notice, but they were taunts of the most flagrant degree.Â
He wore the white shirt, the one that only looked good with the black vest that squeezed his back and waist, and pretended to forget his sport coat at home so youâd be subjected to his slutty top half all day at work. Then, he challenged Jimmy to the usual arm-wrestle which determined who made the Friday coffee run, and he purposefully lost, as always. After that, he helped an old lady cross the streetâ literally. It was a small act of kindness after another, and a lot of mindful stumbling and bumbling, and wearing clothes that made him look huge and fuckable, and you were fighting for your life to not be ruled by desire. Women went their whole lives without sex. Why couldnât you?
Well, you supposed theyâd never slept with Clark, so of course they could. You were not so blessed with that ignorance.Â
The last straw was when you two were alone. On the eve of the tenth day of war, you sat on the far side of the couch from him in the old, inherited Kent farmhouse, watching old cable reality shows in silence. You were curled up tight so as to ward off any touches, but the heat was taking a while to kick in, and you were a bit cold. An overly attentive and annoyingly patient Clark rose to get you a blanket, and when he draped it over you, he made the extra effort to tuck it under your legs. The sentiment ignited a flame inside you, and you reached out to grip his shirt. Clark grunted in surprise as you yanked him close.
âIâm incredibly angry at you,â you said, breaking the shun.
âI know. Iâm sorry.â
Your fist tightened in his old tee. âYou left me waiting.â
âIf I could go back in time, Iâd fix it, but I donât have the Legion ring.â
âDonât try and be funny,â you glared.Â
âI mean it, bunny. I miss you. Iâll say it a million times, Iâm so sorry. What can I do?â
You huffed like a disgruntled puppy, even though it was intended in a bull-ish way. Clark braced his hands on the back of the couch around your head, letting you clutch his shirt like a leash. His eyes were all big and blue and fucking helpless, and you just wanted to smack him. Almost as much as you wanted to kiss him.Â
âYou could fuck me,â was your final response. âMake up for it. Right now.â
Alarms sounded in the manâs head. One hundred little Clarks threw their paperwork high like graduation caps in his brain, cheering at the victory, clanging bells and propelling him forward. Clark slipped an arm around your back, pulling you into his chest and sealing his lips over yours. You arched into the strength of the hug, hands seeking out his hair. His mouth tasted like Chapstick, the green label kind, and you groaned with relief. You missed that stuff like an addict.
âIâm still angry,â you mumbled as he manhandled you down, sliding you sideways and pressing you into the couch.Â
âIâll do anything,â he swore, hot mouth suckling a trail down your shoulder. âJust tell me what you want. Please, honey.â
âAre you begging?â You smirked, feeling cocky. âMissed me that much?â
Clark let you have it. It would be so easy to remind you that this was only happening because you had an insatiable drive, but he had already done enough to offend you. Instead, he slipped his hands down the soft, wide expanse of the backs of your thighs and bent them back against your supple torso. Settling himself and his eagerness below between your thighs, he nodded happily. âSo much.â
You swallowed a whimper at the sheer pressure. Youâve been aching for days, and you were two seconds away from begging yourself. But you had to humiliate him a little. Just a bit. He deserved it. You allowed him a few hungry hip grinds before you kissed the joint of his jaw and whispered, âI want you to wear my ears.â
Clark paused, skin flushing a soft rose down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. âThe⌠ears?â
âTheyâre in the box under the bed upstairs.â
âBunnyââ
âAh-ah,â you clicked your tongue, pushing him off and sitting up. âYouâre going to go upstairs and get them. I want to hold them when you get on your knees.â
Clark suddenly feared his plan worked too well. He never once imagined that Sexgate would end in you using your powers to punish him. Men, always thinking with their dicks, and never their brains. He shouldâve known he would be the less powerful one in this equation. Your favor stood to be lost if he did not obey. As he got halfway up, you added, âAnd donât forget the ribbon, too!â
You watched with stifled laughter as he awkwardly pried himself free and crossed the house to climb the staircase, walking on a hobble from the abandoned ache between his legs. You sat patiently in the lamplight of the living room, trying not to call out and ask how he was doing. He came back soon enough, and the sight was enough to make you wish you had a camera handy. The man had the fuzzy bunny ears perched in his dark, tousled hair, and in a poorly-tied bow, a pink ribbon circled his neck. Just like he usually puts it on you. You felt heat creep up your spine, because of course he managed to look incredibly cute all pouty and pink, but behind his eyes was a sense of embarrassment that truly trickled you.Â
âWell, well,â you hummed as he crawled back onto the couch, finding his place between your legs. âLook at how pretty you are.â
âThis is only because Iâm apologizing," he mumbled, tugging your sweats and panties down hungrily.Â
You giggled and slipped a hand into his hair, tugging softly while you lifted your hips. âEasy. I want you to ask permission first.â
Clarkâs eyes nearly rolled back in their sockets. âSeriously?â he flushed. Clark didnât love using dirty phrases, he sort of just⌠did it.Â
âMhm,â you grinned. âYouâre righting a wrong, and I want it done my way.â
The superhero was reduced to nothing before you. He took a deep breath before peering up at you, pushing the headband back as it started to slide. âCan I⌠yâknowâŚâ
âCan you what?â you teased.
âCan I taste you?â He tried, cheeks red as a firetruck.
You flushed, too, and your heart hammered, but you wanted just a little more. âAsk again. Itâs not 1920.â
Clark winced and spread your thighs wider, nearly drooling the prospect of bare skin before him which you refused to let him touch. He was hungry enough to shed the shame. âPlease, bunny, just let me eat you out, let me make you cum. Enough games. Please.â
There was the sentiment you wanted. Your hands gently coaxed through the fur on the costume ears as you nodded, and Clark sighed in contentment.Â
The feeling of Clarkâs tongue between your folds was not foreign, but after ten days of thinking about it and missing it, it certainly felt way better than you remembered. It was warm and insistent as it parted your puffy flaps and delved into the dark muscle, dying for a drink of water in the sea you harbored. Your lungs strained for air as he pinned you down with just a grain of Superman strength, fingertips pressing into your hips like weights. The tremble in your legs was immediate as the hot, tingling pleasure caused you to writhe.Â
âMmf,â Clark mumbled, âso good, bunny.â
You whimpered weakly as his teeth grazed your swelling clit, worsening the throbbing that came from every rub of his nose against the sensitive flesh. You grasped the bunny ears and bucked against his mouth, heat building quickly in your gut. This would end embarrassingly and you both knew itâ youâve gone untouched for nearly two weeks. Youâre already easy as it is.Â
âIâ I thinkâ fuck, youâve gotta slow down,â you panted, back twisting on the couch.
Clark did not slow down. If anything, he held you tighter. âYou asked me,â he explained between suckles, âto repent.â
âI know, but Iâmâ Iâ fuck!â
âBe a good girl and cum,â he coaxed, plunging his tongue into your heat and shuddering at the constricting greeting. âYou need it, bunny. Let go.â
You swallowed your sounds as he attacked your clit with unwavering attention, buckling down on the spot that always brought you to the brink fastest. And you didnât last. You couldnât, not with that level of pressure. You yelped and bucked hard into his mouth, clamping down on the bunny ears and shaking, feeling the exhausting sheet of release drawing itself over your head.Â
Clark wriggled free from your death-grip thighs and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, hauling your twitchy body up without mercy. You tried to catch your breath as he yanked the headband off and unceremoniously stuck it on yours, smirking at how one ear was less sturdy than the other, causing it to flop. You blinked up at him as he tugged his ribbon free, too, and looped it around your neck. It was a much better fit.Â
You glared with half as much rage as before. âHey,â you breathed.Â
âGet in my lap,â he ordered with a smile.
âI thought I was the one in charge,â you narrowed your gaze.
âYou are,â Clark hummed, tugging you when you didnât listen. âIâm letting you do your favorite part.â
The statement was enough to sideline your aggravation. Clark, the missionary man, was giving you a free cowgirl pass. There was nothing wrong with missionaryâ hell, if he bent you just right, he could reach places you werenât sure were even safeâ but he was so intent on doing all the work that you rarely tried anything new. Every so often he would give in to a ride, but he liked to see your face. It felt mean towards you if he couldnât, like he was using you. But you didnât care now. Youâd stare right into his eyes for the chance.
You clambered right into his lap and helped him shimmy out of his boxers, practically drooling at the silver-platter opportunity. âYouâre sure?â
Clark nodded, âItâs an apology, isnât it? Go at it.â
You finally allowed all the blood to rush to your cheeks, and you nuzzled into his neck, forgetting to be angry. You reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, shivering with anticipation at the heat it radiated. âSay all the words,â you begged, "please."
Clark smiled with every tooth in his mouth. This was the end which justified the means. For a minute there, he thought heâd lost the game, but you were back to your old self again, half-whining and in need of a whole lot of praise. He curled his paws around the lovehandles on your sides, swallowing a moan over your dutiful ministrations below, and he indulged you. âAre you gonna hop for me, bunny?â
Jesus, that sounded good.Â
âMhm,â you sighed.Â
Clark sucked in a sharp breath when you spat on your hand and smeared it over his shaft. âYou look so pretty in your ears,â he whispered, one hand reaching up to curl the edge of the ribbon around his finger. He tugged gently, watching your neck gulp. âSo sweet. Get up, bunny, show me how well you hop.â
You were useless against such magic. It was brutally unfair. Your whole body cramped with desire as you anchored yourself on his shoulders, giving him the honors of guiding himself to your entrance. When you sank down, you two shared a tandem moan. The welcome stretch was worth all the fightingâ nothing in the world felt better than when his dick said it was sorry.Â
Clarkâs eyes glazed over as you slowly rose and fell your hips, feeling the corrugated walls of your cunt squeezing him like a trap. His hands scratched possessively at your spine, feeling the skin as you bounced, watching the way your face twisted up in pleasure. A wet-hot hunger rumbled in his gut as the good feeling clawed at his hips and thighs.
âGood girl, just like that,â he groaned, âhop, bunny girl, youâre so good.â
You whimpered into his neck, clinging like a koala as you sheathed him inside you repeatedly, trying to imprint the feeling. âClarkie, Iâm sorry,â you panted, âwas so mad⌠and mean⌠I forgive you now!â
Clark let out a low moan as you rocked back and forth, grinding on his cock to save your shaky knees the stress. He helped guide your hips, happy to take the pressure off. âThank you, honey,â he purred, teeth nipping at the pink bow around your throat. âIâm sorry, too. Wonât ever do it again.â
âBetter not,â you squeaked, feeling him twitching. âOh, myâŚâ
Clark lost a bit of restraint as he drove up into you, chasing that needy spot that always made you cry. He found it with ease, knowing the space well, and soon enough you were hopping again, but not of your own accord; Clark thrusted into you hard enough to jolt you in his lap, and you held on tight, pulling at his hair and whining with every prod at your g-spot.Â
âAh! Clarkie!â
âCum again, bunny, gimme one more,â he urged, âone more time, baby, be a good girlâŚâ
His teeth tugged the ribbon tight enough that you gasped for air, and the slight panic mixed with the pleasure in your hips for a catastrophic climax. You burst into tears as Clark bullied into you, sinking your nails into his skin as you came. Clark was quick to follow, hips jerking erratically as his warm seed spilled into the cavity of your cunt, reacquainting itself with the home it had vacationed from for ten days straight.
You deflated like a balloon on his chest, bunny ears falling over your forehead and tangling with your hair. Clark chuckled hoarsely as the fur tickled his cheek, and he rubbed big circles into your lower back, nibbling kisses at your jaw. âThere we go⌠just breathe.â
You tried to regain clear vision as he gently loosened the bow, freeing your neck, and you burrowed into his shoulder, grazing the soft skin with your teeth. âLove you,â was your best attempt at speaking post-couchquake.
Clark let his head fall back over the couch, at last vindicated. âI love you too.â
So, no, it was not intergalactic punishment, and yes, it was entirely his fault. But his greatest achievement in life was finding a girl who loved him more than she needed to winâ and his greatest karma was knowing heâd never outsmart her. It was an equal match of minds, you see, and as he stroked your back, he still wasnât entirely sure if heâd won or lost the game. It didnât matter, though. Not much could in the aftermath of a moment like this.Â
He was quite pleased, thoughâ he knew you well enough to find a way to end the argument after all. You two could debate later whether or not it was he or you who made the first move.
Summary: People have some really weird thoughts, but no one ever checked if they were confidential.Â
Word count: 2.1kÂ
Contains: humor & mostly implied smut. Clark can hear peopleâs dirty thoughts. Sex pollen-esque... dubious substance. Embarrassment, teasing, smutty topics. *grinding.Â
A/N: just a short one⌠didnât try to make this beautiful, just played with the idea bc this was so funny to me. ending is, of course, left open for your own dirty mind to imagine⌠see iâm a genius guys see
It had to be that powder he inhaled. Had to be. Nothing else could explain it.Â
He knew he shouldnât have done that stupid job. Ollie insisted on it, of course. The idiot swore to him that if he only broke into the lab and got the hostage scientists out, the League would round up the rest. He promised that there wasnât anything Clark had to be careful about, no dangerous substances or valuable equipment. Even when he pressed on what they were making in that lab, Ollie had dismissed him with a smirk and said, Just do the job, Big Blue, and save the day, okay? And now he knew he should have never listened. God, Ollie could be such a prick sometimes, always keeping something from him.Â
It had to be then. When he flew through the glass wall and shattered it. He remembered scooping up the hostages and shielding them behind his body to absorb the bullets raining from the kidnappers; they were in the rafters of the lab. He managed to grab one who hopped down and flung him across a table, and a few vials shattered. Clark watched for a split second as a pink powder plumed into the air, and suddenly the scientists were screaming and running for their lives through the glass. Clark didnât waste another moment, he simply blew a big puff of air to knock the remaining attackers down around the top of the room, and he swept away, leaving the scene for Ollieâs guys to comb.Â
He shouldâve known when everyone started running that heâd released something in the air. Only scientists would be afraid of something inside a vial. And now he was suffering the side effects of it. Very, very loudly.
âIâm sorry, what was that?â
âHuh? I didnât say anything,â the cashier flushed. âJust⌠waiting for her order.âÂ
As you stood beside him, arm looped through his and studying the menu at the coffee cart, Clark felt his neck burning. The girl behind the station was not hiding her curious eyes well, and he couldâve just sworn he heard a string of words come out of her mouth that were entirely inappropriate. They rang in his ears clear as day: âGod, what a lucky bitch. I canât believe she gets to fuck this guy, he looks huge.âÂ
The girlâs mouth didnât move. He was staring right at her. Yet, he heard the words. There was no doubt someone said them. Clark did a quick scan of the street, but they were the only people on line. The voice was close, so it had to be her. You wouldnât have reason to say something like that. He scratched the nape of his neck in confusion.Â
After a minute of hard decision, you smiled at the cart girl and asked, âCould I get that horchata cold brew? That sounds so good!â
âAbsolutely,â she nodded curtly, giving Clark an unusual glance before turning the card reader over for him to swipe. âIâll get that started for you.â
As the girl shifted to make their drinks, he leaned down and whispered in your ear, âDid you hear what she said?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âBefore you ordered. She said something really, like, vulgar,â Clark winced.Â
You chuckled softly, furrowing your brow. âI have no idea what youâre talking about. Are you sure? She seems sweet.â
âShe does,â Clark pulled away, chewing the inside of his cheek. âItâs probably nothing.â
When the cart girl handed over his black coffee and your sugary concoction, he gave her a restrained grin. When you tugged his hand back in the direction of the Daily Planet, though, he heard the same voice again, almost as if it was against his neck: âMan, he is just unreal. She better take advantage of all that.â
Clarkâs entire body tensed with shock. There was definitely, definitely something in that powder. His hips ached.
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
The next one was even worse, because it was Cat who had the next word. Cat Grant, who was equally impaired by the stick up her ass as she was willing to flirt with every man in her eyeline, was leaning over your desk and checking a story edit. When Clark came by to offer you a refill on your water, she smiled up at him.
âSo attentive,â she teased. âI never thought Iâd see the day Clark Kent stopped fumbling files and started dating coworkers."
âHello to you, too, Cat.â
You kissed his wrist as he patted your cheek and handed him your bottle. âIâd like that, actually. Thanks, Clarkie.â
Clark felt mushy for a moment at the name, and as he moved to step toward the water cooler, he heard Cat say, âClarkie? God, thatâs lame. Iâd be calling him Daddy or something, at least.â
Clark whirled around quickly and sputtered at the blonde. âWhat did you just say?â
Both yours and Catâs heads flicked up, wide eyes peering at him like a couple of spooked meerkats. Cat frowned. âWhat?â
âWhat you just said,â he pointed at her accusingly. âThatâ you canât say stuff like that! Weâre at work!â
Cat snickered and quirked an eyebrow. âI think you need to get your ears checked. I didnât say anything, Kent."
He huffed in exasperation at you, but you were no help. You seemed completely confused by his behavior. Confused and so cute, all tucked into your dress and waiting for your stupid water refill. Clark grumbled, âForget it,â and walked away.Â
As he stood idly at the water station and watched the bottle fill, he couldnât stop his mind from wandering towards what other names you might call him if prompted. His tongue felt too big for his mouth.
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
It only got more ridiculous as the day dragged on. Almost everybody at work had something entirely insane to say about you and him togetherâ or rather, think. None of them were speaking at all, he discovered. He was hearing their thoughts. That was the only explanation. That powder gave him the ability to read peopleâs minds, and he was horrified. People were so much more perverted than he imagined.Â
When you stopped for groceries on the way home to work, the cashierâ some teenage boy with a nice zit right on his noseâ thought, âMan, I bet he puts her through the mattress.â
The girl who lived two apartments over was getting her mail out of the lockboxes in the lobby when they came through the front door. After a brief and courteous hello from you both, she thought, âI wonder what position they do it in most⌠he seems like a doggy guy.â
And then again, when they were walking up the stairs, she followed them up, and Clark heard, âIâd do anything to see them fuck. Itâs probably so hot.â
By the time Clark got into the apartment, he was sweating and embarrassingly hard. Heâd been fighting it off all day, but after hearing so many ideas and seeing so many mental images of you and him doing nefarious deeds, he couldnât keep up. He was still half-human, after all, and desperately in love with you, and not to mention incredibly weak. Only so many people can be indirectly told how fuckable their girlfriend is before they collapse under the weight.Â
He got to work putting the groceries away, hands eager and somewhat trembling as he ushered you out of the kitchen. You smiled suspiciously, hanging your coat by the door, and you leaned in the archway. âWhatâs gotten into you today?â
âWhat do you mean?â he muttered shortly, stocking the fridge. He hadnât even taken his coat off. It was⌠disguising him.Â
You studied his jerky movements in the low light. Clark never acted like this, so clumsy and jumpy. He could be awkward here and there, but heâd left behind the bumbling act a while ago. Something had to be bothering him, you were sure of it. You crossed your arms. âYouâve been acting off all day. Accusing people of saying things they never said, blushing, stammering⌠whatâs the matter?â
âNothing,â he lied, pushing a few cereal boxes into the cabinet over the counter. âIâm fine.â
âWhy wonât you tell me?â
âIâm not hiding anything, really! I mean it!â
Clark knew it wouldnât be long before you found out. He was an awful faker. He stared at you, shifting his weight between his feet, fussing with the buttons on his jacket. He could feel your smirk burning into him like a brand.Â
You thought to yourself, You donât want to tell me? Fine. I guess Iâll shower alone then. âOkay. Just donât forget to put the eggs on the top shelf. Iâm gonna go wash up.â
Clark nearly whimpered at your conflicting tones. You wouldnât press him, you never did, but now he knew that you were sassing him behind those eyes, thinking of punishments, judging his actions. The erection in his pants was painful enough to make him see stars. He shoved the eggs in the fridge carelessly before following you. You didnât make it halfway down the hall before he was grabbing you up and pressing a hungry kiss to your lips.Â
âMmf!â You squeaked, startled by his sudden ferocity. âClarkâ hey!â
âI breathed something in,â he panted, hands tugging at your blouse, slightly tearing the seams.Â
âWhat?â You wriggled, trying to stop him from ripping the shirt clean off. His pupils were so large you couldnât even see the blue in his eyes, and his cheeks were so dark they couldâve been purple. âClark, easy!â
Clark whined pathetically and buried his face in your neck, licking at the skin. Something terrible was overcoming him. All those thoughts, all the time spent alone inside his head today with you, it was making him insane. He worried that the powder was influencing his hormones. He didnât want to hurt you. And then again, he was worked up after eight incredibly jarring hours. Maybe any man would lose his mind.Â
âThe other night," he groaned, tasting the salt of your skin and nearly blacking out. âThat lab rescueâ mmâ with Ollie. Breathed something in, some powder⌠can hear peopleâs thoughts.â
It was hard to listen when he latched onto the weak spot behind your ear, but your concern still radiated. âWait, you what? Why didnât you say anything?â Fucking idiot, you thought.Â
âDonât call me an idiot,â Clark smiled against your neck.Â
Your heart dropped like it weighed a ton. âYou heard that?â
âMhm.â
â...Woah,â
âYeah, woah,â Clark laughed, but then he scooped you up by the thighs. The throbbing of his cock against your leg was quite apparent now, and your lashes fluttered through an onset of desire. âAll day, been hearing things⌠people think about usâŚâ
As he barged into the bedroom and tossed you down, you yelped and erupted in laughter. Clark crawled over you as you inquired, âLike what?â
âPeople are disgusting,â he offered, yanking your body free of that shirt-and-pants prison. You frowned as he tore the clothes, but heâd buy you more, he always did. âThey see us together and think about what we do. When weâre alone.â
You gasped as he reattached himself, teeth sinking into the meat of your chest. Your fingers sunk into his hair. âLike about us sleeping together?â
âYeah,â he grunted, helping you unbutton his shirt. âPerverts.â
âI think youâre the pervert,â you grinned, dragging him up to get another look at that wild face. âYou listened.â
âI didnât have a choice!â
âYeah, but you wouldnât be so horny if it bothered you,â you squinted playfully. âYou liked it. What did they say?â
âI canât tell you that,â Clark laughed incredulously.
âWhy not? Come on!â
âBecause itâsâ itâs wrong! You shouldnât hear what people think about you! Besides, what theyâ youâreâ no,â he stuttered, flushing darker than should be possible, even for a Kryptonian.
Your smile widened. âThey must have thought some dirty things about me if youâre so embarrassed."
Clark hid in your shoulder, grinding helplessly against your thigh.Â
âAbout you?â
Clarkâs hips stuttered.
âOh, baby,â you giggled, âyou are so hopeless.â
Clark studied the stars behind his eyelids as he rutted against your leg, whimpering like a dog. âI just really need you⌠I think I might explode, I donât know if this is a side effect or what, but justâ please.â
You scratched at the base of his neck and tilted your head. Then, because you were cruel and decided he deserved it for being so withholding, you thought very clearly: Show me what they thought. Fuck me like they imagined.Â
Clarkâs head shot up, and you cackled at the pretty expression of surprise. It was all fun and games until he tossed you onto your stomach.Â
âWoahâ oof!â
âYou want to know what they wanted to see? Fine. Get on your knees.â
You've been in a hotel room for what feels like three weeks.
No phone. Just you, bad rom-coms, room service, and the slow creeping realisation that you signed up for this with your whole chest and now you actually have to do it.
The car smells like new leather. The driver hasn't said a word. Outside, the island blurs past in green and gold and you keep waiting to feel ready and you keep â not.
You smooth your scrubs out of habit.
Right. Not wearing scrubs.
You're wearing this backless chiffon maxi from â Meshki?
Mooski?
Something with an M.
The stylists picked it out this morning when they knocked on your hotel room door at 7AM and you answered it with your hair looking like a mess. A month ago you were literally packing fits with your best friend at 3AM giggling like it was fake.
It is not fake. You are in a car. This is happening.
The girl across from youâ Evie, she said in the hotel lobby, very straight handshake, very direct eye contactâ is sitting with perfect posture and tracking the road like she's mentally rehearsing something. You've said maybe twelve words to each other. She seems nice. She also radiates I have a five step morning routine and I will tell you about it energy and you respect that and also it's a little much at 8AM.
She catches you staring.
You were absolutely staring.
âReady?â she asks.
You think about the last two years. The one who said you're being paranoid every single time, for six months, until you found the texts and he said okay but hear me outâ You think about the one before that who cried. Actually cried. When you ended it. Which would have been more convincing if you hadn't known he'd cheated for like two weeks already. You think about being twenty-four and tired.
âAbsolutely not,â you say.
Evie breaks into a real smile. âSame, honestly.â
The car stops.
The gates are ridiculous. Like embarrassingly beautiful. You almost don't notice the camera mounted above them.
Almost.
You pull in one breath that fixes nothing and walk through.
Paradiso.
Okay. Fine. You've seen the photos. You've watched previous seasons in your break room at the hospital with your coworkers talking over it. You thought you were prepared.
You were not prepared.
White stone and terracotta and a pool so blue it looks fake, and the light is doing something genuinely unfair, and a production assistant is already in your ear going make an entrance, be yourself, be natural which are three contradictory instructions but sure. You follow the sound of voices around the side of the villa and step out onto the terrace andâ
Three girls. Already there. Already mid-laugh about something.
You and Evie are last.
âIs there room for two more?â Evie says, and the two girls by the pool make a noise that honestly shakes something loose in your chest because it's so immediately warmâ
âBITCHHHHH!â
There's a third girl behind them with a glass raised and a smile like she's been waiting to see how this goes.
Everyone's laughing. Immediately. Before you've even said your name. It's that thing where you meet certain people and it just- clicks, instantly, and you don't know if it's real yet or if it's just the adrenaline and the cameras and the fact that you're all terrified and performing brave.
Probably both.
You'll figure it out later.
âIt's gonna be one hell of a summer,â Evie announces to the group.
There's a camera literally right there in the bougainvillea. It's not hidden. It's right there.
You look at the four of them and your mouth opens and what comes out is: âYou guys are all insanely pretty, can we justâ not do the boys thing and go on a girls trip?â
âOkay wait,â Jasmine says, and she's laughing, but she's also already doing a little scan of everyone. âIf the girls look like this the boys better show up. Like they actually better bring it the fuck on.â
âI KNOW RIGHT, we are literally a collection of goddesses,â Monica says, gesturing at everyone, wine sloshing slightly.
âEnjoy it now.â Evie is already assessing the far end of the deck. âOnce the testosterone gets in here the whole energy changes. I'm already figuring out where I'm doing 6AM Pilates.â
You catch Carmen's eye. She's been laughing at everything since you arrived, big and unself-conscious, and she catches your look and immediately clocks it.
âEvie,â Carmen says, very seriously. âI'll be right there with you. By which I mean I will be fully asleep. But I will be thinking about you. So supportively.â
âThat's notââ Evie starts.
âSo supportively,â Carmen repeats.
You're laughing and you haven't even sat down yet. The five of you end up sprawled across the daybeds, drinks found from somewhere, someone's playlist going, and for maybe four minutes the whole thing feels easy and warm and like nothing bad could possibly happen in a place this pretty.
Then the villa doors open.
The first thing you notice about Cupid is that she walks like she owns the whole island.
She probably does, legally. But still.
Metallic gold dress, warm brown skin literally glowing, moving through the pool deck with the energy of someone who finds this genuinely fun after six seasons which should not be possible and somehow is. She is â a lot. In the best way. The most unsettling best way.
Monica grabs your arm so hard you nearly spill your drink.
âOh my GOD,â she whispers. âIt's literally Cupid.â
âShe is even MORE gorgeous in personââ Carmen starts, at full volume. Because Carmen doesn't really have a volume button on her.
âCarmenââ
âWhatââ
Cupid hears her. Smiles. Completely unsurprised.
âDon't get upââ she waves a hand. Stops walking. Reconsiders. âActually, get up, I want to look at all of you properly.â
The scramble to stand is...not elegant. Monica goes immediately. Carmen almost takes out her drink. Jasmine rises like she's been ready for this. Evie is already up, composed, because of course she is. You're half-laughing and half on your feet when Cupid opens her arms and the group hug happens and she smells like expensive vanilla and something that might literally just be the scent of confidence.
She holds you all at arm's length. Looks. You get the feeling she's cataloguing things.
âI wanted to get in here before the chaos,â she says, dropping onto the daybed across from you like she's done it a thousand times. She picks up a drink that wasn't hers. âHow are we feeling? Terrified? Excited? Somewhere in between?â
âHonestly?â Monica says. âAll three and I've only been here twenty minutes.â
âGood.â Cupid clinks her glass against Monica's. âThat's the right answer.â
âWe were literally just talking about locking the gates,â Jasmine says. âKeeping the villa to ourselves.â
Cupid's smile stays exactly where it is. Her eyes do something else for half a second. âI know you were. The boys will complicate that.â A pause. âThey tend to.â
âGreat,â Jasmine says, which sounds like obviously.
âThe boys always do,â Monica sighs, leaning back.
âThat is rather the point, darling.â Cupid looks around at all five of you with the warm, slightly terrifying attention of someone who knows exactly how this plays out. âRight. Tell me things. First impressions, what you're looking for, what you're actually looking for.â She tilts her head. âI'll find out eventually. Might as well be now.â
Carmen opens her mouth.
Evie puts her hand on Carmen's arm.
Carmen closes her mouth.
She asks about your types like it's the most casual thing in the world, dropped into the middle of a completely different conversation.
Carmen goes first because Carmen always goes first, voluntarily or not. Fun guys, she says. Spontaneous. Actually geeks if they're funny about it and they can keep up with her. She says this with zero embarrassment and complete sincerity.
Jasmine: someone who won't try to manage her. A tree to climb. She says it completely straight-faced and Monica short-circuits for three full seconds.
âA tree,â Monica says.
âTall, stable, something to hold onto,â Jasmine says, like this is normal. âI didn't stutter.â
Carmen snorts. âSure. We can say you meant stable when you said tree.â
Then, Monica: someone who'll actually come with her. Not I'll visit you in Barcelona someone. Actually come with her.
Evie: reliable. Emotionally mature. Someone she can bring home and not have to explain. She says this like a requirements list, and you watch Carmen bite down on something.
Then Cupid looks at you.
And you think about it for about half a second too long, which you're aware of, and which you do anyway.
âSomeone who means what they say,â you say. âGenuinely that's it. The bar is on the floor and I just want someone to not trip over it.â
âThat's a very interesting bar,â Cupid says.
âI'm a very interesting person.â
Cupid smiles at you the way people smile when they know something. âYes,â she says. âYou are.â
Then she asksâ casually, like it barely countsâ whether anyone likes having a roster.
No and obviously not and what, noâ go around the daybeds so fast and so unified that it's almost funny. You say no too. Genuinely, you don't. Also none of you would say yes to this question right now even if you did, and everyone knows that, and nobody says it.
Good, says Cupid, like she's taking you all entirely at your word.
Then: the rules.
She goes through them like she could do this in her sleep. The Altar. Recouplings â you're always coupled, uncoupled means vulnerable, vulnerable means Exile. Cupid's Den. Temptation Bay, which she mentions once, quickly, with a smile that doesn't quite reach casual.
Then she reaches beside her and brings out five small scrolls. Gold ribbon. Wax seal, little arrow stamp.
She holds them out.
You take yours. It's heavier than it looks. The wax is still faintly warm.
âOne each,â she says. âDon't open them yet.â
You take yours. Heavier than expected.
âThey're all the same question? â Monica asks.
âNo,â Cupid says pleasantly.
A beat.
âI pick the question I think will cost you the most to answer honestly. â She looks around the group. âYou're going to find someone tonight whose answer to their question tells you something real. Not their favourite colour. Not their type. Something real. â She pauses. âThe boys have scrolls too. Same rules. When they get here, open them. Compare. See what happens. â
Carmen looks at her scroll like it might bite her.
âWhat if we don't want to answer?â Evie asks.
âThen you can explain that to the person asking, â Cupid says, âand see how that goes. â She stands. âOpen them when the boys arrive. Not before. â
She looks at the villa doors.
âWhich will beâ â
They open.
âânow,â she says. âLovely. â
Five boys come down the steps.
Okay.
Okay.
You do the thingâ thirty seconds, read the room, clock who's where. Trauma nurse thing. Force of habit.
First one through the door and he knows it. Dark jacket, easy grin, the specific kind of handsome that's been handsome long enough to stop being surprised by it. He spots the five of you and his whole face does something warm and immediateâ not performed, just genuinely pleased, like this is the part of the whole production he actually showed up for.
Behind him, broader, quieter, hands in his pockets. He comes down the steps and takes the space in before he takes the people inâ clocks the layout, the exits, where everything isâ and then, only then, looks at the group. And the build on him? Gol-lee. Has to be a football player.
Then one who comes down the steps mid-sentence to the person beside him, hands going, explaining something with complete conviction to someone who has clearly stopped listening. He steps off the last step, keeps walking, and walks directly into a sun lounger.
Doesn't fall. Recovers. Looks around.
Oh but Carmen saw.
Carmen is already pointing, shoulders shaking, absolutely no help.
He goes slightly pink and keeps walking like it didn't happen, which makes it worse, and alsoâ somehowâ better.
Then the guy behind him.
You'd clocked him in the group without fully landing on him yetâ not because he's not worth landing on, he very much is, but because he doesn't announce himself. He comes down the steps with his hands loose at his sides and the particular ease of someone who has been the most attractive person in most rooms and decided a while ago that performing it would be exhausting.
He surveys the terrace once, briefly.
Meets nobody's eyes specifically.
Smiles at nothing in particular.
Which is somehow more unsettling than if he'd looked directly at you.
And then one, at the edge of the group, who isn't looking at the terrace at all.
He's looking at you.
Not the group.
Not the villa.
You.
Direct and unhurried, for about two seconds, like he's confirming something he already suspected.
Then away.
You look at Carmen, who is still pointing at the guy who nearly fell over and completely losing it.
âYo, why do the three brunettes look like they're brothers.â You hear someone muse, Monica probably and you can't help but laugh at it because they do.
Carmen still laughing over the lounger boy, somehow laughs even harder. âCousins, maybe!â
Is she not allowed to laugh at home?
Cupid steps into the space between both groups.
âBoys, meet the girls. Girls, the boys.â She looks around at all ten of you. âThirty minutes, one scroll each, one rule: be honest. After that, we couple up.â A pause. âGo.â
Two seconds of nobody moving.
Then Carmen physically tears her ribbon off. âRight, who's interesting then?â
And it begins.
The terrace does its thing.
You don't open your scroll yet. You watch.
The sun lounger boy has already found Carmenâ they're in something fast and loud and mutual within about forty seconds, both of them talking at the same time, neither of them caring. He says something and she absolutely loses it, head back, the kind of laugh you can't fake. He looks delighted by this in a way that's completely unperformed.
Theodore, was it? You smile at this. She's done for.
The broad quiet oneâ Beckham, someone says it nearbyâ has drifted to the pool edge where Monica is. You're close enough to catch fragments.
ââactually never tried itââ
âYou've never hadââ
âI'm from Colorado, we don'tââ
âThat's not even a reasonââ
âIt's a completely valid reasonââ
âIt is genuinely notââ
They're arguing about something. Monica looks deeply offended. Beckham looks like someone weathering a completely unreasonable storm with mild amusement, which you suspect is just his face in conflict. He says something you don't catch and Monica makes a noise that's half outrage and half laugh and shoves his arm.
He was ready for it. Doesn't move.
Monica notices. Looks at her own hand. Looks at him.
Interesting, you think.
The one with the grinâ Lorenzoâ has made his way to Jasmine. You clock that. The way the grin shifts when they start talking. The way Jasmine's doing the thing where her face gives nothing away, which means it's giving everything away.
And then there's Maverick.
You hadn't quite placed him yet â he'd been in the middle of the group coming down the steps, not announcing himself particularly â but you place him now because the energy on the terrace shifts slightly, the way it does when someone walks into a room and the room recalibrates.
He's talking to Evie, of all people, and Evie is laughing, which is the most surprising thing you've seen today, because Evie's laugh does not come out easily.
You've known her for four hours.
He's not even doing anything that flashy. He's justâ present in a specific way. Like he knows exactly how much space he takes up and has made a conscious decision about it.
You watch him for a minute.
He catches you watching.
Doesn't look away immediately. Holds it for half a second, something slightly amused in it.
You look away first. Again.
File that, says your brain.
I know, you tell it.
You hold your scroll and don't open it.
You're waiting, you realise, for the right moment. Which is a thing you doâ wait for the right moment, the right conditions, the right whatever â until the moment has passed and you've managed the situation instead of being in it.
You open it.
What do you know about yourself that you keep pretending you don't?
You read it twice.
Then you put it face down on your knee.
Okay, Cupid. Fine.
âYou haven't opened yours.â
You turn.
The one who looked at you. Up close he'sâ you made the right call looking at Carmen. He's in a grey linen shirt and he has the specific kind of quiet that feels like it cost him something.
âOh no, I have,â you say.
He looks down at the scroll. âAh.â
A pause.
âShoji.â
âMC.â
âShould we justââ
âYeah.â
You both laugh.
Shoji drops into the seat across from you. He has his scroll in his hand, unrolled, and he's looking at it with the expression of someone who has just been asked something extremely specific.
âWhat did you get?â you say.
He shows you.
What would you let someone do for you, if you trusted them enough?
You look at it. Look at yours. Show him.
He reads it. Looks up.
âShe knows things,â he says.
âShe knows things,â you agree.
A pause.
âYou go first,â he says.
âWhy do I have to go firstâ
âYou're holding yours face down. Which means you've already thought about it. Which means you already know.â
The annoying thing is he's right. You've known your answer since before you opened the scroll, because Cupid picked the question you've been not-answering for about two years.
âI know that I'm better at being needed than being loved,â you say. âLike, I know the difference, yeah? I know that being needed feels safe because it has a function and being loved doesn't have a function it justâ is, if you get what I mean, and I don't know what to do with things that just are.â You look at the pool. âAnd I keep pretending I don't know that because if I admit I know it then I have to do something about it.â
Shoji doesn't say anything for a moment.
Not the uncomfortable kind of nothing. The kind that means he heard you and is treating it like it deserves to be treated.
âThat's a real answer,â he says.
âYour turn.â
He looks at his scroll. Back at the pool. âSomeone to justâ show up,â he says, finally. âLike not because I asked. Not because something's wrong. Just.â He stops. Tries again. âI do a lot of showing up for other people. I don'tâ I've never really let anyone do it back.â
He says it like he's diagnosing a structural problem in something, quiet and matter-of-fact. âThat's what I'd let someone do. If I trusted them.â
You look at him.
He looks at you.
The camera in the bougainvillea is right there and you are both extremely aware of it.
Neither of you says anything.
You don't need to.
You look up and Lorenzo is making his way across the terrace.
He's been at Jasmine's sideâ you caught that earlier, the specific frequency of his attention thereâ but Jasmine has moved on to someone else now or Lorenzo has or it's one of those mutual redirects where nobody technically made the call. He picks up a drink from the table like it's his and drops into the seat across from you with the ease of someone who's never once been awkward in their body.
âHey,â he says. Then, to Shoji: âHey man.â
Shoji does a small nod and takes the social cue. âI'll catch you,â he says to you, which is two words more than you expected, and moves off.
Lorenzo watches him go. Something passes over his face, brief. Then he turns to you and gives you the full version of the grin and it is â effective. You make a note of the fact that it's effective.
âMC,â he says. âMarketing executive, twenty-five. Miami.â He says it like a pitch. âWhat've you got?â
You stare at him. âAre you introducing yourself like a LinkedIn profile?â
He points at you. âOkay, fair, that was bad. Let me try againââ
âIt's fineââ
âNo I can do betterââ
âLorenzo, it's genuinely fineââ
âI'm gonna start overââ
âPlease don't.â
He laughs. Actually laughs, caught out. It's a better look than the grin. âHi. I'm Lorenzo. That was terrible. You are?â
âMC.â
âAnd what do you do, MC?â
âTrauma nurse.â
He blinks. âOh.â A recalibration. âSo you've like. Seen things.â
âSome things yeah.â
âWild.â He sits back. âI was gonna make a joke about how that must be good for reading people but I feel like you'll tell me that's obvious.â
âLittle bit,â you say.
âRight.â
He shows you his scroll.
When did you last want something you couldn't charm your way into getting?
You look at it for a second. âOuch,â you say.
âRight?â He looks genuinely ruffled for about half a second, which is the most interesting thing you've seen from him. âHow does she evenâ I've been here forty minutes.â
âShe picks the question that costs the most,â you say.
âYeah, well,â He taps the scroll against his knee. âMission accomplished.â He looks at yours. âWhat did you get?â
You show him.
He reads it. Looks up. âAnd?â
âI answered it already tonight.â
âTell me.â
Not pushy. The same way he asked beforeâ like he's just genuinely decided he wants to know and is waiting.
You give him the same answer you gave Shoji. He listens the same wayâ still, actually in it.
âYour turn,â you say when you're done.
He's quiet for a second. Longer than you've seen him quiet. âMy mum,â he says. âGetting her toââ he stops. Recalibrates. âShe didn't want me to do marketing. She wanted me to do something she understood, like accounting or finance instead- shit, she even told me to reconsider a medical pathway. And I spent about two years trying to explain it to her in the right way, frame it right, show her the right numbers.â He looks at his scroll. âNever worked. She came around eventually on her own but it wasn't because of anything I did. I couldn'tâ yeah.â He shrugs, but it's a smaller shrug than usual. âCouldn't charm my way into it.â
You look at him. âThat's not what I expected,â you say.
âWhat did you expect?â
âAn ex-girlfriend.â
He laughs â caught out, short. âThere's probably one of those too,â he says. âBut that's the honest answer.â
That's the honest answer.
You file that. Not as evidence. Just asâ data.
âYou're interesting,â he says.
âYou keep saying that.â
âKeep meaning it.â He stands up, helps you up and then moves back into the terrace.
Maverick finds you with about five minutes left.
He sits down without a big entrance, which you've noticed is a thing he doesâ arrives in spaces without announcing himself, which is somehow more disorienting than if he did.
He shows you his scroll without preamble.
What do you want that you'd be embarrassed to admit wanting?
You look at it. âShe doesn't mess around,â you say.
âAt all,â he agrees. He looks at yours. âYou already answered yours?â
âTwice tonight.â
âWhat did you get?â
You tell him. Short version. He listens in a way that's slightly different from how Lorenzo listenedâ Lorenzo listened like he was gathering information, Maverick listens like he's justâ present. There. Not doing anything with it yet.
âYour turn,â you say.
He looks at his scroll for a long moment. âSomeone to come home to,â he says. âThat's it. Like notâ I don't need it to be complicated, I don't need it to be a thing. I just want to come home and have someone be there.â He says it like he's slightly annoyed at himself for saying it. âWhich sounds soââ
âNormal?â you say.
âBasic,â he says.
âNormal,â you say again.
He looks at you. That small crooked smile again. âYou do the thing.â
âWhat thing.â
âWhere you reframe something without making it feel like you're doing it.â
âThat's not a thing,â you say.
âIt's a little bit a thing.â
You open your mouth. Close it.
He raises his eyebrows.
âMarginally,â you say.
He laughsâ quiet, real. Cupid's voice carries across the terrace before either of you can say anything else.
Scrolls down.
Maverick stands. âGood to meet you, MC.â
âYou too,â you say.
He moves back. You watch him go.
He's trouble- good or bad, you don't know yet.
Everyone drifts back to the center. The evening has gone gold and warm and the pool lights are just starting to come on.
Cupid stands at the head of The Altar.
âBoys are choosing first tonight,â she says. âGirlsâ stand there and look like you haven't been analyzing everyone for the last thirty minutes.â A pause. âThat was a joke. Mostly.â She nods at Maverick. âYou first.â
Maverick crosses the terrace like he decided ten minutes ago.
He stops in front of Jasmine.
She looks up. Her face does the thing where it tells you everything by telling you nothing.
âJasmine.â He looks at her for a second, like he's making sure he has the right words. âYou're the most interesting person I've spoken to tonight. And I don't say that to everyone.â A beat. âI'd like to keep finding out why.â
She holds it for a moment. Lets him stand there.
âKeep up then,â she says, and steps forward.
Their physical attraction to each other is immediate and almost undeniable, his arm around her waist.
Lorenzo's name is called next.
He stands.
Pausesâ barely, less than a second, eyes going somewhere just for a momentâ then moves.
He stops in front of you.
The smile is the good version. Not the LinkedIn one.
âOkay so I had something prepared,â he says, âand I'm scrapping it because you'd clock it immediately and I'd rather not start there.â He looks at you. âYou're sharp and you're funny and you didn't let me get away with anything tonight, whichâ honestly, that doesn't happen a lot.â
He tilts his head slightly. âI'd like to get to know you properly. If you'll let me.â
The back of your brain tells you there has to be an ulterior motive.
You step forward anyway.
You're done overthinking everything.
âLikewise,â you say.
Shoji is called.
You feel him looking before you check. That specific weight of being watched by someone who's trying not to watch.
You look up.
One second.
Then he walks to Evie.
He stops in front of her. Quiet for a moment, like he's choosing carefully.
âYou seem like someone who means what she says,â he says. âI think that's rare. And I think we'd be good for each other.â
Evie's face does something genuine. Unperformed. âYeah,â she says. âI think so too.â
You watch them. She actually likes him. That's obvious and real and it means something and it also means this is going to get complicated in a specific slow way later, and you are already thinking about how it ends, which is the thing you do, which is a problem, which you are aware of and currently cannot stop.
Theodore walks up to Carmen.
He stops. Takes a breath. He clearly had something ready â you can see it on his face, the specific look of someone who rehearsed â and then Carmen is already looking at him and he loses about sixty percent of it immediately.
âSo I had a wholeâ I wrote something, kind of, in my head, on the way over here, and it was actually pretty goodââ he starts.
âTheodore,â Carmen says.
âYeah?â
âJust say the thing.â
He exhales. âYou're the most fun I've had in a really long time,â he says, simply. âAnd we've known each other for thirty minutes. I'd like to see what that looks like with more time.â
Carmen looks at him for a second.
âThat was the thing?â she says.
âThat was the thing.â
âThat was a good thing.â
âI know, right? The prepared version was worse.â
âObviously,â she squeals, doing a little dance before bouncing over to him.
Beckham gets to Monica last.
He stands in front of her with his hands in his pockets and the easy, unhurried manner of someone who has decided something and is just getting to the part where he says it.
âBest for last,â he chuckles. âAlright. Cards on the table. You argued with me for ten minutes about avocado toast. You were completely right the whole time and you knew it and you kept going anyway.â A pause. âI haven't laughed like that in a while. So. Here I am.â
Monica looks at him. Tilts her head. âThat's your speech? Avocado toast?â
âThat's my speech.â
âBeckham.â
âMonica.â
She gives him a dramatic, lingering look, but a genuine smile breaks through her defense, the initial friction between them melting into a mature, surprisingly comfortable foundation.
Cupid looks at the five new couples.
âNight one,â she says. âLovely. Nothing you see here is permanent â I'm telling you that not as a threat but as a fact about Paradiso.â She picks up her glass. âEnjoy tonight. You've earned it.â
She walks toward the villa doors.
Stops.
âI'll be in touch.â She smiles, not at anyone specific, at all of you. âI always am.â
The first night does what first nights do.
Music from somewhere. Drinks from somewhere else. Pairs drift and settle and drift again. The pool lights come on fully now and the whole terrace goes warm and soft and loud and good.
You end up on the far daybed with Lorenzo, which isâ yeah. Okay. Obviously.
He's good at this. The conversation, the ease. He asks things and actually listens to the answers. He remembered something you said in the scroll exchange and brings it back naturally and you can't decide if that's just him or if that's a thing he does but either way it works and you make a note of the fact that it works.
âYou're still doing it,â he says.
âDoing what.â
âTheâ watching thing.â He nods toward the terrace. Carmen is laughing at something Theodore said, head thrown back. Monica and Beckham are in something surprisingly serious-looking. Evie and Shoji are sitting near each other, talking quietly.
âOccupational habit,â you say.
âIs it helpful?â
âSometimes.â You look at the water. âSometimes I just can't turn it off.â
âWhat are you seeing right now?â
You think about it honestly. âFive first impressions that are all going to look different in a week.â
Lorenzo is quiet for a second. âIncluding ours?â
You look at him.
He's asking for real. Less charming-mode, more just â asking.
âI don't know yet,â you say. âAsk me in a week.â
âI'll do that,â he says.
The music shifts. Across the terrace Carmen says something that sends Monica into hysterics. The night settles into something warm and temporary and genuinely good in the way that first nights are before everything gets complicated.
Your dress is perfect. The boy beside you just made you laugh before you decided to. That hasn't happened in a while.
You let yourself have it.
Just tonight.
Laterâ much later, when most people have gone in =â you're at the pool edge. Feet in the water. Listening to the quiet.
You hear footsteps. You know whose before you look. You have good ears. Also he's been doing this thing all night where he very carefully isn't looking at you, which has its own presence.
Shoji sits down. Not close. Just not far.
The water. The lights underneath. Somewhere inside, a laugh.
âYou alright?â he asks.
Such a normal question. You sit with it for longer than is probably natural.
âYeah,â you say. âI think so. You?â
âYeah.â He looks at the water. âLot to take in.â
âMm.â
Neither of you says anything for a while. The silence is fine. Not every silence needs filling. You know that, in theory. You are working on it.
âWe should probably go in,â you say.
âProbably.â
Nobody moves.
Then you do. And he does.
You go inside the villa.
The villa goes quiet in that specific way of a place that's been loud for hours and is only now remembering how to be still.
Cupid is gone. The boys have migrated to the kitchen for reasons that involve someone finding crisps. And the five of you are in the vanity room, which isâ a lot. Ten mirrors, ten lit-up stations, the kind of lighting that's flattering enough to be suspicious, and a collective cloud of micellar water and setting spray and the particular chaos of five women simultaneously taking off their faces.
Carmen gets there first and has already claimed the middle station and is going at her mascara with a makeup wipe like it personally wronged her.
âOkay,â she says, to no one and everyone. âTalk.â
âGive me a second I'm stillââ Monica is wrestling with a lash. âHold on. Hold on. Got it. Okay. Talk.â
âTheodore,â you say, because someone has to start and it might as well be the most obvious one in the room.
Carmen points at you in the mirror. âDo not.â
âCarmen.â
âI said what I said.â
âYou literally said don'tââ
âExactly. Don't. Moving on.â
âShe's already in love,â Monica tells you, at full volume, directly into the mirror.
âI am notââ
âShe's a little bit in love,â Evie says, which is the most devastating possible contribution from Evie because Evie does not say things like that and the fact that even she clocked it means it's extremely obvious.
Carmen puts her makeup wipe down. Picks it back up. âHe's justââ she starts. Stops. âHe lost his whole speech,â she says, almost to herself. âHe had a thing prepared and he just â lost it. Right in front of me.â
âThat's so cute,â Monica says.
âIt was so cute,â Carmen says miserably.
Everyone laughs.
âOkay,â Monica says, tying her hair up. âBeckham.â
âWhat about Beckham,â Evie says.
âHis speech was about avocado toast.â
âTo be fair,â you say, âit was a very good avocado toast speech.â
âIt was!â Monica sounds genuinely offended on her own behalf. âThat's the annoying part. It was charming. The avocado toast thing was charming. I wanted to be annoyed and I couldn't be annoyed.â
âYou were fuckin' arguing with him for like ten minutes,â Carmen says.
âTwelve,â Monica says. âAnd he didn't budge once. Not once. He just stood there being completely wrong and completely unbothered about it.â
âYou like him,â you say.
âI didn't say that.â
âMonica.â
âI said he was charming. That's different.â
âHow is that different.â
Monica opens her mouth. Closes it. Points at you in the mirror. âCan we talk about you.â
âWe can absolutely not.â
âMC.â
âMoving on,â you say, in your best Carmen voice.
Carmen loses it. Actual wheezing.
Evie is at the station on the end, methodical, taking off her makeup in the precise order she always takes off her makeup, which you can tell is a specific order because she's doing it with the focused calm of a ritual.
âShoji seems nice,â you say, carefully.
âHe is,â Evie says. No performance. Justâ yes, he is.
âHe said you seem like someone who means what she says,â Monica offers.
âI know.â Evie smooths something onto her skin. âI heard him.â A pause. âThat's a good thing to notice about someone.â
âIt is,â you agree.
Evie looks at you in the mirror for a second. Something in her face that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one. âHe seems like someone who shows up,â she says. âI think that matters more than most things.â
âYeah,â you say. âI think so too.â
You both look at the mirror for a second.
Then Carmen says âokay but Evie you have to admit the matching posture thing when you were talking was soââ
âI don't know what you're referring to,â Evie says.
âYou were literally standing likeââ Carmen demonstrates, going ramrod straight.
âI always stand like that.â
âHe was doing it too!â
âHe has good posture.â
âIt was like two soldiers at a very romantic paradeââ
âCarmen.â
âI'm just sayingââ
âCarmen.â
âIt was cute, Evie, I'm saying it was cuteââ
âGoodnight, Carmen.â
Jasmine has been quiet.
Not checked-out quiet â she's been laughing at everything, contributing, present â but there's a layer underneath it that you've been clocking for the last twenty minutes and not saying anything about because it's night one and some things take longer than night one.
She's reapplying her skincare in the mirror with the focused attention of someone who does this every night without exception. Vitamin C. Something in a glass bottle. Something else.
âMaverick seemsââ Monica starts, and then catches something in Jasmine's reflection and visibly recalibrates. âGood,â she finishes. âHe seems good.â
âHe's fine,â Jasmine says.
âFine,â Carmen repeats.
âHe's fine. He's good-looking, he's not an idiot, he listened when I talked.â She caps the bottle. âFine.â
âThat's like the most underwhelming review,â Monica says.
âIt's night one,â Jasmine says, pleasantly. âFine is good for night one.â
She catches your eye in the mirror.
You look at your own reflection.
Fine, you think.
You think about who Lorenzo's eyes went to when he paused. The half second before he walked to you. You think about Jasmine saying fine in that specific tone of voice.
You think about the fact that you notice things.
You think about the fact that noticing things has not, historically, made your life easier.
You put your moisturiser on and say nothing.
The bedroom is enormous and slightly absurd.
Ten beds, five couples, the other five made up and waiting on the far side of the room for whoever comes nextâ sirens, new arrivals, the future that hasn't happened yet. The whole thing is warm-lit and white-linened and smells like something expensive, and for a second standing in the doorway you think again like you did in the car: this is real, this is actually happening, you are actually doing this.
Then Carmen trips on her own slipper and the moment passes.
The boys are already in various states of settledâ Theodore has somehow already found a book, which nobody questions; Beckham is horizontal approximately four seconds after sitting down; Maverick is on his phone â oh wait, no phones. He's just looking at the ceiling then. Contemplatively.
âThis is so weird,â Monica announces to the room.
âSo weird,â Beckham agrees, from horizontal.
âGood weird,â Carmen says.
âJury's out,â Theodore says, from behind the book he definitely smuggled in somehow.
âWhere did you even get that,â Carmen says.
âI packed it.â
âWe were told no outside itemsââ
âIt's a book, Carmen.â
âTheodoreââ
âIt's a book.â
The lights go down slowlyâ dimmed from somewhere, probably productionâ and the room settles into the warm quiet of ten people doing the specific work of pretending to be more comfortable than they are.
âGoodnight,â Monica says, to the room.
A chorus of goodnights, overlapping, some more sincere than others.
âGoodnight Evie,â Carmen calls across.
âGoodnight Carmen,â Evie says, in a tone that means please stop.
âGoodnight Monica,â he says again, turning a page.
Beckham makes a sound that might be a laugh and might be him falling asleep. Unclear.
Maverick says goodnight to no one specific, ceiling-directed, quiet. Jasmine, in the bed beside his, says it back the same way. Neither of them looks at the other.
You file that.
Your bed is warm.
Lorenzo is in the one beside yours, close enough that you could talk without the rest of the room hearing if you kept it low, which is clearly what the producers intended and you're going to do it anyway because the alternative is lying there thinking.
He's on his back, looking at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. He looks like someone whose brain is still going.
âYou're thinking very loudly,â you say, quietly.
âI'm always thinking loudly,â he says. âYou just usually can't hear it.â
âWhat are you thinking about.â
A pause. Not the kind where he's deciding whether to tell you. The kind where he's deciding how much.
âTonight,â he says. âJustâ going back over it.â
âAnd?â
âAnd it was a good night.â He turns his head slightly to look at you in the low light. âYou?â
âSame,â you say. âGood night.â
âYeah.â
He shifts slightly, and his voice when it comes is casual, the particular casualness of someone keeping something light on purpose. âYou and Shoji seemed like you had a good chat. Earlier. By the pool.â
Something in you goes very still.
âWe talked during the scroll thing,â you say. âSame as everyone.â
âNo, I mean after,â he says. âLate. When most people had gone in.â
He says it the same way he says everything â easy, warm, conversational. No edge to it. No weight. Just â noting it. The way he notes things.
âOh,â you say. âYeah. Just checking in.â
âNice,â he says.
And that's it. That's all. He doesn't push it, doesn't follow it up, lets it sit there like it's nothing, like he mentioned it the way you'd mention the weather.
You look at the ceiling too.
âGoodnight, Lorenzo,â you say.
âGoodnight, MC.â
A pause.
âAsk me in a week,â he says.
âYou'll remind me,â you say.
âYeah,â he says. âI will.â
The room goes quiet. Properly quiet. Someone's breathing evens outâ Beckham, probably, he seems like someone who falls asleep fast and completely. The low light hums.
You look at the ceiling.
You think about ten people in five out of ten beds in one room at the start of something none of them can see the shape of yet.
And for once, you let that be enough.
brrrr!!!... đUPID'S CALLING ŕŞââ´âĄ
â Ten islanders. Five couples. One night down.
Paradiso does this thing where it makes everything feel meant to beâ the light, the warmth, the fact that you are genuinely stuck here with nowhere else to be.
Something happened tonight though.
You know it did. â
Night One: who kept pulling your attention back?
Lorenzo: warm, chose you, and you're not sure what the pause before he did means
Shoji: said maybe twelve words to you and somehow that was enough
Beckham: funnier than expected, still figuring him out
Maverick: somehow still a question you haven't finished
Theodore: you only know what Carmen told you, and that's made you more curious
Voting ended onJul 28
Voting closes in a week before Episode 2.
I am SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT!!!! i've been so occupied with work and juggling my tutoring side gig PLEASE DONT SKEWER ME.. this episode was also pretty tough to write because this is yk the first impression and all that all the other episodes can flow in easily after this and i kept rewriting it, deleting it and doing it over again but ALAS. HERE IT IS, LONG, PROUD AND NOT PROOF READ LMAOO
please let me know what you think about how this episode was written through my ask!! feel free to leave feedback, critique and let me know what exactly you would love to see!!
i also would like to know how long you would like to wait until the next episode!! because there's the flow of reading and there's also whether if or not im gonna be getting enough engagement(votes) that ends up in favor of everyone yknowww but anyways!
Until the next episode!! BYEE LOVE ALL 30 OF U GUYS đšđđ
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Summary: You once went to high school with Clark, and nothing happened. But time changes people.
Word count: 5k
Contains: Fluff & smut. Reconnected meet-cute, unrequited first crush. Daily Planet!Clark & Baker!Bookish!reader. Mentions of Clarkâs friends & mom. Awkward flirting, anxiety, kissing. Lots of inner monologue. Time skips July-Nov-Feb. *PIV and clit playâ not very graphic, kept it mild to match the tone.Â
A/N: okay this one took me a while to get right but i really love it :,) hope you enjoy anon !! again, barely proofread but i trust you to be nice
Without his dad around to make the farm feel full, and while D.C. took his mother away on business 364 days out of the year, Smallville just didnât have the same charm it used to. Even his friends were based in Metropolis or the stars beyond now. What was left of his childhood was long gone. It was quiet and empty, and yet so could his life be, and that is why he went anyway. Coming home, at the very least, was a chance for him to reconnect with himself. Even if he did it alone in a familiar farmhouse.Â
It wasnât as if Smallville wasnât nice. It was beautiful all year, littered with lush nature and boasting a quirky downtown. A perfect getaway for most. The AirBNB business would boom here soon, if it hadnât begun already. Being away had only made it seem sadder, somehow. Metropolis was always bustling, he could barely get any sleep, and part of him liked that; the surge of the city, the never-ending list of tasks, the lights and sounds. Here, nothing ever happened. It was partially why growing up was possible, but also why it felt so impossible at times. He owed much to the small town.Â
The long drive down the county road out to Kent Farm smelled of that mid-July fuzzy, homegrown grain he liked to forget when he could. As he rolled up the driveway, he let out a conflicted breath. The house was the same it had been last Christmas. It never changed. The yellow paint still simmered in the sun, the windows still shone, and somehow the plants were green and vineyâ it had to be one of Marthaâs friends, coming by to water them while nobody was home. Clarkâs boots clopped up the front porch and he turned slowly, savoring the crisp intake of oxygen. The air never felt fresher than it did at home, which was one positive. The land looked good. It seemed the deal he struck with his neighbors was serving the family acres well.Â
Clark would go through the motionsâ walk the farm, call his mother, do his laundry. Something about the well water out here really got the remaining stains out of his suit. And when all that was done, heâd go into town and see the things he missed the mostâ the old talon, the bakery that sold the little almond croissants, the bookstore, Smallville High. Things that made life feel like it only just happened, and wasnât some distant memory of a planet he had left behind long ago. It would help him claw out of this unusual slump he was in, which he desperately needed to shirk. Heâd missed two punches, botched a high jump in front of a group of civilians, written three stories with nearly forty typos between them, and nearly lost a mid-air brawl. He was losing his touch, and he needed to get it back.Â
It didnât help that he felt so alone. Sure, he had his friendsâ Chloe, Jimmy, Lois at the office, Oliver at Queen Industries (when he wasnât on a jet), Kara and Jonn and the others floating around somewhere galactic. He had people to call. But whatever this feeling was, it had nothing to do with them. It was a gaping hole in his bedside and a missing hand on his head. It was something nobody in his world had been able to fill. There was certainly no finding it in Smallville, but in all honesty, he wasnât sure where else to go. Even if he had to prolong the ache, at least home would take the sting out, right? He sure hoped so. If not, he was out of luck.
So, he slept in his old bed, and in the morning he would try the bakery first. Sugar cured all ills.Â
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
Early morning rushes on Fridays were predictable. Tom came in for his black coffee and Boston creme donut before sunrise. His buddy Adam followed to buy a dozen for the construction crew up the street, where LuthorCorp was building a new plant. A few of the high school teachers rushed through for a pastry on their way in, eager to close out the week. Sally, the florist, took her time perusing the glass case as usual before ordering the same as always, a cherry danish, and stuffing a five dollar bill into your hand for always being âsuch a sweet girlâ. You didnât mind it; busy was not bad, and predictability was comfortable. Nothing ever changed on Fridays. Or so you thought, until the bell rang above the door, and you glanced up to see a face that you hadnât in years.
Was that actually Clark Kent?
It had to be. The dark hair was well-kempt, but it had that same black-sapphire shade in the warm light. His eyes, too, were as bright as you remembered them, even behind glasses. When he walked up to the counter, you knew it for sure as he smiled and a sharp row of misaligned teeth appeared. Clark Kent was standing in front of you. The very same who always showed up in the Torch or the Ledger for saving a life, who won the Crows the championship, who used to eat donuts with his band of friends in your auntâs shop. The very same who once stopped you from tripping over yourself and hitting your head when an inexplicable windstorm swept the prom and nearly killed half the school. Clark Kent was standing in a crisp flannel, a Planet journalist out of waterâ it wasnât like you kept track of himâ and smiling as if he did not remember you at all.
You felt heat rise in your chest as you brushed the flour from your palms onto your apron and smiled back. âHey. Iâ welcome in. What can I do for you?â
Clark fished a wallet out of his jeans and asked conspiratorily, âDo you have any of those almond croissants left, or am I too late?â
Your smile grew wider. âAh. Yeah, we do. Just one?â
The man nodded and watched as you flipped the case open and unfolded a piece of pastry paper. âYes, please. Thank you.â
As you wrapped his croissant and tucked it neatly into a paper bag, you studied him. He was peering at the menu behind the counter and thumbing his bills, trying to determine the price. The board wasnât very specific. Your aunt insisted that unlabeled prices were more artisanal, and therefore more successful. You snickered softly and came back to the counter, sliding it across. âItâs gonna be $3.75.â
Clark seemed pleased enough and handed you four singles. When you opened the register, a sneaky five found its way into the tip jar. Part of you was dying to know if he remembered you, but it was such a silly whim, wasnât it? You were always in a different class than him, had different friends and interests. He saved a lot of classmates back in the day. You didnât think you looked all that differentâ you were still quite chubby, although your hair wasnât cut the same way anymore. He likely met thousands of people every year with that job heâs got. It wouldnât be plausible for him to remember a girl he graduated with. But still, you wanted to know.
As you dropped a quarter into his open palm, you cocked your head. âI hope this doesnât come off presumptuous, but⌠do you remember who I am?â
Clark blinked in alarm and turned a pretty shade of pink, showing his teeth. âUmâŚâ
You felt a blooming embarrassment and chuckled quickly. âI didnât think so. Itâs okay! Umâ justâ we graduated together, and youâre always the talk of the town now, what with writing for the Daily Planet and stuff, and I remember when you used to come in and eat donuts with your friends after school, so I justâ yâknowâ I thought Iâd ask.â You shifted your weight and winced a bit at your inability to talk at a regular pace.
Clark seemed to stop for a second, considering what you said. His eyes scanned you, and then he narrowed them, and then he smiled. âWait a second.â
âHm?â
âYou used to work here in high school,â he confirmed, laughing softly. âThis is your auntâs place, right? Yeah! Youâ you used to win the bake sale drive every year, Chloe used to be so pissed,â Clark said at last. âEveryone used to call you Betty Crocker.â
You flushed plum and shut the register. âYeah, good timesâŚâ
Clarkâs grin softened as he scooped up his pastry. âDidnât like the nickname, huh?â
You shook your head. âCouldâve been worse, though.â
âYeah, I think it could have,â he teased. âI havenât seen you here the last few times I came home.â
âI was living in the pacific northwest for a while,â you shrugged, leaning on the counter. âSeattle, mostly. I got my degree out there and worked for a publisher for a few years. I loved the water. But I missed home.â
âPublisher? Are you an author?â
âNo, just an editor. But Iâm hoping to start my own publishing company soon. Trying to find my roots again first, thatâs all.â
Clarkâs expression was difficult to read, but it was pleasant. He just seemed a bit⌠twisted up. Like a rubber band wrapping around itself. âWell, you certainly look right here. This is how I remember you.â
You ducked your head to avoid smiling too wide. âYou think?â you gestured to your dirtied apron.Â
Clark tilted his head to the side and thought for a moment, before nodding softly. âYeah.âÂ
The attention was a bit too warm, but you didnât move. Instead, you chirped, âLet me get you some coffee.â
âOh, no, reallyââ
âEven if itâs on the house?â
Clark couldnât help his smirk. âGiving out freebies, are we?â
âFor an old friend,â you tested, turning around to reach the back counter. âYou did save me once, after all.â
Clark furrowed his brow. âI did?â he asked, only to think for a second and follow up with, âoh. I did! Prom, right?â
âYeah,â you giggled, filling a paper cup with coffee from the canteen.Â
âYou were wearing a blue dress. I do remember.â
You turned around with a handful of scalding drink, but the burn was nothing compared to your skin. âWhat?â
Clark smiled sheepishly and scratched his head. âYou⌠uh⌠you wore a blue dress. I remember it, it had, like⌠beads on it. It was pretty. Is that my coffee?â
You handed it to him with a nervous hand and flushed, trying to find your way back to that easy smile. âRight.â
Clark clutched his croissant and cup awkwardly and nudged his glasses up with a knuckle. âUm, well⌠I guess Iâm good to go, then.â
âAll paid up,â you nodded.Â
âIâll see you?â He asked.
There was the smile. âIâll be here.â
âGood,â Clark said, stepping back. âUh⌠have a good day. It was good to see you again.â
âYou too, Clark.â
As the memory of a boy all but waddled out of the bakery, you leaned your hip against the counter and watched him go. He was even taller, and yet just as you once knew him. Sweet, teasing, bumbling when he got caught. Perfect. You felt yourself gushing, but there was no harm done if he was gone. For a minute, you felt just like your young self again, going to the football games for no other reason than to ogle the golden child of Smallville High. Everyone had a crush on him. But did he remember everyone?
Clark came back every morning that week until he went back to Metropolis. You assumed as much when he stopped showing up. But it wasnât until you emptied the tip jar at the end of the week to split it between you and your aunt that you found a note slipped in with a few billsâŚ
Stay at the bakery for a while longer. The croissants have never been better. If youâre still there by Thanksgiving, youâll make one happy man. Call if you wonât be. xxx-xxx-xxxx
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
Clark was looking forward to the holiday for more reasons than one.Â
His mother got some time off, thank God. That was reason enough to celebrate. He had even convinced his friends to make the trip back, since so many of them were each otherâs family now, and a Friendsgiving in the Watchtower just wouldn't do. It would be the first real Thanksgiving he enjoyed in years. Heâd taste his motherâs homemade apple pie again. But, on top of all that, there would be almond croissants and coffee.Â
You called after you found the note. You got his machine, but you left a message. When Clark called back the next morning, you found his voice was quite nice over the phone, and he was happy to hear yours. I donât get a lot of calls, he had teased, Iâll clear the machine so you can fill it up. And fill it you did. You called all the time, whether you intended to catch him or not. You told stories about the bakery, and sometimes he was there to laugh with you, or he would chuckle to himself while he recapped upon coming home. The times you did get him to pick up, he would spill the juicy details of what it was like working at the Planet, being in league with the best reporters in the country and just barely scraping by. Sometimes he read his stories aloud for you to edit, given all your experience. Now and again, if he got a big one, heâd fax it to you and wait for you to return it covered in red pen. He earned points with Perry for developing his craft, and he acquired a taste for the cute way you scribbled your Rs and Ks.Â
When November rolled around and you had months of phone bills under your belt, Clark had rung one night with a special request. Come to my house for Thanksgiving, he asked, for dessert. Meet my friends. Please? They want to try your baking. And I want to see you. You were sold at the prospect of being wanted, but it took more convincing to get your mother and aunt to see you werenât ditching the holiday, merely cutting out early for a lateral celebration. They agreed on the contingency that you bring a canteen of the special banana bread coffee the bakery was experimenting with, aiming to hear results from a test group. That was how you ended up in Clarkâs living room, polling Crow alumni and strangers alike.Â
âHoney, whatever you put in this, Iâm gonna need fifteen more of,â a very satisfied Lois Lane grinned. It was safe to say you were mesmerized by herâ not only was her name known nationwide for her exclusive interviews with Superman, but she had a head of chestnut hair that flowed the way you imagined Greek goddessesâ did, and her comebacks were witty and sharp, and she looked like hell on wheels in a pair of jeans and a blazer. She gave you a friendly wallop on the arm. âThis stuff is a bestseller!â
âIt really is,â Chloe hummed, sidling up to you against the kitchen counter. âI wish you had this back in high school. I was running on terrible mochaccinos back then.â
You chuckled softly at the blonde. She was as pretty as you remembered, with her gap teeth and bouncy hair. âWerenât we all.â
âYou know, I really think youâve got a good investment opportunity on your hands here,â Oliver Queen interjected from across the room, almond cream and powdered sugar clumping around his lips. He had sugared hands like a Pillsbury massacre. âWe should talk about stakes. I could put your pastries in airports around the world.
âDude!â Jimmy Olsen scoffed.
âAbsolutely not,â Clark cut in, tossing a napkin in Oliverâs direction. âSheâs one person, she can only make so many. No machine could make them taste as good.â
You flushed a bit and shrugged. âThanks, Clark.â
âYou always had a talent for treats, sweetheart,â a greying yet spry Martha Kent lilted as she shooed Chloe and Lois from the counter so she might reach the sink. âJust like your aunt. People talked for years about how those croissants fell in quality when you left for school. I think your mother was making them.â
You had to bite back your laughter as she gave you a wink. You scooted away to give her room for the dishes.Â
Clarkâs friends were sweet. It wasnât that you didnât like them. They were all new to you, that was all. City folk. The people on the other side of the country, when you did work in Seattle and Portland, had a small-town attitude. The world moved differently there. It was kinder, just like Smallville had been growing up. Metropolis was like New York, and New York was the total opposite of Seattle and Portland. In turn, these people were the total opposite of you. They seemed the opposite of Clark in many ways, Chloe included. They were full of jabs and prods, sly jokes, work talk. You had little to contribute but the food you brought and a small story now and again when they remembered you knew Clark in school, vaguely and barely, and asked you to recount something theyâd heard of before but never got the full story. They were all reporters or seekers in their own right, and it was frankly exhausting to keep up with.Â
Plus, with Lois around, it was a bit hard to breathe.
Clark had been so sweet over the phone. Curious about your life, asking after your progress on building a publishing company and how your family was doing. Invested in a way that gave you hope. He never mentioned Lois outside of work tales. But as she stood in his house now, punching his arm with a sense of camaraderie unknown to you, you worried if perhaps youâd read too much into things. She smiled at his every sentence and flipped her hair, and she drank your coffee while she did so. You were the servant to their obviously undeniable love, forced to watch it play out like some cruel joke. Well, maybe not in so many words, but that was how it felt. It felt, as she ruffled his hair and he flushed while fixing his frames, like Clark had not told you everything. It made you feel like a fool.Â
As his friends slumped on the couch with full bellies, bickering over a recording of Miracle on 34th Street, you parceled off the leftovers of your pastries in the kitchen with Clark.Â
âIâm glad you came,â he murmured, wiping some sugar off the counter. âEverybody is. They all really like you.â
âTheyâre nice people,â you offered back, trying not to replay the image of Lois patting Clarkâs hand during dessert.Â
âI missed these,â he nudged your elbow, poking the Ziploc full of croissants. âAnd you.â
God, it really wasnât fair. âYou did?â
âMhm.â
It was hard to tell now, when he touched you, if it was friendly. He touched Lois plenty. And Chloe, and Ollie, and surely everyone else. Hands on the small of their backs, pats between the shoulders. He was an affectionate person. He seemed to speak to them the same, too, as he joked and praised in ways you found so flirtatious over the phone. You were beginning to rethink everything he had ever said and done, retracing it back to when he first reacquainted himself in the summer, worrying that youâd been stupid enough to fabricate love out of a friendship.Â
âAre you listening?â
You blinked, snapping out of the spiral as Clark tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He was closer now, peering down at you with curiosity. Warmth made you shudder as you shook your head. âZoned out. Sorry.â
âAre you feeling alright?â
âYeah,â you smiled, but it pulled your cheeks tight. âGreat. This was really nice. Thank you for inviting me.â
Clark studied how your hands moved quickly to clean, and he reached out to still a wrist. âYouâre not at work. You don't have to do that.â
You paused, a sick feeling swirling in your gut. You had been cleaning all night. Serving, watching, attending to his friends and mother, making sure they liked your food, topping off their coffees. It was the only way you felt useful anymore since coming home.Â
Clark slipped a palm around your back and pressed his fingers into the soft pudge of your skin, dimpling the dip. âWhat is it?â
You swallowed the worry and smiled again. âNothing,â you said before deflecting. âYou never said what you were thankful for, you know. Earlier. Lois said cable television, and Jimmy said film developers, and then you never answered.â
Clark squinted playfully. âReally? Well, what are you thankful for? I donât recall you answering, either.â
You chuckled weakly. âUm⌠the bakery. My family. The freelance work I get now and again,â you glanced at him, âand, yâknow⌠other stuff.â
âStuff?â
You swallowed again, closing your eyes. It was all friendship, this whole time. You knew it. A trick.
Clark leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. âWell, Iâm thankful for you.â
Your eyes stayed shut as the tingle resonated like a sonic boom throughout the chub of your cheek. So that was what Clarkâs lips felt like.Â
âWas that a bad idea?â Clark suddenly asked, voice softer than you were used to.Â
You opened your eyes and looked up at him with enough hope to start a fire. âAre we friends?â
Clark blushed. âI was sort of hoping we were a little more than that now.â
A little more than that. So you werenât an idiot. You read between the lines, like you did for a job once. You found the discrepancy. Smiling like a fool, you nodded. âIâd like to be.â
Clarkâs teeth glinted in the yellow light of the kitchen, and he murmured, âYouâve got a little something on your chin.â
A flustered worry overtook you. It could be sugar or soapy water or something worse. âI do?âÂ
He hummed, taking your chin between two fingers, and he promptly pressed a kiss to your lips. Another trick. He was quite sneaky, that Clark Kent.Â
When he pulled away, he offered, âCould you make more croissants for Christmas?"
You just laughed. âIâll make you whatever you want.â
Ëââ§ę°áâ¤ď¸ŕťęą â§â
February in Smallville was postcard-worthy, which was why you emailed a photo of it to Clark a week before you were set to see him again. He sent a picture of a snowy Metropolis skyline, to which you replied, Looks cold. He wrote back, Would be warmer if you were here.Â
The commute wasnât impossible. You worked out a schedule in which every weekend one of you visited the other. When you drove to the city, Clark always had a reservation set at a different kitschy restaurant where you could tuck yourselves into a corner and talk until the wine was gone. When he came home, youâd sneak him freebies at the bakery and heâd talk shop with your aunt at the counter. Heâd given you a bracelet at Christmas with a little C charm, and a tiny book charm to go with it. Your two loves. You were smitten, to say the least.Â
There had been talks about moving. You scheduled a few tours of office buildings in the city where you might start your business out. There was only one publishing company in Metropolis and it was owned by LuthorCorp, and they did not take on independent artistsâ it was an untapped market of aspiring writers who were looking to get their work on shelves. You figured that if you were to start new anywhere, that would be a good place to nest. You wouldnât go back to the west coast. You wouldnât go anywhere Clark wouldnât follow. In all honesty, your time there was well spent and left behind. Smallville was home again, and the thought of straying far from it was one you no longer entertained. You could endure the people of Metropolis so long as you had the choice to ground yourself now and again just down the highway.Â
Clark felt like everything was falling into place, just like you. He was crushing it at work, getting stories by Perry all the time with his own personal editor waiting with a red pen. His late-night escapades in red and blue were faster than ever, with minimal screw-ups and damage. He was sleeping plenty while your slow breathing filtered through his phone receiver at night. And soon enough, you would be coming to stay with him and start your dream up. He hadnât felt a slump since summer, and that hole he was drowning in was filled and patched over. Nothing could hurt him now. In fact, it quite motivated him beyond your sensibilities.Â
âYouâre thinking about something,â Clark whispered, nibbling at your neck.Â
You giggled softly and tried to wriggle free. The deep sky did little to light his apartment bedroom through the windows as he wrestled you onto the bed, but you could see his eyes clear as day, gleaming as if they held moonlight like a glow stick. âTomorrow,â you panted, âthat one building by the Planet. Iâm hoping it goes my way.â
âIt will,â Clark teethed at your jaw, peppering little kisses over the bend. âThe loan was approved, youâve got a good reputation in the industry⌠youâre gonna get it.â
You carded your fingers through his hair, coaxing him up to get a good look at him. âDo you really think I can do this?â
Clark gazed down at you. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, so you tugged them off. He always looked so much like his teenage self without them. It was incredibly deja-vu-ish. âI do.â
âYou donât think Iâll fail?â
âMaybe you will,â he smiled. âBut Iâll just write you an article in the paper, and then everyone will donate money or something and weâll save you.â
A soft bubble of laughter erupted from your chest and you hauled him down for another kiss. Clark grunted with approval as he hitched your legs over his hip and pressed you hard into the mattress, relishing in the pillowy cushion of your body beneath him.Â
âI love you,â you professed into his mouth, nails scratching softly down his shoulders, tracing little lines over the skin.Â
âI love you,â he parroted.Â
You squeaked a bit as he shoved a palm up your shorts and made contact with your ass. âYou know, I used to think you had a thing for Lois.â
Clark squeezed as he laughed. âWhat?â
âI did,â you wheezed, bucking into the touch as his mouth sealed over your throat and his curious hand slipped beneath your panties. âI thoughtâ mmfâ at Thanksgiving, you knowââ
âYouâre crazy,â he purred, hands working magic youâ and probably most girls back homeâ had dreamed about one way or another. It was a familiar pleasure to you, though. Who wouldâve thought? âI definitely didnât, and donât.â
âI hope not, because that would be embarrassingâ ahâŚâ
Clark smothered you with kisses and promises that ever since he found you, it had only ever been you, and in all his life heâd never felt anything like what you do to him. Somewhere in the middle of all the talking, hands stopped and motions started, and you were moving as a unit, twisting the sheets and clinging to each other like fated limpets. Very few things felt better than Clark Kent swearing he adored you while greeting your insides over and over again.Â
âI bought the house,â Clark gasped for air, driving his hips home.Â
You blinked tears of pleasure from your eyes and tried to make sense of the words. âMmâ hm?â
âThe farmhouse,â Clark moaned, clawing at your thighs around his waist. âBought it offâ my mom. We can⌠keep it⌠go home whenever we want.â
The flutter in your gut was hard to identify given the duelling notions occurring at once. The sweat of his cheek mingled with yours as he crushed you, and you tried to breathe through it. âYou bought me a house?â
Clark grunted, eyes fluttering. He managed a smirk. âToo much?â
You shook your head, swallowing a cry. âNo. Iâllâ ahâ God, I have to bake you stuff forever now!â
âOnly because you love home so much,â he reasoned while bullying into you. âWant you to be happy.â
The part of you which wanted to ask if he remembered you, if he could recall that girl from high school who watched him from afar but never said a word, wanted to rear its head again. Clark Kent bought you a house and called you every night and was helping you achieve dreams. Certainly this was a dream, or heaven, or an incredible stroke of luck. But that part got trapped beneath the whines in your throat as he bucked hard enough, thrusting you both over the precipice. Clark collapsed on top of you, breathing in the sweet, heady scent of your perfume as he nuzzled into your neck. Â
You panted hoarsely and shook out your head, trying to clear the fog. You smiled like a dope. âI canât believe you. Are you hiding any other secrets, sneaky? Any more tricks?â
Clark lifted his head to look at you with an expression of recognition. There you were, as youâve always been, and he loved you. It might have been later in life, and he often asked himself if he could have had you back in high school had he looked past himself, but none of that really mattered now. He could go home any time he wanted and know you were waiting around every corner. Nothing was hard, nothing hurt anymore. He wasnât alone. That was probably enough to tell you everything, wasnât it? Because the house was only the beginning. If you loved him, then you had to know it all.Â
Clark smiled sharply. âWell, come to think of itâŚâ
pairing: clark kent x f!readerÂ
summary: clark kent and you have been best friends since childhood. friendships shift and grow overtime and love sneaks in. Â
based on these prompts
words:Â 6.5k
content: fluff. clark kent loves yearning! suggestive-ish scenes (kissing). mentions of alcohol. reader knows clarkâs secret(s). childhood friends to mysterious third thing to lovers. mentions of a break-up. blood mention. no use of y/n.Â
notes: this is kind of a mish mash of smallville kent and superman 2025. u can probably tell what actor im imagining in each scene lol
It started in Kansas. As everything with Clark Kent did.Â
i. a taunt with an eyebrow raisedÂ
âYouâre taking Chloe to prom?â Your eyebrows were raised, pencil stalling against the homework in your binder. âAs friends or asâŚâ You trailed off. A smile tugged on your lips, eyebrows raising in question. They might have wiggled up and down. âI mean, I love you and all Clark, butââÂ
Clark inhales a breath, shaking his head. âI already know what youâre gonna say.â And because his mom had instilled a level of manners within him, âAnd I love you too.âÂ
âOkay, good. Because you know I hate repeating myself.âÂ
A roll of his eyes. His pencil is still scratching away at his own Chemistry worksheet. âListen, my mom has already given me the same talk you give me,â His eyes glance up to yours, âyou know, the one you give me every day. But my mom at least says it nicer.â He watches your features twist into a laugh. âThat door is closed with Lana. And how will I know with Chloe if I donât try?âÂ
It had always been this way. Clark and you. Life began when you met Clark and not in some corny way either. Your first real memories were on the Smallville farm. Scraped knees, popsicles, and mud pies then the throes of puberty and teenage angst. Sure, there were times when you had found a new friend group or didnât hang around Clark as much as you should have, but it didnât matter because you were a permanent fixture in his life. You were invited to Thanksgivings, birthday parties, and vow renewals. Your picture hung on at least three walls in that farm house. One you knew for sure, a picture from Halloween where Clark and you had dressed up as two peas in a pod for the 5th grade costume contest. Martha had made the costumes. You were as close to family as it got. His mom had taught you how to make pie crust. His father had shown you how to drive a tractor. And Clark had told you everything there was to know and he never second guessed it.Â
And so it was normal to tell your best friend that you loved them. It was a text message, it was a goodbye, it was said in laughter and in strife. It was never a question. Clark isnât sure when it began to mean something else. Because falling in love with you was easy.Â
For Clark, it was trying to pinpoint exactly when it happened. Falling in love with your best friend wasnât always an obvious thing. Falling in love was coming back to a stream ten years later to see how much it had changed or the tree you carved your names into as teenagers somehow sprouting new branches years later. It was like the changing of seasons and you never quite saw the first signs of Spring until it was in full bloom. These things would sneak up on a person or maybe they were there all along and Clark had never been privy to it before.Â
ii. on a sunny tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair
Clark remembers the first time he noticed how beautiful you were. That you werenât just some snotty nosed kid anymore. Or an awkward tween who was growing into her skin, unsure of the new weight gain and haircut, unsure of if you applied lipstick the right way.Â
It was outside the barn, a Tuesday afternoon. The sun was setting behind the trees and you were sitting on the tractor with tears in your eyes. The Kansas sun caught in your hair just right and the red around your eyes did nothing to distract him from the fact that you were beautiful. And Clark said something to make you laugh, that wide smile on your face. He had wished he had a camera to capture the moment, breath getting caught in his chest. And maybe it was all for selfish reasons but he also wanted you to see exactly how he saw you. Beautiful and worth more than whatever guy had broken your heart in the tenth grade. A name you couldnât recall years down the line.
âHe said he just doesnât like me anymore.â You hiccuped, the laughter that Clark had pulled out of you fading away.Â
Clarkâs concern was always genuine. His eyebrows knitted together, a frown to accompany it. Heâd rip his chest open just so you could see how his heart broke along with yours. âWell, thatâs stupid.â And it was so Clark, so sincere and matter of fact that it put another smile on your face. âAnd I love you and Iâve put up with you this long and thatâs never gonna change.â His hand hovers over your knee. Touch was different as teenagers, fewer and farther between than it used to be. But it didnât stop, it just didnât look the same as it used to. His thumb rubs circles into your knee, that supportive look on his face.Â
âWell, thanks.â You roll your eyes, shoving his hand away as your face grows a degree hotter. From the tears? âCome on. Fly me somewhere, thatâll really cheer me up.â You grin, trying to see if heâd finally break. You had been begging him for ages.Â
âNice try.â
iii. as a hello
Clark wasnât typically full of himself. When he started growing into his body as a teenager, people would tell him all the time that he was handsome, that he had good looks. It wasnât something that he had really given all that much thought to. But preparing for prom was shaking loose a weird insecurity he didnât even know he had. Did he fill out the suit nicely? Was it too big? Too small? Should he have gotten a haircut before tomorrow? Were the sleeves the right length? And when one insecurity sprouted, several more followed in their wake. He was standing in front of the mirror, poking and prodding at his face. The suit was still clad on his body.
âI love you, but what the hell are you doing?â Your voice suddenly comes from behind him.Â
Clark jumps, turning around to pierce you with a stare. A clear annoyance filling his eyes. He was not startled by much. And really, he shouldâve been used to you popping up behind him or appearing behind the screen door of the kitchen. He wouldnât be surprised if Martha and Jonathan had made you a spare key. Showing up to the farm unannounced might as well have been your love language. âI donât have to answer that.â He frowns, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket.Â
âNervous?â It was only mildly infuriating when you could read his mind. You're plopping down on his bed as you stare up at him. His bed was made meticulously, plaid comforter tucked into the sides. A bowl of chips in your lap as you wrinkled the blanket, did you help yourself to that or did his mom send you up here with a snack?Â
Clark shrugs, his body taking up the spot beside you. Your thighs press against each other on the twin bed as heâs reaching across to steal a handful of chips. Usually, you tease him, move it out of his grasp, but this time youâre offering it up to him. âI guess.âÂ
âI hate to say it, Clark, but they might be right.â You swallow down a mouthful of chips, eyes sliding down his body. Itâs almost a physical thing, your stare. He feels it on his skin. Typically he shies away from the attention, not this time. âYou look⌠handsome.â You grimace, the words foreign coming out of your mouth. âBut donât tell anyone I told you so.âÂ
Clark laughs and your presence alone has his nerves soothing, your words doing the rest of the job. There was no one more honest in the world to him. His parents could occasionally sugar coat things or wore rose colored glasses when it came to him. But you knew every part of Clark Kent, even the ones he didnât want anyone to see.Â
iv. with a hoarse voice, under the blanketsÂ
It was all phases of life, too. It was always Clark Kent by your side in one way or another. Senior year of Metropolis University. A shared two bedroom apartment. It only lasted one lease periodâ you realized too late that a roommate with super-hearing wasnât your cup of tea when you wanted to finally explore the dating scene in the big city. Well that and it brought a new phase of your friendship with Clark. One that neither of you could really understand or stand too long in. It was no longer the safety of Smallville. It was as close to real life as the two of you had tasted.Â
âGet up. Please.â Clark is fighting a losing battle. He can see your form underneath the blankets on your bed, shifting around in annoyance. Your entire body is covered by the comforter. No limbs peak out. He moves closer to the edge of your bed. You were hungover and Clark wasnât going to let you live it down. He never let you live anything down. âCome on. I made you pancakes. They even have the worst smiley face ever in the middle and you can make fun of it andââÂ
Your arm reaches out from underneath your blankets to grab his arm, tugging him. This is the man who cannot be moved. And you knew this. âCome on, let me have this.â A typical phrase. He hears it when you want to win a play fight, when you want him to pretend a shove from you actually does anything. Clark will always cradle his arm in mock hurt, wincing till a knowing smile is shared between the both of you. He always relents. You pull him into the bed with you, the covers coming up to wrap around the both of you. âClark Kent,â Your hands come up to your face, rubbing at your temples, âYouâre giving me a headache.âÂ
âOh, me? Iâm giving you a headache?â A small amount of sunlight filters through the blanket. Your hair is unruly. Youâre in one of his t-shirts, threadbare and stretched out, but itâs ridden up your thighs, twisted around your belly. He does not stare. He does not ogle and especially not at his best friend. Clark Kent has always prided himself on that even as his eyes make their way up the rest of your body. âIt has nothing to do with last night? Oh and by the way, youâre welcome for picking you up last night. You always get so touchy when youâre drunk andââÂ
You shove him. âOne last warning, Clark. Iâm serious.â You grumble, feet moving to push at his body too as if that will do anything your arms couldnât. âGet out of my fortress.â His fingers dance at your ankles. âAnd bring me my pancakes.âÂ
âAs you wish, ma'am." Heâs sliding out of your bed, his fingers tickling their way down your ankles, your toes, a giggle eliciting from underneath the blanket.Â
If he didnât have super hearing maybe he wouldnât have picked up on it so well. âLove you.â You grumble begrudgingly, twisting the blanket back around your body.Â
Clark smiles and his heart flips in his chest. But itâs the one that happens sometimes with you. When heâs so grateful to have you in his life and of course hearing your best friend say they love you would do that to anyone.Â
v. when we kissed for the first timeÂ
It all started to warp around this time, deep in his belly and twist up into something he couldnât quite name.
And it wasnât a weird request. It wasnât, you had reassured yourself. Maybe you had too much to drink during game night, but Clark was always the person you could go to. Nothing was awkward with him. I mean he had probably glimpsed you naked before and overheard you after a date and you shared a bathroom and a space and you grew up together and it wasnât weird. It wasnât. And now you two sit alone in your apartment, the moonlight leaking through the curtains.Â
âPlease?â Your pupils are blown. You swallow some of the spit that had gathered in your mouth. Youâre starting to regret asking, but his fingers are still sliding over your calves, soothing. Your legs in his lap as you sit across from him on the small couch. Heâs got that look on his face, deep in thought. Clark Kent has to weigh every outcome. Heâs had to do it ever since he started realizing the magnitude of his abilities, what came with them. He found people's emotions to be the same way, that they werenât something to take lightly.Â
âYouâre drunk. I love you and youâre drunk.â He decides, hands going still on your legs. He watches your face for a reaction. God, how he wishes one of his abilities was to understand what was going on in your brain. All this time and he still didnât have it down to a science.Â
Your lip is drawn between your teeth as you move to sit on your knees, fingers coming out to rest lightly on his chest, his shirt underneath your fingertips. âClark.â Your eyes shine with emotion. Heâs not sure if itâs him that hurt you or if itâs the reason youâre asking for such an absurd thing. âTwo guys have told me that I kiss weird. Two. Not just one. And youâve always been honest with me. I mean remember when I tried to switch up my style and no one told me for weeks that I lookedââ You sigh, eyes falling to stare at your hands on his chest. âThatâs besides the point, but I mean, what if itâs true? And what if I never fix it and you, Clark Kent, had the chance to tell me? Or should I go through my life never knowing?â The dramatics were not lost on you. Had you been sober, it would have been a funny conversation. One that Clark could easily talk you out of. He would have reassured you that guys your age were simply trying to get under your skin, trying to create a sense of self-doubt. But that wasnât the point. Not now. The point was his best friend is on her knees across from him, begging for something as simple as a kiss.Â
Clark hates seeing you so upset. âListenââÂ
You drop back against the couch, whining, fingers rising to hide your face. Clark only used that tone of voice to soothe your anxieties, when he knew you were embarrassed. âI shouldnât have asked. Mâsorry.âÂ
Your words fall on deaf ears as Clark is leaning over the space between you. His large hands gather up your face before he has his common sense come back to him. Your eyes meet for the briefest moment. Your breath hitches as he finally closes the gap, lips moving against your own. Itâs the sort of thing you probably should have prepared for. Maybe set some ground rules, but thereâs no rule book and wow, youâve never kissed your best friend's plush lips before. There's suddenly no space between you as heâs crowding you against the arm of the couch. Lips move against each other, drowning in the new feeling. Itâs open-mouthed and desperate. Heâs pulling you closer, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, wanting to know exactly how you react to that. Your chest pushes closer to his own, craving to close the last bit of space between your bodies. A whine from you then a groan from him, both swallowed by the kiss.Â
Realization only dawns when youâre struggling to breathe. You pull away to catch your breath. Clarkâs lips chase yours. âWell. You donât kiss weird.â You decide before the real thoughts and emotions try to catch up with you. Clark didnât need to breathe, he probably couldâve done that forever and been happy.
âI donât think that was the test.â Clark is clearing his throat, red splotches appearing underneath his collar, rising to his face. âYou, uh, you donât kiss weird. Either.â He has to get out of here immediately. Preferably off planet, but heâd settle for his room.
He doesnât have to make that decision though because youâre standing up, smoothing down your clothes like it was something clinical and it was just what you expected to happen and not earth shattering. He almost feels sad, nervous, ansty. He didnât think that was something to just move on from. And itâs all catching up to him now. No preparation before the world ends would do that to a person.Â
Youâre trying to save face. âIâm tired, Clarkie. Iâm gonna head to bed.â
Youâre almost to your room when he speaks up. âThey were just trying to get under your skin, you know?âÂ
You smile, âI know, Clark.â
vi. on a post-it note & in a way i canât returnÂ
love u. wont be home tonight get dinner without me xxÂ
The post-it was stuck to his bedroom door when he got home from class. He snatches it off his door as he pushes it open, grumbling as he does. Clark Kent wouldnât describe himself as a grumpy person, but it seemed to be more of a common occurrence lately than any other emotion.
It was towards the end of your lease together that you started seeing someone consistently. It didnât bother Clark, of course not. I mean sure, it was your weekly dinner night together and college had been so busy that he felt like he hadnât been seeing you as much. You spent less and less time at the apartment and more at your boyfriends, but thatâs all it was. That sinking feeling in his chest. It was normal. It was normal to get jealous that your friend blew you off for a date.Â
Life had resumed rather normally after you kissed for the first time. Because what else was there? (Denial was a pretty powerful emotion). You had been best friends since forever and a single kiss wasnât going to change that. It was a blip in the grand scheme of everything else you guys had lived. But feelings simmered below the surface and this feeling, whatever it was, was a way to shake them loose.Â
He had typed out a long message and then subsequently erased it about a thousand times. He decided it was better to just talk to you when you finally got home. Except he doesnât hear the front door open until the following night.
âYouâre home.â Clarkâs voice has an air of relief in it, but his annoyance tinged it. âFinally.â
Your eyebrows raise as you reach inside the fridge to grab a drink before youâre turning around to look at him from the kitchen. âWhat, are you my mother now?â You have no idea what youâre in trouble for, but your tone conveys the sentiment: how dare he police you?
âOh, come on.â He rolls his eyes, standing up from his place on the couch. âYou totally blew me off yesterday!â Clark doesnât mean to raise his voice right now. Itâs not in his nature, but neither is the jealousy low in his belly. Heâs itching for a fight with you. Because thereâs no one easier to pick a fight with than someone you know like the back of your hand. âYou totally blew me off and then left me this little sticky note like it makes up for it.â The pink post-it is clutched in his fist, his eyebrows down turned. A near pout on his lips.Â
You scoff. âYou canât be serious.â You take a few steps from the kitchen to close the distance, staring him down. âYou used to do this shit all the time.âÂ
Clarkâs mouth flaps like a fish before he shuts it completely. Thinking, rolling his reply around his head. âNot like this.âÂ
âYou donât get to take the moral high ground here. You used to stand me up all the time to gawk at Lana!âÂ
âThat was high school. This is different.â The man of steel who refuses to break. Who refuses to acknowledge that it really isnât all that different because his feelings are hurt and you donât just get to get away with that.Â
âPlease, Clark.â You scoff. âThat was only a few years ago. Iâm not doing this with you.â Youâre retreating to your bedroom because the only thing that worked with Clark Kent was to let him simmer off, let the anger or whatever he was feeling evaporate till he would knock on your door later, puppy dogs eyes and all to beg for forgiveness.Â
He canât help himself as he watches you leave, âI love you.â And thereâs nothing else accompanying it. Plain as day, his feelings. They hang in the air around him. The words sound different coming out of his mouth. Maybe because he feels different, has nothing changed for you? He doesnât want you to go to your room and wallow and he doesnât want to do the same. Clark doesnât want to go to bed mad and work through it by himself. But his voice sounds pleading and his heart is on his sleeve and he doesnât want to ruin this, ruin you or your happiness. How do the words heâs said a thousand times feel different coming out? He tries again. âYou drive me crazy and I love you.â Was that better? Was that normal?Â
âLiving together is turning us into a married couple, Clark.â You joke, sparing a single glance back to him before youâre closing your bedroom door on him.Â
vii. before you fall asleepÂ
âCan you come walk me home?â You sniffle on the other side of the phone.Â
Clark had picked up immediately. It didnât matter that it was 2AM and his final project presentation was tomorrow. When you rang, he answered. Clark was nothing if not a man of principle. Sturdy and consistent.Â
Clark is appearing in front of you before you even had the chance to start crying again. You had calmed yourself down, but the feeling of getting broken up with sort of just ebbed and flowed. One minute itâs a blessing in disguise and then next youâre not sure how to go on, how life resumes after your heart is broken. âHi.â A smile sneaks its way onto your face, a sort of self-pitying one as your best friend looks down at you. You're thankful heâs the type to refrain from saying âI told you so.â âWell. Itâs over.âÂ
Clark is nodding, arms immediately moving to wrap around your frame. âThatâs alright. Youâll be alright.â His hands are smoothing down your hair. His cheek is pressed against the crown of your head then his lips. A reassuring kiss for his own selfish needs. He doesnât move to pull away, not even when your breathing evens out and your body is slacking against his own. He knows youâd pull away when youâre ready.Â
Grateful for his sturdy body as your weight leans against his, you pull your head back to look up at him. Your arms are wrapped around him, no space between you. You seek comfort in his eyes. âAm I an idiot?â Your lips flatten. âDonât answer that.âÂ
His hand is against your cheek now. Your broken heart can only remember your lover doing that. Clark is only reminded of the last time he cupped your face in his hands. How it changed the way he looked at the world. At you. âCome on, letâs get you home.â His thumb is gathering the little bit of wetness underneath your eyes, wiping it away. And he canât help but think you look just as beautiful as the first time he noticed. The streetlights glinting in your eyes. A slight breeze makes your hair dance. Your lips always seemed fuller after you cried. You lick your lips, wanting to say something and all it does is make his resolve break. He has to tear his eyes away. Because it isnât the time.Â
Clark pulls away, hand instead finding your own as he moves to begin walking you down the street.Â
Itâs easier to let everything out when Clark is by your side and the streets of Metropolis are under your feet. The relationship was probably doomed to fail, you told Clark. The ex-boyfriend was constantly jealous of your close relationship with Clark, but in the end had been projecting his own secrets onto you.Â
All Clark could do was listen and refrain from commenting because he only got angry thinking about how you deserved to be treated better. That no one really deserved you. And really, it wasnât hard to be good to you. You made it easy. You were kind and funny. Sometimes youâd even do the dishes and cook instead of him doing both every time. You gave thoughtful gifts and always listened with an open heart. Sure, you had trouble backing down from a fight, probably cussed too much, and could get caught up in the small details. You could be on edge when you felt insecure. But Clark had always softened you. Your sharp edges have eroded over time and how dare someone try and take advantage of that?Â
Thereâs comfortable silence on the walk home after you get the rest of your feelings in the open air.Â
âDo you ever get annoyed having to walk? You know at a human pace?â He can tell youâre feeling better, but itâs a genuine question too.Â
Clark shakes his head, grip tightening on your hand. âNo. Especially not with you.â A pause to pass you one of his smiles. He takes care with the question. Clark had struggled with identity for so long growing up and even now. What it meant to be human, how much of him even was? âI mean, Iâve always had to practice ânormal.â And my parents never pressured me to hide at home, but I sort of like doing things⌠normally. Walking, having to hold back my strength. Practicing being gentle even though my powers are the exact opposite.â His eyes flit over to your own. âThis wasnât just another attempt at getting me to fly you home, was it?â
âNow that you mention itâŚâÂ
âStill not happening.âÂ
When youâre finally home, Clark is bringing the covers up over your frame, fingers gently prodding the blanket into your sides. You let him dote on you because Clark is nothing if he doesnât feel needed. Heâs always needed to take care of others. Plus, you knew his mom had taught him how to perfectly tuck a person into bed and there was nothing better than Marthaâs advice to cure a break up. Youâre sure heâs already called her while you were getting ready for bed. Tomorrow would be movies and ice cream with a signature Kent recipe sent to Clarkâs email.Â
âOkay?â Clarkâs hands smooth down the blanket, concerned eyes rarely leaving you.
You want to laugh only because heâs so serious about the process. âYes, Clark.âÂ
âYou donât need anything else?â He doesnât want to leave your bedroom. He probably shouldâve suggested that he tuck you into his bed instead. It was bigger, he had the softer blankets, and he could easily grab you whatever you needed throughout the night. Because it was that serious to him. It wasnât because he couldnât remember the last time you shared a bed or that he would give anything to ease the ache in your chest. Or that he wanted you to curl into his side, hands holding onto him to ground yourself through the feelings. But that was selfish. And he wasnât. Not this time.Â
Your eyes catch his before he can make it away from your bed. âDo I say it enough?â
âSay what enough?â
âThat I love you. That I appreciate you. That I couldnât do any of this without you.â And itâs probably a silly image, your head poking out of the covers, the blankets wrapped tightly around you as you pour your heart out to your best friend. Because it was so easy to be open with him. Because he would always do it right back.
âTook the words right out of my mouth, honey.â A kiss pressed to your forehead and a goodnight. He doesnât linger.Â
viii. as we huddle together, a storm ragingÂ
Even after your lease ends, Clark and you see each other weekly. Daily when you finally secure a position alongside him at the Daily Planet.Â
Work is over and itâs pouring rain outside the building's doors as youâre about to step out onto the street.Â
âOh, come on! The one morning I didn't check the weather app.â You grumble, tugging Clarkâs arm back inside as he tries to brave the storm anyway, but it doesnât stop him. âClark! I am not walking home in this.â But heâs not listening as he moves out into the rain. You watch his glasses become foggy, his hair sticking to his forehead seconds after walking out.Â
âI have an idea. Come with me.â A hand held out to you. Unfortunately, your best friend never needs to convince you much.Â
You're standing in the alley by the Daily Planet. Clarkâs arms wrapped around you as he shields you from the rain with his body. âWhat sort of idea is this?â You grumble, afraid youâd grow cold from the rain, but Clark luckily has always had enough body heat for the both of you.Â
âI love you. Donât be mad.âÂ
âWhy would I be ââ But you canât get the rest of your thought out because Clark is launching you into the air at what feels like break neck speeds (to you, an inexperienced flyer, to Clark, itâs nothing). His hand is holding the back of your head, his other pressed to your lower back. âClark- Clark.â Youâre gasping for breath, fingers clutching onto his clothes, afraid to look around you. Your face is half buried into his chest. How many times had you begged him for this exact thing and now he finally relented? During a rain storm? But by some miracle, the rain clouds are subsiding and the sun begins to peak out the same time you do.
âWhat do you think?â Clarkâs got a stupid grin on his face. You would hit him if you werenât so afraid to let go.Â
âEver since you became Superman, youâve been kind of an ass.â His confidence had shot up ever since he started proving himself to the world. (We arenât in Kansas anymore, he had said to you one day) (You totally stole that, you had responded). You want to stick your tongue out at him, but itâs hard to even fake mad when you can see the city from this angle.Â
Your body weight is completely suspended by Clark, body pressed against his in a way he canât recall ever happening. Maybe he shouldâve done this before. The awe in your eyes is enough to convince him of that. Especially when youâre turning your face back towards his and he should kiss you. You arenât living together anymore and youâre not teenagers and youâre not heartbroken, but he canât bring himself to do it because how perfect are you like this?Â
ix. broken, as you beg me not to leave
Itâs a quiet night in your apartment when a muffled bang comes from your fire escape. Then a gentle rap of knuckles against your window.Â
âClark?â Youâre already questioning as you pull the window open. On the fire escape stands Superman. âWhat happened, are you okay?â Youâve never seen him like this as you help him through the window. Part of his weight is leaning against your side as you lead him to the couch. Itâs always been him supporting you. Bile wants to rise up in your throat at the thought of having to be the strong one. âClark, talk to me.â You plead, kneeling between his legs. Hands and eyes search over his suit to find the problem. The area around his eyes is red like a rash, his shoulders slumped. Thereâs a large gash to his stomach and blood is staining the blue fabric.Â
âMâokay.â Is all he can manage.
âClark, you do not look fucking okay.â Your heart rate is rising as you rustle for something to press to his wound. A forgotten t-shirt and your hands press into his stomach. Clark grunts from the pressure, hands coming to rest over your own. His hands, your hands, stained red. âPlease, tell me what to do.â Your eyes are starting to fill with tears, not used to these feelings when it comes to Clark. Clark Kent was the structure in your life, the steadiness of your heart, your rock. âI love you. Please donât die.â It might have sounded funny in any other scenario, but not when your supposed to be indestructible best friend is bleeding out on your couch.Â
âJust need a minute, sunshine.â His voice already sounds stronger, but his eyes are screwed shut from whatever pain heâs feeling. You canât imagine what it took to get him this way and your stomach sinks. âJustâjust donât leave.â His hands are still holding onto your own, but one moves to intertwine with yours. Blood is already drying between your interlocking fingers. Â
âA minute?!â You had hoped your voice would come out level, but it betrays you. âYouâre not going back out there, are you?âÂ
âH-have to.â Clark manages to meet your eyes, wanting to crumble right back into your couch at the concern in your eyes.Â
âNo. No, you do not âhave toâ.â Your hand pulls away from his own as you begin to pace in front of him. You stop, your stare piercing him to the couch. âClark, you do not have to do any of this.âÂ
He frowns, wanting to smooth out the crease between your eyebrows. Clark hates causing you strife. âYou know I do.â Clark had come to terms with it a long time ago. That he did not just belong to himself. That his abilities did not just belong to himself.Â
Your voice breaks. âPlease, donât go back out there. I canât- I canât lose you.â Words fall on deaf ears as Clark struggles to bring himself up from the couch, body stumbling back to the window. âClark, please. I love you. Donât do this.â You donât care if youâre begging. You donât care about the tears falling from your eyes. You just want him to be safe. Your body moves in front of him, but you donât stop him. You just move to support his weight as you help him onto the window sill. His body is still pointed in your apartment, but you can tell heâs finding the rest of his strength to return to the fight.Â
âI love you. I promise. Iâm okay.â He moves his hand from the gash. His skin is already weaving back together. The dried blood is the only reminder.Â
Your hands press into his cheeks, tilting his head up to look at you from his seat on the window sill. Clarkâs eyes shine, blue eyes pouring into your own everything that was unsaid. The skin held beneath your fingers tingled, when have you ever looked at him like this? âClark.â The rest of the words you want to say are lodged in your throat. Because expressing what you really need to say to him was impossible so for once, you settle with a kiss. His face between your hands, your body between his legs as you lean down and press your lips to his. Clarkâs hands slide against the back of your legs, holding the back of your thighs as he cranes his neck to meet your kiss.Â
The kiss is not desperate this time; it is a vow. It means everything the second time around. That everything will fall into place around it. The entirety of your lives seemed to tilt inward to this moment. You know it wonât make him stay. You donât want him to stay. You knew Clark, knew where his heart lies and that a piece of it now belonged to you, how it always did.Â
x. with no space left between us
Youâve grown shy underneath his gaze. Your eyes landing anywhere but his face.Â
Clark had come by later in the night to find you still awake. A bedside lamp was left on to call him home. You had followed the rest of the night in front of your television. He had peeled off his bloody suit for a pair of his pajamas that you had kept in your drawer. The bruises on his body had turned from black to a light yellow in a matter of hours. And despite everything he had dealt with in the last few hours, the only thing that remained on his mind was the feeling of your lips.Â
âCome on.â Clark offers his hand, that black strand of hair tickling his forehead after his shower. Your room is covered in a soft glow as he pulls you towards the bed. âWhat changed?â He comments on your demeanor.Â
âIââ You start to say before closing your mouth. Itâs impossible to articulate. Itâs like waking up after a deep sleep or plunging into cold water, but with this familiarity youâve known your whole life. Itâs like finding out a secret that your intuition knew all along. âNothing.â You decide. Or everything, you might add if his hands werenât distracting you.
âExactly.â Clarkâs fingers dance against your bare thighs as your skin prickles in their wake. There is something between you that wants to break. A live wire that only Superman could touch with his bare hands. âI love you.â The same words youâve heard a thousand times, but this time, they immediately bring a warmth to your face. You want to shy away, but you lean in instead, fingers sliding over Clarkâs.Â
âI love you too.â You clear your throat, bringing his hand up to press against your chest. Over your heart. Clark can feel it underneath his hand. The steady beat of your heart against your ribs. He knows what youâre conveying: that he has a piece of you too and always did. You donât have to say anything else as youâre closing the distance between the two of you for the second time that night. But you both had hours to sit with the feelings, about what it meant and where it went from here.Â
Your chests are pressed together, bodies clinging to each other, both whispering, âI love youâ between the kiss and letting it settle there. Right where it was always meant to be, with no space between you.
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