————————————————————

“Look, I know all of this seems crazy but I promise it's not. Can I come in? Please?”

You probably looked insane standing in front of his apartment, pleading for his help. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted—practically a ghost town, but that was due to change, and you did not need any more people seeing you in the state you were in.

You tilted your head to look up at Clark, an uneasy feeling washing over you. The man in front of you was not your best friend, despite the uncanny resemblance he held to the man. He was nothing but a stranger who wore his face.

You gulped. Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as you thought it would be. You certainly hadn't thought it out properly, only knocked and prayed he would open the door.

Clark stood in the middle of his doorway, his body tipped forward slightly as his hand still gripped the doorknob. From the corner of your eye, you could see his knuckles slowly turning pale.

His gaze made you shiver. You weren't used to him looking at you as if you were a stranger. It felt wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

“Alright.” Exhaustion seeped through his voice, and guilt immediately bubbled up in your gut like acid as you took in his sleep-disheveled appearance. You must've woken him up.

He stepped back and pressed himself up against the tiny wall of his apartment, giving you just enough space to walk in without being crowded. You brushed past him, and the door closed with a soft ‘click’ behind you.

“Oh, wow, I haven't been here in forever.”

The walls, the decoration, even the welcome mat—all of it was the same, just as you remembered.

“Why is that?” You didn't have to look at him to see his confused expression. His voice said it all.

“You and Lois moved in together a few years ago.” You mindlessly shrugged as you struggled to kick off your shoes, stumbling around until both of them were finally off and kicked to the side.

A wave of emotions danced across his face, and you struggled to remain silent. You could unpack whatever that was later.

You wordlessly trudged down to the living room with Clark's much heavier footsteps following not far behind, making an immediate beeline for the couch.

You collapsed onto the piece of furniture with a breathless groan, snatching the nearest pillow and burying your face into it, letting out the loudest, highest-pitched scream your throat could manage. What a release.

Finally, you could relax.

A few feet away, Clark tilted his head as he fully took you in. He looked pensive. Not exactly lost in thought, but just thinking.

“Are you okay?” he questioned.

No, your life was a dumpster fire, but he didn't need to know that. At least not yet. “I’m a little frazzled. Mainly just exhausted.”

“Who are you?”

You turned your head to the side, your cheek being the unfortunate victim of being smashed against the pillow. “I am the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.” Or at least that's what Martha and Jonathan told everyone when they asked about you.

“That doesn't answer my question…?” He now stood next to the coffee table, so close that every time he shifted his leg would brush against the wood.

You sat up, eyes locking with him and hesitantly answered. “I'm your best friend.” You watched in slight embarrassment as his eyes widened and his mouth fell ajar.

“Okay.” He nodded, unsure. “Is there somebody that you can call?”

“Please, just trust me Clark.”

He nodded warily, seemingly content enough, which you appreciated because speaking felt like a chore.

Experimentally, he stepped forward. One step, then another, until he hovered just a few inches away from your upper half. You were almost half unconscious but completely used to the closeness that came with Clark. It never fazed you. Not anymore.

He studied you intensely as if you were a painting in a museum. It might've been your imagination, but it was almost as if he were admiring you.

“Get some rest,” he whispered softly. “We can talk later.”

————————————————————

Later meant that night on the couch while eating takeout. You explained everything to him: how you got there, your history with Clark, anything you could think of. You told him everything, which was a lot. You rambled for hours. It was just as releasing as that scream.

Somewhere along the line, you'd both changed into comfier clothes. He'd given you a familiar sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that dwarfed you—thank Irene for the existence of drawstrings—while he himself had changed into a simple shirt and sweatpants.

He looked sinfully attractive with his pants drawn low and his shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting his muscles.

While you looked like a raccoon who'd just emerged from a dumpster.

“So, do you think you can help me?” You set aside your empty box that used to hold fried rice. He'd ordered it from your favorite Chinese takeout place, although he hadn't known that when he got the food.

He lounged on the other side of the couch, fully relaxed as he sat back and devoured his own food. “Of course I'll help you.” His voice was muffled as he chewed ‌his food. He always had the bad habit of speaking with food in his mouth. Martha scolded him about it all the time.

“Good. We can start talking about plans of action tomorrow.” You beamed brightly, and he sent you a sad, pitiful excuse of a smile back. You could smell his emotional turmoil from a mile away.

“What about tonight?”

You appreciated the optimism, but, uh, no. Your brain could barely function. You were surprised that you hadn't shut down yet.

You shrugged and turned back to the TV. “We’re watching Star Wars—” Your words left no room for argument. "I want to see if anything changed in this universe.” You leaned back, content to snuggle up in the blanket you had stolen for yourself.

It wasn't up for debate.

He perked up at the mention of the franchise, and if he had a tail, you just knew it would be wagging vigorously. Just like every time someone brought up his special interest. “You like Star Wars?” Your heart panged at the sheer hope in which he spoke.

“Uh, duh.”

You almost wanted to be offended. How dare he question your love for Star Wars. Somebody smite him.

“Favorite character?” The question left him immediately, and your grin widened. It wasn't a challenge or a test, as some might assume, only the curiosity of a fellow fan.

“Ezra Bridger, but if you want a really specific answer, it's Hondo Ohnaka. I also love Ahsoka.”

"Oh, you watched the animated media too?” His entire demeanor brightened, and a smile spread across his face, a genuine smile, not the fake, painful one he had given you earlier. “Gosh, nobody ever knows what I'm talking about when I bring the animated stuff up!”

He leaned forward and grabbed the remote, and in his giddiness he struggled to turn it on, although he eventually successfully pressed the power button.

He turned to you. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“The Siege of Mandalore.”

“A New Hope it is!”

————————————————————

Sleeping in Clark's guest bedroom was nothing new to you—at one point in your life, you practically lived there. Neither was the sight of him barefoot and shirtless in the kitchen making himself breakfast.

You barely even blinked.

“Mornin’.” You grumbled, your voice still thick with exhaustion. You were never a morning person, unlike Clark, who woke up whenever the sun rose.

He jostled at your sudden appearance, which was ridiculous because he literally had super hearing. You snickered as he whipped around to face you, his face completely flushed red.

You brushed past him straight to where he stashed the cereal, and you grabbed yourself a bowl and poured yourself your breakfast. When you turned around, bowl in hand, you were surprised to see him still staring at you as if you'd grown another head.

“Do…do you know where everything is?”

You nodded slowly, eyeing him weirdly as you grabbed ‌a spoon. Can't a girl eat her breakfast in peace?

“Huh” he looked pleasantly surprised, which relieved the ever-loving shit out of you. “That's convenient.”

Breakfast was spent in silence. Not an awkward type of silence. A peaceful silence. The type that existed between two people who were content to simply exist together. He watched you the whole time you were eating. Not like a creepy stalker would, although now that you thought about it, maybe it was weird. Meh. It was too early in the morning for you to care.

The rest of the morning was spent showering and collecting your thoughts. It was the weekend, Saturday to be specific, so luckily he didn't have to work. It gave you plenty of time to come up with a plan to get you home.

The meeting took place during lunch. Clark sat on the couch while you paced back and forth in front of the TV.

“Okay, obviously the first thing we should do is find Lex. He's the one who fucked up the multiverse, so maybe he can unfuck it.”

Clark tensed the moment you mentioned the bald-headed demon, and his expression fell eerily blank. “Lex Luthor is dead.” Completely blank. No emotion whatsoever.

You paused in the middle of your pacing, your eyes growing wide at the information. Lex Luthor dead? Impossible. You hated to admit it, but the man would never go down without a fight, and unless Clark killed him—which you highly doubted—there wasn't much of a threat against him.

The journalistic urges instilled by years of hanging around Lois urged you to pry, but the haunted expression Clark wore forced you to let it go.

“What about the Justice Gang?” Visible relief washed over him, and he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“We can definitely speak to them. I can't exactly promise anything, though.”

“Batman…?”

He nodded his head. Oh, thank Irene. “Absolutely, although last time I spoke to him he seemed busy, so it might be awhile before he responds.”

Yeah, that made sense. In all the times you had met the man, he was always occupied with some sort of weird, over-the-top crime case that involved a highly mentally ill person who obviously needed therapy and some tender love and care.

You put your hands on your hips and fixed him with a determined expression. “So, what do we do today?”

He leveled you with the same look of indecisiveness he wore whenever he was trying to decide which fidget to steal from you.

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself lounging in the Justice Gang's building.

They were all the same as when you met them before, during times of urgency in which you and Lois would force yourselves into whatever dangerous situation to help; it was familiar. Comfortable.

You watched as Mr. Terrific tried to explain the science behind the multiverse theory to a totally confused Guy Gardner. They'd been going at it for at least the past five minutes.

It was as irritating to witness as it was amusing.

“If you would only listen—”

“Yeah, yeah." Guy waved him off with a scoff. “Different universes, multiversal collapse, all that fun, world-ending stuff.”

“Do you guys think you can help or not?” Clark interjected. His jaw ticked every time they ignored him in favor of their conversation, and from the corner of your eye you saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. He’d shed his normal clothes for his suit. A reminder of his parents. With its vibrant colors, you remembered watching Martha sew it together when you were younger. The look on Clark’s face when she gifted it to him had been everything. He wore the suit with pride ever since.

You held back the urge to snort at his obvious annoyance. Clark was a saint, but even he had his limits. Although this Clark seemed much more privy to the emotion. Interesting.

“How much time do you think it will take?” You finally questioned, and for a second, you swore you heard the distant sound of doom approaching. Weird.

“Days, weeks, months. I don't know. It could take years for all we know. Without Luthor—” Clark's expression fell. “—and his technology or notes…” You could practically see the cogs turning in Mr. Terrific's head.

You glanced up at Clark, and he returned the unsure look you gave him. Out of habit, you reached out and grabbed his hand. He tensed. Instantly you panicked, and your hand retreated, but his tightened around yours. He didn't let you go. You turned your cheek, hiding the small smile that threatened to show through.

“So it's a waiting game,” Guy supplied, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at the frankly obnoxious blond man. His haircut was a crime against humanity.

Kendra, Hawk-girl, rolled her eyes at his comment, and you internally thanked her for doing what you didn't have the guts to do. “Yeah, I think we got that.”

You tuned out their bickering and assumed Clark had done the same.

It was a start, at least. Definitely better than nothing.

Before you left, they'd offered to help you set up a place to stay. The offer was tempting, but you had already agreed to stay with Clark.

Besides, you wouldn't be here for that long, right?

————————————————————

“Are you sure about this? I can always just wear the clothes you gave me.” You stood in front of the Metropolis City mall, shifting your weight from one leg to another as your mind raced. You didn't mind wearing Lois' clothes. They fit you just fine and gave you a sense of comfort. Like she was there, holding you.

“You deserve your own clothes,“ he insisted next to you, and while the sentiment warmed your heart—your anxiety and sensory issues said no.

Clothes were always…difficult for you. Not because you didn't have any fashion sense, but because the fabric could be so uncomfortable. Jeans, shirts, everything. All of it sucked. Especially those annoying tags that always dug into your skin.

“Fine,” you reluctantly conceded with a sigh. “Three hours, and then we leave.”

Triumphant, he walked up to the entrance, and you followed behind. Much to your relief, the mall was mostly deserted, which was expected, given that it was a Monday afternoon. You guessed that was why he insisted you two shopped today.

————————————————————

“How can you even afford all of this?”

Your eyes darted to the array of bags in his arms, where his biceps flexed with each movement. You forced yourself to look away.

The past two hours had been spent running around, going into each store, and trying on any item Clark told you to at least give a chance. You couldn't deny him. Even the alternate version of him had you wrapped around his pinky finger, and it hadn't even been a week yet!

“I have my ways,” he shrugged, and your eyes narrowed. Bruce was definitely involved in whatever that was. You felt it in your nuggets. You were sure they found each other in every universe. Soulmates in every sense of the word.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as he pulled you toward the next store on his lineup.

“You cannot be serious,” you deadpanned, staring at the dress Clark held up. It looked ridiculous. Too frilly and puffy, and the fabric looked like it would itch.

He pouted, his eyes glinting with puppy-like innocence. “Please…?”

You tried.

You tried so hard not to cave, and yet you still ended up in the dressing room putting on the dress while Clark patiently waited outside.

To your surprise, the dress was comfortable. It was definitely not your type of outfit, but wearing it made you feel pretty, and that's all that mattered. For once, you stared into the mirror and felt like a princess stared back at you.

You walked out, and immediately all of your confidence drained. You felt his gaze rove across your features, and you squirmed in place, not noticing the sparkle in his eyes or the flush of his cheeks.

“We’re getting it.” He declared, leaving no room for you to argue. You flushed at his unjust determination and hurriedly scurried back to your stall. You wiggled out of the dress and back into your own clothes, and when you came back out, Clark immediately snatched the dress from your arms. He marched up to the front register, smiling widely at the lady behind it as he purchased the dress. He didn’t even glance at the price-tag.

You see, this was why you stopped shopping with him in your universe. He loved wasting his money on you and Lois.

“Can we leave now? We've gotten more than enough clothes for me.” You glanced at the nearest clock you could find. Almost three hours. Soon you would be free.

He glanced at the same clock, his brow pinching in thought. “Wanna grab lunch and then head out?”

————————————————————

“Gosh, I missed this place.”

You bit into your burger, not caring that you were being a total hypocrite by speaking while chewing in front of him. You groaned and leaned back, struck by the deliciousness that flooded your taste-buds.

Clark chuckled as he watched you from the opposite side of the booth. “So this place closed down in your universe. Why?"

His confusion said it all. This place, this beautiful, beautiful place, deserved so much more than what it had been given in your universe. You almost cried when you saw it was still open here.

“Apparently they weren't getting enough customers. Which is bullshit because the food is amazing. It's so nice to know that this place is getting the appreciation it deserves here.”

You ate the rest of your meal in peace, sighing happily as you rubbed your now-full stomach.

“So I'd say this was a successful mission.” Clark finally said after finishing his last bite of burger, and you nodded half-heartedly, totally not distracted by the hypnotizing movement of his lips.

You wondered what they felt like—if they would be soft or chapped, how they would feel against your skin.

He said your name.

You snapped out of your trance, and your whole body warmed as fresh embarrassment rolled off you in waves. “Sorry…just got distracted for a sec," you mumbled. Nevermind how it was a lie.

“Can we go home now?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Your heart warmed at the familiar nickname, and you wondered how he would feel if he knew your version of him called you the same. Wait, that would be awkward. Definitely not.

You rose from the table and leaned over, stacking all the plates at the edge. You would hate it if the server had to spend extra time cleaning up your mess. You weren't a snob, and it was the polite thing to do.

"Do you always do that?" He asked, and he gestured to the table. You saw the way he eyed your work—all the plates stacked upon each other like a community of little towers. It was neat. Your brain liked it

"Of course! It's polite.”

He breathed out a light puff of laughter. “You really did grow up with me, didn't you?”

Your brow raised, and you shrugged. Weird, but okay. "Of course I did; did you think I was lying to you?"

Panic overwhelmed you at the thought, and as you walked out into the parking lot, your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

As if he could hear your inner turmoil, Clark paused and turned to you. His hands landed on your shoulders, and he turned you to face him with a serious expression, one that radiated comfort.

"I was joking." He gently assured.

"Clark, I'm autistic. I don't get sarcasm."

He paused.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

You gawked at him, and his eyes widened. He backpedaled immediately. "Not that you act a certain way or anything; it's just ma and pa were pretty sure I'm like the Kryptonian version of being on the spectrum—”

"You definitely are."

He stilled and his face fell hilariously blank. Oh, wow. No hesitation. He sighed, and you held back the urge to snort, which earned you a look from him.

“Let’s just go home." His shoulders slumped. He even sounded defeated. The poor baby.

Yeah, maybe you could get used to this universe.

————————————————————

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I'm having floor time.”

Clark stared down at your figure lying flat on your back in the middle of his living room. He wound up to ask but paused before any words could leave his mouth.

“I missed this floor,“ you sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The nostalgia was killing you. So many memories, some sweet and others bitter. It brought out feelings you buried years ago. “I missed this apartment.”

He didn't respond. You couldn't blame him.

A moment passed.

“So what you're saying is that my floor is comfortable?” He sounded awfully proud of himself, like having a comfortable floor was a proud achievement.

“Yes, now join meee” you raised your hands toward the sky and gestured for him to join, even resorting to using grabby hands. He chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat. His laugh was otherworldly, but then again, so was the rest of him. Alien. Duh.

You heard him approaching, and he settled down next to you. A peaceful silence fell between you and every few moments his finger twitched—like he was trying to hold himself back, but from what?

“So, you come here often?” You turned your head to the side, offering him a cheeky smile.

“Only when I'm desperate.” Ah. A man of sensibility. You could work with that.

“Fair. As for me, I need at least five minutes of floor time each day. It's enriching.”

Usually by now people would've judged you, but Clark simply nodded along as if you were the most natural thing in the universe.

“Does he ever join you during floor time?”

The question came as a surprise. Although it really shouldn't have. Of course he would want to know about another version of himself. If you had existed in this universe, you would want to know everything about her too, after all.

“Yes, he does, and usually Lois joins us as well. We all spend floor time together.” You enjoyed floor time. It was a pivotal part of your routine. “It’s enriching.”

“Huh” He turned his attention to the ceiling, staring at it while the cogs in his head worked. “You're close with Lois too?”

“Of course. When you, er, he started dating Lois, I kind of pulled away. I never wanted her to think I was trying to steal you or anything. So I hung out with her instead and me and her just clicked, I guess.”

“That's nice.”

“Yeah. He got jealous, though, so he started joining us, and now we all just hang out together. Like three peas in a pod,” you shrugged.

“You all seem close.” He noted.

That's because you were. You could confidently say Lois and Clark were your best friends. They were your people.

“They're like my stars. They light up my life.”

You looked up at the ceiling, and Clark took the time to look at you. Truly, look at you. Like you were once again a painting in a museum—meant to be admired.

“You know, I like this. I think I'll join you from now on.”

Yes. Another one converted. Soon floor time would be a staple in every household.

————————————————————

Lex Luthor was dead.

No article explained it. None. Absolute zilch. Strange couldn't even describe it.

A man like Lex didn't just keel over and die. The man was a genius, as much as you hated to admit it. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and whenever you tried to ask Clark about it, he just shut down. It made no sense.

Then came the other blaring question.

Where were Ma and Pa? No pictures. No phone calls. Like Lois, they seemed to have completely disappeared from Clark's life. And every time you brought them up, he retreated into himself. It gave you a queasy feeling.

‘Small town mourns the passing of a couple.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were a staple to the heart of the Smallville community. Their sudden passing, the cause of death still unknown, truly shook the small community. They live on in their son, Clark Kent, and the town continues to honor them.’

Small, with barely any information. That's all you got. Just a single article that barely even skimmed over their deaths. Irene, it wasn’t even an article! Just a section from the local newspaper.

They were gone.

Martha and Jonathan Kent were gone.

You felt sick to your stomach. Martha and Jonathon, they were your family too. They were the ones who taught you how to tie your shoes and didn't judge when it took you a few years longer to learn. Your childhood was literally spent having dinner at their house and sleeping over.

Jonathan taught you how to drive and was the one to pick you up in the middle of the night after you got drunk for the first time. He taught you the gentleness of love. Showed you the kindness of humanity.

Martha taught you how to do your makeup and milk a cow. She lifted you up and showed you how to be strong. Without her, you would never have learned to appreciate life. To see how beautiful it was in each and every thing.

Clark's door was cracked open—a free invitation. Last time you checked, he’d been cleaning, and he was just about to finish making his bed when you rushed in.

He turned to you, and his expression twisted into one of concern as he threw down his pillow and stepped forward.

“Are you okay?”

“They’re gone.” You felt hollow speaking the words. Like saying it out loud meant finality. That they were really, truly gone.

He tensed.

“Clark…I'm…” you were at a loss for words. How did you comfort someone who lost what you still had? Both of them were alive in your universe. Completely healthy and alive.

You had seen Clark sad before, had witnessed him break down and cry, and endured all the times he lost control and accidentally broke something. You watched him get beaten up and defeated. Seen the devastation he felt whenever a civilian died. But you had never seen this before.

“You found out, huh?” He fought hard to keep his voice from wavering.‌ He turned his cheek, jaw clenching. Tears already pricked the corners of his eyes, turning his vision blurry.

He hadn't been paying much attention, but he still heard your footsteps approach in his haze of sadness. Your arms snaked around his waist, and your chest pressed up against his.

Tears already blurred your vision and streaked down your face, leaving your cheeks puffy as you buried your face into his plaid shirt and squeezed him tight. Sadly, you couldn’t give him the bear hugs he usually gave you.

For a moment his hands stayed frozen at his sides. Like he didn’t know what to do with them or himself. But you never let go, and soon his trembling hands rose and wrapped around you until finally he was hugging you just as tightly as you were, if not more.

He buried his face into the crown of your head. His body trembled and his shoulders shook and a sob finally ripped its way from his throat. It sounded painful, as if he were gasping for air. Still, you never let go.

No words were spoken.

They weren't needed. Not in a moment like this. You would simply be there. Ready and willing to hold him as his emotions bubbled over and he broke down.

It didn’t matter how long you both stood there, just holding each other. It could've been minutes, hours before you both finally calmed down from the tsunami of uncontrollable emotions.

“Thank you.” He eventually whispered, and you pulled away to look up at him, but the moment he felt you step back, his arms tightened around your waist.

“I'm sorry for breaking down on you.”

“Clark, never apologize. Your emotions are valid. Your grief is valid.”

“I know.”

“But do you?” He frowned and looked away.

You tilted his chin back down to face you.

“I know,” he sniffed. He stared down at you, his cheeks also red and puffy from crying, and streaked with dried tears. Slowly, a small, trembling smile grew as he watched you wipe away your tears.

“Can we stay like this?” His voice cracked with unsung emotions, yet it was much lighter than it had been before. “Just for a little bit?”

“Of course.”

His hold on you once again tightened, and you relaxed into his embrace, letting your eyes close as you relished in the familiar warmth of his arms. This was nice. You missed hugging him. You think he missed hugging too. Certainly, with the way he held on to you for dear life. Like if he let go, you would vanish.

“Can we do this more often?” He whispered into the silence.

You nodded silently.

Maybe everything would be okay.

————————————————————

Around you, the park buzzed with all kinds of life. One of the many things you adored about the parks around the city. Not only were they beautiful, but life thrived in them. It was truly a gift to witness.

The sun peered down at you, and the clouds danced across the blue-painted sky. The sun, paired with the light breeze, made for a perfect environment. You always loved picnics, and it was the perfect opportunity to wear the dress you'd gotten, seeing as it was a sundress.

Clark lay on his back next to you, face up and completely content to let the sunshine beat down upon him. No sunglasses either, which was brave.

“So, your version of me is still with Lois?” he sounded hesitant when he asked, like he was afraid to upset you—to upset himself.

Until then he'd been pleased to simply bask in the sun and let you read silently beside him while he photosynthesized. Yeah, that's right; you weren't afraid to call it out for what it was.

“Yeah…”

How the hell were you supposed to talk about this with another version of Clark?

“They..they're…really happy.” You smiled bitterly, an emotion you tried to hide. You weren't a bitter person. Both Clark and Lois deserved all the happiness in the world. Even if it came at the expense of yours.

You bookmarked your page and placed the book down beside you with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You tilted your head down to look at him.

You noticed the absence of Lois in his life immediately. It was a stark difference from your universe, and you were still trying to decipher how you felt about it. You missed her mostly.

Clark closed his eyes and exhaled, a sigh that came from deep within his chest. You could almost feel the weight of whatever issue dragged him down. You wished you could help more. “It just didn't work out.” His gaze fell from the sky and fixed itself upon you.

Mindlessly, your fingers threaded through his dark curls. The first time you'd done it, you both panicked. Now the affection came naturally.

“Can we stay like this? Just for a bit?” The words were achingly familiar. He tilted his head toward you, leaning into your touch. You swore he enjoyed your head scratches more than your Clark ever did.

“Of course.”

The sound of birds chirped in the distance. Mindlessly, you played with his hair, watching as people passed by in the distance.

To you, each person told a story, a different life you could imagine. You could read their clothes and analyze the way they walked. Make assumptions about who they spoke to on the phone and where they were going. All of them fascinated you. They were all so special in their own ways.

The feeling of being watched soon swept over you, and you turned to see Clark staring at you.

“You're beautiful,” he sighed, smiling softly to himself.

You froze, and your mind took a second to process what he'd said. When it did, your body flushed, and you turned away, fighting the urge to swat him when he laughed.

The compliment came out of nowhere, no warning whatsoever! What were you supposed to do, not freak out? Your heart couldn't take it. You might as well have keeled over and died.

“S..shut up!” You squawked, and the urge to swat him only grew as his laughter continued. You were pretty sure the passersby were staring.

Your hand stilled in his hair and receded back to your side. A small look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he remained silent.

Poor thing. It pained you to see him so starved of affection.

You would have to change that.

——————————————————

Whoever said Lego's were just for kids was wrong. Lego's were a beautiful piece of art meant for everyone to enjoy. The people who said differently were just a bunch of bums.

“So you and he are just friends,” he reiterated for like the third time in the past fifteen minutes since opening the box of Lego's.

Was it really that unbelievable that you and Clark were just friends? Literally everyone asked. Heck, most people automatically assumed you were together without even asking.

“Yes. Our relationship is purely platonic.” It still left a bitter taste in your mouth, even after years. “And no, me and Lois are not secretly dating.” You added because, yeah, people asked that too.

“You and Lois?”

“In another life, we were married.” It was true. You felt it in your soul and so did she. You had at least two cats and an apartment with a balcony close to the ground so you could both people watch.

He blinked, and fiddled with the Lego piece in his hand. “I think I'm starting to understand why most people assume you're their third.”

Oh, great. Now you had to deal with him too, how wonderful!

“You're doing it wrong.” You pointed at the legos in his hand, small and frankly obnoxious looking compared to the appendage. You couldn’t imagine the frustration that came with dealing with the smaller pieces.

Clark frowned and his brows pinched as he looked over the directions. Oh, yeah, you were right; he was doing it wrong. “Dang it," he muttered as he tried to detach the two pieces from each other. He failed horribly to the point one of the pieces broke because he accidentally gripped it too hard.

You cackled. Your Clark did that all the time back home. It wasn't his fault; he was just too strong. It was why he kept a bucket of spare pieces.

“Dude, you totally just committed Lego murder.”

“It was an accident!”

————————————————————

Some would say sitting in the shower was strange, maybe even unnatural. You believed otherwise.

Sitting in the shower was a gift, an experience to let the water fall on you and completely drench your senses. The pounding droplets against your skin were a constant weight that grounded you. You read somewhere once that people sat in the shower because it replicated the feeling of being held—which was a major call-out.

To you, a shower was a way to cleanse yourself from the day. All your worries and anxieties would wash away, and you could finally relax while letting the warm water ease all your tension.

You could daydream, or you could simply shave and spend the whole time pampering yourself. So many possibilities, but to be honest, most showers were a mix of both.

You still couldn't fully wrap your head around your situation. Every day was spent around Clark, getting to know him and this new, strange world. Apparently, this universe was years ahead of yours. While you and your Clark were both twenty-seven, this Clark was thirty-six. Which made sense now that you thought about it. He looked older and more mature instead of boyish. He didn't slouch to make himself smaller like your Clark did. Instead, he stood confident, like he was no longer afraid to be strong.

You hated to admit how attractive it was. Your feelings and relationship with ‌your Clark were already complicated, not to mention Lois too. Now you had to deal with an older, highly attractive, more mature version of him. It felt weird. So incredibly weird.

His smile gave you butterflies with a side of nausea. And the low timber of his voice…

Irene, everything about this confused you.

It was different—he was different. You just couldn't explain it. He was still the man you knew who could light up the room with a single smile. He still took time to go around and help people. He even risked his life to save animals.

Gosh, maybe you were going crazy. Hyper-fixating on this needed to stop before you spiraled. Irene forbid you had a meltdown. You didn't want him to see you like that.

You stood with a sigh, turning off the shower and immediately reaching for a towel to run from the cold. Weird. You could've sworn you left the door closed, not cracked open. You seriously had memory issues, probably from all the times you hit your head growing up.

You shrugged the coincidence off and waddled back to your room, making sure your towel was tightly hung around your body just in case Clark suddenly decided to stop hibernating in his room like he'd been doing all day.

The poor thing was exhausted beyond comprehension. He spent the past forty-eight hours assisting with some world-ending issue with the Justice Gang. Usually, you would have panicked, but after years of dealing with crazy world-ending issues, you didn't even blink.

Besides, it all happened away from Metropolis, so you were mostly safe. Clark still tried to convince you to hunker down in the fortress to wait it all out. You denied his offer, though, and refused to leave the apartment. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win against your stubbornness. Not in this universe or yours.

Anyway, you were just happy he was getting the rest he needed, even if it meant you were lonely for a day while he slept.

You would survive.

——————————————————

Your perfume was missing.

Realistically you knew it was useless to turn over the apartment just for a single bottle of perfume; however, you refused to waste the money.

You were close; you felt it in your nuggets and could practically smell its scent. No, seriously, you could smell it or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, you were on a mission, determined to find what you had lost. You didn't care how long it took. You would find your perfume and then celebrate by making yourself victory cookies.

“Have you seen my perfume? It's gone and I can't find it anywhere.”

From the couch, Clark shook his head, clueless. “You wear perfume?”

Your face scrunched up, and you turned to him. "You literally complimented how it smelled the other day." You pointed out, and for a moment he seemed to falter, caught off guard. You could've sworn he even looked guilty for a second.

"Oh, yeah…”

You rolled your eyes at his faulty memory. You swore he had the best memory around, and yet he was completely useless. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still, your point stands.

“Useless alien…”

"Hm?" He perked up, turning his ear to you. “What was that?” You could practically feel the smirk curling at the edge of his lips. You both knew full well he heard you. The smug bastard just wanted to mess with you, and well, it was working.

“I said you were a useless alien.” You crossed your arms and stood defiant against him. You would not fall victim to his smug ways.

Dramatically he gasped, and like an arrow, your words shot him straight through the heart; he clutched his chest and fell back against the couch. “It hurts," he gasped in dramatic pain. How dare he take this so non-seriously? Your perfume was very important.

“I hope you fall into a cliff of Kryptonite.”

——————————————————

If there was one thing you missed about growing up in Kansas, it was the fresh produce. Nothing could compare. That is until you visited the farmers’ market in the city.

You never expected you would enjoy it so much. Usually, you loathed crowds. That's why the one in Smallville was perfect because it was so small, while the one in the city took up an entire block. But after years of visiting every weekend, the abundance of people became less of a problem as you found new solutions to ease yourself. Now you adored the city's farmers’ market, usually visiting with Clark and Lois by your side.

“Okay, so we just need strawberries and mango's, and that should be it.” You squinted at the crumpled piece of paper you called your grocery list. You and Clark had found a quiet corner to gather your bearings after shopping for so long. He stood next to you, his body practically pressed against yours as he too squinted down at the grocery list.

“There’s a few stands nearby that sell those,” behind Clark trailed a wagon, a clearly old and paint-chipped wagon filled with groceries. It had definitely seen better days. He gripped its handle tightly, like anyone would actually steal that old thing.

“You think you're ready to face the crowd again?” His eyes darted over to you, and you nodded with a grin.

“Yep!” You grabbed his hand with giddiness and dragged him back to the street, weaving through the crowd as if it were a maze for you to solve. You were determined to get your mangoes. So determined that you didn't notice the man heading straight towards you, but Clark did.

His hand wrapped around your waist and gently tugged you away, your feet lifting from the ground by just a few inches as he moved you to his other side where you would be safe.

You hummed along to the song replaying in your mind, content to let Clark take the lead in guiding as you mindlessly trailed along. “I am their fury; I am their patience. I am a conversation.”

You wondered if he ever got annoyed by your stimming, repeating phrases and making weird noises. It certainly seemed like it would, but then again, he never brought it up. Unless it was one of those situations where he assumed you would pick up on his social cues and automatically know he was annoyed, as if you could suddenly read his mind.

You both paused in front of a familiar stand. In your universe, you knew the owner, a lovely old lady who always gave you a discount on your mangoes. You would have said something, but Clark, like usual, had already taken the initiative and was grabbing what was needed.

There was no small talk, simply a hello and a goodbye, and then you were on your way. He never lingered like your Clark did, which was great for saving time, but you couldn’t help but miss watching him so easily connect with others.

Once again, you wove your way through the crowd with him by your side. Luckily, there were no collisions, and you both made it back to the car unscathed and successful in your mission to get groceries.

He opened the car's trunk, and you reached for one of the grocery bags, and for once Clark actually stood back and let you work.

You loved putting away groceries. It was like a game of Tetris where you had to find the right place for every bag, or else the trunk wouldn't close.

“A little bit to the left.” He chimed in, and, like second nature, you followed his instructions. The bag fit perfectly in the spot, and you stepped back with a small cheer, admiring your wonderful piece of art. He walked up next to you, and you snuck a glance at him, your body heating when you noticed the admiration with which he gazed at your work. Like it actually mattered. “It's perfect.”

You preened at the praise, and he shut the trunk, bringing the wagon with him and placing it in the back seat before making his way to the driver’s door. You walked to the front of the car, swinging open the door and plopping down in the front passenger seat.

“What's next?” You turned to him in your seat, and your foot mindlessly tapped the ground. “Tell me, good sir, what is on the schedule for the rest of today?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed to think. “Nap time?” He leaned forward and inserted the key. He maneuvered out of the spot and drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road.

“Nap time,” you agreed.

A man after your heart. Nap time sounded exactly like what you needed. All snuggled up in your bed, comfortable as can be. Just the thought of it made you sleepy.

You watched with subtle interest as he drove. His hands looked way too delicious gripping that steering wheel. Lois once said that they would make a great necklace on you. Of course, she’d been joking, but the moment still lingered in the forefront of your mind.

“You know I saw this post on Tweety talking about Superman and I feel you should know that apparently people find you submissive and breed able.”

He choked on air, and you were concerned you'd distracted him too much, but he seemed fine multitasking. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Yeah, apparently it's a big thing.”

“I'm taking your phone away. "

Your eyes widened, and you gasped at the blatant threat to your livelihood. “Don't you dare!” He would have to pry that device from your cold, dead hands.

He only chuckled as if he were amused by your suffering. “I’m just saying the internet is obviously a terrible place.”

Of course, that’s what he would say. Clark was the single most chronically offline person you had ever met. He literally wrote letters for Lois as if he were in an eighteenth-century love story. You even heard from a little birdy that he also had a secret stash of letters addressed to you hidden away in his closet.

Okay, yeah, maybe you were beginning to understand why so many people believed you were their third.

——————————————————

Once, Clark told you he felt uncomfortable in Wayne Manor. That the paintings hung on the walls seemed to follow him and that the silence haunted its endless hallways.

You thought differently. In a way, the silence comforted you; it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, beckoning you to follow it. And while you agreed some paintings were creepy, they held stories you could only imagine.

To say that the main living room was big was an understatement. It was bigger than the apartment, luxurious too, with a couch that seemed to be made from heaven. No, seriously, it was so comfortable you thought you were sitting on a cloud.

“So you're from another universe?” The man seemed unimpressed for someone who had just learned the multiverse was indeed real, but then again, he probably already knew.

“Yep.”

Bruce glanced at Clark, who stood next to you, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared. He grimaced at the pure, unadulterated light radiating from the man.

“And you need my help?”

You nodded wordlessly, and he seemed to retreat into himself, no doubt pondering your words and deciding whether this was worth his time. “How long have you been here?”

“Three months and fifteen days. "Clark piped in, and Bruce frowned. His expression never once changed, although you could see the way his brows pinched in thought and the slight glimmer of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.

He turned to you, his brow raised. “And why are you just now bringing this to my attention?”

Clark's happy expression faltered for a split second, a small, barely noticeable action that Bruce was just able to catch.

"Clark told me—”

"You never responded to my message." Clark chimed in before you could finish, which earned him a glare from you, and his lips puckered in a dramatic pout that both you and Bruce frowned at.

"I've been busy, and I do not recall receiving—"

"Soooo, can you help us?" Clark hastily interrupted, and while you glanced around the room, the two men shared a silent conversation, a complexity that you couldn't figure out even if you tried.

Bruce grunted, and your attention snapped back to him. "I'll do what I can but it's going to take time."

You smiled, hands flapping. "Thank you!"

To you, this was a massive win. No offense to Mr. Terrific or the Justice Gang, but they weren't the most reliable people around. The most you'd gotten from them so far was a few crude theories that did nothing to help in the long run.

"If I may," Alfred's voice piped in. Wait, when did he get here?

"Dinner is almost ready, and I made more than enough for all of you."

"Alfred…"

"Master Bruce, I recall you pondering whether to invite Mr.Kent for lunch again."

"Alfred!"

Clark lit up. "You were thinking about me?"

Dang, again? He told you they were close, but you didn't expect this. Your Clark was never invited to the manor for lunch, only for missions. Well, that explained why Bruce actually spoke to you with words instead of grunts.

Friendship truly was magic.

——————————————————

“Look, as much as I love lazing around all day reading and writing, it's not fair to you. At least let me get a job to help with groceries,“ you pleaded to the man who stood towering before you, his arms crossed and his expression serious as he shook his head.

“I make more than enough money for both of us,” Clark insisted, as he always did whenever you brought up the idea of getting a job.

“You're a journalist,” you fixed him with a knowing glare that not even he could argue with. His and Lois' salaries combined were more than enough in your universe, but she wasn't here. And you refused to continue leeching off ‌him like you were when Bruce could easily set you up with a fake identity and the paperwork to allow you to work.

He frowned at your callout. “I can make diamonds with my heat vision and pressure, you know that, right?” He raised a brow, and you hated how smug he looked when talking.

And yeah, you already knew that. You were there when he found out about the possibility during science in middle school. You literally watched Pa almost have a heart attack when Clark actually did it and made a diamond. On a random Tuesday, mind you.

It was a distraction, but what for?

It clicked.

“Bruce bought the apartment complex and forced you to no longer pay rent, didn't he?”

Clark paused, and for a moment, he was about to shake his head but didn't in defeat. “Yeah…”

“He also helped me fix up the family farm,” he added weakly. “I'm plannin’ to move there. Renovations are finished. It's truly just a matter of waiting for the lease to end.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now that I think about it…it is actually coming up. Oh lord, I gotta start packing and I still need to go visit the farm one last time to make sure everything works before the official move-in. Golly, I almost completely forgot.”

“Do you think I could maybe go with you? I can help with any last-minute projects or issues, I swear! Ma and Pa had me luggin’ hay bales right beside you growing up!” Oh Irene, your accent was peeking through.

Clark's grin continued to widen as you continued to ramble.

“And did I ever tell you that Ma taught me to cook? Heck! I learned everythin’ from her.”

He nodded along to the gaggle of new information that tumbled out of your mouth.

“Ah, so that's why your cooking almost made me cry.”

You nodded proudly. You couldn't count how many hours you spent with Martha in the kitchen learning how to cook and make the most delicious pie. Some of your best memories were spent in that kitchen.

“How about next time I go, I'll take you with me?” Your eyes lit up, and you beamed, jumping in excitement while your hands flapped in front of you.

“Besides, you will probably be movin’ in too if we don't find a solution to get you home by then.” He shrugged, and you paused in your celebration.

“Oh, yeah…I guess so.” You hadn’t thought of that until he brought it up.

You turned your back to him for a moment, completely oblivious to the way he adjusted his sweatpants. A flurry of emotions danced across his face, yet in just a few milliseconds, he was completely back to normal.

“I wouldn’t mind living in Kansas again.” You faced him again, and he sent you a completely innocent smile. The one that made your heart skip a beat and your face flush. It made you throb.

Irene, you needed to get home. Your heart couldn't handle this pain.

——————————————————

You'd forgotten how tedious a process moving was. All the packing and running around. The stress was enough to knock you out, but fortunately, you weren't alone.

“Hey, lemme carry that for you.”

You tried to protest as the box you were carrying was lifted out of your arms by Clark. He'd been doing that all day. You could barely lift your finger without him immediately coming over to fuss over you.

You couldn't really complain, though. This barely counted as a workout for him. All you had to do was watch him haul his ass around and make sure he took breaks to drink and eat, or else he'd forget being so hyper-fixated on moving everything.

“So what made you want to renovate the farm?” He paused, and for a moment you panicked, thinking you'd hit a nerve, but to your utter relief he shrugged and continued on with his ministrations.

“I needed a distraction, and I always knew I would end up back in Kansas eventually—” That made sense. Your Clark told you the same thing. “—It just felt right, I guess.”

You nodded, taking in his words with a slight hum. “And what about The Daily Planet and work?”

“It's a five-minute flight away, and they've already approved my request to take on a more remote position."

He lifted another box over his shoulders, and you pattered after him like a duckling following its mother.

“And what's it like being Bruce's sugar baby?”

He groaned. “Look, he got my bank information somehow. I can't control what he does. I tried. He just grunted and told me no. Alfred told me to accept my fate. I listen to Alfred!”

He set the box down beside the others, and both of you made the journey back.

“I'm just saying friends don't send each other thousands of dollars for no reason,” you closed the door behind you, dodging and weaving through the trail of boxes that laid around the apartment.

“Sweetheart, he's a billionaire. He has absolutely no concept of a normal friendship. I'm pretty sure I'm his first actual best friend in years.”

That actually made a lot of sense. You doubted Bruce got out a lot during the day. Not to mention his social awkwardness and obvious unresolved trauma.

Clark collapsed onto the couch, and you followed after him, dramatically flopping right next to him as if you'd just done a whole day's work.

“You both need therapy.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Trust me, we already know.”

Well, at least he was self-aware.

——————————————————

You recalled the day Clark moved out of his apartment vividly. You, he, and Lois spent the entire day lugging boxes around, although it was truly only Clark who did the work. He insisted he could do it alone while you and Lois hung out.

You looked back on that day fondly. A bittersweet memory of friends and a life you wished you had.

A life with them.

The apartment was so bare you barely recognized it. Without the furniture, it felt soulless, like everything that made it home had been stripped away. It was familiar in a way that made you itch.

“Well, I think that's the rest of it,” his arm effortlessly slipped around your shoulders.

“I'm going to miss this place.” Your eyes darted across the hallway, taking it all in one last time. It felt like ages ago when you first stumbled in, frazzled and confused. It baffled you how many weeks had passed since then.

Clark nodded along, his expression pensive. The way it always was whenever he was pondering something deep. “But you'll love it in Kansas." Well, you obviously couldn't deny that or the deep, almost sinful rumble of his voice.

“You're right.” You sighed. “I will.”

“The flight still sucks, though.” You added with a frown, and you shrugged Clark's arm off your shoulder, an action that made his jaw tick. His eyes grew cold for just a single moment, too quick for you to catch, but you noticed his offended demeanor and snorted. He melted in an instant.

“Do we seriously have to take a plane? Can't you just fly me?” You despised airplanes and, most importantly, airports. The crowds terrified you, and standing in a line to wait was not one of your strong suits.

Clark shook his head, following you out the door one ultimate time. “Nope!” He popped the P. “We can not just rely on my powers for everything.” You hated how correct he was.

You both paused, finality hitting like a brick.

You turned to each other.

“To Kansas?”

You grinned at his barely contained excitement. He was buzzing with it.

"To Kansas!”

——————————————————

Nothing could've prepared you for the mixed feelings that came with living full time at the Kent's house, or well, Clark's house without Martha and Jonathan. There was a feeling of emptiness without their presence. It was still the same house you grew up in, and yet everything felt different. Not exactly in a bad way, just different. You assumed the feeling would dissipate as time went on.

There had been several renovations made to the house. Appliances were all upgraded; everything was repainted to look good as new. The furniture was mostly kept the same, just with some added touches from Clark that made the house more his instead of his parents'. All of it exactly the same as when you visited.

You could definitely tell Bruce funded it all; the new editions were the best of the best, which was kind of jarring because you were used to the guest room's bathroom toilet absolutely sucking, and now it was literally luxurious. Same thing with the shower that had a leaky faucet; all of it was completely fixed.

You didn't miss the chores, though. Although it was Clark who did all the heavy lifting. He refused your offers of help, even after you showed him how far you could throw a hay bale, which was pretty far if you had to say so yourself. Instead, you focused on taking care of the inhabitants of the farm, which you didn't mind. In fact, you always drifted toward the animals. You always had. They were easier to get along with than people.

“Okay, children, one at a time—no, Aph, stop, that's Katelyn's food. Nana stop pecking at my feet.” You shooed the chicken away, scowling right back at her when she fluffed up her feathers and clucked in obvious annoyance. You stuck your tongue out at her and closed the gate behind you.

“Garroth. Lawrence,” you acknowledged the pigs as you passed their pen. Gosh, you'd forgotten how much work it was to keep animals. It kept you busy, offering a distraction from the festering unease inside you.

You found Clark in the barn fussing over Betty, the cow, or as you called her, ‘the princess of the farm’. She ruled her kingdom with an iron fist and a powerful moo. Most of the time she was a grump, and Clark was the only one she allowed to touch her. Apparently his pets were good enough while yours weren't.

You couldn't blame her. His hands were nice, sturdy, yet somehow soft, even after years of farm work. Yeah, Clark Kent had a very nice pair of hands.

“Such a pretty girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his rumble, his words twisting your gut. That cow was absolutely spoiled. You were surprised she wasn't overweight, with how gluttonous she was.

“This is why she's a brat. You spoil her too much.” You glared at the cow.

She glared back.

For a moment Clark paused in his petting, and Betty's tail flicked in immediate dissatisfaction. She huffed and trotted away, not even giving him a chance to redeem himself.

Your hands fell to your waist, and you jutted your hip out as you gave him a look that screamed, ‘I told you so.'

“Okay, so maybe I spoil her. She deserves it. She's my baby” He conceded with a shrug and made his way over to you.

“You're ridiculous—”

“—Ridiculously empathetic and caring toward animals," he finished for you. You swatted the hand away that reached for you and moved away, but he followed persistently. “Nuh uh, don't run.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue in faux disappointment. He caught you almost immediately and dragged you back.

“Let me go, you heathen!” You clawed at his arms, desperately writhing around. “I will destroy you!” He threw his head back and laughed when you turned and pushed him. He didn’t even budge an inch.

His arms slackened, and like an animal being hunted, you scrambled away from him toward the entrance of the barn. He followed leisurely behind.

“Sweetheart, watcha doin’?” His head tilted curiously, but you wouldn't fall for his fake innocence. You saw the mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“You are like a needy golden retriever.” You pointed at him accusingly with a harmless growl.

“What?” He had the audacity to look perplexed by your statement. You had given a whole rundown of character dynamics when he asked about the story you were writing. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Hey, hey, six feet away! I value my freedom!”

With a smug smirk, he cocked his eyebrow and took a single step forward.

You took it as a declaration of war and bolted back to the house.

——————————————————

You were getting a serious sense of déjà vu tiptoeing through the house in the dead of night, like a single wrong step would wake everyone up. Technically, with Clark’s super-hearing, you weren't far off.

“Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious," you whispered, singing the mantra to yourself like an annoying kid's toy on repeat.

Your mind wouldn't let you sleep, so instead of tossing and turning in your bed all night, you decided to go to the kitchen and get a snack. At least then you would be tossing and turning all night without your stomach rumbling.

You were just tiptoeing past Clark's room when you heard him whimpering. It sounded as if he were in pain, which you doubt was the case. No, that wasn't a ‘help, I'm in pain’ whimper. It was a 'Help, I'm having a horrible nightmare and about to wake up and probably have a panic attack’ whimper.

Look, you were no stranger to nightmares. Although your nightmares weren't exactly normal. Not if being stuck in a crowded mall in a constant state of meltdown, constantly suffering while everyone you love ignores your pleas for help, was normal.

You were confident enough in your relationship with Clark to know that barging into his room, food in hand, at two in the morning was acceptable.

You knew the layout of his bedroom like the back of your hand. The total darkness that encompassed it never hindered your journey to his bed.

However, you made a pit stop to place your snacks on his dresser nearby.

“Clark?” the whisper barely left your lips. The last thing you wanted to do was bombard his super-hearing. You knew how sensitive all his senses got whenever he had nightmares. He once described it to you after you comforted him one night during your high school years.

You knew what it was like to be overstimulated. What he went through sounded worse.

The moment you got close enough, you reached out to him, and as if he could sense your presence, he shot up.

Clark gasped, and a sharp inhale of air flooded his lungs. He panted as he gulped it all in.

“Hey, Clark.”

His head snapped in your direction, and for a moment in his panic, he looked as if he were about to attack. His eyes snapped down to your outstretched hand that now trembled, frozen in place. He frowned and then he registered it was you.

He whispered your name like a lifeline and immediately slumped over. His head bumped against your shoulder, and you struggled to take on all of his weight as he seemed to bury himself in you. Like that was possible.

“Oof,” you grunted and wrapped your arms around him to steady you ‌both. You carefully maneuvered yourself onto his bed, and the man had no issue scooting over to let you in. In fact, the moment you finally laid down on your side, he attached himself to you like a koala.

His body curled around yours, and hands snuck around your waist, dragging you as close as possible to his chest.

In the dark, you had to squint to see him. Fortunately, from being in his embrace, you could feel his erratic breathing slowly calming. You heard him sniffle, and one of his arms unwrapped around you to swipe away his tears. But in just a few seconds it returned, once again wrapping around you.

You let him cling to you. To the point that you almost fell asleep for a few minutes. I mean, how could you not? This was the most comfortable spot in the world. Okay, yeah, it was a little bit warm, but the sweat was worth it!

Soon enough his breathing evened out, and you frowned as a snore left him. Oh, great.

He trapped you and you were really looking forward to those snacks too…

By the time your mind allowed you to sleep, the sun was already rising. Fortunately, its rays of light were blocked by the massive body curled around your body. You weren't even that short, and yet you felt small when he completely encircled you like this.

The moment you stirred and tried to pull away from the living furnace next to you, his arms locked around your waist and forced you still.

“Clarkkkk.” You pushed at his chest helplessly and groaned when he didn't even move an inch. He was fighting back a smile, the corner of his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He popped open a single eye, peering down at you in sleepy amusement.

“What's the magic word?” This is why you stopped sleeping in the same bed with him. Once he latched on, he never let go. Neither did Lois. Both of their sleepover privileges were revoked.

“Let me go, or else I'll never make you a pie again.”

His other eye shot open. “You wouldn't dare…” He was right. You were bluffing. However, you had the audacity not to care.

“Try me.”

His arms around you finally slackened, and you wiggled out of his grip, just barely dodging his attempt to snatch you back. He frowned like a kicked puppy, but you refused to feel guilty.

You rose from the bed and headed straight to his drawer, where you checked up on your snacks and then waddled back to his bed.

What? Your food was important.

“So, you want to talk about last night?” You crawled back onto the bed and finally let Clark pull you back into his arms.

For the first time, he didn't tense up or shut down. You were used to him retreating whenever you asked.

“It was Lex who did it.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Does that mean…?”

He nodded, and his gaze fell as he fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “He found out. I was too late. By the time I got there, they were already gone.”

Everything fell into place, finally painting the full picture. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice-cold water, and you went tense in his arms. The somber haze that had seemed to have taken over him seemed to clear because his gaze snapped back to you.

“It was you who killed him, wasn't it?”

He nodded, and you noticed the lack of guilt in his demeanor. You couldn't blame him for what he did. Not at all. Still, the lack of guilt irked you. Not enough for you to truly care, though. Lex Luthor ruined Clark's life. You wouldn't feel bad either.

But this was different. The Clark you knew would have felt guilty even if it was Lex, but then again, your Clark never went through what this Clark did.

“I hate to say it, but…good riddance.”

Oh, you felt so guilty saying it, but it needed to be said! Nobody was going to miss that bald-headed demon. In fact, the world was much safer without him. Clark was safer without him.

“Wait, is that why Metropolis is so much more peaceful in this universe.” It all made sense.

He barked out a sudden laugh, and you were glad that even with the sad subject, he could at least find some joy.

——————————————————

Smallville was different in ways you couldn't explain. Of course, you hadn't actually gone into town yet; just the idea of it made you nervous but the farmers market was today and you were finally ready to venture out.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" He stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared like he was guarding something—probably you.

You rolled your eyes. Ever since you told Clark your plans to go to the farmers market, he'd been insistent he come with. You weren't exactly against it per-say, it's just you wanted to spend some time alone. Get used to being in town again, but then again, you were a complete stranger to everybody, so maybe Clark coming with wasn't that bad of an idea.

"I'll be okay. It's just the farmers market," you reassured the gentle giant, who seemed more than concerned about the idea of you heading along alone. You had to admit it was slightly annoying, all of his fussing, like you couldn't go more than ten seconds without him. But you would be lying if you said you didn't find it a little cute.

"But what if it's too much? I wouldn't want you to have a meltdown and not be there to help." Wait, how did he even know about those? Did he do research?

Clark sighed at the well-earned glare he received and raised his hands in front of him in defense. "Please just let me come with for my peace of mind." He pleaded.

He really wasn't going to let this go was he?

You sighed, finally conceding, and victory flashed across his expression, a smile quickly growing on his face.

"Fine, you can come with, but only because it'll be easier to carry groceries with you around."

"I'll take it." He beamed and stepped away from the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.

"Come on, the truck is already ready."

You raised a brow, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

"Seriously?"

"What? I wanted to go to the farmers market too!"

The drive to town was only a measly ten-minute affair. The whole time Clark hummed along to the songs you had added to his playlist because you refused to listen to Clark's abhorrent music taste.

Finally getting out of the truck felt damning, like there was no turning back after this, which was true given the stares you immediately received from the familiar faces around you. You were surprised you made it out of the parking lot without being stopped by someone. However you didn't even make it past the first stall before Mrs. Mendelev was scurrying up to the both of you. The woman was a gossip—the town gossiper as some would say. She knew everything and anything about everyone. It was pretty impressive.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" The older woman squeezed you tightly in a hug. "You have no idea how happy we all were when we heard Clark finally brought home a girl!"

Behind you, the man groaned, the tips of his turning red. “After Martha and Jonathan’s passing, God bless their souls, he just was never the same. It’s so nice to see him smile again."

You smiled softly at the kind words. "I wouldn't say I'm the reason for that." You laughed, waving her off, and Clark's brows pinched together as if he were about to speak but held off at the last second.

The woman only waved her hand and shook her head. "Nonsense. He practically glows when he talks about you."

Oh, wow, you had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, Clark took the opportunity and muttered an awkward goodbye and dragged you away to the next stall, for which you were eternally grateful.

"Well she hasn't change," you giggled as you leaned over to grab an apple, inspecting it before tossing it into your bag and grabbing a few more.

"Let me guess, she's a gossip in your universe too?"

You nodded. "Yep," you popped the p and moved on to the next stall.

"Why, hello there! You must be the lady Clark won't stop blabbering about!" Your eyes widened as you took in the man before you—Kevin. He was only a few years older than you, but everyone in town knew who he was, at least in your universe. He went down a dark path after his marriage fell apart because of his wife’s issues with fertility. His ending wasn't so happy

"Dad! Amy got into the produce again!" a smaller voice called out from behind the stand, and Kevin sighed, a long arduous groan.

You watched as a little boy stumbled to the front of the stand, a smile growing on your face as you took in the little lad. "You have a child."

No, you were totally not about to cry. That would be pathetic.

"I'm adopted!" A startled, but happy laugh burst from your mouth at the boy’s exclamation and Kevin’s horrified reaction.

“I told you to stop telling people that!”

You let the family be and scurried to the next stall, taking one last glance at the happiness radiating from the man before finally moving your attention away.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clark's fingers brushed over your arm.

"Yeah…I'm just happy. Kevin never really got to be happy in my universe. I'm glad he got it here. He deserves it."

His expression softened. "Well, I'm glad too. He's a good man, and a great father and husband."

The rest of the morning was spent wandering around the market, grabbing what you needed and introducing yourself to every face you encountered. It was nice, tiring, but nice to see everyone again. So much was different, and yet so many things were the same. You didn't know whether you found comfort from it all, and by the time you got back to the farm, you didn't have the energy to care. All you wanted to do was put the groceries away and nap.

"Sweetheart, you looked drained."

He snatched the groceries from your arms; you were a fool to believe he would let you carry them all in. "Get some rest. I'm sure all that socialization was tiring, " he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the action so natural that neither of you blinked at the affection, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

You could kiss him.

You bet he tasted like sunshine and comfort.

Ugh, you seriously needed to get your feeling in check. This wasn't your Clark. You didn't love him, just another version of him. If only your stupid heart would realize that.

——————————————————

You were no stranger to the danger that came with being Superman. You watched Clark get beaten up, thrown into buildings, and smashed with cars. He always survived. It's what he did, but the suit? Oh, the suit was a whole different story.

"This poor fabric." The repetitive motion of sewing was soothing to someone like you, which was why you happily volunteered to fix up Clark's suit because, good lord, it needed some tender love and care.

“In my defense I didn't ask to be stabbed at.”

"And yet it still happened." You pulled the needle through the fabric.

"Hey!" he gawked, offended. "I tried my best to dodge it; it's harder than it looks."

You nodded, pretending that you believed him, but he seemed to recognize your bad acting and scowled.

“Look, I'm sorry” he whined.

“I know you are. I just get concerned.” You frowned and once again threaded the needle through the fabric. You would never get over how satisfying it was to watch as the string tied everything together once again, patching it all up.

“Just be more careful out there. I know you're practically invincible, but I still get worried seeing you get beat up.” Clark sighed, his scowl softening and his body relaxing.

"I know, I know." He didn't exactly wave off your concerns; he would never do that, always too thoughtful, but it still felt like that as he rose from his sitting place on the couch and made his way over to you. He leaned down, placing a light kiss to your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

He leaned back, staring down at you with a soft smile. "Thank you for the suit. I can't remember the last time someone took the time to fix it up."

"Well, someone has to."

"You and I both know that's not true." He chuckled lightly.

You only shrugged, your tongue poking out as you focused on finishing the final stitches. You could feel his eyes on you—a feeling you were all to familiar with. He liked to watch you. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't creepy.

"There." You smiled proudly as you cut off the string and held out the newly patched up suit. "Good as new."

"You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart."

"I know right. I'm amazing."

Peaceful silence fell between you, and you handed him back the suit, the bright symbol almost shining when the light hit it just right.

"Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?" He hummed, checking over his newly repaired suit, obviously satisfied with your work.

"Killing Lex."

He froze and you watched as his knuckles paled from how tightly he gripped onto the fabric. His expression fell blank just like it always did whenever you brought up this sort of topic.

Shit.

Had you gone too far? Oh gosh, you knew asking was a bad idea. You should have listened to your brain when it told you to leave the topic alone. It was obvious he didn't like talking about it.

"No, I don't," he finally answered. You slowly nodded, taking in his words. Of course he didn't. Honestly, you wouldn't either in a situation like that, but a small part of you was still surprised. The Clark you knew valued all life, even Lex Luthor's, but then again, this wasn't your Clark, which your brain couldn't seem to register quite yet.

"Would you do it again?"

He looked down at the fabric in his hands, his gaze flickering over the symbol.

"No."

Both of you knew that was a lie.

———————————————————

Martha was the one who taught you how to bake. You remembered the way she would set out everything and go through each step with you, teaching you how to correctly measure and how to roll the dough.

Baking was a process, a process you enjoyed very much.

It was also an escape. It allowed your mind to go numb as you went through the steps, doing the same thing every time. It was as relaxing as it was delicious.

“You know, if you keep on baking these pies, I think I'm gonna die from the sugar overload.” You turned around, scowling at Clark, who stood leaning against the entryway in his usual plaid shirt and jeans. The only difference was the long hair he decided to grow out. It was almost a mullet now, and gosh darn did he look delicious, almost as delicious as your pie.

"Oh hush you love my pies." You turned back to the oven, eyeing the pie that laid inside. Just a few minutes left.

Footsteps approached from behind and his hands landed on your hips.

"Is that my shampoo?" Your nose wrinkled at the familiar scent, and you craned your neck to look at Clark, who smiled at you sheepishly with a guilty expression that said it all.

"It smells nice—like you." He shrugged as if that were a perfectly good reason to steal your freakin' twenty-dollar shampoo.

"You are so lucky that Bruce Wayne funds this household or else I'd kick your butt."

A laugh left him at your obvious threat, and you frowned at the way he didn't take you seriously. You were very scary, just not to him, apparently. "Sweetheart, you couldn't hurt a fly even if you tried." He sounded so sure of it, and you would have been offended if it weren't true.

The oven interrupted any attempt to threaten him more, and you huffed as you turned your attention back to the appliance, tugging it open and groaning when his arms unwrapped around you and sneaked past to take the pie out, his hands completely bare.

"You're a freak of nature," he placed the pie down on the countertop, and you cringed. "You do realize that can ruin it, right?"

"You said it yourself," he shrugged. "Bruce Wayne funds this household."

He turned the oven off, and you stepped back and untied your apron from around your waist. "Touché"

You threw the fabric onto the countertop. "Speaking of which, how is Bruce? Any updates?" You questioned.

He shook his head. "No. Apparently, the multiverse is, uh…complicated."

Even after so many months, the only progress made was a few crude theories, and even those were iffy. But both Bruce and Mr.Terrific knew how to contact you if anything came up.

"I just can't imagine how worried everyone is back home,” you sighed. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can to get me back. "

A small part of you hoped one day a portal would randomly open and out would come your Clark and Lois, most likely rambling about how they missed you and did everything they could to get you back. It was wishful thinking, and maybe foolish, but still, you could hope.

"You know you've been baking a lot; are you okay?”

Aw, dang it, you were hoping he wouldn't notice.

Okay, so maybe you baked more whenever you were stressed; it was a healthy outlet, and in all reality, you weren't fine at all.

It was like a creeping feeling of doom approaching in the distance. You could see the storm, hear its thunder rumble, and watch its clouds invade the sky. Now, you were just waiting for it to hit.

“I'm fine." You turned your back to him, focusing on retrieving a knife to cut the pie with.

He didn't believe you, probably because he could hear your heart beating a million miles per hour.

Something about his gaze felt predatory. The way he watched you flutter around the kitchen like you were some piece of meat ready to be devoured. You noticed that gaze a lot.

Wait, where did your apron go? Oh lord, not again!

——————————————————

You loved when it rained, always have and probably always will.

It was the sound of each droplet hitting the ground, the grounding effect it had on your mind. The way the worms would always come out after, your little army of beloved insects. You adored all of it.

So of course you couldn't miss the chance to revel in it.

"You do realize this is a one-way ticket to getting sick, right?" He leaned against the side of the porch, where he was protected from the rain while you stood a few feet away absolutely soaked and delighted to stomp in each puddle. Your hands flapped in front of you as you danced around, splashing and giggling as you jumped around.

"I didn't realize you were such a party pooper. " You turned, sticking your tongue out at him.

The only thing you didn't enjoy was the way your soaked clothes stuck to you, an uncomfortable feeling that made your skin crawl. But it wasn't enough to ruin your mood. It wasn't often that Kansas had rain, especially during such a dry season like summer.

"Are you going to join me or just watch like a creepy stalker?"

"Oh, no. I'm more than okay staying right here."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, running and jumping straight in the largest puddle you could find, your hands flapping happily in front of you.

Oh, how you loved puddles. They were always so fun to jump in. You and Clark used to do it all the time growing up while Martha and Jonathan watched from their porch. You couldn't count how many times you got sick from it, unlike Clark, who was never affected, but it was always worth it. Although you swore it wasn't the rain that made you sick, just your immune system fucking you over.

From the porch, Clark watched with his arms crossed over his chest . You were always so excited about the littlest of things. It was cute.

"Sweetheart, you should probably come in soon," he called.

"Only if you promise not to fuss over me."

"I don't fuss over you."

"You absolutely do."

He absolutely did. He couldn't help it. It was just his nature to help, especially for the ones he cared for.

"Fine, I won't fuss but only if you promise to warm up with some towels and Ma's hot chocolate."

You lit up.

"You had me at Ma's hot chocolate."

——————————————————

Ultimately, it was Mr Terrific who revealed Clark’s lies. That's right—lies. In one simple phone call, the small life you'd built with him was torn to shreds.

He'd been lying to you for weeks.

He called off the research.

All of it.

Bruce, the justice gang—he demanded they all stop their research and move on. You didn't know which was worse: that he did it or the fact that they all listened. So blindly loyal to a man who apparently wanted you all to himself, tucked away on a farm in Kansas. But why? You had done nothing but invade his life? Why would he want you to stay so badly that he went out of his way to betray you like this. It didn't make any sense.

"So it's true?"

"Sweetheart—"

Oh Irene, it was. He'd lied to you. For weeks! It made so much sense now that you thought about it. The way he avoided your questions or even just the topic itself. The weird way he'd been acting ever since you both moved to Kansas. The clinginess, the avoidance, red bright flags that you had opted to ignore just because you trusted him—technically not even him but another version of him!

"Clark, why?" You felt one second away from completely breaking, and you hated the way your voice wavered. The weakness that crept in.

"Because I love you, okay!" He suddenly exclaimed. "I love you so much it hurts, and that universe—that Clark—doesn't deserve you."

…what?

In another life, you would've been ecstatic to hear those words. In fact, your heart still skipped a beat, and a familiar warmth spread across your body, but it felt wrong. So terribly wrong.

"Clark, I—" how do you respond to that? For your whole entire life you had thought that Clark Kent would never love you, not in the way you loved him. Yet here he was, another version of him, telling you exactly that.

You watched frozen in place as he took a careful step toward you, like one wrong move and you would just disappear. He looked so fragile, so hopeful. So completely and irrevocably different from the Clark you knew.

"I…I think I want to go home." Yeah. You wanted your apartment, your bed, your safe place. You wanted your noise-canceling headphones and your stuffed animals.

"You are home."

You weren't. This wasn't home. Just a false replica of it.

"No, I want to go home," you repeated, and his face scrunched up.

You didn't know when he managed to get in front of you, but you blinked, and he suddenly towered over you only a few inches away, blocking any escape.

"I need you to calm down." You shrugged off any attempt at touching you, and his expression flashed with hurt.

"You're not leaving. Not me or Kansas." His words felt like a finality you refused to accept, but truly what could you do? He was stronger than you, and if you tried to run, he could easily catch up and just throw you over his shoulder and take you back.

You were stuck.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by his hand taking yours, and you watched in frozen horror as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a familiar ring—Martha's ring. The same one you would fawn over growing up, wishing that one day it would belong to you.

"I wanted to wait until you were settled down more but Bruce already has the papers forged."

The ring slid onto your finger. It was a weight that felt binding, something you couldn't exactly explain.

"Clark, what do you mean?"

He smiled, soft yet predatory in a way that made you shudder. "It means we're going to be happy," His hand ghosted up your arm, trailing up to cup your cheek with his palm. You would have melted if it weren't for the situation.

"Together."

Once again, in any other scenario, you would've swooned. Unfortunately, this was the one scenario where you, in fact, did not swoon. Instead panic seized you, forcing you to stay frozen in your place.

"Clark, I can't. I have a life. Clark and Lois—"

"—Do not deserve you."

Again with that bullshit. How dare he say that? Your Clark and Lois deserved the world, and you were a part of that world. They most definitely deserved you.

They just didn't want you.

His hands left your body, and you stepped back. Something he obviously did not like with the way he immediately crowded into your space again.

"Stop saying that!"

"But it's true!" He exclaimed. "They don't see you. Never will. Not the way I do, and I can't lose you!" For a moment he went silent before speaking. "Not like I loss them."

Oh, wow. That was a box of emotions you were not willing to open up.

You shook your head, anger guiding you to slide the ring off your finger and throw it to the ground, but before you could even think about doing it, his hand came down onto your wrist, effectively stopping you.

"Don't." He sounded annoyed. It was terrifying. He gave you the ring for a reason, and there was only one reason someone, especially someone like Clark, would give you a ring. His ma's ring, too.

"Clark, what type of papers did you get Bruce to forge?"

The smile he gave you sent chills down your spine, whether it was from the predatory gleam in his eyes or the actual happiness that radiated from him. "I think you already know, sweetheart."

"Welcome home, Mrs.Kent."

Oh.

Oh no.

every single girl that’s ever left his motel room that you’ve seen has had a smile on their face that could light up a small country—and obviously, that didn’t come from not doing a good job of dicking down a woman.

you should’ve known he’d be just as good at the aftercare, too. you really should've.

and sure, you wondered what it would be like, to be with him. of course you did. and you let yourself ponder and fantasize, but never acted on your urges. sure, you flirted back with dean when he flirted with you, because it was just make-believe. it was funny. it was a joke, and it was easy.

and it was a joke between you for a long time. yet somewhere along the way, that changed.

that’s how you got yourself to right now: laying in dean’s bed. on dean’s sheets.

in dean’s arms.

he’s never brought a girl back to the bunker—so that’s gotta count for something, you think as you lay in his bed. you’ve never seen a girl walking out of dean’s room in the bunker like you see when you stay at motels, so maybe you did matter more to him like he said you did. you let yourself believe it, even if it really wasn’t exactly true. let yourself believe that maybe this wouldn't end tonight, maybe you’d have something more with dean.

but you can’t really even think about that—or anything else, for that matter, because in your time together, dean made you come 4 times. you’d never been able to do that in one sitting—by yourself or otherwise, at least not without breaks in between—but dean was wringing you out for all you were.

and you gave it to him. willingly. truly.

you were barely making coherent noises by the end, on your last orgasm. and you were loud. and it sounded like you were in pain—thank god sam was gone, because you felt embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed to be making such noises. but dean quite literally fucked the self-consciousness right out of you. he pressed his nose to your cheek like the tip of his dick pressed deep inside you—and when you poorly stifiled a moan that was coming out of you, he just shook his head against yours and said to let him hear it.

dean told you that he could hear your thoughts from here. he told you to just enjoy it. told you that you could say stop if you felt too overwhelmed, and he would. he said most of that while he pounded into you, so it was hard to focus on his words.

but you still heard him.

yet you didn’t tell him to stop.

he also shushed you when you tried to apologize for essentially being a ragdoll instead of an engaging member of sex with him after the third time you came. he didn't mind, he said. said he got off on it, watching you come undone, over and over, getting drunk on him. and you should've expected this kind of reassurance from him, you really should've. he provides in every other possible way, in every sense—so how could sex be any different?

you’re close to dozing off now, though. you can distinctly feel dean’s body still on top of yours—he’d also gone full ragdoll after holding off his own orgasm for so long—but that’s about all you can feel, besides the throbbing from your lower region, which is still wrapped around dean.

you're wet in every sense—sweat, fluids, basically a puddle of yourself. you’re starting to feel sticky from yours and dean’s fluids mixed together as your senses come back, but you don’t move. you’re too tired. your eyes are just so heavy, so you just close them. allow the aftermath of the experience you just had to wash over you completely, leaving you all floaty-like and celestial. your hands are still resting on dean’s back, somewhere by his shoulder blades, no longer hanging on for dear life, now just holding him. you still don't move, save for breathing.

then, it could've been seconds, it could've been hours—but dean finally stirs enough to look up at you from where he lay on top of you, rests his chin on your chest right bewteen your boobs. the movement makes you look down at him, too—but don't get it twisted, you just open your eyes enough to look at dean. you’re still wiped.

and dean just looks at you, doesn't say anything right away. he blinks a few times, then reaches up to your face, brushes his fingers against your cheek. the corner of his mouth twitches up a little, and if you were the tinest bit more coherent, you’d probably feel embarrassed—but you aren’t coherent.

now, you're too tired to care if he thinks you’ve lost all your appeal, now that the sex is over. now that there’s nothing new to discover, now that he’s scratched the itch. too tired to care if he’s gonna kick you out back to your room, because now you’re all sweaty and gross and sticky, no longer a shining star, no longer something to be conquered.

but he doesn't do that.

instead, his fingers continue to gently caress the side of your face, over and over. like he was trying to memorize it. then he lifts his chin and places a kiss on your chest. then another kiss before he lifts himself up off and completely out of you with a small grunt—and for a split second you think he’s gonna leave you here, but then his face comes completely into view above you, his nose brushing yours again.

“y’got any idea how perfect y’are?”

the slurred words catch you off-guard—but that’s a severe understatement. you don't hear the word ‘perfect’ from dean often, and certainly not after he was just balls-deep inside of you, moaning your name over and over again. touching you. wanting you. needing you.

dean doesn’t let you answer his question, though. he just kisses the side of one of your cheeks, murmuring a ‘b’right back’ against your face, inking the reassurance in your skin before you can even attempt to say anything or reach for him. then he moves, and you hear a squeak of the sink in the corner of his room, hear his footsteps padding back over to you against the concrete a few beats later.

dean’s hand touches you first—sliding up your leg gently, and you’re certain he’s making sure he doesn’t scare you, since you’re laying there deader than a sack of potatoes. you hum when he does, moving a little—or at least trying to, but he shakes his head at you, his other hand pressing you down on his bed.

his bed.

jesus. his bed. the pillow smells like him, everything fucking smells like him. it’s invading every pore of your body. your heart’s still pounding, but it’s slowing down when dean moves away from your face again. you feel warmth between your thighs, and look down, squinting in the dim light to see what dean was wiping you with.

it’s his shirt he was wearing, the one you yanked off of him earlier. he’d gotten it wet in his sink with warm water, and was currently wiping at the creases of your thighs, slick and sticky with dampess up with his shirt.

you don’t know why he was doing this. did he do this with everyone he hooked up with? you tried not to think about it, but now that the fog was finally starting to clear in your mind, it was hard not to. the gesture, the view of him in front of you on his bed? it puts a lump in your throat.

you’re in love with him.

you’ve been in love with him for a long time.

and you know he’s probably just as tired as you—he’d done pretty much all the work sex-wise, but you noticed and knew he liked it, being the giver. always giving, never asking for anything. taking care of you.

and you let him.

four times.

but you also noticed he was getting tired at the end. he almost tuckered out, tossed in the towel, and didn’t come at all. he was panting as hard as you were on the last round, and he was just as sweaty. held it off until it almost hurt, like he didn't want it to end. he was speaking all sorts of rambles too, his words stringing together.

you can still see, even in just the dim, barely-there golden light of his room that his face is red. not pink. not blushing. beet fucking red. you can see his shoulders rising and falling quickly with each breath, and you want to reach up to touch him. but you’re not sure about doing it, so you resort to blindly grabbing at him until your hand makes contact with him.

your hand ends up somewhere on his arm—and he looks at your hand on his skin, then looks up at you with those green eyes.

“come up here,” you murmur, tugging his arm—and he moves like there’s an anvil attached him that you pulled on, rising over you just enough to not squish you with his body weight.

your hand on dean’s arm finds purchase on his face as you rise and turn—and dean molds to you like a slab of clay, letting you do what you want. he lets himself lay down next to you instead of over you, like before. your body’s moving him mindlessly without barely touching him—and you just look at him when his head hits his pillow, both your chests rising and falling slower now.

you wish you could tell him he doesn’t have to take care of you. tell him that he’s allowed to rest here with you, allowed to not be… dean winchester. the sex god, the caretaker, always having to be on. you wish you could say that he’s allowed to just be dean instead. you don’t know how to tell him that.

but the thing is: dean already knows.

he knows that he’s allowed to shell out his own little part of you to hide out inside when things get too bad. he knows that you’ll always be there for him—for every nightmare, every apocalypse, every angel and demon that has a hitlist. he knows you’ll hug him without him having to ask, and even patch him up if you come across him drinking by himself in the bunker instead of getting the first aid kit. you’ll gently coax him awake when he falls asleep at the library’s table and quite literally drag him to his own bed, muttering about how this is why his back hurts all the time and other righteous, nice things—because you care about him.

and he cares about you.

he’s been a goner for you.

he’s in love with you, too.

that’s why he’ll take everything you have to offer him, over and over. he’ll let you hold him until the sun inevitably comes up again after a nightmare, let your hands touch him when he fall asleep with his laptop and a bunch of books open—and why he barely flinches when he hears your voice in his ears, waking him up, and he’ll let you tow him to his bedroom.

your hands move, reaching for something—dean looks up out of his thoughts to see what it is.

it’s his shirt.

you sit up more, hair sticking up, bunched and messy from dean’s hands running through it—and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. anything more perfect. he’s distracted by your face, your body, so he doesn't really register what you’re doing until he feels his wet shirt on his skin. you’re wiping him off, like he did for you. that’s when it hits him.

you’re trying to take care of him, too.

he looks down at his shirt that’s wiping his own skin, wiping away his own fluids mixed with yours. he’s unable to move or look away from the sight. unable to breathe. in all his years, no one’s done this for him: taken the time to take care of him. to let him be the one taking a break.

your other hand’s gently brushing his skin at his hipbone, almost as softly as his shirt. he blinks, blearily. it’s hard to keep his eyes open, and he can feel his body slowly starting to succumb to sleep under your touch, your care, just laying here in the warmth of you laying by his side—albeit propped up next to him.

he wants to tell you that you don’t have to do this. that he’s perfectly okay with being the caretaker, the one who carries it all. he’s been cast aside like a used tissue after sex—and he’s done the same too, so really, he shouldn’t feel so empty about that when it happens to him, but he does. he’ll take it. take it and bury it deep instead of letting himself feel it. that’s all he knows, all he can do. because he can’t try to unpack everything, not now.

truly, he doesn’t mind if no one ever took care of him—because he’s not allowed to mind. he’s not allowed to feel any sort of way about taking care of others, he just has to do it. no questions, no talkback, no lip. because that’s his job. most of the time, he just ends up pushing people away. he’s not good at showing anything other than anger. but he has everyone taken care of, in the end. at least he has that.

dean doesn’t tell you to stop doesn’t tell you to get off him, or make a joke as you wipe at him. he doesn’t do anything, actually. not a damn thing. he’s not sure why, either. he’s pretty sure he blacked out, instead of being present in the moment. he’s been doing that a lot recently—not knowing what he’s doing, lost in his own thoughts, brain on autopilot. he almost walked into a sign in front of a restaurant in the middle of the sidewalk the other day. a goddamn sign. what the hell was wrong with him lately?

dean finally snaps back into the moment, slowly blinking his eyes at you like an owl. he swallows the words that never came, that never even formed into a thought as looks at you. you're still naked—and that is a sight dean could get used to, that’s for damn sure.

you turn and lean over the edge of his bed a little, and dean immediatley siezes up, a sinking, deveastating feeling weighing on his chest like a dumbell, because this is it. you’re leaving. you got what you wanted, just his body, just to get off, and now you’re leaving. he’s given you everything and more and you’re leaving, leaving him like a toy you don’t want to play with anymore, leaving him like everything and everyone in his life. you’ve already grown bored of him, and now this thing between you is over before it even began.

but then you turn back to face him, your entire expression soft.

you were just putting his shirt you were using on the floor.

oh.

dean tries to look like he didn’t just get scared, but he knows some part of you noticed. he’s vulnrable right now, a easy target. you could walk out his bedroom door right now and he’d probably just cry instead of going after you. he actually feels like he could cry on the spot right now. he hopes you won’t say anything. you usually don’t—just hold him, hug him, touch him without a word.

and oh, how dean loved to be touched by you.

he’d take 40 more years in hell if it meant your hand could brush his face one last time. he’d take an eternity of torture, or he himself doing the torturing in the pit for your arms around him again. he’d kill anyone, steal anything, do whatever it took if it meant being near you.

but he has to act like he wouldn’t do that for you. he’d burn down anything for you to even look in his direction, for your touch on his flannel-clad shoulder, for your kiss on his cheek, an embrace from your arms. yet he had to act normal about it. but you were the only one who knew how to hug him correctly. sam, knew too, by default. but that was different—that’s his brother. his blood.

but you touched him like you’d spent your whole life learning to.

and you even hugged him like second nature, but still molded to the moment, still exactly what he needed. because you always knew where to squeeze, where to rest your head on him, no matter the situation. no matter if you won a hunt, a fight, an apocolaypse, or if you lost, you fit his body like a puzzle piece. like a lock and key. he’d known that—but it was carved into him forever after tonight, and he’d never forget.

because earlier, when he first slid inside you, it’s like the whole world had been off-kilter until he found his way inside you, the way he’s wanted to be inside you for so long. once he’d bottomed out, it’s like the world was right, for once in his life. like everything made sense after so long of it being chaos.

dean knows it’s ridiculous to feel such a thing, especially during sex, but in that moment, he did. he fit so snug, so perfect inside you that it felt like he’d gotten chucked into one of his dreams again, where he was watching you below him, you touching him the way he’s wanted you to touch him for so long. moaning his name, bringing him closer to you with your hands. just for the sake of being close, touching.

he’s been waiting for it. since forever, it feels like. since the moment he laid eyes on you. since the moment he had even an idea of what love was.

he must’ve been staring pretty hard, because one of your hands had made its way up to the side of his face, your eyes searching his expression. you’re looking to see what he’s thinking about. dean hopes it’s not written all over his face, but you seem to know what he’s thinking regardless if his expression shows it or not.

your thumbs brush his cheeks once, twice—still searching. still wanting him. he honestly still can't believe it. he’s not sure he ever will. you being here with him, he’s sure to wake up from this dream at any moment.

but he doesn't. you’re still in front of him. touching him.

and you want him there.

that’s why he lays down and rests his head on your chest with no complaints, no pushback when you tug him towards you after you lay down yourself. he doesn't protest partly because he actually really was fucking tired, but mostly because eventually, you’ll leave him—and dean will have nothing but the memoty of you, of your touch. maybe that’ll be changed, now that you’ve crossed the line he’s wanted to cross for so long now.

your hand finds his way into his hair, gently running your fingers through it and tugging dean out of his thoughts—and he has to bite back a noise from how good it feels. he sighs softly instead, relaxing more on top of you. he wonders if he’s making it hard for you to breathe. it’s happened before.

but you don’t move.

and now he can die happy.

dean would die for anything. it was damn near inevitable in this line of work—and shit, it already happened. he’d die for you, for his brother, his father, or some random person he doesn’t even know. he’ll lay it all down, if it meant saving the world, or even just saving one life. he’d do it. he has done it, over and over.

but you don’t say anything. you just hold him. dean can feel your heartbeat, feel your chest rising and falling. and in that piece of sunlight and everything warm and good, dean knows. he’s always known the terrifying truth about you.

you make him want to live.

and that scares him beyond belief.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

your bedroom was a mess, clothes scattered over the bed haphazardly, jewellery peeking out from under some of them, make-up brushes astray on the vanity table. it was as if a hurricane had wrecked the room. 

you were late, again. on the occasions of your brother-in-law winning the elections, he had arranged for a small get together of his closest confidants. 

you looked into the mirror one last time, dainty fingers adjusting one of your earrings as you caught his eyes  your husband busy staring at you from behind, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed as he patiently waited for you to finish.

even now, after two years of marriage, your heart skipped a beat whenever his eyes found yours, and he stopped in his tracks to drink in your appearance, to adore your very existence, hungry eyes tracing over each and every curve and the way silk clung to your skin. 

your lips split in an involuntary smile as he teasingly wiggled his brows at you, a hint of blush decorated your cheeks. he knew the effect he had on you, the way your heart fluttered. he grinned, that same boyish grin that had you swooning over him in the first place. three easy strides and he was right behind you now. you yelped, in surprise as he took over the task, his fingers replaced yours, fiddling with the tiny clasp of your earring. 

his was too close for your sanity, or whatever was left of it. your back was pressed flush against his chest. once he was done, he rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, still admiring the view in the mirror. you. to him, you were perfect, in every sense of the word.

“mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the prettiest of them all?” he murmured, dragging his nose along the length of your neck. 

you inhaled sharply, melting a little into his touch. allowing to relax against the broad wall of his chest. 

“uzair baloch.” you reply, with a proud smile. 

the laughter vibrates off him and he throws his head back with an overdramatic groan. 

— 

the party was boring, he was grateful it was coming to an end. 

uzair was happy for rehman, he was. the happiest even, he cherished his brother more than anything in the world, he was the one to cheer the loudest for rehman, but he couldn’t stand these lowly politicians and officers who would jump at a chance to double cross rehman baloch. 

so there he was, sitting on the couch, staring into the distance, nursing a glass of whiskey when he caught a glimpse of your dupatta as you disappeared into the hallway. 

on instinct, his legs shot up and he followed your footsteps, hoping to have you in his arms again. all night he had kept to himself, watching you interact with the guests, sitting with the kids and, ulfat and yalina, he was itching to have you by his side, at last. the glass of whiskey is long forgotten and abandoned, condensation leaving a water ring on the wooden table, ulfat was going to kill him but he couldn’t care less. not when you looked so delectable. 

he sees you stepping into the bathroom, and hurries, before you can close the latch, his hands grab the handle and he steps inside, crowding your space. 

your expression is nothing short of scandalized as you stare at him wide eyed and in utter disbelief. he doesn’t let that stop him though, not when he finally has you alone for a moment and he swiftly locks the door. 

everytime he tried to talk to you, yalina or ulfat would whisk you off, the worst was when just as he was about to approach you and faizal came running, stealing you. it felt like everyone was testing him. 

you crossed your arms, giving him a deadpanned stare, but his smile was brighter than the sun and he stepped closer, caging his arms around you, tugging you closer and closer until your nose brushed his. 

he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes flickering to your lips. 

“i missed you.” he rasps, as if staying away from you had pained him deeply. 

“we were literally in the same room.”

he shakes his head, completely dismissing your argument as his hands come up to cup the back of your neck, the other on your waist, tugging you closer as his lips crash yours, and the sheer intensity makes your knees weak. the kiss is a burst of emotion, an explosion of all this pent up energy and yours. it’s gentle and wanting, and rushed. 

you latch onto his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric. you had gotten this kurta for him, a simple, and did he looked devastatingly handsome in it. ulfat noticed the way you sneaked looks at him, the way your gaze lingered on him. she and yalina exchanged looks, giggling, as you were blissfully unaware, busy staring at your husband and the way the fabric stretched over his muscles.

his hands slip under your kameez and you gasp, he grabs the opportunity and his tongue invades your mouth. you can’t help but give in to his touch, a low man emanating from your throat, which only riles him further and he pushes you against the nearest wall. 

“i’ve been wanting to do that all night.” he pulls away, and the confession leaves you breathless. 

you don’t wait for a split second, wrapping your arms around his neck again and pulling him in for yet another desperate kiss. 

it drives you crazy the way his thumbs trace patterns against your bare skin, the way he’s somehow managed to wedge himself between your legs, standing ever so close, as if even an atom’s breadth between your bodies would cause him physical harm. 

you hiss when he digs his teeth in your bottom lip, before lapping it up with his tongue, he earns a harsh slap on his chest at that. he moves away with a cheeky laugh, and a wink. you roll your eyes, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

the moment of peace doesn’t last long and uzair begins his ministrations again, licking a stripe on your neck, nipping and biting the delicate skin before blowing air on it. your legs turn to jelly, and you send him a warning glare, which he giddily ignores and repeats the process, intent of ravishing you, one hickey at a time. 

uzair is dedicated and meticulous as he leaves a trail of red and purple marks down your neck. a knock on the door interrupts his mission, just as you were about to reach for the waistband of his bottoms. 

“uzair?” its rehman, uzair actively ignores it, choosing to focus on the soft skin of your neck. 

the two of you pale when he knocks again, fists banging on the door. uzair exhales loudly, dropping his head to your shoulder and you swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat. 

you immediately smoothen the creases from your clothes, making yourself as presentable as possible.

uzair gulps, meeting your eyes once again and you nod, encouragingly. he hesitantly reaches for the latch and pulls the door open, you hide behind the door, back glued to the wall. 

the silence is staggering, and you can picture the tired expression rehman must be wearing. 

“kya kar raha tha?” 

“vo bhai mera thoda sa pet kharab ho gaya.” uzair stumbles over his words. 

rehman hummed in agreement, closing his eyes for a moment and nodding. the worst was over, or so you thought. just when he was about to leave, you heard ulfat calling your name, and you replied, loudly, on instinct. it was a reflex. 

slapping your hand to your mouth you cursed yourself for being so unbelievably stupid. 

“what is going on?” you heard rehman’s tired voice and decided to step out from behind the door with a sheepish smile.

“hello, bhai.” you peeked out from behind uzair’s back, trying your best to hide your embarrassment, and to convince him that absolutely nothing was going on. you were just helping uzair with his kurta, right? right. 

“i did not expect this from you.” rehman sent you a disapproving look. 

“we didn't do anything!" you interjected, and he narrowed his eyes. uzair was tongue tied, his ears turned red. 

“oh, there you are-” ulfat stopped in her tracks noticing the current predicament, before smiling suggestively. 

“look what we have here.” lips turned up in a sly smile, she is having way too much fun with this, crossing her arms on her chest. 

“they say they weren’t doing anything.” rehman replies, still staring at the pair of you. 

“that’s a lie!” ulfat laughs, bumping shoulders with her husband. “look at uzair’s hair, it looks worse than a bird’s nest.”

you wince, embarrassed, that had been your handiwork, but his hair was so smooth and you couldn’t resist when he was leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. 

rehman clicks his tongue, and you see uzair opening his mouth to speak, you clutch his hand before he can make it worse, because god knows, he has a knack for saying wrongs things at the worst time. 

rehman leaves, shaking his head and ulfat drags you away to the kitchen, her laughter inevitably brings a smile to your face, leaving uzair standing like a lost puppy.

the teasing doesn’t stop. it drags on for days, weeks, even. 

everytime you and uzair are found in the hallway, kitchen, balcony, suspiciously avoiding company, rehman just reaches his tiptoes and smacks uzair’s head and every time you fail to stop the giggles pouring out of your lips.

rehman is tired, he feels like he has four children, two of which refuse to keep their hands off themselves. 

author’s note: im sorry this took so long, so i feel like sharing some lore. i had back to back exams for a week, injured my shoulder somehow during theory papers and had to take painkillers to be able to write, had a paper on my birthday, GOT SICK. im still sick. overhwhelmed myself by trying to work on my 8742382838 wips together. so yes im sorry this took so lomg </3 but i made bread today. so. ig it all works out.

now lets get to the memes

uzair when his wife

uzair when rehman knocked on the door

reader peeking out from behind uzair

reader lying to rehman as if she wasn’t about to get dicked down

taglist: taglist: @y0uneversawmehere @kenkozkmg @geometric-circle @maelstromic @bitchy-bi-trash @tessa-bl @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @multifandom-boss-bitch @rini4everdreaming @ashnotashkechum @nerdreader @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @ninnimouse @yyappuccin0 @draculauras-stuff @professor-cant-fuck  @warnermeadowsgirl @sanpiece @zahraluvslilies @losraire @sparksfromhell @persistentgremlinrefuge @skiicoreee @cakiebleh @nervouscashrascalflowers @myvarya @roses-and-iron @baddiefication101 @wan2bey-n @sanpiece @twinblueflamee @desigurlie @euphorkive @tanipartner @erenfox @softurns @akinrawsx @yembarzal @finding-chirag @goldenharrysworld @dumbestchaos @vienna-awaits-me @scentedwolfdragon @seasonofthenerd @shadyalpaca13 @pavbhajisupremacist @golgappalicious

" You know, 'Major Ji' is a bit formal.. since we are getting along so well... perhaps you should practice a more traditional term. Like 'Aathumpookkarar'.."

"Oh... is that a Tamil term for a protective brother?"

​ "Not exactly. It means.. 'The man of the house.' Or...~"

Aarush has fainted.

​ Coming Soon!

The lies are big. The Major is hot.

And the house? It’s officially FULL.

A Housefull Fanfiction;

📜 𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂

Beneath the watchful eyes of the Baloch brothers, independence is a dangerous luxury. (Y/N) thought she was safe as the ward of the Haveli, but Uzair Baloch, the man who once made her childhood a misery, has traded his schoolboy taunts for a predator’s patience. Now, the 'Bhondu' of Lyari is gone, replaced by a king who will burn her books, bar her doors, and break her spirit just to ensure she never looks at another man.

⚠️ 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

Dark Romance • Toxic Obsession • Dub-Con • Psychological Horror •Forced Proximity•Power Imbalance•Underworld/Gangster• Perverted/Degradative Language.

Tropes: Bully-to-Stalker,"She's mine," Scared Reader, Forced Proximity, obsessive love,dark romance.

A/N :Welcome to the dark side of Lyari. This Uzair isn’t the ‘bhondu’ you remember from the early days—he’s grown into the king of his own twisted world. Please read the warnings before proceeding. This is a work of fiction and depicts unhealthy relationship dynamics.

[ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀 👇 ]

The sun over Lyari was always unforgiving, casting harsh shadows across the narrow, dust-choked lanes where the scent of diesel and spice hung heavy in the air. Inside the towering walls of the Baloch Haveli, however, the air felt different, thick with a deceptive stillness that whispered of power and blood. You sat in the central courtyard, the marble cool beneath you, as you guided Faisal through his homework. You were the girl the war had left behind, a survivor of the crossfire that claimed your parents, taken in by Rehman Baloch and his wife, Ulfat. To the world, they were the kings of the underworld; to you, they were the only family you had left. You worked hard to repay their kindness, cooking, cleaning, and caring for Faisal, all while clinging to the hope your college education would one day give you a life of your own.

"Baji, ye math wala sawal phir se samjhayein na?" Faisal asked, tilting his head with innocent frustration. You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you pulled his notebook closer. "Dekho Faisal, agar Rehman bhai ke paas das gaadiyan hain aur do chori ho jayein, toh kitni bachi?" You tried to make the lesson relatable to his world, but your heart skipped a beat when the heavy iron gates groaned open. Heavy boots thudded against the stone. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. Uzair Baloch. Rehman’s younger brother. The man who had spent his childhood making your life a living hell. Back then, he was the 'bhondu'—the awkward, clumsy bully who broke your dolls and hid your schoolbags. But the boy had grown into a predator, and the bullying had curdled into something far more dangerous.

Uzair stepped into the courtyard, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the space. He was covered in the grime of the streets, his eyes dark and restless. He stopped, staring at you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. You immediately looked down, focusing on the notebook. "Faisal, abhi tak padh raha hai? Chal bahar nikal, tere liye naya cricket bat laya hoon," Uzair’s voice was a low growl that vibrated in your chest. Faisal cheered and scrambled away, leaving you alone in the sudden, deafening silence. You stood up quickly, clutching your dupatta.

"Uzair bhai, main zara kitchen mein dekh loon, Ulfat Bhabi bula rahi hongi," you murmured, trying to sidestep him. But Uzair moved with the speed of a snake, blocking your path. His large frame towered over you, smelling of expensive tobacco and something metallic. "Bhai mat bol mujhe. Kitni baar kaha hai?" He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your ear. You stepped back, but your heel caught on the edge of a planter. He grabbed your arm to steady you, his grip lingering a second too long, his fingers digging into your soft skin. "Tum mujhse itna darti kyun ho? Bachpan mein to bada ladti thi mujhse jab main tumhari gudiya todta tha," he teased, but there was no warmth in his smirk.

You found a flicker of courage and met his gaze. "Tab aap sirf shararti the, Uzair. Ab aap... ab aap badal gaye hain." His smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated possession. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you back until your spine hit the cold stone pillar. "Badla nahi hoon, samajhdaar ho gaya hoon. Tab main bhondu tha, samajh nahi aata tha ki tumhare baalon ko kheenchna meri mohabbat thi ya nafrat. Par ab mujhe sab saaf dikhta hai." You tried to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "Chhodiye mujhe, koi dekh lega." Uzair laughed, a dark, melodic sound. "Dekhne de! Ye ghar mera hai, ye Lyari meri hai. Aur is ghar mein jo kuch hai, wo bhi mera hai. Samjhi?" He traced the line of your jaw with a rough thumb, his eyes roaming over your face with a hunger that felt like a violation.

Later that evening, the haveli was bustling with the arrival of Rehman’s men. You stayed in the kitchen, helping Ulfat Bhabi prepare a feast. Your hands were shaking as you chopped vegetables. "Kya hua beta? Aaj badi khamosh ho?" Ulfat Bhabi asked, noticing your distress. You forced a smile, your heart heavy. "Bas Bhabi, college ke exams ka thoda tension hai." Ulfat sighed, stirring a large pot of biryani. "Pata nahi Rehman ne tumhe itni chhoot kyun di hai padhne ki. Humare yahan to betiyan ghar sambhalti hain. Par khair, tum to humari beti jaisi ho. Jao, ye chai ka cup Uzair ke kamre mein de aao, wo kab se upar hai." Your stomach dropped. The last place you wanted to be was in Uzair’s private sanctuary. "Bhabi, wo... main Faisal ko dekh loon?" "Nahi, wo so gaya hai. Jao jaldi se, Uzair gusse mein hoga, use chai chahiye hogi."

You carried the tray up the stairs as if you were walking to your execution. Uzair’s room was at the very end of the hall, isolated and silent. You knocked softly, hoping he wouldn't hear. "Aa jao," came the curt reply. You entered to find him standing on the balcony, his shirt discarded, his back a map of scars and tattoos. The sight of his bare, muscular torso made you flush with a mix of fear and unwanted heat. You placed the tray on the table, turning to flee. "Ruko," he commanded without turning around. He held a tattered photograph in his hand. You froze, your back to him.

Uzair walked toward you, his footsteps silent on the rug. He stopped right behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Ye dekho," he whispered, holding the photo in front of your face. It was a picture from your childhood, you were crying because he had pulled a prank on you. "Tum roti hui bhi kitni pyaari lagti thi. Aaj bhi lagti ho jab darti ho." You spun around, your eyes brimming with tears of anger. "Aapko maza aata hai mujhe pareshan karne mein? Kyun karte hain aap aisa?" Uzair reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly gentle, which was somehow more terrifying than his rage. "Maza nahi aata. Sukoon milta hai. Jab tum mujhse darti ho, to mujhe lagta hai ki tumhare zehan mein sirf main hoon. Chahe wo dar hi kyun na ho, par hoon to main hi na?"

You tried to retreat, but he snagged your waist, pulling you flush against his hard chest. "Uzair! Ye kya badtameezi hai? Main koi bazaar ki ladki nahi hoon!" you cried out. His eyes darkened, a flash of something primal and perverse dancing in them. "Badtameezi? Abhi to maine shuru bhi nahi ki. Tumhe lagta hai ki Rehman bhai ne tumhe yahan beti banakar rakha hai to tum bach jaogi? Wo mera bada bhai hai, meri har zidd poori karta hai. Aur meri sabse badi zidd tum ho." He gripped your face, his fingers pressing into your cheeks. "College jati ho na? Sundar ban kar? Wahan ladke dekhte honge tumhe? Batati kyun nahi?"

"Koi nahi dekhta! Main sirf padhne jati hoon!" you sobbed. Uzair buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before nipping at your skin. You gasped as a sharp pain bloomed there. "Ye nishaan yaad dilayega ki tum kiski amanat ho. Agli baar college jao to dupatta dhang se odhna, warna main tumhare us college ko aag laga dunga." You pushed against his chest, but he was immovable. "Aap... aap bimaar hain, Uzair. Ye mohabbat nahi hai," you whispered brokenly. Uzair pulled back, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then slowly licking the salt from his skin. "Mohabbat kise chahiye? Mujhe to tum chahiye. Poori ki poori. Tumhari ye dehsat, tumhara ye gussa, sab mera hai."

He let you go suddenly, sinking into a chair. "Chai peeni hai mujhe. Pilao." Your hands trembled as you poured the tea, the clinking of the porcelain loud in the room. He watched you like a hawk, his eyes never leaving your trembling form. "Kal se tum college nahi jaogi. Ulfat se keh dunga ki tumhare liye koi rishta aaya hai." The world seemed to tilt. "Nahi! Uzair, please aisa mat kijiye. Meri padhai... wahi to ek cheez hai mere paas." Uzair slammed the cup onto the table, the tea splashing over the lace cloth. "Tumhare paas main hoon! Padh likh kar kya banogi? Kisi babu ki biwi? Nahi. Tum Lyari ke badshah ki rani banogi. Chahe tumhari marzi ho ya na ho."

You turned to run, but he caught you before you could reach the door, pinning you against the wood. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. "Bhagti kahan ho? Bachpan se bhag rahi ho. Kabhi school ke peeche chhupti thi, kabhi Bhabi ke piche. Par ab kahan jaogi? Ye poora shehar mera qabristaan hai, jahan main jise chahoon zinda dafan kar doon." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Mujhe wo bhondu Uzair mat samajhna jo tumhare rone par pighal jata tha. Ab mujhe tumhare rone se fark nahi padta... balki maza aata hai."

He bit your earlobe, a sharp, possessive gesture. "Kal se tum kahin nahi jaogi. Sirf mere paas rahogi. Faisal ko padhana hai padhao, par sham ko mere kamre mein milogi. Samjhi?" You nodded weakly, the fight leaving your body. You knew Rehman wouldn't cross Uzair when it came to his obsessions. Uzair released you, and you scrambled to your room, locking the door and collapsing against it. You spent the night mourning the girl you used to be. You remembered him as the awkward boy who didn't know how to express his feelings, but that boy was dead. In his place was a man who wanted to own your soul.

Taglist :— [want to be tagged? just ask 🤍] @dhoodhsoda , @harrystyleskiwi9 ,

@anxiousbeeing , @eypresho ,

@roses-and-iron , @rosiasthings

@seasonofthenerd , @batata04

@chocolate-and-trouble ,

@gulaabjamun08 , @kamalkafool ,

@itsnotmai , @philosophical38

Lyari was a bleak place, always had been. The frequent gang wars breaking out every now and then made it a very dangerous place and ironically, a very boring place to live in. Even the news was repetitive.

However, Hamza Ali Mazari, on one such bleak night finds the strangest blog he’s ever seen “HAI KOI MUSHQIL? AAO TAY KREIN TUMHARA MUSTAQBIL”

He scrolled through and saw people asking random question and receiving absolutely absurd answers. Like-

“Mujhe khana banana nhi ata. Mere shauhar ko wazan ghatana hai isliye woh ghar ka khana chahte h. Mai kaise apne shohar ko khilaungi?”

Ans-“Apke shauhar se kahei ki woh begum laaye hain naukar nhi, zyada hi takleef ho toh khud bana le. Waise agar bhookhe rahenge toh unka wazan jaldi ghatega. Mera kehna hai ki unhe khana hi na dein.”

“Gharwale meri shaadi karana chahte h kyunki unhe pote-potiyan chahie. Mai nhi karna chahta shaadi aur bache dono. Kya karu?”

Ans- “ nasbandi kara lo. Waise bhi abadi zyada hi badh gyi hai.”

“Mere shauhar raat bhar kharatein lete hai. Roz neend barbad hoti hai. Kya karu? Ans- “Laat markar bistar se gira do. Waise saza bhi de sakti ho, raat bhar ghar ka sara kaam karwao, bartan se lekar jhaadu tak. Neend se important kuch nhi.”

Hamza was absolutely bewitched by the blog. He found it to be extremely difficult to tear his eyes away from the screen. He stayed up all night scrolling through it and found that it was run a girl named Y/N. She was unhinged. The next morning he couldn’t resist showing Donga and Siyahi, only to find that they already knew about the blog. Apparently it was quite popular among the bored younger generation. Siyahi revealed that it was Donga who had asked “Khana khane se pet bhar jata h kya karu?”, to which she had replied, “Arre yeh toh badi mushkil ki baat hai. Waise pet bharne ke liye hi khaate hain ya mujhe school mein galat bataya gaya tha?”

Later that night, as he lay in bed, he once again searched up the blog and saw that there was a fresh post-

“Lyari ka sabse elegible bachelor kaun lagta hai aapko?” Ans-“ Waise mujhe toh single hi marna hai par sach mei Sher-e-Baloch ka bhai kya maal hai yaar. Yeh Uzair itna hot hai mujhe mil jae toh kidnap kr ke rakh lu apne paas. Dekho iss blog par mujhe jab itna pyaar dete hi ho toh Uzair se bhi milwa do, main bhi usse apna pyaar de dun.”

Hamza’s eyes widened in surprise. Only someone really bold would make such a statement about the dreaded gangster on the internet. It would be comical to see Uzair face this girl. Suddenly, he had the perfect solution to end his boredom.

Oblivious to her impending doom, Y/N stayed in her room, her face illuminated by the light of her phone as she sighed dramatically. She had been crushing over the younger Baloch for years but never approached him. She had just seen him at the market this very morning and felt that her heart would jump out of her chest. As bold and outspoken as she seemed on her blog, it was merely behind the shield of her screen. In real life, she was too shy to even ask for sugar in her chai. She was the quiet kid of her class and had remained so even in college. Only the ones who truly knew her were aware of exactly what a firecracker she could be.

As Hamza walked into the factory, he made his way straight to Uzair.

“Mere bhai, tere itne aashiq hai aur mujhe bataya bhi nhi?”

Uzair, surprised at his words, smacked him on the head, “Subah subah maal fook kr aya hai kya be?”

“Saale maal toh tu hai. Yeh dekh”

Hamza shoved the screen in front of his face. Uzair’s eyes darted across the screen reading the words that made a blush creep up his neck. Uzair had never been unattractive, but his intimidating demeanour and his line of work were reason enough to never be approached by a female. He had never thought that he would be the one who would be the focus of someone’s attraction, he never noticed the longing glances he received when he stepped out, neither did he understand the subtle hints that a few daring women from rich families gave him. The words on the screen were a surprise to Uzair. He was brought back to reality as Hamza’s booming laughter echoed through the room.

“Bhai tujhe isse milna hi hoga. Patakha hai bilkul. Tere baare mein aisi baatein koi aam insan toh nhi kahega. Aalam bhai ki dukaan par bulaate hai aur milwate hai tujhe isse.”

“Saale tune sach mei nashe kr lie hai. Kisi anjaan ladki se kaise milwa dega, Upar se tujhe kya pata woh ladka nikli toh? Aur waise bhi aise bulane se thodi aegi woh.” The idea of meeting a girl flustered Uzair more than he’d ever admit.

“Bhai Pagal h Tere peeche. Bilkul aaegi aur agar na aai toh treat meri taraf se. Bas Ek baar maan jaa tu.” Hamza further stressed his point by showing more posts regarding him which Y/N had answered by thirsting over Uzair Baloch and his existence and declaring him as the love of her life.

“Chal bula le.”

Uzair would never tell Hamza that he was actually excited to meet the only person who had ever voiced their feelings towards him. While Rehman and Ulfat had given him a lot of love, Uzair had always wanted someone to be just his.

Hamza’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and his fingers rapidly typed

“Agar Itna pyaar hai Uzair se toh kal 5 baje Aalam Juice Shop aa jaao. Kya pata tumhe apna pyaar izhar karne ka mauka mil jae.”

Y/N had just left class when the notification made her stop in her tracks causing everyone behind her to grumble in annoyance because she was blocking the path. Her best friend Nafisa dragged her away from the crowd and sat down at a tea stall.

“Pagal ho gyi hai? Chalte Chalte Ruk gyi. Aisa kya hua?”

Y/N, still shocked to her core, remained speechless. It was only when Nafisa shook her that she handed her phone to her best friend.

“ YA ALLAH!!! Kaha tha na tujhse yeh and-shand baatein krni hi hai toh asli naam se na kar?! Tu jaane ki toh nhi soch rahi na? Uzair Baloch hai woh. Maar daalega tujhko. Chehra nhi jaanta hai dhoondh nhi paega. Chup chaap ghar jaana aur ghar hi rehna.”

“Par Nafisa agar sach mei milna chah raha hai toh jaane mei kya takleef hai? Mujhe toh yeh bhi nhi pata tha ki uzair Baloch mere blog tak kaise pahucha. Shayad yeh ittefaq nhi, meri taqdeer ho?”

Y/N finally broke her silence, leaving Nafisa stunned, staring at her best friend like she had grown two heads which would have been less absurd than what Y/N was suggesting.

“DIMAAG GHAR CHHOD KAR AAI HAI KYA!!?? Tere se class mei ek question tak toh poocha nhi jata, mere alawa kisi se 4 shabd se zyada ajtak kahe nhi hai tune. Aur koi mazak bhi toh ho sakta hai? Khair jo bhi, tu akele toh nhi jaa sakti.”

“Toh tu maan rahi hai ki Mujhe jana chahie? Aur mazak hua toh juice peekar aa jaenge. Waise ‘I love you’ mein 3 shabd hote hai, Tere hisab se 4 shabd ki limit hai meri, toh perfect baith rhaa hai.”

Y/N earned a well deserved smack on her head. She knew she was being stupid, knew how dangerous this could turn out to be but a part of her nagged at her, screaming that this could be her one chance to come out of her shell and find love.

Nafisa sighed, “Main maan nhi rahi par mai tujhe jaanti hun, tu nhi sunegi meri aur akele main jaane nhi de sakti. Kal 4 baje Tere ghar aa jaungi, fir sath chalenge. Agar main mari toh meri rooh tujhe zindagi bhar darati firegi yaad rakhna.”

Y/N squealed and hugged Nafisa, gathering her things and finally getting ready to head home.

She stayed quiet during dinner which her mother found unusual. Her mother knew how much she loved to talk at home because of how little she could speak outside, her daughter’s silence alerted every cell of her being.

“Badi chup hai tu aaj. Kuch hua hai kya?”

“ Nahi Ammi sab theek hai. Bas thak gyi hu aaj. Main kamre mein jaa rahi, Kal ka din Bahut lamba hai.”

Y/N hurried back into her room, her mind racing with the endless possibilities the next day would bring. Before she could convince herself out of going to meet Uzair, she opened up her blog to distract her.

“Mere pyaare readers, agar kal ke baad main post na karu toh samajh jaana main ya toh pyaar mein Pagal ho gyi ya toh mere pyaar ne Mujhe maar dia… Khair main toh dono mein hi Khush rahungi….”

In his own room, Uzair remained sleepless. Endless questions haunted him, questions one wouldn’t assume a man of his stature would have. He wondered whether it could be his chance at finding the person he could call his. He wondered whether she would show up. He had stayed awake all night going through her blog, laughing at her hilarious replies, her straightforward manner and her honesty. He blushed over the posts she had made about him. However, his anxiety was eating him up inside, what if she wouldn’t like him? What if she was merely joking? What if she was disgusted by him? What if she never gave him a chance?

5pm could not arrive slower for Uzair, he remained restless throughout the day and left early with Hamza. On the other side of the city, Y/N skipped her last few classes and scurried home with Nafisa following her. All her clothes now seemed useless and ugly. Finally she decided to go for jeans, a short dark blue Kurti that complemented her complexion and lined her brown eyes with kohl. She stacked bracelets and put on a pair of jhumkas. She left her hair open in their natural soft waves and smiled at Nafisa through the mirror. Nafisa gave her a huge hug and kissed her cheek. The girls were ready to go.

As they reached Alam Juice Shop, Nafisa stayed outside while urging Y/N to go in. At exactly 5pm sharp, Y/N entered the shop to find Uzair already seated there. For a moment, she wondered whether to directly approach him or to browse through the menu first. Before she could make a decision, she felt a pair of eyes stare at her, only then did she notice exactly how empty the shop was; it was only Uzair and her inside, except Alam bhai and hamza behind the counter.

She quietly made her way to Uzair who stood up to greet her. She wasn’t what he had expected. She was tiny, her eyes were trained on the floor and her hands kept fidgeting with her bracelets. She didn’t seem like the bold, outspoken girl he had read, she seemed hesitant to even meet his eyes.

“Aap hi Y/N hai? Main Uzair. Mujhe pata chala aap milna chahti thi mujhse.”

She finally met his gaze, his stare was intense, reading every detail of her face. She noticed how much taller he was in comparison to her, how broad his shoulders were and how much more intimidating he was in person. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke

“ Ji, main Y/N hun. Maaf kijiyega main kuch bhi likh deti hu, Mujhe nhi laga tha aap kabhi padhenge. Main apko offend nhi karna chahti thi. Mujhe maaf karien”.

“ Aap maafi na maange, main toh khafa hu hi nahi, badi hi pyaari baatein karti hai aap.”

Uzair was dumbfounded at the stark contrast of her Internet personality and her real life self.

“Aap gussa nhi hai? Fir aap mujhse kyu milna chahte the? Dekhiye main ek aam ladki hu bas kuch zyada bol dia maine, Mujhe baksh dein please.”

“Aap blog per toh kaafi chalaki se Bolti hai, asal zindagi mein itni chup aur masoom?”

“Ji, main thoda kam Bolti hu.”

“Aap darrei mat. Main sirf jana chahta tha ki aap sach mein mere baare mein woh sab sochti hain? Mujhe apka sach bolne ka tareeka achha laga, sirf yeh jana hai ki kya mere baare mein bhi sach tha?”

A blush dusted both their cheeks. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to speak or even look at Uzair, she stared at her lap and simply nodded. Uzair had been lost in her beauty, the way her Kurti sat on her body, her kohl lined eyes, the way her hands kept running along her bracelets, the way her eyes had a hint of mischief despite her silence. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Aap Bahut khoobsurat hai. Aap ki baatein Mujhe Bahut achhi lagi, Raat bhar jaga raha apka blog padhte padhte. Main sirf aapki baatein ko screen par Padhna nhi chahta aapse sunna chahta hu, apki awaz jo aap apne tak seemit rakhti hai usse din bhar sunna chahta hu. Main apko jaana chahta hu.”

Y/N stared in shock, her pulse thundering in her ears as his words etched themselves in her brain. He actually liked her. He actually wanted her. This wasn’t a cruel joke, she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Apko meri bakwas baatein achi lagi?”

“Itni achhi ki poori zindagi sunna chahta hu agar aap chahei toh.”

Her words tumbled out of her mouth before she could catch herself

“Uzair, aap Mujhe Bahut pasand hai. Main itni sharmili hu ki kabhi bhi aise kisi se bhi Milne nhi aati par aapko Soch kar main yaha bhi aa gyi. Par main ek aam ladki hu, mai logo se baat tak nhi karti,aap mujhse bore ho jaenge.”

Her eyes retreated to her hands again, her insecurities biting away at her confidence.

“Bore hone ka koi sawaal hi nhi uthta. Aapne apna blog dekha hai? Jab woh itna interesting hai toh uske peeche ki insan toh aur bhi interesting hogi, aur aap Itni haseen hai ki jab chup rahengi toh apko dekhte hue mera wakt kat jaega.”

A smile finally broke out on her face as crimson dusted her cheeks.

“Aap sach mein pasand krte hai mujhe?”

“Aajtak mujhe kisi ne kabhi nhi Kaha ki main unhe Achha lagta hu aur apne toh poore internet pe izhar kar dia. Aapke unn jawabon ke beech chhuppi shayari bhi Padhi hai maine, apke dimaag se impress ho gya hun. Aap ijazat dei toh ab apko impress karu.”

Y/n nodded her head as a small laugh escaped her lips. Uzair smiled so wide that his eyes crinkled up. Hamza and Alam bhai hugged each other behind the counter. That night her blog was updated,

“Shayad main poori tarah clinically pagal hu par kyuki main pyaar mein pagal hu toh sirf ek aashiq hu. Agar pyaar hai toh izhaar toh karna hoga, aur agar pyaar Uzair Baloch se hai toh fir toh darna hoga, kyuki ab mere alawa jisne bhi unhe dekhni ke liye ankh uthai, unki ankhein Nikal ke gotiyan khelungi main.”

The post had one single reply after which the comments were disabled,

@uzairbaloch-“Tum toh meri chhupi Rustom nikli.”

Months later, Uzair and Y/n were the happiest a couple could be. The first two dates were awkward and more like interviews than dates but once they got through that it was a smooth road. Uzair found out exactly how hilarious and fun Y/n was and Y/n found someone who wouldn’t judge her humour and laughed along with her on the silliest things. She found love in a man who listened to her word and her silences with such devotion that it made her fall deeper in love. Uzair found love in someone who filled every empty space in his heart and someone who always reminded him to laugh. Finally, Uzair had someone he called his own, his jaan, his Y/n.

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📜 𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂

Beneath the watchful eyes of the Baloch brothers, independence is a dangerous luxury. (Y/N) thought she was safe as the ward of the Haveli, but Uzair Baloch, the man who once made her childhood a misery, has traded his schoolboy taunts for a predator’s patience. Now, the 'Bhondu' of Lyari is gone, replaced by a king who will burn her books, bar her doors, and break her spirit just to ensure she never looks at another man.

⚠️ 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

Dark Romance • Toxic Obsession • Dub-Con • Psychological Horror •Forced Proximity•Power Imbalance•Underworld/Gangster• Perverted/Degradative Language.

Tropes: Bully-to-Stalker,"She's mine," Scared Reader, Forced Proximity, obsessive love,dark romance.

A/N :Welcome to the dark side of Lyari. This Uzair isn’t the ‘bhondu’ you remember from the early days—he’s grown into the king of his own twisted world. Please read the warnings before proceeding. This is a work of fiction and depicts unhealthy relationship dynamics.

[ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀 👇 ]

The sun over Lyari was always unforgiving, casting harsh shadows across the narrow, dust-choked lanes where the scent of diesel and spice hung heavy in the air. Inside the towering walls of the Baloch Haveli, however, the air felt different, thick with a deceptive stillness that whispered of power and blood. You sat in the central courtyard, the marble cool beneath you, as you guided Faisal through his homework. You were the girl the war had left behind, a survivor of the crossfire that claimed your parents, taken in by Rehman Baloch and his wife, Ulfat. To the world, they were the kings of the underworld; to you, they were the only family you had left. You worked hard to repay their kindness, cooking, cleaning, and caring for Faisal, all while clinging to the hope your college education would one day give you a life of your own.

"Baji, ye math wala sawal phir se samjhayein na?" Faisal asked, tilting his head with innocent frustration. You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you pulled his notebook closer. "Dekho Faisal, agar Rehman bhai ke paas das gaadiyan hain aur do chori ho jayein, toh kitni bachi?" You tried to make the lesson relatable to his world, but your heart skipped a beat when the heavy iron gates groaned open. Heavy boots thudded against the stone. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. Uzair Baloch. Rehman’s younger brother. The man who had spent his childhood making your life a living hell. Back then, he was the 'bhondu'—the awkward, clumsy bully who broke your dolls and hid your schoolbags. But the boy had grown into a predator, and the bullying had curdled into something far more dangerous.

Uzair stepped into the courtyard, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the space. He was covered in the grime of the streets, his eyes dark and restless. He stopped, staring at you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. You immediately looked down, focusing on the notebook. "Faisal, abhi tak padh raha hai? Chal bahar nikal, tere liye naya cricket bat laya hoon," Uzair’s voice was a low growl that vibrated in your chest. Faisal cheered and scrambled away, leaving you alone in the sudden, deafening silence. You stood up quickly, clutching your dupatta.

"Uzair bhai, main zara kitchen mein dekh loon, Ulfat Bhabi bula rahi hongi," you murmured, trying to sidestep him. But Uzair moved with the speed of a snake, blocking your path. His large frame towered over you, smelling of expensive tobacco and something metallic. "Bhai mat bol mujhe. Kitni baar kaha hai?" He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your ear. You stepped back, but your heel caught on the edge of a planter. He grabbed your arm to steady you, his grip lingering a second too long, his fingers digging into your soft skin. "Tum mujhse itna darti kyun ho? Bachpan mein to bada ladti thi mujhse jab main tumhari gudiya todta tha," he teased, but there was no warmth in his smirk.

You found a flicker of courage and met his gaze. "Tab aap sirf shararti the, Uzair. Ab aap... ab aap badal gaye hain." His smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated possession. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you back until your spine hit the cold stone pillar. "Badla nahi hoon, samajhdaar ho gaya hoon. Tab main bhondu tha, samajh nahi aata tha ki tumhare baalon ko kheenchna meri mohabbat thi ya nafrat. Par ab mujhe sab saaf dikhta hai." You tried to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "Chhodiye mujhe, koi dekh lega." Uzair laughed, a dark, melodic sound. "Dekhne de! Ye ghar mera hai, ye Lyari meri hai. Aur is ghar mein jo kuch hai, wo bhi mera hai. Samjhi?" He traced the line of your jaw with a rough thumb, his eyes roaming over your face with a hunger that felt like a violation.

Later that evening, the haveli was bustling with the arrival of Rehman’s men. You stayed in the kitchen, helping Ulfat Bhabi prepare a feast. Your hands were shaking as you chopped vegetables. "Kya hua beta? Aaj badi khamosh ho?" Ulfat Bhabi asked, noticing your distress. You forced a smile, your heart heavy. "Bas Bhabi, college ke exams ka thoda tension hai." Ulfat sighed, stirring a large pot of biryani. "Pata nahi Rehman ne tumhe itni chhoot kyun di hai padhne ki. Humare yahan to betiyan ghar sambhalti hain. Par khair, tum to humari beti jaisi ho. Jao, ye chai ka cup Uzair ke kamre mein de aao, wo kab se upar hai." Your stomach dropped. The last place you wanted to be was in Uzair’s private sanctuary. "Bhabi, wo... main Faisal ko dekh loon?" "Nahi, wo so gaya hai. Jao jaldi se, Uzair gusse mein hoga, use chai chahiye hogi."

You carried the tray up the stairs as if you were walking to your execution. Uzair’s room was at the very end of the hall, isolated and silent. You knocked softly, hoping he wouldn't hear. "Aa jao," came the curt reply. You entered to find him standing on the balcony, his shirt discarded, his back a map of scars and tattoos. The sight of his bare, muscular torso made you flush with a mix of fear and unwanted heat. You placed the tray on the table, turning to flee. "Ruko," he commanded without turning around. He held a tattered photograph in his hand. You froze, your back to him.

Uzair walked toward you, his footsteps silent on the rug. He stopped right behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Ye dekho," he whispered, holding the photo in front of your face. It was a picture from your childhood, you were crying because he had pulled a prank on you. "Tum roti hui bhi kitni pyaari lagti thi. Aaj bhi lagti ho jab darti ho." You spun around, your eyes brimming with tears of anger. "Aapko maza aata hai mujhe pareshan karne mein? Kyun karte hain aap aisa?" Uzair reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly gentle, which was somehow more terrifying than his rage. "Maza nahi aata. Sukoon milta hai. Jab tum mujhse darti ho, to mujhe lagta hai ki tumhare zehan mein sirf main hoon. Chahe wo dar hi kyun na ho, par hoon to main hi na?"

You tried to retreat, but he snagged your waist, pulling you flush against his hard chest. "Uzair! Ye kya badtameezi hai? Main koi bazaar ki ladki nahi hoon!" you cried out. His eyes darkened, a flash of something primal and perverse dancing in them. "Badtameezi? Abhi to maine shuru bhi nahi ki. Tumhe lagta hai ki Rehman bhai ne tumhe yahan beti banakar rakha hai to tum bach jaogi? Wo mera bada bhai hai, meri har zidd poori karta hai. Aur meri sabse badi zidd tum ho." He gripped your face, his fingers pressing into your cheeks. "College jati ho na? Sundar ban kar? Wahan ladke dekhte honge tumhe? Batati kyun nahi?"

"Koi nahi dekhta! Main sirf padhne jati hoon!" you sobbed. Uzair buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before nipping at your skin. You gasped as a sharp pain bloomed there. "Ye nishaan yaad dilayega ki tum kiski amanat ho. Agli baar college jao to dupatta dhang se odhna, warna main tumhare us college ko aag laga dunga." You pushed against his chest, but he was immovable. "Aap... aap bimaar hain, Uzair. Ye mohabbat nahi hai," you whispered brokenly. Uzair pulled back, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then slowly licking the salt from his skin. "Mohabbat kise chahiye? Mujhe to tum chahiye. Poori ki poori. Tumhari ye dehsat, tumhara ye gussa, sab mera hai."

He let you go suddenly, sinking into a chair. "Chai peeni hai mujhe. Pilao." Your hands trembled as you poured the tea, the clinking of the porcelain loud in the room. He watched you like a hawk, his eyes never leaving your trembling form. "Kal se tum college nahi jaogi. Ulfat se keh dunga ki tumhare liye koi rishta aaya hai." The world seemed to tilt. "Nahi! Uzair, please aisa mat kijiye. Meri padhai... wahi to ek cheez hai mere paas." Uzair slammed the cup onto the table, the tea splashing over the lace cloth. "Tumhare paas main hoon! Padh likh kar kya banogi? Kisi babu ki biwi? Nahi. Tum Lyari ke badshah ki rani banogi. Chahe tumhari marzi ho ya na ho."

You turned to run, but he caught you before you could reach the door, pinning you against the wood. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. "Bhagti kahan ho? Bachpan se bhag rahi ho. Kabhi school ke peeche chhupti thi, kabhi Bhabi ke piche. Par ab kahan jaogi? Ye poora shehar mera qabristaan hai, jahan main jise chahoon zinda dafan kar doon." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Mujhe wo bhondu Uzair mat samajhna jo tumhare rone par pighal jata tha. Ab mujhe tumhare rone se fark nahi padta... balki maza aata hai."

He bit your earlobe, a sharp, possessive gesture. "Kal se tum kahin nahi jaogi. Sirf mere paas rahogi. Faisal ko padhana hai padhao, par sham ko mere kamre mein milogi. Samjhi?" You nodded weakly, the fight leaving your body. You knew Rehman wouldn't cross Uzair when it came to his obsessions. Uzair released you, and you scrambled to your room, locking the door and collapsing against it. You spent the night mourning the girl you used to be. You remembered him as the awkward boy who didn't know how to express his feelings, but that boy was dead. In his place was a man who wanted to own your soul.

Taglist :— [want to be tagged? just ask 🤍] @dhoodhsoda , @harrystyleskiwi9 ,

@anxiousbeeing , @eypresho ,

@roses-and-iron , @rosiasthings

@seasonofthenerd , @batata04

@chocolate-and-trouble ,

@gulaabjamun08 , @kamalkafool ,

@itsnotmai , @philosophical38

Chapter 1.

"Asiya ja baltiyan bhar de!" Shanti called out to her daughter. Asiya, who was lounging lazily on the old cot placed just outside her now hut, let out a soft groan.

A few little humans surrounded her—one was massaging her feet, while the other two were pressing her shoulders with their tiny hands. "Chunnu, Munnu yaar, thoda joor se!" she commanded, not even opening her eyes, and they immediately obeyed, putting in all their strength.

"JATTI HAI YA MEIN AAU—"

“JAA RAHI NA AMMA!!" Asiya immediately replied, jolting upright and getting off the cot. "Chalo, aaj ka itna hi," she stretched her arms lazily, bones cracking slightly as she stood up.

"Aapi kal aap homework mein madad kardogi naa..." the 6-year-old Noor asked timidly, looking up at the lazy 18-year-old with hopeful eyes.

"Han han chalo jao! Shaam ko aana! Toffee dungi." Asiya replied, picking up the steel buckets with a practiced ease.

The little humans—her tiny army—nodded their heads excitedly and ran away, their laughter echoing through the narrow lanes.

In the last six months, Asiya living here would describe her lifestyle as… new.

Well, she was a city girl, and she never realized how many resources she had until her life here began.

There was only one computer here, which was Shehbaz's. And even the internet access was so slow that she had given up browsing altogether.

Shehbaz's...

That boy never left her alone. Just one year younger than her, he followed her like a bee drawn to flowers. He was a bit annoying at first, always hovering, always talking—but then, she got used to his presence.

A nagging mother who instructed her 24/7, and also—the surprising news—her father worked for Rehman Dakait. He lived away from them, working in the gun factory, but he stayed away from gang matters, as he had a family to return to.

Alia also realized that the previous Asiya tutored kids here, which also included Shirani’s grandson. Alia didn’t have a hard time adjusting to that. Well, she had done computer science in her previous life. So this felt much easier...

Previous life...

Asiya felt a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she thought about it. In the first few months, she felt like an imposter among them.

But she had to adjust.

So she did.

In this life, she decided she would do things she couldn’t do before—choosing what she wanted to study, learning some art, and maybe exploring something else in the future if her interest sparked. But right now, she had to pass her 12th again.

But at this moment, she was filling up her steel buckets as instructed by her mother.

"Bibi!"

Asiya immediately rolled her eyes at the familiar voice.

"Aapko madad chahiye kya..?" he sang from behind, way too excited for no reason.

"Han ye balti utha, aur ghar tak leke chal." And Shehbaz happily volunteered, immediately grabbing one of the buckets.

Innocent Shehbaz—following her around, doing her chores for her.

She also tutored him, and in return, he would labor for her.

She didn’t feel guilty. She didn’t ask him to do this. He was doing it himself.

"Bibi aapke exam kabse hai?"

"Agle hafte se."

"Toh uske baad kya karogi?"

"Nini."

"Nini?"

"Soungi."

"Lekin aap sounge kyun—"

"Tujhe kya janna hai Shehbaz, sidhe sidhe puch?" Asiya finally asked, turning around to look at him properly.

The boy sighed, placing the buckets down for a moment before sitting on a large rock nearby, his expression turning pouty.

"Tum bhi chali jaogi..." he mumbled.

Asiya took a deep breath before sitting beside him, dust rising slightly from the ground.

"Toh..? Tu chahta hai ki main na jaun?"

Shehbaz nodded, still not looking at her.

"Tu janta hai na ki kya hoga agar mein nahi gayi."

"Toh tum merese shaddi karlo!" He said suddenly, turning towards her and clasping her soft hands in his. "Mein dadu se baat karlunga! Hum dono phir padhi karenge! Tum mujhe padhati rehna! Aur aage padhna chaho toh—"

"Bhak.." Asiya scolded softly, pulling her hands back. "Ese thodi hota hai. Tu chota hai merese—"

"Bas ek saal! Ek saal mein kuch nahi hota, tum bhi janti ho. Mat jao... bacche bhi nahi chahte ki tum jao..." Asiya took a deep breath.

"Dekh Shehbaz, mujhe aage padhna hai, taaki mein yahan ke liye kuch kar paun! Aur tu bhi agle saal ke baad medical ke liye Lyari ja raha hai! Phir?" Asiya explained patiently.

He might be annoying, but in the last few months, he had become really close to her.

Before he could say anything, she continued, "aur mein kahan humesha ke liye ja rahi hun, bich bich mein aati rahungi na!"

Shehbaz looked at her, tightening his hold slightly.

"Promise," Asiya reassured him.

And in that moment, he hugged her tightly, as if she might disappear any second.

"Mein aungi, promise.." Asiya gently rubbed his back. That only made him hold her tighter.

Right now, Asiya, her small human army, her mother, and Shehbaz were huddled inside Shehbaz's room in front of his computer.

The small room felt crowded, warm, and filled with anticipation.

Asiya was checking her email for the colleges she had applied to.

"Shehbaz yaar internet nahi aa raha!"

"Ruk abhi dekh ke aya!" And with that, he bolted out of the room.

"Aapi aap wo bade wale school jaoge na? Humare liye phir sheher se chizi laoge na?" Chunnu asked, jumping repeatedly to get a glimpse of the screen but failing due to his height.

"Beta tujhe chizi ki padi hai?" Asiya asked, eyes fixed on the screen that had been loading for the last half hour, her leg shaking anxiously.

"Beta ho toh jayega na tera..?" Shanti asked, chanting softly with her prayer beads.

"Han han ho jayega Amma tu na—"

Before she could finish—

"Aapi aa gaya!" Munnu shook her arm excitedly, pointing at the screen.

Asiya immediately turned back and started scrolling through her emails.

Three acceptances.

Asiya grinned proudly, her eyes lighting up.

"Amma teri beti ko teen colleges ne pucha hai!"

Meanwhile, Shanti smiled brightly, continuing her chanting.

"Lyari College of Higher Studies..." before she could scroll further, her mother stopped her.

"Tere abbu yahin bol rahe the!" she chimed.

"Par Amma Karachi se bhi aya hai—"

"Han par tere abbu bhi toh Lyari mein hai na!" Shanti reasoned. "Tere abba hai wahan, tu aaram se reh payegi. Aur mujhe bhi yahan chinta nahi rahegi."

"Mein abba ke sath nahi rahungi," Asiya mumbled, fidgeting with her dupatta.

"Toh kahan rahegi?" Shanti frowned.

"Hostel," Asiya replied.

"Jab tere baba wahan reh rahe hain toh hostel ki kya zarurat hai?" her mother reasoned.

"Mujhe baba ko pareshan nahi karna, mein PG karke reh lungi, aur upar se yaad rakh baba akele nahi rehte!" Asiya had her answers ready.

She wasn’t going to miss out on life this time.

"Mein bata rahi, mein baba ke pass PG karlungi par sath nahi yaar Amma!" Asiya whined.

"Jo karna hai kar," Shanti mumbled and walked out of the room.

Asiya sighed, pouting slightly.

But she had decided.

She was going to live on her own.

"Asiya beta gaadi aa gayi!" Neel shouted as he waited outside.

Shehbaz was already filling the back seat with bags along with his brother.

Shanti was doing aarti, as Asiya was the first in their bloodline to go to college.

This was a very big thing.

"Amma late ho raha hai," Asiya whined, glancing at her Baba, who was talking to Shirani sahab, then back at her mother.

Shanti became emotional while feeding her a mixture of curd and sugar.

"Apna k-khayal rak-khna—" she immediately covered her mouth with her dupatta, tears streaming down.

"Amma yaar! Lyari ja rahi hun! Chaand nahi!" Asiya rolled her eyes, hugging her tightly.

Neel approached them. "Arre tumhara hua ya nahi—" then he noticed his weeping wife. "Jaan Lyari hi ja rahi hai, chaand nahi—"

He immediately stopped at his wife’s glare.

Asiya patted her mother’s back and gently pulled away.

"Chal ho gaya," she wiped her tears, "ab rona band kar." She kissed her mother’s forehead.

"Jati hun—"

She was immediately smacked lightly on the back of her head.

"Aati hun bolte hain kumbhkaran!"

Asiya rubbed the spot, pouting.

"Chalein!" Neel asked impatiently.

"Chalooooo!"

Alia covered her ears as her parents argued in the hallway.

"Agar tumne usse dhyaan diya hota—"

"Accha aur tum? Tum baap ho uske! Bhul gaye?!"

"Ye ladki humari naak katadi! Kya muh dikhaunga abb—?!"

Asiya was jolted awake by her Baba.

"Teri Maa ne sahi naam diya hai. Kumbhkaran! Chal utar, ab pohonch gaye."

Asiya stretched her arms in the cramped bus before stepping down.

She looked around—the bustling streets, the unfamiliar noise, the chaotic energy.

"Aur han, tere PG mein jane se pehle Rehman sahab se milna hai!" her father informed casually.

Asiya’s eyes widened.

"Rehman? Like right now?"

"Baba pehle kyun nahi bola?!"

"Toh ab bol diya," he replied while hailing an auto.

"Beta tu chalna, unhone ulta bola hai tujhe sponsor karenge. Tera pura kharcha uthayenge wo. Humare Balochon ke bacchon ka bohot bhala karte aaye hain Rehman bhai ne. Ek baar milke unko shukraguzar toh kar."

But Asiya wasn’t even listening.

She wasn’t ready. Not right now.

It was too fast.

She fidgeted with her dupatta, overthinking, mentally rehearsing what to say.

She didn’t even realize when they reached the factory.

"Oye isme abb London jayegi kya? Utar ja!" her father laughed at his own joke, while shaking her out of her thoughts.

Asiya gave him a side-eye and stepped out.

They entered the factory.

Asiya looked around—workers moving, metal clanking, guns lined up, voices echoing.

Just like in the film.

"Tu yahan khadi reh, aur kahin mat jana! Samjhi! Mein ata hun Bhai se milke, phir tujhe leke jaunga andar, samjhi?" Neel explained like she was a child.

"Baba yaar bacchi nahi hun, samajh gayi," Asiya whined.

Neel laughed and walked away.

She shook her head.

Neel Tolani—her Baba—still treated her like his little girl. She was looking at the lines up guns when all of sudden,

"Kon ho tum aur yahan kya kar rahi ho?" a stern voice came from behind.

She turned—

And froze.

A towering figure stood before her.

Uzair Baloch.

His gaze was sharp, scanning her from head to toe.

"J-Ji mein A-Asiya Tolani. Neel Tolani ki beti!" she stammered.

"Tolani? Tolani ki beti toh—"

"Asiya beta andar aa ja!" a voice interrupted.

Both turned to see Neel near the office door.

"Ji bola tha.." she gave Uzair an awkward smile and walked away.

Uzair stood there, jaw clenched, fists tightening.

That girl...

Her brown eyes intrigued him.

It made his pulse quicken.

Why?

It only made him angrier.

Meanwhile, Asiya stepped inside.

A man sat behind a desk—broad shoulders, reading documents, glasses resting low on his nose, thumb pressed lightly against his lips in thought.

He looked… powerful.

Majestic.

"Bhai ye hai meri beti!" Neel said proudly.

The man looked up.

"Toh tum ho Asiya." His husky voice filled the room.

Author's note: yaar kya likha hai mene. I'll be completely honest. Wo prologue ek experiment tha, aap log itna pasand karoge mujhe nhi pata tha, y'all I love you soo much, the love was so and still is sooo overwhelming.

Ye chapter likhte likhte mujhe kitni maut ayi hai aap meri pyare (secretly Aditya Dhar) @torumii se aur mananiya badi di @work-of-procrastination se puch sakte hain.