X Black!reader - Blog Posts

I'm a fan of my adventures of Superman, they made Clark a cute hunk and I sort of dislike this version of Louse Lane...🛎️📆📅🗓️⏰

Farmer!Clark Kent

Farmer!Clark Kent who moves back to Smallville after he retires from being a reporter. He's a bit older now (40-45), and he has a few grays coming in but it's okay because he just wants to work on the farm with animals.

Farmer!Clark Kent who is immediately taken by his new neighbor who bought the farmland next to his parents a few years ago. She's about fifteen years younger than him but he can't help but drool when she comes by in her daisy dukes with her thighs out to deliver a pie to welcome him back to Smallville.

Farmer!Clark Kent who works on the farm shirtless just in case she comes over or happens to drive by. One day she calls him over because her sink gets clogged and she needs help because no plumbers will come out this far.

Farmer!Clark Kent who was fully expecting to work on a sink, he came in in his wrangler jeans and his flannel with a baseball cap on. He was pleasantly surprised to see her only in silk shorts and a thin tank top. He decided right then that the sink wouldn't be fixed.

Farmer!Clark Kent who swears up and down that Ma and Pa kent raied him to be a fucking gentlemen but he loses all his control when seeing her. That's how he ends up fucking her against her couch in the living room. He promises that he'll take her on a proper date after this.

Farmer!Clark Kent who is glad that his farm is so secluded because that means he could fuck her outside and no one would even know. At this point, he's had her in the barn, the hay bales, and in the tractor. He promises her that he'll give her some babies to help keep the farm going.

Hey this is just a random writing thing for practice. Lmk what you think but this is mostly for fun. Or it’s supposed to be for fun.

Chapter 1

“No! I don’t want to go!” The room had spun; the world had been thrown from its axes before shattering like a glass vase against a wall. “Grandma! Please, don’t do this! I don’t want to go with them! I want to stay here!”

“Arielle, I don’t have a choice. The courts have deemed your parents fit to take care of you now,” Her grandmother said, her voice soft, trying to be comforting. It wasn’t working.

“They live in the middle of nowhere! I won’t be able to see you!” Arielle had cried. She wouldn’t be able to see her grandmother, her aunties, her uncles, her cousins, and her friends!

“You can visit, and we will visit you once you get settled down,” Her grandmother had tried to reason.

“I’m in my junior year of high school! I won’t know anyone, and I will be alone!” Arielle had argued.

“You will have your parents,” her grandmother had said. “Arielle,” her grandmother put her hands on Arielle’s face. Her grandmother's hands were warm and worn from all the work she had done over the years: working in the hospital, the church, and teaching Arielle how to become a practitioner. “I have no choice. The courts are making you go. If there were a way to make you stay, I would’ve done it by now. You know that.” Arielle did know that, but it didn’t matter to her because of its unfairness. Her life was being ripped from up under her, and there was nothing either of them could do. The days leading up to Arielle’s move had been quiet. Arielle barely spoke to anyone; she sat at the altar for her ancestors and prayed that anyone stop this from happening. But every prayer went unanswered. The day of the move was worse. All her family and friends had come to wish her a goodbye. But it went by in a blur; she couldn’t see due to all her tears. Her father opened the car's passenger side door for her, but she ignored him and went into the backseat. They drove in silence for a few hours before her father tried to speak to her, engage her in any type of conversation, but when nothing worked, he sighed and said,

“I know this is hard for you. You haven’t seen your mother and me in years, but we got better. Not only are we two years sober, and we also have great-paying jobs. We got our lives together for you. We just want to build a good relationship with our daughter.” Arielle had summoned the meanest and most vindictive glare she could muster before turning it on her father and saying,

“If you wanted a ‘good relationship,’ maybe you should’ve tried talking to her instead of forcing her to uproot her life away from everyone she loved and making her leave the one place she had ever known. Have you ever thought of that?” Her father never responded, and Arielle looked out the window as they left the city of New Orleans and drove to Colorado. The ride took two days, and they barely spoke to each other in those days. Her father only asked her if she was hungry or had to use the bathroom, and Arielle responded with short answers. When they arrived in the small town of Silverlake, she noticed one thing.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? You moved me to a sundown town!?” Arielle cries; she watches as every person they drive past is white. “If you wanted me dead, a gun to the head would be better!”

“Arielle!” Her father had yelled in frustration but Arielle just cried silently to herself. “This isn’t a sundown town; there are people of color here! We know a great black couple with a son your age!”

“He’s probably a coon,” Arielle sniffles quietly.

“What was that?” her father had asked with a confused frown.

“I don’t want new friends! I want Kyrell, Kaeja, Leon, Jenesis, and Selena! I want my cousins Huey, Riley, Phrenell, Carlina, and Diamond!” Arielle yells. Her father had driven up to the house, which, Arielle had to admit, was nice. The house was two stories and huge, mostly beige panels with white outlining. The roof was a light brown, which matched the house's aesthetic. It was really nice, but Arielle refused to admit it out loud. Arielle grabbed her bags and ran into the house. Arielle refused to look at the rest of the house or greet her mother as she ran upstairs to where her father had told her where her room would be. Her room was already filled with her stuff: dresser, bed, and boxes of all her stuff. But it felt wrong. This wasn’t home. She had locked the doors to her room.

That's how the past few days had been; she refused to unpack and acclimate to her situation. She watched her phone as she counted down the days until she would have to go to school. Her father and mother both tried to get her to exit the room but failed. She was going to stay that way until her group chat went off,

“Ari? You good? It’s been a few days, and you haven’t answered any of our messages,” It was Jenesis who texted the group chat first. No, Arielle wasn’t ‘good,’ nor would she ever be.

“We are here if you want to talk,” Keaja adds. Arielle didn’t have the energy to respond; if she did, she would break down again. She misses her friends with everything in her.

“Bitch you mad weird for ignoring us,” Her cousin Riley texts. Arielle’s eye twitches in annoyance. Riley was her cousin and twin to Huey. They were named after the characters in Boondocks, and their personalities, funnily enough, also matched the characters. But Arielle wasn’t finding it funny at the moment.

“Riley, bro, chill,” Kyrell responds.

“Yeah, Riley. It’s obvious our cousin is sad,” Huey texts.

“Tighten tf up,” Riley replies.

“I’ll be right back,” Huey texts. There are a few minutes where neither Huey nor Riley text in the group chat.

“Not to side with a man,” Diamond starts.

“Never that,” Selena adds.

“But Riley is right,” Diamond concludes. Emojis are spammed in the chat, most of them being shock and angry. “LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH!”

“Calm down, pastor,” Carlina texts before sending a bunch of eye roll emojis.

“Don’t hurt em now!” Leon texts. Diamond responded to Leon’s text with a bunch of eye rolls before responding, “Look. Arielle, you know you, my girl. I get this is hard for you. We all do! But are you going to ignore us and be miserable, or are you going to make the best of the situation?” Arielle finally responds,

“Be miserable.”

“There's our girl!” Leon texts.

“Think about it this way,” Huey texts, finally returning to the group chat. “You have two more years, and you are college-bound. Keep your grades up, get a job so you have money, and bid your time. We can all still go to the same college. All you gotta do is graduate.” Arielle sighed. Huey was right, and she hated him for it.

“Also, we will still be able to use FaceTime,” Carlina texts.

“And visit! I expect you to be down soon!” Jenesis texts.

“Yeah, yeah,” Arielle responds and starts to feel slightly better at the familiar banter between herself and her friends. Diamonds and Huey’s words echoed in her head, ‘Are you going to make the best of the situation?’ and ‘Keep your grades up, get a job so you have money, and bid your time.’ She could do this. Arielle gets up and exits her room. She walks downstairs to see her parents at the dining table eating their food as they speak in low voices. When they noticed her, they stopped and stared at her in shock.

“A-Arielle! How are you!” Her mother says. Arielle walks to the kitchen and makes her a plate of food before sitting down at the table.

“I’m fine,” Arielle mutters. Her mother and father look at each other with barely contained hope.

“Great!” Her father grins.

“Are you excited for school tomorrow?” Her mother asks. No! Why the fuck would I be excited for school? I won’t have any friends, and I don’t know my way around the place! You fucked up my life! FUCK YOU!

“I’m indifferent,” Arielle says; if she said what was really on her mind, she’d doubt she’d like the consequences. “Though, I’d prefer to go to school with my friends,” Arielle said, hoping they’d stop trying to talk to her. It does, but only for a second,

“Thomas! Did you tell her about Dante?” Her mother asks.

“Briefly,” Her father mutters, not mentioning why the conversation had been cut briefly. “She does know of him.”

“Well! I asked him to drop you off at school and to show you around!” Her mother says with a wide grin. Motherfucker.

“Great,” Arielle responds bristly because, no, this was not great. She wasn’t going to make friends. She was going to keep her head down, get a job, bid her time, and get the fuck out of here once she graduates. The rest of dinner was thankfully silent. Arielle returned to her room, cluttered with unopened boxes filled with all her clothes. Arielle sighs before she begins to unpack her boxes. She puts her clothes into drawers or the closet; she puts books on shelves, pictures and posters on all the walls. She stops at one box and pulls out a picture of her grandmother's mother, Rosemary. She’d never met Rosemary before but knew she watched over her.

“Please give me the strength and patience to make it to graduation,” Arielle whispers to the picture. She would have to make an altar here, but she didn’t have the time right now, so she had to get ready for bed.

Arielle dreams like she does every night, but this dream feels different. It was as if a presence was engulfing her. The presence was angry and hungry. She had to run, had to leave, but the presence grabbed on to her, unwilling to let her go.

“Arielle!” voices echo around her, and the voices yell, causing the presence to fall away. Arielle shoots up from her bed, panting. She needed to build her altar and fucking cleanse this house because there was no way that was a normal dream.

“Arielle! Your father has already left for work, and I’m leaving right now! Dante will be here in ten minutes! Breakfast is in the microwave!” Arielle heard her mother call. Fuck, she had school today. Arielle got up from her bed, ripped her bonnet and head wrap off, ran downstairs, ate her breakfast before returning upstairs, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and getting dressed. Arielle finishes just in time as someone knocks on her front door. Arielle walks downstairs and to the front door. She opened it and saw a boy her age; he had an umber brown skin tone with cool magenta undertones, and his hair was cropped short, immediately raising a red flag in Arielle’s mind. He had light brown eyes and was tall and lean.

“Arielle?”

“Dante?” Arielle shoots back. Dante smiles,

“Nice to meet you!” For meeting someone he didn’t know, he seemed relaxed. But Arielle didn’t care; she grabbed her backpack, walked outside, closed the door, and locked it. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Arielle replies shortly. Dante leads Arielle to her car and opens the back seat for her; Arielle gets in without complaining. That’s when she noticed someone else was in the car, a black girl her age. “Oh, thank god.” The girl blinked at in confusion,

“What?”

“I thought I was going to be the only black girl at school. I’m so happy you’re here,” Arielle says bluntly. This causes the girl to burst out laughing,

“I’m happy you are here too! I got tired of being the only black girl in school. I’m Neveah, I’m Dante’s girlfriend and the new girl before you.” Neveah was a gorgeous girl with an umber brown skin tone like Arielle and Dante, dark brown eyes, and her hair was done in goddess braids.

“Looks like I took your title, but I’m glad you're his girlfriend. Not gonna lie; I thought we were the only black kids here. I thought he was going to be a coon,” Arielle admits, which causes Neveah to laugh again.

“I can still hear you both,” Dante huffs as he gets into the driver's seat. “I’m not a coon!”

“He was before he met me; don’t like his pretty face fool you. He was the only black kid in town before I got here,” Neveah says with a playful smirk.

“So, we three are the only black kids?” Arielle asks.

“In our grade, yeah, but I’m pretty sure there are some other black kids in the school. I’m not sure,” Dante says as he starts the car and begins to drive.

“Where are y’all from?” Arielle asks; she knows she shouldn’t get attached to these people, but she feels safe around these two.

“I was born in New York but moved here when I was like six,” Dante says.

“Chicago. Moved here in middle school,” Neveah explains.

“New Orleans. What’s the rest of our grade lookin' like?” Arielle asks.

“They’re a bunch of assholes,” Neveah replies with a huff.

“They aren’t all bad,” Dante argues, but Neveah shoots him a look. “I mean…a few of them aren’t that bad.”

“Jeez, what the hell goes on in y’all school?” Arielle asks.

“Our school,” Neveah corrects before continuing, “a bunch of bullshit. It’s something every day in this hell hole. I’d stick with me or Dante because someone found out there was a new student coming here this year. It’s spread through the whole town.”

“Damn, y’all get excited for one new student?” Arielle asks.

“You would too if all you saw were the same faces every year,” Dante states.

“The only way you're gonna see a new person in this town is if they’re passing through or if someone is having a baby. People don’t move here often,” Neveah shrugs.

“Who would? This place looks like a fucking sundown town,” Arielle scoffs. Neveah laughs,

“If that ain’t the truth!”

“It’s not a sundown town,” Dante rolls his eyes. “Give this place a chance; I think you will like it here.” Arielle could see Neveah shake her head discreetly at her; Arielle couldn’t help but smile.

“I doubt it, but I’m glad to have you two, at least,” Arielle admits. Maybe she can survive to graduation.

“Nah, you only have me,” Neveah corrects again, which causes Arielle to frown in confusion. “You do NOT want to hang out with Dante’s friends. Bunch of assholes.”

“Come on,” Dante sighs. “They’re not that bad, and they’re my best friends. They were the only people to let me hang out with them when I first started school here.” Arielle couldn’t imagine being the only black kid in a grade. She hopes whatever Dante went through he’s healed from it.

“Fine,” Neveah scoffs. “Mitch is nice.” Dante rolls his eyes,

“Of course you like Mitch.” Neveah smirks,

“Are you jealous, my love?”

“NO!” Dante denied, but Neveah turned to Arielle,

“For context, Mitch was voted third hottest boy in school last year. Dante got fourth.”

“Y’all do that shit here?” Arielle frowns.

“WE don’t do it. Every year some punk bitch posts on an anonymous account ranking every boy and girl in our grade. We still haven’t found out who it is,” Neveah sneers before putting a hand on Dante's thigh. “Don’t worry my love; you are number one in my heart, and if it makes you feel better I didn’t even get top 20.”

“Which is stupid! You are the hottest girl in school,” Dante argued. “No one can match your beauty, baby.” Arielle had to admit these two were cute, but she didn’t want to be here if they got lovey-dovey. She’s already traumatized as is she didn’t need to see this shit. But before either party could continue, Dante parked in front of the school. “Welcome to Silverlake High!” Dante says before getting out of the car.

“The most ghetto school you will ever attend,” Neveah adds as Dante opens her door for you. Neveah gets out, and to Arielle's surprise, Dante also opens the door for her. Arielle gets out of the car and looks up at the high school. It was an indoor school that looked like it had four to five floors. Kids walk into the school, talking, laughing, or complaining. It was the first day of school, and there were lots of mixed emotions.

“Let’s show you to the office,” Dante says as he grabs Neveah’s hand.

“Alright,” Arielle agrees; it’s not like she knew where she was going. Dante and Neveah lead Arielle through the school's first floor. Once they walk in, the hallways go quiet for a brief second before whispers break out.

“Ignore them,” Neveah says, and Arielle was already planning on doing that. As they continue deeper into the school, Arielle notices voices getting louder, and Dante and Neveah suddenly stop, causing Arielle to stop. Arielle turns to the loud voices and sees a group of boys.

“Oh shit,” Dante huffs.

“Your friends are at it again,” Neveah scoffs. There were two groups of boys arguing with each other. Neveah turned to Arielle and pointed at the first group of boys, “Those are my lovely boys friends. That one right there is Mitch.” Neveah points to a boy with light brunette hair and hazel eyes; he is tall but not as tall as Dante and is built like a linebacker. Mitch was the one doing all the yelling and looked extremely pissed. “That boy next to him is Kenny.” Next to him stood an Asian boy who was a foot shorter than Mitch; he had black hair and eyes and was wearing a smirk as he jeered at the other group of boys. “Behind him is Alejandro, but never call him that; call him Alex.” Alex was taller than Dante, which surprised Arielle; he had tan, white skin, dark black hair, blue braces, and dark brown eyes. Arielle couldn’t tell he was Latino at first glance; the boy was white passing as hell.

“Just give me a moment,” Dante says, letting go of Neveah’s hand as he rushes over to help his friends and de-escalate the situation.

“There he goes,” Neveah sighs, shaking her head.

“Who’s the other group?” Arielle asks.

“Oh, well, the one arguing with Mitch is Evan,” Neveah starts. Evan was around Dante’s height and had dark brown hair and blue eyes. “The boy next to him is Ryan, also known as the community dick.” Ryan looked like an all-American boy, almost as tall as Alex, skinny but well-built, with blond hair, blue eyes, and braces. But Arielle could tell something was lurking underneath. She doesn’t know if it’s her intuition or a gut feeling, but something is off with the boy. “Then you have one of the smartest kids in school, Vincent.” Vincent was also pretty tall and had brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. “Then you have the biggest asshole in this school, Christen. My advice is to stay away from this guy. His own friends don’t even like him.” Christen was the shortest out of all the boys, but that wasn’t saying much because all of them were pretty tall. He was also built like a linebacker; he had blond hair and blue eyes. Arielle doesn’t know why, but for some reason she knows in her bones this guy is dangerous.

“If they don’t like him, why do they hang around him?” Arielle asks.

“Probably because they know firsthand that he’s fucking crazy. He’s definitely not the strongest in school, like at all. He’s never won a fight, but he’s vindictive and vengeful. He doesn’t need to fight you to hurt you. Like I said, stay away from him,” Neveah repeated.

“Who’s the strongest in the school,” Arielle asks.

“Alex and Vincent,” Neveah states.

“They must fight a lot for y’all to know that,” Arielle comments.

“Alex, yeah. He’s always getting into fights, but he only fights if he’s provoked,” Neveah says.

“What provokes him?” Arielle asks.

“I have no fucking clue, but the guy goes off when people disrespect him, which honestly same,” Neveah shrugs. “But Vincent doesn’t fight a lot, but when he does fight, that shit ends as soon as it’s started. He might never start a fight, but he sure as hell knows how to end one.”

“Good to know,” Arielle says and looks at each group. She’s getting bad vibes and doesn’t know why. “I have a feeling these two groups are always in trouble.” Neveah laughs,

“You have no fucking idea! The school is split between them. They’re either on Alex’s ‘team’ or Evan’s ‘team’. I know, so fucking stupid. But all the guys pick a side for some damn reason.”

“What about the girls?” Arielle asks

“Oh hell nah, we stay out of that bullshit. A few of the girls choose a side, but that’s because they’re dating someone from each side,” Neveah explains.

“What happens if you don’t choose a side?” Arielle asks because she definitely wasn’t choosing one. This shit sounds so stupid. This town must be boring as hell if people are creating Teen Beach Movie rivalries.

“If you're a girl, nothing. If you’re a boy, you become a social outcast,” Neveah explains.

“That’s stupid as fuck,” Arielle replies bluntly.

“No arguments from me. I never said it was smart,” Neveah shrugs before turning back to the arguing boys. The argument was heating up, which caused Neveah to groan in annoyance. “Fuck this. Let’s just go to the office.”

“You leaving Dante?” Arielle asks.

“He’ll be ight,” Neveah shrugs, and she begins to lead Arielle to the office.

When they get to the office, Arielle sees a boy in the corner of the room. He’s reading a book about the paranormal and shaking.

“Oh, that’s Lucian. One of the social outcasts,” Neveah whispers. Lucian had blond hair that went to his shoulders and was unkempt, he had green eyes, freckles, and was short.

“Why is he shaking?” Arielle asks. It was more like vibrating, really; it was like he was cold or something.

“I think he has some disorder I don’t know,” Neveah shrugs.

“Can I help you girls?” Neveah and Arielle turn to see a woman at the front desk, and Arielle physically keeps herself still. There was darkness around this woman, and it made her uneasy.

“This is the new student, Arielle…?” Neveah trails off.

“Arielle Baptiste,” Arielle supplies hesitantly. She did not want to give her name to this woman, you should never give your name to people who might do you harm. Names are powerful things, and she does not want to be cross.

“What a beautiful name!” The woman says. “But unfortunately, we don’t have all your classes.” The woman slides a sheet of paper filled with different types of classes. “So, could you fill this out so we can make your schedule?”

“Yeah, of course,” Arielle mutters as she grabs the paper. Arielle had to calm herself; she had to be paranoid from last night's dream. This woman was being kind to her and was not showing any ill will to her. Maybe the woman herself had been crossed or hexed that’s why she was covered in darkness. She wishes Riley or her Grandmother was here; they were good at telling people’s intentions. Especially her grandmother. Riley didn’t believe in or practice their ancestral practices, but he could tell someone’s intentions by just looking at them. Her grandma could tell if this woman had it out for her or needed her help by just looking at her. Arielle wasn’t that far in her journey yet, but she will get there one day.

“Arielle?” Neveah asks as she snaps her fingers in front of her.

“Oh! Sorry. What were you saying?” Arielle asks.

“I said you should join cheerleading! It’s really fun, and it can help you make new friends. Tryouts are this Friday after school!” Neveah says.

“I’ll think about it,” Arielle muttered as she filled in the sheet. Neveah kept pointing to classes she should join because they would share. Arielle only did a few because she wasn’t interested in most of Neveah's classes. After she finished, she handed the sheet to the lady at the desk.

“Thank you! Let me just make your schedule. It will only take a moment,” the lady says, grabbing the paper and walking into the back. It takes a few more minutes until the lady comes back and hands her the paper. “Here you go! I hope you enjoy your classes. Come to me if you need help or to change any of them. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Arielle nods bristly before practically dashing to the exit, Neveah following close behind. By the time they exit the office, the bell rings, indicating the homeroom.

“Damn! Thought we would have more time! We should get going!” Neveah says. One of the classes they shared was homeroom, so they walked together.

When they entered the home room, the class was mostly empty. She recognized a few faces, like Dante, and some she didn’t. Neveah sits next to Dante, and Arielle sits next to her. Unfortunately for Arielle, all of Dante’s friends were there. Mitch and Kenny stare at her hard.

“Do y’all have a problem?” Arielle grits out.

“Yeah, fix y’all’s fucking faces. You’re embarrassing me,” Dante hisses before turning to Neveah and Arielle. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t walk with y’all to the office. I had to make sure Alex didn’t kill Evan.” Dante kissed Neveah’s hands in apology, which Arielle found extremely cute.

“All is forgiven, my dear. Where is the bastard anyway?” Neveah asks.

“He’s ditching,” Mitch supplies. “So how do y’all know each other?”

“Arielle's parents are my next-door neighbors. Her parents asked mine if I could drop her off and show her around school,” Dante explains.

“Well, you failed at the first part,” Kenny points out, which causes Dante to deflate.

“Which is y’all’s fault!” Neveah hisses. “Always causing drama for my boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Kenny and Mitch yell.

“I didn’t start that argument! It was Mitch’s fault!” Kenny huffs.

“My fault!?” Mitch hisses. “Mackenzie broke up with me two days ago and is now with Ryan’s dirty dick ass! I have every right to ask if they were going behind my back!” Mitch looked like he was about to cry, but Arielle couldn’t blame him. If her boyfriend broke up with her two days ago to end up with some bitch seconds after, she’d be pissed too.

“No offense, but you only have yourself to blame,” Kenny huffs.

“What!?” Mitch exclaims.

“Mackenzie is a bit of a-“ Kenny doesn’t get to finish his sentence because a new girl's voice cuts into a conversation.

“A bit of a what?” Arielle turns to see a new girl with straight black hair, brown eyes, and pale white skin.

“Hey, Phoebe,” Kenny grins sheepishly. Phoebe scoffs and sits behind Neveah.

“Hey, Phoebe. Is your morning going well?” Neveah asks.

“No, Evan got punched in the eye because of Mitch's best friend,” Phoebe sneers out the last part. Mitch looks away. Phoebe then turns to Arielle, eyes going wide. “Oh! Excuse me. I’m Phoebe. I’m the cheer captain, and Mackenzie is my best friend.”

“Ouch,” Neveah says with fake hurt, which causes Phoebe to roll her eyes,

“We both know your best friend is Dante,” Neveah smirked and shrugged, not denying the statement.

“I’m Arielle; I just moved here.”

“Obviously. I’ve never seen you here before. It’s nice to meet you.” Phoebe says.

“Likewise,” Arielle gives her a small smile, which Phoebe returns. More and more kids come into the room. A girl with white tanned skin and long, wavy blond hair sits beside Phoebe. She introduces herself as Mackenzie. The bell rings again, indicating everything should be there and in their seats. But there is no teacher there. Everyone is talking, unbothered. “Where’s the teacher?”

“Hm? Oh, Mr. Macdonald. He’s our homeroom teacher and is late every day. He probably won’t be here until like 20 minutes in,” Neveah explains.

“What the hell?” Arielle scoffs. “Why?”

“Who knows,” Neveah shrugs.

“Fucking bitches maybe,” Kenny smirked playfully; Arielle didn’t laugh. Arielle looked around the classroom and noticed Lucian was reading his paranormal book in the back corner of the classroom. If the kid only knew what was really out there, it would put his little book to shame. The room suddenly goes quiet, and Arielle looks to see Evan, Vincent, Ryan, Christen, and another boy walking into the classroom. The other boy was short and nervous-looking, fidgeting with the end of his sleeves. He had dirty brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He was also sporting a black eye on his face, similarly to Evan’s. But while Evan’s looked fresh, the boy looked like he had that one for days.

“Kiyès sa?” Arielle asks in a whisper. Neveah stares at her in confusion, and Arielle realizes her mistake. " Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Blaine. The school's punching bag and Ryan’s best friend, kinda,” Neveah whispers lowly.

“The school's punching bag?” Arielle asks with a frown.

“Yeah, the whole school bullies him. He’s not the only one, just the main one. He never fights back, which is so… ugh,” Neveah grumbles.

“He brings it on to himself; he hangs out with Christen all the time. What does he expect!” Phoebe says coldly.

“Yeah, but if you want to mess with him, don’t do it in front of Ryan. Ryan is like super protective over him,” Mackenzie had a valley girl voice, which reminded Arielle of white chicks. Ryan suddenly sits next to Mackenzie, kissing her neck,

“Hey, Bebe,” Ryan's voice was rough.

“Hey, Bebe!” Mackenzie grins flirtatiously. Arielle can see Mitch give Mackenzie a pathetic look, which Mackenzie ignores. After Ryan finishes kissing Mackenzie's neck, his eyes land on Arielle. Only one thought goes through her head: 'Oh hell, nah.’

“You’re the new girl,” Ryan states with a flirtatious smirk. Evan and Vincent were so deep in conversation as they sat next to Ryan, Christen, and Blaine that they didn’t even look up from each other. When Ryan spoke, they all looked up. Evans's eyes barely registered Arielle. They land on Phoebe, and he grins like an idiot.

“Phoebe! How are you today?” Evan asks. Phoebe blushes slightly,

“I’d be better if you didn’t have a black eye.” Arielle turns to Neveah with a raised eyebrow, and Neveah shakes her head. So those two weren’t together but crushing on each other hard-core.

“Um,” Vincent mutters, catching Arielle's attention; he’s staring hard, which slightly bugs Arielle. “I’m-“ Vincent doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Christen speaks,

“Who fucking cares if there’s a new girl! We need to get back at Alex’s ass!” Vincent sneers,

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Or what!? You going to let Alex pussy y’all out?” Christen sneers.

“You’re one to talk! You can’t even fight!” Evan argues.

“Don’t flip this on me! You are just mad; you're weak!” Christen argues.

“Christen fuck off!” Phoebe cuts in with a sneer.

“Or what bitch?” Christen sneers back. A dark look dawns on Phoebe's face, causing Christen to sweat,

“We don’t want a repeat of last year, do we?” Christen sneers at her but stops talking. Arielle turned to Neveah again in confusion.

“They fought last year. Phoebe won,” Neveah explains simply. Arielles dislike for Christen grew. But Arielle is snapped out of her thoughts when a dark presence enters her consciousness; her head snaps toward the door. Someone was coming; she could hear their steps. With each step that came closer, the presence made itself more known and more threatening. The person who enters is an older man boarding on elderly; he has gray and blue eyes. He looked so nonthreatening that it gave her whiplash. Arielle stared at the man silently; she had only felt a presence like this before when her grandmother was cleansing a place corrupted by evil entities. Or the one time she came across a fully corporeal demon. This man didn’t look like a powerful demon or evil entity; he just looked like a normal elderly man. But looks can be deceiving.

“All of you shut the fuck up!” Mr. Macdonald yells, causing the class to go quiet. “I’m going to be calling your names; say here when I do!” Mr. Macdonald then began to call out people’s names, and they would respond with here.

“Fuck, Mitch, where’s Alex?” Dante whispers.

“He’s ditching,” Mitch mutters.

“It’s literally the first day of school!” Dante hisses, and Mitch just shrugs helplessly. While they were talking, Arielle pulled out her phone and texted the group chat her cousins were in,

“Bruh, my homeroom teacher is a fucking demon.”

“What? Srs?” Diamond was the first person to reply.

“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” Arielle responds.

“Don’t make it obvious, you know. Pretend you don’t know, so it won’t target you,” Huey texts.

“Is it really a demon? Or is it some sort of entity?” Pharrell texts.

“Idk!!!! All I know is whatever it is, it’s powerful asf!” Arielle texts.

“Arielle Baptiste!” Mr. Macdonald calls Arielle's name. Arielle flinches hard and drops her phone. Everyone is staring at her.

“I’m here,” Arielle says. Mr. Macdonald turns to her, his head tilts in curiosity. Fuck he knows, he knows, and he’s going to kill her.

“You’re new!” Mr. Macdonald comments.

“Yes,” Arielle mutters, keeping the conversation as short as possible. Mr. Macdonald’s eyes narrow, and Arielle swears they go pitch black. The air is taken from her lungs, but some yelps, and everyone in class turns to Lucian. Lucian dropped his book and was looking at Mr. Macdonald. Did Lucian see Mr. Macdonald's eyes change? He had to; there was no reason for him to yell anyway. Mr. Macdonald looks down at his chart and continues to call names. Arielle sighed in relief; she dodged a bullet. But only for today. She was going to have to keep flying under the radar. Arielle mind reels suddenly as she remembers that Mr. Macdonald wasn’t the only one with the dark corruption around them, so was the front desk lady. Were there other people who were corrupted or possessed? Arielle comes to another realization that she doesn’t even know what this is. Arielle shakes her head and begins to look for her phone, but she doesn’t find it.

“Here it is.” Arielle looks up and sees Vincent holding her phone out to her. She could see her group chat blowing up with unopened messages. Arielle grabs her phone,

“Thanks.” She opened her phone and saw that everyone was either asking if she was okay or what had happened. “I’ll text y’all later; I don’t want to get caught with my phone.” Arielle then put her phone in her pocket. As homeroom slowly came to a close, Arielle couldn’t help but think, ‘Are there more people with this dark presence over them?’

Her question is answered in her next class, then her next class, and every single period until school had ended. Every single adult she had encountered had a dark presence covering them like a black shadow. Some were weaker and still there, but others were way more powerful, like Mr. Macdonald. As Arielle exited her school at the end of the day, she was left with so many questions that she didn’t know what to do. She was at her assigned locker; she was leaning inside as she texted her cousins. Most of them had the same idea, leave this shit alone. As Arielle sighed and was about to turn off her phone, Huey sent her a private text,

“You said every adult in the school has some sort of dark presence over them?”

“I’m not sure; I’ve only really seen it over my teachers and the lady in the office,” Arielle responds.

“Okay, but if it’s over the adults, why not the kids there? Dark presences like that don’t just stay in one place; they spread,” Huey texts.

“Why is it only over the adults?” Arielle asks.

“Idk, you are the one there. Is it over your parents,” Huey asks.

“Nah, I would’ve sensed it when my dad picked me up,” Arielle states.

“Unless they’re hiding it because they know your grandma trained you,” Huey responds. Arielle frowns before texting,

“No, not possible. My mom converted to Christianity before I was born. She doesn’t even believe in what my grandma does.”

“The last time she saw you, you were 8. It’s been years since you last saw her; her opinion could’ve changed, and she has knowledge about the other side. She could be hiding it from you,” Huey responds.

“But why?” Arielle asks. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this makes sense.

“Idk, you figure it out. Keep me updated; something about this isn’t right. My head is starting to hurt,” Huey texts. Arielle's eyebrows go up; that’s definitely not a good sign. Where Riley had excellent intentions, Huey gets headaches where he can actually predict the future or see shit.

“See anything?” Arielle asks.

“Darkness,” Huey responds. Arielle frowns in disappointment,

“So nothing.”

“No,” Huey disagrees. “I see darkness.” Arielle felt the air on the back of her neck go up. That’s definitely not scary at all. Arielle gets another message from Neveah,

“Come on! We are dropping you off at home! We are out front!”

“Okay,” Arielle responds before putting her phone in her pocket as she leans out of her locker. Her locker slams shut as a familiar boy leans against it. Ryan. He smirks at her,

“Hey, gorgeous.” Arielle's eye involuntarily twitches in annoyance. She tries to keep the annoyance off her face. “What’s with the face? You look like I’m annoying you.” She has failed to keep it off her face.

“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Arielle huffs.

“With that?” Ryan asks, his face is still playful and relaxed even at her hostility.

“Leaving,” Arielle states before walking past him, but unfortunately for her, he follows.

“So soon?” Ryan asks with a playful pout.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Arielle huffs, walking faster.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Ryan smirks, and Arielle turns on her heel to face the boy. Ryan stops with sudden surprise. She hated boys like this, who play with girls' feelings because they can. Even though she didn’t particularly like Mackenzie because she possibly cheated on Mitch with Ryan. But she wasn’t going to get in the middle of that drama.

“Leave me alone! I’m not interested in dirty dick, cheating-“ Arielle is cut off when she puts her finger on Ryan’s chest. The feeling overwhelmed her to the point she jumped back in fear. She finally realized what was off about this boy. It was death. Death clung around the boy like wet clothes did to a body. This boy is very familiar with death, and Arielle does not like that, like at all. She couldn’t help the words that fell from her lips, “What are you?” Ryan’s smile finally drops, and he frowns in confusion before his expression morphs into something more serious,

“What?” Arielle spins on her heels and dashes down the hallway. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, but she needed to stay away from that boy. Being so close to death that it literally clings to him isn’t good.

The drive back to her house was quiet, well, mostly. Neveah and Dante spoke a lot, but Arielle barely spoke. She was too deep in thought. The adults in the school being covered in darkness, Ryan having death cling to him, and Lucian seeing Mr. Macdonald's eyes change. Arielle didn’t know what was going on, and she had two choices. Either to investigate or ignore it. A part of Arielle really wanted to ignore it; she needed to focus on her grades so she could graduate with a full-ride scholarship and find a job in case she couldn’t get a scholarship. But the dream she had last night, the dark presence trying to reach out to her, trying to…do something to her. If it was going to come for her once, it would do it again. Entities are persistent and they have time.

“You excited for the pep rally tomorrow?” Neveah asks.

“Hm?” Arielle is pulled from her thoughts. “Yeah. Will the cheer team be there?”

“Hell yeah!” Neveah giggles.

“Same with the football team,” Dante adds.

“There's a football team here?” Arielle says with surprise. “Who do y’all play?”

“Obviously, there’s a football team here. Why else would there be a cheer team,” Neveah states.

“We play other towns,” Dante supplies.

“How far are the other towns?” Arielle asks.

“The closest one is an hour away,” Dante explains.

“Jesus,” Arielle mutters.

“Oh!” Neveah exclaims. “I forgot to mention that Dante is throwing a back-to-school party this Friday! You should totally come!” Arielle didn’t want to go to a party; how could she even party in these conditions?!

“Yeah! Sure,” Arielle says with a small smile. Dante parks in front of Arielle’s house,

“I’ll pick you up again tomorrow!”

“Text me later? Yeah?” Neveah asks.

“Yeah! Yeah,” Arielle nods before exiting the car. Both of her parent's cars were gone; Arielle entered her house and saw that it was empty. She goes up into her room; she has a lot of shit to get done today. She finished unpacking her room, put an altar in her closet, and cleansed the house. She puts a horseshoe above her door for protection. It was hard to cleanse her house since she didn’t have a lot of stuff with her. Arielle was used to asking her grandmother for things; her grandmother always had vinegar, sage, or rosemary. But Arielle’s grandmother wasn’t here; she was on her own. Arielle had to grab spices from the cabinet and work with what was there. Once Arielle finished, she took a shower. Once she got out, she noticed something: powerful dark energies had entered the house. She ran to the stairs in her towel and saw her parents.

“Arielle! What is that smell!” Her father hissed. Huey was right; whatever is corrupting the adults at school also has her parents. If it has all the adults in the school and her parents, does this entity have more adults around the town? Does it have all the adults in town?

“Febreze! I was cleaning,” Arielle lies as she stares at them.

“Well, don’t spray so much,” Her mother says as she hangs her coat and looks up at her. “Why are you in a towel? Go get dressed; I brought dinner!” Arielle doesn’t need to be told twice; she rushes to her room. She grabbed her phone and texted Huey,

“You were right.”

“Usually am,” Huey responds. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’m still thinking,” Arielle responds. Arielle knew she couldn’t ignore her parents forever; it would make them suspicious. So she got dressed and went downstairs to eat with them. But to her surprise, they were leaving again. “Where are you going?”

“Well, my love. We both work two jobs because we want to give you a good life. We brought you dinner; you should be fine,” Her father says.

“We love you!” her mother says before they both exit the door. Arielle is silent; she had a gut feeling they weren’t going to a second job. She eats dinner alone before she heads back to her room. Arielle goes to her altar and asks,

“Please give me some guidance on what to do. I need help.” After that, she goes to bed, and as always, she dreams again. She sees a person they have blond hair, but other than that, she can’t pick out the details. But what she does know is that she needs to find this person.

The black reader tag has been so damn toxic lately. Why are you in the tag if you don’t like or get when the reader is specified as black. Why are black people expected to be inclusive to everyone but no one gives two thoughts to be inclusive to black people? Do y’all not understand that black people come in various types and just because the reader doesn’t talk like you do, dress like you do, and wear their hair like you do doesn’t mean they’re a stereotype. It’s been the same redundant conversation for weeks. JUST WRITE THE TYPE OF BLACK READER YOU WANT TO SEE, a lot of fan fiction is self indulgent so writers are writing themselves.

ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕 acting like she not stuck with me for forever ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: vi's a bit emotionally immature but well-intentioned, slight mention of a past abusive relationship, implied smut at the end, a bit of fluff sprinkled in, very light fingering lmao, i like visualizing the fits of my characters so this was what the reader's wearing but like better, black! reader as always

𝔞/𝔫: finally smth that isn't only a paragraph long 😭, this was going to be smth kinktober related originally but i changed my mind halfway through, i probably WILL be participating in kinktober tho so stay tuned <3

(also reblogs are always welcome. like, always. forever)

“….vi? baby? please tell me what’s wrong. i don’t get why you’re so angry with me.”

for the first time in your two years of being together, she actually ignored you. you slumped in your seat, acrylics beginning to curl into the stretchy fabric of your skirt. unsure of what to do, you gently reached for her right hand, trying to interlock your pinkies (a tradition you guys had ever since your first date). the tip of your nail was barely able to graze the cool metal of her ring before she snatched her arm away, placing both hands back on the steering wheel. she looked agitated, but also lost in thought. sighing in defeat, you turned your head to look out the window, the stars and inky night sky serving as comfort as you toyed with one of your necklaces (vi’s favorite, she usually adored the way it dipped down to the valley in between your breasts, the stark silver standing out beautifully against your dark skin). “well i don’t know how you expect for us to work this shit out if you can’t even explain what the damn problem is, violet.” you were well aware that there was nothing she hated more than being called by her government name, but you had a point to make. and yet, still no response.

the night had started out peacefully enough. the two of you had been invited to a party that night that “what’s-her-name” was hosting (some girl from your psych class, but the don julio always fucked with your memory). you scanned your brain, trying to figure out what the problem was. it wasn’t your outfit (she already fucked you in it earlier, whispering endlessly about how beautiful you were as she shoved her ringed fingers into your cunt, dripping so much it almost stained your new fur boots). it’s not like y’all had any arguments before you left. she had a little bit to smoke, a little to drink, hell it looked like she was having the time of her fucking life as she gripped your hips and caught every ounce of ass you threw at her every time you felt like dancing. so yeah, you were hella lost. you took out your (sadly dying) cart, ghosting the last bit of what was left as you started scrolling on your phone. if she wants to be petty for no reason, then fine. that also happened to be your area of expertise.

it was the most awkward 15 minutes of your life.

“i just don’t know why you had to talk to her”. oh, so now she has something to say.

“i’m not sure if you noticed this, but we were at a lesbian bar, violet. there were a shit ton of “shes” and “hers” present.”

“and out of all of them you still choose to talk to your bum ass ex.”

oh. oh.

like you said earlier, the second even the slightest bit of liquor hits your system ….and suddenly you're not the most reliable of narrators. it’s one of your quirks.

“we literally had a 3 sentence conversation, babe. she said hi, i said hi, she asked how class was going, i said fine, and that was the end of it.” the brief encounter was so irrelevant to you that you didn’t even bother to answer her questions with enthusiasm. for context, the ex in question’s name was niyla, aka the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your entire twenty-one years of life. you weren’t together very long, just 6 months your freshman year of college, but her toxicity and borderline emotional abuse took its toll on your mental state at the time. every attempt you made at trying to change her behavior failed, every apology that ever came from her mouth was half-assed and empty, and you ran for the hills the moment you could.

but granted, that was a really long time ago, and you were proud to say that you were 100% over her. besides, the queer community at your school was notoriously small, the sapphic side even more so. you accepted the fact that running into her would be inevitable a long time ago. you’ve seen her out and about since the breakup, but this was the first time you’ve actually spoken to her.

vi slightly softened, releasing her vice grip on the wheel and exhaling deeply. “i know, y/n. it’s just…”. she suddenly held your hand again, lightly stroking the pretty henna that decorated it as she tried to find the words. “i can’t stand the fact that she still thinks she has the right to talk to you.” it wasn’t everyday that vi was so…vulnerable. even though she had the utmost amount of trust and respect for you, really sitting down and discussing her thoughts and emotions wasn’t something that came easy to her. you kissed her hand and nuzzled it against your cheek, urging her to continue. “she treated you like absolute garbage…i just don’t want you to get swept up in all that bullshit again, you know?” you listened intensely, absorbing every single word as your heart began to swell with love.

she chuckled humorlessly, seemingly dismissing her thoughts. “but i guess i should’ve just started off with that rather than giving you the silent treatment. my therapist always talks about how i need to work on my ‘communication skills’. or ….something like that.” her eyes, deeply apologetic, glanced down at yours. “forgive me, cupcake?”

“mmm, maybe. on one condition”. truth is, you already forgave her the moment she explained herself, but god, seeing her all sincere and introspective did something to you. a mischievous smirk graced your features as you took the hand that was still caressing your cheek and began trailing it down your body. vi’s eyes widened as she felt the dampness of your thin lace panties, slick slowly starting to gush out as your face got hotter and hotter. “you have to make it up to me.”

— Otherworldly Differences

mark grayson x saiyan! reader

• fic type: oneshot & fluff

• summary: crash landing on such a feeble planet wasn't on your to-do list. although this being whose nearly as strong a you confronts you, so you decide to humor him.

• word count: 5.8k

• warnings: mild canon typical violence, threat of violence, blood

• a/n: As you can see I got really carried away. 🧍‍♀️I like DBZ and I like Invincible, so why not combine the two!! Also I've just started watching invincible so sorry if he's ooc.

A shrill, wailing sound yanks you from unconsciousness, vibrating through your skull like an alarm gone haywire. You groan, forcing your heavy eyelids open, and are immediately greeted by the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth.

Smoke billows around you, thick and suffocating, curling from the shattered remains of your ship—a twisted hunk of alien steel embedded deep in the cracked pavement.

Your head pounds in protest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your temples. You press a hand to your forehead, then glance down at yourself.

Dust clings to your skin, mingling with smudges of soot and dried blood. Your armor, now riddled with scorch marks and gashes, groans as you shift.

Damn. That landing must’ve been rough.

Muffled shouts rise above the ringing in your ears. Blinking away the haze, you finally take in your surroundings.

Small, weak-looking creatures encircle the crash site, clad in identical dark uniforms. They hold strange little metal sticks, aiming them at you like they actually expect them to do something.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Step away from the wreckage!”

“You’re under arrest!”

You arch a brow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. They think they can arrest me? That’s adorable.

With a groan, you push yourself upright, rolling your shoulders. A shower of debris crumbles from your armor, scattering across the crater floor. Your hair, wild and voluminous as ever, whips around your face as you stretch.

"Where in the name of Vegeta am I?" you mutter, voice thick with irritation.

The humans stiffen. Their fingers tighten around their weapons, eyes flickering between you and the destruction left in your wake.

The boldest of the bunch—a man with gritted teeth and an unfortunate mustache—steps forward, barrel trained directly at your chest.

“I said put your hands up!” he barks.

You tilt your head, gaze flicking over him with mild amusement. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Apparently, he doesn’t. None of them do. Because instead of answering, they just keep shouting, their voices a frantic mess of demands and threats.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exhausting. If they refuse to answer your questions, perhaps a demonstration is in order.

Your eyes scan the wreckage, landing on the nearest object of interest—a large, boxy vehicle with shattered windows and blaring alarms.

Without hesitation, you grab it by the undercarriage, lift it effortlessly over your head, and hurl it toward a nearby building.

Glass explodes outward as the car crashes through the structure, embedding itself halfway into the second floor. The ground trembles from the impact, sending fresh cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement.

That gets their attention.

“Holy Shit!”

“She’s a freaking alien!”

“No shit,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Now, which one of you is in charge?”

Before anyone can respond, a gust of wind nearly knocks you back. A shadow streaks across the sky, descending at high speed.

You turn just in time to see a figure land in front of you, kicking up dust upon impact.

An array of yellow, blue and back filled your vision, toned muscles flexing between the tight material of a suit.

You recognize the stance immediately. A fighter. Interesting.

“You must be the problem everyone’s freaking out about,” he says, arms crossed. His tone isn’t immediately hostile—more wary than anything.

You grin, rolling your shoulders. “Depends. You here to challenge me?”

The guy blinks, visibly thrown off. “Uh, not exactly.”

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping someone here would be worth my time.”

Despite yourself, you’re intrigued. He’s strong—you can sense it. Not nearly Saiyan strong, of course, but there’s something different about him. Something… familiar.

He studies you just as intently, gaze flicking between your tattered armor, your battle-worn knuckles, and—most notably—the towering mass of thick hair atop your head.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates.

“I’m Invincible,” he offers instead.

You snort. “Bit cocky, don’t you think?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A beat of silence. Neither of you moves.

Then, cautiously, he gestures toward the chaos surrounding you. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

Mark exhales through his nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Seriously, can we just… talk?” He gestures at the wreckage, the police, the frightened civilians peeking from behind cover.

“You’re obviously not from around here, and you seem kinda… lost?”

You bristle at the implication. You are not lost. Saiyans do not get lost.

But.

Well.

You don’t exactly know where you are, and it’s slightly concerning that your ship is currently a pile of molten scrap metal.

“…Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into the tattered remains of your belt. “But if this is a trap, I’m breaking every bone in your body.”

Mark exhales in relief, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Noted,” he mutters. Then, more amused than he probably should be: “You always this dramatic?”

You smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

His lips twitch, as if suppressing a laugh. Instead, he just shakes his head and gestures for you to follow.

You crack your neck, glance at the still-stunned humans, and grin.

Let’s see where this goes.

••••

You hate this place.

It smells like sterilization and fear, the kind of artificially clean air that makes your skin itch.

The walls are a cold, metallic gray, pulsing with dim overhead lights. The whole facility hums with electricity, the kind that suggests they have restraints for things stronger than humans.

And the way they’re looking at you? Like you’re a specimen in a cage? You really, really don’t like that.

You sit in a metal chair bolted to the floor, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as you stare at the wrinkled man in front of you.

His name is Cecil. You’ve already decided you don’t like him.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been droning on, asking questions about your species, your ship, your intentions—like you owe him answers.

You’ve made a game of not responding, watching his patience wear thin.

“You’re really not gonna talk?” he asks, finally, voice dry as dust.

You smirk. “Why would I answer to someone who can’t even fly?”

Cecil’s face twitches. Across the room, Mark—Invincible, as he insists on being called—snorts.

He tries to smother his laugh, pressing his lips together, but you see the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cecil doesn’t react beyond a slow exhale through his nose. He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. A lesser man would’ve cracked by now.

“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “You’re not our first alien visitor, and you probably won’t be our last. But if you’re planning to cause problems—”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, flashing him a slow, sharp grin. “I am the problem,” you say, voice dripping with amusement.

“And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Mark shifts slightly. You don’t need to look at him to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body tenses like he’s preparing for you to lash out again.

You’re not going to—yet—but the fact that he thinks you might is amusing.

Cecil just sighs and rubs his temple. “Get her out of my sight.”

You stand, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“Finally. This room smells like weakness.”

One of the armed guards by the door stiffens at that, knuckles whitening on his weapon. You give him a slow, pointed grin before turning away.

Mark steps beside you, shaking his head. “You’re so charming,” he mutters, voice laced with dry amusement.

You flash him a smirk. “I try.”

He gestures toward the exit. “Come on, oh mighty warrior. Let’s get you some fresh air before you pick a fight with the janitor.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn about Earth.

Assimilate, he says. Blend in.

You think it’s ridiculous. Why should you have to adapt to them? You are superior in every way—stronger, faster, smarter. If anything, they should be learning from you.

But… well. You suppose humoring Mark is preferable to rotting away in that dreadful government facility.

So when he insists on introducing you to “the best thing Earth has to offer,” you allow yourself to be dragged along, arms crossed and skepticism at full capacity.

Which is how you find yourself sitting in a place called Mama Luigi’s Pizza.

The walls are plastered with photographs of grinning humans holding enormous, greasy slices of something that looks like food but definitely doesn’t smell like anything worth eating.

The air is thick with the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce.

Mark places a box in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, first lesson in being an Earthling, food.”

You narrow your eyes at the offering. The circular dish is sliced into uneven triangles, topped with bubbling golden cheese and a thin layer of something red.

You poke it with a finger. It squishes slightly. “What is this?”

Mark sighs like he was expecting this reaction. “It’s pizza. Just try it.”

You glance at him, then back at the pizza. It doesn’t smell awful, but it looks so… soft.

Your diet consists of meat cooked over an open flame, raw energy rations, and the occasional alien delicacy that most species wouldn’t dare touch.

This? This just looks like melted goo on soggy bread.

“Do humans consume nothing of nutritional value?” you ask, lifting one of the slices and examining it like it might try to escape. “How does this pathetic excuse for sustenance fuel you?”

Mark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always about nutrition. Sometimes it's about taste.”

You snort. “Taste is secondary to power.”

“Okay, Y/n,” Mark deadpans. “Just take a bite.”

You sniff it warily, then, with great reluctance, sink your teeth into the gooey mess.

The moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brain short-circuits.

Salty, savory cheese. Rich, tangy sauce. The warm, crispy-yet-doughy crust. Your taste buds—so accustomed to the harsh, metallic tang of survival rations—practically explode.

You don’t mean to make a noise, but something between a hum and a low growl of approval rumbles in your throat.

Your grip on the slice tightens, fingers flexing instinctively.

Mark watches with interest as your pupils dilate. “...Well?” he prompts, smirking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you devour the rest of the slice in two bites, grab another, and tear into it like a starving beast.

Mark blinks. “Oh. Oh wow.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The pizza—this godly, divine creation—is disappearing at an alarming rate.

You don’t pace yourself.

You don’t breathe.

You just consume.

Mark leans back in his chair, watching in a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh, you do know you’re supposed to chew, right?”

You ignore him, grabbing another slice, cheese stretching between your fingers.

Mark’s brows shoot up. “Are you—oh my god, are you actually growling?”

You pause mid-bite, realizing that yes, you are growling—a low, territorial rumble vibrating from your chest. Your muscles are coiled, posture slightly hunched as if guarding your prize.

You force yourself to relax, clearing your throat. “Instinct,” you say, voice muffled around your mouthful. “Saiyan biology.”

Mark stares at you.

Then at the emptying box.

Then back at you.

“That’s terrifying.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, completely unbothered. “It is efficient.”

Mark gestures to the now nearly empty pizza box. “That was supposed to be for both of us.”

You glance at the single, lonely slice remaining in the box, then at Mark. Then back at the slice.

You grab it.

“HEY!”

You take an exaggerated bite, chewing slowly, making direct eye contact with him as you do.

Mark groans, slumping back in his seat. “I cannot believe I just witnessed a Saiyan discovering pizza.”

You swallow and grin. “Alright.” You gesture to the crumbs and grease-stained box. “This planet might have some value after all.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn human customs if you're going to stay on Earth.

You think human customs are stupid.

“Just try to blend in,” Mark says as he leads you down a crowded city street, his voice already laced with exhaustion. “No throwing cars, no threatening people, and for the love of God, no fighting the barista.”

You scoff, ruffling your hair in annoyance. “If this barista dares disrespect me, they’ll have earned the beating.”

Mark sighs. “I’m begging you to be normal for five minutes.”

You don’t dignify that with a response.

The place Mark drags you to is small and cramped, filled with the scent of something bitter and the low hum of human chatter. Coffee shop, he calls it. You call it a waste of time.

The line moves painfully slow. You tap your foot impatiently, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ridiculous menu full of nonsense words like macchiato and venti.

“These names are stupid.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to understand them. Just order something.”

Finally, you reach the front. A young man stands behind the counter, looking more exhausted than Mark. His uniform is wrinkled, his expression blank.

He sighs. “What can I get you?”

You lift your chin. “Your strongest drink.”

The barista barely reacts. “Do you want that hot or iced?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is there a difference?”

Mark nudges your side. “Just say hot.”

You roll your eyes. “Hot, then.”

The barista punches something into his register. “Name for the order?”

You blink. “Why do you need my name?”

“It’s so we can call it when your drink is ready.”

You frown. “You mean I have to wait?”

The barista, clearly dead inside, just blinks at you. “Yes?”

You lean forward slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark audibly groans.

The barista, now vaguely alarmed, glances at Mark for guidance. Mark shoots him an apologetic look before turning to you, voice dangerously close to pleading. “Just give him your name and be cool.”

You stare at the barista. The barista stares back. Then, slowly, you smirk. “Fine. My name is Y/N the Warmonger.”

Mark visibly deflates.

The barista, now beyond caring, just types something into the register. “That’ll be $4.75.”

You blink. “That will be what?”

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Mark pulls out a small green rectangle and hands it over before you can start breaking things. “I got it.”

You watch as the barista takes the rectangle, swipes it through a strange machine, and hands it back.

You lean over, voice low. “Did he just steal from you?”

Mark drags a hand down his face. “That’s how money works.”

“Money is a scam.”

Mark gestures for you to step aside as the next customer moves forward. “Welcome to capitalism.”

You huff, tapping your fingers against the counter as you wait. “How long does this process take?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Mark shrugs. “How busy they are.”

You look around. There are only three other people waiting. “This is pathetic.”

“Do you have to say everything you think out loud?”

“Yes, I do.”

Mark stares at you for a long moment, then sighs. “Just… stand here and don’t start a fight.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I won’t start a fight.”

Mark looks at you like he doesn’t believe you at all.

Minutes pass. The baristas move at a snail’s pace, making drinks with far more effort than seems necessary.

Your patience—what little exists—wears thin.

Finally, someone calls, “Y/N the Warmonger?”

You smirk, stepping forward. “Ah, finally.”

The barista places a small cup on the counter.

You eye it. “That’s it?”

Mark claps a hand over his face. “Please don’t—”

You grab the cup and inspect it. It’s small—far smaller than you expected. And it’s hot, heat seeping through the flimsy material. You narrow your eyes at the tiny opening in the lid. “This is ridiculous.”

Mark nudges your arm. “Just take a sip.”

You do.

And immediately gag.

Mark snorts. “Not a fan?”

You shove the cup back at him, wiping your tongue on your sleeve. “It tastes like burnt dirt.”

“That’s coffee.”

“Why do humans drink this?”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Some of us like suffering.”

You glare at the cup. “This explains so much.”

Mark is laughing now, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe coffee isn’t your thing.”

You sneer at the cup as if it personally offended you. “I will destroy this establishment.”

Mark grabs your arm. “We are leaving.”

••••

Mark should’ve known better than to mention Halloween in passing.

The moment the words leave his mouth, you stop walking, whip around, and grab his shoulders so fast he barely has time to react.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Your grip tightens, eyes burning with intensity. "So you’re telling me there’s a day—a whole day—where I can wear anything I want, and people just… give me things?"

Mark blinks, looking mildly concerned for his well-being. "Uh… yeah? That’s… basically Halloween."

Your expression is deadly serious. "This is the best planet in the universe."

Mark sighs, prying your fingers off his shoulders. "You really don’t need to be this dramatic."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I absolutely do. This is groundbreaking information, Mark. Do you understand how insane this sounds? Where I’m from, if you want something, you take it—or you beat someone into the ground until they hand it over."

"Yeah, we call that robbery," Mark mutters.

You ignore him. "But this? This is a sanctioned event?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much. Kids dress up, go door to door, and get candy."

Your head tilts. "Candy?"

Mark pauses, realizing something horrifying. "Wait. You’ve never had candy before?"

You raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Mark grabs you hand, a new found conviction stirring his heart. "Okay, new plan. We are absolutely fixing this."

The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of a store filled with costumes.

Mark drags you through the aisles, dodging plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and a disturbing number of severed limbs. You pick up a dismembered hand, inspecting it with mild curiosity.

"Humans celebrate death?" you ask, turning it over in your palm.

Mark huffs a laugh. "Kinda. Halloween’s all about spooky stuff. Ghosts, monsters, horror movies—"

"Horror movies?" you echo, dropping the fake hand.

"Yeah, it's filled with things that's supposed to be scary—like, creepy stories, jump scares, murder-y villains—"

Your eyes light up. "You have a murder holiday?"

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. "That’s not—never mind. Just pick out a costume."

You survey the wall of options, eyes scanning the bizarre selection.

"What’s a ‘sexy nurse’?"

Mark chokes, face growing warmer. "Not that one!"

You grin, baring sharp canines. "Ohhh, so it's not just a murder holiday."

Mark groans, dragging you toward another aisle. "We’re not doing this."

After an obnoxiously long debate (and Mark vetoing several of your more violent ideas), you finally settle on something appropriately intimidating.

A black cape, sleek armor, and a terrifying mask with glowing red eyes.

Mark squints at the tag. "Darth Vader?"

You tilt your head. "This man—he was a warrior, yes?"

"Uh… kinda?" Mark hesitates. "More like an evil space dictator."

You grin. "So, a king."

Mark sighs. "I feel like I should stop you, but… honestly? You’re weirdly perfect for this."

You flick the cape over your shoulder, nodding in approval. "Yes. Lord Vader is ready to conquer this...Halloween."

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t start referring to yourself in the third person."

You smirk, already deep in character. "Lord Vader does as he pleases."

Mark groans.

Hours later, you’re stalking the streets with a plastic skull bucket (Mark refused to let you carry an actual skull), and your energy is through the roof.

"Look at them, Mark!" You gesture wildly at the groups of costumed children. "They fear me!"

"They don’t," Mark corrects. "They think you’re cosplaying."

You scoff. "They should fear me."

"That's called fear mongering."

You ignore him, marching up to a door and pounding on it like you’re issuing a challenge.

A kindly old woman answers, beaming. "Oh, what a lovely costume! And who are you supposed to be, dear?"

You puff out your chest. "I am Lord Vader! Kneel before me, mortal!"

Mark, standing behind you, mutters, "I can't do this."

The woman chuckles, unbothered, and drops a handful of candy into your bucket. "Well, Lord Vader, enjoy your treats!"

You stare down at the loot. Then at Mark. Then back at the candy.

Your voice drops to a whisper. "It worked."

Mark claps a hand on your shoulder, smiling lightly at the child like wonder in your expression. "Welcome to Halloween."

••••

Mark fascinates you.

You don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere between the endless sparring matches, the insufferable Earth lessons, and the way he constantly calls you out on your arrogance, you started… caring.

It’s infuriating.

He’s not a Saiyan. He’s soft. Idealistic.

Sentimental in a way that would get him killed on any real battlefield. Yet, he doesn’t break. No matter how many times he's knocked down, he always gets back up.

He’s stubborn. Stupidly determined. And worse—so much worse—he’s kind.

And every time he smiles at you, your stomach does this weird thing that you refuse to acknowledge.

You blame it on Earth’s atmosphere.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you, golden from the streetlights. It’s late—too late—but neither of you seems particularly eager to leave.

Mark leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, I used to think I was strong.”

You snort, swinging your legs over the ledge. “Used to?”

He gives you a sideways glance. “Yeah, and then I met you.”

You smirk. “Ah. A humbling experience, I’m sure.”

Mark groans. “I hate that you’re so smug about it.”

“But I earned the right to be smug,” you counter, grinning. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. You should thank me for showing you how weak you are.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh yeah, thanks so much, Your Highness. I love getting my ass kicked on a regular basis.”

You shrug. “You should. It builds character.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You love messing with me, don’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Of course.”

“Why?”

You blink. The question catches you off guard.

Mark watches you expectantly, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you—less irritated, more curious.

You feel a strange warmth creeping up your neck.

You click your tongue. “Because you react.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You wave a hand at him. “Most beings—weaklings—would just fear me, but you? You get angry. You argue. You fight back.” You smirk. “It’s entertaining.”

Mark shakes his head, exasperated but smiling. “You are so weird.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He leans back again, gaze shifting to the sky. “It’s not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You don’t like the feeling.

The next time you spar, it’s different.

You’ve fought Mark dozens of times now, and it’s usually predictable. You win. He loses. He gets slightly better each time, but the outcome never really changes.

Except… today, he lasts longer.

His movements are sharper, more controlled. His dodges are precise. His counters actually make you work.

You grin, blood pumping, excitement thrumming under your skin.

“Finally,” you breathe, dodging a punch by a hair. “I was starting to think you’d never improve.”

Mark exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a very aggressive training partner.”

You smirk, throwing a kick that he barely manages to block. “And look at you now! Almost respectable.”

“Almost?”

You grin. “Let’s see if you can prove me wrong.”

He lunges again, and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it—not just the fight, but him. The way he moves. The way he refuses to back down. The way he looks at you, like he’s actually enjoying himself too.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky grin, but a real smile. Bright. Genuine.

And something in your stomach flips.

You stumble.

Not much—barely a misstep—but enough. Mark seizes the opportunity, slamming into you with enough force to send you skidding backward.

You catch yourself before you hit the ground, flipping midair and landing in a crouch. Your heart is pounding—not from the fight, but from the fact that you hesitated.

You never hesitate.

Mark grins, slightly out of breath. “Hey, did I actually get you just now?”

Your fingers twitch. You force your expression back to neutral. “No.”

Mark raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You glare. “Absolutely.”

He smirks. “You totally hesitated.”

You stand up, rolling your shoulders. “You wish.”

Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know I did.”

You hate that he’s right.

You hate that you let him be right.

And most of all…

You hate that your stomach does that thing again.

••••

You don’t care about Earth.

That’s what you’ve told yourself, over and over again, ever since you crash-landed on this ridiculous planet full of weaklings. You don’t care about its people, its customs, or its foolish attachment to peace.

But then someone hurts Mark.

And suddenly, none of that matters.

It happens fast.

One moment, you’re watching him trade blows with some costumed idiot—some third-rate, no-name waste of oxygen who dares to think they can beat him.

And then—

Mark hesitates. Just for a second.

And in that second, the bastard slams a fist straight into his ribs with enough force to send him crashing through a building.

Your vision goes red.

Your usual smugness—your sharp, teasing quips—vanish. There's no room for anything but pure, feral rage.

You don’t think.

You react.

The air around you crackles as you launch yourself forward, faster than the fool can process. One second, they’re standing there, smug over landing a hit on Mark—

The next, you have them by the throat.

Their eyes widen, hands clawing at yours, feet kicking uselessly in the air. You squeeze, just enough to make them panic.

“You think you’re strong?” Your voice is low, almost a growl, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You think you can just touch him?”

They make a choked noise, eyes bulging. You hate looking at them. This weak, insignificant thing that had the audacity to harm what’s yours.

Your grip tightens. The building behind you trembles from the sheer force of your energy surging outward. Hair flickering between its normal color and golden for a split second.

Mark coughs somewhere in the rubble. "Y/N—"

Your head snaps toward the sound. He’s trying to push himself up, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood smeared across his cheek.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something softer.

You don’t like it.

You scowl, then turn back to your prey. You could end this fight right now. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be nothing but a crumpled mess of bone and flesh.

But Mark—damn him—is still watching.

And for some stupid reason, you care about what he sees.

With a growl, you throw the bastard across the street. Their body smashes through a lamppost before skidding to a limp halt. You don’t bother checking if they get up. If they know what’s good for them, they won’t.

The moment they’re gone, you stalk over to Mark, who is still gawking at you.

“Did you just—”

"Shut up," you snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet.

He stumbles slightly, and you automatically shift to steady him, one hand gripping his forearm.

He’s warm under your fingers, his breath still uneven from the fight. His eyes lock onto yours, searching.

Your jaw tightens. "If you die, I’ll be very pissed off."

Mark blinks, then—despite the blood on his lip, despite the bruises already blooming across his skin—he grins.

“You care about me,” he says, tone dripping with amusement.

Your eye twitches.

"You care about me," he repeats, sing-song, like he’s delighted about it.

You shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back. "I will end you."

Mark just laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Right after you finish avenging my honor."

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that you let yourself care.

And most of all—

You hate the way your stomach flips when he looks at you like that.

••••

It’s late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you don’t sleep much. Not like humans do.

So you sit alone on the edge of his rooftop, arms resting on your knees, staring up at the sky. The stars above are bright tonight, scattered across the inky black like shattered glass.

They stretch endlessly, far beyond Earth, far beyond this tiny planet with its weak gravity and fragile people.

Somewhere out there, a long time ago, there was a place you should have called home.

But Planet Vegeta is gone.

You don’t remember it. You were too young when it was destroyed, sent away before the blast could reach you. By the time you were old enough to ask questions, there was nothing left to return to—just empty space where your people once stood.

You should be used to it by now.

But some nights—like this one—your chest feels hollow.

The soft thud of footsteps behind you barely registers. You already know who it is.

Mark drops down beside you, not saying anything at first, just watching the sky with you.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected months ago.

Then, quietly, he asks, “You ever think about going back?”

You exhale slowly, gaze never leaving the stars. “Not really an option.”

Mark tilts his head. “Why not?”

Your fingers clench slightly. “Because there’s nothing to go back to.”

His expression shifts. "Oh."

You don’t like the pity in his voice. You shoot him a sharp glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lose my planet—I never had it to begin with.”

Mark studies you, his expression unreadable. "Still. That’s… a lot."

You scoff. "I manage."

Silence.

Then, softly—“Then maybe Earth is your home now.”

Your head snaps toward him, expecting mockery, but there’s none. No teasing, no sarcasm—just sincerity. Just Mark.

He looks at you like it’s an obvious answer, like it doesn’t matter that you’re not human, that you don’t belong here.

For the first time, you don’t scoff.

“…Maybe.”

••••

Mark is fidgeting.

You’ve been watching him shift awkwardly in place for the past two minutes, and you can’t decide whether you’re more entertained or secondhand embarrassed.

His hands keep clenching at his sides, like he can’t decide if he wants to put them in his pockets, cross his arms, or just gesture wildly. He rubs the back of his neck so much that you’re convinced he might actually rub his skin raw. And the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot?

Pathetic. Yet...cute.

Your brow arches. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there looking constipated?”

Mark flinches like you just punched him in the gut. “I—I have something I need to tell you.”

You cross your arms, tilting your head, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

He takes a deep breath, like that might somehow help him, then lets it out in a rush of air that makes him seem even more stressed.

His shoulders are too tense, his expression too strained, and his heartbeat—oh, his heartbeat is practically hammering through his chest. Is he nervous?

He’s never like this during fights. Even when he’s getting thrown through buildings, he usually keeps his cool, and pushing through with sheer stubbornness. But right now?

Mark looks like he might actually pass out.

“So, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I think I—no, I know I—uh—”

Your smirk widens. You can’t help it. “Spit it out, Invincible.”

That seems to make it worse. He groans, eyes squeezing shut, head tilting back like he’s begging the universe for patience.

Then, he just blurts it out.

“I like you, okay? A lot. A lot more than normal, And I know you probably think I’m beneath you, but—”

You don’t think.

You act.

Before he can finish whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to say, you grab the front of his suit and yank him forward, crashing your lips against his.

It’s instinct. It’s reaction. It’s the only thing you can do when faced with something that makes your chest feel tight.

For a second, he freezes.

Then, he melts into it.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he’s so still. You realize he’s holding his breath, and maybe you are too. The world around you fades into nothing, like the only thing anchoring you to reality is the heat of his mouth against yours.

And then it’s over.

You pull back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, letting go of his shirt like it just burned you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face—damn it, why does your face feel hot?

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to cover your mouth, your brain screaming at you for what you just did.

Mark just… stares.

His mouth is slightly open, his eyebrows raised, his lips still parted like he’s still processing what just happened. There’s a deep flush creeping up his neck, painting his ears red, but—he’s not speaking.

Oh, universe.

Why isn’t he speaking?

Panic creeps up your spine like a slow-burning fire. You shouldn’t have done that. What if you—what if he—

“…You kissed me.” His voice is dazed, barely more than a whisper, and that’s when you snap.

You stiffen, looking anywhere but at him. “You were—talking too much.”

Slowly—too slowly—something shifts in his expression. The stunned silence fades, melting into something smug. His lips curl at the edges, the flush on his cheeks still present but no longer uncertain. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered victory.

His voice is annoyingly triumphant. “You like me.”

Your entire body locks up.

“No,” you say immediately.

Mark steps closer. “You so do.”

“I don’t,” you insist, but the way you’re backing up is not helping your case.

Mark follows, his confidence growing with every second. “You totally do. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, but it’s not exasperation—it’s exhilaration. “I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything,” you mutter, face burning.

He grins. “You are so cute right now.”

Your hands clench into fists. “I will end you.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases. “But not before I kiss you again.”

You whip around so fast your hair nearly smacks him in the face. “I hate you.”

He has the audacity to laugh. A full, bright, obnoxiously victorious laugh.

“No, you don’t.”

Your mouth opens—probably to snap something back—but Mark just leans in, smirking.

“If it makes you feel better,” he muses, “I really enjoyed it.”

You go completely still, face burning impossibly warmer.

Mark grins wider, “And I know you enjoyed it too.”

Your eye twitches.

He laughs again, and you hate how much you don’t hate the sound of it.

I will be heard bro 💀

content - cussing , slightly dirty thoughts,

I had a thinky thought about my husband. Because I love my husband.

Single!Black!Mother!Reader x Neighbor!Jason Todd. Ugh.

Jason who lives across the hall, who you suspect is Red Hood. You never call him out on it, or even ask—you just know. And he knows that you know. Lots of people know. But the people of Crime Alley care too much 'bout him to acknowledge it. He did good by them, so they did good by him in return.

Because you know what he's capable of, and because you've seen him care about his community before, you trust him with your life.

And your kid's.

You don't explain to him that you need him to play babysitter, you just knock on the door across from yours with your kid at your side and your keys in your palm.

You're all dolled up 'cause you'd gotten this interview for this job that was perfect for you. That would pay better, and you need to make the best possible impression—kinks perfectly gelled, cheeks blushed, lashes curled, lips all glossy.

You don't notice how his eyes take in the way the grey slacks you wore hug your hips a bit too tight. Or how his eyes get caught on the soft swell of your tits straining against what's meant to be (but failing to be) a loose fitting Red blouse.

You look phenomenal in his color. He thinks, for the briefest of moments, that you did it on purpose.

You look good enough to eat. And when you part those beautifully full, glossy lips—he feels set up. Like you knew he couldn't possibly dream of ever denying you.

"Please."

Fuckin' hell, you say that word so god damn pretty. You're so god damn mother fuckin' pretty. He always thought you had the biggest, prettiest eyes. Wide and dark, like a doe. He wonders, crudely, what they'd look like rolled into the back of your head.

So Jason huffs, and opens the door wider—unlike you, he doesn't miss cues. He sees how you relax, how you smile slightly, how your eyes catch on his face. If he didn't know better he'd think you liked him as much as he liked you.

He watches as you kiss your kid's cheek (envy burns in his stomach that he has to douse) and say he'll take care of them while momma goes to her interview. He loathes when you leave. Wants to tell you to come back, that he'll take care of you. That you didn't have to worry 'cause he was makin' money and he'd happily pay your rent, baby, all you had to do was say the fuckin' word.

He doesn't close the door until he's finished watchin' you walk down the hall. God, those fuckin' slacks, he loves watchin' you walk away.

Your child pouts as he situates them on his couch. He has to flip a little to find qubo, where Jacob Two-Two is in the middle of repeating a sentence.

"I want my momma.."

The kid whines.

He sighs.

"She 'bouta come back. Momma's just gotta go out for a minute, kid."

He swallows down what he really wanted to say. Swallows down a groan, because he's in the presence of a child and he wouldn't dream of exposing a kid to his inner thoughts.

'Christ, kid, I want your fuckin' momma too.'