cherryheairt

[cherryheairt]

we all have that one fic that we treat like our favorite child

[cherryheairt]

⭒ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Recs 2

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 08/28/2025

⭒ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

⭒ Marvel Comics 

there’s no death here | @motthe

there’s no death here part 2 | @/motthe

save her | @https-bobreynolds

during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

soft spot | @/https-bobreynolds

watching a comfort movie with his girlfriend unexpectedly led bob to a terrifying confrontation with an ancient being who happen to be his own dark entity’s girlfriend.

Introductions Are in Order | @h3catee

Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys.

A Moment of Peace | @/h3catee

After a few months of living with the New Avengers you have found solace in the quiet moments and Bob couldn’t agree more.

Honey | @strkly

after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

something sweet | @/strkly

bob spents a lot of time rethinking the past between you and him. he gets jealous. maybe the old feelings still laid below the surface.

Misunderstanding | @/strkly

you and bob were inseparable. until he begins to ignore you and you have no clue why. when you’re injured after a mission gone wrong you’re finally able to find out why.

reader wakes up in the middle of the night and gets jumpscared when she sees Void standing right beside their bed | @gay-dorito-dust

If I Believe You | @em1i2a3

Velour and Velcro |  @/em1i2a3

You have a hobby of drawing and designing things in your spare time, one day Bob stumbles across your sketchbook and discovers something surprising.

Detonate | @/em1i2a3

 Move in day is happening at the Thunderbolts/New Avengers Compound, and Bob is having a hard time dealing with the changes.

Never Let Me Go | @/em1i2a3

On a day off, the team arranges to go to a farmers market to do a bit of R and R. But what happens when Bob has an unexpected encounter with a ghost of his past?

Telescope |  @/em1i2a3

On a whim, Bob decides to give himself a haircut and immediately regrets it, so you step in to help.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄  | @cosmictheo

bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 |  @/cosmictheo

it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

reader taking care of bob during a depressive episode  | @lovebugism

you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why

Fever Dreams and Quiet Things | @arkofangels

When Bob’s cold leaves him a feverish, sniffling mess, the Watchtower’s noise becomes too much. He finds refuge in your care—tea, gentle touches, and quiet comfort, soothes his aches. You tend to him without hesitation, his presence a warmth you cherish as much as he does yours

Post Meridiem Confessions | @coffee-with-bucky

It’s during that particular time of day when the afternoon begins to wane and the evening slowly seeps into the horizon. It’s when the team wasn’t up to their elbows in missions, a reprieve — a weekend maybe, where time leisurely slowed down. A beautiful yet quiet respite that allowed game nights, shared dinners with the team, or in this case the simple act of spending time together. A moment for you and Bob.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 | @wynnerwynner

everyone but bob and y/n seem to know that they like each other.

Alone Together | @callsign-swan

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

Sneaking Around |  @/callsign-swan

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

 “𝖠𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇”  | @ang3ltine

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | @/ang3ltine

"𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠" | @/ang3ltine

 Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 | @/ang3ltine

 A get away from the city turns into something more special when the boy you had been crushing on, finally confesses.

psyche series masterlist | @gyugraphy

After the catastrophe in New York-when the Void tore through the city-the Thunderbolts know it can't happen again. Bob Reynolds doesn't need another collar or containment spell. He needs help. Enter her: a psychiatrist with an unusual gift, capable of stepping into the mind itself. No one expected her to reach him-least of all, him. "You're just going to leave me the moment it gets too hard, aren't you?" he says. She meets his gaze, steady and unshaken. "I've walked through nightmares to get to you. I won't walk away now."

Mr. Oblivious | @ofstarsandvibranium

Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

truth will set you free | @sergeantbuckybarnes

You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

miss possessive | @/sergeantbuckybarnes

 Valentina’s new assistant becomes too fixated on Bob for your linking, and it seems that she needs a reminder that she has to keep her hands off your man.

if anything | @eyelessfaces

no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

touch starved!bob |  @/eyelessfaces

before dusk | @/eyelessfaces

As big of a place the Watchtower was, living as a fresh couple surrounded by a whole team of trained soldiers still made it feel a little tight and was inevitably bound to strip you off any kind of intimacy – Ava’s fake gagging whenever you and Bob were up close when she entered a common area never failed to ruin the moment, and Alexei’s well-meant but clumsy reminders for you and Bob to use protection in front of the whole team during dinner made it everyone’s turn to fake gag. So when Bob brought up the subject of going away for a few and the idea of it started to bloom inside your mind, you knew there was no turning back – the prospect of having Bob all to yourself for a couple of days was too exhilarating to consider chasing it away. 

look what the cat dragged in | @/eyelessfaces

you get bob a cat for emotional support; the cat adopts you as parents and is undeniably bound to bring the two of you closer.

Pool Day | @moon-fics

The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

Let Me In | @scarletmika

Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

I Just Feel You |  @/scarletmika

Bob Reynolds was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

Only Good Thing |  @/scarletmika

There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

Kiss Me Again |  @/scarletmika

A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

Kiss Me Forever | @/scarletmika

Bob never expected to fall in love with a Goddess, or have her fall in love with him, too. But even when you're capable of showing him the entire galaxy, you're the only thing he wants to be looking at.

Destiny or Not |  @/scarletmika

As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

The White Witch pt. 1 Pt 02 Pt 03 | @/scarletmika

Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both. 

terms and conditions (apply) | @endofthelinegang

you storm back into Avengers Tower when Valentina de Fontaine dares to relaunch the team—with Bob Reynolds, the unstable Sentry, at its core. Old secrets, god-like power, and a name that still echoes through the halls collide in a confrontation that could tear everything apart—again.

The S*x Talk | @webslinger-holland

Since Alexei has reunited with both of his daughters, he feels obligated to fulfill his fatherly role to them which includes a safe sex talk.

Being the Hero |  @/webslinger-holland

Being stuck in the bunker forces everyone to work together in order to get out. And one of them ends up kinda being the hero.

Mama’s Boy | @everydaydreamer

Spending a peaceful morning with your son and husband.

Calling Bob by his full name | @/everydaydreamer

Sentry falls before bob | @pleasantlycrazyworld

Delicate | @flowersforbucky

“I know that you’re trying not to kiss me and I give you permission to just do it.”  

fooled around and fell in love |  @/flowersforbucky

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

more than a friend should | @fireinmoonshot

Bob didn't quite count on himself being starstruck by seeing you in a dress for the first time. You didn't count on yourself forgetting how to breathe when you saw Bob in a suit. But when you both have to get through a black tie event, the only way to do it is by getting through it together.

Control |  @/fireinmoonshot

Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

Unreal  | @/fireinmoonshot

Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you.

the complete knock | @sunsburns

you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.

the complete knock (ii) | @/sunsburns

joaquín convinced you to stay in new york as a chance to regroup... and maybe look into who the hell this bob guy is. and just when things could not get any worse, john walker finds you both under the ruse of wanting to talk.

Sea Otters & Hand Holding | @pagesfromthevoid

4 times the team tries to get Bob to go out + 1 time he goes out himself 

"hands off" |  @/pagesfromthevoid

BE MY BABY |  @castielthinkr

cowboy like me |  @goldenlikedayl1ght

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

Espionage |  @violetrainbow412-blog

a quiet morning on the Watchtower turns into psychic people-watching when Jean, Yelena, and Ava decide to “check in” on their teammates. It’s all fun and teasing, until Jean sees something she wasn’t meant to: Bob, deeply in love, living a secret life no one expected.

Shadows Beneath the Light | @/violetrainbow412-blog

Valentina contacts you to conduct a complete team assessment regarding the mystical arts. But when Bob's turn comes, it turns out he needs more of your help.

Wrapped around you | @/violetrainbow412-blog

Bob has a secret lover in the city, and that night he feels the need to sleep in her arms.

Let them see | @/violetrainbow412-blog

you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

Something Special | @blank-potato

You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 

Loving You Is Easy Part 2 | @/blank-potato

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

that's what i like | @/blank-potato

You love everything Bob does, and he doesn't seem to notice.

I Love The Girl With Magic Ways Part 2 Part 3 | @/blank-potato

When training with Bob goes awry, you come face-to-face with The Void, and he's interested in you; he wants to know what makes you tick.

didn't mean it | @upl0aded

maybe it was time to address the ‘possessiveness’ in your relationship.

The Lighthouse | @hanginginthevoid

you’ve always been drawn to bob. at first you think it means something, but then you remember that yelena’s also always been drawn to bob. and its obvious that he prefers her over you.

Home Is Where The Heart Is | @ilovemilestellersmustache

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

Eternal Sunshine | @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Bob has come to the terms he likes you, he’s perfectly fine with the dynamic you two have going on, just friends. But when the guy on the team who gets on his nerves constantly decides he wants a flirty dynamic with you, his calm facade falters leading to a crabby, sassy and mean Bob.

Second Times a Charm | @/ilovemilestellersmustache

 After a small dog escape, Bob meets you and doesn’t end up exchanging details with you. Thinking it was just meant to be a one time thing till Maisie your dog brings you back together and eventually starts a relationship. But the Thunderbolts are suspicious when Bob lately has been in a too good of a mood so they all decide to track and investigate it.

Just a Tuesday | @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Bob’s decides he can’t take the silence in between missions all alone so he ventures around New York and stumbles across a flower shop with the most gorgeous owner he just knows is his soulmate. Problem? He accidentally says he has a girlfriend, and is now finding ways to still see her at the shop.

Seasons |  @abbysbenchpr

three times you and bob are almost walked in on and the one time you are

Peace in the Darkness |  @theonewiththefanfics

Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Doctor Bob | @skeltnwrites

It's the middle of the night, you're bleeding out in the bathroom, and refusing to let Bob take you to an actual doctor aka Bob learns how to stitch up a stab wound

Short Circuit |  @honeybadgerwritings

Bob helps Y/N train to control her powers under pressure. But when frustration gets the better of her, their sparring session turns tense.

I See You  Part Two   Part Three |  @cocastyle

[cherryheairt]

F   A   U   L T L I N E .

you wake up in a vault with no recollection of how you got there, only flashes of the medical study you’d signed up for in malaysia — and come face to face with four strangers. three of them are trying to kill each other (and possibly you), and the other one is… bob.

masterlist. 

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi ( or find it on AO3 here ! )

pinterest board.

find it here !

taglist.

@s0urw00lf @lewispullsman @writeoffside @wildtigerlili @hotweeb @lina844 @beebeerockknot @spawn0fsatan @alllaboutangel @kukookuroo @hslovebot @niawoods @ghost-reine @soupiemeowmeow @moonz33 @kaylinfayezink @sugarysc @obsessedromancereader @augustjoy @starrystarrynight15 @abbyandersonslovr @yooniverse00 @billericious @silveritydreams @gmmsos @hyperfixations-go-brrr @apocalyptichero @youdontknowe @naushtheaspiringauthor @ohnogovno@woodlandwrites @skeletoonz-official @badbishsblog @leslieelaine @bmyva1entine

( if your name is on the list above, but you didn't get a notification, it means you have your tag notifications off or set to private ! )

if you would like to be added to the list, please message me here !

[cherryheairt]

I hope you continue your dragon dreamer series. I loved it the first time I read it a year ago when they barely had just made it to the wall. And i especially love it now. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you’d written some more chapters. I love your attention to detail and the way you describe the dragon bond. I’ve no clue if cregan is actually canon warg but i loved the detail. As well as the sword caught in the anchor, and how d and c trade daggers. Not to mention her not knowing she is clearly daemons kid!

All this to say I hope you keep going its one of my favorites!

ARGH i love so dearly for this. DD is my fav series just slower to write bc of plot changes and the show being split into 3 seasons. Still working on new chapters just at a different pace! Will be finishing it for certain 🥹🩷

[cherryheairt]

[cherryheairt]

someone on twt pointed out the tear in this scene and oh my god my heart…poor baby was even sadder and more tormented about it than he let on.

gif credit: @glindauplland

[cherryheairt]

im both

[cherryheairt]

Batman 2022

Superman 2025

someone pls make a fanfic with this two

superman x reader x batman

[cherryheairt]

i am in love with him

[cherryheairt]

✧   -   SLANDER.  ⋮ L.L. - 4/?

A LEX LUTHOR FANFIC   CHAPTER 4 | THREATS

MASTERPOST summary: this bald dude is ruining your life!! and you're letting it happen. pairing: lex luthor / f!reader tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, no warnings :) word count: 3k a/n: i just like making them bicker, okay? also starting to run out of gifs, there's like five lex luthor scenes in all the trailers. need them to release the movie soon.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile. Even if it’s a fake one, it makes him feel, disarmed. 

The weeks blend together as you fall into the new routine.

Gym. 

Shower. 

Breakfast. 

Work. 

Leave work. 

Arrive at LuthorCorp Tower. 

Lex Luthor. Always Lex Luthor. 

The name seems to take up every spare inch of your headspace. Who was once a name in an article you published was now an integral part of your day. What started as a dig at his company now has turned into elaborate writings of half-truth, rumors, praise, and insults…

All at his command. 

You were simply the pawn in his game, with rules you didn’t fully understand, and an endgame that remained obscured.  

“Coffee?”

You blink, then look down. Lex is holding out a crisp white cup to you.  

“Latte. Plus caramel. With extra cream, just how you like it.” 

Being a pawn… has its perks. 

“Thanks.” You trade it for the paper copy of your latest article, a column about a suspicious phone call concerning a new fighter jet LuthorCorp was designing. Lex had taken a liking to showing off just how expansive his company could be. 

The CEO had finally agreed to stop getting access to your work computer and only reviewed your work that you brought in. 

And you finally stopped all contact with your “source” from the internet. You made up some excuse to them that because of work rules, you couldn’t use their information anymore. Fear of getting them in trouble with Lex led you to cutting them off.

You told yourself it was safer this way, for them. 

What you didn’t know was that your source had stopped being real weeks ago.

Now Lex had complete control of what information you gathered and used for your articles. 

It was difficult, for both of you initially. You’d complain that he’d change too much of the integrity of your articles. He’d argue that you were giving away too much, giving away too little, not positive enough, not negative enough, and on and on. He was a picky editor, and you were highly opinionated and arrogant. 

Eventually patterns were learned and you started to tolerate Lex. You could withstand his egotistical comments and he learned to smooth-talk you when you were resisting. 

Today, was different. 

“This is sharp. I like it.” Lex says softly, placing the paper down on his desk. 

You nearly choke on your latte. “Really?” 

His eyes meet yours, then a sinister smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Except for the part where-” 

“Oh come on!” You cut him off, plopping your cup on the table. 

“I’m kidding,” He laughs and leans forward. “This is your best work.” 

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your drink again and slowly turn it in your hands. “Whatever. You’re just saying that so I keep writing for you.” 

Lex shrugs. “I don’t mind having a personal connection to the Daily Planet. And I’m sure you don’t mind having your best headline run for your entire career.”

You sigh. It’s true. Both of you mutually benefit from the arrangement. Your work is rising in popularity faster than Lois’ articles now. 

He flips to the last page, skims it for a moment, then passes it back to you. “Publish it.” 

“Yes, sir,” you grin, taking it from him. 

Okay. It was a little satisfying for you to make the article just how Lex Luthor liked them. 

Maybe he got the same satisfaction when he delivered the lattes to you, just how you liked them. 

He stands, and makes his way to the door. “I don’t have anything new for you this week. When you’re finished up with this article, you can work on something else you have.” 

You follow him out the office, heels rapidly clicking against the marble floors to keep up with him. “Nothing? Seriously, nothing Lex?”

He doesn’t stop walking and makes his way down the hallway, turning his head to you and raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Yes, nothing. But I’ll have something for next week. Enjoy the time off.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to come in?” 

You both stop at the elevator and he presses the button to go down. 

“Hm. I guess so.” 

You huff. “Wow. I can have my life back.” 

He smirks. “Careful. You might miss me.”

Crossing your arms, you scoff at him. “Bold of you to assume I enjoy this at all.”

Lex glances sideways as the elevator dings open. “You haven’t quit yet.”

He steps inside, then adds lowly, “and for someone so eager to have her old life back, you look a little… disappointed.” 

“I am not disappointed!” You retort, following suit and entering the elevator. He stifles a laugh. The doors shut. 

After week two, Lex started personally escorting you out of your meetings. It was sort of an unspoken thing, although it surprised you the first time it happened. 

You tell yourself that he walks you out because he’s controlling. Because he likes knowing exactly when you leave. 

But then again, sometimes he lingers at the exit a beat too long. 

Now it was simply part of the routine. 

It’s silent on the descent. You lean against the side, and Lex stands straight and tall, eyes forward. You keep yours trained on him, scrutinizing every fold and pleat of his pinstripe suit, the pressed collar of his shirt down to the gold and obsidian signet ring on his pinky. 

As much as you hated the dynamic between you two, at least Lex wasn’t half bad to look at. His perfectly tailored attire fit perfectly over his tall, strong body. 

You miss when his eyes flick toward you in the reflection of the elevator wall. 

Just once. 

Then forward again, 

Your staring isn’t subtle, at least not to a genius like Lex Luthor. 

But he enjoys the attention. 

Your attention. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗ ‗‗ ‗

“Hey, Jimmy! Ooh whatcha got there?” 

Your coworker has dozens of photographs strewn across his desk. They're blurry shots of a man flying in the sky, fighting a strange monster. 

“Another Superman fight this week, I got some shots off of the building next door. So cool, right?” Jimmy glances up to you from his seat. 

You pick up one of the pictures. “Was your camera not focused all the way?” 

“Shut up.” He huffs. Then quieter, “Yeah it was. But I think it adds something. What do you think?” Jimmy pulls up a mockup of the article headline with the picture. It does look admittedly attractive. It’s like one of those “UFO” sighting type pictures. 

“I like it,” you hum, and leave him for your seat. 

As you settle in and start to tidy your desk, Jimmy rolls his chair over to you. “So, your Luthor Leaks…” he starts. 

“Mhmm,” you power on your computer, avoiding his gaze. 

He leans in a little. “How are you getting this stuff? Seriously. The intel’s insane. People are obsessed! Finally some juicy insight into LuthorCorp.”

You shrug, keeping your tone even. “Good sources.”

Jimmy lets out a low whistle. “No kidding. Feels like every piece you drop peels back another layer. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s hiding.”

He wheels his chair closer to yours and you turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?” You ask.

“You know, you’ve been disappearing a lot lately. You haven't joined us for drinks in three weeks. Plus you leave work right at five.” he speaks quietly. 

You freeze for a half second, then casually sip your coffee. “I have a life, I go places.” 

“Places like… LuthorCorp tower?” he’s watching your expression carefully, eyes glinting with mischief. “You leave, then Lex Luthor’s name ends up in your column, again.” 

“Jimmy-” you roll your eyes. 

He looks around the room. Then in a loud whisper, “are you… sleeping with him?” 

Your head snaps towards him.

“No!” You blurt, then cover your mouth. 

A few heads swivel. 

“No, I’m not. That’s crazy, Jimmy!” You hiss back to him. 

He throws his hands up in the air defensively. “Sorry! But you’re not denying you’ve been meeting with him.”  

You give him a withering look “I can’t really talk about it. It’s.. complicated.” 

Jimmy leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “Okay, fine. Whatever deal you’ve struck with him, seems like it’s paying off. Your pen name is trending on Twitter these days. Harper McNeil has her own fan club, let me know if he wants to work out a deal with me.”

“Ugh,” you groan. “Trust me, you do not want to,” you manage through gritted teeth. 

He taps his freckled nose. “Taking your word for it. Just… be careful, okay?”

You nod. “Thanks, Jim.” 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗ ‗‗ ‗

It’s Thursday. 

It had been weeks since you were dragged by Cat Grant to get absolutely hammered before work on Friday. 

And for the first time, you’re actually excited to join your coworkers for cheap happy hour. 

But first, you’re running around the Daily Planet, trying to get a short brief on Hawkgirl, a new metahuman, published before your lunch break. 

Phones are ringing, reporters are typing, and Clark is asking again how to use the printer. 

You’re posted next to the machine, Clark on your left, seconds away from giving it a good kick. You checked the paper tray twice already, but it still won’t budge. 

“Are you kidding me-” 

You’re cut off by a sudden hush in the room, followed by whispers and the scuttling of people going back to their desks. 

Clark is distracted too, no longer helping you solve the printer mystery of the day. 

You stop and stand up straight, looking around the room to see what caused the sudden shift in the typically chaotic atmosphere. 

But before you see him, you recognize the clicking of his shoes on the ground. 

Oh great. 

He’s here. In your territory. 

You blink, hoping it’s a hallucination, But no, Lex Luthor is very real, and very much walking straight toward you. 

The room stills around you. Reporters sit back at their desks, pretending not to stare. Landlines stop ringing. Even the printer decides now is a good time to finally work, humming back to life in the awkward tension.

Lex doesn’t acknowledge anyone. Not Perry White, who hurries to greet him with an outstretched hand and a strained “Mr. Luthor! what a surprise -” only to be breezed past without so much as a glance.

Nope, Lex has a target, and it’s you.

As he nears, Clark shrinks to the side, not completely deserting you, but enough to let you take the limelight of the CEO’s glory. 

He stops and without greeting, pulls a folded copy of the Daily Planet from beneath his coat. 

He slaps it down on the printer beside you. You swear you can hear it shatter like glass inside. It’ll be broken for the next month.

“Care to explain this?”

It’s a seemingly normal copy of the newspaper, but upon skimming the lines, a word circled in red ink on one of the columns stands out to you. 

PlanetWatch. 

Your stomach knots. “I didn’t. That’s not my-”

“Oh, I’m well aware it’s not your byline.” He leans in just enough that you catch the faintest trace of his woodsy cologne, his words meant for you alone. “But you are the only one outside my company who’s ever seen those files. Which means either you’ve been… careless-” his gaze flicks over your entire body like a challenge, “or someone very close to you has been talking.”

Your pulse is racing, and you’re struggling to maintain composure. 

You grit your teeth and manage, “LuthorCorp is huge. There are a thousand ways this could’ve gotten out. Don’t pin this on me.”

He grimaces, and scoffs at you like you just said something naive. 

"Let’s get one thing straight, Lex,  I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do,” you bite out finally. 

You can’t deny knowing about PlanetWatch. But you would've been senseless to write something about it based on how particular Lex was about what he wanted you to publish. He had never mentioned it, so you kept quiet, secretly hoping one day that you’d learn more. 

Lex straightens, smoothing the front of his jacket, his tone cooling even further. “Careful, Miss McNeil. I only give warnings once.”

As he takes a step back he adds, “and you may not like being accused of things you didn’t do… but I like being lied to even less.”

He turns on his heel and storms away, the circled word “PlanetWatch” still glaring up at you, a silent promise that this conversation isn’t over yet.

“Okay…” Clark chuckles nervously to you once Lex is outside the building. “What was that all about?”

You head towards your desk, painfully aware that the regular commotion of the Daily Planet is back. Everyone was a witness to your public embarrassment. 

“A misunderstanding.” 

Jimmy pipes up now. “You sure? That looked like a threat to me.”

“No-” you cut him off, yanking open your drawer in your desk. You ruffle through some of the files and find the weeks old faxed document there, sitting untouched. 

The exposé was not your fault. 

Your pulse spikes. You shut the drawer, grab your bag and stand. 

Jimmy blinks, “Um, where are you going?” 

You sling the strap over your shoulder. “To get answers.” 

“What about happy hour?” 

Halfway across the bullpen, you toss over your shoulder, “Rain check.” 

The Metropolis city air hits your face warmly. Across the skyline, LuthorCorp tower rises, sleek, glassy, and smug. 

“So much for getting my life back,” you mutter, eyes locked on the building. “I hate this guy.” 

Your heels snap against the pavement as you march, ignoring taxis and bus stops. You want him to hear the anger in every click of your steps. Maybe the walk will burn it out of you. 

It doesn’t.

By the time you shove through LuthorCorp’s revolving doors, you’re a ticking bomb ready to go off. The receptionist at the front desk gives you a knowing look, you’re the girl who comes in every afternoon, the one who leaves with Lex Luthor in an uncharacteristically good mood. She doesn’t stop you, but picks up her phone and dials it right when you’re out of sight. 

You don’t slow down. 

The elevator ride is a blur, your reflection stares back at you in the mirrored walls, with flushed cheeks, wind-tostled hair, and a fire in your eyes. 

Slam.

His office door swings open under your hand, hitting the wall with a satisfying crack. 

Lex looks up from his desk, pen paused mid-signature. That infuriating calm spreads over his features like he’s been waiting for you.

He gestures lazily to the papers in front of him. “You’re not on my schedule today.”

You step forward, planting yourself in front of his desk. Arms crossed. Unmoving. You’re not giving him the satisfaction of sitting. 

“Make room, then.” 

Lex’s mouth curves, just barely. Amusement. 

He sets the pen down with deliberate care. “What are you here for?” 

Your eyes lock on his, steel blue meeting yours. “PlanetWatch.” 

“Hmm. Thought you’d never ask.” Lex leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together, eyes never leaving yours.“What would you like to know?” 

You plant your hands on the desk. “Everything.” 

“That’s a tall order, especially for someone who can’t keep my name out of gossip at her workplace.” 

Your jaw is clenched, tight. “I didn’t-”

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Shh. I’m not in the mood to fight. Let’s do what we do best, collaborate.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t like to collaborate with people who threaten and accuse me in front of my coworkers.” 

“And yet,” he pauses, and stands. “Here you are.” 

He makes his way over to the coffee table in the corner of the room, and swipes an envelope off of it. 

“I think it’s time for Harper McNeil to make an appearance,” he hands you the letter.

It’s been opened already, and you slide the paper out of it, briefly noticing a military insignia printed at the top corner. 

“What is this?” You ask before reading it. Lex simply nods, allowing you to find out for yourself. 

You freeze. “A press conference? With the United States military?” 

Lex adjusts his tie. “Yes. In Steel City. It’s tomorrow. And you’ll be accompanying me.” 

You blink. “Why?” 

“To watch. Take notes. Get the inside scoop so you can create the perfect leak people won’t be able to stop talking about.” He pulls an itinerary out of his suit jacket and hands it to you, and you take it with a free hand. “Small crowd of around a hundred people. You’ll be Harper McNeil, maybe you’ll meet a few fans.” 

You’re skeptical. “Why do I need to be there in person? Can’t I just-”

“No.” His tone is final. “You need to be in the room. I want the public to hear it from your column, from your mouth. And I want the military press to have the confidence that their plans are confidential.” 

“So you want me to spin it for you,” you say, raising a brow.

He begins to pace the room. “I want you to tell the truth… as I see it.” 

Your gut twists. “So you can control what people believe about PlanetWatch.”

“Control,” he stops at the window, looking out at the view, “isn’t a dirty word. Narratives naturally run wild. People are inevitably going to find out about this. I need you. They trust your words the most.” 

One final stand. “And what if I don’t join you?”

He glances back. “You will. It’ll be fun.”

Lex makes his way, right up to you. “I’ll even get you a new dress to wear. Do you prefer red or black?” 

His eyes sweep over your entire body, as if mentally measuring your size, imagining what you’d look like with it on. 

Your cheeks burn hot under his gaze. “Pick whichever you like, I won’t be smiling for you.” 

He leans in, lips nearly brushing your ear. “Black it is.” 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

TAGLIST: @hsgvhhi @warmestsugarcookie @idratherbesleepingrn  @boy-eater11 @purplefluffycows @high-functioning-cosplayer @amndstuckinwonderland @boba-is-a-soup @indigo703 @otakusimp1 @ihatecaloriez @selfishlycalculatingvisitor @leo4242564 @fictionalmutt @thebeatupgeneration @senatorpadmeamidala @sadgrayrainbows @cultven @biodegradable-glitter-fest @diasnohibng @lovely-seb @caren05 @thebeatupgeneration @vtektty @a-lovers-card @cherryheairt @drin707

(lmk if you want on or off the taglist! final call since there's a lot of you now)

[cherryheairt]

i never was the good samaritan

clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader

anon’s ask: “imagine him [clark] with literally polar opposite black cat. but they match so well.”

summary: a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?

word count: 13k

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, fluff, comfort and angst at times, banter, feels, grumpy!reader x sunshine!clark, enemies/coworkers to lovers, kind of jealous!clark if you squint, sort of slow-burn office romance, dramatic love confessions bc i love them, miscommunication, tiny mention of reader’s hair, making out, dry humping, happy ending.

a/n: first of all, I wanted to thank you for all the support on my recent post !!! i feel like this is kind of a disaster because i finished it using the last two brain cells i had left, so if you come across shitty writing, please just nod along. anyway, i really hope you enjoy it. i’d love to know your thoughts on it. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. and to the anon who shared this idea with me: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <333

The worst kind of days are usually preceded by rain.

That’s something a scientist might say, though you’re no scientist yourself. You’re a journalist; therefore, your profession has absolutely nothing to do with science. Either way, you’re pretty certain there must be at least one expert out there who would agree with you.

You had checked the weather app on your phone the night before, hoping that somehow, by the time morning came and you had to get ready for work, the weather would clear up and a warm beam of sunshine would follow you on your way to the office.

When your alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m., with sleep still blurring the edges of your sight, you notice the soft patter of droplets on your bedroom window, and you can already tell those gray clouds portend a series of unfortunate events that will unfold during this rainy Wednesday.

Rain is no good. For different reasons, listed down below:

a) You don’t own a car, nor do you know how to drive one.

b) The boots you were gifted on your last birthday, the ones you use for the days when the city feels underwater, are supposed to be water-resistant, though they’ve betrayed you on several occasions.

c) It’s only a matter of time before your hair swells up because of all the humidity.

The worst thing is that some people, other human beings who breathe the same air as you, seem to enjoy these days. For motives you’ll never be able to comprehend, they look forward to them, gushing about the apparent charm and appeal of drizzle. Perhaps the government could use that eagerness to spot potential future criminals.

Lazily, you pull on several layers of clothing: a plain t-shirt, a sweater, and your trench coat. You choose a darker pair of jeans so that any rain-soaked patches won’t make you look like you’ve peed yourself, which has happened before. The temperature has dropped drastically while you were sleeping, and now every room in your apartment feels cold and uninviting as you gather your things.

You know for a fact that the second you step out of this building, you’ll feel like absolute crap. But you can’t stay home and avoid your responsibilities, because it turns out you certainly enjoy having Wi-Fi and food on your stomach at the end of a long day.

And those are things you wouldn’t be able to afford if you didn’t work, because they cost money. Lots of it. So, in the end, you have no option left but to be a functional adult and go to work, contributing to the lovely city of Metropolis by writing articles for a living.

This doesn’t mean that you hate your job. In fact, you love it. You love writing, for it’s the only thing that’s stayed constant in your whole life ever since you were a kid.

The culprit for your attitude is the rain. It makes you insufferable to be around. You're no stranger to your own moods. You do realize rainy days turn you into someone more volatile.

Yet clear skies are no different. You’ve been in a mood for… forever, actually. For the past year, at least. That’s what Jimmy and Lois say. 

By the time you make it to the subway, the train you should’ve taken to be on time is already gone, your scarf smells funny, and Matthew’s standing there, just an inch away from your face.

Oh, good ol’ Matthew. A guy, maybe a couple of years older than you, who’s been trying to get your name, number, or even email address for the past few months. You see him every morning as you leave for work, and despite not succeeding in his task, he doesn’t seem to plan on giving up.

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glance to your left, not even bothering to turn your head to face him. “Matthew. If it isn’t another day of smelling your breath way too early in the morning.”

He ignores the part about his breath. Instead, he replies, “I remember telling you that you can just call me Matt.”

“That’s strange, because I remember telling you I’d never do that.”

It surprises you that he still thinks you’re playing hard to get, given it’s been four months and you’ve made it more than clear that you have no interest in him.

He grins, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t believe I’ll ever get your sense of humor.”

“Of course you won’t. It’s reserved for highly clever individuals.”

“Gosh, you’re so mean.” This time, he stares ahead, sighing. “Have I ever told you I’m a sucker for these kinds of days?”

One of your eyelids begins twitching. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“You don’t like the rain?” His eyes sparkle with what could be described as amusement. “You know, opposites attract. It’s just inevitable.”

This is the kind of interaction you’re forced to endure before you’ve even had breakfast. You wish for the next train to derail and hit you with all its might.

As you set foot in the Daily Planet’s lobby, the rain has evolved from harmless drizzle to complete downpour, the wind unhinged, having spent the last ten blocks trying to steal your umbrella from your own hands. It is now useless, along with your drenched coat and suspiciously squishy socks.

You’re the last one to manage to squeeze into the elevator, which is beyond packed. As you maneuver inside, you accidentally jab a woman’s leg with your umbrella handle, and she mutters something under her breath. Something that sounds a lot like a swear.

“Sorry,” you murmur, avoiding all possibilities of making eye contact with her, although you feel her unfaltering gaze the full thirty seconds it takes to reach your floor.

Holding your bag and umbrella to your chest, you make your way through the maze of desks, nodding your head at those who greet you. You peel off your coat, hanging it from the back of your chair, observing the tiny droplets that start to drip onto the carpet below. You search for your notebook, digging it out and letting out a breath of relief when you notice none of the pages have been damaged by water.

It’s only when you finally sit down that you let yourself close your eyes for a moment, folding your arms over your desk and resting your forehead against them. You can’t deny you feel miserable. You should’ve called in sick.

You feel the warmth of someone standing close to you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is. You’d recognize the scent of his cologne or the sound of his footsteps anywhere, though you really hope that doesn’t sound as weird out loud as it does in your head.

“Turn around, Kent. We’re closed today,” you mumble with your face still pressed to the desk, voice muffled into the crook of your arm.

“You look like you’ve just got out of the shower,” Clark shoots back, the faint hint of a smile in his tone.

That’s when you decide to stop hiding, straightening your back to squint up at him. You should’ve kept your head down: he looks perfect. His hair is neat, his suit unbothered by the rain. You huff when you notice your reflection on his glasses. “How are you… dry?”

“I used my umbrella. They do serve a purpose.”

“Well, mine—” you snap between gritted teeth, ducking under your desk to retrieve the ruined thing and holding it up to shove it into his face, “—has decided to stop functioning properly today.”

He lowers your hand, his forehead crinkling. “Have you been nice to him?”

“Him? Are you personifying my umbrella?”

“I have a spare at home. If you want it, I could bring it tomorrow,” he suggests, changing the subject, and he can’t quite look you in the eye without averting his gaze.

This is where you draw the line. Forcing yourself to act politely, you say, “Thank you, but I don’t need it. I’ll fix mine. I’m sure it’ll probably stop raining in a couple of hours.”

A crack of thunder rattles the windows. Behind you, Jimmy nearly jumps to his feet, startled, drawing in a long breath.

“You okay, buddy?” Clark asks.

“Sure,” Jimmy answers, tugging at his shirt collar. “I’ve never been better.”

Clark raises his eyebrows at him, not convinced, but chooses not to press him. He shifts his weight from one foot to another and clasps his hands behind his back, returning his focus to you. Sometimes, he stares at you in such a way that makes you feel you’re being examined under the lens of a microscope. “Have you already had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Want me to—”

You cut him off before he goes any further. “Clark, I’m fine. Save your kindness for someone who truly wants it.”

His lips form a straight line, and without saying anything else, he jams his hands into his front pockets, walking away to his own desk. Maybe the tone you used wasn’t the appropriate one, but shortly after, you shake that feeling of guilt off.

On nights when you can’t sleep, or on certain days when your eyes keep finding their way back to him when they shouldn’t, you often wonder how he can always seem willing to help. Is it performative? Would he like to be voted as the best employee of the century?

But deep down, you know the reason behind his infinite generosity. It has a name, which starts with an S and rhymes with man.

Let’s put a pin on that. You’ll get back to that later.

“You’re gonna turn that poor man into a villain,” Jimmy says, his voice barely above a whisper. You have to crane your neck to get a look at his face, and even so, you stifle a laugh at his expression. He seems genuinely worried. “I mean it. He’ll have an identity crisis, and it’ll be awful.”

“I think you forget he’s a grown man.” You flick your fingers across the keyboard, checking your inbox. “Don’t worry, Jimmy. He’ll survive.”

“You’re vile.”

You spin around in your chair, scoffing. “Come on! Me? Vile? For not worshipping the ground he walks on like everybody else?”

Jimmy throws his arms out, seemingly defeated. “That’s because he’s the nicest guy to ever exist!”

“I just don’t want him to be nice to me. That’s all.” You scrunch up your face, your jaw tightening. “I don’t hate him, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

It’s hard to explain your relationship with Clark, especially to Jimmy, who’s been his best friend for a while and would go to the moon and back for him. He raises his palms, bowing his head. “I feel like a child of divorce.”

“What a weird use of that concept. We were never together.”

“Well, almost.”

“No.”

“Technically, you went on one date.”

Returning your attention to your computer, you rejoice without emotion, “Unlike him, I did show up to the restaurant.”

That appears to be enough to shut him up, and he goes back to work.

The rest of the day unfolds quite easily. Nothing remarkable happens, at least not until you’re on your lunch break, sipping from your water bottle as Lois helps you polish the wording on an article you’ve been working on for a week now. Without knowing when, you two had fallen into a routine where you became each other's proofreaders.

You’d started the draft on paper for some reason you can’t remember. She scribbles in the margins next to your older notes from days ago, biting the end of her pen as she frowns at one word you’ve underlined.

You’re about to finish your salad when something exciting finally occurs on this rainy Wednesday’s workday.

One of the interns is carrying what looks like an entire week’s worth of paper and folders to Perry’s office, and he’s aiming to do it in a single trip. You watch as the tower teeters dangerously, and then, since it was bound to happen, it collapses.

You can’t say you didn’t see that coming. Why didn’t he think twice before trying to carry a stack almost as tall as Clark?

It’s like conjuring him with a thought. One second, the mess exists, and the next, Clark’s kneeling beside the flustered intern, helping him collect the disaster, a gentle smile on his face. Chaos, you've noticed, seems to have a way of summoning him.

“I’m such an idiot,” the boy breathes, rising to his feet.

“Hey, no big deal,” Clark retorts, patting him on the back. “I’ve been on a good streak lately, but this happens to me weekly. Perry won’t mind as long as you get them to him in one piece.”

Clearly enamored with Clark, the intern nods fervently and hugs the papers to his chest before hurrying off and disappearing.

You finish chewing a particularly salty piece of lettuce, and afterwards, because you don’t always let your better judgment catch up to your mouth, you hear yourself saying, “Doesn’t he get tired of playing the part of the upstanding citizen?”

The room goes dead silent. You’ve seen this happen in movies, the uncanny stillness where you could hear a pin drop. At first, he doesn’t move. His mouth hangs slightly open, his cheeks adopting a sudden flush. But the moment he seems to come back to real life, he can’t do anything but blink at you, appearing embarrassed. “Excuse me?”

If Lois’ panicked expression is anything to go by, things aren’t going that well. “Hey, guys, why don’t we—”

“I was just thinking out loud, Kent,” you interrupt her, dumping your empty salad container and closing the distance between you. “I can’t wrap my head around someone acting like they’re on stage all the damn time.”

“You really think I wake up every day and put on an act?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You take another step, practically looming over him. “I wonder if your modest decency will ever run out.”

His nostrils flare with each of your words. In that split second, you realize you haven’t been this close in a while. “Maybe if you tried being decent for more than five minutes, you’d see it’s not an act. It’s only called being nice.”

If Jimmy hadn’t materialized out of thin air to separate you, you believe your noses would’ve touched. “Are you seriously fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Clark shoots back.

“It certainly looks like it,” Jimmy says.

“Hold on, don’t interrupt the office sweetheart.” You poke Clark’s chest with your finger, feeling nothing but hardness. “I’d love to know more of your thoughts on my attitude. Would you do me a favor and lecture me after work?”

“Well, starting with that sarcasm of yours—”

“I have an idea!” Lois chimes in, and the three of you turn around to see her. She’s smiling. “Jimmy, I need your approval first.”

“Yes, m’lady. I live to serve.” He bows theatrically and makes his way to her. She puts her hands around her mouth and whispers something in his ear, and an almost cartoonish grin stretches across his face.

He covers Lois’ forehead with his palm. “We must protect your brain. It’s one of the last treasures we have as a country.” Then he flicks his eyes again to Clark and you, enjoying himself, and the sight alone makes you feel uneasy.

You’re starting to believe that in the same way bad days follow rain, terrible plans are always preceded by Jimmy’s smirk.

“Will you let me do the honors?” he asks Lois, and the instant she gives him a thumbs-up, he steps forward. “It’s become clear that you have strong opinions about kindness, or the lack of it. Which is why we’re proposing a bet, starting now. It’s called the Good Samaritan Challenge.”

Clark narrows his eyes. “The what?”

“The Good Samaritan Challenge, pal. Are you even listening?” Jimmy repeats, jutting out his hip. He quickly tells Lois to bring a whiteboard, and she’s off like a shot. “Whoever is objectively kinder during the next thirty calendar days wins.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

Lois elbows you playfully as she comes back with the whiteboard. “Is it?” She raises her brows, handing the board to Jimmy.

He grabs a marker, draws two columns, and writes your name on one and Clark’s on the other. “Here’s the thing. You’ll both try to be the better person for a whole month. Lois and I, as the judges, will track your good deeds. But no cynical motives, alright? It all has to come from the heart.”

Clark seems to be weighing his options when you speak again. “What are the stakes?”

His shoulders look visibly tense. “Wait, you’re agreeing to this?”

“Depends on what each of you wants as the prize,” Lois answers in response to your question, resting her elbows on her desk and propping her chin upon her palms.

You glance at Clark. “If I win, I get an exclusive interview with Superman. You’d have to get it for me, of course, since you’re the only one who’s ever spoken a word to him.”

It's no coincidence you're asking to meet with Metropolis's biggest hero. You watch him flinch, tongue-tied, as he clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

Again, you know exactly what you’re asking for, and the reason why.

“And what about you, Clark?” Lois asks.

His lashes flutter together as he considers any possible answer. “You’d have to proofread all my articles for three months,” he explains, fully facing you. “I’m guessing you won’t mind the extra work.”

“Don’t get too excited, because it won’t happen.”

“It will.”

“It won’t.”

“Trust me, it will.”

“Shut up.”

“Guys?” Jimmy intervenes, waving the marker.

“What?” You and Clark answer in unison, and you roll your eyes at him.

Trying to hide his smile, Jimmy concludes, “Shake on it to seal the deal.”

You extend your hand immediately, scrutinizing him with undivided attention. He spares Lois and Jimmy one last look before taking it, his grip firm.

“Your hands are so sweaty.”

“What? No!” you reply, your nose wrinkling. “Yours are.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Leaning in, you murmur your next words low enough so only he can hear them: “You better get ready for that interview.”

He chokes on his own words. “You’re—”

“I have so much to ask him.” You’re genuinely grinning now. “So much to ask you.”

May the games begin, and let the kindest person win.

The café door chimes as Lois steps inside, scanning the crowded morning scene for you among the swarm of people.

It’s the day after the bet began, and you still have fifteen minutes before the clock strikes nine. She spots you and heads your way, placing her bag on the chair beside you and reaching into her coat pocket, but then she notices the coffee already waiting on the table.

“I took care of it,” you say, pushing the cup toward her.

Looking visibly pleased, she wraps her hands around it, sitting down by your side. “Wow. Is this your first act of kindness for the day?”

“I thought an old man was lost on the subway, so I tried talking to him. He must’ve thought I was trying to steal his wallet.”

Lois exhales a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “This could be fun, you know?”

You slouch deeper into your seat. “Right now, I care about winning. I can have fun in other ways.”

“You could even see where it goes,” she says casually, not missing a beat.

“Where does what go?”

She shrugs, as if the answer’s obvious. “The thing with you and Clark. It’s—”

“Okay. Stop right there,” you warn, holding up a hand. “You go any further and I’m taking your coffee back.”

Taking a long sip, she shuts her eyes close, then opens them again, her brows snapping together. “I’m just saying that the two of you might finally learn to get along. Think of poor Jimmy and me.”

Your gaze lands on her cup, half-wishing you’d saved a few sips of your own drink instead of downing it in the blink of an eye before she arrived. Your hand instinctively searches your bag for some chewing gum.

She studies you in silence, leaning back. “Is this about that failed date you had? You hate him for standing you up?”

You tilt your head, clicking your tongue once your fingers brush the last piece of gum you had left. You unwrap it, popping it into your mouth. “First of all, I wouldn’t consider that a date,” you say, lips pressed into a slight frown. “And why do you guys keep saying I hate him? That’s a strong feeling.”

There’s palpable hesitation in her speech. “This is starting to sound a lot like gaslighting.”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t a man.”

She crosses her legs, setting her cup on the table. “Ha ha. You’re so funny.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Leave that to me, will you?”

“You do realize you have a talent for dodging questions.”

“It’s part of the full package,” you say, standing up and grabbing your belongings. Lois shakes her head in your direction, blowing out her cheeks, and you decide to give in. “Look, I’m not a resentful person. This isn’t about that night. We don’t get along because we’re too… different.” You offer her your hand and smile when she takes it, helping her up. “He finds beauty in everything, doesn’t think twice before trusting someone. I’d never be able to do that.”

Lois drops the subject. On your way out, after dropping a generous tip into the glass jar by the register, you hold the door open for her.

“I could get used to this,” she says, and your mouth twitches, giving her a half-smile.

At the Daily Planet, you both head toward the elevators, and as Lois steps inside, Clark appears behind you, looking agitated.

“Hey,” he greets you, straightening his glasses with one hand and gesturing toward the elevator. “After you.”

The fucker.

You mimic his gesture. “No, please. After you.”

“I said it first.”

“Too bad.”

“Guys…” Lois tries without much luck.

Clark’s voice is still thick with sleep when he speaks. “Would you please be a darling and go first?”

“Tell you what,” you say, inching closer and toying with the end of his tie, inspecting the fabric. “Nothing would make me happier than walking in after you.”

You don’t know if you’ve exhausted him or if he just doesn’t want to be late, but he eventually sighs and steps inside. You position yourself beside Lois, and she ends up squeezed between the two of you.

“Morning, Lois,” Clark says.

“Morning, Clark,” she manages, stealing a glance at you. “You know, someone surprised me with coffee today.”

His mouth snaps shut, and he tugs at the sleeves of his suit. “That’s my thing.” He turns on his side, staring at you. “What’ll be your next move? Will you start wearing glasses as well? Just to make sure we match.”

“Oh, please. I’m not copying you.” The doors open and you’re first to exit, tipping your chin up. “It’s called being nice.”

“I am nice,” Clark blurts, trailing after you. “In fact, I’m nicer than you.”

“I wasn’t aware of this competitive side of yours.”

“Let’s just say I had time to think about it last night.”

“You thought about me before falling asleep?” You let out a feigned gasp. “That’s so cute!”

Jimmy appears in the frame to throw an arm around each of your shoulders. “I could hear your voices from the bathroom.”

You detach yourself from the two men, pointing your index finger at the shorter one. “I bought Lois coffee and let Clark go first in the elevator. Write that down on the board.”

“You basically forced me.”

“Drop it, Clark.”

Well, how about this way? I love that you get cold when it's seventy-one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

You muffle a squeak against the cushion you’ve smashed to your face. You could watch When Harry Met Sally a hundred times, and a hundred times this scene would get you. You could quote it word for word, the moment he finally confesses his love for her.

And then they share a loving kiss. They live happily together after, as in all the rom-coms you like to revisit once in a while. You’re certain there must be tears shimmering in your eyes, for they sting just enough. The more you think about it, the more convinced you are that no one will ever love you like that.

It’s undeniable that this belief has turned you into a bitter individual. You used to have hope. You weren’t like this before, when you were younger. At least not a few years ago, when the idea of loving someone and being loved in return still seemed like a thing you could attain if you worked hard enough for it.

Adulthood, in your experience, has been plagued by hostility and disillusionment. Were it possible, you’d have a word with the you from ten years ago, the one who believed that by now she’d be in love and planning a future with a man worth her time.

But you’d only laugh at her in the same way that an adult laughs when an infant talks about unicorns and talking animals. Because she, or you, for that matter, probably doesn’t know you spend most of your nights alone. And since the news would make her cry, you’d also have to hug her.

The last time you attempted to open your heart to somebody else was a little over a year ago, and it didn’t turn out well.

The day you started working at the Daily Planet, since both of your eyes functioned perfectly, you developed an instant crush on Clark Kent. The real question, you thought, was who wouldn't? He was the most handsome man you'd ever seen, and still is to this day. Maybe that's the saddest part of the whole thing.

Your crush wasn’t just about his looks. You were drawn to his clumsiness, the cadence of his voice, and the way he’d ask if he could be of help. He’d buy you coffee first thing every morning without fail, back when you still accepted it. It would be steaming, and he'd always say, "Be careful. It's really hot." You thought you’d never grow tired of hearing those four simple words.

He made terrible jokes during lunch, and you were the only one who’d laugh, solely because he was the one telling them. If you struggled to navigate the newspaper’s website, he’d come up behind you, lean close, and explain each step patiently. His hand would find its place on your desk for balance, his warm breath would graze your skin, and you wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

There were even days when you pretended not to know how the printer worked. It was a treasure to have him that close, and Clark never questioned it. He was always there, and he’d never make you feel stupid for needing his help.

Around three months in, Lois started asking more questions about your personal life. “So… do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, no,” you said, downing what remained of your water bottle. “I’m single.”

“Great, because you know who else is single?” She made a short pause. “Clark.”

Her words of encouragement were the final push. You asked him out, and it was the most ungraceful ramble of your entire life. The memory still plays out in your head, a vivid reel of your voice shaking and your eyes fixed on the floor as you stumbled over each word.

It happened during one particular Thursday afternoon, while the two of you were standing by the printer. “I was thinking that tomorrow we could go out, just the two of us. If you want. I mean—if you’re not busy or—”

He gapes at you, his answer nearly written all over his face. At last, he smiles, and then says, “I’d really like that.”

You knew you'd spend the next twenty-four hours in a state of total anxiety. The world as you once knew it had changed for good. You used some of the money you were saving up to buy a dress you felt pretty in. In a moment of madness, you'd even used some of your savings to buy a dress you felt pretty in.

Ten minutes early for your reservation that Friday, you sat alone at the restaurant. You couldn't bring yourself to order, instead staring at your phone, terrified of the blank screen.

With every swing of the door, your heart tightened in your chest. Each new face that entered, you desperately hoped it would be Clark and not a stranger.

Fifteen minutes passed, which later bled into twenty, and then thirty agonizing minutes had gone by. There was a waitress, a girl perhaps younger than you, who kept circling by your table.

“Still waiting for someone?” she asked.

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed. “He should be here any minute now.”

At some point, your stomach had begun to rumble, and that was the exact moment you read his name on your phone, answering so fast you nearly dropped it. “Clark?”

The line crackled with static, and you could barely hear him over a tumultuous roar. “I’m so sorry,” he said, nearly shouting and sounding breathless on the other end of the line. “There’s this thing I have to take care of—I can’t—”

“Are you okay?” you asked, starting to worry. “Where are you?”

“I wish I could explain, but—” A sudden rush of air swallowed his words. “I won’t make it tonight.”

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, taking in the sea of couples laughing over dinner. “Okay. That’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.”

“I’m—” he began, but to your surprise, the sentence was cut short by the call ending.

Utterly defeated, you clutched your phone, observing as his name faded from your lock screen with every passing second. You remained seated for another five minutes, trying to conjure a believable excuse for the waitress before you left.

She ended up returning to your table. “Will you be ordering anything tonight?”

It seemed she didn't need much to grasp what had happened. When you got home, you peeled off the dress, folded it carefully, and put it back in the store bag. To keep from seeing it, you hid it under the couch, then collapsed onto the cushions, letting out a contained breath.

I should’ve stayed home, you told yourself. Your bed wouldn't have stood you up, neither would your couch or your phone. You opened social media, searching for a distraction, something simple, like videos of dogs trying to talk with their overreacting families.

What you found was starkly different from your initial vision. It was a video of Superman, flying high in the sky while holding a phone to his ear. Seconds later, the phone tragically slipped from his hand, plunging into a river below. The video had millions of views and had been posted less than an hour ago. The comment section was full of users drawing their own conclusions.

d1stalker: GET OFF THAT DAMN PHONE 😭how is he literally flying and talking at the same time? multitasking king

elysianymph: i’d love to know who he was talking to… a girl can only dream

dayapad: guys don’t worry IT WAS ME ON THE OTHER END 🥀 he’s safe now. just tucked him in and we’re about to watch a movie (i scream as they drag me back to my room in the asylum)

redgie-69: now he needs to do an ad por iphone or sth. superman get that bag !!!

Unable to stop yourself, you clicked the video again, pausing and rewinding it. The wind was a deafening roar in the background, and you couldn't make out half of what the bystanders were saying. With the line cutting and his phone falling into the river, the video's timestamp was a perfect match for the time he had called you.

Realization hit you like a freight train. Fuck. That was Clark. Clark was… Superman.

A whirlwind of feelings coexisted within you, but none was strong enough to snap you out of the trance you were in. You kept watching those fifteen seconds over and over again, replaying the memory of the call and his exact words.

There had always been something about him that was slightly off, and not precisely in a bad way. You'd always chalked it up to him being dorky and a little shy, traits you didn't mind in the slightest. But now, after that footage, you couldn't bring yourself to simply unsee it.

You recalled a specific incident that had taken place a few weeks ago. Jimmy, insisting Clark would be the perfect actor for a Superman biopic, had reached to pull off his glasses. With grace, Clark had swatted his hand away, claiming they were too fragile to be passed around like a toy.

You knew better, knew exactly why he reacted the way he did. And, God help you, did that make you like him even more?

That night, you sent him two text messages, having momentarily forgotten he wouldn’t be able to read them.

I think I understand why you didn’t show up tonight.

And shortly after:

I saw the video. You look good in blue.

By the time Monday came around, you’d already picked ‌all your nails. You arrived at the office earlier than usual, and his desk was still empty, but you kept checking the elevator every time it stopped at your floor.

He was nodding good morning at someone when you saw him, and you didn’t hesitate. You strode straight up to him, took his hand between yours, and whispered: “We need to talk.”

“Uh—hi?”

“Now.”

You led him down the hall and into the break room, closing the door behind you once the two of you were inside and turning the lock.

“Is everything—”

“You’re Superman,” you said, not even bothering to mince your words.

Clark looked like he’d seen a ghost, pure anxiety brewing in his eyes. You could imagine the gears turning in his head as he remained silent, lost in thought.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His gaze darted to every object in the room but you. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw the video, Clark. You called me while flying, and you dropped your phone midair.”

He was breathing differently now, as if he was attempting to calm himself.

“Does Jimmy know? Lois?”

That question made him look up. “No,” he said. “No one knows, except… well, you. I didn’t want you to find out this way.” His eyes bore into yours, his mouth set in a hard line. “I’m sorry I stood you up, but I heard this explosion on the east side, and I couldn’t ignore it.” Clark’s face reddened the more he said. “And then I dropped my phone. I went back for it later, but I couldn’t find it.”

Recognition settled over you at his words. “I’m not mad at you,” you assured him, giving a nod. The way his brows knitted burned a hole through your heart. “Would you maybe want to reschedule our date?”

The silence between you deepened, making your smile fade off of your face as the tension in the room thickened.

“I—I mean, if that’s something you still want,” he managed, the tone of his voice betraying him. “I don’t know if—I mean, I do want to, but—I wouldn’t want things to be complicated for you and me.”

Were you being friend-zoned? “Right.”

He runs a hand through his hair, getting more notoriously verbose by the minute. “It’s just that, now that you know, I don’t want to put you in danger. And I’m not sure it’d be fair to ask—”

“Okay,” you cut him short. “So what you're saying is that we should just leave it, then.”

“Wait—”

“We can just stay colleagues, if that’s easier.”

He seemed taken aback by your resoluteness. “Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t, but either way, you smiled. “Yes. That’d be better. We shouldn’t ruin what we have.”

You could’ve sworn he was just about to contradict you, but nothing came out of his mouth. Reaching for the door, you unlocked it, and he didn’t seem to be planning on following you. You cast him a glance over your shoulder before saying, “I promise I won’t say anything.”

Having fled the break room, you thought you might feel better, more professional even, but as you sat back down at your desk, your insides were turning into knots.

When Lois and Jimmy showed up beside you, eager for updates, you gave them a breathy laugh, which was meant to sound casual. “Guys, there wasn’t a date to begin with.”

“What?” Lois whispered harshly. “Why not?”

“He had to go to Kansas,” you explained, the lie feeling foreign on your tongue. “His parents needed him there, so he left Friday evening.”

“Is everything okay now?” Jimmy asked.

“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t a big deal. But we talked, and we agreed to stay friends. It’ll be for the best.”

Lois studied you a second longer than necessary, her gaze narrowing as if she could hear what you weren’t saying. You assured them both you were fine, that there was no drama between the two of you, and that this was the smartest, most mature decision you and Clark could’ve made. You just hoped they would believe you.

What shocked you the most was that he’d looked so nervous, maybe even more than usual. If he hadn’t wanted to go out with you, he could’ve just said so when you asked him out. But Clark, always the sweetheart, probably hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings. It was funny, considering he’d managed that anyway.

Was it stupid to think he might’ve liked you back? Maybe you’d been seeing things that weren’t actually there. Maybe you’d overanalyzed every smile, every gentle gesture, every moment your world seemed to spin faster just because he was in the same room as you.

It made sense: someone who wants to be loved will look for it everywhere, even in places it doesn’t exist.

From that moment on, you stopped looking for his eyes when he walked past your desk. You declined his offers to grab you coffee because his gentleness felt like charity, and you wanted no part of it.

Back to the present. Enough of your sad memories. The credits of the movie are still rolling, but you shut the laptop, getting up and stretching. In the bathroom, you brush your teeth while staring at your reflection, and once you’re in bed, you pull the covers all the way up to your chest.

You’re choosing the fantasy you’ll think about tonight to fall asleep when you hear the rhythmic sound of your neighbor’s headboard rocking against the wall.

You’d run into her in the elevator earlier today, and she’d mentioned her long-distance boyfriend was coming over for the week. You hear her laugh, then his, alongside other noises you won’t try to dissect.

The walls in this building are paper-thin, and on any other occasion, you would’ve grabbed the first thing within reach to knock on the wall. But you won’t do that tonight, not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to. You stare at the ceiling, thinking they deserve these kinds of moments after being apart for so long.

Plus, it’s only a week. Just because you’re not getting laid doesn’t mean the rest of the world should stop having sex out of pity, so you turn onto your side, pull the covers up over your ear, and decide to sleep. It turns out that kindness can also sound like silence.

It’s been two weeks since the bet started, and you’ve come to discover that complimenting people is a good way to earn points, especially if you deliver them in public for everyone to hear.

“Lois, I love your blazer,” you say as she walks past your desk one morning.

She stops mid-stride, smiling at you. “Thank you. It’s thrifted.”

You’ve also made a habit of stapling Jimmy’s copies before he gets to them. “I think somebody wants to win,” he notes, watching you finish his stack.

“You would too if interviewing Superman was on the line.”

“Well, you better keep it up, because you’re still behind.”

Safe to say you take that personally. Later that day, Lois gives you a point when she catches you holding the door open for nearly ten people in a row. Clark earns another when he finds someone’s missing phone after searching for fifteen straight minutes.

Just to be clear, you were also looking for it. He just happened to be the one who found it first. But yes, you’ve been trying lately, and Clark notices.

Though today you’re moving more slowly because of a headache that has settled behind your eyes. You spend most of the morning at your desk, head bent while typing out emails, but you’re forced to look up when a cup of coffee lands beside your keyboard.

Your first instinct is to say no. Politely, of course, because of the bet. You haven’t accepted anything from him in a long time.

He places something else down: an aspirin. “It’s 2025. We have advanced medicine to ease your suffering.”

“Are you that desperate to win?” you ask, resting your chin on your palm.

Clark snorts. “What would you like my answer to be?”

You drop the subject, accepting both things and picking up the coffee. “If I kindly take this coffee, would that earn me a point?”

“That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Then I don’t want it.”

“Half a point?”

“We’ve got a deal.” You take a trial sip, tasting its flavor and muffling a satisfied sound. “God, it’s really good. Thanks. How much was it?”

He shakes his head. “Forget about it.”

“Hey, no. I want to pay you for it.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can hear you,” he says, walking backwards and away from you.

“Asshole.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you look nice today,” you admit instead, folding your hands on your lap. “I like your shirt.”

It’s a plain one, honestly. Nothing special, but it still looks good on him. He glances down at his clothes, the corners of his mouth lifting. “How nice of you to say that. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

So apparently, you and Clark are starting to get along.

It’s easier if you hide behind the bet, because you can be decent to each other while racking up points. What’s so bad about it? Yet you can’t ignore the fact that you kind of enjoy being like this with him, despite the whole challenge finishing in less than two weeks.

Clark: Don’t forget Jimmy’s birthday tomorrow.

You groan around a mouthful of apple, cursing your poor memory

You: Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Clark: I knew it. See, I’m that nice. I could’ve chosen not to tell you.

You: That would’ve made you a prick

Clark: You’re right, but now owe me one.

You: I could bake him a cake… or cupcakes??? Idk

Clark: I’d go with the cake. Just imagine Lois and Jimmy giving you ten points for it.

Pressing your thumb against your mouth, you gnaw at it, holding your breath as you type a message.

You: We can make it five and five if you help me

You put your phone down, covering it with a cushion, but the moment it buzzes again, you snatch it back.

Clark: Sounds fair, though I’ve never baked anything from scratch before.

You: I’ve got the perfect recipe

Clark: Are we having dinner as well? I could bring some takeout.

You can’t help but re-read that text too many times.

You: Sure, whatever you want

Clark: Chinese?

You: Yuppp but please hurry up because I’m starving

He asks for your address, and twenty minutes later, he’s knocking at your door, a plastic takeout bag swinging from one hand. He loosens his tie the moment he’s inside, shrugging off his coat and rolling up his sleeves

“So…,” he trails off, pacing around the living room, “you’re in charge tonight.”

You suggest eating first, otherwise, the food will go cold. While you set the table, Clark turns on the TV and lets it run in the background. As expected, you mostly talk about work. Does this count as a date? You’re not sure.

The first thing you ask him to do is to preheat the oven, and he obeys without a word. Your kitchen isn’t big enough for two people, and if anything, Clark’s towering height only makes it more difficult. His elbows constantly bump yours, and he apologizes every single time.

While you handle the measuring of ingredients, he takes the whisk. It seems the Man of Steel has no coordination when it comes to baking. He’s hyper-focused on not pouring the whole bottle of vanilla extract, tongue peeking out slightly as he pours. You can’t resist the temptation, so you give in to it and blow a puff of flour into his face.

His right profile is now covered in white, and he blinks rapidly, nudging his face against his shoulder. “It got in my eye.”

“It didn’t. I’m right here, remember?”

Wide-eyed and frozen in place, Clark stares at your head. “What’s that on your hair?”

“There’s nothing on my—”

He dips his fingers into the flour bag while you aren’t looking and flicks a pinch at you. A malicious laugh bubbles in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, frowning and crossing your arms.

“Now we’re even,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Afterward, you pour the liquid batter into a prepared pan, smoothing the top. You put it into the oven, finding Clark scraping the bowl with a spoon, licking it with pure contentment and savoring the remnants. There’s a small dot of batter near the edge of his mouth, which he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Clark, there’s—” You point to your own mouth, hoping he’ll mimic you.

But he doesn’t get the hint, putting down the bowl instead. “What?”

You sigh, taking a step toward him and wiping your thumb across the corner of his plump lips. He stops breathing in that moment, and so do you. You clean your finger on the edge of a dirty kitchen towel, then ask, “Can you wipe the counter while I make the frosting?”

He looks astonished. “I can—Sure. I’ll do it.”

Neither of you utters another word for a couple of minutes, focusing on your respective tasks. After testing that the cake was done, you take it out of the oven, unmolding it onto a rack to cool.

Clark plops down on the couch, covering his eyes with his forearm. “We can’t decorate it yet, right?”

“No. We have to wait, or the frosting will melt.”

“I’m so tired,” Clark says, yawning, and then his contagious yawn makes you do the same.

“I didn’t realize it was this late.” You sit on the opposite side of the couch, unlocking your phone. “I’ll put an alarm. We can take a twenty-minute nap, and then we finish it.”

His eyelids are already drooping, and he murmurs, “Just twenty minutes.”

You struggle to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. Normally, you’d stretch out fully, but now you can’t, and you blame the giant sitting next to you. By the time you drift off, you swear you can hear him snoring just a little.

The alarm went off twenty minutes later, but neither of you stirred. You only woke up to switch sides, blocking the intrusive light from the curtains. Your eyes opened just long enough to see Clark, still in the same position as before, his mouth slightly parted and his hair a beautiful mess.

The cake.

“Clark!” You bolt upright, almost jumping to your feet. You touched his shoulder, shaking him. “Wake up. We overslept.”

He rubs his eyes, huffing. “What time is it?”

“We have… twenty minutes before we need to leave.”

Both of you get to work. Clark retrieves the frosting from the fridge and tries to help you spread it on the cake, but it ends up looking less like a smooth layer and more like a lumpy hill.

“Oh, God. I hope the cake isn’t dry.”

“It looks good,” he says, admiring it from a distance. “At least from here.”

You melt some dark chocolate in the microwave. It’s surprisingly thick, and you grab a fork, trying to write Happy Birthday Jimmy across the top. The letters are wobbly and melted into one another, but it’s the thought that counts. You grab the single birthday candle you always saved for such occasions, placing it in the center.

Clark hovers just behind your shoulder. “It’s… definitely abstract.”

You glance down at your clothes from the night before, realizing you didn’t even get a chance to shower. “Shit. Do I smell?”

His expression softens, his gaze landing on your head. “You don’t, but you still have flour on your hair.” He brushes his fingers through your hair with the delicacy you’d expect from a man like him.

The pad of his thumb grazes your hairline, and your breath catches in your chest. He pulls back abruptly, grasping what he’s doing a second too late. “There you go.”

Scrambling to get ready, you transfer the cake to a cardboard pastry box, securing it. “Okay, subway. Now.”

As Clark and you rush through the station, you clasp the cake box in your hands. The platform’s already crowded with people. You steal a quick glance at Clark, catching the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I asked you if you had a boyfriend like, ten times, and you always said no.”

It’s a pity you recognize that voice. Matthew appears at your side, glaring at Clark, his eyes darting from him to you. The look on his face is one of total disappointment.

“He’s not—”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Clark asks, subtly stepping forward to angle his body between the two of you.

“Matt.” He extends his hand in offering, but Clark silently refuses to take it, staring at him. “I just—sorry, dude. I had no idea she was taken.”

You wave your hand at them. “Hello. I’m right here.”

“Honey, you’ve never mentioned him before,” Clark says, draping his arm around your shoulders.

How smooth. “Well, honey, I must’ve forgotten,” you rejoice, leaning into his solid frame, playing the part of the loving girlfriend.

The screeching noise of the train marks the end of that conversation as the doors slide open. Just before the rush of people floods the car, Clark grabs your hand, tugging you inside, and Matthew’s left standing behind on the platform.

Even after finding two empty seats, he doesn’t let go of your hand, and neither do you.

“May I ask who that guy was?” His eyes gloss over the cake box above your legs.

“A not-so-secret admirer. He’s asked me out a few times, but hasn’t had much luck.”

“He seems persistent.”

“Trust me. He is.”

“I hope you don’t mind what I did back there,” he says, lowering his voice. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“It helped.” You squeeze his hand before gently dropping it. “Thank you.”

You make it to the office just before nine, taking the stairs because the elevator’s far too packed. Now it’s Clark’s turn to carry the cake, and he trails after you with precise steps.

To say Jimmy’s thrilled at the surprise would be an understatement. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he opens the box. “Holy crap! You baked this?”

“Yes,” you both say at once.

“I love it so much!” He takes the cake out of the box, looking at it from a different angle. “Can someone please take a picture of me with it? I feel like I’ve just met my firstborn.”

Lois materializes out of nowhere, trying to analyze the situation. “Why are you two wearing the same clothes from yesterday?” She lets a beat slide, then adds: “And why did you arrive together?”

“Well—the thing is—”

“It’s a long story,” Clark jumps in.

“But we have all the time in the world,” Lois shoots back.

And that’s how you know you’re trapped.

Only a week before the bet ends. There’s a guy with too much gel in his hair lingering a few feet from your desk. You’ve seen him around. He’s one of the new hires who writes for the newspaper’s column on culture and arts.

You’ve been expecting him to approach you for ten minutes now. When he finally does it, you see a confident smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I’m Ethan,” he introduces himself, cocking his head.

“Nice to meet you, Ethan. I’m—”

“I know,” he interrupts you, squinting a little as if he’s embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. “Okay, that sounded weird, but what I meant is that I know your name.” he wraps his arms around himself, taking a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a drink sometime.”

That’s not what you expected. He’s a handsome guy, charming even, but—

This is the kindness challenge, and you're supposed to be all friendly and polite, at least for another full week.

You plaster a practiced smile on your face. “Sure. Why not?”

He asks for your number, and you rattle it off in a monotonous tone. As he heads off, you catch Clark in the distance across the bullpen, sitting at his desk. He must have used his super hearing because he doesn't tear his gaze away from yours, and you feel as if all the oxygen in the world has been sucked out of the building.

Hours later, you’re in the break room, pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with a tiny kitten curled on the front. Clark walks in, closing the door behind him after he sees there’s no one else there.

“You want some coffee?” You ask him while stirring your coffee.

He stays quiet for ages. “What’s the deal with that new guy?”

“You mean Ethan?”

“We’re using names now.”

“He asked me out,” you continue to explain, lifting the mug to your lips. “And I said yes.”

“Why?”

“It's just a drink, Clark. I’m being nice. That’s the whole point, remember?”

“I had no idea being kind involved bar hopping with strangers.”

Why is he acting like this? “Jealousy doesn’t look great on you.”

“I’m not jealous. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “You don’t know him. Nobody does.”

“He seems nice.”

“Everybody seems nice if you only exchange two words with them!”

You grind your jaw. “Why are you assuming the worst? Why does the idea of me going out with someone bother you so much?”

Clark doesn't answer immediately. “You can do whatever you want,” he says, his tone shifting to a pained one. “I'm just asking you to be careful.”

“You don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Pride claims a full point from both of you.

You’re nodding along to another of Ethan’s stories from his college days, your eyes fixed on the rim of your glass.

It’s not that he’s boring, but for some reason, you’re unable to pay attention to anything he says. He’s talking about some phenomenal frat party he attended during senior year, which you can’t even relate to, because you’d never liked them.

He gulps down his drink, grinning. “I’m not letting you speak, am I?”

“Well—”

“Tell me something about yourself.”

You take a look around the bar, which is dim and cozy. The bartender hasn’t stopped mixing cocktails behind the counter. You shift your attention back to Ethan, lifting your eyebrows. “I’m currently stuck in a kindness challenge at work.”

You can’t blame him for seeming confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lois and Jimmy had this brilliant idea that Clark and I should compete to see who’s nicer. He’s the guy with—”

“The glasses, I know. You’ve already mentioned him.” Ethan rolls his eyes, sighing at the same time a forced smile flashes across his face.

You can tell he’s bothered. Have you really been talking about Clark this much on a date with someone else? “Sorry.”

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, waving it off. “And how’s the bet going?”

What an awfully complex question. You toy with the straw you were given with your drink, pressing your lips together. “Pretty much okay. We baked a cake last week.”

He chuckles. “You know what’s funny? I thought you two were dating at first.”

You tear your eyes away from the straw. “What?”

“I’d see you together all the time,” he says with a shrug, resting an arm on the back of the booth. “Then someone told me you hated him or something, and I had to shoot my shot.”

You hear him laugh, and he must expect you to do the same, but you don’t. “Hate him?” you echo his words. “I don’t hate him. Who said that?”

“I… don’t remember now. Does it matter?”

“Well, of course it does. Your source is wrong.”

“Yeah. I figured that around the fifth time you found a way to bring him up tonight.”

In a rare moment of clarity, a stark contrast to the bar's dark interior, you look down at your hands. Shutting your eyes, and behind closed lids, you can only picture the face of a man who isn’t here, who isn’t the one sitting across from you.

This isn’t where you’re supposed to be.

Pushing back your chair, you reach for your purse. “This won’t work,” you murmur, putting on your jacket. “You’re a nice guy, really. You’re not the problem. I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Even though he calls your name as you make your way to the door, you don’t go back. Outside, driven by instinct, you fumble for your phone in your pocket. Since you’ve never felt this determined before in your life, you decide to call Clark.

It rings twice before he picks up, and when he does, his voice sounds groggy. “Hello?”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Sort of.”

You throw your head back, giving yourself a face palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Clark assures you, the rustle of sheets reverberating through the line. He must be tossing around in bed, given the hour. “Is everything alright?”

For a moment, pressure wells in your chest. You glance both ways down the street, half-expecting to stumble into him. “I just wanted to say something.” You exhale, pressing the phone further into your ear, as if you could merge it with your skin. “I don’t hate you.”

He offers no immediate response. After a while, he says, “What?”

“I don’t hate you. Not in the slightest.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I needed you to know it.” Each of your words feels thick in your mouth, heavy like sand. “I wouldn’t be able to hate you.”

Judging by the background noise on his end, you guess he must be out of bed and pacing now. “I don’t hate you either.”

“It’s not the same. I already knew it.”

“Right,” he laughs, and the sound fills the line. You can almost imagine the dimples in his cheeks. “Wasn’t your date today? How did it go?”

 “Let’s just say there’s a section of the bullpen I’m not allowed into anymore.”

“Oh. That bad?”

“He said I talked a lot about you, so you tell me.”

The last time you two spoke in person, you had stormed out of the break room. He’d sounded jealous, a fact he fiercely denied, and his attitude had finally gotten to you. Maybe it was that time of year when you got a bit paranoid, but the thought hit you: you could die at any minute. Living in a city full of unknown threats and creatures, were you seriously going to spend the rest of your life keeping everything bottled up?

Yet, as if reading your very thoughts, he asks: “Would you like to come over?”

“Like… now?”

“Right now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You hail the first cab you find on the streets of this Saturday night, counting down the minutes until you arrive at his apartment.

Fifth floor. Apartment C. Clark opens the door to you, and the mere sight of him steals your breath. He isn’t wearing his glasses. A pair of gray sweatpants sits low on his hips, along with a navy blue shirt stretched across his chest.

The only thing you can bring yourself to say is: “Hi.”

He invites you in. You hear the door clicking shut behind you as you put down your purse, turning around to face him. You clear your throat, staring deep into his eyes, and you notice he still hasn’t said a word.

“I spent almost ten minutes thinking about what to say to you. I even came up with what I thought was a great speech. It made sense in my head, but I can’t… remember it now,” you explain, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’re nervous, so freaking nervous you feel dizzy. Has he always been this tall?

“You don’t need a big speech,” Clark says, inching forward.

“I wanted to give you one, like they do in movies.”

“Then, just—come up with one right now.”

As if it were that easy. You press your hands to your face for a moment, imploring some god above for the courage you so desperately needed.

It doesn’t have to be well-structured. Doesn’t have to have perfect grammar. It just has to come from the heart and be true, and you couldn’t be more certain of what you feel for him.

“I would’ve dated you, you know? Even after finding out about the whole Superman thing, I would’ve risked everything, because it didn’t change the way I felt about you. It hasn’t changed it. I feel the same I did yesterday, and the day before that, and a year ago,” you blurt, edging closer to him. “I can’t imagine existing in a world where I’m not madly in love with you.”

You can't read the look on his face. His shoulders are rigid, his gaze giving nothing away as he studies you, and you find yourself wondering what exactly he’s thinking.

“I’ve tried putting it all behind me. I’ve tried starting over. For God’s sake, I went on a date with a man I didn’t even like! Just because you looked so… frustrated about it, and I thought maybe it was worth it.”

The past month’s blur of events rewinds in your mind. Your feelings, which you had tried to quiet and smother for so long, have come roaring back to life stronger than ever. You believe this must be love: that force you can try to extinguish and contain, but one that always burns through, because it is as real as the blood in your veins and the bones in your body.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m not dying to kiss you every time I see you at work. I feel like I’m in hell whenever you’re near me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t let you go, Clark. I don’t want to, but I swear I’d make the effort if you asked me to. I’d try, just for you.”

All the cards, including the ones you were keeping to yourself, have been laid out. You yearn for Clark Kent. You need him in your life, in any way he’s willing to offer himself, with those eyes of his that now look at you like you’ve gone nuts.

You’ve learned that there will always be something wrong. That’s how things work, at least for the alive-and-kicking ones. And you know for a fact that love won’t save you. Clark’s love, in this case, won’t assure you anything. But you’d much rather navigate those complexities with him by your side.

A flush creeps up his face, and he inclines his face. “I’d never ask you to walk away from me. Understanding you has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure, which sounds absurd considering we speak the same language,” he says, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at that. “I mean it, and not just as Clark, but also as Superman.”

“You’re saying I’m hard to understand?”

“I’m saying that there’s so much you don’t say. I have to translate every look and sigh. I believe I’ve developed a whole new dialect just to make sense of you—”

“I feel like you’re using this as an opportunity to roast me.”

“—but loving you is the easy part, and you don’t even realize it.”

Your heart hammers unpleasantly inside your chest. “Clark, I thought you wanted us to stay friends.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“But you said it. Kind of,” you argue, your forehead creasing.

He holds out his arms, stifling his laughter. “You didn’t let me explain! I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. You know how I get when I’m nervous.”

You’re left standing there, beyond stunned. “So this whole time… we could’ve been together?” You make a brief pause, falling silent. “I was so mad at you. So fucking—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Clark takes hold of your chin, angling your head backwards so your eyes peer directly into his. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Complaining about the past. We’re here now. We can make it up to each other.”

You sigh, and he hunches over to rest his forehead against yours. His stare carries so much, but you can’t look away. “I think I remembered my speech.”

“We’ve already moved past that.”

“I could still deliver it—”

You’re cut off by Clark’s mouth on yours. He kisses you with the intensity of a starved man, and you freeze, caught off guard and barely moving your lips, until he guides your arms around his neck, and that’s when your body catches up. His own hands find their sacred place on your waist, clutching the fabric of your sweater.

This is the aftermath of months of pent up-frustration. His tongue presses insistently against yours to seek entry. Ever so gently, he corners you against the nearest wall, and your head nudges a frame that ends up clattering to the floor. It’s not enough to get Clark off of you. He shoves it aside with his shoe, further pressing you into the wall.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” he gasps between kisses, holding your cheeks as his nose bumps into yours.

“We won’t,” you say, dizzy from all the kissing. “I promise.”

It turns out that his lips can’t seem to leave yours for long. “And please don’t go on any more dates with new hires.”

You roll your eyes, running your fingers through the short hair at his nape. “I told you it went horribly.”

“Still.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Your mouth crushes onto his once again, your pulse quickening with every second his hands are on you. You then whisper against his lips, “It’s always been you. You can stop worrying about other men.”

He blows out his cheeks, shaking his head. “Golly, this isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“I just—love you so much,” he mumbles, pecking your lips, “and you’re so beautiful, and there’s so much I want to do with you. I want to do everything—”

“We’ll take our time.”

“I know, I know.” He grazes the skin of your neck as he pulls you in for another kiss. “But touching you, kissing you… it feels too good to be true.”

A small chuckle escapes you, and you caress his cheek. “Alright, Romeo. You’ve done enough talking.”

When you come back to your senses, he’s got you all sprawled across the couch, his touch insistent yet careful. You’re struggling to remain still the more acquainted he becomes with your body. He digs his fingers into your waist, your hips, the sides of your thighs, leaving a trail of all the places where he’s been.

He’s kissing down your jawline the moment your mind conjures up an important question. “Clark?”

“Tell me.”

“Let’s say that, hypothetically, I spend the night here.”

“…Hypothetically.”

“Exactly. Would you have a spare toothbrush in that case?”

He lifts his head from your neck, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “You’re marking territory.”

“Hey. I said hypothetically. And I care about dental hygiene.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, your head squeezed between his forearms. He ducks down to kiss you. “I do have a spare toothbrush. Don’t worry about that.”

You resume the make-out session after that. You sink deeper into the cushions as he shoves your sweater further up your chest, just enough to ghost his fingertips along your bra, eliciting a choked whimper out of you. The sound seems to spur him on because he pulls off his own shirt, allowing you to get a better look at his stomach.

The words die on your lips, and you draw a pattern over his pecks, then up to his biceps, ending in the happy trail that leads to what remains hidden beneath the tent on his sweatpants.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he breathes, pining your hand above your head. “I thought you were the one who said to take our time.”

“I’m gonna combust and you haven’t even touched me properly yet,” you admit, gaping at his lips as he hovers over you, teasing you. “Imagine the state I’m in.”

That makes him smirk, and he slides a thick thigh between your parted legs, pressing it to your center. You throw your head back, cursing. “You like that?”

You nod, watching him through hooded eyes. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Fuck, Clark. Do something. I need—”

Upon the coffee table next to the couch, your phone starts ringing, and Uptown Girl by Billy Joel fills the living room.

The spell breaks, and you hide your face into the crook of his neck. “I hate my life.”

“Ignore it.”

“I can’t. I know who it is,” you say, reaching your arm without looking. Eventually, you drag the phone out of the purse, and show the screen to him. “It’s Lois. She must be calling to ask how the date went.”

“Text her instead.”

“Clark, I can’t—just don’t make a sound, okay? I have to take this, or else she’ll keep calling.”

You accept the call without noticing your voice has gone up an octave. “Hi!”

“Hey! You didn’t text me about the date, so I figured I’d just call you.”

“Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.” You gulp down as he rolls your sweater over your head in one swift motion, and you slap his shoulder when he almost makes you drop your phone. “It was… average.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“We didn’t have much in common,” you continue, drifting your attention to the ceiling to try and stay composed. “He was—oh.”

Clark’s kisses have now migrated to your chest, his fingers sneaking beneath your back to unclasp your bra. He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes hold of your breasts in his hands, and you squirm under him.

Lois’ voice breaks through, sounding distant. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I’m here, sorry. We didn’t even talk that much. I left quite early.” You mouth a ‘stop’ to him, holding the phone away from your ear, but he just smiles at you.

“Dammit, that sucks. Are you home now?”

“I was—Clark!” You yelp as he closes his mouth around your right nipple, scraping his teeth against the hardened peak. He looks at you with a horrified expression, and your whole frame stiffens.

“…Clark?” Lois repeats, and she gasps. “Are you—is Clark there? CLARK KENT?”

“IhavetogoI’msosorrybyeloveyouuuuu,” you push out the words quickly in one breath before hanging up, dropping the phone to the floor. “You’re a prick. What the hell was that?”

“I’d put it into silence mode if I were you.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair is that you’re still wearing clothes.” He sits on his knees to unbutton your pants and yank them to your ankles, his eyes dark with want. Then he does the same to his own, until all that’s left are your underwear and the hardness confined inside his briefs, which presses against you the moment he leans down.

You begin kissing him as he lays on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms so as not to crush you with his weight.

“When did you become a horny teenager?” you ask, biting back a moan as he aligns himself with you, both of you still clothed. You know there must be a damp spot on your panties at this point from how wet you are.

“Always been one around you,” he replies huskily, slipping his hands under your thighs to tug you even closer. As he grinds his hips into yours, his jaw clenches, his breath damp against your skin. “Can I—is this alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shift to give him more space between your legs. “It’s nice.”

The temperature in the room is borderline unbearable. Clark rocks into you in earnest, muttering sounds next to your ear. Some you catch, but some are so low that they are swallowed by the way he murmurs your name.

“I feel stupid doing this,” he grits out, pressing his lips to yours, his brows knitting. “I wish I could do more for you, but—I can’t. I need this. You feel—”

Shushing him, you roll your hips up to meet his mid thrust just right, whimpering when his tip catches against your entrance through the sticky fabric. He shivers, making a strangled noise.

“Oh, God—”

“Clark—”

“I swear—”

You cut him off with a kiss, sucking on his tongue. “Do you want to be inside me?”

He’s panting against your mouth, pupils blown. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He flattens his palms on the back of your thighs, his fingernails scraping gently. “I mean, of course I—yes, I’d love that,” he says, laying heavy stress on the ‘love’ part. “But I’d like to make you come like this first.”

A grin curls your lips. “Great. We’ve got four days until the bet’s done. Each orgasm equals ten points.”

That night, you have sex with Clark Kent for the first time, and it’s the best sex of your life.

He earns forty points in the span of an hour and a half.

The day the challenge started, the sky was falling apart, rain had laughed in your face, soaking you from head to toes, and Clark had offered you a spare umbrella, which you declined.

But today, four weeks later, the sun couldn’t be shining brighter, you get to work right on time, and Clark brings you coffee and a pastry for breakfast at the office.

You’re in the break room. He drags a chair across the floorboards so that he can sit next to you. Neither of you are working, though after a month of constant fighting, a short period of ten minutes of peace feels like the real prize after all.

The memories from that first day feel almost laughable now in your mind.

I was just thinking out loud, Kent. I can’t wrap my head around someone acting like they’re on stage all the damn time.

You really think I wake up every day and put on an act?

I don’t know, you tell me. I wonder if your modest decency will ever run out.

Maybe if you tried being decent for more than five minutes, you’d see it’s not an act. It’s only called being nice.

Glancing to your side, you find him scrolling through something on his phone. There’s a slight crease between his brows as he reads, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You smile before you can stop yourself.

He must feel your attention on him because he catches you staring. A smile spreads across his face too. “What’s got you like this?”

You shake your head, feeling the rising to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. “I was just… thinking.”

Across the room, Jimmy and Lois hover protectively over the whiteboard where they’ve kept track of every good deed you’ve performed. She attempts to speak, but he shushes her, looking at the two of you over his shoulder.

“Did you two do this on purpose?” he asks, capping his marker, and neither of you know what he’s talking about. It’s only then that Lois and him step aside to reveal the final score.

You lean forward, scrutinizing the numbers on the board. “We’re… even?”

Pursing his lips, Jimmy runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this. There was supposed to be one winner, as in any other game.”

You raise your hands. “Clark should win. He's been preparing for this his whole life.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” he objects, crossing his arms over his chest. “You did some really nice things for the sake of the challenge. You deserve it more than me.”

“But you—”

“She wins!” Clark concludes, standing up to clap for you, encouraging Lois and Jimmy to do the same.

After the round of applause is over, you take a bow, wiping imaginary tears from under your eyes. “I never thought this could actually happen,” you say, glaring at Clark. “My partner in crime, you made this possible.”

“We’ve created a monster,” Jimmy whispers, loud enough for you to hear it, and tugs on Lois’ sleeve. “Alright. Now I feel uncomfortable.”

“You two… are disgustingly… cute!” she chirps, being dragged outside the room.

Arms clasped behind his back, Clark puffs out his chest, looming closer. Behind his glasses, his eyes flicker with mischief. “Congratulations. You can have that exclusive interview with Superman anytime you want.”

“So I finally get to meet him? What an honor.”

“Does tonight work for you? At my place. He told me he’s dying to have a word with you.”

“I see.” You twist his tie around your fingers. “Will you be there?”

“Of course. I’m the mediator.”

Before he can say anything else, you pull him forward by the tie, kissing him. He cradles your face in his big hands, his nose brushing yours lovingly as he trips over his own feet to close the door. You warn him about someone eventually walking in, but he just answers, “We can make it quick.”

To be fair, you like this new version of yourself, the one who’s been making an effort to be nicer.

The one who’s irremediably in love with Clark.

dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps <3

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XVII

Chapter Seventeen

Cregan Stark series

Masterlist

DD Masterlist

cw: fire, death, burns, typical HOTD warnings

Daenys’ mind was as waterlogged as her physical state was. Her ears were echoing with the effects of water in the canals and the saltiness of the sea stung her eyes. She fought shivers uselessly as her clothes were completely soaked and clinging to her body.

The problem of getting back onto the boat was her first priority. Her cloudy mind would have to wait until she was safe with Cregan, Corlys, and the crew. If anyone was alive from her side, that was. The strangest thing was Cregan's sudden disappearance during the ambush. She did not dare to doubt the strength of the Stark, but her concern for him being pushed overboard outweighed her concern for him falling to another sword.

After all, she was quite unsure if he could swim instinctively if need be, and his heavy clothes and boots certainly wouldn't aid him to float long enough for rescue. It wasn't like she could drag a full grown man that towered over her—or if there was even time to find him if that truly was his fate. She ignored the sour taste in her mouth, trusting her dreams enough now to suspect that neither Corlys nor Cregan would die today. If they would—the Gods or whomever was so cruelly behind her vivid dreams would have forced her to witness it already.

But where was he?

The Gods must have been bored today. To encounter a coincidental battle and wash Lucerys’ sword up must have been a good laugh. She hoped they were amused by their mortal problems. The sword, named Wind Cutter as a sort-of mimic to Jace's ‘Sea Tamer’, was the tiny yet perfectly placed stone atop the mountain of her problems. She didn't find it as funny as they must've.

She glanced around the flank, spitting salty water from her mouth and wiping her lips dry from the taste. The rungs must be on the other side, unfortunately for her. She looked up to the edges of the boats, desperate for a glimpse of her grandsire and Cregan before she swam to the other side.

The sea was wild around her. She'd be pushed and pulled with the tide all the way around. It wouldn't be an easy swim, especially in her restricting dress. Getting caught under the ship was a whole other issue.

The rungs of the enemy ship caught her eye. It was only a short distance away, although a dangerous gamble between who she would come across on board.

She gave in to her urgency, leaping into the water and clutching the sword the best she caught while wading to the other ship's side ladder. She bit the handle between her teeth, cringing at the bitter taste of salt and leather but continuing on. The rocking of the ship and the slickness of each rung made it a tricky climb, but gradually she got half-way up without falling back into the depths. Eveningstar felt like it drew closer, and might just get her crushed between both ships if she didn't hasten her feet.

She looked up, huffing at the remaining distance and clicking her shoe into the next step while clinging her nails into the wood of her eye-level steps. When her next step lost footing and she almost fell, she took a moment to steady her heartbeat and catch her ragged breath.

The faint smell of dragon, salt, and blood was overtaken by a much more potent scent. Daenys’ senses were flooded by smoke.

Smoke?

Sunfyre's growls were still audible above her. He tore into metal and tossed men far from the ship like limp rags. He was clever enough not to release fire and burn his only land away. Who set a fire?

A deep cough rumbled throughout the air, and a chain of cries in pain followed from the chip Daenys held onto. The Baratheon's ship was the one set on fire, not her own. She felt her heart race, knowing that even an ash floating through the breeze might set Eveningstar alight all the same and then everyone would be doomed. Her eyes followed the ropes and gangway that loosely connected the two barges. She needed to cut whatever ropes the Baratheons tied and cross the gangway to steer the ship away. She prayed that Corlys’ crew were winning.

Another step up, and a sword had beat her to the rope-cutting. In the blink of an eye, the flash of silver cut through the ropes Baratheon soldiers managed to loop around the main flagpole of her ship and they hung loose against the sides.

Boots caved the gangway into a dip, and she realized who exactly had cut off the other ship.

“Cregan?” She called through the sword's pommel, muffled word barely making a sound against the waves and fighting.

But he heard anyway. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sniveled his head around to look for her on Eveningstar. “Princess?” He called out, grip tight on Ice. She shouted louder, and he finally caught her form against the side.

“Gods,” he planted Ice back into its hold, jumping off the plank and pressing his stomach to the side of the ship, holding his hand out to her. Daenys would've laughed at the sight if the situation wasn't so tense. She managed another two steps very slowly and finally took his outstretched hand. He managed to get a firm hold around her forearm, tugging her up easily and falling back into the wood with her secured to his chest.

“Are you hurt?” He pressed, bringing a hand to her damp cheek and inspecting her closely, relieved to find only ripped skirts and cold skin. She felt akin to a wet dog, hair loose and clinging to her face.

She spit the sword out, rubbing her sore jaw and teeth before nodding. “I'm fine. Borros found it reasonable to throw me overboard rather than killing me while he could.” His jaw ticked but he didn't comment on the Baratheon lord, instead grabbing the sword for her and aiding her to stand.

They found their footing, and Daenys noticed the barrels pushed over what should be the hatch to go below deck.

“There's soldiers down there?”

He nodded solemnly. “Too many for us to take. The second ship already passed us, likely just cargo and crew.” The fire was spreading fast from below, rising and catching onto the flooring. “Let's make haste.” Cregan nodded to the quiet ship. Sunfyre was the only noisy thing from it now, shifting wings and snarling at the final live man. With heavy steps, he guided her to the plank and held her hand as far as he could before allowing her to cross the rest alone. He followed suit, steps much more careful and if she squinted, shaky. The water truly wasn't his element.

Cregan tossed the board away and it clanged back onto the burning ship. He called for Addam to steer the ship away carefully, wary of the fire spreading. Daenys met Corlys in the center of the ship, where bleeding men were working on tying Borros Baratheon. She looked him up and down, narrowing her eyes at his worsened limp.

He breathed heavily through his nose, shaking his head at her concern. “Baratheons have never been the finest swordsman. More suited for hunting and feasting.” At the jibe, Borros seethed.

“It gladdens me to see you well, grandsire.” She smiled, surveying the crew. “And your men?”

“Three fell to swords.” He said. “If not for Lord Stark's intervention on the Baratheon ship, it likely would have been all.” Corlys turns to Cregan, who nods respectively to him.

“I'm sorry for your losses.” The Stark offers.

Corlys stiffens his lip, well acquainted with death. “Stone Dance will have to wait. We must sail to Dragonstone and hail the aid of your dragon to deal with the second ship. The children at Rook's Rest are vulnerable to the crewmates aboard.”

“All the way back to Dragonstone?” Daenys asked. “By the time we get there, they'll have already arrived at Rook's Rest and found the young Lord and Lady.”

Her grandsire frowns, “we have not the means to rescue them without force. My men are worn and injured and few. Rook's Rest is not at risk from one ship of cargo holders.”

“Rook's Rest may be safe from arrest, but they are not.” Daenys fights. “We can follow them now and stop them before they can even anchor.”

Still, Addam's course is clear. The bow was pointed towards the islands rather than the mainland.

Cregan shares a short look with the Lord of the Tides. “Princess,” he mutters lowly. “Kalla and Kallus will be fine so long as they spot the ship and keep the doors boarded. If the Baratheons are wise, they will not make a move without knowledge of the grounds and who lies inside the keep.”

“And if they aren't?” She questioned. “If Kalla sees a ship and doesn't know the Baratheons’ loyalty lies with Aegon? You know what might happen to her, to her brother.”

His grey eyes flash with resolve, and she knew his and Corlys’ choice was final. Daenys would have to wait to intercept the boat later.

He takes her silence as acceptance, and squeezes her hand in his own gratefully. It was not an easy decision for anyone, but a necessary one.

“The matter of the Baratheon is still at large.” Corlys spoke louder, reinstating the problem at hand that could be solved immediately.

Cregan was quick to clutch the sword in hand tighter. “He has committed treason against the crown.” He announced to the ship, and perhaps the Gods that he believed in. “Attempted to kill Princess Daenys Velayron, ambushed the Queen's commanded vessel, and pledged loyalty to the usurper's cause.”

It was unspoken, but clear. Cregan was suggested an execution, and was more than willing to carry it out himself as Northern Lords did. As Starks did.

A pause filled the air and left it thick with tension. Borros was only silent because of the dirty rag stuffed into his mouth, otherwise he'd be able to be heard all the way in King's Landing with his vulgar language.

“No.” Daenys shook her head resolutely, staring down at the man in front of them. “We'll let him rot in the dungeons of Dragonstone until he proves useful. Mayhaps your magnanimous ‘King’ will save you, if he cares so much about your House.”

Ultimately, it was up to the Queen. Daenys had no true say in Borros’ fate besides being a word of advice to her mother, but the hatred in the man's dark eyes satisfied her enough.

Borros writhed in his ties. He spat curses that she couldn't bother to make out, likely just spitting back into his own throat.

“It's a short sail, Lord Borros.” Cregan said. “Try not to rile the dragon up. He's quite temperamental.”

Sunfyre made a show of huffing into Borros’ face, staring him down with two golden, sharp eyes. He shrank in on himself, wisely quieting down and pressing his back into the wood.

The ship was quiet now, the main sound being bandages dispersing amongst crew and waves hitting along the sides of the ship. Daenys and Cregan sat away from the injured, mulling over the loss of crew they only knew the faces of and dreading what they might return to at Rook's Rest.

“How did you set a fire in the middle of the sea?” Daenys murmured. It was broad daylight, no lanterns would've been lit above the deck for him to toss.

Casually, Cregan pulled out his flint stone from his pocket.

Daenys smiled, the familiar sight a comfort. Their days spent in the snowy forests were always ended by his warm fires that lulled her to rest. “Always a Northman, even in the South.” She sniffed, amused at his insistence on always carrying items practical to colder weather.

“Today has possibly marked my most dishonorable action as Lord of Winterfell.” Cregan rubbed a thumb over the stone before pocketing it again. At her furrowed brow, he continued. “Sealing men in a death trap. It's no way for a Lord to fight his battles, but I knew it was the only way to protect you.”

His eyes were faraway and distant. Daenys grasped his hand within both of her own, rubbing along his gloved knuckles and urging his eyes towards hers. “There's no honor in ambush. That man permitted the murder of a child and did nothing to stop it. I'm sure he, and his men, have done nothing to deserve honorable death. I'm no soldier, but surely knowing what must be done and having the courage to follow through couldn't be condemned.”

From Cregan alone, she could assume that one Stark carried the weight of honor and responsibility ten times more than any Southern lord might. Even, perhaps, the Southern kings. Viserys was a dutiful king, yes, but avoidant and reliant on his advisors. Many Targaryen men before him were much the same in terms of believing that they could do as they pleased and see no consequence. Wars, conquering, indulgence in sex and cups; all a peacocking display of power rather than honor or even the concept of it. Starks could not all be perfect, Daenys knew, but one decision weighing so heavily on Cregan's mind tore at her own.

He saved her, Sunfyre, her grandsire, and the entire crew on Eveningstar. It may not have been a fight with brawn nor

To Cregan, using fire rather than sword might as well be equal to using poison on his enemies. A coward's and a traitor's weapon.

But Targaryens used fire without a second thought. It was their code and blood, their privilege and blood-earned right. She could not fathom his code of honor just as he could not understand the bond between Valyrion and dragon. The best she could do for him was reach out and offer her ear.

War was different on the sea and on the land. In the North and in the South. Between Kings and traitors. Between dragons and humans. Honor would have to be put on the back of one's mind when survival was on the forefront. She'd never forget the agonized screams of men on fire but she would recognize that it was for a better future for Westeros and her family.

The corners of his lips upturned slightly, mirth clear in his eyes as he looked at her. He squeezed her hands, a wordless appreciation.

When his calloused, large hands brush against the smooth skin on her still-damp neck, she can't suppress the shiver that drags up her spine.

“Are you sure you're alright?” He asks, eyes focused on the forming bruises that must be scattered along exposed skin. She brings her hand up to drag his own back down, clasping them together in her lap. It dawns on her that she's still sopping wet, hair and dress, and extremely uncomfortable. The garment was heavy and rubbed her skin raw beneath it. Selfishly, she wished that she had brought a bag with her for the journey to Rook's Rest. Now, she'd just have to wait until she could resolve the new conflict that burdened the lineage of House Staunton. Complaints were useless when death was at her door and so many others’.

“I got lucky,” she reassured him. “At least I knew how to swim.” She smiled at the quick breath that left his chest at her humored retort.

“I wish you'd let me rid his shoulders from the burden of his inflated head.” Cregan mourned, completely serious.

Daenys laughed at his disappointment, shaking her head with a small sigh. “My sympathies. The next time Borros decides himself above the Gods, you shall have my blessing to strike him where he stands.”

“That time might come before we even make it to Dragonstone.” He said severely, glancing pointedly towards the shaking man.

🗡

Morningstar's vibrating roar greeted the ship before anything else. On the rocks of Dragonstone lay the she-dragon, completely alert and anxious to see Daenys. The moment the ship was docked, Daenys raced off the gangway and to her, Cregan following closely behind. Before she could climb to the saddle, a hand at her arm stopped her.

“Princess,” he started. “We'll follow behind as quickly as we can. If your brother or sister are back, they'll be joining you on dragonback.”

Breathless, she nodded. “I know. Advise my mother to stay here, as best as you can.”

He pursed his lips, unsure of his place in influencing the Queen just yet. Cregan nodded nonetheless. “Don't do anything brash. Hover if you can, and don't get off your saddle until we come.”

“I won't.” Daenys refrained herself from huffing out, knowing he was only concerned for her well-being after she'd disappeared so many times from his perimeter.

He studied her carefully for a few long moments before pulling away from her and allowing her to climb the white wing.

Her eyes stayed on him from above, watching until he was a mere grey speck amongst black rock and sea. Men worked on escorting the captured Lord and dragon off of the boat while Cregan rushed off to go inside and deliver news of Rook's Rest's situation.

She knew it wouldn't take long to reach the cliffslide, but who knew which dragons and riders were back in Dragonstone and ready to go. She hoped that at least Baela was, considering it had been over a full day since they parted.

As the keep came into view, so did the docked ship bearing the hideous yellow of House Baratheon. The stag flowed with every shift of the wind in the fabric, and she squinted to spot any people on the deck. None were out on the field and silence felt louder than the sharp sound of iron on iron or blungeoned screams. Boxes were the only thing visible on deck, and Daenys steered Morningstar to land atop Rook's Rest's tower. All she could do now was observe and wait.

The boat was still and silent for the entirety of her wait. While the sun beamed down on her, the dress had begun to naturally dry and cool her down at the same time. The only movement were the waves shifting the barge to and fro, though no man showed his face.

She pondered setting fire to it and being done with the Baratheons. A loss of good supplies, but also a prevention from loss of men on her side. Would Rhaenyra scorn her for it, or wave it off as another leaf falling from the molting tree? She couldn't tell anymore. Her mother's moods were an eternally ebbing and waning ocean against the shallow shores of politics.

If she could keep her composure when her husband abandoned her and contradicted her claim to the throne, she had no right to be cross with her daughter for much of anything these days.

She wiped the sweat from her brow just as Moondancer's striped wings came into view. Baela was safe and seemingly successful in her task.

“You've drawn up quite the stir at the painted table.” Baela mused as she perched next to the white dragon.

“A strong breeze knocking over a pitcher stirs the council. They've got nothing to do all day but await news of victory or death.”

With a snort, Baela agreed. “Duskendale was a quick win. Their ports are open to Driftmark's ships at any time, at the Queen's disposal.”

She dipped her head. “My congratulations.” Rook's Rest and Duskendale both were swift victories and though small, would be rid of the Green's availability to cut them off from nearby land. “I assume Jace has yet to return. What orders did Rhaenyra bring?”

Baela eyed her at the mention of her mother's name, but continued on. “He hasn't come back since you all left. The Queen is agitated, but something tells me that she expected it.” She squints down at the boat below. “Is that the only one here?”

“Yes,” Daenys clipped. “Still, we do not know who is aboard.”

“Does it matter?” Her sister asked. “The Queen gave a vague concept of what we are to do. However, it is heavily implied that we get rid of the problem however we see fit.”

She snorted wryly. “I'm surprised I didn't see Syrax over the cliffs, with Rhaenyra raging at my ‘indecisiveness’.”

“She trusts your judgement.” Baela said, sounding a lot more serious than she had when she first landed. “Trusts you.”

“She trusts my attunement for dragonriding, and Morningstar's ability to protect me.” She defended her claim insistently. “Otherwise she'd never allow me to be involved with these matters. If I didn't have a dragon, I'd be locked away in Dragonstone with the key thrown away.”

At least Rhaena had the task of protecting her brothers and keeping Lady Arryn at bay. If Daenys were the one in her position, a maid would've been the one sent with her brothers while Daenys stayed in her chambers and away from politicking. Cregan was her first instance of diplomacy, and that feat was half-credited to the speed of Morningstar to get to the North. Desperation changed her family a lot in a short time.

“We won't ever know, so it's best not to think too hard about the possibilities.” Her sister offered, likely thinking about her own blood sister and her circumstances. Safe, but far and unreachable.

It was silent between them for a while. Merely the shifting of the dragon's wings and the soft breeze filled the air. Daenys found herself irritated, and an itch lay beneath her skin that could never be scratched.

“We'll burn it.” She suggested first.

Baela's lips twitched downwards. “I'm not disagreeing with you, but wouldn't salvaging the boat and supplies be more tangible?”

“It'll take too long. We'd have to starve them out of there before they even show their faces. If we try and coax them out, an arrow might delve itself into our skulls. We have plenty of others at Driftmark, and the Greyjoys still might offer their own ships and men.”

Baela was slow to nod. She shifted on her saddle, commanding Moondancer to fly up from her perch and towards the boat. With Morningstar hovering alongside, the two dragons circled above the boat and within seconds it was alight. Leaving Baela to monitor escapees, Daenys was already dismounting to enter Rook's Rest through the rooftop.

Inside, all was still and quiet.

She didn't have time to regret coming in alone, swinging around all corners with her weapon clutching up to her chest. After deeming it clear, she called out for Kalla and Kallus.

It was one of the servants that answered, voice weary and confused. “Princess?”

“Where's the Lady and boy?” Daenys frantically met the woman in the dining hall. It was occupied by only a few servants who loitered around and pretended not to listen in on the conversation and young Kallus sitting at the head table.

Safe.

He looked tired, still. Eyes all droopy and half-lidded while his fist supported his head. He blinked up at Daenys, eyes brightening upon seeing her.

“Princess!” He cried out happily, running into her arms. She knelt down to hug him, gladdened to see him safe inside the keep.

“Kallus.” She greeted warmly, glancing around the room. “It's only been a few hours. Where is Lady Kalla?”

He pulled away, large eyes gleaming up at her like she was the most interesting thing in the world. “She's on your ship.” He said leisurely.

Her heart stopped.

“My ship?” She questioned. “The one docked outside with the yellow banners?”

He nodded proudly, pointing towards the small windows in the room, which were out of his eyeline.

She'd never been more grateful for something in her life. Without stopping, Daenys fled outside the nearest servant's exit with a shout left behind her shoulder: “Don't let him out!”

With the flurry of chaos left behind her heels, she ran out to the charred fields of Rook's Rest and to where the ship was burning. The banners were already indecipherable, color and pattern all washed out by the orange flame overtaking them and running down the poles. Moondancer soared above, circling the ship curiously to ensure no stragglers coming out. When Baela spotted the figure going in, she shouted out to her sister. Daenys was already on the small pier, panting and praying that the ship was a decoy planted ahead of time for them to destroy.

Surely, against dragons, no one would be foolish enough to stay in their wooden ships. But, did they know they'd be followed by dragons rather than men? Were the Baratheons wise enough for hindsight, or as foolish as their reigning Lord?

For once, Daenys hoped for the wisdom of her enemy to prove greater than her own.

She leapt from the edge onto the ship's gangway drop opening, pulling herself up and ignoring the flames above. They were trailing down fast, already licking at the floors beneath the poles and staking their claim. The clanking of wood on wood was followed by screeches from men and heavy footsteps on the deck. Beneath armor, boots and trousers caught fire as men frantically scrambled to get off the ship. They all seemed young, from her blitzed point of view when they shouldered past and completely ignored her presence. There wasn't many, perhaps a small crew of five or six young shipmates that played soldier under the more experienced men on Borros’ ship. The ones that made the jump onto the dock immediately scrambled to put the fire out and the ones that didn't fell into the sea and cried out for the aid of their crewmates.

None dragged Lady Kalla behind.

She scrambled to the trap door leading downstairs, surrounded by heat on all sides as it traveled down and down further into the ship's body. Leaping down the stairs, Daenys coughed at the smoke trapped within and shouted out, “Kalla!”

A muffled cry and the sound of boots against wood was the saving grace awarded to Daenys. She pushed to the sound, shouldering barrels of meat and metal away and making her way to the back of the ship. There, amongst the black smog that had collected in the ship, was the figure of Lady Kalla with her arms tied to a splintered pole. The flames had already caught onto it from above, creeping towards her head quicker than ever and looming over her. Kalla was tugging herself as far away as she could physically manage, hands low to the floor to escape the heat.

“Princess?” She choked out, throat dry and cracked.

Daenys slid the dagger from her belt, weaving past a fallen pallet of shields. “Stay still, I'll cut you loose.”

Kalla let out a shaky breath, coughing once more and nodding, bleary eyes following the princess. “When the men came, they said you—” Her words were cut short by the overhead boards falling in front of her, rotted from the fire and still burning. Her skirt was quick to follow, garbled and raspy screams erupting from the young woman as she tried to kick away.

She cursed, shoving another fallen barrel away to get to Kalla's side, stomping at the fire before deciding it climbed too fast to keep up with. She worked to cut the fabric itself instead, wincing at the clumsy cuts laid to Kalla's calves and knees, sweat dripping off her brow from the exception. Kalla's yelps were choked out into smoke-drowned coughs and only then did Daenys spot the fire that licked at the pole near her face. Before she could warn her, Kalla's panic to escape the fire on her dress led her to whip her cheek into the wood, blistering half of her fair face with red boils.

Daenys moved from the clothes to the cloth at her hands, freeing Kalla from the incinerating pole and dragging her up and away from it. She was quick to stamp the rest off of her, leaving them both heaving and wheezing side-by-side on the floor. The boat bobbed in the sea, still, a gentle motion against the raging flame surrounding them.

“Come—” Daenys managed out, gripping Kalla's arm in a death grip to get her to her feet and half-drag the elder girl to the trap door. Holding her up, they limped back through the mess of supplies to get back to the steep ladder. Daenys urged Kalla up first, glancing around to the fire above anxiously as she took slow, haggard steps.

When they both emerged, she could see the two dragons still circling, realizing Morningstar had been calling out the entire time Daenys had been out of her sight. Their refined sight caught onto the girls quickly, with Morningstar being the first to swoop down onto the dock and nip frustratedly at the air between the boat and pier. At her talons, lay the few men that escaped from the ship, and Daenys vaguely noticed another couple floating face-down and blackened in the sea. The Baratheon threat had been eliminated, though at the cost of Daeny's foolish and impatient decision.

There was no honor in ambush.

Kalla was too pained to be frightened of the dragon in front of her like she had been before. Instead, she groaned and leaned further into Daenys's side, eyes drawling back into her head and swaying.

“Dohaeragon, Morningstar.” She clicked her tongue, stepping to the edge of the boat. Behind her, the sound of collapsing wood and the scent of burning metal and meat filled her hazy senses. The dragon huffed briefly before lifting off again, swift to take Kalla between her claws and to the grassy flat. Moondancer landed soon after, Baela leaping off her saddle to assess the young woman. She hadn't noticed her own skirts and sleeves catching fire, too, just as Kalla's had.

Daenys chose to jump into the water. At the same time, Eveningstar was in sight on the horizon once again.

🗡

Cregan’s pace was all but frenzied as he walked into the index of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra was alone at the archive table’s head, head resting on her fist as she poured over parchment with a pinched look on her face. At his entrance, she straightened up. His lone image must've been ghastly to an awaiting mother—blood on his tunic and boots, hair disheveled and fussed, and a faint scent of smoke lingering on his clothes.

“Where are the prince and princess?” She asked, rising from the chair. She looked on the verge of glowering at him, like she somehow presumed he'd left her eldest children for dead at sea.

“Your Grace,” he briefly bowed, lowering his eyes to her feet before wetting his lips and speaking. “Prince Jacaerys has gone to discuss the matter of the Northern forces using the Twins as a passage into the Riverlands. Princess Daenys was successful in re-taking Rook's Rest—”

“Yes, as she wrote to me.” Rhaenyra frowned, slighted at the knowledge of her disobedient heir, and even more irked at Cregan's dragging. “Why has she not returned with you?”

“Borros Baratheon cut us off at sea.” He proclaimed. He'd intended to ease the report to the Queen slowly, to not panic her about the state of her daughter, but it was futile when she was so observant. Taking her stunned silence in, he continued. “We have taken him captive with Lord Corly's men and suffered the loss of a few good sailors.”

“What of Daenys?” She asked.

“A second ship carrying cargo to Rook's Rest slipped past us. The princess is currently traveling back to monitor the situation.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lines into fine lines, expression unreadable to Cregan. It dawned on him that although Daenys was what must be the younger image of the Queen, they didn't share much in terms of mannerism. To Cregan, Rhaenyra might as well be a stone wall of fortitude and isolation.

“I see.” She rolled up the scroll she had been focusing on, biding her time to think over a quick plan. As she carefully tucked it back into its place within the grated wall, she spoke. “What is the state of Lord Corlys’ ship?”

“The men left are able to sail, although their ability to last another dispute is something I greatly doubt. The ship itself sustained no damage and Sunfyre is dismounting as we speak.” Hopefully, he'd be off by the time Cregan returned.

“Lady Baela returned from her venture last night. Immediate aid could be provided from her and Moondancer.”

“Of course, your Grace,” he nodded. “I will follow with Lord Corlys and a few good men.” He shifted, impatient to leave the stale air of the archives. Every second he knew Daenys spent alone felt like dragged millennia. The sword she dragged out from the sea was still tightened onto his belt, a solemn reminder that she was capable of surviving the perils in her path.

“I want you to stay at Dragonstone, Lord Stark.” Her command stunned him to silence. With a tight furrow in his brow, he couldn't hide his exasperation.

She continued before he could question, stern vibrato leaving no room for disobedience. “I trust Baela to make the right decision. A cargo ship is not known to carry much more than sailors and squires. I am calling upon the council to gather, and I expect you to fulfill your duty here, while you still await the Northmen.”

A long pause filled the space, tension thickening the room while she awaited his response. A challenge played in the older woman's dark purple eyes, so starkly different to the pensive and troubled look that plagued his betrothed's lighter ones.

“Yes, your grace.”

With no more need for exchange, Rhaenyra swiftly left to find her husband's daughter.

🗡

do we see the parallels

hi guys its been six months 🥲

taglist: @beebeechaos @moonymoo1 @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 @itsaslaminak @iv7867 @yentroucnagol @geeksareunique

[cherryheairt]

Please take this homemade meme from me

(Idk why Davos and Aemond’s letters are so huge)

dude. I found this in my inbox and I SWEAR I replied to this exact thing last year, is this a glitch or did I hallucinate? I go thru the inbox once a week and its the first time seeing this!

Anyway, glad I did. Keeping this and framing it for life thank you 🙏🫶🏻 new chap tmr 💪

[cherryheairt]

new dragon dreamer chapter tomorrow

[cherryheairt]

The version of you I’ll never know.

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Status: One-shot

Word Count: ~7,2k

Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Jealousy, Past Relationships, Insecurities, Female reader.

Summary: You knew Clark had a past. Everyone does. But sometimes, in the quiet of your shared bed, the ghost of a woman you’ve never met lingers in your thoughts, Lois. You’re not jealous of her now. You’re jealous of the version of Clark she got to love before you. The one unscarred by loss. As your quiet insecurities rise to the surface, Clark holds you through your fears… while quietly wrestling with his own.

A/N: This was inspired by a post I read on an app called Medium, Called “did you like her in the morning?”.

You didn’t expect to feel this way. Not really. You knew he had a past, everyone does. You’d told yourself you were okay with it. Grown up enough to understand that love leaves a trail behind it, a history of people who once meant everything. But the lie caught up to you in quiet moments like this when the night was still, when he was asleep beside you, arm heavy across your waist like he always did, as if anchoring himself to the present without realizing the past still curled itself into the corners of your mind.

You weren’t jealous of her, exactly. Not the person. Not Lois Lane. She wasn’t around anymore. She wasn’t even a threat. What haunted you wasn’t her smile or her name or the lingering stories that slipped out of Clark’s mouth every so often, as if she were still threaded into the seams of his life. What haunted you was the version of him she got to know. The man before the weight of the world changed his spine, before the heartbreak softened his voice. The man who still believed love was permanent and not just something you hold onto until the next disaster.

He was different with you, and you didn’t know if that was a good thing. Sometimes he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you stayed. Like he was waiting for the fall. Sometimes he hesitated before saying I love you, not because he didn’t mean it but because he meant it too much. There were cracks in him now. Hairline fractures that no one warned you about. And while you’d never trade him for anyone else, a small part of you, the soft, insecure, human part ached to know what he was like before the storm.

You didn’t ask questions when he mentioned her. You smiled. Nodded. Tried to look unbothered when her name came up in stories that always sounded like a life that happened before you. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were the one here now. You were the one he kissed goodnight. The one he whispered things to in the dark. But sometimes, when he laughed just a little too quietly or zoned out while stirring sugar into your coffee, you wondered if he was remembering her. If she made him coffee like you do. If he ever pressed his lips to her forehead before she left for work. If he ever looked at her like she was the only thing grounding him to this planet.

You hated yourself for wondering. You hated yourself for caring. But you did. And it hurt. Quietly. Consistently. Like a low-grade fever that never quite broke.

You didn’t mean to bring it up. You weren’t even sure what you were trying to say when the words slipped out that night, while he was brushing his teeth and you were pretending to be fine. You were both standing in the bathroom, soft yellow light overhead, everything warm and domestic and ordinary, and yet your chest felt like it was caving in.

“Do you ever miss her?” you asked.

He stopped mid-brush. Spit. Washed his mouth out before turning slowly toward you. “Who?”

“Lois” You said, eyes fixed on the tiled floor.

He was quiet for a moment, and that silence twisted in your ribs like a knife. You felt ridiculous. Pathetic. Too emotional for your own good. But you didn’t take it back.

“Sometimes,” he said honestly. “But not the way you think.”

That should’ve been enough. But it wasn’t. Not when your chest was already splitting open.

You swallowed hard. “I think I’m jealous of the version of you she got. The version before the pain. Before the guards. Before the world made you tired.”

Clark’s expression didn’t change, but you saw it in his eyes, the way his shoulders shifted, the way he took a slow breath through his nose.

“I know I have you now,” you continued, trying to make your voice sound normal, but it cracked around the edges. “I know that. You tell me you love me and you show me every day, and I believe you. I really do. But sometimes… I still think of her. I wonder if she ever got the version of you I try so hard to reach.”

You didn’t mean to say so much. You hadn’t rehearsed this. But now that it was out, you couldn’t stop. “She’s not here anymore, I know that. But I’m not jealous of her now. I’m jealous of the version of you that loved her before me. The you I’ll never get to meet.”

He stepped toward you slowly, eyes never leaving yours. You couldn’t read him. He was so good at gentleness, so careful with your heart that sometimes you forgot he carried wounds of his own. His hands came up to hold your arms, thumbs brushing lightly against your skin.

“She didn’t get the best of me,” he said, softly but firmly.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“She got the beginning,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “The naive, hopeful part of me. The part that thought love was simple. But you…” He exhaled slowly. “You have the version of me that’s real. The one who’s been broken, who’s been afraid, who’s learned how much it hurts to lose someone you love and still chooses to love anyway.”

Your throat tightened.

“I won’t pretend the past didn’t happen. It did. And yeah, sometimes I remember things. That’s just… how memory works. But I don’t compare you. I don’t weigh what I had with her against what I have with you. Because what I have with you—” he reached up, brushing your hair back behind your ear, “—is deeper. It’s messier. It’s more fragile and more terrifying. But it’s real. And it’s mine. You’re mine.”

Your eyes burned. You didn’t even realize you were crying until he caught the tear with his thumb.

“I know it’s not easy, loving someone who’s loved before,” he said. “But I’m not holding on to her. I’m not looking back. I’m here. With you. Entirely.”

And for the first time, you believed him without hesitation.

You let him pull you in. Let him hold you the way he always does, like you’re the thing keeping him grounded. Like you’re not just the present, but the future. Like you’re the choice he makes over and over again.

You buried your face in his shirt and let the ache in your chest slowly quiet. It didn’t vanish completely. Maybe it never would. But it softened. Because he meant every word. Because he was here, with you, and not just physically. Not just in the way his hand traced patterns on your back or the way he whispered “I’ve got you” against your temple.

He was yours. Not perfect. Not unscarred. But yours.

And in the quiet of that moment, wrapped up in his warmth, forehead pressed to his collarbone, you finally let go of the past. Not completely. But just enough.

Because he wasn’t with her anymore. He was with you.

And that mattered more than anything.

He didn’t say it last night. He couldn’t. You’d already said too much, already laid your heart out in trembling pieces, and the last thing he wanted was to add weight to your already-heavy chest. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About what you said. About the version of him you’d never know. The one before the loss, before the grief, before the city leaned on his back like a god it didn’t quite believe in. The one who loved without hesitation. Without fear.

But what you didn’t know, what he didn’t say was that he thought the same thing about you.

There were versions of you he’d never get to meet. He didn’t know what you were like at nineteen, or who made you cry for the first time, or who first taught you to be afraid of your own softness. He didn’t know who you used to text late at night, whose hoodie you might’ve worn once, or who first told you they loved you and meant it a little too late. He didn’t ask. Not because he didn’t want to know, but because some part of him was afraid of what he’d hear. He didn’t want to picture you in someone else’s passenger seat. He didn’t want to wonder if there was someone who held your face the way he does now.

It was stupid. He knew that. He was a grown man. Superman, even, on paper. But jealousy doesn’t care about titles. It doesn’t care about what you’re supposed to feel. It just slips in when the room is quiet and the lights are off and the person you love most is curled beside you, saying someone else’s name like it still lives in the walls of your home.

He held you tighter last night, not just for your sake, but for his own. Because while you were confessing your ache for the version of him you’d never meet, he was grieving the past you he’d never get to hold.

He wondered if you ever told someone else your secrets the way you told them to him now. If you ever fell asleep on someone else’s shoulder. If anyone else knew the way your voice sounded when you were trying not to cry.

Maybe that was the worst part, not knowing, and not wanting to ask.

Because the truth was, Clark didn’t want to hear about the person who held your hand before he did. He didn’t want to know if someone ever saw the best version of you first. The unscarred one. The one who loved without hesitation. The one who didn’t yet know what it meant to be hurt.

He knew how to carry the world. He’d done it a thousand times. But the idea of someone else being the first to make you laugh that way. God, that was the one thing that made his chest tighten.

He couldn’t tell you all that. Not yet. You were still hurting. Still fragile from last night. And he didn’t want to add to your weight. So instead, he held it close. Quietly. Carefully. The same way he held you.

When he wakes, the first thing he notices is the softness of you pressed against him.

You’d turned in your sleep, arms wrapped around his torso like you’d been afraid he might vanish. Your cheek rests against his chest, your breath slow and warm, and your fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt like you’d needed something to hold onto.

He stays still for a long time. Watching. Memorizing.

The city is still quiet outside. Early morning sun filters through the curtains in soft streaks of gold. You shift a little in your sleep and exhale softly. Your eyelashes flutter. Your brow smooths. You look peaceful now, nothing like the version of you from last night, eyes full of too many thoughts, voice trembling with questions you were scared to ask.

He lifts one hand, careful not to wake you, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Lets his fingers rest there. Light. Barely-there.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

It’s not just comfort. It’s apology. It’s I’m here. It’s You have me. All of me. Even the parts that ache quietly in the dark.

You stir a little at the touch, and your hand tightens in his shirt.

“Mm… Clark?” your voice is groggy, small.

“I’m here baby,” he whispers. His lips graze your temple. “Just me.”

You sigh. Sink back into him. He can feel it, the way your whole body relaxes like you believe it now.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just holds you. His hand rubs gentle circles on your back through the oversized shirt you’d stolen from his drawer last night. Your skin is warm beneath the fabric. Familiar. Real.

The past is still there. The ghosts haven’t vanished. But for the first time, he feels like they’re quiet enough to live with.

You shift again and glance up at him through sleep-heavy eyes. “Did I say too much last night?” you murmur.

“No,” he answers, immediately. “You said what needed to be said.”

You swallow, nod slightly. But your eyes still search his face, like you’re afraid there’s something he hasn’t told you. Something he’s hiding beneath the quiet.

He hesitates. Then lifts his hand to your face, thumb brushing your cheek gently.

“Can I tell you something too?”

You nod.

He hesitates. Breathes. Then says it:

“I think about it, too. The version of you I’ll never know.”

Your eyes flicker.

“I don’t talk about it, because… well, I don’t want to make you feel like I doubt what we have. Because I don’t. I never have. But sometimes… I wonder who got to see you before all the cracks.”

He watches your expression soften. You blink slowly, like you hadn’t expected that.

“I wonder if someone else got to hear your laugh first. If someone else ever made you morning coffee. If they knew the way you curl into yourself when you’re upset, or how your voice gets really quiet when you’re trying not to cry.”

You bite your lip, eyes welling slightly.

“I wonder if they got to hold the version of you that didn’t flinch when love showed up,” he says, softer now. “Because I can feel it, sometimes. That fear. And I get it. But I wish I could’ve gotten to you first, so maybe you wouldn’t be afraid now.”

You’re silent for a long time.

Then you shift, move forward slowly, and press your forehead to his. Your fingers thread into his hair.

“I wish I met you first too,” you whisper. “But maybe if we did… we wouldn’t have loved like this.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes you in.

“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “But I’d still choose you. Every time.”

Your lips meet his, slow and aching. It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s just you, and him, and all the versions of yourselves you never got to be, finding each other anyway.

And when you pull back, eyes glassy, he wipes the tear from your cheek and smiles like it doesn’t scare him anymore. Like he knows you’re still here. And he is too.

Later that morning, it’s quiet in the kitchen. The kind of quiet that feels warm. Like the sun has finally landed somewhere soft.

You’re wearing his shirt, sleeves too long, hair still messy from sleep. You’re standing barefoot at the counter, pouring two cups of coffee. He watches you from the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the frame, arms crossed as he tries not to smile too obviously.

You catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “You just… look very domestic.”

You snort. “That’s code for ‘a mess,’ isn’t it?”

“No,” he says, walking toward you. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. “It’s code for ‘this is my favorite version of you.’”

You flush, smile despite yourself, and hand him his cup. He presses a kiss to your shoulder in thanks.

It’s easy, this part. Light. The air isn’t heavy anymore. There are still cracks in both of you, sure. But maybe that’s why it works.

Because you don’t love in spite of them.

You love each other through them.

And that’s enough.

[cherryheairt]

for anyone just discovering this fic there is a part two 😆

https://www.tumblr.com/cherryheairt/765837923800285184/hidden-truths-pt2?source=share

Hidden Truths

Cregan x Wife!reader

pt. 1

named reader (aye-leese) no description, from house Glover.

summary - Cregan comes home from war with a scandalous surprise, much to the horror of his wife. Though, it is not all that she expected when she heard of her husband's infidelity.

Inspired by Ned and Catelyn Stark (obviously lol)

It had been four moons since Cregan Stark returned from King's Landing, ending the war and placing Aegon iii on the Iron Throne. Four moons since he presented his bastard for all to see, declaring to his wife that they would raise the boy as a legitimized Stark.

Aelys Glover, now Stark, had never thought her husband would betray her in such a brutal way. To bed another woman down in the South, in a time of war, to father a bastard. To give the bastard his Stark name.

She hadn't even had her first babe yet, due to the young couple deciding to spend their first few years of marriage having each other all to themselves. Had it all been a lie from Cregan? A masterful deceit to make his mistress' son his heir? Perhaps he had regretted their marriage and chosen to disregard any of her future children, thinking her genetics undesirable. Whatever dull excuse he had, it would never be enough to balm her heart.

People whispered about which mother's son might be Cregan's heir apparent.

It was not yet decided, and would not be until years ahead when Aelys showed if she could bear him more sons or not. Until she did, Brandon Stark would be Cregan's unofficially heir as his eldest son.

Aelys had refused to share a bed with Cregan since the night he returned. She would not perform her marital duties anymore, not until she was either dead or he forced her, which she knew he at least had the honor to not. Aelys would give him no children of her own, spitefully intending to leave the Stark line to a bastard who would forever be known to the world as such.

She would make it clear that her husband's stupidity would end the Stark's honorable history streak. The babe would be legit, yes, but never trueborn. It was said that bastards were born nasty and cruel, and Aelys had not believed such rumors until she met the babe herself. Her spite grew in spite of her previous kind and understanding nature, driven to hate the babe without knowing him.

Even with the same House name as his father, the boy was nothing like him. He seemed to carry his mother's traits, instead, whoever she was. Dark black hair and even darker eyes to match, though the Northern pale skin Cregan carried had stayed through the genetic battle.

At least Cregan did not bring her home, too. If he had, Aelys would have thrown herself from The Wall in shame and disgrace. She would not be the other woman in her own marriage.

His words when he returned burned at her heart, even now the dust had not settled nor had the fire quelled.

"It was a one-time tryst, I swear this to you. A night of vulnerability, when it got rough in King's Landing." He said, voice strained and undereyes dark with the heavy weight of guilt and responsibility. She'd never felt such an intense urge to hit a man before.

His bastard sister, Sara Snow, a woman whom Aelys had grown to see as her own sister and close confidante, returned from King's Landing a month after her brother.

She looked even worse than her elder brother, who still could barely hold Aelys' eyes when she wordlessly passed him in the halls. She looked gaunt and exhausted, though she claimed that the journey back was tiring. Sighing, Aelys could only welcome her back into the Great Keep to catch up over all that she had missed. Apparently, Sara had stayed in the Riverlands for most of the moons Cregan had hosted in the Crownlands. She was housed by the Blackwoods, becoming fast friends with Alysanne Blackwood and Davos Blackwood, the fierce aunt and nephew who fought together against the Greens.

No useful information about the whore that Cregan had bedded that night, Aelys bitterly thought for a moment. Then, a wave of guilt and regret hit her. It was not Sara's fault for her brother's mistakes. She was truly glad to have the conpany back, seeing as Winterfell had felt cold and emptier now that Cregan was back than it ever had before. She had been avoiding his for these four moons, leaving only a few rooms accessible for her privacy and peace of mind.

She never entered the nursery room's entire hallway. Even when needing something past it, she chose to go the longest possible route to avoid it. She didn't wish to think about the boy more than she already did. She saw him during dinners, being presented to Cregan by his wet nurse before being put down to sleep for the night. Those mere glimpses were plenty to feed her anxious mind.

Today, the adjacent hall towards the Keep's hotsprings was closed. "A few cobblestone in the wall have cracked, m'Lady. You mustn't enter for one might accidentally fall on you." A young servant boy had informed her, thoroughly apologetic as she sighed and headed him. The nursery's hall was the only one that also held the door outside, lest she chose to go all the way around the outside of the keep in this blizzard.

The thought was tempting but childish. Steeling her courage up, Aelys had fixed herself to stride past the door. She could not help the subconscious glance inside, seeing the glimpse of curly black hair laying alone in his crib, but wide awake and almost flailing around in a fuss.

Looking around, Aelys was surprised to see not one attendant or wet nurse. From her experience with babes, they were rarely left alone unless they were sleeping. Even then, some mothers and nurses liked to hover to ensure its safety while unconscious. Aelys stepped into the dim room, finding that Brandon's attention immediately focused on her. He whined out, reaching out grabbing hands toward her. Grimacing, she reached into the crib to lift him up, holding him at a safe distance from her face.

Up close, she could reluctantly admit that the babe was cute. He was well-doted on in the Keep by all the maids and even visiting Lords. Though his parentage was questionable and whispered about, none actually had the courage to ask why the boy had been legitimized so quickly. Aelys guessed it had been the circumstances. Aegon, the new King, was young and suseptible to influence, so legitimizing a bastard like Brandon was done without question.

"What are you fussing on about, you spoiled thing?" She asked, though her tone was soft and gentle. Brandon smiled a gummy smile, face lifting as he reached out again for her. This time, she allowed him to rest on her shoulder as she supported him, gently rocking back and forth as she stood. The faster he was asleep, the faster she could leave without feeling like a monster.

She already had that feeling nagging at her mind too much. Hating a babe took a lot of energy. She knew it was wrongfully placed, but Brandon's very nature and sire had wronged her more. The physical reminder that his father had not loved her.

Soft snores filled the room as she hummed lowly, the vibrations and comforting sound putting the fussy tot to sleep quicker than she had anticipated. Gently placing him back in the cot, she hands gripped the wooden edges harshly, a sharp contrast to her previous touch. Was she betraying herself for not demanding that the babe be taken away? Warded with another great House until she finally had a son? No. Cregan would never allow it, even as Lady of the House she held no true power over the Warden.

Turning, Aelys was met with her husband in the doorway. Silent as a stalking wolf, he leaned against the doorway and looked upon his son and wife with pools of affection. There was a slight gloss to them as she looked closer that she opted to ignore. "Cregan." She greeted curtly, moving to slide past him and speak no more of her presence in the nursery.

"He has a way of melting one's heart, does he not?" He asked, tilting his chin to look down at her. A branch, left out and hanging by Cregan's strong arms. Too bad that she did not need it.

"He disgusts me." She said instead, shouldering past him and continuing back to her rooms. She changed her mind in the few minutes that she spent with the bastard Stark boy. She could stay here no longer, could not bear for her own husband to bring this embodied lie to live in the very home that she did. Wouldn't raise any children to be in their older brother's shadow.

Ignoring the hushed plea from Cregan, Aelys went straight to the Maester's tower. Maester Parek had been a helpful and understanding ear for Aelys to rant to when dealing with arisen problems, whether with her moon blood, achy bones from the cold, or questioning if any ravens had come from mysterious women. None had, as far as she had been told. That is, if Parek had been entirely truthful to his Lady.

Hurriedly knocking on the man's door, it was soon opened after a grunt of physical labor had been heard from the other side. The Maester had always complained about his bad knees and how they were made worse in the winters.

"Lady Stark?" He asked, shocked to see her at midday. It was a rarity, as she usually made her visits in the morning after she broke her fast.

"Maester." She greeted, shifting on her feet. "I need to send a letter, urgently."

"May I ask to whom?" He inquired, earning a solemn nod from the young Lady.

"I'm sorry, Parek. It is private."

"Of course, my Lady. The room is yours." He bowed and left the chambers to occupy himself while she busied herself as well. She immediately made for the small attached room in the tower, made into a raven nest hundreds of years ago. A few perched black birds squaked or raised her heads at the unfamiliar sight curiously, but they were well-trained and did not spook.

Bending over the crickity desk, she quickly drafted a messily-writen yet vague letter.

Father,

Some troubles have come up in Winterfell, and Cregan Stark has advised me to return to House Glover's protection while he deals with matters here. I will be returning swiftly, though the snow will hinder the horse a few days.

See you soon,

your dearest Aelys.

As soon as she finished, she hastily melted the powder blue wax and sealed the direwolf sigil onto the rolled paper. Tying the scroll to a raven's foot, Aelys sent it off. The bird would reach House Glover's Maester quickly, and in the meantime she would ready herself for departure.

As she was shoving clothes and pelts into various bags, the very ones that carried her belongings to Winterfell over two years ago, Aelys could not stop the hot, angry tears that fell to her cheeks. Wiping away at her face with scruffy sleeve fur, gifted to her by Cregan himself, Aelys felt the frustration and loneliness sting at her soul. The loneliness was a choice on her part, most would say. That she was dramatic and most Lords sired bastards. She should be grateful he did not bring the mother back, too, and house her in his home next to his Lady Wife. All whispers she heard from her ladies-in-waiting, whom she immediately dismissed from service upon hearing such impudent things.

She would not be subjected to the humiliation. She wanted love, and she once had it. Oh, she had it. Cregan treated her like a goddess walking amongst humans for the moons they spent together before his leave to King's Landing. If she could not have Cregan's loyalty or love, she would at least find a man who she did not have high expectations for. An older Lord, perhaps, one who just wanted a young and pretty woman to give him final heirs during his last years of life. Aelys would know her role, then, and would live contently knowing she did not love foolishly while expecting faithfulness in return.

First, this marriage had to be annuled. In Lord Glover's home, she could easily ask for such a thing. The marriage had been commsumated, but there were no witnesses and no babes to confirm this to outsiders. Aelys would simply have to claim that she and Lord Stark never once bedded before he left to find another woman, and then she'd be an unmarried Lady once more. A Glover, not a Stark.

She realized she'd been quite fastidious in her packing. Unlike her carriage ride to Winterfell, her luggage could not be carried easily on one horse. She picked only one of her bags, with the thickest dresses and warmest pelts she had, rushing out of the room while clipping a cloak over her shoulders. Dark blue in color, Aelys almost cursed at the thought that almost all of her wardrobe and fine things had been gifts from Cregan. Her pelts, gloves, and even the horse that she would take home.

Cobalt, she had named the steed, noticing how his pure black coat almost gleamed blue in certain lights. Cregan had a wide and cherishing smile on his face as he walked the young stallion out of the stables a few days after their wedding. They often took walks on trails in the Wolfswood together on horseback, just their muffled conversations filling the still air. She remembered every moment with her husband fondly before he tarnished everything. Now, she knew all of it to be a facade, just like any other Lord in Westeros might have done. At least other men had the decency to be nasty plain to your face, unlike the Stark.

Aelys sneaked into the armory to pick up a few extra things, knowing no one would occupy the room when the whether was so unfortunate.

Striding towards the stables with squinted eyes, Aelys shivered at the temperature change. Luckily, the journey would be quick, with only a few days to walk on horseback. Cobalt was a resilient horse built for such harsh weather, and she was a Northern woman through and through.

She attached the bag and waterskin to Cobalt's saddle after she tacked him up. His long and unruly made quivered in the breeze as the light blizzard raged on as it had been for two days now. It did not deter her. She attached her bow and quiver to the other side to keep weight even, knowing she'd have to hunt for herself during the journey.

Steadying herself on the saddle, Aelys glanced once more at Winterfell's Great Keep, where Cregan was surely in his study or councilroom. She squeezed Colbalt's side lightly to urge the percheron onwards, giving herself no room for second guessing her choices.

At the wall's gate, the two snow-covered men regarded her with weary looks. "My Lady, there is a blizzard—" Ron Frasel told her, ginger brow upturned in question.

"I have eyes, Ron. I will return soon, I have buisness in Winter Town." She said tiredly, not wanting to be interrupted by the men at such an important time. It would not be long before a maid reported her missing.

Ernest, the guard's most frequent partner, inquired gently. "Will you require any assistance, Lady Stark? I'm sure Lord Stark would feel more at ease knowing you are escorted."

"He is fine with me going on my own, it is a short ride." She said curtly, anxious for Cregan to find out about her plan.

Ernest nodded and gestured for the iron gate to be lifted. "Safe travels, my Lady." Before bowing his head politely.

As Aelys walked through the opened gate, she urged Cobalt to a faster trot to create quick distance between her and Winterfell before she set up camp.

Ron shared an uneasy look with Ernest as the woman passed. "Lord Stark has never allowed her out without a guard before." He whispered.

His friend nodded, eyes glancing between her fading figure in the snow and the Keep. "Perhaps we should go see Lord Stark himself, just to be safe."

Ron shivered. "If he finds out we let his wife go into the blizzard without him knowin', who knows what'd happen to us."

"Quickly, then." They were both skidding off towards the Keep with no time to waste.

[cherryheairt]

Superman isn't woke. You're just so evil that you see a man doing acts of kindness and you think it's a targeted political agenda