#and its take a minute but when we get to the door and i start to close it she clearly doesnt wanna be in there but im in there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 18 hours ago

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rough first day - jimmy olsen

summary: lois asks jimmy to accompany her summer intern on her first day in the field. he is totally capable of being normal about it.

a/n: sorry this is lowkey just me manifesting because a paper like the daily planet is my dream and im a journalism student about to graduate into a nightmare job market for journos. superman lore? i dont know her. journalism antics based off my own life? of course (not the bombing part but the rest is pretty accurate lol) thank you to @emiliehornby for being my co-leader of jimmy nation

wc: 4.2k

warning(s): this is all fluff baby!!! there's a bombing at the end but no one dies so still all fluff

“Hey, Jimmy.”

“Lois!” He rapidly switches tabs from his game of sudoku to the photos he’s meant to be editing and smiles up at her. “Hey— uh, hey. What’s up?”

She shares a knowing smile of her own as she leans against his desk. “Do you have any assignments yet?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Nah, I haven’t pitched anything today. Figured I’d go where the wind takes me, y’know?”

“Well, the wind has arrived.” Lois looks across the bullpen to a young woman talking excitedly with Perry. Well, you look excited, but he doesn’t. “Have you met my intern yet?”

“Yeah,” he says, a more genuine smile forming as he watches you. “We met when she came in for orientation last week. She— she’s great.”

“You think so?”

Jimmy nods. “I’m surprised you took her on, honestly. She’s a lot nicer than you.” Lois tries to swat his shoulder but he rolls back in his chair with a laugh. “Point proven!”

“Oh, whatever,” she huffs. She calls your name and your head shoots up, and she gestures for you to come over. You say some kind of apology to Perry, who looks relieved once you walk off.

“Miss Lane!” you say brightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I told you to call me Lois,” she says.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “All of you are so nice here. I’m still getting used to it.”

Jimmy frowns. “Were the people at your last job mean?”

“My last internship kind of sucked,” you say. “I mean, I did some great reporting, don’t get me wrong! But everyone there was way more cutthroat than I thought they would be. And,” you tip your head, “I didn’t get paid. So this is already way better.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lois says. “What was Perry talking to you about?”

“Oh, I was just asking him a lot of questions,” you say with a slight laugh. “This is the biggest paper I’ve ever worked at, so I’m trying to get to know all the editors. My college paper has like… fifteen people total, and it feels like I’m at least half of them some days.”

“What a coincidence,” Lois says, and she pats Jimmy on the shoulder. “My friend Jimmy here was just talking about how he’d love to show you the ropes.”

“You would?” you ask, your eyes brightening as you break out that perfect smile once again. It’s deadly, he swears—blinding, if nothing else.

“I would?” he stumbles, and then he blinks. Jimmy’s been wanting to spend time with you since the second you walked through the doors, and Lois is just handing it to him on a silver platter. He can show someone the ropes, can’t he? “I— I would, yeah! Definitely!”

“Great.” Lois stands up and looks between both of you. “Senator Cia Strong is running for reelection, and she’s having a press conference today in Byrd Park for her stop in Metropolis. I think it would be a good, quick story for you to cover together.”

“Oh, I heard about that!” you exclaim. “Her opponent’s Bill Macron, and he looks surprisingly strong for a newcomer— do you think she’ll win?”

Lois smiles. “That’s for the two of you to find out.”

“When is it?” Jimmy asks.

She looks down at her watch. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

“Twenty-sev—?” he blurts out, and he jumps up from his seat. “Lois, that’s a twenty minute subway ride on its own!”

“You can make it if you hurry,” she says nonchalantly, but he barely hears her as he starts gathering his things at top speed. You’re moving at a similar pace, already booking it back to the intern desk they keep shoved in the corner of the office to get your stuff.

You make it back ten seconds later—your backpack hangs off one shoulder, your camera is looped around your neck, and you’ve got your press pass and water bottle and jacket and probably five other things in your arms.

“Are you good?” he asks.

“Yeah!” you nod, “I’ll meet you outside!” And then you’re already jogging out the door.

Jimmy shoots Lois a dirty look as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and starts backpedaling. “You’re the worst!” he calls.

She smiles. “Have fun!”

Jimmy runs after you, narrowly avoiding a direct collision with Cat, and Lois walks back over to her desk and sits down.

“I saw that, Miss Lane,” Clark says.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says airily.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“This is work!” she defends. “She’s my intern—I’m helping her get situated.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Jimmy’s been making eyes at her since her first day, would it?”

Lois shrugs as she opens her inbox. “I told you, I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s sweet,” Clark says. “I didn’t think you of all people would be a matchmaker.”

She frowns and looks over at him. “What does that mean?”

This time, he shrugs with a wry smile. “I don’t know.”

Lois scoffs and clicks on an unread press release. She gets two lines in before she deletes it. PR folks love sending her releases for things that, one, aren’t newsworthy, and two, aren’t on her beat.

“They’re both good kids,” she finally says. “Cub reporters usually stick together anyway. I’m just giving them a headstart on it.”

“Of course,” Clark nods. “And if sparks happen to fly, you can’t really be blamed, can you?”

“You’ve got a one track mind,” she remarks, but she can’t fully bite back her smile, especially as she meets his warm eyes.

The Daily Planet has a way of bringing people together, after all.

You and Jimmy end up barely making it to the subway, the doors closing mere seconds after you get into the car. You collapse onto the bench beside each other, both very much out of breath from your multi-block sprint.

“Do all of your stories start off like this?” you gasp out.

“No.” Jimmy shakes his head, but it takes him another few seconds to respond as he tries to catch his breath. He hasn’t had to run that many blocks in… forever, he thinks. “But the reporters here like to go ‘trial by fire’ for their interns. Especially Lois.”

“I’ve always admired her work,” you say. “Now I think she might be a little crazy.”

A laugh tumbles out of him as he leans his head against the back of the seat. “To make it in this field, you’ve gotta be.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I’ve gathered that.”

The two of you sit there for another stop in silence, still gathering your thoughts and breath. Jimmy can’t help but pass a few glances at you, glowing from exertion. You shrug your backpack onto the floor and start organizing everything you grabbed off your desk in your haste.

He’s only been in your presence for a collective five minutes, between your orientation last week and your real first day today, but he doesn’t want to leave it. He feels like a meteor stuck in your orbit, especially when you give him that superstar smile.

“So,” he starts, now that his heart has finally returned to a normal rate, “how’d you get this gig?”

“Some networking and a lot of luck,” you admit. “My favorite professor went to college with Mis— with Lois. She told me to apply, so I did, and she put in a good word for me. Two interviews and a few on-the-spot articles later, and voila! I’m here.”

Jimmy nods. “Nothing wrong with a bit of networking. Kinda feels like it’s the only way to get anything done these days.”

“Tell me about it,” you sigh. “I swear, half my friends are going on dates, and I’m over here with a contact list full of small-town bureaucrats.”

He laughs some. He kinda feels bad for wondering if that means you’re single. “If it makes you feel better, you’re probably getting left on read about the same amount.”

You laugh too, and it makes him smile. Something about you draws him in and he can’t even help it. Could Lois tell, or did she just throw him into this without even knowing?

Who is he kidding? Lois notices everything. This is probably her version of paying him back for handling her dailies last week so she could chase a Superman scoop.

(He will never admit it to her, but it does kinda make up for it.)

“How long have you worked at the Daily Planet?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Only about a year and a half,” he says. “I got hired in the mailroom originally, but Perry brought me up to staff after a couple months. I had a ‘Humans of Metropolis’ photoblog that really impressed him.” He laughs. “And the Superman action shots that ended up front page, above the fold."

Your eyes widen. “You’ve met Superman?”

“Yeah!” Jimmy nods after a moment of hesitation. “Yeah, so many times. We’re basically best buds.”

“Oh my god.” You grab his arm and lean in and he stares at you with equally-wide eyes. “That— that is so cool! I— I’ve read a bunch of Superman stuff, but I never thought I might get to meet him!”

He grins. “Reporting in Metropolis isn’t like any other city. I think you’ll realize that pretty quickly.”

“I can’t imagine getting pictures like that, of a superhero.” You sigh and pick up the camera around your neck. “I’ve also never been the best photographer. Not very MMJ of me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he assures. “One nice thing about working at such a big paper is that you usually don’t have to go out as a one man band.”

“God, yes,” you mumble. “I struggled through all of my media production classes. I’m definitely meant to be behind a laptop, not in front of a camera.”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy says, tilting his head, “I think you’d make a killing on broadcast.”

You smile at him, more genuine than anything he’s ever received before, and he feels better just at the sight. It doesn’t make sense. He barely knows you—he can’t be thinking like this. He can’t be this obvious. You don’t make it easy.

“Thanks,” you say. “But I’m happy where I am.”

You and Jimmy continue to chat until you get to your stop—mostly idle conversation to pass the time, but he does learn a few things. You’re from a small town in Vermont, your preferred beat is politics, and if you could bring three things to a deserted island you’d bring a notebook, a knife, and your reusable water bottle.

Oh, yeah—he also learns that he’s a complete goner. Jimmy falls deeper into your orbit during a twenty minute subway ride, pulling out every joke he can think of to try and make you laugh and see that smile again. How is he going to work with you every day and still stay a normal, self-respecting person?

You’re magnetic. It’s no wonder you’re going into journalism, because he thinks you can get anyone to tell you anything if you just ask nicely and give them that smile.

It’s certainly worked on him.

But Jimmy doesn’t have to think too much about that right now, because the two of you have another five minute sprint to make it to Byrd Park on time. You show your press passes to get to the front, then you separate as Jimmy finds a spot.

You take out a pen, notepad, and a mini recorder while Jimmy rushes to fix his white balance. He always forgets to reset it. You give him a smile and a little wave from your front row seat. He smiles back and feels dizzy.

The press conference goes a lot smoother than the rush over did. The senator delivers pretty much exactly what Jimmy expects—improved education, protected healthcare, lowered crime, the same old. Strong isn’t the worst senator, but Jimmy thinks half the state doesn’t know anything about her policies. She’s average, and most politicians seem to be that or worse these days.

It’s just like any other press conference—with exceptionally good lighting, Jimmy might add—until the explosions start.

He barely even registers it. One moment he’s on one knee zooming in for a better view of Strong, the next he’s been thrown against a tree so hard he thinks it breaks in half. He hopes, at least, because otherwise that crack came from his ribs.

It takes Jimmy a second to come back into himself. He’s protected his camera above all else, wrapped in his jacket and his arms, and he snaps a round of quick photos of all the chaos before he struggles to his feet.

Everything has devolved into hysteria—screaming and running and batting out flames. Jimmy has to find you. You’re a small town girl and now you’re caught up in a bombing in one of the biggest cities in the world. What a great first day.

He’s trying to search for you, but it’s hard when half the park is enveloped in smoke and flames and he can’t stop hacking up a lung. How is he meant to find you or get any good pictures in this?

“Help!”

A voice pierces through the disorder and Jimmy knows it’s you. His heart speeds up and he starts shoving his way through the crowd. He yells out your name and you call his in response—you keep Marco Poloing until Jimmy finds you, and his eyes widen.

You’re face down in the dirt, your leg pinned down by a fallen tree. You spot Jimmy and yell for him again, and he runs up to you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, dropping to his knees beside you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, and you grunt as you push at the tree trunk. “I just can’t— get this— off!

“Just stay calm!” Jimmy says. “It— it’s gonna be okay!”

Jimmy tries to push the tree off you and quickly realizes he is not anywhere near strong enough.

“Does this happen on everyone’s first day?” you ask.

“Not everyone’s,” he grunts. “But welcome to your crash course on reporting in Metropolis. Metahumans can throw a superpowered wrench in your plans for the day.”

“How do you know this is a metahuman?” you ask breathlessly.

Jimmy thinks about the car he no longer has because of some villain of the week that tried to bash Superman over the head with it. If only he had been able to afford the next level up of metahuman insurance.

“Because it usually is,” he decides on. “You, uh, kinda get used to it.”

You huff an incredulous laugh. Jimmy attempts to lift it up even an inch, just enough for you to get your leg out, but no dice. He tries one more time—he has to save you, of course, but come on how cool would it be for him to do this in front of you?—and to his shock, the tree lifts up.

You crawl out from under it and shift to your back, your chest heaving with effort. The crushed remains of your camera are scattered all around you. Your eyes only widen, but you’re not looking at Jimmy.

“Superman!” you marvel, your voice a mixture of shock and awe.

He looks over and sees that Superman is, in fact, beside him holding up the tree.

“Are you okay, miss?” he asks as he sets it back down. Jimmy glances down at his hands, a little disappointed. “Your leg isn’t injured?”

“You’re Superman,” you repeat. Jimmy thinks you’re starstruck.

“I am,” he smiles. His gaze goes down to the press pass still hanging around your neck, and his eyes light up. “You’re from the Daily Planet?”

You nod, once, twice, three times. Definitely starstruck. “I’m one of their summer interns.”

Superman grins. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you, then. Welcome to Metropolis.” He looks over at Jimmy and nods. “Good to see you again, Jimmy.”

He nods as well. “Yeah, uh— good to see you too, Supes. Thanks for the assist.”

Superman flies off to help more people before Jimmy manages to say anything else stupid—Supes?—and you look like you’re about to pass out.

Jimmy says your name as he moves closer to you, his eyes still wide. He puts his hands on your shoulders to bring you back to the real world. “Are you still with me?”

“We just met Superman!” you exclaim, grinning at Jimmy. It might just be all the smoke he’s inhaled, but he feels a little lightheaded. “My first day on the job and we met Superman—”

There’s a sudden buzzing in the air, and you pull your phone out of your pocket. “It’s Lois,” you tell him, and then you answer it. “Lois, hey!”

Jimmy can hear her frantically saying your name even from here. She’s not exactly quiet. You move the phone away from your ear some and he chuckles. “Are you and Jimmy okay? I saw the news— the bombs—”

“We’re fine!” you assure, and you motion for Jimmy to come over. “Jimmy too, here—”

“Hey, Lois,” he says, loud enough to be heard through the receiver. “We’re good.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “If I had known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have—”

“Are you kidding?” you interrupt. “This was incredible, Lois! We’ve got a way bigger story to uncover— no one just bombs normal senators. There’s gotta be dirt we can uncover. And— oh my god, we met Superman!”

“...You did?” she asks, and she sounds less than enthused.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Oh my god, it was amazing. He saved my life!”

“Sounds like him,” she says.

“This is incredible,” you say. “Jimmy and I are gonna get a bunch of man on the street interviews from people that are here— can you call the Strong campaign PR person and see if you can get a statement?”

“Don’t you think you should go to the hospital?” Lois asks. “You were just in a bombing, you have no idea who could be behind it—”

“This is my chance to get my first Metropolis-sized scoop!” you insist. “Would you go to the hospital right now?”

“...I’ll give them a call,” she says. “The two of you, stay safe. Jimmy has Clark’s number, call him if anything happens!”

“Make sure you ask about her donors!” you insist.

You hang up and you look over at Jimmy. Your clothes are singed and covered in tree bark and ashes, and you have a bleeding cut on your forehead, but you look happier than any normal person should be right now.

“Did you get any pictures of all that?”

“Uh, not of that,” he says. “I was kind of busy trying to save you.”

“What about the explosion?”

He nods and starts clicking through his photos. “I took what I could. I think I might have a concussion?”

“That one!” you exclaim, and he stops. “That is perfect, Jimmy!”

He got one right as the explosion went off, with Senator Strong speaking on a backdrop of blinding light. He goes to the next photo and it’s nothing but that light. He goes back to the photo that is definitely a front pager and shakes his head. He can’t believe his lens didn’t crack, but he’s very thankful.

“Geez,” he mutters. “How lucky am I?”

“Do you still have your laptop?”

“As long as it’s not broken in my backpack, yeah.”

“Change of plans, then. You get those photos uploaded to your drive so we’re ready once we get back to the office.” You take your mini recorder out, somehow not crushed like your camera, and smile. “I’m gonna interview anyone that’s stuck around. We’ll meet up in thirty minutes by the fountain, okay?”

Jimmy nods. He looks down at your leg and sees that you’ve lost a third of your pant leg—not to mention the swelling and killer bruises starting to form. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I don’t even feel it,” you assure. “Which means we’ve gotta get this done before my adrenaline fades.”

“You’re a little crazy,” Jimmy says. “I think you’ll fit in perfectly here.”

You grin and Jimmy smiles. “Fountain in thirty,” you repeat.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You laugh, and then you run off to get your interviews. Jimmy watches you for a good, long second before he goes off to find a still-intact park bench. Police officers and EMTs are already starting to show up—he makes a mental note to get a quote from an officer before the two of you leave.

He might be a little crazy, too. Because Jimmy is pretty sure he would go through a couple more bombings just to spend more time with you.

You and Jimmy stumble through the doors of the Daily Planet. You limped your way back from the subway station, Jimmy is now sure he has a concussion, and you both look like you’ve been through Hell and back together.

You don’t think you’ve ever been happier.

“We need to start making phone calls right now,” you say to Jimmy as he speeds to keep up with you. “Like, search through Strong’s donor list and bother every single one of them.”

“I’m already on it.” Jimmy’s been scrolling through his phone for half your scramble over here, sending texts to sources and answering ones from friends who saw he was at the bombing. “The news editor at the Metropolis Examiner has been looking into her shifty financial history since her first term—she just shared her master doc with me.”

“Great!” you exclaim. “We can bust this wide open, Jimmy!”

You pull up a chair at Jimmy’s desk and take your laptop out of your bag. You’re already typing at the speed of light. “I’ll start a write-up on the press conference so we can get it out as soon as possible. Do you edit your photos yourself or does someone else do it?”

“I do my own,” he says. “No one else understands my vision.”

“Then start editing your best shots, ones you think will make us a shoe-in for the front page,” you say, and you almost squeal in excitement. “This has got to get us above the fold, right?”

“I think so,” Jimmy says. “Perry would definitely give it to us if we got an interview with Superman. That’s why Clark is always on the front page.”

“Well, it sounds like you two really are best friends,” you tease. “You’re on a nickname basis with him?”

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s no big deal. We’re cool with each other.”

“Maybe you can get us that interview with him next time,” you say. “Then I’ll really have something to brag about to my roommates.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

You grin. “Great. Now, get on those photos.”

Jimmy nods. Technically, he’s higher up on the totem pole than you, but technically, he doesn’t think he’d get anywhere trying to pull rank when he’s only a step above you. You’re in the zone—he respects it, and he’s a little scared of it.

“Once you’re done, you can keep looking into the Strong angle,” you say. “We move fast enough, we’ll have two articles to pitch to Perry before lunch!”

“Yes ma’am,” Jimmy jokes. Lightroom has finally booted up, so he starts to transfer his favorite shots over. He passes a glance over at you while they’re loading. “You move fast, don’t you?”

You laugh, high on life, journalism, and the adrenaline that comes with surviving a bombing. “Trial by fire, right?”

“Are you two okay?” a voice asks, and you turn your head to see it’s Clark Kent with slightly wide eyes. He has a mug of coffee in each hand and he places them down in front of you both. “It’s all over every station; you even ended up in some shots.”

“We were on TV?” Jimmy asks. He might be working at one of the most acclaimed newspapers in the world, but it is still so cool to him every time he makes it onto the news for something other than his photos.

“More than,” you assure. Your fingers are still flying over the keys, and you laugh again. “What a way to get my first byline here!”

“I’m glad,” Clark says, and he looks at you. “Lois is off chasing that lead you gave her. I think you might be the perfect intern for her.”

“I’m glad,” you echo. “If this is what the whole summer’s gonna be like, I cannot wait!”

“Woah, new girl!” Steve is walking past them but he stops and backpedals, eyes wide as he looks you and Jimmy up and down. You do both kind of look like complete messes—him, at least. Somehow, you still look good. “Rough first day?”

You and Jimmy share glances at each other and you grin. He thinks he might pass out.

“No,” you say. “It was perfect.”

#jimmy olsen x reader #jimmy olsen x you #jimmy olsen x y/n #superman #jimmy olsen fanfic #jimmy olsen fic #superman 2025 fanfic #superman 2025 fic #sadie writes

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uchispeach · 3 days ago

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Your Teeth In My Neck (Ch. 1)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader x Dark! Nate Jacobs

Warnings: eventual DUB-CON / NON-CON, obsessive & controlling behavior, mentions of drug addiction & alcoholism, underage drinking, depression symptoms, deep-rooted classism…

A/N: I just know these two would make the deadliest combination…

A dry, sputtering whine scrapes against your nerves like nails on metal. The old fan coughs to life in the corner, its blades grinding with every uneven spin, rattling loose in its rusted cage as if each turn might be its last. It drones on, stubborn and offbeat, distracting you from the dry sandwich laying on the wooden table.

You slump into the chair like gravity’s got a personal grudge against you. Your body slides down the backrest, limbs heavy, like even holding yourself up takes more energy than you’ve got. You stare at the ceiling—not really seeing it—just letting your thoughts spin out.

You barely flinch when the door slams open,”they’re butchering us out there!” Your co-worker barks, breathless and wide-eyed, like the chaos might follow her in through the hallway.

Sofia’s flushed from the sun, curls pulled into a messy bun that’s barely holding up, a few strands stuck to her forehead. Your eyes drift from the annoyed brunette to the table, where that pathetic sandwich still sits untouched.

“For real?” she says, stepping further in, hands on her hips, all fire and sweat and impatience. “You haven’t even touched your food. What were you even doing in here?”

You don’t answer right away. Just blink, slow, like your brain’s still trying to catch up to the heat and the noise and the way time slips weird when you’re this tired.

“Just… needed a minute.”

Sofia huffs, arms crossed now, foot tapping against the tile. “Well, minute’s up. We just got three new tables and I need you to take their order.”

You drag a hand down your face, breath catching somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“It’s exhausting,” you murmur. “Serving people like that. Like they’re doing us a favor.”

She pauses, and for a second there’s almost a flicker of something—agreement, maybe—but it’s gone before it lands.

“Yeah. I know. Now move, philosopher,” she says, already halfway back through the door. “Before someone starts clapping for service.”

And you do. Because you always do.

(…)

You’re balancing the tray in one hand, weaving through the patio, but your head is fogged, spinning with that heavy ache that’s been gripping you these last few days. The sun stabs at your skin, the chatter and clink of glasses feel distant.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see them.

Topper and Kelce, settling into a corner table like they own the place. Topper’s polo shirt is crisp, perfectly pressed, and tight enough to show off his lean build. His blond hair is messy but styled, the kind of careless confidence that immediately makes your stomach twist. Kelce’s dark tank top exposes toned arms, and he leans back in his chair with that familiar smug grin.

Your breath catches, a sudden sharpness cutting through the dull fog in your mind. These are the last people you want to see. The last people you want to face. But there they are—natural in this sunlit space, their presence demanding, as if the world bends to their will.

Topper’s eyes flicker toward you, slow and deliberate, like a predator spotting something familiar and deciding whether it’s worth the chase. Kelce shifts slightly, dark gaze following your movement.

Your heart hammers hard against your ribs. Your throat tightens, and a wave of nausea rises. You swallow hard and force your legs to move forward.

They don’t call you right away. They wait, leaning into their ease like this is all a game.

Then Topper’s voice cuts through the noise, smooth but laced with something sharper than just casual.

“Hey,” he says, with that infuriating easy tone, “you’re finally here.”.

You force a small nod, trying to steady your hands as you pull out your notepad.

“So… what can I get you?”

Topper’s grin widens, eyes flicking to Kelce like they’re sharing a private joke.

“Yeah,” Topper says, voice light but pointed, “what’s that drink Rafe always orders? You’d know better than anyone—since you two are so close.”

Kelce’s laugh is low, almost mocking. “Gotta keep the king’s favorites coming, right?”

Your chest tightens again, a cold weight settling deep as you nod, fingers trembling slightly.

“I’ll get that for you.”

(…)

Shift’s over. Not that it really feels like it.

You tug off your apron in the break room, fingers sticky with sweat and exhaustion, the cotton catching on your elbow as you pull. The fluorescent light buzzes above, flickering like it’s as tired of this place as you are.

Your locker creaks when you open it. Behind you, Sofia’s humming something tuneless under her breath while she unties her shoes.

The silence between you two isn’t awkward — it’s earned. Just two girls who’ve survived another brunch rush without completely snapping.

She glances over. “You made it.”

You offer a quiet “Barely,” but don’t turn around. Your hands are still trembling a little from earlier, and you don’t want her to see.

You pull out your backpack, pretending to dig around just so you don’t have to feel the checkbook still tucked into your apron pocket. You hadn’t looked at it right away. You didn’t need to. You knew that kind of tip wasn’t about service.

You’d gone to drop the check like always — quiet, fast, detached — hoping they’d be too busy scrolling or talking to even glance up. Kelce had already dipped, sunglasses on, laughing with someone across the patio.

Topper stayed.

Didn’t say much. Just looked you over with that lazy smirk of his, like he was half-awake and still somehow enjoying the view.

Then he pushed the checkbook toward you and said it like it meant absolutely nothing:

“From Cameron’s wallet.”

Then he stood and walked off — napkin tossed over the plate, no second glance, like the whole thing bored him halfway through.

Later, in the bathroom, you opened it.

Crisp bills. Way too much.

No note. No message. Just money. Just weight.

And it shouldn’t have mattered, but your hands shook anyway.

You’d washed them three times before heading back to the break room.

Now, your fingers still feel damp.

Behind you, Sofia slams hers too and groans. “Kelce’s the worst.”

That makes you glance at her, one eyebrow raised.

She rolls her eyes. “He kept winking at me while I was clearing their table. Like—bro, I’m literally sweating through my bra.”

You give a small, dry laugh, more out of politeness than amusement.

She leans back against the lockers and stretches. “Still… he’s got arms. You can’t deny the arms.”

You shake your head, snort softly.

“Whatever. He knows it, and that makes it worse.”

There’s a beat.

Then she adds, like it’s nothing, “Saw some hot guy at the front desk earlier. Whole new money, bored son on vacation look going on. Tall, white shirt, too many buttons undone. Pretty, but in that trouble-waiting-to-happen kind of way.”

You pause.

“New member?”

She shrugs. “Temporary. Some kook was chatting the receptionist’s ear off, trying to get the family added for their stay. Kid looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.”

You picture it — all white walls and golden light and some rich boy in pressed linen, standing there like he’s done this all before. Like he owns whatever room he walks into.

But that’s not your problem.

You zip your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

Outside, the light’s soft and fading. You unlock your bike from the gate behind the kitchen and start pedaling toward the Cut.

The ride home is mostly silent, save for the grind of your gears and the wind against your ears. You take the back route — the one that dodges most of the resort traffic, with roads lined in patchy dirt and flickering streetlamps.

Your house is small — more memory than structure. Faded paint, screen door crooked on its hinges. The porch light doesn’t work unless you kick the wall underneath. There's a chair that no one ever really sits in, a mailbox stuffed with damp flyers.

Your house smells like old detergent and sun-warmed wood, mixed with the faint tang of motor oil and cigarette smoke — a small tribute to your brother’s latest project.

You drop your bag by the door and hear the familiar clank of tools from the living room.

“Hey,” you call out, voice tired.

He shuffles into view, wearing that same dirty white tee stretched tight over arms that are strong but softened by a stubborn beer belly. His hair’s a mess, and there’s that slow, half-smile he gets when he sees you.

“Bout time you got here,” he says, scratching at a spot on his neck. There’s a faint smell of weed and stale beer trailing him.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it.

He’s not perfect — too many nights lost in haze, money never quite making it past the first weekend, and a mess of confusion about the future.

But he’s your brother. The only family you’ve got since Mom disappeared when you were a kid and Dad left not long ago.

He sets down a busted toaster and grins, “Lookin’ rough, kiddo. You holdin’ up?”

You shrug, sink onto the worn couch.

“Same old.”

He nods, like he understands without needing more.

You don’t bother making dinner tonight. The thought of eating feels like too much.

Instead, you crawl under your thin, sweat-dampened blanket, the sticky heat clinging to your skin and making every breath a little harder. Your room smells faintly of damp wood and the faint trace of your brother’s last smoke session drifting in from the hall.

You lie there, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling, the dark corners seeming to pulse in the heavy air.

Your mind churns, but mostly you try not to think.

Not about Topper’s smirk.

Not about the weight of that cash in your pocket — Rafe’s nasty money, the way it felt like a chain tightening around your skin.

You try to drift away instead. Let the thick, humid darkness pull you somewhere far from the noise and the ache.

Sleep comes slow, but eventually it does, dragging you under before you can fight it.

(…)

The weight at the edge of your bed shifts the mattress, pulling you out of sleep.

You blink into the warm, dark room, sticky with leftover heat from the day. A soft giggle gives them away — then another. Quiet, stifled. Like they’re trying not to wake you, and failing on purpose.

You groan into your pillow. “Seriously?”

“You’ve been out for hours,” Kiara’s voice cuts through the haze, her tone smug and amused. “We thought you died in here.”

“I told her not to touch you,” Sarah says from somewhere closer — and then you feel her climb in beside you, the bed dipping again as her arm flops over your stomach. “But you looked too peaceful. Had to ruin it.”

You peel your face from the pillow and glance at them. Kiara’s perched at the end of the bed in her usual cutoff shorts, one leg swinging, eyes bright. Sarah is all tousled blonde hair and lip gloss, already dressed for the night in something backless and low-effort gorgeous. Her body’s stretched out beside yours like she belongs there.

“Why are you here?” you mumble.

“To save you,” Sarah says, dead serious.

“From what?”

She shrugs, already reaching for your blanket and tossing it aside. “From wasting another Friday night hiding under a fan instead of getting drunk with your best friends.”

You groan again, but softer. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Not till noon,” Kiara says, in perfect sync with Sarah.

Sarah sits up now, brushing her hair out of her face. “Look, it’s been a week. You’ve been breaking your back at that place, I’ve been dodging World War Three at home, and Kiara’s been arguing with her dad about God-knows-what again.”

“College,” Kie mutters. “Always college.”

Sarah shoots her a look like same, then turns back to you with a tired smile. “So tonight, we’re going to the bonfire. We’re going to drink cheap beer and pretend life isn’t as annoying as it is.”

You sigh. And it hangs in the air a second too long.

Sarah shifts, leaning her back against your headboard now. She says it quieter this time, like she doesn’t want to ruin the mood but can’t help herself. “My dad’s on my ass again. Because Rafe—surprise—blew all this money on some stupid bike instead of paying for the generators like he was supposed to. Now my dad’s stomping around yelling about responsibility and Rafe’s gone all day and won’t answer his phone.”

She kicks at your bedframe lightly with her heel. “It’s like… I don’t know. Everyone’s just exhausting lately.”

You meet her eyes. There’s something there — exasperation, yeah, but something softer underneath. Like she knows the feeling well. Like maybe you’re not the only one carrying things too heavy for words.

Kiara claps her hands once. “Okay. Sad girl hour over.”

Sarah jumps to her feet. “We picked your outfit.”

“Oh god.”

Sarah’s already yanking open your closet. “No, trust. This one? Is giving effortless beach goddess.”

She holds up a sundress — light blue, a little skimpy. Thin straps. Soft, clingy fabric. You know what it does to your body. Which is exactly why you never wear it.

“I can’t wear that,” you murmur.

“You can,” Sarah corrects, handing it to you. “And you will.”

She pulls you in front of the mirror, both of them helping with zippers and smoothing the fabric, fixing your hair with quick fingers and a little too much lip gloss.

“You look hot,” Kiara declares.

Sarah grins. “Now come on before John B has a meltdown in the car. He’s been texting me nonstop.”

You hesitate just a second longer, then grab your phone, your keys, your old denim jacket — and follow them.

You glance back once more before stepping out the door. Your brother’s mindless on the couch, eyes half-closed as the muted football game flickers on the cracked TV. One hand lazily scratches his belly, the other barely holding the remote.

“Take care, kid,” he mumbles without looking, already drifting back toward sleep.

You nod quietly, not expecting more, and close the door behind you, the stale mix of beer and motor oil hanging in the air.

Outside, the night wraps around you like a thick, humid blanket. Kiara and Sarah are already waiting, their laughter bubbling as they jockey to be the one who pulls you first toward the Twinkie van parked under the flickering streetlamp.

Kiara bows dramatically, voice loud and teasing. “Presenting the beautiful and mysterious… finally awake!”

Sarah smirks, tugging you forward. “Come on, before they leave without us.”

You shuffle toward the van, feeling the familiar warmth of friendship wrap around you.

Sarah slips into the passenger seat like she owns it, and leans over to press a quick kiss to John B’s cheek. He grins at her—easy, familiar—and throws a casual wave your way. “Bout time you showed up.”

Kiara slides into the back, elbows JJ’s knee with that half-smile that’s all challenge and something more. JJ’s got a joint hanging off his lip, lighter flicking like it’s second nature, eyes low but catching the jab.

Pope’s next to JJ, nose buried in some textbook—of course, the only one who actually bothered with college early while the rest of you coasted through the last year. He’s quiet, always tense, like the only thing holding the group from completely falling apart.

JJ blows out a lazy puff, smirking. “Pope, chill out. This ain’t calculus.”

Pope shoots a look that’s equal parts disgust and “I can’t with you.” “Someone’s gotta keep you from looking like a dumbass.”

Kiara laughs, nudges JJ again. “You just wish you had someone to actually distract you. But nope. All textbook, no game.”

JJ’s eyes flick to Kiara, trying not to smile like an idiot but failing.

You lean back, the tension from the day loosening with every bump the van takes. The salty air sneaks through the windows, mixing with the low buzz of laughter and the hum of the engine.

When you roll up to the beach, the scene hits like a shot of something strong. Firelight flickers on faces you know too well, bodies moving easy and rough to the bass thumping under the stars.

It’s messy, loud, and alive—the kind of night where nothing makes sense but everything feels like it matters.

Kiara grins, nudging you. “Come on, don’t just sit there like you’re some damn statue.”

(…)

The fire cracks loud behind you, spitting embers into the air like tiny warnings. Your cheeks are flushed, your skin sticky with heat and movement. You’ve been dancing with the girls for who knows how long—Kiara wild and loose, Sarah twirling like she owns the damn moon, both of them shouting the lyrics even when they get them wrong.

At some point you’d even managed to get Pope to dance. Kind of. It was mostly swaying while he mumbled about bone density or blood pressure or something equally tragic. You wiggled in front of him, threw your head back laughing when he blushed and gave up halfway through the chorus.

It felt good. Almost too good.

But now your red cup is empty, just foam at the bottom and the faint bitter smell of beer clinging to your fingers.

You turn to look for a refill—Sarah and John B are nowhere in sight, probably off tangled together somewhere behind the dunes. Kiara and JJ are leaning into each other now, heads close, the air between them thick with heat and whatever-the-hell they’re always dancing around. And Pope’s doing his Pope thing, locked into a one-sided lecture about his lab’s centrifuge with a girl who’s clearly regretting asking what he studied.

You sigh.

The metal keg is posted near the coolers, set deep in the sand like a forgotten relic. A few half-sober tourists are crowded around it, laughing too loud, sunburned shoulders glowing orange under the string lights someone duct-taped to a surfboard rack. They’ve got the button-downs and perfect teeth, the kind of confidence you only earn by never having to worry about real things.

You push through them, careful not to bump anyone too hard, and reach for the pump. You press down on it, watching foam pour into your red cup like it’s a lifeline.

And then—

That feeling.

Like you’ve just stepped into a spotlight.

You don’t have to look up to know someone’s watching. It’s instinctual, almost physical, the heat of it brushing your shoulder.

But you look anyway.

He’s leaning against the other side of the keg. Just far enough to be casual. Close enough that you wonder how long he’s been standing there.

Tall. Broad shoulders, white shirt clinging just right—buttons open like an afterthought. His jaw’s sharp, hair dark and pushed back like he doesn’t care, but still somehow looks like the cover of a summer fashion catalog. He holds his red cup loose in one hand, fingers long, knuckles scarred just slightly. Like he’s either been in a fight or punched a wall. You’re not sure which feels more accurate.

It’s the way he’s looking at you that throws you off balance.

Not shy.

Not sleazy.

Just… focused.

Then his gaze drops to your hand. Lingers. His mouth twitches—like maybe he finds it funny. Or maybe something else.

He finally speaks, voice smooth but a little rough at the edges, like smoke and gravel.

“You good?”

Two words. That’s it.

Simple. But there’s weight to it. Like it isn’t really a question. Just a prompt.

You nod once, short. “Yeah.”

Then he speaks again.

“Locals don’t usually pour like that.”

You glance over. He’s still got that easy stance, cup dangling from his hand, but his eyes flick to your foam-covered fingers like he’s amused. Like he’s paying too much attention to small things.

You wipe your hand on the hem of your dress and smirk, dry. “Didn’t realize you were judging technique.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching—not a full smile, just the ghost of one. “You seemed like you had it under control. Until the overflow.”

You raise your cup in mock toast. “Must be the humidity.”

That makes him chuckle, soft and short. “Or the beer.”

“First time in the OBX?” you ask, nodding toward his pristine sneakers that definitely haven’t seen sand before tonight.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes scanning the beach like he’s cataloging it. “Family bought a vacation house. Figured I’d see what all the noise was about.”

“And?”

He turns back to you, finally taking a sip from his cup. “Loud. Drunk. Kind of fun.”

You snort. “You just described the Pogues.”

That makes something flicker in his expression—recognition maybe. Or interest. But it’s gone too fast to catch.

“I’m Nate,” he says, offering the name like it doesn’t matter.

You nod once, not giving yours in return.

He doesn’t push.

“Anyway,” he says, glancing down into his half-full cup, “you pour like someone who’s had a long week.”

That catches you off guard.

Your mouth twitches. “Is that your version of a pick-up line?”

His eyes lift to yours again, slow and steady. “Nah. I don’t do those.”

Another pause. Not awkward, but not quite easy either. Just... still.

You shift your weight, take a final sip, and nod toward the fire. “Well. Good luck with the keg.”

Nate tips his cup like a silent cheers. “You too, foam master.”

You huff a laugh and turn back toward the fire, already feeling the warmth of your friends somewhere behind the music. As you walk, you don’t look back.

But you feel it.

That stare.

Still there.

Still on you.

Not loud. Not obvious.

Just... steady.

And for some reason, it stays with you longer than it should.

132 notes · View notes

dkiove · 3 days ago

Text

YOUR SEA OF LOVE, lee seokmin.

content: you, a photographer, is offered a job to help revive a under-the-radar city with the aid of 'tour guide', seokmin— the town's go-to guy. pairing: fisherman's son dokyeom x photographer reader genre: fluff, angst word count: 5325 words note: the longest one ive written yet so please take your time <3, didnt proofread sorry, because its so congested due to how lengthy and descriptive it is—i decided to bolden up the dialouges hehe

"will you stay?"

"who even are you?"

The bus ride to a small serene city was unlike any other.

You were a photographer, a struggling one that is. Unable to make ends meet—you accepted a short project for a tourism department in an unknown city. Thinking that this will be your big break, you didn't hesitate and started packing your bags.

Its for a photo exhibition tasked to capture the lives and scenery of a coastal locale—aiming to use your artistry in a form of publicity to promote their undiscovered beauty.

Already starving for a few days without any proper plan—who are you to resist an all expenses paid work trip. Right?

The staff you spoke to on the phone as you arrived gave you the directions to their office. A small house-like space nestled in the center of the city, in the middle of restaurant chains and a bakery—easy to spot yet also easy to miss.

You sat quietly in front of a desk, fiddling with your fingers as your backpack nestled on the tiled floor. There were a lot of people walking around, carrying stacks of paper, loud phone calls, and a bunch of desks close together with their owners doing their own things.

"I would like to welcome you to our city—I hope you give us your best work", he says behind a pile of papers, sweat evidently trickling down his forehead from the hot and stuffy atmosphere. "Thank you for giving me this job too, I won't let you down", you smile bowing your head down.

"I tried to find someone to give you a tour for your pictures but I believe none of us in the office is available for a full day tour", he anxiously shares, his fingers propping his glasses in place.

"Are you okay working with someone else?", you answer him with a reserved nod, a grimaced smile follows afterwards.

"There's a fisherman here who's son is like everyone's go-to guy", he leans in, "You don't have to worry about him misbehaving because he's a very reliable person—he agreed to show you around town in his motorcycle"

"I see. When can I get started?"

"Tomorrow. He'll be here by 8 AM so meet him here by then"

"will you stay?"

"of course. what is there left to do anyways?"

The sun was awfully a lot unbearable than yesterday.

You stood in front of the office for a long time now—and this so called 'reliable guy' isn't anywhere in sight. 8:30, you check your watch again; a frustrated grumble leaving your lips as your eyes trail each side of the road for an approaching motorcycle.

"My camera will melt at this point", you mumble.

Suddenly, the front door of the office opens. You turn around to see the staff you had talked to yesterday— "You're still here?", he exclaims, shutting the door behind him.

You nod, "Are you sure he's gonna come here? I think we already wasted a few minutes", you say. He checked his watch and hissed, "I see. But please wait for him, he might be in traffic right now"

"I think i'll just go ahead and start on my own, when he gets here please tell him that I won't be needing his help", you start to walk away, the crunch of gravel under your boots filling the protest of the staff.

Then, the sharp revving of a motorcycle cut through the still morning air.

You turned, startled.

A pale blue motorcycle skidded to a graceful stop beside you. The rider killed the engine, kicked the stand down, and pulled off his helmet with one hand—slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world.

Messy black hair. Sun-touched skin. That lazy kind of smile that made you irritated just for how easy it looked on him.

“You're leaving without me?” he asked, voice light but steady. His eyes, soft around the edges, scanned yours with a quiet amusement—as if he hadn’t just made you wait half an hour.

You blinked, caught between annoyance and disbelief.

He offered a hand—not an apology, not an excuse. “Name's Seokmin. Sorry I’m late— there was a boat issue earlier, and my mom made me eat.”

"Now get in since we already wasted a few minutes", he ushers you, throwing a red shiny helmet in your direction to which you almost failed to catch.

"Hold on tight because I'm gonna leave you if you fall down"

The whole day has been exhausting.

Althroughout that awkward and rough motorcycle ride accompanied by Seokmin's sudden cheering and you holding on for dear life—he haven't made the rest of the tour enjoyable.

He showed you around; from the temples, a quick chat with ladies from the market who generously treated him like a baby, the public library, around his favorite restaurants, and everywhere else—he made sure you captured around twenty images per destination.

Now you were catching the sunset on the beach. His motorcycle was parked farther from which he originally planned, the sea hushed around you, and the sun was on its way for a proper goodbye.

You nestled your camera on the sand, making sure it doesn't fall as you began taking pictures of the scenery—Seokmin standing behind you.

"You really know how to capture beautiful moments", he sighs, watching as your finger hits the shutter button once in a while. You rolled your eyes and focused—to which he playfully encouraged.

"You people just look at the camera and say 'wow this is good', but how often do you actually live the moment?", Seokmin grinned—not accusing—just plainfully curious. He carefully adjusted around you and faced in front, his frame caught in camera.

You stop for a moment. At this point, it didn't matter that he was 'ruining' your shot. What he said truly made you stop and reflect— "living the moment?", you thought.

When have you lived in the moment. Back in Seoul, there was no more option for living—everyday was meant for surviving. If you took the time and slowed down for a while, you will bump into numerous people. You will get walked on and trampled on—living in the moment isn't possible.

Seokmin notices your silence and turns around lightly, enough to see you huddled behind the camera. Instead of a photo, you hit record—a few soft seconds of Seokmin standing beneath the fading light.

"Can you move? You're blocking the shot.”, he stands smack in the middle of the frame, arms loose at his sides, a stupid grin already forming— “I don’t think I want to.”

“I’m serious. Move.”

“I am too,” he says, bending down casually, scooping up a handful of sand.

“Don’t you dare—”

Before you can move, he tosses it. Not hard, just enough to scatter toward your legs and the hem of your clothes.

“You—Seokmin!”, you exclaim in frustration yet Seokmin's laughing already—loud, carefree, utterly unapologetic.

You abandon the camera on its tripod—still recording—and start running toward him, your voice tangled in half-hearted threats and breathless laughter.

“I'll kill you!”

“You’ll have to catch me first!”, he sticks his tongue out and bolts, feet kicking up sand as he darts down the beach. You chase after him, clumsy and determined, hair flowing against the wind and your voice echoing across the open shore.

The camera stays behind, lens pointed at nothing in particular—just the sea, the falling sun, and two of you chasing around each other like children.

It captured everything: down to your the footsteps you both left behind, his laughter, him nearly tripping, your slippers flying in the air, and the sea.

And for a few seconds, you’re not a hungry photographer or a stranger in this town. You’re just someone laughing in the golden light, chasing a boy who throws sand and smiles like it's summer forever.

You lunge forward, fingertips grazing the back of his shirt when he suddenly turns.

Seokmin catches you mid-dart, his hands instinctively wrapping around your wrist just in time to steady you. Your momentum halts. The laughter dies on your lips—not all at once, but like it’s being slowly reeled back inside.

You’re suddenly still. His grip is gentle, but firm. Sand clings to your knees and sleeves. Your chest rises and falls too fast for this quiet, and yet—its there. That stillness. That strange second where the world forgets to move.

You look up. He’s already looking at you. Yet neither of you says anything.

His hands are still around your wrist. Your eyes meet in the soft orange light. And for a moment, it feels like the tide has paused—like time has pressed its thumb gently against both your backs.

Your breaths slow. His smile falters, not into discomfort, but something softer—more real.

And then, as if the moment realizes it’s been caught staring too long; you both shuffle and step back—laughing a little, awkwardly and looking around anywhere but at each other.

“You're fast for someone who hides behind a camera all day,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck before sitting down at the sand.

“And you’re annoying for someone who clearly wants to be in front of it,” you reply, trying to sound normal, even though your heartbeat is anything but—sitting down beside him.

"I had fun" he exhales, looking up ahead. "The sun is almost gone," you mutter, "Because of you I don't have any good shots", you exclaim, looking back at where you positioned your camera.

Seokmin turns to you with a light smile, "Why are you guys so obsessed with taking sunset pictures?", he says obnoxiously. "Because it's good, it looks good", you retort back.

"The internet has already seen a lot of sunset pictures—would it kill you guys if you actually witnessed it for once"

You roll your eyes at his response—not defeated, just accepting.

"It's beautiful", you say, your breath caught as the beauty indeed is amazing to see first hand.

"I know—it always has been"

"will you stay?"

"i will go once the sun stops shining for us"

Earlier was full of surprises—your night was full of reviewing photos and editing.

You grumble to yourself in the small room inside the office. Your eyes burn from staring at your laptop the whole day—catching up to you in your most vulnerable moments.

Confidently, your progress was utmost 75%. All there is left to do is review the rest of the album and conclude your task it by submitting entries for printing.

It was almost 8 PM in the office. Despite the promised accomodation, you were expecting a five-star rated room and a buffet—only to be met by makeshift bed in one of the rooms inside the office. But luckily for you, their wifi was fast and small space had airconditioning.

Your stomach rumbles with each tap on the keyboard. With new photos appearing, it adds to the hunger building up. You admit defeat and stand up from where you are seated. Although they have given you food for dinner, it wasn't enough to make you feel satisfied.

The night in this city only got more beautiful. There was a warm glow emitted from each story, filled with sizzling stove tops, glasses clanking together, cheers from drunken men, and laughter from children that played on the street.

You walk beyond realization—not knowing where to go.

"Should I just get noodles?", you ask yourself, halting in front of a vibrant store. Nodding to yourself and your budget, you head on inside to find what you are looking for.

There were many selections: lots of choices to choose from. Soup-based, dry noodles, even cold noodles—this store has it all.

Tempted to get a lot, you settled for everyone's spicy favorite: Shin-Ramyeon. You walk to the front to pay only to be met with an empty counter—you looked around for the owner.

The counter sits unmanned, a lone plastic calculator resting beside a buzzling radio. You glance around the small shop—aisles neatly stocked, a few tired posters on the walls—but not a single sign of life.

“Hello?”, you call out, half-expecting no answer.

A moment later, the curtain behind the counter rustles—and out steps a familiar someone—Seokmin.

His black shirt clings slightly from the heat in the backroom, sleeves rolled, a towel still draped over one shoulder. His hair is an evident mess, like he either napped or wrestled with a rice sack.

“Sorry for the wai—”, he cuts himself off when he sees you. That friendly shop owner gesture replaced with a lopsided grin when you appear— “Oh, you.”

You blink, “You work here?”. He scoffs and steps behind the counter, "This is my mom's store. Do you think fishing is the only lifestyle I have?", Seokmin laughs dramatically, hand caught in his stomach for a more comical approach.

"Shut up and let me pay", you mutter, setting the cup in front of him.

“Is that a way to talk to your tour guide? The one you have a crush on?", he says without missing a beat, an annoying smile etched in his lips like he's all-knowing.

You stare, “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” he grins, leaning one elbow onto the counter. “You found out where I am. You showed up during my shift. You bought the exact cup noodles I like. It’s a little obvious.”

You shake your head with a small, incredulous laugh, “You think I went here because of you? You didn't think it was dinner time and I am hungry?"

“Sure,” he says, dragging out the word. “Let’s go with that. Totally not a crush.”

Seokmin slides the cup toward you after calculating the price. His fingers brush against yours—a casual touch, but it lingers a half-second longer than necessary. You can feel it, the way he’s watching you, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll flinch or grin or tell him off.

“You’re annoying,” you say flatly.

“And yet...” he smiles, “you’re still standing here.”

Before you can offer a clever retort, the curtain rustles again—and a warm, firm voice calls out— “Seokmin-ah!”

A woman in her late 50s emerges from the back room, wiping her hands on a floral apron, hair tied in a neat bun. She halts when she sees you at the counter, eyes narrowing just a bit.

“Who’s this?”

“Customer,” Seokmin says, stepping slightly aside, suddenly very innocent.

“Customer?” she repeats, staring pointedly. “Why are you both standing there awkwardly", she adds. “Mom,” he groans under his breath.

But she’s not done. Her gaze flickers to your face, and then her expression shifts— “Wait, are you the photographer?”

You nod cautiously, “From the city?”

“Yes,” you reply. “For the tourism project.”

Her face lights up like someone flipped a switch, “I’ve heard all about you! The mayor won’t shut up. You should’ve said so right away!”. She waves her hand, already moving back behind the curtain.

“Come, join us for dinner. I’ll set an extra plate.”

You glance at Seokmin, who just winces. “This is happening,” he mutters, “Just... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Is this how you treat all your customers?”

“No,” he says, pushing open the curtain for you, "Only the pretty ones"

"That dinner was...something", you say to Seokmin, patting your stomach, a small burp erupts forward.

The whole time was you eating homecooked meals for the first time in years, Seokmin's mom telling you stories about when he was a child, showing embarassing baby pictures to which you took photos off to tease him afterwards, and Seokmin wailing around afterwards.

Now, after helping them wash the dishes—his mom tasked him to walk you back to the offices or he'll never see the sun shine ever again.

"Your mom really knows how to cook", you say, already reminiscing the flavors you missed. Seokmin rolls his eyes, still not feeling solved from his life literally ending earlier.

"Promise me you won't spread those pictures", he pleads. You laugh at his request, "To whom will I share those even"

The night has dawned upon both of you. Seokmin shuffles his hands inside his pockets as you look up to see the moon and the stars shining brightly. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath as you walked slower.

Seokmin does the same, looking up to see what got you tantalized— "this would be the perfect time to whip out your camera and take pictures", he jokes.

You chuckle at his comment and open your eyes, "If only—I would stand here and do that definitely"

"But someone says to live in the moment so that I shall do", you smile, turning to him. Seokmin grew amazed by what you said, clearly signifying that his comment didn't pass by your ears earlier.

"Live in the moment", your voice trailed, "What does that mean to you Seokmin?"

He thinks about it for a bit, looking forward on the path— "For me, it's not caring about what happens around you. It's staying still and look at what's in front of you"

Your lips part at his words, amazed by the sincerity of his voice. Seokmin's head turns towards you and asks the same— "How about you?"

You only shrug in response, trying to find more things to say. “I don’t know yet,” you murmur, your voice quieter now. “I haven’t begun to start living in the moment yet.”

He hears it—the softness of your voice, the tired honesty in your words. And when he glances at you, Seokmin catches something in your expression that wasn’t there earlier: a flicker of something unspoken and that vulnerability you hadn’t meant to share.

But he doesn’t push. He continues to walk beside you, the silence between you wasn't awkward, but gentle—understanding.

When the office finally comes into view, tucked quietly under the sleepy glow of the streetlights, you both slow to a stop.

You turn to him with a small smile, “Thanks for walking me.”

“Would’ve been a scandal if I didn’t,” he says with a grin. “The mayor would’ve kicked me out of town.”

You let out a soft laugh and take a step toward the door, reaching for the handle—when— “Wait—”, his voice comes out a little too fast, almost like he surprised himself.

You turn back, brows raised.

“Do you..” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “do you have anything to do tomorrow?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Why?”

He shifts from foot to foot, clearly stalling, clearly overthinking— “There’s this night market down by the pier. Just something small. Food stalls, paper lights, probably a guy singing off-key with a guitar.”

You blink, smiling at the vision he paints, “Sounds charming.”

“It’s very locally chaotic,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I was thinking maybr if you’re free... you could come with me?”

He glances up, adding quickly— “Not a date or anything. Just a hang out. As your official part-time tour guide.”

You pause—just long enough to watch him squirm. Then, sweetly, “Okay.”

Seokmin's head tilts, “Okay?”, trying to sound it out to reality. “I’ll come,” you say, “For the guitar guy, mostly.”

He chuckles, bright and dorky, and his eyes crinkle. “Cool. Cool. I’ll, pick you up here? Seven?”

“Seven,” you nod.

There’s a beat of silence, both of you lingering. He gives you a small wave, backing away slowly, still smiling.

“Goodnight, ms photographer”

“Goodnight, mr wore a diaper till he was five.”, he chuckles in embarassment, that nickname obviously referenced from one of his childhood stories revealed earlier.

“Try not to miss me too much.”, he adds.

You scrunch your nose, “I make no promises.”

He stumbles slightly over the curb, laughs it off, and jogs the rest of the way down the road, waving once more before disappearing around the corner.

You wait a moment longer, your cheeks warm, smile refusing to leave. Then, finally, you turn and slip inside—heart fluttering a little louder than before.

Maybe tomorrow is the day you begin to live—and maybe he’ll be the reason why.

"will you stay?"

"just for one more night"

The town had dressed itself in lights.

From where you stood, waiting just outside the office, the street ahead looked nothing like the sleepy place you’d first arrived at a few days ago. Tonight, it was glowing—lanterns floated like fireflies overhead, strung between lamp posts and tree branches, swaying softly in the wind. The buildings, usually muted and gray, reflected hints of color in their windows, like even they were smiling.

You pressed your hands into your coat pockets to calm your nerves.

Then you saw him.

Seokmin jogged lightly toward you, his hoodie zipped halfway, his hair a soft mess from the breeze. He looked like he wasn’t even trying to be charming, but somehow was anyway. When he caught sight of you, his face broke into that familiar smile—wide, warm, just a little crooked.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone important,” he teases lightly.

You raise a brow, “I was. Guess you’ll do.” He laughs, mock-wounded, placing a hand to his chest, “Ouch.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved up involuntarily.

The both of you rolled into laughter, falling into step beside each other as you made your way toward the pier where the market had set up. The breeze carried scents of roasted chestnuts, fried batter, and something sugary and citrusy that made your stomach grumble. The sounds of chatter, laughter, and off-key music grew louder with every step.

The market bloomed open like a painting—warm and golden, pulsing with life. Lanterns in soft reds and yellows swayed over narrow walking paths. Stalls lined either side, with vendors selling everything from grilled squid to sweet potato donuts to handmade rings and wooden toys.

“Where do we begin?” you asked, eyes wide. “Easy,” Seokmin said. “Food, then games, then more food, then regret.”

You snorted, “You’re really selling the experience.”

“You’ll thank me when your third skewer changes your life.”—and it kind of did.

You started with seasoned chicken, the spicy kind that made your lips tingle, and Seokmin couldn’t stop laughing at your reaction until he ate one and immediately downed his entire drink. Then came the sweet potato—warm and coated with sugar, which you both bit into too fast and burned your tongues, only to laugh even harder. You shared desserts, argued over which stall’s fishcakes were better, and took turns holding the plush prizes you won at dart booths.

“Look at this guy,” you said, holding up a stuffed pufferfish. “He looks like you when you get hit with spice.”

“He looks like me after hearing that insult.”, he retorts, mouth full with more food.

At a bracelet stall, you lingered too long on the beaded ones, and Seokmin noticed. He waited until you walked ahead, then slipped back and bought the one you kept reaching for but never picked up.

“Here,” he said later, holding it out casually like it was nothing.

You blinked at it, “What’s this?”

“Don't miss your chance and not get what you want—you have to live in the moment remember?"

You tried to roll your eyes, but your heart was already fluttering.

Everything felt brighter with him, even the lights.

Eventually, the two of you made your way toward the pier. You wandered off the path a little, finding a quieter dock tucked behind one of the larger boats. The water stretched wide and glimmering ahead, and the buzz of the market faded into a gentle hum behind you.

You sat stood side by side, the waves imitating the way you both swayed your bodies.

For a while, you just watched the sea, silent.

“Did you have fun?” Seokmin asked eventually, his voice softer now. You nodded slowly, a smile on your lips as you turn to him— “More than I expected,” you said honestly.

“That’s a relief,” he murmured. “I was worried I peaked too early with the pufferfish.”

You chuckled under your breath, then went quiet again. The lanterns above swayed, casting warm shifting halos across the dock.

“I like it here,” you said, staring at the sea. "I feel like I have a place to breath again". He didn’t say anything at first, just plain listening to what you have to share, “It gave me that, too.”

You looked over at him. He wasn’t looking at you; his head was directed at the sky.

And then—a whistle cracked in the air.

The first firework burst open.

A golden flare scattered above, showering light down like sparks from a dream. Then another—blue, then pink, then red. One by one, they bloomed and echoed, painting the sky in color and sound.

You tilted your head back, mesmerized— "Woah", you mutter.

But once the fireworks caught everyone's attention, Seokmin who had his eyes up earlier, looked down—he looked at you.

He watched the way your eyes lit up with each explosion, how you whispered “wow” under your breath without realizing it, how you leaned forward slightly like trying to get closer to it all. There was something so alive in your expression.

And maybe it was then that he reached for you.

Slowly, nervously, his fingers brushed against yours. And when you didn’t pull away, he let them settle—tenderly—between yours. His hand was warm; familiar.

You turned to him, startled at first, yet eager to see what his reaction was.

Only to see that he wasn’t watching the fireworks—he was watching you.

Your breath caught. You blinked once, twice—and then your eyes welled with tears. Not from sadness, not from fleeting joy, just from feeling deeply.

Like something cracked open inside your chest, “Thank you,” you whispered, voice trembling, heart thudding. “Thanks to you, I think... I’ll start living in the moment now.”

Your words hung there, suspended in the air between bursts of color and echoing cracks in the sky. He didn’t answer right away, he knew he didn’t need to.

Seokmin just leaned in, slowly, carefully, and wrapped his arms around you.

And you folded into him—completely. Your face pressed to his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his back. It wasn’t a grand kiss. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was something better—It was safe and it was home.

Above you, the final firework exploded in a thunder of gold, sending falling sparks across the night. But down here—under lanterns and stars, on the dock of a small town—you found something even brighter.

Seokmin.

"will you stay?"

"i ran out of time"

It was the event proper for the city's anniversary.

The fireworks yesterday night was merely an opening—a warm gesture and welcome for today.

Seokmin was still caught in his feelings; the hug, the 'thank you', and the moments that lead up to that ending still lingered in his mind. It was to a point where his mom had nagged him from smiling all of a sudden, daydreaming, and chuckling while eating.

She said he looked stupid, like he had hung the stars. But Seokmin didn't care—he was in love and he isn't apologetic about it.

The first day of the event needed his help. All morning, he had helped people move their stuff to the venue, carrying boxes, fishing with his dad, cleaning, and all sorts of things—but he was more occupied in trying to find you.

In fresh clothes and a bouquet of handpicked flowers, he sniffed and fixed them up properly, walking through the heaps of stalls he had helped set up earlier.

In Seokmin's mind, he was gonna see you and have another wonderful day with you.

But to his demise, he could not catch glimpse of you early on. Despite his best to search, ask around if you came by, he would get 'no' as an answer. Thinking that you were probably busy and chooses to visit the event later—Seokmin finds his way walking to the office on behalf of you.

The sun was shining not so brightly. It had a warm cast that soothed his skin rather than hurt it.

The distance from the venue to the office wasn't as far. He chose to walk instead of using his trusted motorcycle. There was also a reason why he didn't opt to use his motorcycle yesternight—Seokmin wanted to be with you longer than intended.

The office was bustling just from the outside. Seokmin could see from outside that people were busy, probably from the demand and stress of planning this event.

Patiently, he waited outside—hoping someone would notice him and tend to his needs.

And someone did, the person that introduced him and you in the first place. "Seokmin! What brings you here?", he asks, facing his phone to his shoulder to shield the ongoing call he had. "Oh, I was wondering if the photographer is here", Seokmin asks, a small smile on his face.

The staff grew conflicted, a recalling look on his face as he looks back inside—"You guys didn't meet each other?", he asked, confused. Seokmin shakes his head in response. "She didn't tell you then?"

"Tell me...what?"

"She's going back to Seoul today."

"will you stay?"

"no"

Seokmin wasn’t anywhere close to being a runner.

Maybe he had chased a few chickens for his aunt a few times, rushed around to catch crabs, or maybe got called to the Mayor’s office fast—but he definitely wasn’t a runner.

Yet somehow, upon hearing those words—his feet had never moved this fast.

"She's going back to Seoul today"

He barely heard the rest. The words rang loud in his ears, louder than the pounding of his steps against the gravel road, louder than the breath he couldn’t catch, louder than the doubt rising in his chest.

You were leaving.

His heart thrashed like a tide in his ribcage. The wind whipped against his hoodie as he turned corners, leapt across puddles, nearly knocked over someone’s laundry basket. It was almost funny—how he never once ran like this when you were still here.

And yet now—now that you were on your way out of this town that had somehow, impossibly, made room for you—he could barely breathe for the thought of missing you.

The bus stop came into view.

And there you were.

Sitting alone under the curved roof of the waiting shed, camera bag at your side, knees drawn up just slightly. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Your eyes were fixed on the road, unfocused.

Seokmin stopped a few feet away, chest heaving, lungs burning.

For a second, he just looked at you.

You looked the same from the day he had met you—and yet not at all. The same jacket. The same soft hair caught in the wind. But something about this was so different.

“You didn’t tell me.”

You turned sharply at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide. Lips parted. You stood up a little too quickly.

“Seokmin—”, your voice faltered. “Why are you here?”, you asked, genuinely confused about his sudden appearance.

“Why wouldn't I be?” he asked, walking closer, eyes searching yours. "After what happened yesterday night, you should expect me to be everywhere but away from you."

You looked away, guilt passing over your features— "I didn’t want this to feel heavier that it should be". Seokmin takes another step forward, “Then you should’ve at least let me carry some of that weight,” he said gently.

A long silence stretched between you. The wind rustled the bus schedule posted on the shelter wall. A motorcycle passed behind you and faded into the distance.

“My job’s done,” you said quietly. "I came here for work, and now it’s over"

“I know that it's over,” he said. His voice was low, careful. “Does that mean that what we are is over too?”. You looked up at him—eyes wet, but not falling. Thinking of a response, you only sigh in defeat.

Seokmin took a breath. A long one.

“I’m not gonna beg you to stay,” he said, a bit of a sad smile on his lips. "I think this town gave you what you needed—". Seokmin paused, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

“I just wanted to see you. One more time. To say thank you. For all the little moments. For laughing with me. For letting me be in your frame.”

You laughed, breath catching on something in your throat. “Thank you too” you whispered— “For reminding me to live in the moment.”

That cracked something in him. He stepped forward. And without asking, without waiting, he pulled you into him.

Your head tucked into his shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso like you had done that a thousand times before. Like it was natural and like it was home.

The minutes slowed.

You could hear everything—the call of a bird, the wave of wind through nearby fields, the faint hum of a bus coming from far down the road.

“Will you keep in touch?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer right away.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes shimmered with uncertainty—but also something warm.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I'm not good at those things”

“But,” you muttered, reaching for his hand, squeezing it tightly, “if I ever find myself lost again—I’ll come back to where I last remembered myself.”

Seokmin's heart ached at that but he acknowledged reality as it is.

The bus turned the corner in the distance. Its headlights cut through the curve in the road. You reached for your bag. Slung it over your shoulder. Exhaled.

“Goodbye, Seokmin.”, you waved.

“Not goodbye,” he said, smiling sadly— “Just give me hope that i'll see you again next time.”

As the bus pulled up and you stepped inside, he stood there in the settling dusk, watching through the window as you found your seat and looked out at him.

You pressed your fingers softly to the glass—then to your heart. And he lifted his hand back, smiling to himself as he waved.

Once the bus closed and began to drive away, Seokmin stood there alone, hand still raised, eyes not leaving the road until the last trace of you had vanished.

"Let me see you one more time"

"will you stay?"

"no. but I think you gave me something to come back to"

That sign of hope and connection Seokmin had wished from you never came to his aid.

After you left, he was waiting for a phone call or a small message. Maybe a sudden appearance or a note you had left for him. But it was all nothing.

Slowly, he had began moving forward himself. Seokmin had lived life much better this time in behalf of you. It made him think of how much of a hypocrite he'll be if he hadn't taken the advice he had given you—living in the moment.

So he did. Seokmin continued to live in the moment. Much more slower yet meaningful this time.

It was just another slow afternoon.

The kind where the clouds hung low, and the sea barely bothered to move. Seokmin was crouched on the floor near the dining table, finishing up late lunch.

The fan spun lazily overhead. The radio crackled with some old trot song. The same regulars wandered in and out of the store, bell chimes following each soft step.

He didn’t expect anything different.

“Seokmin-ah!” his mom called from the front of the store. “A letter came for you!”

He was still mid-bite, “From who?”

“Don’t know,” she replied. “But it says 'Seoul' in the stamp.”

That got his attention.

Seokmin wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt and made his way to the counter. And there it was��propped neatly beside the old radio like it had always belonged there.

Square. Sun-faded. His name written in gentle, curved handwriting he hadn't seen in months but instantly recognized—your handwriting.

His fingers hovered for a second before picking it up—carefully, like it might crumble. The front was a photo.

It wasn’t a landscape or a golden-hour skyline. No sunset. No sea.

Instead, it was him—mid-laugh, turning his head, a puff of sand still floating in the air. His mouth open like he’d just said something dumb, his hoodie sleeves flailing a bit as he bolted.

Behind him—blurry and in motion—you. Sprinting after him, arm stretched forward, a grin carved wide on your face.

It was chaotic. A little shaky. Off-center.

Seokmin was immediately sent back to that day.

The day he threw sand at you and you chased him across the beach, laughing like someone who had finally started breathing again. It was the first moment you both forgot time—forgot why you came, forgot what came after.

He flipped the card over, heart caught in his throat. The back was simple—only two lines written in pen, slightly smudged.

"The sea is still here—for the both of us."

"Seokmin, the tide will guide me back to you soon"

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iznyangwoni · 2 days ago

Text

DEMON HUNTERS | enhypen smau !

chapter six

it can’t get any worse than this. It’s what you try to tell yourself. Out of everyone in that damn group of demons, it had to be Jungwon the one you had to share a schedule with, of course. Just your luck. You don’t usually hate photoshoots, sure, they’re not your favorite thing and they do feel more like a side quest rather than your actual job, but they’re still fun. You get to dress up, feel all pretty for a few hours, but this? No, you can’t do this with Jungwon and have fun.

It takes all of your energy to not summon your sword and just stab him in the chest. And talking about chest, fuck. Why can’t you keep your eyes off of it? They have him wearing a simple denim button-up, the first three buttons undone, showing the necklace of the brand, and way, way more.

You both manage to keep it together the first thirty minutes of shooting, you don’t talk and only look at each other when told to. You can tell he also can’t wait to kill you. Funny thing is, his hatred look is making the photographer only want more and more pictures of the two of you looking in the eyes. Makes you want to vomit.

After a while, it’s obvious he can’t contain himself anymore, he just whispers, so that no one else but you can hear. “If they make me look at you once more I swear I’m killing that photographer first and then you.”

If he wasn’t so serious while saying it you would’ve found him almost funny. “The feeling is mutual,” The poses are getting more annoying each time. Right now Jungwon’s elbow is resting on your shoulder. “Can’t wait to get you all alone so I can finish my job this time.” You say, when the pose changes again and no one can see what you’re mouthing. “As if you could take me.” “Oh I can take you.”

Its down to the last few shoots, now facing each other. Its been hours, the staff seems pretty tired already, and so are you, honestly. Still, your lack of energy doesn’t make you any less hateful towards the guy in front of you. Jungwon’s hand goes towards your cheek just as told, not really touching it. Then, when the photographer is distracted talking with someone else, you feel something sharp against your skin.

Your eyes widen for just a second, Jungwon’s smirk only gets bigger. Did he just cut your cheek? You want to punch him so hard right now, but you manage to stay calm. “Fifteen seconds.” His brows furrow for a second, confused at what you’re saying. “I give you fifteen seconds to run. After that you’re dead.” He smiles again, dimples showing. “Oh that’s plenty. Make it ten.”

The flash of the camera stops your words, you turn towards the stuff, the photographer seems thrilled. “Perfect! Just like this, you two! So much chemistry, so-“ You stop listening, you can’t hear another word about this. When you turn back around, Jungwon is no longer next to you, instead, he’s at the door leading to the underground floor. He’s holding ten fingers up. Ten seconds.

Before anyone of the staff can come up and fix your hair or makeup, you start walking impatiently towards him, your steps are heavy, your sword already in hand and, when you reach the floor, he’s already there, waiting for you.

“You idiot, scarring my face on comeback day? You must have a death wish!” Your weapon hits right next to his head, he jumps over a few boxes, keeping distance from you. “C’mon, if anything i just made you look less boring.” “Less boring!?” When you try to go for his chest, he holds up a tray he found on the floor. Really, fighting in the props room is the worst.

“Yes! You know how many of you i’ve seen? All of you hunters are the same.” You don’t want to hear him, if he knew other hunters, then it must mean they weren’t able to kill him. “Oh my god, a bad demon! you must die, blah, blah, blah. We need to turn the honmoon gold, blah, blah, blah.” His voice gets higher when he makes fun of the way hunters are supposed to talk. He’s distracted, so this time you make it in time to hit his arm, cutting his sleeve.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Before you can cut his arm off, he teleports behind you, a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his cold fingers around your neck. “Oh, I know.” You try to take his grip off your neck, your fingers trying so hard to make him let go, but its only harder when you’re also holding your sword. “Why do you hunters keep trying when the honmoon won’t ever turn gold?”

Those words freeze you, the weapon falls down with a loud thud of the metal. Your heart rate picks up and, in a state of anger, you hit him with your elbow, making him let go of your throat. You don’t pick up the sword, instead you just hit him, making him fall on the floor. “You’re lying.” “For once, i’m not.”

You don’t know what’s gotten to you, but you straddle him, you fist closed tightly as you hold it up, ready to punch him just in case. “Yes you are!” Your other hand is keeping him still by his shirt. “Why do you think no one did it in over five hundred years, then?!” You shake your head, it can’t be real. The whole reason you do this is, the whole reason you’re born, it to reach that goal, it can’t be a lie.

You’re about to punch his face when the door suddenly opens, you look up, scared it might be some employee. Instead its just one other demon, Jay you think it is. He’s looking down at you and Jungwon. His eyebrows rise, then furrow again, and that’s when you realize you’re still straddling Jungwon’s lap.

“Am I interrupting something..?”

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sholiofic · 1 day ago

Note

ME AGAIN - an alternate prompt/suggestion if you're in more of a h/c mood. maybe something where gurathin gets exposed to/drugged with some of the substances he used during his spy days? bonus points if MB, who i dont think knows about the addiction stuff, helps somehow?

(Slight references to physical illness, but nothing graphic.)

Update: Also posted on AO3 as Soft Reboot (1800 wds).

Okay, so I really did not expect Gurathin to be good at this spy stuff. I mean, I didn't have to do anything, I just had to stand around with my helmet sealed and look like a SecUnit with a working governor module, which I know I am good at. Gurathin had to do the talking. I knew what Gurathin was like normally when he was trying to talk to people, so do you blame me if I had doubts? And he didn't even have 13,237 hours (and counting) of entertainment to fall back on. (I should have loaded up some spy media beforehand. Actually, that's a good idea. I quietly circumvented the station's packet trace and downloaded some while I was standing around anyway.)

But the thing is, he actually was good at it. I was reading his biometrics, so I could tell he was stressed. But he did know how to talk to these particular people. Which is why I noticed immediately when his body language started going sideways and his biometrics got weird and -- shit.

I think you've been given some kind of substance, I sent to him over the feed. I was by the wall, standing with the other SecUnits belonging to those who had brought their personal security to the tech conference. (Show-offs.) He was down on the showroom floor. I was tracking him visually using the surveillance cameras that I'd hacked into, which -- as per usual for CR space -- were everywhere, but I wasn't close enough to hear him or easily get to him, which suddenly seemed like an even bigger security problem than I had realized before.

What do you mean? he asked, alarmed. I could tell that he also subvocalized it, which was worrying. Usually Gurathin was one of the few humans I'd met who could talk in the feed without giving himself away, and he wasn't slow on the uptake. (By human standards, I mean.) If I'd had any doubts before, I didn't now.

Drugged. You're drugged. Don't say anything else. Meet me by the door.

By the time he got to me, he had visibly deteriorated. He was sweating and shaking and his pulse rate was changing by the moment. Not good. I didn't see anyone moving in our direction, though, or security taking any notice of us.

"Damn it, damn it," Gurathin muttered as we went into the hall, stumbling and supporting himself on the wall, me walking behind him with my helmet up and looking SecUnit-y. I couldn't reach out to steady him because a SecUnit wouldn't touch their client without being told to, and I knew we were being surveilled from several angles in the hallway. "This is ... fuck. It can't be in the air. It must have been in my drink."

Or transferred via touch contact. Can you make it to the elevator?

"Yeah," he ground out. "I'll be okay. I'll have it under control in a minute."

Under control? But he was right, by the time we were at the elevator he was walking straighter and steadier, and clearly didn't need my help.

Do you have augments for this? I asked him.

He shook his head. Through clenched teeth, he said, "Just used to it. I lost my, my .... forgot how to deal, I guess. It's coming back to me."

We got into the elevator. I immediately put its cameras on a loop and did a quick scan for listening devices, then put my helmet down. "We can talk here. What do you mean, it's coming back to you?"

His vital signs were still all over the place, pulse dangerously elevated, body temperature fluctuating, and his skin glistened unpleasantly with sweat. I could see him shaking slightly with the effort of maintaining control, shoving his hands under his arms as if holding himself in place.

Still, he wasn't feeling too shitty to give me a swift sideways glare. "What did you look at when you were inside my head, anyway?"

His verbal filters had to be down by a good 50% for him to ask me that. We never talked about it. But I gave him an answer anyway. "I couldn't really understand what I saw. I had never scanned an augmented human before. It was a blur. Incompatible systems. Just -- flashes. What about when you had me in your head?" I retorted, because turnabout's fair play, augmented human.

That actually made him smile a little. "Same. Flashes. Incompatible systems." I wasn't sure if I believed that entirely (I was pretty sure he had some organic echoes of the experience, I just didn't want to think about it) but then he lost the smile completely and said, "I took substances like this when I was living in, and working for, the Corporation Rim."

"Oh," I said. It was all I could think of to say, and even that was on a delay of almost 1.2 seconds.

"They used them to keep me under control. If I haven't had this before, it was similar. So I know how to move and act normally when I'm using it." His teeth were chattering now; I could hear it now and then when he talked. It was why he was keeping his jaw locked.

"You mean," I said, "they drugged you against your will?" And then I felt stupid. I knew what he meant from the look he gave me. Most good shows, and a lot of the inferior ones as well, have a drug addiction plotline at some point.

"I wouldn't even be telling you this if I hadn't been dosed," he said tightly. "Inhibitions are down."

I had been afraid of that. "So stop talking."

We were at our floor anyway. I put my helmet back up, because I didn't yet have a good enough rapport with the hallway cameras to be sure they wouldn't record us. In our room, I already had the system on a fairly convincing loop, so I wasn't too worried about that. We went in, and Gurathin headed straight for the bathroom.

"If I ingested it," he said to me over his shoulder, "I need to get as much of it out as possible."

"Okay," I said a little blankly, and hoped he wasn't going to ask for help. He shut the door, so I guessed not. I promptly dialed the Sanctuary Moon theme song way up to cover whatever noises he might be making in there, and dialed down my helmet again. I generally didn't wear my armor in the hotel room, but I thought maybe I ought to leave it on this time in case we were going to be attacked.

I went into the room's mini-kitchen, because I wasn't sure what else to do. Then I just stared at the various options, scanning them like that would make a difference. I didn't know anything about food and drinks except from shows (which were highly unreliable on this matter compared to how often humans ate in real life), and watching my humans eat (which I tried not to do if I could help it). So I had no idea if there was anything in the kitchen that would help or even if it was possible for an ingested substance to help in a situation like this, but most humans did tend to use food and drinks as an emotional soothing tactic. Did Gurathin? I wasn't sure. I did know that he didn't drink alcohol or ingest stimulants, even the mild liquid one that were common both in and out of Corporate Rim space. Nothing in Medcenter Argala was helpful here in the slightest.

However, even without guidance, by the time he came out I had figured out what to do, more or less. He looked even worse than when he had gone in, pale and sweaty, with his hair plastered to his forehead, but he wasn't shaking as much. He went to the couch and sat on it and stared at nothing.

"I made you tea," I said.

This seemed to take a minute to penetrate, and then he looked around. "What?"

"I made tea." I decided not to mention that I had never done it before, but Bharadwaj and Arada both made it a lot, and I had watched them enough times to have a general idea. "It's not the kind with stimulants. It's the other kind."

He huffed out a noise that I couldn't relate to a known emotion. "I don't think I want to drink anything right now. No, wait, you know, bring it over here anyway. I can hold it."

Humans liked doing that, holding food and drink items without consuming them. I wasn't sure why, it seemed pretty pointless to me, but it seemed to help them sometimes when they were upset. I brought the cup of tea, and he took it from my armored hands while looking up at me. I avoided looking directly at him, but I took the opportunity to read his surface temperature.

"You're chilled," I said.

He huffed that sound again. About 25% match on a laugh. "Drugging and forced purging will do that. Ask me how I know."

I couldn't think of anything else to offer, so I just stood there. Punching things and shooting things were my skill set. I had routines for dealing with injured clients, but that mostly involved getting them to a medbay or some other option that wasn't a SecUnit. "Do you need medical attention?" I asked.

Gurathin shook his head and winced like his head hurt. "No, I just -- I guess I need to get through this." A shiver wracked him, and I suddenly realized that there was something I could do after all. I turned abruptly (I heard him say "SecUnit?" behind me), got a blanket off one of the beds, and came back and dropped it on the couch beside him.

"Uh ... thanks." He pulled it over his legs. "You were in the camera feeds on the tech floor, right? I'd like to go over those, trace my movements, see if we can figure out what happened."

I wanted something to do too, preferably involving shooting someone. I reached out in the feed and began to gather in the data. "Will this make your headache worse?"

He looked up briefly, like he was surprised I could tell, or maybe surprised I had asked. "I don't care," he said. "I want to get the bastards."

I did too, so I could understand. I pushed a small part of the data at him in the feed. If he could tell I was keeping the much larger part, he didn't say anything about it. I sat beside him on the couch -- a normal, governed SecUnit never would, but he'd made it clear to me from the start that I could if I wanted to when we were alone, like I cared what he thought about it anyway -- and started sifting through the different camera angles. Beside me, Gurathin was obviously doing likewise. I made a shared workspace in our feed, tagged anything that might be relevant and put it in for him to look at too.

He stopped shivering after a while. He still held the cup of tea.

#mbtv #murderbot tv #murderbot #gurathin

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betteronthebigscreen · 10 hours ago

Text

My plus one | J.M

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

MDNI

Wordcount: 4,038

Warnings: SMUTT, Age gap (reader is over 20, Joel is mid 30s), Pinv, Creampie, Unprotected Pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Fingering, Cum eating?, Almost caught, Sneaking around, Car sex, Use of petnames, I think that's all!

A/N: This is a Fic I've posted previously, but I've recently revised and rewrote almost the whole thing! As always, hope you enjoy! Sorry it has taken me this long to post, I've recently had personal problems I had to deal with! Despite the little break I took, everything is good and well now! <3

Two days before you were supposed to come home, for your dads big promotion dinner, bad news struck you.

In the form of a text message.

"this isn't working for me anymore, we're done."

Really? That was all the asshole could say?

"what about the dinner tyler?? tf am i supposed to do?"

"you'll figure it out."

Fuck him.

Whatever, it's not like you cared.

—

Despite not having a date, you decided to head back to Austin anyways. It was the promotion your dad had waited his whole career for.

The drive was a bit long from your college, but it lined up perfectly with the start of your spring break.

You got home a little earlier than you had originally planned for. To your surprise, Joel accompanied your father while they nursed their beers.

Joel.

It had only been a few months since the last time you saw him, but God did he look handsome.

The amber glow of the porchlight projected on his hair, laced with silver streaks.

His thick fingers wrapped around the chilled aluminum can. The Miller emblem peaked out from under his grasp, ironic.

"Hey sweetheart, you're early.." Your dad muttered out to you breaking the sound of that voice in your head, all while placing his beer on the table between him and Joel.

"Yeah I left a bit earlier, expecting more traffic." you smiled warmly at the man, as he embraced you in a hug.

Smiling over his shoulder to the man babysitting his Miller lite in awkward silence.

"Good to see you kiddo.." He said, quietly. almost like he didn't trust his voice.

Weird.

"Good to see you too Mr. Miller." You pulled away from your dad, now facing the older man. He nodded, taking another sip of his beer. "How's Sarah?" You questioned.

"Busy.. y'know how that girl is." He smiled. the corners of his mouth turned up, and wrinkled a bit with his smile lines.

You nodded in understanding. deciding it was getting a little late and you wanted to shower and unpack before you went to bed.

You drag the heavy suitcase up the stairs, its wheels hitting the wood every few steps. Turning the knob and opening the door to your bedroom, you sit the suitcase down on your bed and unzip it. Grabbing an old hoodie, underwear, and pair of shorts for after your shower.

Socked feet patter down the hallway as you make your way to the bathroom, passing your mothers room and noticing her at her vanity.

"Hey sweetheart, when did you get here?" She asked, as she slid out from the seat. standing up to give you a hug. "Maybe like 20 minutes ago?" You said, over her shoulder, honestly forgetting.

She nodded and began, "So when is Tyler coming in? The dinner is in two days sweetheart." Your heart kinda sunk at the mention of his name. "Oh uhm-" You didn't know how to tell her. "We broke up." You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and stared awkwardly at the floor. "Oh honey are you okay?" She asked, going in for a hug once again, you declined. "Yeah mom I'm alright." She smiled at you, sad for you. "What are you going to do about the dinner?" She asked. "I'm actually not sure, I'll figure it out." She nodded her head. "I'm gonna shower, it's getting late." She agreed, and you continued to the bathroom.

Latching the door behind you, you turned the dial on the shower and let the water heat up. Steam covered the mirror and dripped down in condensation. Shedding the clothes off from the drive, you stepped under the water and sighed at the feeling of warmth embracing you.

45 minutes later, you stepped out of the shower. Skin radiating steam from the heat of the water. You grabbed a white fluffy towel and wrapped it around your body. Drying off and getting dressed, you walked down the hallway and to your room. Moving the suitcase off the bed, and untucking the comforter from the sheets. Sliding your body between the mattress and comforter you plugged in your phone and went to sleep.

—

You woke up around 8am, to the all too familiar smell of breakfast. Yawning, you grabbed your phone, slipping it into the front pocket of your hoodie. Slowly making your way down the stairs, you lock eyes with-

No.

Oh my god no.

Joel.

Joel Miller.

In your kitchen.

All the while you looked like you just rolled out of bed.

Well in your defense-

Your internal voice was cut off by his gruff one.

"Morning' kiddo." He said nonchalantly, taking a bite of bacon. "Morning?" You said confused, looking between your parents as you sat down at the table. "Honey, I was just telling your father about Tyler.." Your mom started and you groaned, "Oh no mom, I don't want to talk about this right now." You muttered embarrassed, hiding behind your hoodie sleeve. She shushed you, filling up your glass with orange juice from the pitcher. "No, now just listen." She tried again, your father and Joel sitting in silence. You dropped your hands from your face and leaned forward, taking a sip from your glass, you listened. "Joel doesn't have a date either.. he so kindly offered to take you!" She said smiling, taking a scoop of eggs from the pan before handing the plate to you and sitting down. You almost choked. "I'm sorry what?" you felt like you could die from embarrassment, this can't be happening. "As a friend of course." Joel chimed in, your dad nodded. "He's just helpin' out your old man." Your dad smiled towards you. "Right." You forced a bite of eggs down. Joel silently ate his breakfast as your mom began to speak once more, "Now I know you probably don't have a dress yet, so we are going to head into town after breakfast to find you something nice." You nodded, taking another sip of orange juice.

God, I wish this was a mimosa.

—

You opted for a simple outfit to shop. needing something easy to change in and out of, all the while beating the Texas heat. Deciding on a worn out Texas Longhorns tanktop, and denim shorts. Brushing your hair and putting a pair of sunglasses on your head. Light makeup, fearing anything more would melt right off. Slipping on your Birkenstocks, you walked down the stairs and to your mother who was ready at the door.

—

You went to every boutique your mother could drag you into. Dressing you up like a Barbie doll. After what felt like 50 dresses you tried on, you pulled back the curtain to show your mother. "Oh my. This is the one, you look gorgeous sweetheart." You smiled at your mother, and turned to the mirror to admire the dress. It was black, about ankle length that hugged your body perfectly. The top dipped down enough to show a little cleavage, but still classy. You nodded towards your mother and went to get changed.

You bought a pair of black heels to compliment. opting to match, in fear of drawing away from the dress.

Your mother offered to buy lunch, which you accepted kindly. Stopping in at your favorite local spot and ordering a turkey sandwich.

The car pulled into the driveway around 2:30. Opening the door to get out. Then pulling the dress out, that was wrapped in a white dress bag.

"Did you find one honey?" Your father asked as you set down the keys on the table. "She did but you have to wait until tomorrow night to see it." She smiled at your father and you walked upstairs to hang the dress up.

—

Once the dress was safely tucked away in your closet, you laid on your bed quickly typing out a message.

"you really don't have to do this mr. miller." As much as you wanted this, you didn't want him to see you like a chore.

"Joel." He corrected. "And I offered, didn't I?" He replied.

"yeah you did. joel." You smiled and typed back.

Your heart pounded as you saw the three dots on the screen, waiting for his reply.

"I'll see you at 7 tomorrow night sweetheart."

You hearted his message.

God I hope that wasn't too forward.

Unhearting his message, you went downstairs to help prep for dinner.

—

Snoozing the first few alarms, you finally got up around 1pm. "Shit." You muttered out, not meaning to sleep in so late.

Opting for a quick breakfast, lunch. You ate a greek yogurt cup topped with granola and a few strawberries.

You got in the shower around two. You decided to take an everything shower, I mean anything could happen... right?

Getting out around 3pm, you blow dried your hair. Sitting down at your vanity, you curl and roll your hair, wanting a classy blowout look.

That took about 30 minutes. You didn't want to go too simple with your makeup, but still enough to not take away from your dress. You went for a black and dark brown smokey eye look, with thin eyeliner and big lashes.

You got done with your makeup at 5:30. You have an hour and a half before Joel arrives.

Walking down the hallway, hair still in rollers, in a full face of makeup, tank top and added sweatpants from earlier. "You look so pretty sugar." Your mother compliments. She was dressed in a navy blue dress, a little looser than yours but overall gorgeous. "Thank you momma.." You smiled back at the woman, "So do you." She smiled and your father came out with a tie in hand, he never could tie one by himself. "Still can't tie it?" You teased the man as he handed the silk to your mother who quickly helped him. "What would I do without you honey?" He questioned your mother, kissing her lips. "You'd be lost." She teased back, "Damn right." He looked at her with so much love as he combed his hair. "We are leaving soon." Your dad said, turning his attention from your mother’s small vanity mirror, and to you. "I thought it started at 7?" You questioned. He nodded, "Yes sweetheart but I have to be there early. I have to make a good impression." He replied. "Joel will be here around 6:30.. You should put your dress on." Your mother muttered. "Yeah that's what I was gonna ask, I need you to zip me up." the older woman nodded.

You walked down the hallway and into your room. Leaning into your closet, you retrieved the dress bag you tucked away earlier. Unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. You slid the dress pooling at your feet, up your body and tucking your arms into the straps. You waddled from your room to your mothers to get her help zipping you up. You thanked her and hurried back to your room to undo the rollers that have been sitting in your hair. "Perfect." You smiled, satisfied with how they turned out. Taking your shoes from the box, you slid them on. Taking a once over of yourself in the mirror. Grabbing your clutch and phone, spritzing yourself with perfume before walking down the stairs. As soon as you reached the bottom of the staircase, the doorbell rang.

Perfect timing.

Your manicured hand wrapped around the silver door knob and twisted, the door opening to reveal a handsome older man. "Joel." you muttered.

He was dressed in a tux, you've never seen him so put together. His beautiful eyes went wide, looking you up and down. Clearing his throat, "You look beautiful." You smiled at the man, "Thank you Joel." You muttered out, “You look handsome.” His face flushed at your words. “Shall we?” He asked, clearing his throat. You nodded, shutting and locking the door behind you.

He opened the passenger door to his truck. God did he have to be a gentleman too?

Tucking your legs in, he shut the door behind you, rounding the hood of the car and joining you in the bench seat.

The car ride was silent. Stolen glances every once in a while. Pulling up to the venue, you sighed to yourself. Feeling some relief of the tension in the truck.

He opened your door and helped you out, placing his hand modestly on the small of your back.

You wished he let his hand roam a little lower, even if it was just for a moment.

With your arms linked, you entered the ballroom. Beautifully decorated for the occasion. Your mother was the first to come up to you. "Oh my sweet girl you look beautiful." Your mother kissed your cheek and turned to Joel. "You don't clean up too bad Miller." She teased the man. "Thank ya ma'am." He muttered as he complimented her back.

God that southern drawl..

The dinner lasted about 2 hours, your feet killing you. Damn those heels.

Your mother and father held back a bit, soaking up the congratulations from his new role in the company.

"Are you ready to head home sweetheart? Gettin' late." Joel asked, you nodded standing up from the table.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as the two of you walked back to his truck. Sliding off those cursed heels as soon as the door closed, you relaxed against the seat, taking a deep breath.

Joel buckled in and looked over to you, his restraint was tested more and more with each rise and fall of your chest, "Got a starin' problem Miller." His heart dropped as you muttered out, raising your head to look over at the man starting his truck. "Don't know what you're talkin' about kid." He said under his breath, knuckles white gripping on the wheel.

As he pulled out of the parking lot you had decided to test him, "Oh but I think I do...Mr. Miller" You teased. You wanted a reaction, something, anything. "That's enough." He muttered, eyes locked onto the road. You pulled your hair to one side of your neck, leaving your collarbone and dainty necklace on display. The necklace curving right at the dip of your cleavage.

You wanted him to break. Lose control. You wanted him. "See, I just don't think it's enough Miller." You pressed the matter further, voice softening with his name on your tongue, "I think there's a reason you offered to take me Joel.." You turned towards him in the bench seat.

"Just helpin' a friend sweetheart.." He almost whispered out, trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you. The bench seat gave you more room to.. explore.

Sliding your foot over to his lap, tracing up and down his thigh. You could have sworn you saw the start of an outline in his pants. "Knock it off.." He tried, not really though. He didn't want you to stop.

You continued tracing his thigh, heel of your foot dipping down to the zipper of his dress pants. His restraint snapped like a cheap rubber band. His thick fingers wrapped around your ankle, "You tryna' get us killed girl?" He questioned, his face illuminated with the red from the stoplight. Looking down at his hold on your ankle, and the bulge underneath it.

Your breath got heavy, as he looked at you with those dark brown eyes, "Joel." You squealed out, like a mouse caught by a cat. Your body tensed under his touch. "Not so bold now sweetheart.. What happened?" He questioned, toying with you.

His fingers traced your ankle, and up your calf. Stopping at the bed of your knee. "Please.." You whispered out. "Please what darlin'?" He asked. He knew what you wanted, but Joel was the kinda man who needed to hear you say it. You shyed a bit, face flushing red. "Don't make me say it Joel." You begged. He just laughed.

The fucker laughed at you.

Pulling over on the side of a back road, he turned to you. "Can't give ya what y'want if you don't tell me sweetheart." He traced up your leg, higher this time. Feeling your thigh under your dress. "Y–You Joel." Your voice failed you, stuttering from nervousness. "Me? Well y'got me darlin'. What d'ya want me for?" He asked, teasing you again. He wasn't gonna let you off that easily.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you scooted closer to the man. Legs in his lap fully now. Hardness pressing against the bend of your knee. "Need you to touch me Miller.." You sighed out breathlessly. "There we go honey.. It wasn't that hard, was it now?" He smiled, satisfied with your answer. You whimpered out frustrated. You needed him to do something.. anything. "What would yer daddy think of you all whiny for me in my truck huh?" He asked, clearly getting off on how squirmy he was making you, "Those college boys not do it for ya sweetheart?" You shook your head, "Need you Joel.." He snickers, "I know yer always needin' somethin' ain't ya?" He questioned rhetorically.

He bunched up your dress, you lifted your hips so he could get it to your waist. "Soaked for me darlin'" He laughs, pressing a thick finger to the wet patch on your underwear. You whined and bucked your hips, "Joel quit teasin'.." You begged. "Ah ah who's in charge here baby?" He asked, "You Joel.." He smiled pleased at you, a wreck for him already. "Atta girl." He hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and past your ankles. He reached over you, opening his glove box, throwing the pair in and shutting it back. "Don't need those, do ya sweetheart?" He asked and you were quick to shake your head.

Dirty old man.

Yet here you are absolutely soaked for said 'dirty old man'.

His thick finger traced your slit, teasing you. Your hips bucked again searching for friction. Joel was quick to correct you, using his hand on your stomach to hold you down. "Now you take what I give ya or yer gettin' nothin' t'all" He muttered out with dark eyes. You nodded.

His finger dipped past your folds and into you. "Oh god Joel." You whined out, still under his hold. "Barely touched ya and yer goin' crazy.." He trailed off, "What 'm I gonna do with ya huh?" He questioned, but before you could answer he added another finger. Stretching you out deliciously. "C'mon sweetheart if you can't take this you sure as hell ain't gonna be able to take me.." He said cockily, replying to your moans.

His fingers pumped in and out, curling in, like he knew your body better than you did.

Sure as hell felt like it.

"Close Joel.." Was all you could manage to get out. That band in your belly wound tighter and tighter with each thrust of his hand. "C'mon baby girl let go f'me." He said, leaning over you to kiss down your neck.

That was all it took.

Those words.

His mouth.

Your back arched off the worn-out red leather of the old pickup truck he's always driving. Chest heaving as you came down from one hell of a high.

A thin layer of sweat covered your body as you leaned your head up to look at the man between your legs. Smug as ever he locked gaze with your eyes, taking his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. His eyes rolled back as the sweet tang filled his mouth. "Taste like heaven sweetheart.." He wiped the saliva off his fingers and onto his dress pants.

You smiled up at the man, still drunk on the high you just came down from. "You think y'ready for me honey?" He asked as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it down to the floorboard. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to feel him. For real this time.

"Words baby.." He teased, "Yes! please God." you whined out, "M'name ain't God.." He joked.

Smug son of a bitch.

He pushed down his black slacks, his boxers following suit. His cock sprung out, and your eyes went wide. "You flatter me sweetheart." He chuckles, undoing his tie and discarding it to the floorboard.

"Shit." His face dropped when he realized, "I don't have a condom." He looked down at you, still catching your breath. "Don't care.. m'clean.." He shook his head, "Y'sure bout' this?" He questioned. "Can't come back from this sugar.." He tried again but you didn't care.

You wanted this. Wanted him.

"Fuck me already Miller." You managed to get out, and he just laughed. "Ain't nothin' but trouble.." He sighed out, pushing the head of his cock between your folds. You gasped out as he began to slide into you.

"F-Fuck Joel.." You cried out, slumping against the door of his truck, "You can take it baby I'm right here.. trust me." You swallowed hard at his words, burying himself into you, fully to the hilt. He gave you a minute to adjust. "You can move.." You whimpered and he took the green light to slowly pull out almost all the way, before plunging right back in.

"S'dirty for wantin' this trouble.." He used that nickname again. Your back arched with every thrust. "Wantin' yer old man's best friend like this.." He rubbed it in more, like salt in a wound.

You did feel guilty..

But more so, of the effect his words were having on you.

His dirty words went straight to your core, winding that band tighter and tighter..

"Joel.." You whined, all this becoming too much.. you couldn't last much longer. "I know baby I know.." He mocked sincerity. picking up the pace a bit. Your eyes started to roll back in your head, and you were clenching harder and harder. He leaned down, taking your neck in his hold and pulling you to him. Pressing his lips to yours.

He grunted through the kiss, your moans mixing in. pulling back from the kiss he picked up the pace once more, "C'mon give me one more trouble." He commanded, and you obeyed. Almost as quickly as he asked, you delivered. Back arching off the worn-out red leather again. White heat over taking your body. Thighs shaking as you came down. and Joel? He was fucking you through it. His body shuttered and you knew he couldn't last much longer.

"M'on the pill.." You muttered out, and that was all Joel needed to hear. With a few more thrusts he buried into one last time, releasing inside. Filling you up.

Sweat covered the both of you as he pulled out. The mixture of both his and your release pooling between your thighs. He reached in his floor, trying to find something to clean you up with.

Settling on his tie, he bunched the fabric and cleaned you up, throwing the soiled tie in the back seat. You tried to catch your breath, pulling your dress back down to your ankles and buckling up like nothing happened. Joel got situated and buckled, turning over the truck as you slipped your black heels back on.

You did not miss those. You thought as you picked up your phone from the floor. Heart dropping when you look at the time. 11:57pm "Shit." You muttered, dozens of missed calls from your parents you were too.. busy to hear. "Joel, I need to get home..now." You showed him your phone and he pulled out of the back road and onto the main one.

You finally got home at 12:20am..

Saying your goodbyes to Joel with a promise of this happening again. Smelling like sex, with your hair and dress a mess, you fished out your key from the small clutch you brought with you. You locked the door behind you, slipping off your shoes and taking them in one hand. Thinking you're out of the woods, you start to tiptoe up the stairs. When you are halfway to your room, the hallway light flickers on and you hear your mother, and her voice calling your name.

Fuck.

#x reader #fanfic #tumblr fyp #dbf #dbf x reader #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #betteronthebigscreen '25 #older men are better #joel tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #Pedro pascal

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souredoughbread · 2 days ago

Text

we got home late tonight, we were out all day but never ended up eating because we couldnt find anything we liked.

as soon as we step through the door, you calmly wait to hear the click of the door closing. as soon as it does you turn around with the biggest smile on your face, but i havent noticed yet because im already taking off my shoes.

im bent over a little bit so as i go to lift my head, i feel your hand on the top of my back keeping me from lifting myself. some slight pressure and youre pushing me down to my knees.

as i kneel i lift my head to you, finally seeing the devilish smirk cross your face. "strip". one simple command, but my brain hasnt made the connection yet. i try to speak but before i can make a sound you slap me across the face. "i didnt tell you to speak, i told you to strip. or do i need to do it for you".

i slowly start removing my shirt. as i do i can feel your gaze crossing my body at the rope marks that are still across my skin from the night before. it excites you

i remove my pants, and before i can start to take my boxers off, you notice the bulge in my pants growing. "oh whats this? already getting horny just because i hit you?" as i continue to try and remove my boxers, you push your heels into my crotch, holding my boxers in place. "i asked you a question didnt i? i expect a response". "yes ma'am", i whimper out. "good. finish stripping and meet me in the kitchen".

as i arrive into the kitchen, you walk up to me and tie an apron around my neck and waist. "cant have my pretty boy getting messy while he cooks".

as i get started on dinner, i pour you a glass of wine. you sit at the island, watching me dance to the music i put on, almost acting like im not only wearing a apron.

you take this opportunity to slip upstairs, the thought of me acting carefree while being so exposed for you drove you crazy, and now you have to put me in my place.

you come up behind me, wrap your arms around my chest, kiss my neck, and lean into my back. thats when i feel it. "uhhh what is that pushing against my butt?" "shhhh sweetheart, im so hungry just keep cooking for me."

you back up a little bit, just enough to fit your arm between you and me, wrap your hand around my bottom and slip 2 fingers inside me. i let out a gasp but you take your other hand to cover my mouth, whispering in my ear, "i said keep cooking."

a couple minutes of fingering me later. "feels like your loosened up now, i think your ready." as fast as your fingers slip out of me, your strap replaces , this time your hands removed to hear the noises i make.

"ahhahahh i- i ca- nt focusssss." but you dont listen, fucking my harder and harder, shaking my arms and splashing sauce over my over apron. you grab the bottle of wine that i opened for you and hold it to my lips, sliding deep in me to pause for a second, grab me by the chin and tilt my head back.

as i gulp wine, and gasp at the alcohol sliding down my throat. before i can even catch me breath youve spun me around and bent me over the counter, placing the wine bottle down and go back to fucking me.

once im fucked out enough to your liking, cum dripping down my legs and soaking my apron, you spin me around and give me a big kiss. "you did so well for me baby, good job love." cupping my face as you shower me in praise

suddenly, a burning smell. you walk over, turn the stove off and look at the burnt dinner sizzling at the bottom of the pan. "oh honey, you had one job and you couldnt do it." "but i-" you slap my face again.

"i dont care what you were going to say, im gonna clean up your apron and your gonna figure out dinner, okay?" "yes ma'am, im sorry." as you walk away i pick up the phone, dial your favorite pizza place and place a delivery order but its going to take 20 minutes, maybe longer.

you come back and ask if i figured it out, i tell you what i did, and your face lights up for a second before going back to stern. "you still burnt dinner and wasted food, so you should punished, yes?" "yes ma'am-" i pout knowing that im not getting out of this.

you sit me down in a chair, still naked, and tie my ankles to the legs and my wrists behind me to the chair. you start slowly undressing yourself. "dont look away or your punishment is only going to be worse darling." forcing me to watch as you slowly remove your top, then you heels, followed by the already tiny skirt you wore while we were out to drive me insane. you sit on the counter, and take your bra over, draping it over my head. my eyes glue to your tits. you slide your panties to the side and start playing with yourself in front of me.

"i- please. please let me go, im sorry i ruined dinner. please let me help you feel good. let me be a good boy for you." after a few more minutes of my pleas falling on deaf ears, you remove your panties, lean over, grab my chin and force my mouth open. you stuff your panties in my mouth. "your begging is cute darling, but this is a punishment, so shut up and watch if you really want to be good for me."

as i sit there, unable to do anything but let out muffled moans, you take your toys and continue to play with yourself. staring me in the eyes as your moans and cries bring heaven to life in my ears. i can hear you getting closer and closer and right as it sounds like the bells should ring, it does, the doorbell, the pizza.

you stop get off the counter and smirk at me. you walk to the door grab my shirt that was still laying there from when i stripped earlier. its just big enough to cover what it needs to but short enough to know im going to be jealous of you answering the door like that.

you open the door, grab the pizza, pay and tip the driver. im almost certain that he saw me tied to the chair over your shoulder, but you insist he didnt see anything as you trot back to the kitchen.

"since dinner is here i guess your punishment is over. but i didnt cum so youre going to make sure i do later." as you remove the bindings from my wrist and ankles. as i take your panties out of my mouth and bra off my head, you tell me to get cleaned up for dinner, but i shouldnt dare put clothes back on. were getting right back to it after dinner.

#breadwrites #he gets pegged #bd/sm brat #sub boys #pretty boy #subby boys #bd/sm community #subby puppy #subby men #degredation kink #edging kink #overstim kink #praise k!nk #bd/sm puppy #bd/sm pet #bd/sm kink

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tittysuckersworld · 7 months ago

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just askin, hypothetically, what if i did make an alternate au + animatic of mizu 6 being angst and ena 5 not happening the same way.....

#akiyama mizuki #aka i love the song loose the princess with mizuki #the events would sorta go as follows #we see mizuki in a daze #staying at home and just. handling it. idk its a blur for her and its just. it gets to a point where even dressing in her old older sisters #frilly nightgown and talking to rui dosent help. thats when she desided to go on a 'walk'#hugging her mom and telling her smth like 'see you later' as she walks out(in the nightgown and her cardigan)#and finds a place that isnt crouded for being the middle of the day. she then enters the sekai and well #trys to hang herself. it works for a minute til len walks in(hes gonna be main vocaloid for event insted of meiko cause yeah)#in which case he panics #calling the others to try and get her down. but in mizuki realising this she ends the song and exits the sekai #her plan to dissapear quietly failed. and the news of what happened probably going to the others fast. she desided to visit #her schools rooftop one last time. (yes this is like. at least 5 refrences at ones happening and im not sorry)#as she stands up there. having climbed her way to the other side of the fence(#theres like the area yknow idk-) ena finds out when leaving her classed that someone saw mizuki in the halls #she rushes trying to find her before finding her on the roof(its mirroring so many scenes in my head)#they end up talking but its useless. ena breaks through the fence door as mizuki takes a step back. falling from the roof #and the last thing showed in that story is mizuki falling down as flowers bloom behind her #then theres a inpact sound. sirens and screams #now heres where im not fully sure what wanna have happen next but have ideas #ena could mabey jump down with mizuki. with her not wanting to leave her behind #or she could not. and watch as mizuki falls. i can also have it be an actual death/deaths but......#rui was working late at the gardening committee. about to head off with robo nene to work on more projects as he notices a pink figure very #close to falling. then the figure steps off. in which then he panics a little and rushes with robo nene to deploy the saftey pad he built in #her(aka he so would and plot convince. more convenient stuff has happened in pjsk let me have this)#ena 5 can then start right after with her waking up to then be berated by her father and akito for jummping off the school roof #but yeah!!!! ehe this is my silly au thats still pretty much in my head #as you can see i suck at writing and really just wanna put mizuki in a pretty frilly dress

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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for.

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more.

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching.

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact.

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for.

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon.

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him.

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble.

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind.

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him.

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair.

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long.

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind.

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly.

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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oceantornadoo · 8 months ago

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when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tries to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nods stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slide into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod 141 #simon riley x you #tornadothoughts #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #simon riley imagine #ghost headcanons #ghost fanfiction #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n

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jungkooklover777 · 4 days ago

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𝑀𝑦 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑜 ; clark kent / superman

summary: an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

pairing: fem!reader x corenswet!clark kent + journalist!reader x journalist!clark kent.

trope: office romance + coworkers to friends to lovers.

genre: fluff + some angst + slow burn romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + minor alcohol consumption + near-death experience + misogynistic remarks towards reader (from a jealous coworker who’s also a man r we surprised) + idk shit abt journalism.

word count: 11,031.

random disclaimerrr: heyy haha… heyy… how y’all doin… ik ik it took me for-fucking-ever bc in all honesty, i forgot about dat doe. & i lowk had writer's block but ITS OUT NOW SO YAYYY!! edit: here’s part 2!! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

A knock sounds at your already open door, causing you to pause your typing and look up.

“My office in five.” Your boss and an editor-in-chief— Perry White— commands.

You send him a nod and he’s on his way back.

It was a chill day until the cloud of quiet chatter evaporated and was replaced by a thick blanket of excitement.

“What is going on out there.” You curiously mutter.

You think about entering the crowd but you decide against it as you remember your initial task.

Perry may be a fair boss but his agitation takes on several forms, you do not wanna be caught on the receiving end of it.

You knock on his door and open it.

“Alright, Kent— oh. Here she is.”

You can’t see how this ‘Kent’ guy looks but he’s definitely a little over 6 feet. His gray coat outlines the broadness and muscly look of his back.

Damn, he’s kinda big.

He turns around and the only thing you can think of is Squidward whining in frustration, Oh no, he’s hot!

His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue, a lovely bunch of black curls sit atop his head, and his skin reminds you of the nice sand accompanied by the local beach.

Kent’s sporting a pair of black framed glasses and he’s the handsomest “nerd” you’ve ever seen.

You hope your ogling isn’t obvious.

“L/n, meet Clark Kent. Kent, this is Y/n L/n.”

This Greek god of a man shakes your hand and it’s warm. So. Warm.

He smiles and goddamn it is beautiful. It’s so perfect with all his perfectly straight, perfect shade of white teeth.

AND HE HAS DIMPLES?! HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!

“It’s nice to meet you.”

And of course, an attractive voice that matches his equally attractive face. It’s deep and confident and you’re crushing so hard on him right now.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You calmly say.

“Get acquainted well because you’ll be showing our new guy here the ropes. Starting now.”

Your heart drops down to your ass and you retract your hand.

Of course this had to happen to you.

“Oh, okay.”

It was in fact not okay but it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter.

You exit first and are met with so many faces outside the office. Comically, they all look away and pretend to do something important.

Now you realize why there was a crowd earlier, because of the handsome new guy.

You ask him to wait for you while you go grab some things from your desk.

“Okay, Clark—”

You’re gone for literally 1 minute and the poor guy’s already being swamped.

There’s a blonde girl, bit of a ditz. Twirling a strand of hair while giggling over something seriously unfunny.

She’s accompanied by a guy who’s much shorter in comparison to Clark.

He’s yammering away about how he’s always wondered what it’s like to be on a farm…

“I mean, I was at one for the DP but they didn’t have much internet so we couldn’t cover much. And the smell?” He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his nose in disdain. “I can’t imagine how it was for you, man.”

You watch in horror as he takes a sniff, yes; a sniff at Clark and hums, “You smell great, though! What is that, uh, aftershave. Or sum’?”.

Clark responds with a nervous laugh at his sudden proximity. “It’s Polo by Ralph Lauren. Uh, the blue one.”

“Whaaat?” The guy laughs in surprise.

Clark folds his lips inwards and raises his brows in an awkward manner.

What do you say to that? Truly.

What an idiot, you cringe internally before coming to his aid and kicking off his first day.

It’s the end of Clark Kent’s second week. He’s a great addition to the Daily Planet team and you have to say, he’s really nice.

His first few days were spent showing him around. Perry’s office, your office, the newsroom, break room, copy room, mail room, bullpen, so on and so forth.

You were sure Clark could use a better mentor but he thought otherwise. ‘You’re a good teacher, I like learning from you.’ He said.

He was very quiet at first, kept to himself and didn’t approach anyone unless he absolutely needed to.

You were the only person by his side almost every hour he worked so it made sense to just go to you.

The more you talked to him, the more he got out of his shell.

A friendly relationship blossomed and soon, he was a willing participant.

You like to drink something in the morning while you work and you didn’t realize Clark took a mental note of that.

Since your first week together, he’s brought you something everyday.

“As much as I appreciate this, you’re not the drink guy.”

You were worried he thought you’d expect him to do this all the time now but he denies the notion.

“Oh it’s no big deal, I pass by a cafe on my way here so it works out. Plus, I know the owner so I get a discount every time I go.”

You smile at that. This little tradition has become an essential part of your day, it’s how you start it. It’s also special to you because it’s just for you.

Your crush on him grows by the day but you can’t help it! It’s so hard not to like this guy.

He’s still a bit shy at times but you think that’s part of his charm, and he’s got you good. He’s just Clark, a sweet guy from a small town with big arms dreams.

“So, what are the plans for today?”

He asks this everyday in hopes of going on a side quest with just the two of you.

Alas, that doesn't happen nearly as much as he'd like but at least he still gets to see you whenever he likes.

“Today, we’re going to a meeting.” You answer as you quickly send out one last email.

You grab your purse and Clark brings his notebook to the conference room.

He pulls out a chair for you and you smile gratefully, whispering a ‘thank you’.

Perry and the other senior position holders make their way in and take their seats.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Perry announces that at the end of the meeting, there will be a spot open for another editor-in-chief.

Instantly, there’s hushed chatter of who can be nominated to fill the slot.

You’re positive you hear your name among the many different routes of conversation. You don’t notice Clark glancing at you when he hears it, too.

“L/n.”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you and want to fuse with the chair you’re sitting on.

“She’s our most talked-about reporter and has been here for almost three and a half years. How she’s doing better than most of you at this table, I have no idea. Great work, Y/n.”

You purse your lips in an awkward smile at the jab towards everyone else layered between your praises. “Thank you, sir.”

Clark allows his lips to be pulled back in a small grin, unable to hide his happiness for you.

You know some people in the room are envious of you and are incapable of witnessing your success, but you’d be damned if you let them ruin this moment for you.

The rest of the meeting goes by smoothly and it’s time for Perry to announce the new editor-in-chief.

“Of course, it came as no surprise for us to come to unanimously nominate Y/n L/n as one of our new editors-in-chief.”

You know you should be happy and a small part of you is relieved that your hard work paid off, but you’re not entirely sure.

You’ve only been here for 3 and a half years and this is a huge promotion.

Are you ready for this? How do you know you’re ready? When do you know you’re ready?

You force yourself to get out of your head and express your gratitude.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you shake their hands, accepting their approval.

You still had some time before accepting the offer but it felt like you had to take it.

The reality is: you don’t know what you want.

Most of the people leave but some stay behind.

“Congratulations, Y/n. You definitely earned it.”

Remember the envious people that were mentioned earlier? This guy— Mark Callahan— is one of them.

He sticks his hand out for you to shake but you clock his underlying tone.

“Thanks.” You smoothly move past him to the door with Clark following.

“Bitch.” He mutters to himself.

Clark stops dead in his shoes. “What did you just say?”

Mark smirks lazily and the few of his dastardly henchmen eye you with jealousy.

Your eyes are a bit wide, lips agape at his sudden change in attitude. “Clark..?”

This is Clark Kent. The shy, dorky, kind of an aloof guy with long legs, a killer smile, and a nice heart.

You never thought he could get mad. You haven’t even see him annoyed up until this very moment.

Mark takes a step towards you but Clark is quick to get in between you and him.

He pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and chuckles. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend.”

Clark steps forward, his height giving him the upper hand as Mark’s ego forces him to maintain eye contact, even if he has to tilt his chin up a bit.

“You couldn’t even try.” He softly yet subtly mocks.

Mark tightens his jaw and you can feel the tension growing.

You tentatively reach out and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “We need to go.”

He maintains eye contact with Mark for a moment longer before budging and walking out.

Clark’s jaw is set and you see the faintest twitch of the muscle, his face stern and hand sweeping his curls.

He holds the elevator for you and you gulp nervously.

“What… was that?” You dare ask.

He assures you it's nothing but you can feel the intensity of his annoyance radiating off of him. It fills the elevator when you step in.

You don't know how badly his blood boils at the thought of someone being so casually disrespectful towards you.

His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He forcefully wipes his hands on his trousers and tries to cool down.

You let that go but can’t let go of how badly he gave you the butterflies.

You couldn’t even try.

That part replays in your mind.

It was the way he said it, like he was so sure of himself.

He was obviously putting Mark in his place but for you? He did that for you?

Your lips fold inwards to conceal the squeal (read: scream) that's begging to be released.

As the elevator arrives at your floor, Clark extends his arm for you to get out first then follows you out.

Chivalry isn’t dead?!

You don’t know much longer you can contain yourself.

“Hey, Y/n?” Clark calls out.

You swiftly turn around on your heels. “Yeah?”

He stares at you for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts carefully.

He has so much he wants to say. Every time you thank him for bringing you your morning drink, he wants to say, you deserve nothing but the best. He wishes to say how beautiful you look everyday, how smart you are when you're feeling doubtful.

Instead, he holds it all in and says something a friend would say. It doesn't mean anything less to you, he knows that. So he says something so kind, it leaves you with heart eyes.

“You deserve that promotion.”

In all the time you’ve spent here, not many people have said anything like to you.

There’s the fake compliments said out of spite. You’ve already gathered a mental list of who fits that category.

Then come the words of encouragement, said by a select few genuine people. Perry and your best friend, Lois are— were the only members of this group.

Clark being an addition to this list is obvious, it was only a matter of time, but it means so much coming from him.

You blink and feel lightweight.

“Thank you.”

He gives you that award-winning smile you love seeing so much and is on his way to work.

You feel distracted as you work, cheesing like a kid every now and then when his words ring in your mind.

You deserve that promotion.

Resting your head in your palm with your elbow extended in a comfortable position, you sigh dreamily; staring blankly at your loading computer screen.

“L/n.”

You immediately straighten your back and set both hands on the keyboard, suddenly irritated with how slow the network on your computer is.

“Sir?” You acknowledge him by poking your head out from behind the screen.

“Good work on the Stenson article,” He shows the newspaper bundled in his hand. “It’s gotten Star’s attention.”

You’re impressed with yourself. “Oh.”

He angles his head down to where he can see you through the space above his glasses. “You okay?”

You nod in a way that is more convincing yourself of what you’re saying than him. “Mhm. Just, uh… surprised because they’re our rivals.”

Knowing The Daily Star has its eye on you is a bit unnerving but what kind of opps would they be if they didn’t?

He hums in thought. “Well, I thought I’d stop by and let you know.”

“Right. Thanks.”

You track his movements until you’re sure he’s gone and smack some sense into yourself.

“Focus, Y/n. Focus.”

You are invited to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. along with a few handpicked journalists.

As you await for the plane's landing, your mind wanders back to the new guy. You wish Clark could’ve came.

You just think he would’ve had so much to learn and experience, nothing else…

A rattle echoing through the jet brings you out of your thoughts.

The captain makes an announcement but you feel like something’s off.

It’s the reporter in you, a 6th sense.

Another shake and now everyone’s a bit nervous, worried looks painted across their faces and yours.

You open the flap to your window and see nothing but soot. Dark gray matter surrounds the jet and it’s so thick, you can’t see past it.

You start to smell it soon and so does everyone else.

“What’s that smell?”

“It smells like… like smoke?

“Is something burning?”

The captain makes an announcement telling everyone not to panic but of course, that ironically sets off an opposite reaction.

Oxygen masks drop down and you don’t waste any time grabbing yours, but the dread spreads all over you when you take a deep breath in.

Suddenly, the jet jolts forward and it feels like you’re diving into something. It’s going headfirst into the direction of the ground so quickly and you can’t make sense of anything.

The passengers frantically scream and descend into chaotic paranoia as they hold on to dear life.

Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out.

This is it, you think. This is how it ends for you: in a freak accident.

You close your eyes in fear and hope the impact crushes you so quickly, you don’t feel anything.

A quick and easy death is a death that is most favorable.

Suddenly, you feel the aircraft being lifted up. The speed of which is swift yet steady, unlike the previous moments when it felt like you were falling to your deaths.

You don’t dare look out your window in fear of it all being a figment of your imagination but someone else does.

“We’re… we’re saved.” Someone calmly informs.

The plane is set down on the ground and the doors open up automatically.

Your eyes widen when you see a man in a blue suit and red cape step onboard.

He’s kind-looking. The steely blue eyes somewhat familiar, maybe it’s his aura.

“It’s alright, everything’s okay.” He smiles and you’re taken aback with how eerily familiar the action is.

“Is everyone alright? Nobody hurt?”

Everyone shakes their head simultaneously as if in a trance, left and right.

He nods in consideration. “That’s good. You all can step out now, it’s safe.”

Nobody moves. No one can! They’re still trying to wrap their heads around this miracle.

There’s this man— in a cape, no less— and he’s asking if everyone’s okay from what could’ve happened.

There’s no doubt in your mind that somehow, he is singlehandedly responsible for saving you all.

Someone in front dares to speak everyone’s mind. “You saved us.” They say as they make their way to him.

The mystery man looks at the passenger with a humble look.

He puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and escorts them out, everyone else following suit.

Everyone else but you. You’re frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, mostly shock.

You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice him coming up to you, his striking blue eyes steady on your form.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

You whip your head up at him and realize you’re the only one onboard the plane.

“Umm, yeah. I-I think.” You furrow your eyebrows as you feel your foot stuck in a comatose position.

“Can you stand?” He gently asks.

You go to stand up from seat when a sharp pain shoots through your ankle.

A quick breath is drawn from your teeth and he notices immediately.

“Your ankle.”

“Yup.” You hastily grit out.

He looks at you in contemplation for a moment before doing what he has to do.

“Do you mind if I carry you out?”

You pause your unsteady breathing and look up at him through your lashes.

I didn’t hear that.

“Uhh…”

There is a right answer but you don’t know if it’s the answer.

He’s strikingly handsome, so unfairly dashing.

He’s looking at you with those kind eyes and waiting patiently for your word.

“No. No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat gingerly.

The soft curve of his lips make you feel a bit at ease for a moment.

He holds his hand out for you to take and gently pulls you into him when you do, wrapping that arm around your back. He bends down to hook his other arm under your knees and lifts you so effortlessly, you feel yourself swoon at his display of strength.

Your brain goes quiet and you can’t think about anything else but him. You’re starstruck by him.

Is this a bad time?

He looks straight ahead as he walks towards the open doors but the slight curve of his lips gives the impression of a soft smile.

Soft gasps and wide eyes paint the picture of surprise and you’re immediately flushed so deeply into embarrassment.

The man holding you doesn’t say anything but he silently shares your opinion.

As he walks down the ramp, you look anywhere but at him and the very obvious audience in front.

The symbol on his chest catches your eye and you’re analyzing it. It appears to be a red diamond encasing a capital letter of the same color, an ‘S’.

You wonder what it stands for, what it means to him.

People make room for him as he walks to a spot where you can comfortably rest.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and it bothers the hell out of you, but you bear with it for the moment.

He finds a bench within the stagnant ocean of people and sets you down on it, an apologetic expression framing his face.

“I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him in surprise. “For what?”

He sets his hands on his hips, subtly tilting his head to the left and you see behind him the wandering eyes and gossipy mouths.

You snort softly, shaking your head lightly at their antics. “It’s not your fault. They’re just… trying to figure out what just happened.”

He nods, turning back to the plane with a determined look.

“The ambulance is on its way.” He says as he turns back to you.

You nod, not wanting to look away from his eyes.

The air is thick with so many unanswered questions left unasked, but your throbbing ankle takes a frontseat to it all.

This man is a miracle in the flesh and he’s filled your mind with so much curiosity, you don’t know what to do with it.

“You’re gonna be alright.” He says it with such confidence that you believe him.

And he’s gone, flying upwards into the air and in a direction one can only point to.

People crowd the spot he just stood in and stare up in awe at the phenomenon: a man just flew right to the sky!

What a headache and headline this is going to be.

Your ankle was as swollen as an orange, thankfully like the ones that are really small and are known as ‘Cuties’ or whatever the hell.

There's a brace on it to keep from hurting as much but the swelling's still got a long way to go.

You're currently icing it as much as you can before it falls off when you hear a knock on your window.

You hold your breath and lean out a little, trying to hone in on the knock.

Was it real or a part of your imagination?

It's when you hear it again that you decide, nope, totally real.

You move slowly, setting the ice pack on your dresser before carefully moving your leg and setting your foot down on the floor.

Eventually, you make it to your window and look through the blinds to see what could be causing that noise.

You softly gasp. “Holy shit.”

It's the guy from earlier, the same man who (may or may not have) saved your life. And he's floating, literally standing on air.

You pull your blinds all the way up and open your window, not hiding the shock on your face as you stare at him dumbfounded.

He titters softly, finding your reaction amusing. “Can I come in?”

You wordlessly step aside with your mouth slightly agape, not really grasping the gravity of the situation.

He flies right into your bedroom while you budge the window back down and close the blinds.

With his back turned against you, you take this chance to make yourself look more put together. Your hands find their way into your hair and subconsciously pat down your body to press the fabric of your clothes as flatly as possible.

He’s studying your room and now you’re even more self-conscious even though it’s relatively tidy.

“I’m sorry for showing up here unannounced.” He says as he turns around to face you. “I hope I don't come off as a stalker.” He snorts softly.

You laugh along, nervous. “I was just icing it before...” You trail off, making a gesture towards the window.

He nods, clicking his teeth. “Ah, right. Sorry, once again.”

You shake your head. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

You move to sit back down on your bed and continue icing your ankle.

“You left your purse.”

He reveals the black purse to you and you gasp at the revelation, so relieved as you thought you were going crazy looking for it.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” You say as he chuckles softly and hands you your purse.

“No, don’t thank me. Just doing what’s right.”

Something about his words makes you pause. The familiar syntax reminds you of someone who’d do what he just did.

You don’t even look inside to see everything in order because oddly enough, you trust it is.

Your grin makes the man in front of you feel strangely victorious.

“Not many would do what’s right.”

He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to disagree. “I think we all deserve a little grace every now and then.”

“You have faith in humanity?”

You don’t mean to start a conversation about the moral dilemma of being human but his response intrigues you.

“I do.” He answers with such confidence that you believe him.

“At least that makes one of us.” You look back down at your hands applying pressure to the pain.

“Why don’t you?” He asks with genuine wonder.

You tilt your head at him, intrigued. “Are you really asking me that?” You squint your eyes playfully. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve seen and heard things that have made me come close to quitting.”

“Why haven’t you then?” He cheekily asks with a smirk of his own.

You're taken aback with his playful wit exuding a flirty vibe.

You'll bite.

“Because even though my job can be draining, I still love what I accomplish.”

He's delighted with your reasoning, appreciating your love for the game.

“Well said.” He nods.

You tilt your head up, the reporter in you wanting to talk to him more.

“Your turn.”

He raises an eyebrow at your proposed question.

“What do you do?” You ask.

He clicks his teeth lightly. “Well, you’ve seen me fly. I can hear well over the distance and lift very heavy things, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He knows that’s not what you’re asking, you know he knows that.

You smile, shaking your head at his quips. “As in your occupation, Mr..?”

He stands with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell you next time.”

You blink, startled by his suggestion. “Next time?”

He walks towards your window and you follow, opening it for him.

“Until next time, miss L/n.” He says with a wink,

And he's gone.

You're left staring at his fantastic display of power, soaring into the night sky before he disappears into the clouds.

You've never been this fascinated with anything before, but he isn't “anything” or “anyone”. He's a phenomenon, man with great power.

You don't see that often.

You wonder who he really is, where has he been all this time? What's his story?

So many questions, so little time but you'll hold him to that promise of a next time.

“Next time.” You murmur in confidence that he'll find you again.

Lois enters your office with a particular pep in her step, a knowing smile on her lips as she sees you.

You don’t look up from your work as you know there’s nobody else that can enter your office that way. (even perry knocks, lois)

“Sooo?” She asks, strangely enthusiastic.

“So.” You reply uninterested, flipping through pages.

She stares at you like you know what she’s talking about before bombarding you with questions.

“Who is he? What’s he like? Where's he from—? Wait, he’s human, right?”

Your eyes widen just a fraction before you dial it down.

You can't tell anybody about your encounter with him. At least not until you've had some questions answered.

A hurried breath is pushed past your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your friend’s prying form.

“No comment.” You say plainly, not indulging her.

Clark walks by with a new drink of the day and sets it down on your desk, a sweet smile on his face.

“For you.”

You know those certain people who just have you on automatic smile as soon as you see them? He's quickly becoming that person for you.

“You are such a nice guy, Clark.” Lois shakes her head in amazement.

She can't believe men like him do, in fact, exist.

That causes a noticeable blush to coat the tips of his ears and spread thinly across his cheeks.

He's humble. “I appreciate that Lois.”

This tradition is a declaration of friendship, a bond he claims to regard just as much as you do.

A sip of it simultaneously warms your heart and reawakens the butterflies lying dormant in your stomach.

“I agree.” You softly smile. “You’re committed to keeping up with this.”

He looks down and pushes his glasses up with an index finger, clicking his teeth together shyly. “Well, I’m no guy in a cape.”

There he goes downplaying his efforts and staying humble, as usual.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks as he eyes it.

You look down like you just remembered. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. The swelling’s gone down a lot so I’m good to come back.”

Lois watches the news on one of the tv’s in the room play a clip someone managed to record of said guy fly up into the air, departing with a sonic boom.

She leans into Clark a bit, looking straight at the tv with that same damned topic on her mind. “Clark, do you think he’s handsome?”

He clears his throat lightly, sniffing as he tries to figure out how to answer that wild question. “Well, I— uhh… um— he’s, he’s… conventionally attractive.” His tone gets pitchy at the end, like he's asking, not telling.

“Lois.” You sigh.

“What? He’s so cute guys, I don’t know why no one else is talking about it.”

You take a peek at Clark and find quite a bit of blood rushing to his face.

“Clark, are you alright?”

“Huh— yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m good! I’m fine, it’s just uhh… hot.” He nods, trying to look convincing.

Lois doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s hot.”

“Oh my god.” You groan.

“No, like, seriously.”

And it’s your fault for knowing how serious she is.

“Do you guys think he’d go for me?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” You nod with a fake smile. “He’d be all over you.”

She bursts out laughing, her focus on the poor guy in your midst. “He’s as red as his cape.”

You turn your head to see and it’s true, he’s super red in the face and just refuses to make eye contact.

“I’m just gonna go… do that thing Perry wanted.” He sends you girls a quick nod and smile before basically running out of y’all’s presence.

You watch him go and find his vulnerability endearing. He’s not afraid to show his feelings but like in typical Clark fashion, gets a little embarrassed when he does.

She purses her lips apologetically.

You shake your head at her. “Lois, if you were a man...” You raise your eyebrows and push air out in yet another sigh.

She takes your lack of words as a sign to contemplate the idea, then says, “You’d be my first target.” with a nod and serious look.

“Get out.”

You hadn’t anticipated your savior to be the subject of fascination so soon. Later on in the afternoon, in fact.

“L/n, you’re a firsthand witness. What do you think?”

Everyone’s eyes are on you as they wait for you to tell your story. You haven’t felt this nervous since your interview with this place.

You clear your throat a bit, feeling your nerves on fire.

“I believe he stopped the plane from crashing.”

You don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re all thinking: you’re fucking crazy.

Of course, that’s an impossible thing to do but not everyone in this room was there.

“You think… he was responsible for saving everyone that day?” Perry asks, intrigued by your line of reasoning.

“Yes. He came onto the jet and immediately asked if everyone was alright, if anyone was injured.”

A few people murmur in doubt but you continue.

“I sprained my ankle somehow and he offered to help me off and took me to an area where I could wait for an ambulance.”

They eye your gloved ankle, unimpressed. (it’s not like you’re here to knock their socks off anyway)

“He helped you off the jet? How?” Someone asks.

“He, um… carried me out.” You quietly say.

The atmosphere shifts and you can really feel and see just how shell-shocked everyone is.

“He carried you out?!”

“As in, in his arms? You were carried out in his arms..?”

You immediately jump to your defense. “I’m not sure why and, or how that matters.”

They’re incredulously adamant about it. “How come? You’ve not only had a conversation, but also came into close contact with him—”

“And that’s where your focus lies?” Perry cuts in.

You look at him in thanks and he nods in acknowledgment.

“I dunno.” A board member sighs. “Some mysterious, muscular man coming to save the helpless woman story won’t run headlines.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Perry feels a headache coming on.

“You asked about my encounter and I told you. I’m not here to be a headline.”

The man who thought of that “brilliant” idea is coated in embarrassment, feeling annoyed at receiving the heat.

“Anyone have any useful ideas?” Your boss asks with his thumbs pressing down on his temple.

There’s some chatter about this man and how he managed to save the plane, if he did. Some even discuss if he’s capable of being a potential threat to the country.

“You’re dismissed.” Perry says with a pointed look.

You leave with your head down and jaw tight, coming to sight with Mark.

“Excuse me.” You drop the hint of ignoring him but he doesn’t care.

“Going somewhere?” He asks with a smug expression.

You still push past him, only for him to turn around and tail you.

“Yeah. Some of us have jobs to do.”

You don’t care how you look and/or sound.

You just got reduced a damsel-in-distress by a board member while your boss ignored him. Granted, he stuck up for you when it came time but he also dismissed you like you weren’t needed anymore.

Mark pokes a tongue into his cheek, his frustration with you at its boiling point. “And what’s yours? Playing hooky with Superman?”

You don’t know whether to be offended or question the ridiculous choice of name for the man, first.

You choose the first option as it’s the most relevant.

“What did you just say to me?”

He smirks like he just found a pressure point on you. He takes a step closer. “You heard me.”

He actually thinks he's got you this time.

“What, got nothin' to say now that Kent isn't here to save you?”

All that annoyance you were feeling just know? Yeah, that's amplified by a thousand now that he brought that up.

“I can stick up for myself, and I definitely won’t take any shit from you.” You spite. “If I took that promotion back then, you would’ve been fired and on your ass in less than a minute.”

You're pulling rank but it isn't rage-bait if it's true.

He's seething now. A vein protrudes from his forehead and he inhales deeply to try to keep himself together as much as possible.

“Oh, I know how you got that promotion.” He spits that venom so carelessly with the most malicious intent.

You squint your eyes in suspected belief.

Mark continues his verbal assault.

“Yeah,” He nods. “It wasn't that hard to figure out why the old man favors you so much.”

You were right, it had been what you were thinking.

The envy in him has always given off a strong stench, he literally gives the evil eye to those better than him in every way possible.

At your loss of words and hurt expression, he smirks before delivering what he thinks is the final blow. “I’m willing to bet you slept your way to the top.”

In this very moment, you realize you don’t have to listen to his shit any longer.

Your strike his face, open-handed; hard. A powerful smack resulting in a red handprint on his blanched face.

The ear on that side of his face rings piercingly loud and in his disoriented state, nearly collapses onto the floor.

A chorus of sharp gasps and sound grimaces snap you out of the adrenaline-fueled rage consuming you.

It seems that you’ve gathered quite a crowd of spectators. The horrified look on your face isn't nearly enough to convince your innocence to anyone just joining now joining in.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Perry's voice booms.

You shakily inhale, meeting his accusing gaze and you watch as he tracks a path between you and Mark writhing on the floor.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic acting.

“Get in here. Right. Now.”

With your chin up, you walk right past the whimpering mess on the floor; your heel almost crunching his fingers if it weren't for his reaction time.

You know you shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed but there's still a part of you that does.

After all that you've put into this place, some overzealous, whiny little piece of shit wants to humiliate you by attempting to slutshame? In this day and age?

You huff in exasperation of being on your way to overstimulation by the very quick turn of events.

You're already sat when Mark comes in and Perry shuts the door, but not before yelling at everyone to get back to work.

You feel your victim to your far right, not wanting to sit down.

“Sit down, Mark.” Perry says before looking at him quizzically. “And why are your hands covering only one side of your face?”

You bite back an explanation and a smirk.

Mark doesn't say anything but instead opts to show, he drops both hands hesitantly to his sides.

Perry's reaction is nothing short of priceless. He thinks about exclaiming but when side-eyeing you and carefully assessing your careless reaction, he clocks it.

“I was counting on you being bitch-slapped one of these days but I was not expecting you to be dumb enough to try her.” He dryly chuckles in half admiration and half disappointment.

“Sir? You're actually siding with her right now?”

You close your eyes and mentally prepare to be fired.

Perry’s expression is that of a Don’t try me and Mark actually takes it seriously this time.

Wonder what’s the difference in you giving him that look and Perry…

“What happened, L/n?”

You open your eyes nervously and take a breath, preparing yourself to speak your truth.

“I slapped him… because he accused me of sleeping my way to the top for the promotion.”

There’s about a few seconds of silence before Perry speaks up.

“What.” He just says but it’s his tonal shift that makes Mark sweat.

“W-well, I just said that in the heat of the moment.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean that—”

Perry pinches the bridge of his nose to try to calm himself down. “I have no tolerance for this kind of behavior, Callahan. You know that.”

Said boy clears his throat and sniffs. “Y-yes sir, I do—”

“Then why did you do it?” Perry’s eyes bore into his with such intensity, it makes you a bit uneasy as well.

Mark opens and closes his mouth trying to come up with an answer to that obviously rhetorical question like a fish.

At his lack of words, your boss scratches his forehead. “Here’s an easier one: what did you think you were accomplishing by demeaning her character like that?”

Still no answer.

He puts a finger on Mark's chest, pressing into it as he says, “I’ll tell you. She is your superior because she, unlike you, gets it. She gets this job, what it means to be a reporter.”

His condescending tone towards the other male isn't unheard of but it sure as hell surprises you a lot.

Mark tightens his jaw and turns his head to look at you in malice. “With all due respect, sir, you should understand why I said that.”

“I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing.” His gruff voice reverberates through the walls, causing you to straighten your back.

Perry then carefully and slowly says, “Get the fuck outta here, you’re fired.”.

Mark dares to speak up even now. “But, sir—”

“Right now!” The older man barks his orders and like the sad little puppy Mark is, follows one last time.

When he leaves, Perry sighs and turns to sit down in his chair. He pours himself a drink, offering one to you.

You stare at him wearily before declining but he pours you a drink, anyway.

He silently takes a sip, prompting you to do the same and you feel the smooth, mellow taste of Brandy.

He groans, satisfied with the drink.

You set your glass down, feeling your nerves becoming slightly undone by the aftertaste.

It’s momentarily quiet, the awkward silence now comfortable.

You’re the first to break it. “Am I being fired?”

This is apparently funny to him because he laughs. Yes, he wheezes before giving in to the chest-laugh every man his age has.

You awkwardly chuckle along, not knowing if that's the right move.

He sighs in satisfaction once more.

“Y/n,” He begins warmly. “I can't fire you after that shitshow.”

Anyone else would think that statement was made in fear of being seen as an asshole who doesn't stand in solidarity with women but not you.

Perry White can put on a show of being a bitter old man but now's not one of those times.

“You did what you had to do and since I'm being honest,” He leans in a little like he's about to share a secret. “I'm glad you gave me a reason to kick his ass out.”

That brings a soft smile on your face, one that expresses your gratitude.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Most bosses wouldn't give a fuck.” The word rolls off your tongue with such smoothness, you forgot to code switch.

He takes no mind and instead lets you talk informally, he gathers you deserve that much.

“I'm not most bosses.” He wittily replies with a wink and tight-lipped smile.

“No, you are not.” You say with an appreciative nod.

You ignore everyone that didn't need your help for the remainder of the day.

As Mark took the walk of shame, it made you feel a little better when you saw people who you've never spoken to give him dirty looks and shake their head at him in disapproval.

Even though he got at least half of what he deserved, you still felt the aftermath of his words. They stung and it just made you think, how many other people feel that way?

You drowned yourself in work, you felt as if you're now obligated to work twice as hard.

Then you hear him.

“Y/n?”

You move your head from your hand and look up above your computer, spotting no other than your trusty colleague and friend.

“Clark, hey. What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, I was just about to ask you that.” He says with a boyish smile and points at you.

You smile back instinctually. “I'm just finishing up some stuff, meeting deadlines.”

“Ah.” He nods.

You eye the time and decide to save what you have left, planning to resume tomorrow.

“I was doing the same.”

You put on your jacket and grab your purse, walking out with him.

“This late?”

Poor guy, you hope he doesn't have a workload as big as yours if he's staying until almost 2 am.

“Yeah.” Clark sighs tiredly. “Perry gave me Mark's last assignment.”

You pause locking your office door, not expecting that answer.

Clark pretends not to notice.

As you enter the elevator (before clark, of course), you make light conversation.

“So ready to go home to my bed.” You tip your head back close your eyes, letting yourself rest for a moment.

“For real, I was about to fall asleep at my desk if it wasn’t for you.”

Both of your eyes open. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I was the only person here but then I saw your lamplight on so, I figured why not fight it for as long as I can.”

Had he stayed this long for you?

“Clark…”

You feel guilty and why wouldn’t you? He was basically waiting on you to call it in and stood by the entire time.

“It’s okay! No harm done.” He insists.

He was actually meaning to go home the same time you were, so he could talk to you.

He knows how pathetic that sounds but he'd rather be a pathetic man with a crush, even if that sounds elementary.

Instead, he opts on telling a half truth. “I needed the extra hours anyway.”

You turn to face him. “You did?”

Uh oh. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

Stupid sleep-deprived brain making him say things he’s not supposed to.

“Yeah, cause my research and work ethic is different from Mark’s.” He purses his lips and nods lightly.

Though he may look confident on the outside, he’s freaking out on the inside.

What was he supposed to say, the truth? Yeah, I was out late saving the planet one country at a time. That kind of stuff tends to get tiring if I have to wake up on time, ha ha ha.

He hopes you believe him and don’t inquire any further so he won't have to come up with another lie.

You hum before yawning lightly. “Makes sense.”

Clark watches you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and notices how you close your eyes when you yawn.

He also notes that you're really comfortable around him. You don't think twice about saying certain things in front of him.

He likes being the reason you let your guard down, he does the same around you.

You can see him staring into the side of your face so you turn your head, meeting his warm yet intimidating stare.

Your lips automatically purse into the friendliest awkward smile you have and he returns the sentiment.

You both then look away simultaneously. You look up at the countdown whereas he looks down on the shining metallic floor.

There’s still 25 more floors to go before you meet the garage parking lot.

The atmosphere grows a little awkward but is forgiven as there’s a shared understanding: you’re both fucking exhausted.

Though, there is something Clark wants to talk to you about.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening then closing as he thinks about how to bring this topic up.

“I heard about what happened.”

You slowly turn your head to him wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.

He stares back at you and you notice how blue his eyes look under fluorescent light.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, affected by the outburst as anyone else who gave a damn.

You’re touched.

“You don’t have to apologize, Clark.” You say as you look down at your shoes, suddenly growing shy of his eyes.

“I know,” He says. “But I care.”

The sentiment doesn't go unnoticed. Your lips turn up appreciatively.

“I know that as a woman, I'll be undermined at times but that was seriously a low blow.” You vent. “Even for him.”

Your disappointment isn't hard to assess. Even though you knew he'd be the one to say something like that, you still would've liked to be proven wrong.

Clark feels for you, you shouldn't have to feel alienated by your colleagues.

“I'm sorry nobody spoke up. I would have.”

“I know.” You say. “Thanks, Clark.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

You think about how nice it is of Clark to say this but you’re reminded of his absence prior.

“Where were you today, by the way. I barely saw you.”

He lies straight through his teeth. “I was out running some errands.”

He was actually stopping a country from getting actively bombed but that’s a story for another time.

“Perry still giving you the Miranda treatment?”

He chortles at your reference. “What can I say, I make a great Andrea.”

“You do. Who’s your Emily?”

You both take a moment to think about this.

“I got nothin’.” You say.

Clark agrees, although he’s come up with an alternative approach.

“There’s Mark, but he’s more Emily to your Andrea.”

You make a motion to wrap your hands around your neck and pretend to choke yourself.

It gets a good laugh out of him.

You blow a soft raspberry. “I just want my Nate. Without the “I'm insecure and feeling jealous because my partner is having it better” part.”

You look up at him and say without thinking, “You’d make a great Nate.”

You’re so tired, very exhausted from the day taking a toll on you, which explains why you’re just saying random shit.

Clark feels hot, like his whole face is on fire. He chuckles bashfully, very obviously failing at trying to not let that affect him so much.

The elevator dings and you both look up, finding the doors to open and reveal the garage parking lot.

“So, what do you mean by that? Exactly.” He furrows his brows and pushes his glasses up.

You step out, feeling all of your nerves turn to ice as you realize the weight of your words. “Oh, you know. You'd be a supporting and secure boyfriend.”

He's stumped, left watching as you walk to your car.

You wave goodbye before getting into your car and he returns the gesture.

You turn to face him, walking backwards. “Good night, Clark.”

He feels the blood wash over his heart like the ocean returning to shore.

“Good night.” He murmurs fondly.

“Dude, this is a terrible idea.” Jimmy scolds. “Your worst one yet, and you barely have those!”

But Clark isn’t listening, he’s already made his mind up.

“If I like her as a man then I have to respect her as Superman.”

Okay, that was a bar, Jimmy concedes.

“Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone.” Clark adds.

Of course you wouldn't tell anyone about Clark’s identity, he knows that.

“I know that,” Jimmy sighs. “But think of your relationship with her as Superman from a journalistic standpoint.”

Jimmy just wants the best for his best man, he wants Clark to really think about this.

“She won’t let her bias for you stop her from doing her job, even if that means asking questions you can’t answer directly.”

Diving headfirst into something like a romantic relationship without going over the logistics is bound to crash and burn.

But it’s you, the same woman who understands him. You see him, know him. You’re not one to hide how comforted you feel when he’s around, he literally hears your heart rate when he dotes on you.

You must feel the same way. Right?

But how would you react to this? Would you still feel the same? Would you still view him as the same Clark who goes out of his way for you?

After some careful consideration, Clark comes to a conclusion.

“Okay.” He says.

Jimmy closes his eyes in relief, sighing at the fact that his friend chose his mind over his heart.

“I’m going to tell her everything.”

Jimmy slaps a palm across his forehead all wide-eyed, not believing he got bamboozled this way.

He now has to watch his best friend throw everything away for the ruzz (reporter huzz).

Clark feels a weight lifted from his chest at this decision.

He's always wanted to tell you but his moral obligation was to this planet, regardless of what his heart wanted.

He walks to your office, stopping just before the door to check on his appearance. He moves his head to the side, inspecting his hair. He then fixes his tie and glasses.

Satisfied with himself, he knocks and waits for your approval.

“Come in.”

Clark pokes his head in comically.

Your eyes flit up and when you see him, giggling at his silliness. “Hey, you.”

His chest warms at the sight and sound of your delight.

You seem so easygoing, truly content when you smile or laugh. Do you know that?

His takes in your face.

Your hair shines from the light, cascading down your shoulders and framing your head nicely.

Your eyes are on him and every time you look at him, he feels as though he can tell you anything. And though they're beautiful, his favorite part about your face have to be your lips.

You're a very expressive person so your words and reactions make up everything about you.

He loves seeing them pull you into a smile and laugh, especially when he's the reason. It’s like a reward seeing you joyful because of him.

He's momentarily distracted by the sight, always on the verge of forgetting his objective as soon as your pretty lips move around.

You say his name like you're in the middle of something.

He blinks, shaking himself out of his daydream. “I'm sorry, what? I was not paying attention, I'm sorry.”

It's refreshing to see a man apologize so much but it feels weird coming from him.

“It's too early for this, I know.” You jest kindly. “I was asking what can I do for you?”

“Oh! Right, why I'm here.” He chuckles, embarrassed.

Get it together, Clark he warns himself mentally.

“I, um... I wanted to ask you something.”

You lean your elbows on your desk, giving him your undivided attention. “Sure, what's up?”

He walks to your desk, taking out a sticky note folded in half. He hands it to you.

I have something I want to talk about, meet me in the mailroom? Lunch on me ;)

You can't with this guy sometimes. Asking you to lunch via sticky note?

“That is seriously the cutest thing ever.” Lois coos.

You've been smiling since he gave the note to you, grinning at him as he walked out of your office.

You even did a celebratory squeal before containing yourself.

“Isn't it?” You giddily ask. “Ugh, he's so cute.”

Lois nods in agreement, wondering when she's gonna find her own Clark Kent.

“What do you think he wants to talk about?” You ask.

Lois looks at you bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?”

You stare at her expectantly, blinking.

“Oh my god.” She groans. “He's gonna tell you how bad he wants you, Y/n!”

“He is?” You say, hopeful.

She nods ecstatically and spins you around in your chair to face her. “Think about it. You two have been dancing around this unspoken attraction between you for how long?”

You instantly give her a time period. “Almost a month.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” Your lips pull to the side, sheepishly. “Sorry. Continue.”

“The point is, he obviously feels for you. It was just a matter of when he’d get the balls to make the first move.”

You nod along, finding her logic unarguable.

“Okay. Okay, so I just walk in and tell him—”

“No, no, no. What? Don't do that! He's the one asking you to come over so let him go first.”

“Right, right.” You blink. “Let him go first, you're right.”

Lois puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You're nervous, and that's okay. Just breathe, be calm, cool, and collected. You're Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.”

“I’m Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.” You repeat like a mantra.

Lois smiles encouragingly, being your best hype-woman.

“You’re fucking amazing.”

You close your eyes and blindly trust her. “I’m fucking amazing.”

“You’re the baddest bitch here and you know it.”

You blow air deeply, feeling yourself relax a bit. “I’m the baddest… bitch here and I know it.”

“Fuck yeah, you do!” She exclaims and you find yourself smiling, shaking your head at her theatrics.

You fucking love this girl.

“You got this, okay? Don't think too much, it'll feel natural once you let him talk.”

You feel like you’re about to get in the boxing ring witheverything that could go wrong.

“Go get him, tiger!”

It's lunchtime and for the first time in history, you're not hungry.

You can't even think about eating out of anxiety.

You walk towards the mailroom and suspire when you go to twist the door handle.

You're immediately met with the dreamy pair of eyes you were hesitant to see.

You shut the door behind you, none of you want to be the one to move first.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hi.” You say, equally as soft.

He clears his throat lightly and gestures you over, some sandwiches and sodas decorating the table.

“Panera?” You say with glee.

His lips pull back at your reaction. “Yup.”

You reign in your excitement, remembering why you came here in the first place.

“So.” You hint subtly.

“Sooo.”

You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “Sooo, what'd you have to tell me?”

He clicks his teeth. “That's the question.”

You tip your head back and half-whine, half-laugh. “Oh my god, stop baiting me!”

Clark finds humor in edging you on like this, how often does he get to see you so highstrung?

“Okay, okay, alright.” He airily chuckles. “I'll stop.”

You blink patiently, the remnants of a grin on your face.

He soughs, building up the confidence to tell you how just much he feels for you.

“Okay.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze.

He's caught, mesmerized by the way your attention is on him. He doesn't realize just how heavy his stare is until he watches you squirm.

“Clark..?” You call out to him thinking he's spacing out.

“Sorry.” He says on default, though he's not really apologetic for anything at all.

You're just so—

“Beautiful.”

Your breath catches in your chest and he's mortified.

“I, I just said that... outloud.” He stammers.

You watch him scramble for a way out.

“I'm sorry— not that you aren't beautiful, which you are. You so are.”

He cringes at himself and you hold back a simper, finding him so endearing.

“I just, um... Alright, here's the thing.” He claps both hands together softly.

“Mhm.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and to show you're just as serious about what he has to say.

“I... I have, uh— wait, no. That's not right.” He mutters to himself.

You come closer, standing right in front of him. “Clark.”

He looks down, stunned at your proximity and stops babbling.

“Just say it.” You coax gently. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it, together.”

Together. He thinks about the good ending, the one where you do end up getting together.

As you look up at him with those kind eyes, he feels everything he has to say come right out.

“I can't stop thinking about you.” He confesses.

You blink, startled by this even though you were expecting it.

“I like you, a-a lot, and I have so much to tell you.”

Clark's eyes flit between yours, desperately searching somewhere for you to feel the same.

He hears your heartbeat skyrocket, he feels your hands shake slightly from the adrenaline. The smell of your perfume thickens the air and he can't get enough. He can almost taste the color of your lips with how close they are.

He gulps, growing jumpy from your silence.

“Say something, please.” He whispers.

Another moment of quiet, not voluntarily. You're just trying to find the right words, yourself.

“I... I feel the same.”

That familiar megawatt smile graces his lips and you feel the tables turn, you in his previous postition and he in yours.

“I have for a long time.”

His eyes crease at that and he can't help the laughter bubbling out of him.

You laugh with him, not believing this is happening right now.

“You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.” He tells you, leaning on the table behind him.

“Not longer than me.” You suppose.

His eyebrows quirk up, silently asking you to go first.

So you do. “Since you started bringing me my daily dose of energy.”

He hums.

“Now, you.”

He looks at you with the fondest expression ever, you hold yourself back from kissing him stupid.

“Since my first day.” His voice thick with honey.

Your eyes soften and though he's won, you don't take this as a loss.

“Seriously?”

You don't mean to be so anticlimactic but how else does one react to feelings of romance being reciprocated?

As if Clark Kent couldn't get any more attractive, he takes your hand with the utmost care and rests it right on top of his heart.

“Can you feel that?” He asks while gauging your every little microreaction.

It speeds up gradually as your hand connects with the fabric of his shirt, pure electricity binding you together.

You nod, involuntarily fighting the tears you sense.

“Aw, don't cry.” He cradles your face in his hands and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by his affection for you.

“Come on, let me see you.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch your shy eyes.

When you finally do, he smiles so brightly that you swear it's like looking directly into the sun.

“There she is.”

You chuckle weakly, sniffling once.

He lets go of your face and can't resist the temptation of not touching your arms. He rubs them up and down a couple times, feeling goosebumps arise in their wake.

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes.

He feels his heart stop right there, that look sends him over the edge and you don't even know it.

Clark wordlessly leans down and pulls you in, his strong arms wrap around your waist comfortingly while you reach up on your toes.

You rest your head on his shoulder and feel your hearts beating under each other so passively, a sigh escapes the confines of both your mouths simultaneously.

Something about this feels like déjà vu, like you've been in a similar position.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Remember that conference I was supposed to go to in DC but got cancelled because the jet almost crashed?”

He pulls away with a straight face, hiding the absolute chaos unfurling behind those eyes. “Yeah..? Why?”

You look at the door then back at him. “I haven't told anyone about this but afterwards, Superman came by my place.”

“What? No way!” Clark gasps.

You nod cooly.

“So, what happened? What'd you guys talk about?”

You tell him how he stopped by to return your purse but something has been bugging you since. “I just don't know how he got my address.”

“Oh, that's easy.” He doesn't feel like playing this game anymore, too many sweats. “I know where you live.”

You’re perplexed and then some because what does that mean?

“What are you saying?”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and gives you a riddled look that says, Come on, think about it. You know what I’m saying.

A lightbulb turns on in your head but it can’t be. There’s just no way you’re thinking what he’s thinking.

You’re too flabbergasted to say a word. You just stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you say it out loud.

“You’re… you’re— you,” You chuckle dryly, your head spinning a bit. “You’re Superman?”

He doesn’t give any indication of agreeing with you but his silence does.

Clark’s trying to get a read on you.

You then cover your mouth with both hands, muffling an excited ‘Oh my god!’.

He feels reassured.

“You’re Superman!” You whisper-scream.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He nods while checking the door to see anyone coming in.

You just stare at him in wonder, taking this all in.

It all makes perfect sense.

Who else would be selfless enough to protect those who can’t protect themselves? To have integrity is the most Clark Kent trait you can think of.

You know Clark has a big heart but this? This is next level.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He looks at you like the answer to that is simple, which to him, is. It’s always going to be simple if it involves you.

“I don’t want to start this on a lie.” He reveals as those damned blue eyes fixate on you.

You can fly right now.

He leans in ever so slowly, tracking any detail on your face that may give away the impression of not wanting him in your space.

When he finds none and is absolutely sure, he puts a hand on your cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?”.

“Yes.” You sound softly and it’s as if a prayer has been answered.

Your eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips for you, you anticipate them to be just as soft and lush as they seem.

He believes he’ll finally be able to understand the languid nature of your mouth and decipher its meaning.

Sparks fly when you make contact, it strengthens the electricity that makes your chemistry.

The kiss is a breath of fresh air, the kind that blows in quietly; peacefully.

He’s sweet, undoubtedly so. His palms hesitantly splay across the curves on your waist. You smile at the soft touch and he does as well.

Your hands are on his chest and you can feel every pulse, flutter, and pang of his heart.

You think it’s poetic; the influence you have on his heart, both figuratively and literally.

He rests his forehead on yours and you look up at him from under your lashes.

He’s about to speak up when he hears something, something you don’t. His ears perk in the direction of the distressed sound and he turns his head apologetically.

“I have to go.” He regretfully informs.

You reach up to kiss his cheek and rid him of guilt. “When you come back, I’ll be right here.”

Clark hugs you once more and asks, “You’re my hero, you know that?”.

You chortle and respond with, “Is that Superman talking or you?”.

“Both.” He pulls back with a kiss on your hairline, winking at you with a cheeky grin.

He runs out the door and leaves you with the ghost of his touch and words that form a sappy smile on your face.

Superman may be the world’s hero, but Clark Kent is yours.

2K notes · View notes

thekinslayed · 9 months ago

Text

A Moment's Reprieve

summary | Aemond just can't seem to get a moment alone with you, driving him to the point of madness.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, lil quickie, rough sex, aeggy cameo <3, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, not proofread :P

wordcount | 3.3k

note | hi, it's been a minute <3 feeling kinda meh about this but i hope u guys like it!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

It was hard to fuck while wearing leather. The heat from Aemond’s body was so easily trapped in its wall, dissipating into fat droplets of sweat cascading down his back. Moving around was no easy feat either, but the momentary suffering would have to suffice. He was easily lost enough in the fire in his loins that burned hotter than the damp flush creeping up his chest. His thrusts were hasty, his grip on your exposed breasts tight as he slammed himself in and out of your core.

On better days, he would have taken the time to take you apart piece by piece, perhaps starting with his mouth on your sweet cunny, but you both hardly had time to even undress. Your skirts were carelessly rucked up to your hips, neckline haphazardly unbound just enough to free your teats, while your husband had lowered his breeches just enough to expose his hard, swollen cock before he drove into you. Your grip on his bicep was tight, while your nails dug into the bedpost with the other for support as you stood by the bed’s edge. The pulsating of your core was enough to drive him mad, the dizzying haze of desire overwhelming his wife just as it did with him.

“H-husband, I’m so close,” you moaned in his ear, head leaned back into his chest. He must have grunted something in response, though he wasn’t sure he even heard himself, voice lost in the din of loud smacking of his trim hips against your plump arse, and your sweet melodic mewls. The rising heat in his belly let him know he was right with you, only a few thrusts behind the release that threatened to overtake him. It was easy to get lost in it all— in you, in your warm, perfect walls. So much so his thrusts turned even more desperately erratic as his body moved in its own accord, his usually alert mind hardly registering the creaking of wood and the sudden breeze into his marital chambers.

Then he heard cackling.

“Seven fucking Hells, brother!”

Aegon stood at the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob and the other clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter. The younger whipped his head at the intrusion, eyes widening before shifting to cover you with his body. He heard you gasp, before scrambling to cover your exposed chest away from Aegon’s curious eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond barked, turning to move to storm over where the idiot stood when he caught his brother eyeing the exposed flesh of your upper thigh, but your firm hand on his wrist kept him where he was to save yourself the last bits of dignity.

“I… ha!” the elder snorted, laughter finally dying down into low chuckles that rumbled from his chest. He exhaled a deep sigh, dramatically wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mother sent me to call on you because court starts in five minutes and she believes the Seven Hells have cooled over when she found me ready before you, but I guess you were preoccupied, eh?” he shrugged, amethyst eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that irked Aemond to no end. “Dear me, fucking before noon? And I thought I was oversexed.”

“Shut up before I make you,” Aemond seethed. His wife sighed, peeking over his shoulder to speak to Aegon.

“Would you give us a few moments, brother? Let Her Grace know we will be right out,” you asked softly, smiling sweetly enough to earn a tight squeeze on the hips from your dragon in warning.

“Of course, best to, uh, finish up then,” he responded, wagging his finger mockingly before turning to leave, snickering. “Good to know I had you taught well, Aemond!”

“You fucke–”

The door slammed shut before Aemond could finish, sighing against your temple in exasperation from the ruined moment. The soft kiss on his cheek was hardly enough to make up for it, the humiliation in his chest killing whatever drive in his gut. He begrudgingly tucked his softened length back into his breeches before helping you with your laces. You turned to face him once your dress had been rightened, hugging his waist and leaning your chin against his chest.

“Such a shame, everything was feeling so good,” you pouted up at him. Aemond grunted in agreement, head still running hot in annoyance.

Surely, the court wouldn’t be too curious if his brother strolled in with a bruise on his face. He’d been in worse shape before, what was a little marked-up cheek?

There must be some sick game the gods were playing on Aemond. They were teasing him, testing to see how long he could withhold being unable to have a moment alone with his wife before going completely mad. Court took up a better part of his afternoon, long hours of appeals and hearing whatever problems their people wished to voice. It took much of him to keep his eye forward, ignoring the heat radiating off the flesh of your arm that was warmed by the sticky air of the mid-summer sun filtering into the throne room, while you stood by your husband’s side, his nose engulfed by the flowery sweetness wafting from your hair.

Supper was just as torturous, though having you sat by his side slightly made up for it, and teasing you under the table was a good way to pass the time. Aemond’s rough fingertips crept up your skirts and took hold of your thigh, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way you swatted his hand away in panic, cheeks growing adorably flushed. With dessert promptly served and devoured, the one-eyed prince all but jumped from his seat, your hand in tow to lead you back to the privacy of your chambers, but the deep drawl of his grandsire’s voice halted him before anything else, inviting him to the Tower to speak on a matter of the utmost discretion. He let your hand go with a scowl, helplessly watching you walk off into the direction of your apartments.

His grandsire sat him down to talk until well into the night, speaking in hushed tones of a matter of concern in the Reach. He was to fly to Oldtown to settle brewing disputes in the Hightower seat in his grandsire's stead, a task entrusted to him that required his sharp eye and his partiality to matters of politics.

His steps were heavy on his return, his chest even heavier, and when he finally crossed the threshold of your spacious apartments, you were deep into your slumber. You snuggled up into his side of the bed, arm extending to where he should have been. When a responsibility like this would’ve once had Aemond eager to fly out at first light, he found himself unable to tear himself away from you when duty called, having found a home in your arms that sheltered him with warmth and lightness his reality was so deeply void of.

He was gone for a sennight—a slow-passing, cruel week.

The separation was torturous, and not a moment passed where your husband’s mind didn’t wander to his sweet wife. He’d tucked one of your handkerchiefs into his pocket before his departure, tracing the embroidered curves of your initials with his thumb when he grew agitated within Oldtown’s walls. They had given him a comfortable accommodation, a bed much too large to sleep in alone. Aemond had grown spoiled with your warmth, and with this temporary withdrawal, sleep came miserably.

At the week's end, disagreements were smoothed and hands were shaken. Aemond took to the skies, not a second too soon after the Lord Hobart thanked him for the crown’s aid, his longing for home shamelessly showing itself in the tension in his shoulders every minute he was there. Daeron would have to forgive him for not flying together as much as the younger wished, but his brother, ever the kindest out of all the dragon princes, saw him off with a nod of understanding and a firm pat on the back, whispering the promise of his own return to their family.

Vhagar traversed the horizon at a speed unexpected for her size and age, but his old girl shared her rider’s wish for home. They cleared the distance in a day, and the returning prince was greeted by Ser Criston and a wheelhouse that would take him back to his home, to you.

But the gods wouldn’t grant Aemond reprieve that easily.

The streets bustled with life as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets. He had returned just in time for his father’s nameday, a week-long celebration for the ailing king that called for the grandest celebration, with music, wine, and dancing for guests hailing from all over the realm. Aemond watched through the thin slits of the carriage— faces passing in a blur, voices of every pitch overlapping the other. His brow furrowed in perplexion when they took a sudden turn, an unexpected route that led him away from the hill leading to the Keep, but right to the middle of the celebrations— the melee.

“Queen’s orders, my prince,” Cole explained, standing stoically in front of the brooding prince. “She wished to have you join the celebrations as soon as you returned, have the family all present in front of the people.”

Aemond grumbled under his breath all the way up the steps to the royal box, plopping exhaustedly into his seat beside Aegon. The elder patted him hard on the back, adding to his aggravation, clearly oblivious to his dampened mood. “Good to have you here in time to join us, brother, Reyne’s just about to fuck Tarly up,” he cackled, taking a big swig of his wine.

“A change of clothes first would have been nice,” Aemond huffed, ignoring the battling knights as he looked around for his wife. He twisted around his seat in confusion at the absent sight of you, earning a look from his grandsire that had him uncharacteristically slumping in his seat.

“She’s with Helaena,” Aegon said, whose eyes stayed glued to the violent display before them. “Orwyle said it was ill luck for pregnant women to look upon violence or whatever he was on about. Your wife’s keeping her company.”

Aemond sighed defeatedly, his chest twinging with annoyance. Of fucking course. Everything seemed to be working against his wishes, toying with his already short patience. Gods be damned, they would know better to keep a man like him away from his wife. Perhaps this made him seem like an addict, no better than a drunk stuck to his bottle or a pervert to a whore, but he was well past the point of denying it. You were a part of him, whether either of you could help it or not.

He turned to his mother, who sat frowning with a hand half-covering her face as she watched on, muttering some half-excuse of wanting to freshen up and be rid of the smell of dragon on his skin before enjoying the festivities. The queen granted him leave with the ghost of a quirk on her lips and a knowing look, waving him off dismissively with a ringed hand.

He all but dashed the way back to the Keep, strides large and booming through the halls back to Maegor’s Holdfast. His pulse thumped heavily in his ears, his chest sparked with a renewed lightness with every step closer. Aemond found you in his sister’s apartments, sat on the settee as you embroidered.

Your head shot up as the door swung open, eyes brightening like a starry night when they landed on him. “Aemond!” you gasped, promptly jumping up from your seat and into his arms. With how tight your arms wound around his neck, it was clear his dearest wife was just as tortured as he.

Aemond nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin he had missed dearly. With you back in his arms, right where you belonged, everything felt warm. He felt near bursting at the seams, his body immediately responding to the heat of your body pressed against his. His lips found yours on instinct, hungrily devouring the sweet taste he’d grown starved for. Large, calloused hands wandered on their own, finding purchase on your rear with a tight squeeze. It made you whine, pulling away in haste to glance at a sleeping Helaena. Her third pregnancy often had her weary, as she was now, laid on her bed, with the twins tucked on either side as they slept through the peaceful haze of the late afternoon.

“Come,” your husband ordered, grasping your wrist to pull you out of the room. The growing fire in his loins left him too impatient to lead you up another flight of stairs where your apartments were, urgency nagging at him to hasten lest someone called for him to return to the melee. He led you with quick steps to the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove where he pressed you against the wall, caged between his arms.

His mouth devoured yours, tongue slithering into the warm cavern and dancing with your own. It soon descended onto the length of your perfumed neck, nipping and biting at the spots that pulled deep, pleasant sighs. Your hands gripped his doublet, subtly pushing him away as you called his name.

“Husband, h-here?” you asked, mewling as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw. You were right, this wasn't exactly an ideal location for your reunion, but he was pressed for time, and having to wait to have you until nightfall would drive him to insanity.

“There’s not one soul around, dearest,” he said into your skin, parting with a kiss on the fresh mark. With the inhabitants of the Keep all away at the tournaments, the halls were empty enough, save for the occasional passing servant and the knight standing guard outside Helaena’s door. With the near ravenous state Aemond was in, he could give less fucks who could witness him taking his wife. Your skirts were messily rucked up to your hips, wandering hand dipping past your smallclothes and finding your heat, already dripping in sweet arousal. “Did you miss me this much, wife? You’re already soaked,” your husband chuckled devilishly, eye darkening when you bit your lip as he teased your slit.

You nodded at him eagerly, a whine rising from your throat when his fingertip brushed against your pearl. “You were gone for too long, husband. It has been miserable without you. When I saw Vhagar fly over the city I could have dashed to the gates myself if Helaena didn’t need me,” you pouted. His heart swelled at your sweetness, peppering adoring kisses onto your hairline as you pulled him in even closer.

“I have been tormented just the same, my love. Every day that passed, you were all I thought about,” he whispered. “No one will keep me away from you now, sweet girl, I promise you.”

Somewhere in the frenzy of tongue and spit, your smallclothes fell to the stone floor and his breeches were aptly unlaced. Your smaller, dainty hand wrapped around his hardened length, stroking his leaking cock. Gods, it was pathetic how he could come from your slightest touch. He grasped your wrist to stop you, gulping as he continued to twitch in your hold.

“Wait,” he huffed. The need possessed him with a primal urge, prompting him to grab hold of both of your thighs to lift you off your feet. With you pressed against the wall and holding onto his shoulders for dear life, Aemond sunk you onto his cock, down onto the hilt. There was little time to savor the subtle pulsating of your walls, his hips taking on a steady pace from the start. “Fucking... finally,” he grunted.

You bounced in his firm hold, lower back rubbing against the rough stone, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite, rather, with the way you openly moaned, your voice echoing through the dim hall. “Gods!” you whined. Your husband’s pace suddenly shifted, hips starting to slap more ferociously against yours. Any soul who would have the misfortune to walk these halls at this very moment would hear you from the opposite end from the resounding rhythm of skin against skin.

“There are no gods here, wife, just you and I,” Aemond growled against your ear, before biting down on your shoulder, making you squeal even louder.

“I– mmph! Ah, Aem–” Any semblance of coherence on your usually pretty head dissipated in a heady jumble. It made your husband smirk, despite the heat starting to tingle in the back of his neck.

“Something to say, my love? Or have I already fucked you into a loose whore, hm?” he taunted, chuckling under his breath when you merely whined in response. He was starting to overheat in his leathers, the sharp warmth in his nape slowly trickling down his spine to signal the start of his end. Something deep within his core made his abdomen flex, the ache in his thighs no match for the utter bliss of the warm embrace of your lovely cunt. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, his hand raised to the back of your head, fingers wrapping around your hair to pull your forehead against his. He quickened his pace to spur you to your end first, thumb rubbing your pearl in tight circles. “Come for me, wife. I want to feel you spill around me. Go on,” he rasped, breath hot in your ear.

His wife was a moaning mess. You were never this loud, even in the privacy of your own chambers, but the separation had you desperate, heart sticky with need in a way you had never let yourself be before. He and you were both the same in this way, never too forward with what you wanted, until desire ate away at you from within and you started to lose better thinking.

With a particular harsh thrust, your release broke with a moan that Aemond was sure had echoed to the White Sword Tower. He came no second later with a lower, quieter grunt into your neck, spilling thick ropes of his warm seed into your quivering cunt.

You both stayed there for a second, breaths heavy and minds still in a cloud. Aemond placed you back onto your feet, though wobbly. He huffed amusedly, earning a warning smack on his chest as you furrowed your eyebrows playfully. His lips placed a kiss on your damp forehead, and you kissed his scarred cheek in return. For a second, you only looked at him, your flushed cheeks lifted in a smile, and it made him happy.

An echo of clinking steel let Aemond know his time was up. He made sure your dress had been rightened and your hair smoothed before tying his breeches back up. The prince peeked to see Cole coming up the staircase, no doubt sent by his mother to take him away again. He sighed heavily, nuzzling one last time into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly. “You should go. Mustn’t let your mother fret,” you said softly. Your husband merely grunted in response, savoring the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.

A clear of the throat from the knight made Aemond finally pull away, frowning despite the pleased smile on your lips as you smoothed his doublet. He parted with a kiss all-consuming, and whispers of a promise to fetch you the moment he could.

His return to the royal box came with much reluctance, though his demeanor visibly changed. The tension was gone in his shoulders, his aura different, and his face not so grim anymore. He settled back into his seat with a deep exhale, directing his attention to the faceless lordlings swinging swords much too large for them, though his mind stayed in an alcove somewhere in the Keep.

Beside him, Aegon yawned loudly, having grown deathly bored with the melee. Sensing the younger’s subtly brighter demeanor, he snickered under his breath. “Feeling rather refreshed now, are you?” he teased.

Aemond’s gaze flickered to him in a glance, turning back to watch the young Bolton land the winning blow. “Hm, yes, quite.” He lifted his hand to a squire for wine, taking a small sip to quench his parched throat.

“Even without a proper change of clothes?” Aegon pushed, raising his brow mockingly. He cackled as Aemond shifted in his seat, a warning glare in his lone eye. The elder, unbothered, merely patted his brother’s knee as he shook his head. “Good for you, brother.”

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader

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whytheylosttheirminds · 20 days ago

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snooze - r.c.

note: originally posted on my old blog a few months ago, this is a repost!

summary: your man works hard, and you love him for it, but some mornings you just wish he'd stay in bed a little longer...

cw: smut, fluff, pinv, dirty talk, 18+ minors do not interact

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Rafe’s alarm rings through the large bedroom like a blaring siren, jerking you violently from the sweet sleep you were just wrapped in. He doesn’t hear it at first, still sound asleep next to you, snores rumbling through his bare chest.

You blink your eyes open, the room is still dark, though the first golden rays of the sunrise creep in through the small crack in the curtains. You twist your body towards Rafe, snuggling your head into his neck, an attempt to both shield your eyes from the sunlight and get his attention, desperate for him to silence the loud alarm.

After a few seconds, he still hasn’t heard it, so you reach up and gently tap his cheek.

“Baby,” you groan, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Too loud.”

Rafe takes a deep breath in, eyes still closed as he reaches his bedside table, tapping his phone screen clumsily until the sound subsides.

He settles back in, placing a quick kiss onto the top of your head as he pulls you into his side. You sigh happily, running your nails softly up and down his chest and stomach, drawing little hearts and stars on his skin. He shivers when you graze over the soft skin of his lower stomach, following his happy trail down to his waistband. You fully plan on dipping your hand below it, where he’s already twitching and firming up for you under his sweatpants, but you get distracted by the delicious deep V lines on either side of his waist. You dip your pointer finger into the valley of muscle and trace the shape down, switching to the other side and drawing back up.

He stirs when you angle your finger to scratch lightly with your manicured nail, lingering just above the band of his Calvins that peeks out from his sweats.

“That’s so nice, baby,” he mumbles in his deep, crackling morning voice, “I love these hands.”

Rafe laces his fingers in yours with one hand, his other arm sliding under your neck and wrapping around your shoulders. He pulls you close so he can drop a sloppy kiss on your temple.

You sigh and lift your intertwined hands to place a kiss on each of his knuckles.

“Maybe you should stay home,” you suggest between kisses. “Then you can enjoy these hands all day long.”

He smiles knowingly, still not opening his eyes. You play this game every morning, trying to find ways to convince him to play hooky from work, though they never succeed. He’s always showered and out the door by sunrise, leaving you with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a quick kiss as you drift back to sleep.

“Sounds perfect, but I have an 8 a.m. with a potential investor,” he explains.

In the quiet, Rafe starts to drift off again. You continue to stroke his chest and think of all the many enticing reasons for him to stay, but before you can list them for him, his alarm blares from his phone again.

You lean over him, reaching to the phone on his nightstand. He takes the opportunity to snake his hand around your waist and slide it under his big t-shirt you're wearing. His hands feel so nice on your lower back, you pause, almost forgetting what you were reaching for in the first place, until the alarm rings out again, making you both wince with its volume. You tap the screen desperately until it’s silenced.

“Just hitting snooze so we can have five more minutes,” you say, settling down over him and resting your cheek on his chest.

“Liar,” he says with a sleepy smirk. “You turned it off.”

You faked an offended gasp, “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such deception, Rafe Cameron.”

“So when five minutes go by and the alarm doesn’t go off again, what are you gonna say then?”

“I was hoping you’d fall back to sleep by then,” you confess with a giggle, laying a soft kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

“I knew it.”

He sits up in bed, causing you to fall back onto the pillows, immediately missing his warmth. You paw at his arm as he reaches over to check the time on his phone.

“Nooo,” you whine. “Don’t go yet.”

He smiles down at you, leaning over to place loving kisses on the edge of your jaw and up your face, touching his lips to your temple one final time before standing from the bed.

Your vision is still fuzzy from sleep and the darkness of the room, but you follow the general shape of him as he walks to the wall of windows on the other side of the room. He’s shirtless, the lower half of his body covered in soft gray sweats. You squirm a little under the comforter as you take him in. You didn’t know it was possible to be this attracted to someone, but it’s like every day you’re with him, your body craves him more, and it makes it that much more painful when he leaves.

Rafe interrupts your reverie by lifting his arms and throwing the curtains wide open. You flinch at the bright sunlight that pours through the windows like it’s burning you.

“Too bright, Rafe!” You protest.

He just turns with a smug smile, his tall silhouette casting a shadow over the bed, blocking you from the blinding sun.

“I’ll make you some coffee before I go,” he promises as he leaves you alone in the bedroom, pulling a pillow over your face to shield yourself from the daylight.

It’s silly to complain when his hard work is the whole reason you can lay in this comfortable bed so late into the morning. When he’s not with you, he’s at the office, earning you all this comfort, but it still seems unfair when you want him this badly.

You used to be an early riser, but the way he lays you down every night when he gets home, fucking you hard and slow until you fall asleep clinging to him, it’s made you a whole new person. You’d pay him twice his salary if you had it just to get him to stick around a little longer, make you feel that good again.

A devious idea comes to your brain, and you pull the covers from yourself quickly, making fast moves before he gets back.

When Rafe comes back into the room a few minutes later, he nearly spills your hot coffee all over himself at the sight that greets him.

The comforter is bundled at the end of the bed, nothing covering your body as you stretch out on the mattress. You’ve switched out his t-shirt and your baggy sweats for a silky pair of boy-short panties and a lacy bra. You're facing away from him, laying on your side, the curve of your hips and peekaboo view of your ass casting a scandalous shadow on the wall. The fabric of your panties is so flimsy, it climbs up the curve of your ass, revealing you to him as if they’re barely there at all.

“Nice try,” he shakes his head, though the small crack in his voice betrays his defiance. You know you’ve got him hard and frazzled.

“Hmmm?” You don’t turn to look at him, instead bending your knee and sliding one leg up higher to give him an even better angle of your ass.

“It’s not gonna work…” he insists, setting your coffee down, fully intending to turn and make his way to the walk-in closet to get dressed, yet somehow finding himself completely immobile.

“What’s not going to work?” You echo, feigning cluelessness in a way you know is gonna drive him mad.

“I really do have a meeting,” he continues his one-sided argument, trying desperately to convince himself. “I can’t be late, it’s important.”

“Okay! Have a good day, baby,” you yawn, shifting on the sheets as if you’re just getting comfortable, hoping he doesn’t see the smile you’re hiding in your pillow, obsessed with the strain in his voice that reveals his resolve is cracking.

The mattress sinks slowly under his weight, and you can feel the heat of him before he even touches your skin. His hand slides up your leg, from your ankle all the way up to your thigh, where he pauses to squeeze your flesh.

“You’re gonna be late,” you let your mouth twist into a cheeky smile.

He huffs a defeated laugh, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder in frustration, “you’re killing me.”

“I’m not doing anything!” You giggle, arching your back and giving him a better glimpse at the other side of you, your nipples already pebbling in anticipation, clearly visible through your see through bra.

Rafe responds by saying your name, so low and needy it’s almost inaudible. You twist your torso just enough to meet his eyes, blinking at him sweetly through your eyelashes.

“Yes?”

He doesn’t respond with words, just a piercing gaze. His blue eyes are blown wide with lust as he takes you in, dragging over your body helplessly, fighting an internal battle as he plots his next move. Filthy thoughts are etched on his face, you know him well enough by now to see the gears turn behind his eyes, imagining all the things he could do to you if he stayed.

“Can I at least have a kiss before you go?” You ask, hoping the taste of your lips will tip the scales in your favor.

He can’t deny you a kiss, he never does, so he leans in and meets your lips with a nod, his hand rising to softly cradle your jaw. You run your tongue so gently across his lower lip that he wonders if he imagined it. When you part your lips for him and release a small sigh, the game is over.

With another squeeze of your thigh, he pulls back from you just enough to reach his phone on the nightstand. You watch with a victorious grin as he types out a quick message, surely to his secretary, and tosses the phone somewhere on the bed.

“Bought us an hour,” he tells you.

“Only an hour?” You pout.

“Don’t be greedy,” he teases you, shuffling behind you so he can spoon you, placing a dozen quick kisses up your arm, making you giggle in delight.

Rafe’s hand slides from your thigh to your waist, dipping to splay over your stomach so he can pull you flush against him. You sigh dreamily as he begins to suckle on your neck, leaving little pink marks everywhere his lips touch.

“Wasn’t that kind of an important meeting?” You ask, feeling a little guilty for potentially making him miss out on a good opportunity.

“Nothing’s more important than this,” he assures you.

You let out a little whimper at his sweet words, igniting a fire in him. His hand drifts up your stomach until his palm is settled over your breast, kneading gently.

“Oh,” you gasp. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” He drawls with a crooked grin, pausing to drag the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Just needed a little attention today?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Needed you.”

His hand leaves you for a minute to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You lift your arms up so he can slide it off and toss it somewhere on the floor of the massive master suite.

The rough skin of his palm comes back to rest over your hard nipple, the sensation is so sweet that your whole body hums with pleasure.

“God you’re so soft,” he breathes over the wet spot he’s just left on your skin, “love these tits so much.”

With that confession, he pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, the pain lasting only a second before he smoothes it over with the pad of his thumb.

“Rafe!” You squeak out at the sting.

He shushes you gently, lowering his mouth to pull your earlobe between his teeth, the pressure strong, but not strong enough to pull your mind from the way his hand is dropping lower on your torso towards your panties. A pool of silky arousal gathered between your legs, you rub your thighs together in search of friction as his hand continues to move maddeningly slow.

“Don’t worry baby,” he coos, “gonna take good care of you like I always do.”

Your fingernails dig into the sheets in preparation when he finally reaches the band of your pantines, lifting them to slide his hand in.

“You always take such good care of me, Rafe,” you agree.

He places his other arm under your head for support, allowing you to look down at the outline of his big hand wriggling under the damp cloth of your panties. His fingers find your entrance easily, pausing outside to swirl in your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he praises. “Always so ready for me.”

After a few more swirls, he’s satisfied with the coating, dragging his fingers back up to your clit. He hits it right away, he could find it in a hurricane. He runs his fingers over you at the perfect angle, starting with delicate figure eights.

Your head falls forward in ecstasy, unable to form words. Rafe bends his arm at the elbow, laying his hand flat against your forehead to pull your head back into his chest, your neck arching with the stretch. The pink spots he’s left on your exposed throat have darkened nicely, giving him a chance to appreciate his handiwork. He reattaches his lips, desperate to claim you as many times as he can, hungry for you.

The sweetest, breathiest moans fall from your puffy lips, and he basks in them like the sunlight that’s bleeding through the curtains. He’s nibbling on your shoulder like it’s his breakfast as his fingers pick up speed on your clit.

Between circles and flicks, he stops to tap quickly with the tip of his middle finger, the rhythmic pressure and release has the sensitive bud pulsing. You chase his fingers pathetically with the roll of your hips, needing more.

As you writhe, his cloth covered cock slots between the valley of your ass, each wave of your hips grinding perfectly against his shaft. You shut your eyes tight, picturing his perfect length and the gorgeous noises he makes when he comes. You need to hear those sounds like you need air.

Your hand releases from the sheets, reaching behind you to rub the hard ridge of his dick over his sweatpants. Rafe clenches his jaw, a throaty groan vibrating through his chest and straight into your body.

“This what you wanted, angel?” He asks, his tone dominant and desperate all at the same time. The perfect balance of ownership and a genuine urgency to please you.

“Just wanted you,” you confirm through your pants, grinding yourself into his hand, “all I ever want is you.”

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

No further instruction needed, your hand finally dips below his waistband, immediately finding his pulsing cock.

“Shi-ii-t,” he shudders as you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly and reveling in how hard you’ve made him.

You notice goosebumps rush up the arm that’s disappearing into your panties, you realize your hands must be cold. You know he’d never complain, but you don’t just want him to feel good, you want him to feel as amazing as he makes you feel.

You draw your hand back from his boxers, and he groans at your absence, nearly protesting until he sees what you’re doing. You dip your hand into your own underwear, gently nudging his out of the way, and collect some of your wetness onto your own fingers. Your hand glistens in the morning sunlight when you pull it out, displaying it for him before returning your grip to his cock.

He’s speechless. Eyes rolling back at how fucking sexy that was, desperate to ground himself before he comes too quickly in your hand. He moves his palm down from your forehead to cup your throat, not too much pressure to hurt, but enough to remind you how strong he is. You whimper, swallowing hard under his broad palm.

“Jesus christ, baby,” he sputters, “you’re my fucking dream girl.”

You fall in sync, Rafe rubbing tight, firm circles over your clit, while you slide your hand up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip with each stroke to swirl your thumb in the precum he’s leaking. His knuckles flex in response to each flick of your thumb, pads of his fingers holding and releasing your neck in steady pulses.

You squeeze his cock as he squeezes your throat, so perfectly aligned in your drunken pleasure that you both chuckle at how unbelievable it feels. But if you’re laughing, then surely he’s not doing a good enough job.

He draws your clit between his fingers, rolling over and over, not pinching too hard, but just hard enough to set every nerve ending in your body on fire. You draw your knees up, your hand slowing involuntarily on his cock as you feel the familiar coil tighten in your tummy, seconds from snapping.

“I can’t believe you’re real, you’re so perfect,” Rafe whispers into your shoulder, kissing you over and over.

“Gonna make me come talking like that, baby,” you warn him.

“You want that? You want me to make you come in my hand?”

“Not yet,” you choke out, so close that you’re already dreading coming down from your high. It’s too soon, it’s not enough. No amount of him will ever be enough, but you at least need him closer. “Want you inside, need you in me.”

“Anything. Anything you want,” he swears as he pulls his hand from your core to rip your panties down your legs. You pull them off over your feet and toss them away as he removes his pants and boxers behind you.

The fabric finally out of the way, his dick spears into your back, somehow always so much bigger and more powerful than you remember. You pray he doesn’t make you wait any longer, wriggling back onto your side so your soaked pussy is perfectly exposed to him.

In the soft morning light, he finally gets a good view of your slick folds, nearly busting all over your back at the sight. He’s filled this new condo with the most expensive art he could find, but nothing comes close to the masterpiece in front of him. To him, you’re fucking priceless.

He wastes no more time, tucking a hand under your knee to angle your leg up. You take his cue, understanding each other without words as always, and brace your foot flat against his calf, propping yourself open for him.

A combination of the angle and his picture perfect memory of your walls has his tip hitting your g-spot on the very first thrust. He stretches you so sweetly, the tight fit making your brain go foggy and your mouth fall open, gasping helplessly.

“Like this?” He asks, not taunting but not really asking either, already knowing the answer to “this how you want it?”

“Not quite,” you whisper.

He freezes with confusion before you reach behind you to find the hand he has braced on your hip, pulling it up and placing it back around your neck.

“There,” you say, “now it’s perfect.”

“Holy shit,” Rafe stammers, hips jerking forward, slamming into you a little too hard, lost in his infatuation with you.

At first he worries it’s too hard, but a dreamy moan rises from your throat and you encourage, “yes, yes, like that, please.”

Mouth agape in disbelief at his pure fucking luck in finding you, he obeys your plea, pulling back slow before thrusting in hard again. The hand that’s not on your throat pushes into the mattress beneath your head, lifting himself up for leverage. He continues to fuck into you hard, pausing after each stroke to hit as deep as he can possibly get. You’re a mess, crying out with each slap of his hips against your ass, blabbering incoherently as you clench around him.

“Ohhh my god you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth. “‘I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing me like that. You gonna let me come inside?”

Your eyes fly open as an invisible light bulb goes off above your head, you twist to meet his eyes, his lids low and irises completely blown out with lust.

“If I do, will you stay home?” you proposition him.

He scoffs, shaking his head in pure amusement and adoration, tongue digging into the side of his cheek in the cocky way you love. From this angle, the sharp features of his perfect face hover just inches from yours. The sheer attraction you feel makes your walls flutter around his cock, a tease of his reward if he promises to stay.

Rafe screws his eyes shut, his head falling back as you pulse around him repeatedly.

“Fuck! Yes, I promise, I promise,” he cries out as he continues thrusting into you sloppily, “I’ll do anything. I’ll sell my house, I’ll change my fucking name. Just ask me and I’ll do it.”

His theatrics delight you, bubbly giggles rising from your stomach as he loses himself in you. You can’t remember ever loving anyone as much as you love him at this moment.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, completely enamored with the man inside you.

Without a thought, he slips the hand on your throat to the back of your neck, kneading your skin as he pulls your mouth to his. It’s not gentle, like his typical good morning kisses, it’s messy and wet and hard and completely mind numbing. You bite on his bottom lip, almost accidentally, losing your mind at the taste of him.

“B-baby,” he stutters, his hips doing the same, “can’t - fuck - can’t wait any longer. Tell me where you want it.”

“Mmmph, inside, please! Please fill me up, Rafe.”

It’s all he needs to hear, he buries himself deeper than he’s ever been.

“Come with me?” he pleads.

You’re so close, you can’t even find words, nodding rapidly. He hits your g-spot one final time and you slip off the edge of the earth into uncut ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back and your toes dig into his leg, bruising his calf. His tip hits your cervix hard, hot cum pooling deep in your core, spilling out of him for longer than you thought possible. His breath is ragged and his chest heaving as his body jerks around you.

Both trembling, his arm gives out and he slumps down, curled around you. Sweaty and satisfied, you catch your breath together, Rafe still buried deep.

He plants wet kisses on the nape of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way and blowing gently to cool you down. You see only bright white behind your closed eyes, floating in a perfect pleasure you didn’t know was possible until you met this man.

After a few moments, or possibly hours, he starts to pull out. Your hips chase his defiantly, refusing to lose his warmth again.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, reaching back to grab his hip and hold him in place. “You promised.”

“I also promised to change my name, you gonna make me do that, too?” He laughs.

“Maybe.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna call me?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “How about daddy?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, Rafe twitching inside you, already hardening again. He knows you’re just playing with him, but his mind spirals out of control at the pet name. He’s so in love he thinks it might kill him.

Settling back into you, he reaches around the bed until his hand finds his discarded cell phone.

Your lips twist into a smirk as you hear him dial, still buried in your heat.

The dial tone rings a few times and he says, “yeah, gonna need you to clear my whole day. Something came up.”

He thanks the voice on the other line, hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere in the mountain of blankets on the floor.

“A whole day?” You ask, nestling back into his chest. “Aren’t you gonna lose the money from those investors?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, laying more slow kisses on your shoulder. “Worth every fucking cent.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

#queue #rafe cameron #obx #obx fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic

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websterss · 2 months ago

Text

THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS

REQUEST: reemoony asked: loveeee your writing and I hope this request reach you. Can you make Bob and y/n are liking each other but they never say it but everyone is well aware of their feelings. One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her. Angsty angsty but with happy ending please. Sorry if this complicated, just change it into what you feel right and easier.

WARNING(S): SPOILERS?? me trauma dumping on page 24 for the plot (google doc verified) ANGST AND MORE ANGST, mentions of toxic relationship, someone dies, Bob needs a hug, and a kiss, and lots of reassurance, and probably therapy, happy ending I swear!! I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this one, folks. I hope I hit everything, this should've been two parts lmfao. I am not responsible for your therapy bills.

WORD COUNT: 18,593 (don't kill me I was on the roll)

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! :) Feedback is always welcome! I was truly second-guessing posting this. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the writing means to handle Bob with such care like some of y'all do.😭 but here we are. This took me a week y’all, ya girls tired <3

MASTERLIST

The evening had come around the corner faster than Bob could grasp. Alexei was making last-minute calls to use their time wisely so that they might show up to the event at a cordial time. He would have if he could get his hair to cooperate with him.

"Knock. Knock." Yelena announces, tapping on Bob's ajar door. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of his room. His black tie attire contrasts with the baggy, loose-fitting hoodie and sweats he wears around the place. The fitted tux does nothing to hide his trained physique.

Yelena exclaims with earnestness. "Wow! Look at you!" She's whistling for effect. Impressed by how well he cleaned up. "Do I smell cologne on you, sir?" Her smile grows.

He stood straight, his eyes widening in the mirror as he turned to face her. His gaze softened, taking in her all dolled up and out of her usual tactical gear. The green was different from the black she wore. He thought then and there that she should wear more colorful outfits. He nods once, dipping his chin to nuzzle his nose into the collar. He inhales deeply.

"It's the one you gifted me for my birthday…Thought I’d give it a try…Thanks…You're not so bad yourself. You...You look beautiful." He smiles sheepishly as he spares her another once-over, bashful.

Yelena grins, thoroughly pleased to hear Bob’s compliment. In the best of ways, it was pleasant to have her efforts noticed.

“Why, thank you,” She responds with genuine gratitude. She spins in place, the skirt of her emerald green dress flowing flawlessly with the motion. She sits on the edge of the bed, flopping down, grabbing one of Bob’s pillows to hold onto. “You look good in a suit, bud. Almost ready?"

"Yeah...Yeah, just need to finish up with my hair. That's all. It’s not...responding well to the hairspray you lent me, though." He pulls at a strand. Bob’s hair was relatively problematic. No order, flow, or movement that made sense to the careful eye.

Bob turns back to the mirror. Messing up his hair, parting it to the left, before parting it to the right, trying to maintain its order, but he’s made no progress, thus far.

She smirks, amused by his struggle. "Ah, the woes of getting ready. I should have given you gel; it works miracles better than that stuff. Why don’t I take a look, huh? Maybe I can offer my expertise. We do share the same hairstyle, after all." She rises from the bed, approaches him, and notes the tousled locks that stick out at various angles.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time…”

“Nonsense.” She motions for him to come here to begin her work. "So….trying to impress anyone?"

Bob glances down at her before focusing back on himself. He tilts his head, feeling the way the suit hugs him. The jacket stops at his waist, not swallowing him whole like his hoodies, which secure him like a blanket. Everything fits justly. He feels exposed. Yelena pauses her movements, watching the uncertainty take over his frown, as though he’s weighing something significant. The tension is all in his shoulders.

"No...not really…Just–trying to make myself look the part." His response was vague, not giving away the reason for his meticulous grooming.

Yelena quirks an eyebrow. She’s perceptive. Nothing gets past her, especially when it comes to her teammates. She hums as she moves behind him, scrutinizing his hair from a new angle. "Really? Just trying to look the part?" She questions, her tone filled with skepticism. She playfully runs her fingers through his hair, testing its resistant nature. "So, you're not trying to impress a special someone? Not even the pretty lady getting ready across the hall from us?"

Bob pauses momentarily, caught off guard by her direct assumption. He turns his head towards her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. He can't completely mask his surprise at her astute comment.

"N-No." He shakes his head a bit too quickly.

Yelena smirks, her keen insight confirmed. She can see right through Bob's attempts at nonchalance. His sudden denial made it even more apparent that he was trying to hide his infatuation. There was no hiding behind it though. They all knew.

She steps closer to him, her gaze never wavering. "So you got all dressed up and started messing with your hair for an hour, just for the sake of looking the part?" Yelena cocks her head slightly to one side.

"Yes." He nods his head stubbornly. "Just trying to look the part..." He swallows nervously before he fixes his attention back to his appearance.

Yelena lets out a faint laugh at his repeated insistence. Her eyes narrow playfully; she ruffles spots of hair here and there. She moves over to the other side of him before continuing her touch-ups. "Y'know, Bob..." She starts, her voice low and light. "You're not a very good liar." She places a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “I’ve thought you better than that, sir.”

"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.

Yelena continues to fiddle with his hair from the new angle. Her touch is gentle. "S’alright… You try to hide it, she tries to hide it. You both are not very good at this thing. But we all see the way you look at each other." She speaks with a soft but knowing tone. As if she's been patiently waiting for him to acknowledge his feelings. "You see her like she’s the quiet that fills the void inside you, all the noise goes out and she’s there, bringing you that peace, and she sees you like you’re the sunrise she’s always been eager to see after she’s been living in the dark her whole life."

Bob laughs, the sound nervous, mixed in with a scoff. He's in denial. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

Yelena chuckles at this, her smirk growing. "Oh, come on, Bob." She moves around him again, standing before him, her eyes meeting his gaze pointedly. "You think we haven't noticed how your eyes light up whenever she enters a room? She stumbles over her words when you ask her a simple question. Your gross motor skills somehow fail you when you see the tiniest hint of her smile? And she spews weird little facts that no one can make sense of." She shakes her head slightly, amused. "You're in love, as is she, and we can all see it. Last week, you fumbled a book when she spoke to you in the kitchen."

"I slipped..." Bob looked down, shrugging his shoulders, feigning indifference to your past interactions.

"You were sitting down. The book was closed."

Bob begins to teeter back and forth to try to calm himself. "Are…Are you done?" He meets her gaze through the glass. His eyes flitted up to his now messily but organized hairdo. His eyes crinkle at the sight. "It looks the same."

Yelena chuckled, her eyes gleaming. His words felt like a cover, a desperate attempt to deflect from the truth. She playfully patted his shoulder before moving closer, standing directly behind him again. She perched her chin on his shoulder. "You shouldn't fuss so much, you look great. As for your unruly hair, I only messed with it a tiny bit." Yelena pinched her fingers. "Figured some part of yourself should remain true tonight..." Yelena reached up to tousle it for show. "Also, I have it on good authority that a certain birdy has told me she likes it when it resembles a bird's nest." He doesn't miss her wink through the glass.

He still can't help but release his doubts to the widow. The way his self-esteem remains low. “I don’t feel great, Yelena. This…This isn’t me. This suit, my hair, and the nice shoes. It feels like I’m putting on a mask.”

"Bob, listen to me," She says, squeezing his shoulder. "I know it might feel weird. It is a bit weird. You're wearing a fancy suit with your hair slightly combed and shoes that aren't sneakers." She lets out a faint laugh. "But you're not hiding yourself away. Putting yourself into a box approved by Valentina." Yelena gently turns him around to face her. "You're just allowing yourself to be seen in a different light.” She squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly. "You deserve to feel great about yourself."

"I feel good in sweatpants."

Yelena laughs heartedly this time; she loves how adamant he can be. "We all do." She gives him a light, playful nudge. "But that's not going to fly tonight. You're going to wear the suit, you're going to go out with your friends, have a great time, all while looking good." She grins, her tone light.

"I don't feel good though..."

Yelena senses his unease. She meets his gaze again, her expression serious yet compassionate. "You are incredibly good looking, Bob. You're just not used to feeling that way, seeing yourself in that way. We've all had these moments. Hell, I've had my share," She admitted, her smile briefly fading. She quickly catches herself and tries to uplift the mood again. "It's just one party. How bad can it be?" She nudges him again, this time laying a playful punch to his chest. "Just this once, humor me. Let yourself experience something out of your normal routine." She reaches up to fix a strand playing stubborn. "Also, the little birdie has told me she loves the sight of a man in a crisp suit, too." She nudges him twice with her elbow.

"Okay." He laughs at her incredulous antics and light teasing. A beat passes before his brow furrows. "We have a bird?"

Yelena bursts into laughter at his question. "Oh my god- No." She grabs him on the arm to ground herself. Her voice filled with mirth. “Bob, no. We...We don't have a bird." She shakes her hands and head. "It's just a figure of speech. It means I have inside information. It's- Oh Bob." Yelena's shoulders slump in defeat. Bob offers a timid grin before he laughs lightly with her, finally understanding what she meant.

"Oh right...Y/n’s the bird. I-I get it now." Bob rocks back and forth with a solid nod.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at Bob's delayed reaction. "Yes, she's the bird.”

Bob glances back at his reflection, still weighing his options. "Is it too late to change into my robe?"

Yelena chuckles at his attempt to escape the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t show up to a gala in pajamas. Sorry, buddy. No PJs tonight. You're stuck in the suit until the party's over." She grins at him, her tone playful but filled with determination. "And I'm also eighty-eight percent sure Valentina will kill you if you set foot into the venue looking like you just rolled out of bed, so the tux stays on."

“It wouldn’t be the first time…” He avoids her gaze, his cheeks still dusted with a slight tint, a mixture of embarrassment and reluctance. A bit of his inner turmoil was still cracking through the surface. "I… I should stay home tonight."

Yelena's eyes soften once more as he suggests excluding himself from the event tonight. "No, no. You're going, Bob. Don't even think about backing out now." She steps closer to him, her gaze steady and firm. "You look great! Listen to me; we want you to get out of your robes and that blue sweater you always wear. Take you out for once since you're always here at the tower. Bob, surely you wouldn't want to miss the chance to see how stunning Y/n looks in her evening gown, would you? Gorgeous." She emphasizes.

Bob falls quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. His mind drifts, picturing how you might look all dressed up. Your hair done all nice, maybe some jewelry, nothing too flashy, since you preferred decorating your fingers and ears with simplistic pieces. He can't help but wonder what color might adorn your perfect smile. Red, maybe orange, perhaps that color you told him was called mauve, with your lips lined.

I...I bet you look pretty. He thinks.

Yelena grins, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She can see the thought of you in his mind, the vivid image of you dressed to the nines igniting a spark in his expression. She catches his brief moment of daydreaming before he catches himself, his gaze snapping away from the pillow to meet hers.

"Bob..." Yelena's voice edges amused.

"I just..." Bob starts, then lets out a frustrated exhale. "I'm not really... I'm not the party type, you know. I always stayed indoors growing up. I never went out much. I never had this. Friends who wanted to be around me. This gala is far from my normal routine. I don’t think letting me go out so soon would be a good idea. It’s been a year. You guys said it yourself, you don't want to risk Void getting out again. You...You guys would be better off going without me. I can stay behind…I don’t mind."

She understands that he harbors doubts and fears about his place among them.

"Bob..." Yelena tilts her head, staring at him pointedly, her voice gentle yet firm. "We aren't keeping you locked up to contain 'Void'. It's not about that. Not anymore." She reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not a ticking time bomb, you never have been. We want you there with us. Even Y/n, alright? If it puts your mind at ease, even for just one second. She was the one who suggested we bring you along with us. Not because we feel it’s our obligation, and no one can watch you. But because we genuinely want to see you out of this place, cleaned up! We don't want to see you holed up in this tower forever, okay?"

Bob's heart skips at the mention of you wanting him there, too. He fidgets momentarily, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his shoes. The polished shine on them reminded him that he could have these things now. The privilege of owning nice things.

Nice things never last long. In his life at least.

“Okay…” His mind whirls with the never-ending feeling of being a bother and a burden. He's hesitant, torn between his desire to attend and his habitual tendency to keep to himself. He bites his lip, the urge to decline the invitation was tempting against the subtle want of not wanting to be stuck at the tower…alone. "I just..." His hands lingers over his naked collar.

Her voice is gentle with a hint of encouragement. “You what, Bob?” She waits for him to verbalize his concerns; she’s patient.

"No...It's stupid." He brushes it off with a laugh.

"No, say it!" She encourages.

"No. I should stay home-"

"Bob, tell me." Yelena dipped her head to meet his eyes. He gives in after a moment.

"...I don't know how to put a tie on." He laments, lamely gesturing to the fabric he had tossed on his bed moments earlier, having given up on trying to do it himself. His father was absent from teaching him how to put one one. He never did get to bond over a silly thing, such as a tie with him. The rite of passage, or whatever they call it. The transition into becoming a man, knowing how to tie one yourself.

Yelena chuckles softly at his confession, her amusement tinged with empathy. Her eyes flicker towards the abandoned tie on the bed.

"Oh, Bob..." She gently pats his shoulder this time. "Don't worry; we can sort it out, alright." She takes his hand and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed. She picks up the tie, draping it around his neck. "You know... You could have just asked me." She says gently, wrapping the tie around his neck.

"You already helped with my hair." He shakes his head.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, carefully ensuring one end is slightly longer. This difference would account for the tie’s eventual knot later. Yelena crossed the longer end over the shorter one, then pulled it under the shorter end and through the loop around Bob's neck. She continued folding the shorter end at the widest part to create a bow shape.

"Yes, but that's no excuse. You could have asked. Nothing wrong with asking for more help." With the bow shape firmly in place, she brought the longer end directly over it. Pinching the bow shape and the longer end together, carefully threading the longer end through a loop she had opened in the back of the bow. She then pulled both ends to tighten them in place.

"See? Sorted out." She pats his chest, stepping back to look over her handiwork and adjusting the fabric until she is satisfied with how it sits at his neck.

"Thanks...I was never taught how." Bob trails off, not wanting to bring forth thoughts of his father. They were never pleasant.

She notices the hint of melancholy in his voice upon mentioning not being able to put on a tie, but she chooses to move past it, not wanting to dampen the moment. Instead, she pats his chest once more, grinning. "Don't worry, Alexei doesn’t either." She winks at him once more.

He nods out of curiosity before he even registers what he's asking. "Does…Does Y/n know how to tie a tie?"

Yelena raises her eyebrow at his question. She tries to hide a smirk, realizing where his mind is currently at. "Hmm...You know, I'm not entirely sure. But..." She pauses, enjoying the moment. "If I had to guess, I'd bet she would. She's got an endless amount of skills hidden beneath the surface. Surely tying ties is a secret she has, wouldn’t hurt to ask her about it."

"I-I wouldn't put it past her…She's great at everything." His admiration was not lost on her.

"That she is..." Yelena smirks. “You should tell her you know. That you’re in love with her.” She nudges his foot with her heel.

He wrings his hands together, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees. As tempting as it sounds, he wouldn't be able to gain the confidence to execute it. Confessing to you how he felt. The feelings he harbored. "No…It’s better this way. If I keep it to myself."

Yelena's expression softens at his reluctance. She sits next to him, considering his words. "Bob, listen to me. Life…it’s too short to keep something like that to yourself. I've seen you around her, the way your worries fade. That sense of security that she brings you. That you bring to her. It’s all in the risk worth taking." Yelena continues, choosing her words with care. "Don't let fear keep you from telling her how you feel. You'll never know what might happen if you don’t take that chance."

He meets her gaze. His locks falling over his eyes, hiding him. "What if I mess it all up?”

“I don’t think you could.”

“And if I do…I don’t want to hurt Y/n.”

“Relationships get messy, Bob, it’s part of growing together. Do you think we’d be here today, as the new avengers if we continued to butt heads every time?”

“No…”

“You have nothing to lose.” Yelena encourages. “Trust me. Just be yourself. Tell her how you feel, and before it’s too late, alright.”

“I'll think about it…" Bob stands up as Alexei's voice rings out from the hall, indicating it was time to head out. With a sigh, Bob steps out of the door frame, ready to face whatever the evening has in store.

Bob had a completely different idea about how the night would go. Surely, there would have been busybodies intrigued by his presence and would approach him. Possibly ask him about his powers, his involvement, and what he brought to the table, but that was not the case as he continued to stand in the corner of the venue. Alone. His hands were messing with his cuff links to help pass the time. He raised his hand occasionally, sparing a timid greeting to the passersby who gave him a side eye. He wasn’t aware how much of a wallflower he was being, but he was nonetheless immune to the judgeful stares. He might've guessed that his longing gaze also made people whisper and gesture towards him. The fact that he was staring in one particular direction caught everyone’s curiosity.

He was looking at you, mingling and laughing with people he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop staring at you since you met the group in the living room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said you looked gorgeous.

It felt like time itself stopped and nothing else moved, nor mattered, except you. Walker didn’t fight the shit eating grin on his face when he heard Bob’s sharp intake. The kid was so far gone that he had to nudge the man after you had complimented his appearance.

“And here I thought you were reluctant to go out with us. You look good.” Your sweet grin was making him visibly malfunction. You gave a nervous laugh, looking down as the minutes passed without him saying anything. Heat warms your cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?” Your eyes crinkle with embarrassment.

“No, he–“

“–Oh!” Bob stumbles to the right from Walker’s nudge. “T-Thank you! You don’t look nice- No you do! You look nice…I meant to say you look nice. You’re beautiful…You look beautiful!” Bob grows flustered. “T-Thank you.”

“Geezus.” Walker scoffed, walking away from you both.

“You know you can take your eyes off her for a second, right? She’ll still be there, I promise.” Bucky comes up to him from his peripheral vision. Bob’s face flushed with embarrassment, having been caught. He dips his chin before he locks eyes with the soldier. “Here.” He offers a rounded glass—a golden liquid swirling in its confinement.

“Thanks…” He carefully encircles his hand around the glass and takes a sip. A loud cough erupts from his chest, making him lean over. Bucky chuckles briefly before helping him back upright and patting his chest.

“Scotch on the rocks. Thought you could use some liquid courage. Get some hair on your chest.” Bucky pulls away. Bob watches as the man’s eyes avert, inspecting the room. He blended in well, unlike himself. No one looks twice at Bucky. No one suspects him of anything bad.

“F-For what?” Bob cleared his throat, trying to get over the burn.

“You’re gonna ask her to dance.” Bucky declares.

“I’m…I’m what?” Bob whips his head to peer at him. Then, back to you, you hit a man with your hand across his chest, throwing your head back. How could he ask you to dance when you looked to have been having a swell time across the room?

“Gentlemen…What are we talking about over here?” Walker chimes over. A hand in his pocket, a rounded glass tucked into his palm, faced down.

“I told Bob here to go ask Y/n to dance.”

“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests.

“Ha– That I want to see. Do you even know how to dance? Can you dance?”

“Well, no… I can do the Charlie Brown in the cha-cha slide though…”

“You don’t say…” Walker closes his mouth. He shakes his head at Bob’s enthusiastic confirmation. “Maybe teach the kid a step…or two.” Walker lifts his drink to his lips. Bucky pats Bob comfortably against his back, his chin face down, embarrassed that he admitted his lack of dance skills. “Before he asks her.”

“I should’ve stayed home…” Bob muttered to himself.

“No you shouldn’t have. You just need a wingman.”

“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease.

“Yeah, someone who can help you get the girl. That gives you advice on how to look good in front of her.” Bucky's words cause Bob to look down at himself.

“What more could I do to look okay? Y-Yelena already helped me do my hair and tie.”

“This will have nothing to do with your appearance. You already got the face and the build, kid, don’t worry about that. I just meant more of teaching you how to hold yourself confidently and how you speak to a woman.”

“But Yelena told me to just be my-“

“Forget everything Yelena has told you. Let us help you, alright.” Walker butts in. Bob wrings his hands, he wasn’t too sure about the whole ordeal. Yelena told him to take the chance, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, to be himself, because that’s who you were drawn to. Now the guys were telling him he had to work on himself, on their way to giving him tips on how to bring out his confidence, it didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know…I wanted to do it on my own terms. N-Not right now…She’s busy.”

“She’s networking.”

“I don’t want to pull her away to tell her how I feel…” The idea felt selfish. He didn’t want to be the one to tamper your fun night.

“Trust me, kid. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s miserable.” Bob turns, inspecting your joyous body language. If your discontent looked like you were happy, then so was he.

“Maybe we should wait-“

“Oh.” Walker draws their attention. Bob turns to him before looking back at you. “Trouble in paradise.” Walker quips, gesturing to the new fellow that caught their attention. Your smile disappears when you turn around to face the hand that tapped your shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Bob glances back at the troubled expression of his teammates. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Nervously waiting to know of the man, who brought you displeasure from what he could tell. He watches you shake your head no, turning and walking away from him and the group you mingled with. An unsettling torment rumbles in his chest, when the guy grabs your upper forearm, halting your retreat.

You quickly turn your head around; a quiet disagreement begins. A few other guests glance over at you both.

"Sadly that is Y/n's former partner. His name is Ryker Stride.” Bucky reveals the information about your ex-boyfriend that you failed to talk about. To him at least.

"I had no idea she was with someone…" Despite the fact that he didn't look like your ex, Bob couldn't help but let his wandering thoughts get the better of him. He felt insignificant compared to how Ryker held himself.

“They weren’t together for long, they hit month six before she ended things with him.”

“Is it ‘cause he’s an asshole?” He didn’t like the way he grabbed you. You pulled your hand back, before you walked away, Turning a corner out of sight.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky sighed. Walker watched the scene unfold, before an idea struck him.

“Go save her.” Walker urges, noticing Ryker following after you.

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter. Go!” Walker nudged him a few steps forward, but Bob only shakes his head.

“I-I don’t think it's a good idea…Walker, Yelena told me to not get into trouble before she left me here. I-“

“Oh my god! It’s not like you’re gonna kill the dude, you're just gonna follow them, make sure she’s okay. And if he so much lays a hand on her, then you slightly intervene, use a bit of that strength of yours to show him you don’t mess around when it comes to her. It’s completely harmless dominance. Show how much of a gentleman you are. Trust me, she’ll be kissing you by midnight, you’ll thank me later. Promise.“ Walker steps up to him, pats him on the chest.

“I don’t know…I think we should get Yelena. Get her opinion on this.” He reels into himself, not believing he could carry it all out. He was a gentleman, he thought so, so did Yelena and you, why would possibly getting a man’s hands off you further highlight the fact he’d never do such a thing as lay a hand on a woman. It felt risky…but was this the risk Yelena encouraged him to take things with you further?

“I think it could work.” Now Bucky, mauled it over.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s risky…” Bob kept insisting.

“No. It’s not. You should go save her.” Walker persisted. “This is your chance and you’re seriously not gonna take it?” He scoffs. “If you’re not gonna do it, then I will. The guy’s a prick anyway.”

Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First, the guys suggested he should ask you to dance, and now they want him to barge in like some knight in shining armor? Did they seriously expect him to just waltz over to you, interrupt your conversation with your ex, and play the hero? But what really caught him off guard was the fact that he actually considered it. Sure, he didn't think much of your ex when he saw his hand on you, but to intervene?

Walker and Bucky continue to implore him, emphasizing the importance of this moment. Telling him to man up. He knew this was the opportunity to act, but as usual, his nerves get a hold of him. With a hesitant look at the super soldiers, he nods once and moves with small steps in the direction he saw you go.

Bob felt nervous when he came to a stop around the corner. Your anger evident with every grit of your teeth. It was daunting to see you so worked up. His brows furrow as he saw Ryker hold you in the exact same position.

You wished you hadn’t walked away from the crowd. Crowds kept you safe, they granted you witnesses if something were to happen to you. Much like so.

"Let go." You grit your teeth at the man preventing your exit.

"Let's talk about this-"

"There's nothing to talk about. I gave you your answer. I ended things with you for this exact reason. Your aggressive, abusive, and right now a real pain in my ass. If you can't be a grown-up about it, that's a personal issue. Not mine. Let go." Your voice lowers, firm in your conviction.

“No come on, give me a chance to explain myself. I told you I was going to work on myself-”

"Ryker if you don't take your goddamn hand off me so help me-"

Bob was torn from the sidelines. He understood it wasn’t his place to interfere, but his heart began to beat faster as the conversation between you and your ex grew more heated. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a few steps towards the altercation. He had to say something, but he also didn’t have a clue how to approach.

"She...She said let her go." A dark, low rumble emits behind you. The rasp in Bob's voice usually sent a tingling sensation down your spine, but upon seeing how intensely he glared at your ex, and the way his shoulders curled in around himself. It did nothing but give you goosebumps. Bob's gaze settled on his hand, the one currently leaving impressions of his fingers on your skin. Your gaze stays on him as you catch a flicker of amber in his eyes. No.

"She said, let go." Bob’s gestures with a pointed finger. A nervous laugh emits past his lips. It does nothing to ease the tension.

Ryker's hold on you tightens at Bob's words. The defiance in the man's demeanor only fueled his determination to maintain his grip. "Mind your business, freak. This doesn't concern you."

Your heart hammers as Bob’s eyes go full gold. “She said let go…”

You turn back to the stubborn fool with cogs and nuts for brains. "Ryker, let go of me now." You push against his hand, which doesn't let up at all. "Terco! Suéltame!" You curse at him. "You have a death wish. Surely, that’s the case!" You feign sudden revelation to his unrelenting grip. You shove against his chest, before looking back at Bob, exclaiming frantically. "Bob, I'm fine. Go find Yelena!"

"He's bruising you..." His gaze was unmoving from Ryker's grip. “He shouldn’t be hurting you.”

Bob steps to move closer, but your desperate attempt to keep him away from the impending situation stops him in place. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ryker’s tight hand on you and the sight of your growing distress.

"Bob, it's fine!" You curse under your breath, as you try to hide the pain you begin feeling, etching your features. "Ryker!" A disheartened chuckle slips past your lips, but it's not joyous. Bob didn't misplace your whine. "You're drunk, go home. You're making things worse-"

Ryker's grip on you persisted, his drunken state only fueling his stubbornness even more so. He ignored your attempt to diffuse the situation; a scoff left him. "The only one making things worse is this pri—" His words were slurred and then interrupted. Bob stuck a hand out before Ryker's grip lifted off of you, and then he flew towards Bob.

Bob didn't hesitate to grip the intoxicated man's neck.

"You were saying?" Bob's raspy growl was not missed.

Ryker croaks, his airway being cut off by Bob's hand around his throat. He tries to form words, but only a strangled gasp leaves him.

"Bob..." You step closer to them. His cerulean eyes meet yours, and a speck of hope fills you, thinking he's not far from being helped. "Bob, can we talk about this?"

His grip doesn't loosen on the guy. Bob's eyes are locked onto yours for a split second before returning to Ryker, the grip on his neck more harsh than what is necessary. His demeanor had changed; his usually soft-spoken words and timidness were gone. He stands straight, shoulders squared. A subtle but commanding aura emanated from him. He was losing an eternal fight that the eye couldn't see, but you saw the signs. His lack of empathy, dissolving, a rugged exterior slamming down like a shutdown protocol. You didn't like the man who wanted to take over.

"Bob?" Your heels click softly with each approaching step. "Listen I know Ryker's a piece of shit okay. It's why I broke up with him..." You put your hands out to show him you mean no harm. "I thought I wanted him gone at one point in my life too, but contemplating about the asshole in such a way didn't feel worth it anymore." Ryker pays you a glare. "Bob, he doesn't deserve one second of your time." Bob clenches his jaw as he peers down at your darkened marks. He twitches as he tries to think through his inner turmoil.

"No, no. He shouldn't have hurt you. He put his hands on you." Bob's voice cracks. "I don't like it when people hurt you..."

"Yeah, well, people do stupid things when they're drunk. He's an idiot." You give Bob a pained smile. "I'm fine. Nothing serious." He still had Ryker in his grip. The man was turning red.

"He-He deserves it." With one final tightening of his grip, Ryker falls limp. You barely register the crack, surely his neck. The sound haunts you as the hairs on your arms rise again.

You watch as Bob releases Ryker. The man flops to the ground, unmoving. Your heart picks up as you realize what he's done. Your eyes go wide before you swallow the lump in your throat. "Bob, you...Did you-"

Bob's gaze was locked on Ryker's unconscious form, and he finally turned to look at you, noticing you had backed up. A flicker of realisation passes across his expression at your reaction and withdrawal. Bob's gaze remains steady, his eyes devoid of the softness you're used to, replaced by something else. Hatred.

"He had it coming." Bob's tone is firm, his voice still hinting at his usual timidness, but tinged with a hardened edge. "He hurt you. What gives him the right to do that to you? To anyone? I did him a favor." He nods more to himself.

"You didn't need to kill him."

Bob's gaze intensifies as he keeps your gaze, the look unyielding. The gold in his eyes is more prominent now. The tension was dense, the moment hanging in the air, thick like fog. "He deserved it." Bob's tone, confident and cold. No remorse. "He hurt you."

"Oh my god…No it wasn’t necessary.." You release a sigh.. "H-He just held my wrist."

Bob's eyes narrow. He scoffs in disbelief. "And you were wincing, were you not?" He steps closer to you, closing the distance. You never liked his gold eyes. Not when he was looming over you.

You hold your head high, trying not to let your gaze waver from his intimidation. "I'm fine. Killing shouldn't have been your first choice. It never should result in death unless the situation requires it. I could have knocked him out, Bob..."

"Maybe you're too kind." The intensity in his gaze was unbroken. "Sometimes, people like him don't understand anything but violence."

"I don't think you do either..." You wished you could have taken it back the second the words fell past your lips. "I didn't mean that-" You close your eyes. Regret hitting you.

Bob recoils at your words, flinching as though you hit him. "I think you did." His gaze sharpens, hurt and confusion flashing across his features.

"No." You insist.

The intensity in his gaze doesn't let up, even as you try to retract your statement. "No. You did mean it." His tone is stern. Grim. It cuts through the air like a knife. "You think I'm as violent as him, is that it?"

You only keep shaking your head, even as he corners you against an adjacent wall. "No. I think-"

The weight of his body is imposing, shadows slowly casting over him starting from his shoes as he corrals you into the wall. His hands find the space beside your head, trapping you in as he leans in close, his voice low and sharp. “Why shouldn't I use my full potential, especially when a damsel is distressed? I'm strong, so why wouldn't I try to help someone in need? Though I'm starting to think this damsel wasn't worth the time or energy anymore. Since she's yet to thank me. I came here to save you from that asshole.”

Your lip trembles as you reach for your gun. You act fast on impulse. Switching the safety off your weapon with precision and speed before a shot rings out. Surely someone's heard it go off.

Bob's reaction was instantaneous as pure adrenaline surged through his veins. He acted on instinct, seizing your wrist in a firm grip. He holds your gun-wielding hand steady. The weapon was aimed at a spot just past his right ear. His voice is eerily calm. “You missed.”

Your outcry was real this time as the gun slipped out of your hand. Out of reach now. Bob held your wrist, much like Ryker had. Only this grip was severely cruel, whereas Ryker's was bruising you, Bob could easily break your wrist with slightly more pressure applied. "Y-You're hurting me-" You shove against his chest. He was unfazed by your attempts.

"And you were going to shoot me....God, why do we even keep you around?" Your eyes widen as the shadows reach up to his torso.

"'Cause I'm one of you..." You arguably strain.

He doesn't allow himself to give in to your words; he doesn't soften or falter. You press the left side of your face into the wall as he sneers and breaths heavily into your cheek. "You sure about that?" His tone was condescending. He pulls you into his chest, dragging you away before you know it.

A yell breaks out when you're thrown across the venue’s dance floor. Your body hits the ground roughly, sending you rolling before you stop face down into the ground. You lay there trying to gather your bearings.

He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.

"T-That hurt..." You mutter to yourself as you take note of the crowd, stepping back and away from the center. Separating a path as Bob, halfway transformed into Void, approaches with steady, slow footsteps.

"Y/n!" Yelena makes for you, but you shake your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. Your face fell when you noticed them reach for specific spots on their attire. Weapons. Hidden from wandering gazes. Had they anticipated this to happen? "Stay back!" You warn, pushing off the ground with shaken legs. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to push through the pain of being thrown like a rag doll.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

Bob's eyes remained fixed. Golden. The shadow within him, consuming his being. His expression was almost feral. He stops in front of you. He had no hesitation and no mercy. No, not for you. No more.

Bob watches you stumble forward with an unsettling lack of regard. Even though he had been rougher with you than he'd like, his demeanor didn't soften. He begins stepping towards you. "You're a drawback." His tone is harsh, lacking the usual warmth he holds towards you.

Your head falls into your shoulder, defeated and solemn, as Bob's demeanor doesn’t change. Black overshadows his delicate features. He is no longer the timid and awkward man you thought you knew. Now, he is Void—a twisted, broken force to be reckoned with. The two white dots for eyes stare back at you hauntingly.

No trace of warmth or familiarity in his eyes. Just a tormenting, head tilt directed at your vulnerable state. "A liability." His head tilts to the other side now.

Yelena steps closer to you. A hand was held out in front of her, ready to shove you behind her. She was all too familiar with the Void's dislike for you. He hadn't been too kind to you in your shame rooms. Giving you hell the most when the group rejoined in the attic. He hated you, hated how you made things quiet for Bob. You provided a sense of comfort and a safeguard for him to fall back on. Void wanted you gone. Now more so than ever.

"Bob?" Yelena gives it a go before she reaches for you.

Instantly, you're yanked by your wrist, slamming into his chest, forcing you to meet his menacing stare. You watch his wickened grin grace you, the white dots for his eyes reflecting the sliver of hope within him. Barely there.

"No!"

"Let her go!"

"Bob, let her go!"

"Bob, if you can hear me. Stop this!"

Multiple safety clicks are echoed all around the room. You turn briefly, locking eyes with Ava, Yelena, and Walker, directing their pistols' ends towards the shadow man. Bucky is on standby with his weapon of choice. You lock eyes with him, shaking your head. Their hesitance to shoot is noticeably painful.

"You can't be trusted." Void continues speaking slowly, calculatingly, each word falling heavy and deliberate, as the shadows consume you from your heels. "You act impulsively based on your emotions. You're a waste of time. You're only making him weaker."

The shadows wrap around your ankles, coiling around them, consuming them in darkness. You feel the shadows creep up your legs, snaking their way up your body, now to the halfway point of your waist. It didn't take a genius to know what was happening. "Then get it over with already..."

He chuckles darkly before you see your friends and various guests begin being turned into shadows. Void's gaze flickers around the room. People start to scream and flee, while others begin to try to fight back. He remains unfazed by the panic as he lifts you to his eye level, the shadows reaching your chest now. "You don't matter...you never will." You release a gasp, your eyes closing as the shadows curl over your head like a hoodie. Then your body's gone from his grasp. No shadow in sight.

Bob sat up, startled. His eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and ragged as he shook his head and ran frantic fingers through his now messy curls. His heart raced in his chest. "What..." He muttered, trying to shake the remnants of the horrid nightmare from his mind.

"Bob?" He whips his head up fast, causing him a sudden dizzy spell, before he locks eyes with Yelena on the ground. He begins to register not only her disheveled state but also various other bodies, sitting up from the ground as well.

"What the hell..." Ava curses as she goes to stand. Yelena followed suit, as shadows started to disperse from each figure that had stood in the room a while ago.

"What happened here?" Bob, nervous, stood up, trying to find his bearings.

"Great, you don't remember."

Bob's confusion grows as he takes in the sight of everyone around him. He rubs his temples, trying to make sense of what's happening. "I...I don't know..." He shakes his head, feeling dazed and disoriented. "I was... dreaming, I think. It was a nightmare. But, I can't remember much."

"It's fine, Bob." Yelena waves him off.

Bob rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. The group is gathered in the venue, their surroundings in disarray. Chairs toppled, tables were knocked over, and the floor was littered with shattered glass. "What happened here?" He asks again, taking in the state of the room.

"Void." Bucky sighed.

Bob's heart sinks at the mention of Void. He knew all too well the damage and chaos the other guy brought with him. "Void did this?"

"Yeah..." Walker nods. "But from the looks of it, you only maintained it here, so I call progress." Bob was lost.

"I did? I don't remember anything. I only remember seeing Y/n talking to that Ryker guy, before everything got fuzzy again."

The mention of your name had them freezing. Yelena looked to him before her body swirled around in search of you. Yelena's eyes widen with realization.

"Y/n... Where's Y/n?" The room falls silent as they begin to realize the absence of your presence in the venue.

"What's with the long faces?" Bob wrings his hands together, not understanding the concerned glances everyone threw his way. He turns his head like they do, eyes darting around, falling onto multiple strange faces, searching but never really finding what they looked for. "What's wrong?... Where's Y/n?" His body tenses, dread seeping in.

"What do you mean, where is she?" Yelena's heart plunges. "Bob?" She inched closer, trying to get a read on him. "D-Do you remember anything?"

"No, I told you all that I know. I saw Ryker with Y/n before everything got dark." Bob glanced over to Walker and Ava's hardened gazes. He curled in on himself. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong and that he was at fault. "W-What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Alright, kid, quit messing around. Where'd she go? We all came back, so why didn't she?" Walker rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his oblivious antics. "Where is she, Bob?"

"I-I don't know where Y/n is? What did I do?" Bob frantically shrugs his shoulders.

"No." Dread fell over Yelena's face. "No, no, no." Yelena cupped her stomach.

Bob noticed Yelena's expression, confusion etched on his face, "W-What's going on? What did I do?"

The group looked at him in pity, their faces riddled with worry, fear, and confusion—all except Bucky, who remained silent and stoic. Everyone waited for Yelena to speak. Yelena's voice was shaky, her words softly spoken.

"You didn't do anything." Yelena's eyes started to water, her body trembling. "No..." She looked around the room once more. Nothing. "Okay...Okay. How do we get her back?" She highlighted.

"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.

"You're asking us?" Bucky pointed to himself. "How would we know?" He perplexes.

"I...I don't know!" Yelena's breathing grew ragged, on the verge of tears. She blew raspberries. "She can't be gone...we all came back, there's that!"

"Yeah, but she didn't." Walker voiced everyone's dread. His tone grew sharp and impatient. He pointed to Bob, "Why is that Bob? Why didn't she return like the rest of us?"

"Surely there's some reasonable explanation for this-" Ava tried leveling the situation.

Bob's expression turned somber, his eyes darting to each person searching for an answer. He stuttered, "I...I don't know why. I swear, I don't know. I...I'd never ever hurt her, I promise. I'd never hurt her."

Yelena's voice was shaky, her words barely above a whisper. "We know you wouldn't, but she's gone. Maybe still in the Void, and we need to get her back."

"The question is how, though?" Walker queried.

Yelena shrugged, her eyes reddened and puffy. "I got nothing...." Everyone remained quiet.

Bob wrung his hands together before a suggestion conjured up in his mind. "W-What if you knock me out?"

The group froze, all turning to look at him in disbelief.

"What?" Yelena furrowed her brows, confused by his reasoning.

Ava chimes in, disagreeing. "That doesn't even sound plausible."

Walker let out a scoff. "Knock you out? Are you out of your mind? What good would that do for us?"

"We risk the Void escaping again!" Alexei voiced his concern. "It is a no from me!"

"Sorry, it was just an idea. I thought it could work- Sorry." Bob shakes his head, letting his head fall to the ground again. Bucky, the more level-headed of the group, weighs the idea before speaking.

"Bob..." Bucky steps forward, his gaze fixed on the distressed male. "What do you mean by that? Why do you suggest that we knock you out?"

A spark of hope ignites behind his eyes. Someone's taking a chance on his idea. Bob nods before saying, "Maybe if you guys knock me out. I could find her...in here." He peers up through his lashes at the soldier, gesturing to his temple. "It was just an idea..."

Bucky's gaze remains locked on Bob, contemplating his proposal. Yelena moves from her spot, placing her hand on Bucky's arm. "Bucky, you can't be serious."

"You got a better plan… We don't have anything to go from. It's better than nothing. It could work..." Bucky shrugs at Bob, who straightens. Bob stares at Bucky, surprised that he was on board with it. He turned to the others, waiting for their opinions.

"But how can you know for certain... that it will work?" Yelena counters.

"It's a stupid idea," Ava mutters, shaking her head.

"Alright, how hard do I have to hit him?" Walker begins removing his blazer, rolling his white dress shirt up to his elbows.

"Woah woah woah! Let's think this through, there are other ways we can do this!" Yelena cuts in frantically.

"She's right, punching him won't phase him."

"Then how the hell are we supposed to knock him out?" Walker complained.

"You could..." Bob swallowed back a lump. "You could choke me..."

Ava whips her head over to Walker's baffled gaze. She nudges him with a shit eating grin. "Choke him!" She urges.

Bucky places his hands on his hips, and a heavy sigh leaves him. "You sure about this, Bob?"

A mixture of nervousness and determination washes over Bob's face. Bob nods, trying to seem brave. "Yeah...I'm sure. I have to try…For her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know?" He lets out a faint laugh, but his smile only lasts a few seconds.

A grimace is on Yelena's face as she watches the scene begin to unfold. Bucky places a firm hand on Bob's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t kill him, Walker. Do it quickly, just enough to make him unconscious. Got it?”

Walker shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He approaches Bob, hesitant about his decision. He grabs Bob’s forearm before making him turn around. His back now faces him. "Sorry in advance, kid..." Walker swallows hard before he wraps his arms around Bob’s shoulders. It's not long before his arms tighten around his neck. Bob protests, raising his hands to where Walker's hold reduces his oxygen. He knew he had to give in, for your sake, but he'd be lying if he said the whole plan was terrifying.

Bob tries to resist even as he meets Yelena's pained expression. Bucky's head turns away so as not to look, but he thinks twice before looking back, to be there as his source of comfort as he starts tapping against Walker’s arms.

"You'll be fine, kid. Just relax, alright? Don’t fight it." Bucky tries to reassure him. Bob feels the pressure build up in his head and lets out a gasp before he nods. His eyes flicker back and forth between gold and blue. His throat feels like it's being crushed, not the most pleasant thing he's experienced, but what's worse is the way Yelena is watching him. Not at all okay with this. She never liked seeing him hurt.

His eyes meet Yelena's, and her eyes are filled with dread. He manages to mouth his words with a weak smile. I’ll. Find. Her.

Bob's eyes start fluttering. His expression starts drooping as he's on the verge of passing out.

The world blurs as he starts to feel the rush; his head starts pounding. Then his surroundings turn dark. The pressure becomes too intense, and he goes limp. His body falls into Walker’s arms. Walker sighs, letting his arms unravel from his neck before he walks backwards, gently laying the man on the floor. He stays crouched next to him, hating this more than anything. “Now what?”

"We wait." Yelena chimes in solemnly. Grabbing a discarded chair, planting it before her unconscious friend, and plopping herself down on it. “And hope this work.”

Bob didn’t know how long he had been roaming through his shame rooms before a particular doorway appeared. The brown door, sticking out like a sore thumb from the white walls of his childhood home, his shame room, where his dad was screaming at him, asking him where he was going. He gave his father one more glance before he rushed towards it. Opening and slamming it shut behind it. But as he put his force behind the shove. The door itself caught on the doorframe. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving behind the hope that it would close, but a thin space between the doorframe and the door prevented its enclosure.

“It doesn’t close…The floor is sunken there.” A high-pitched voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He pushes himself from the door before he swivels in place. A small child greets him on the floor.

"Y/n?" Bob inched closer to what he presumed to be your younger self. You were donning a pink and purple sweater, a sequined puppy plastered on the front of it. A few sequins turned over like you had run your hand across them. Black leggings worn out and fuzzy purple socks on your feet. A mirror of your adolescence.

Your younger self looks up as he approachs. He met her gaze before she pointed to the other end of the room. “She’s over there.”

He swiveled around, scoping the room's entirety, until his gaze settled on his goal. His search concluded as he saw you curled underneath a desk. His shoulders slumped at the sight. Your face was dazed, staring straight ahead. Eyes barely blinking. You, too, donned the puppy sweater and leggings. Different from your dress, which you looked lovely in tonight.

You hadn't even bothered to acknowledge his presence as your younger self kept trying to build a puzzle laid out before her. An image of a snowman, in a forest surrounded by trees. A few pieces were chipped, and one, unbeknownst to him, was missing, lost, meaning you'd never fully complete it over the years of trying to, in this room.

"Y-Y/n." He reveled in saying your name out loud.

"I don't want to talk to anyone." Bob turned to look back at the child, placing another piece in its correct spot.

Bob crouched down to be eye level with you under the desk. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of reaction. For a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. No response.

"I-I didn't mean for you to be trapped in here." His voice shook.

Bob's expression twisted into one of deep regret. He reached out to touch your knee but stopped himself, his hand hovering a few inches above as it trembled. His gaze flitted to your younger self. She seemed focused on the puzzle piece in her hand, utterly oblivious to his internal torment. The sight only intensified his agony.

"I–" He opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to reassure you, but no words were forthcoming. "C-Can I join you?" Bob fell back on his bottom and gestured gently to the center. Your younger self looked up.

"Sure." She barely peers up at him, unbothered by his request, but holds out a piece to include him all same.

Bob accepts the piece, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he takes it. He turns it over in his grasp, examining the surface of it before looking back at the puzzle. He slides his piece into place, his movements careful but precise, ensuring a perfect fit.

"Thanks." He murmurs, his gaze drifting back to your younger self. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite muster. He lets something out for now. "I've never been good at these..." Bob confesses, "Could never finish them. Sit still."

"It's okay...We've never finished this one, but we keep trying to." The child's disheartened smile makes him want to break down.

Bob nods curtly, his throat tight. The sight of your indifference nearly unravels him. He turns his attention back to the puzzle, trying to ground himself in its simple but comforting task. He picks up another piece, turns it over.

"I’m... I can't-" Bob stops short, clearing his throat as it threatened to close up. He tries again. "I can't believe I did this to you." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I wish I had more control over my powers. I could have saved you the pain."

"We're not mad at you for it. We promise." Your younger self reassures. Handing him another piece after placing another perfect fit down.

Bob's breath hitches in his chest. Your reassurance is like a balm to his wounded soul. Hearing those simple words from you, from her, eases some of the guilt that has been consuming him. He accepts another piece from you, gently placing it into the puzzle again.

"You… You should be." He mutters, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "I put you in here." His gaze flicks back to her face, taking in her innocence, how calm she remains. It's infuriating. Why are you not raging at him? Shouting? He deserves it.

"The Void put us here." You corrected him. "What's being upset over it gonna accomplish?" Your younger self hovers her hand over a certain area; uncertainty flashes behind her eyes. You're hesitant. Bob, conflicted, reaches forward and guides her small hand over to a spot he thinks it will fit. It does. "Thanks." She’s appreciative before enthusiastically grabbing another, ready to advance in the puzzle's completion.

Bob's heart clenches as you respond rationally. It's eerily shocking how mature you are for your age. The way you forgive so easily is at odds with the guilt he feels. Yet, somehow, your words have an undeniable power over him. He can feel the grip of the Void's hold on him loosen ever so slightly. He helps you slide in the next piece as it clicks into place. Your giggle warms his heart. The corners of his lips curl up at the sound.

"How can…. How can you be so calm about this?" Bob can't help but ask, his voice tinged with disbelief mixed with awe.

"I-I have to..." Your younger self falters. Her composure glitched before she blinked and continued as if nothing had happened. She avoided his gaze, looking back down at the puzzle. "We have to be. Otherwise, what comes next would be unbearable."

Bob's brow creases with concern at the glitch. A ripple in your memory, the imposed calmness that he couldn't miss, faltering. The way you had been referring to yourselves as we, never as I. He was getting somewhere. At least he hoped he was.

"What…" He hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's coming next?"

"Ya estoy harta!" Your younger self flinches as a glass breaks in the distance. "Vete con tus pinche putas! Ya no me importa! Largarte! Largarte!"

"Ya no puedo! Ya basta. Pinche loca ya no puedo!"

Bob immediately tenses, ready to protect you and your younger self from whatever threat looms, but as the shouting continues in the distance, he recognises something familiar in the language. Spanish.

"Is... Is that...?" He whispers, knowing the answer but hoping he's wrong.

"S-Spanish." Your body convulses and twitches as the vulgar language is spoken. Feeling gross. You try to block them out, pausing your puzzle making, your hands harshly slammed against your ears. Tears form in your eyes as the screams only continue. You run over to the door, banging and kicking it. The kick makes the door widen, before you push against it.

"Shut up!" Bob flinches as your small body screeches. "Shut up! Ya cállate!" Your outcry only intensified. Your body shaking with sobs. "Shut up! Shut up!" You turn the lock, knowing it serves no real purpose. Your bedroom door barely closed. The doorframe stopped it from entirely shutting. You've never been able to lock it, not once. You turned and walked over to a corner where a dresser sat. You go to push it until it starts sliding across the floor. Pushing with everything you had in your tiny body, until it sat in front of the door. Blocking them from entering. You didn't want them near you. You kick the wall next to it in anger. To have them hear just how upset they made you. Hoping your meltdown would cause them to stop, to see how much they’re hurting you. You go far as to grab something heavy launching it into the wall too. The bang as agressive as your parents anger.

It's not long before you move to where you remain under the desk. Your younger self crawls underneath with you. Scooting herself next to you as your older self ticks and shivers at the language exchanged. Your younger self cups her ears and lets out an ear-piercing scream. All the while, yourself sheds a tear. It's only then that he finally gets a real reaction from you. You turn to your younger self wanting to save her the pain. You wrap an arm around her and tuck her in close to your side.

Bob is frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him. The sheer desperation in your voice is gut-wrenching; you just want it to stop. He watches with staggered breaths as your younger self curls into you. The shouting and screaming continue in the background.

He wants to move, to grab the dresser and shove it through the wall, to put an end to the shouting and the pain taking place on the other side of that door. But he remains where he is, watching yourself try to help your younger self find solace. His eyes dart to the blocked door, listening to the muffled yelling from outside. He grits his teeth, anger bubbling within him.

When he turns back to look at you both. Your younger self is nowhere to be found beside you. "Here!" His head turns to the child sitting before him again on the floor. Another puzzle piece was offered to him once again.

How long did you relive this before he got here? The memory had reset again, he realized.

Bob's hands tremble as he gradually accepts the puzzle piece. Peering down at the upright face, snow-like texture painted on the piece to help him determine where it could go. He stares at it, guilt slowly seeping into his bones as he lifts his head to watch your younger self concentrate on the image the pieces were curating.

"How...How many times has she-you-" Bob can't even fathom how long you've been sitting under your desk, to appear so numb to everything. "How long have you been in here?"

"This is loop ten." Younger you, spares him a pinched grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.

Bob's stomach churns at the revelation. Loop ten? You've had to face this same scene ten times over, stuck in an endless cycle. He wants to scream, to tear everything apart, to make it stop. But he can't. He's just a participant in this twisted nightmare. His eyes shift between the puzzle and your younger self, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. He had to try; this was you he was talking about. You'd done so much for him; he owed you that much. To push past how scared he was of screwing things up even more.

Your younger self looks up, halting her movements. "I-I can't finish it." You finally refer to yourself in first person. You look down at the puzzle. "I just wanna finish it."

"You want to finish the puzzle?" Bob questions, his words tinged with both confusion and understanding. He glances at the puzzle, taking in the incomplete image. It's beautiful in its own way, even without all the pieces. But the thought of you stuck in this repetitive loop, trying to complete it, it's unbearable. "You... You don't have to finish it." He says softly, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he can even change your mind within the confines of this memory.

"I want to." Hope. A small spark ignites within Bob as your younger self expresses her determination. He picks up on the subtle changes in your expressions, the way your younger self glitches and gives way to glimpses of your older self. He clings onto this as a sign of change, that he can somehow alter this loop.

His back straightens. He looks back at you under the desk. You were still there, but a sliver of hope had him realizing you wanted to crawl from underneath there. "I... I get close, and then I never do. There's always a piece missing." The child's brows furrow with frustration. You go to place the remaining six pieces before pulling your hands into your lap.

"Missing piece?" His eyes flick back to the puzzle, taking in the image, searching for what could be amiss. Then there it is, the center spot, vacant. His gaze darts around the room. "Maybe it's somewhere else? In a drawer? Or under the bed?" He muses, his mind racing with possibilities, until the screams of your parents have him glancing at the door. He glances down at you, then at you under the desk.

"Hey!" You peer up at him. "Just... Just focus on me. Listen to my voice…not theirs. Okay?" With labored breaths, his grin grows as he tries to reassure you from the shouting behind the door. "Where would you look first?" Your younger self gets up and heads for the door, when suddenly you appear criss-crossed before him. His eyes widened, trying to gain your attention this time. "Y/n? Hey!" He exclaims, reaching forward, touching your shoulders. "Hey. Hi, oh my god hi!" You turn back to face him after having peered over at the door.

"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.

"Yes!" Bob lets out a sigh of relief. He can't help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "Yes, it's me. Me Bob. That's me!" He gives a firm nod, still holding onto your shoulders. He leans down to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry. The team told me what happened and how Void got out and ruined everything. How everyone came back, but you never did. I... I should've stayed home. I knew it was a bad idea to go to that gala, but the team insisted, you insisted, on getting me out of the tower, and...I screwed everything up again. Like I always do. But I'm here. I'm here and I want to make things right. I'm gonna get you out of here." His conviction bled through.

Your eyes glisten. You looked so small compared to the confidence you carried around him and the others earlier in the evening. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder as another vulgar word reaches your ears. "D-Don't listen to them." Bob turns your chin back over to him.

Bob forces a pinched smile as your attention returns to him. He squeezes your shoulders, his fingers gently kneading into your flesh, trying to ground you. "You want to finish this puzzle…We'll finish it." He says firmly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You muster a nod before looking at the blank spot, mocking you from its completion. Bob pulls back. Your younger self begins screaming and pushing the dresser towards the door. Your eyes close as a tick rakes through you. Bob takes note of your reaction, how the side of your ear hit your shoulder blade. Your younger self finishes under the desk, before she appears beside you and Bob. The puzzle resets back to its previous state of incompleteness once again.

Loop eleven.

He shifts his eyes down to your hands, something you twirled around mindlessly, catching his attention. His brows furrow as he reels in the object you acquired, the thing you fiddle with, it was the piece you needed to finish the puzzle.

You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.

"It seems almost selfish..." You concur.

His mouth parts as the realization dawns on him. "You..." Bob whispers, his words lost in awe. "You had it this whole time?" His gaze switches from the piece in your hand back to your face.

Your younger self's determination and stubbornness faded, replaced by the realization that you were holding onto the very thing you sought all along. He's struck by the simplicity yet irony of it all. You were so close to finishing the puzzle, but blinded by what was literally in your hands to do it. He shifts and turns to your younger self, peering up at you, expression expectant, waiting, filled with melancholy. She goes back to adding the six final pieces again.

"This stupid piece…That I could never find. I threw the puzzle away when I couldn’t finish it. It’s so stupid…"

Bob looks at the puzzle piece, a mix of emotions roiling within him. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing how long you'd been trapped here, the endless loop of trying to finish the puzzle without realizing you possessed the very thing needed to complete it. Your younger sits back, wringing her hands together, a mirror of his timidness. It brought him a sense familiarity, something he weighed on now, that you both had something in common. He reaches out, gingerly taking your younger self's hand, before looking back at you.

"It's not stupid." He reassures you. "Sometimes… we search for things so hard we forget to look in simple places." He pauses, his gaze lingering.

Your inner turmoil was evident. You dig a hand into a side pocket of your sweater, he hadn't known was there. "It was in my pocket..." You scoff. Shaking your head. "This whole time!"

Bob watches you, the realization settling in for both your younger and older selves. Younger you then mirrors your actions, stuffing her hand in the pockets, only to pull them out and be left empty handed. It was a poignant moment. "You-" Bob can't even finish the sentence, words momentarily lost on him. It was so simple.

Bob couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a bittersweet sound. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. You had been carrying the solution to your problem all along, hidden in your pocket. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. "I-I once lost my phone…It was in my hand the entire time." A lopsided grin took over his features. ”Though I’m pretty sure it was the meth that hindered my senses from realizing it was there the whole time...” He trails off, noting that his attempt to offer a similar experience did nothing to comfort you.

"It’s not the same…" You shake your head.

Bob breathes a faint laugh at your pouting, the sound of it reverberating across the room, a stark contrast to the ongoing shouting and aggression outside the room. "I think...I think you'll be okay." He chides gently, trying to bring light to the situation.

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cause you guys helped me…Help me still.” He corrects

Your hesitance was not lost on him. You peer up through your eyelashes, then back down to the piece. "What if this doesn't fix anything?"

Bob pauses as he takes in your question. The weight of it hangs in the air, his earlier optimism faltering for a moment. Hearing your apprehension only solidified the concern. Bob's smile fades into a serious expression. He takes in your younger self’s small form, then to you, the way your shoulders are slumped, and the anxiety settled in your eyes. "I don't know if it will." He admits earnestly, his voice soft. "I just...I just really, really hope it does. It has to."

"Is this all it takes…To just fix it?" You twirl the piece around mindlessly. "This single piece my ticket to getting out of here?"

Bob looks at you, really looks at you. The piece of paper board between your fingers spinning in a rhythmic motion, your eyes filled with a mix of peace and anguish. He sees the way your breathing picks up and the way your eyes dart around the room. He can see how much this effects you, the battle between your logical side and the part of you that's been trapped here for who knows how long, trying to meet in the middle. Conclude a final resolution.

"I...I don't know." He replies eventually. He tries. "I...I mean, you all saved me with a hug." He laughs, its nervous but light, then lets it die out. Bob wants to reassure you, to tell you that this piece will fix everything, but he can't because he's never been great at it. You were the one always putting him back together. You always had the right thing to say and knew when to apply it in your heart to hearts. "So what's to say you can't be fixed by a puzzle piece?"

"Just like that?"

Bob nodded. "Just like that." He affirmed. He knows the simplicity of it, the absurdity, the notion of such a simple thing being the key to your liberation, could probably be seen as laughable. But he didn't see it as such, it might’ve been laughable—yes, but it wasn’t to him. Hope flared in him, a spark of optimism that the solution was so simple, so ridiculously easy. "Yeah…just like that." He repeated, his voice resolute, putting your worries and fears to rest.

"Just like that..." You shed a tear, echoing his words. You take a deep breath, hearing your parents argue once more before you reach forward and place the piece in the center. Your body convulses as you begin to sob hysterically, your younger self sighing as you finish it for once. Bob's lip trembles as he pulls you into his chest.

He holds you tightly, your body trembling against his. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he's there. His heart aches as he listens to your sobs. The sobs wrack your frame as your emotions come out, a tidal wave of relief and frustration breaking through the surface after what feels like a lifetime. He rubs small circles on your back, whispering soothing words into your hair, as his own eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry I put you in here. I’m sorry." He whispers into your hair. "It's okay. I've got you. I-I got you."

“Guys.” Walker alerted the team as a shadow appeared beside Bob’s body—a dark silhouette, mirroring your form.

The team looked over, frozen at the shadow's sudden appearance. Bucky took a cautious step forward, and Yelena rose from her chair.

It felt like you had woken up from a deep slumber when you came to. Everyone watched as your tar-like self was slowly revealing itself, like a sheet unveiling you. The shadows released you, shedding away from your form down to your heels. A sigh escaped from you as you pushed against the floor. Your dress draped around you like a blanket as you peered up at your team and the guest who lay witness. You hear a grunt to your right, you turn and watch Bob come to as well. His eyes were trying to settle amongst the warm lighting surrounding the gala. His suit was wrinkled and left in disarray as he sat up. Yelena's heels clicked closer as she reached down to help you stand. "Oh my god!" She pulled you in closer for a hug. You were still finding your bearings. "Thank god. I thought we lost you!" You peer over to see Bob take Bucky's arms appreciatively.

Bucky pulls Bob to his feet, and a sigh of relief leaves him as he sees him finally become aware of his surroundings. He pats Bob on the back a few times, his grip on his palm tight.

"I knew you could do it, buddy." Bucky greets him with a small smile, his expression slightly worried as he observes his disheveled appearance.

"Thank you?" Bob blinks a couple of times, a forced smile on his face, before it fades. "Do what exactly?"

"You don't remember-" Bucky confirms. "You brought Y/n back from the-" Bucky's words were interrupted by the touch of Alexei's grasp on his upper arm and the sound of Walker's words.

"Bucky...Let's debrief him later. Not right now." He suggested. "She's back and safe. We'll deal with it at home. Not here."

"Is everything okay?" Bob's gaze flickers over to see you surrounded by Yelena and Ava. They were checking you over, making sure everything was okay.

Were you hurt?

He looks back at Bucky, his expression hardening. "I brought Y/n back from what?"

"Not here, kid." Walker reached forward to pat his shoulder. "You did great, that's all that matters-" Walker inhales deeply as Bob's hand tightened around his wrist.

"Don't- Don't call me kid." Bob closes his eyes, his irritation getting the better of him as his eyes glow amber for a split second. He gestures a pointed finger at Walker. "From what?"

Alexei steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s tense shoulders. "Easy there." He cautiously speaks. "Everything is fine now."

Bob's face remains stern, his gaze steady, irritation clear in his expression. "Tell me."

Walker and Bucky exchanged a worried look, both of them noticing the change in Bob's demeanor. "Not now," Walker repeated, his voice firmer this time, his grip on Bob's hand that held his wrist, not letting up either. Bob sensed the clear indication that Walker wasn't going to elaborate, not in the middle of this venue. The commotion from earlier was probable cause for them to high-tail it out of there. Bob’s stubbornness didn’t help their favor.

Bucky leaned in, his tone low, hoping to diffuse the situation. He closed his eyes before giving in. "Look, Void got loose, okay? Something happened. Everyone came back, Y/n didn't." Bob's grip falters, his eyes softening at the information. "Later, okay? We'll explain everything later. But we should probably leave, head home."

"What do you mean she didn't come back?" Bob's confusion only grows. His eyes shifted over to where you were reassuring people that you were fine, who asked if you needed a doctor.

"No, no. I'm okay. Really." He heard your voice bellow out from the short distance between you.

Bob couldn't help but watch as you shook your head, waving off any worried busybodies, and he found himself torn. Part of him wanted to let it go, to leave it be as Bucky and the others insisted. But there was another part of him that yearned to understand. He couldn't leave without answers. He pushed against Bucky's arm, which was trying to ground him.

"Yelena-Yelena!" He called out to her. She waved off another guest, who couldn't mind their business.

“Yes, yes, fine. All is good and well now.”

"Oh my god, what a mess! Is she okay?" Valentina's voice became apparent. Where did she come from? "Y/n, dear, the second you don't feel like yourself, say when. I got medical on call, alright."

"Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need a medic to come-"

"Oh my god, Valentina. She's fine. I promise. Don't intervene." She grew annoyed with Valentina's facade of sudden concern. She wasn't worried about your well-being, just worried about maintaining your image in the public's eye. Valentina continued with her rambling about how much she cared and would prefer it if you were checked over. "Oh my god, we don't need a medic here, ТЫ УПРЯМЫЙ МУЛ!" Yelena cursed. Who knows how Valentina would settle this mess with the press? She double-takes at the sound of her name being called before her attention settles on Bob's concerned one.

"Is she okay?" He mouths.

"She's fine," She waves him off. "Promise." She then nods before rolling her eyes as Valentina rants about having let him out of the house. He reciprocates her nod before his shoulders relax briefly at her assurance, his worry slightly lessened. But something still gnawes at him. His gaze drifts over to you again, his expression turning solemn as he sees the fake smiles and the feigned concern that some are displaying. You didn’t need their fake niceties.

His gaze lingers on you, trying to garner any sign that you weren't fine, but it wasn’t long before you locked eyes.

You catch his gaze, then begin excusing yourself from the small crowd, as a sense of anxiety overcomes you.

"Excuse me-" You politely muttered as you made your way toward him. It was as if a gravitational pull was urging you to him. The room, the people, everything else faded into the background as your focus solely centered on him.

Bob straightens at your approach, taken aback as you nestle yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him.

Startled, he initially freezes for a few seconds before his body relaxes, molding into you. His arms naturally encircle your form, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin perched on top of your head. Your scent and warmth enveloped him, a sense of comfort washing over him. You felt like home.

"Hi…" Bob's voice, a soft whisper, reached your ears as he greeted you. You feel his hands mold more firmly around your waist, a gesture that makes your heart skip.

"Hi..." You return the greeting, your own voice just as soft, finding solace in the familiar sound of his breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." His response short. “Are you okay?" He emphasizes, a hand gently stroking your exposed back.

"I'm fine." You wave it off.

Bob's eyebrow raises, his expression doubtful as he peers down at you. "You sure...?" He questions further, knowing you're prone to downplaying. But so was he.

“Yes and no.” A nervous laugh resounded from you.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offers, even though he’s not sure what he’s saving you from. He’s caught glimpses of your past before, not that you’d ever truly forego the idea of talking to him about it. He was much alike you in the manner of only giving surface levels of his ugly past. You both only knew what you allowed to be seen.

“You did. You helped me.” Your words, their simplicity, but all the more effective, affectionate, sure. He helped you? How could he have helped you, but have no recollection of it? You smile sweetly as you reach to place a kiss on his cheek. Was this your thankfulness wrapped up in an act of endearment? “You might not remember it, but you were enough, and you were there." You nod suringly.

He looks at the way you're molded against his chest. How his hands fit and embrace your figure like he's ready to protect and shield you from harm's way. The way your softened eyes perceive him in this lightheartedness. Like he's somehow hung the stars in your night sky. He can't help but wonder what he's done. What he's done to be truly worth being perceived delicately. You look like you're scared he'll disappear right before your eyes, when he's the scared one, thinking you'll break under his touch.

"Bucky’s saying Void got out again..." He looks down between your bodies. "I should have stayed home- I made everything worse-"

"You did nothing wrong, okay." You reach up, cupping his face gently, lifting his chin so he'd meet your gaze. "You did nothing wrong." You insist. He places his palms over your hands. Leaning into the warmth your touch brings him.

“I remember him..." He nods at his sudden recollection. It comes to him in bits and pieces. "Ryker." His hands slide up your wrist to the purple indentations marring your wrist, contrasting your skin's original shade. He opens his eyes, hoping he's wrong when he peers at the discoloration. But your hurt wrist only brings forth the truth. Telling him everything he didn’t want to be true. He feels guilty for even letting the asshole execute the action, he tries to conjure up ways he can make the injury vanish. Would a kiss heal your wounds? Take away his mistakes? He opted not to, but he was tempted to do so. "He bruised you." He nods, firm and sure.

"Bruises fade, Bob." There you go again, downplaying someone's unforgiving behavior.

"A bruise might...The memories won't." You shake your head at his trepidation. "Why didn't you fight him? You...You're capable of defending yourself?" Bob looks into your eyes.

"I didn't want to escalate the situation..." You shrug dismissively..

"But he hurt you? He hurt you, and I couldn't stop him in time, I-" He pauses, when it hits him like a tidal wave. The way various shouts echo through his head. Your voice bellowing in anguish. A flash of your face painted with pain.

You had been thrown across the center of the venue's dance floor. You rolled and then landed awkwardly on your stomach. Your once neat hairdo was disheveled in your sudden state. You pushed up with your heels and palms.

"Y/n!" Yelena made for you, but you shook your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. "Stay back!" You warned.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

"I hurt you..." Bob's eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull your hands away from his face. It was as though he were the Flint Striker and you were the one caught on fire. He was burning you. "No, no, no..." His eyes close as he gently grips your palms and lowers them to your waist. You didn't want to let him go. "I make everything worse. I should have stayed home- I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Bob." You begin your reasoning. “No, I’m fine. You saved me! You got me out of there, everything’s better now.” You reach for him when he flinches. He hates how your face falls, even more so, when he denies you proximity.

“I-I should’ve stayed home.” He accepts before making his way back to Bucky, asking if they could leave.

“B-Bob!” You call after him, your dam cracking, hearing faint clicks approach your form from behind, you look up.

“Come on. Let’s get you both home before Valentina makes an ever bigger show.”

Yelena.

You peer at her, eyes glistening. She tilts her head, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Come on.” She wraps a blazer around your shoulders. One that smelled oddly like the shaggy-haired man. You were dreading the car ride home, that much certain.

“So you instigated him?” The drive back to the watch tower was nothing short of an unbearable experience. Your scowl and crossed arms giving way to how pissed off you were. Bucky and Walker avoided your harsh, directed stare. Bob had sat to your side, curling in on himself as the tension only intensified. His hands were warm, a mock of how close your skin was to touching, but he’d more than likely pull away.

Dreadful.

Now you all had made it out of the elevator with the team hot on your trail. Your heels clicked heavily against the floors. Bob stood off to the side slowly discarding the tie Yelena had done for him. He looked down at the fabric. Messing with it idly to distract himself from the fight he knew would break out. His shoulders reflected that of a small child anticipating his parent’s anger, slumped over on his tall frame.

“I wouldn’t say that? It was more of a friendly bit of teasing. All we did was give him the nudge he needed to confess the undying love he has for you.” Walker sighed as he went over to the bar. “We saw how pissed Ryker was making you…told the kid to go save you or to stop bitching about how much he wants to be with you.”

Asshole.

“So you hazed him and made Void come out.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Walker trails off.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen-“

“Didn’t mean-“ You laugh incredulously. “Spare me, Walker. No one can function properly, when you’re down everyone’s throat with childish antics. What were you even thinking?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to stick up for me-” Bob tried to create space between you and the Soldier.

“He wasn’t.” Bucky stepped in. Running a hand down his face tiredly. “We thought it’d be harmless, Y/n. Why would we ever intentionally put him through that sort of thing?”

“I told you we were gonna get him out of the house so he good have a fun night. Did I not tell you I wanted no weapons for tonight? To not wound him up to the point of his other self being unleashed. I was gonna come back after I handled Ryker. I had it handled.” You sneer at the man. Tears forming in your eyes, shaking your head at his ignorance.

A scoff to your left makes everyone’s head turn. Bob fiddles with his tie, his head shaking, a half smile settled over his face. “He bruised you…that’s not handling it.”

“Bob-“ You sigh.

“It…It wasn’t their fault, Y/n. If anyone’s to blame, blame it on me. I went after you…”

“No-“ You protest.

“Bucky and Walker only brought the idea up to me...It was my choice alone. I made the decision…to check on you. But now…I-I should have stayed home-“ Bob shakes his head. “Valentina was right…I shouldn’t have been let out.”

“Valentina can dig her grave and lie in it. I’m tired of her trying to keep you locked up here. You’re allowed to go outside when you feel like it! You’re not under house arrest, she can’t confine you to this place-”

“I just make everything worse.” Bob's brows pinch together. You cup your stomach as tears begin to spill down your face.

“No. You don’t. Don’t think like that. You don’t, I promise.” Your protest further escalated his self-loathing.

“Void took hold of you from what everyone is saying, and for whatever reason, felt the need to keep you from getting back to us. He hurt you, I hurt you.“

“But that’s not on you! That wasn’t your fault! It was mine. For thinking I could somehow bring you back down from in there.” Your eyes meet his temple. “I made things worse. I mean—I shot a bullet at you! I could have knocked him on his ass, but I didn’t and it wasn’t the right call for me to make.” You argue.

“We’re one whole. How is it not my fault?” His shoulders slumped, looking at the team’s conflicted expressions. “Am I wrong?” He breathes a laugh out. “Nothing ever turns out great when I’m around.” He slowly retreats towards the stairs. “I told you guys I should’ve stayed home...”

“Bob please…” You call after him.

“Let him go.” Bucky orders. You turn back to look at your teammates.

“D-Did I just ruin this things between us?” You let your arms flop down to your sides.

“No…it’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault at all.” Bucky reassures you. He walks over to you and squeezes your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you knock him on his ass?” Walker questions.

“I was going to,” You snapped back at him. “-but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don't know...It felt like I was back there again, enduring his abuse when he grabbed me...I guess I froze." You shrug nonchalantly. "Then Bob showed up...and I couldn't think straight. Couldn't think of a way not to escalate things further, but I only made it worse, and it cost Ryker his life in the end...Cost Bob a fun night."

"He killed him?" Walker closes his eyes; your turmoil didn't do anything to hide it. He didn't miss the coms from the authorities either, claiming one casualty earlier on their way out of the venue.

You looked at the floor. "He did...and he doesn't need that put on him. So don't fucking tell him." You warn.

"I think Bob should decide that for himself, no?" Bucky raised a brow at you. "What happened to letting him make his own choices from now on?"

“Well, he wanted to stay home, but we all kept insisting he go out with us. So I don’t know anymore! And I'm not deciding for him..." Your hands were balled into a tight fist. "He should decide, yes, but when he's ready. He doesn't need to know about it right now...It just happened and a part of me isn’t too upset with him about it, but he's in such a vulnerable state right now...I feel like it’ll only do more harm than good...It'll be another thing for him to hate himself over...He doesn’t need that right now.” You say softly. “You guys should have seen him when we were in the void…He’s so capable and we take his gifts for granted.”

“We never thought he was incapable, it's why we agreed to allow him to make his own choices, decide what he eats for dinner, allow him to find his own hobbies. Tonight was just a one-time incident where we peer pressured him into leaving his room, when he didn't want to."

“Well, that peer pressure backfired, didn’t it?” You said under your breath. You run a hand down your face in frustration. “God, he didn’t even want to leave his room...Did you see how uncomfortable he was at dinner? You said it yourself, we coerced him. And I’ve never seen him more upset about it...” You turn your head, peering at the staircase. "Was it stupid of me to think we could show him a fun night out?"

"No. We all wanted the same for him." Yelena shakes her head. "It's not stupid."

"Then why does it feel like it is? He's probably up in his room beating himself up for even stepping outside."

"'Cause you love him..." Yelena gave you a pinched tired grin.

You look away from her. Your shoulders slumped as your eyes burned with unshed tears. It was quiet. No one was sure of what to say. You closed your eyes as that familiar pain in your chest returned. "I do. I love him..." Your voice broke. "But this isn't about how I feel. It's about him." You shake your head. "He was just starting to feel a little more secure with himself in public...He's gonna hate himself for thinking he ruined everyone's night. I could see it in his eyes...The last thing he needs is to feel guilty over something he has no control over." You continue.

"It's not fair to him...He's had it rough for so long, and every time there's progress, something bad happens that takes him thirty steps back." You let out a small scoff. "Maybe I never should have brought up the idea of a night out in the first place...How can he forgive me after a night like tonight?"

"'Cause he loves you too." Yelena tilts her head at your self-deprecation.

You look at her. Your body stiffens, and your chest tightens as you let her words sink in. "But what good is it to love me if it only brings him pain? How long before that love fades to nothing because of my negligence?"

Yelena shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. "You can't doubt yourself, or his feelings for you. I know it's difficult, but the last thing you need to do is start putting yourself down and feeling sorry about tonight." She squeezes your hands.

Bucky stood next to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded in agreement. "You know that you mean a lot to him right?"

“And he only agreed to go out because you wanted him there with us.” Yelena admits.

“Also, we might’ve encouraged him to confess his feelings for you, but he wanted to do it at his own time…I should have stopped then and there, kid. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s admission only added to the weight that sat heavy in your chest. You look over at him and nod slowly, unable to form words.

Yelena gently rubbed you on the back. “You know he can’t stay inside that room forever. You both need each other." Yelena chimed in. “Plus he can’t go a day without his cereal so there’s that…”

"He'll come to his senses..." Walker gives you a faint grin. “He’d be stupid not to.”

“T-Thanks guys…” You step back from Yelena’s hands. “I’m gonna be outside if you need me…gonna clear my head.”

“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.

“N-No I’m okay.” You brush her off before you head out to the roof.

“Take the time you need, little one.” Alexei chimes after you. You raises a thumb in the air in your exit.

When you're out of sight, Walker asks. "What time is it?"

Bucky checks his watch. "Just a quarter till midnight. Why?"

At the realization, Walker takes off towards the staircase. "Walker, what are you doing?" Yelena called after him.

"Keeping my promise!" He called from over his shoulder. “You'll see!” Bucky, Yelena, Ava shared a look as he ran up the stairs and disappeared.

"What the hell is that about?" Yelena gapes before shaking her head. “Whatever, I’m going to bed. Someone make sure Y/n doesn’t jump off the roof.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that…” Bucky shakes his head.

You hadn't fully registered how the cold breeze stung you until you felt a jacket fall over your shoulders. You had been so caught by New York's optics that you missed the metal door creak open. You jump at the sudden contact, thinking you'd see someone beside you, but you had to turn further around to see the man of the hour, who had been running through your mind, stood at the door. You take note of the hand he lowers back down to his side. Putting two and two together about how the jacket made it to you. He made it float. "Bob..."

“Walker said you might be cold…” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Right…I-I was...thank you." You turn your head, nuzzle your nose into the fabric as you insert your arms through the arm holes.

He nods his head. “Welcome…” His chest feels tight watching you snuggle into his jacket. His gaze settled down in front of him. Neither of you say anything. The sounds of New York City echo throughout the night air. Car engines, taxi cabs, faint horns in the distance. Time did seem to stop up here, whereas life continued down on the streets. It was oddly comforting. "C-Could I join you?"

You look back at him, surprised by his suddenness. "Yeah...Yeah of course."

He nods then takes the spot next to you; awkwardly fidgets with his fingers in his lap. He turns his head, looking at you in his jacket. It was a sight for sure...He tried to ignore the way his heart palpitated in his chest.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind and the city in the distance. But his eyes linger on you, taking in your form. How the evening sky envelopes you in its darkness, distant lights from neighboring buildings causing a warm hue to make your face visible to him, the way the wind nipped at your nose, and your sniffles took over you...He couldn't deny it...You looked beautiful, so carefree.

You turn at the right time and catch him gazing at you. Your eyes crinkle with a hint of heat that rushes up to warm your cheeks. You both emit a nervous laugh, settling your eyes onto your laps. His hands wring together, yours fiddling with the jacket's sleeves.

The silence continued, but this time, there was an obvious tension in the air. The both of you were hyper-aware of it. His eyes continued to dart between you and the city lights. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything..."

His heart stutters in his chest. He takes a shaky breath, his nervousness building. He looks back at you. You look at him reassuringly, like you genuinely meant that one word...Anything.

It makes it difficult for him to get the next words out. "...It’s a stupid question." He rubs the back of his neck.

“That’s okay.”

"I-I just-" He sighs, his jaw clenching as he looks out at the city again. "This might sound weird...But do you know how to tie a tie?" He swallows down any anxiety, forcing his gaze back on you.

“Oh.” Your eyes widen at the peculiar question. “Do I know how to tie a tie?” You ask again to ensure you heard him right. Bob nods yes.

“Sorry...I warned you it was a stupid question. Just...Forget I asked, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck again, looking away.

"No, No...It's okay. If you really want to know. I do."

His eyes flicker with curiosity, meeting your gaze. "You...You do?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an underlying hint of something in his eyes. "Oh, I was just...I was just curious, that's all...I can’t put one on myself...Yelena did it for me, but I…" He trails off, looking back at the city. "I just thought maybe...You could-" His words die in his throat, cutting himself off before he lets any more words slip. He shakes his head, his hands continuing to fidget in his lap.

You register the implication. "Teach you?" You try.

His breath hitches in his throat as you finish his sentence. He looks back at you, his eyes a mix of vulnerability and relief. He could sense the anticipation in your gaze, waiting for him to respond. "Y-Yeah...Teach me." He finally manages to rasp out. "So Yelena won't have to anymore..."

"Yeah, I can. Tell me when okay." You grip his hand. He nods.

"O-Okay..." He looks down at his lap. Your touch is soft and warm. He can't help letting the guilt eat at him. You were being so gentle with him when he was anything but. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"Don't-” You shake your head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize." You squeeze his hand gently. "It wasn't your fault...You weren't in control."

"But that doesn't change the fact that my other half hurt you!" He snaps back, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening. You both look down at his hold, his shoulders lose their tension before he's holding you like you're made out of porcelain.

"Look at me, please." You request softly. He raises his head, trying to avoid eye contact. His chest tightens, knowing he can’t hold your gaze for too long. "It wasn't you."

His jaw clenches, his eyes stinging. "I should've stayed here...Then I wouldn't have ruined the night." His breath shakes, the words leaving him in a broken whisper. His eyes meet yours, tears blurring his vision. He hated this—all of this.

Tears sting your eyes as well. Your free hand reaches up, brushing his cheek gently. His eyes flutter at your touch. "You didn't ruin anything..."

He shakes his head, refusing to accept the comfort you try to offer him. The guilt is too heavy, weighing him down like a thousand-pound weight. He feels so undeserving. "I did...I always do. I-I..." His voice trails off, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"No-" Your hand cups his face, forcing him to look at you. "No, you don't. You might make mistakes, but you don't always screw things up. You're a good man, Bob. You're so much more than what you think of yourself..." You lean your forehead against his. “You’re good.”

He tries not to melt at the way you say his name. His face falls forward, leaning his forehead into yours. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your touch, your words. "How can you say that? Especially after tonight..."

"Because it’s true.” You softly run your thumb over his cheek, catching another tear that slips down. “You are such a good man.” You take a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through a lot…You’ve been beaten down many times…but you keep bouncing back up.” He’s still against you, his breathing ragged as he lets the comfort of your proximity soothe him. “You brought me back from the Void, you didn’t leave me…You’re so good!” You breathe out a laugh. "I wish you'd see it yourself."

He can’t speak, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so. Instead, he closes his eyes tighter, relishing in the sound of your voice. He’s desperate to soak up every word you say, to have them sink in, become second skin. He’s been deprived of something so simple for so long, to hear the one person he cares about say those words…It’s making him unravel at the seams. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?”

The question hangs in the air like the sound of a church bell. You take note of how he’s looking at you. The way he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of human contact that he’s been deprived of. Your hand gently cups his chin, your other moving to rest over his heart. His gaze is fixed on yours like an anchor, waiting for you to respond. You can read the desperation and need in his eyes, the vulnerability that he's trying so hard to conceal.

You see a man wanting, no, begging to be loved. To be told that he's worthy of it despite believing otherwise. You look at the way he's clutching your hand, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He's hurting, still so damn broken, but not loving him with every fiber in your being would hurt you more. "Yes…God, I’d be stupid not to." You breathe a laugh.

Your words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart stutters in his chest, the grip he has on your hand clenching involuntarily. His eyes search yours again, looking for any sign of deception, anything to tell him you don't really mean it. But all he sees is complete honesty looking right back at him. He shakes his head; a broken laugh escapes his lips as his chest tightens at the confession. "Yeah…You really mean that?"

His questioning. It only hurts you further. So you cup his face, bringing him closer so you could look into his eyes. “I do. I mean it...I love you.” He flinches. He’s frozen, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to take it back. You don’t.

You run your thumb over his skin, gently brushing your nose against his. You see tears form in his eyes again, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Gripping the material of the jacket he gave to you, pulling you close. “Can you repeat it?” He finally croaks out.

“I love you…” You’d tell him three thousand times if he asked.

He shivers; the tremble of his chin is barely noticeable. “Again?” You’re suddenly pulled into his lap with a soft force. The grip he has on you is tight, not rough, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I love you." You trace his jawline. He lets out a shaky breath. It's not long till you're leaning in to capture his lips with yours.

The first touch of your lips against his has him releasing a low groan. His eyes flutter as he melts into it before he suddenly pulls you flush against him, desperately trying to savor it—savor your touch. His lips move against yours in a frenzy, his hands gripping you tighter on your hips. The kiss is filled with need, a longing he can barely contain.

He can’t get enough. The taste of you was so sweet and warm. He’s been deprived of such a simple thing that now his body screams for it. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his hands exploring every part of you he can reach. He can feel your body against his, its heat, that only adds fuel to the fire. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate than you expected from him. When you pull back to gather your bearings, to allow oxygen back into your lungs, you can’t help but cry. Bob, already second-guessing the little make-out session, feeling he's done something wrong, was relieved when your words deterred his troubled thoughts.

“You're good, you're worthy, and you are so loved…” You wipe the remaining tears with the back of your hand. "If you ever take anything from this conversation, Bob, let it be those three words. You deserve to be wanted. To be happy, to be loved…"

#bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x you #sentry x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #writings by juls #writings by juls: robert reynolds #my gif

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cheapshrimpysheep · 9 months ago

Text

Yuutsum 2

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other? Ortho's part is platonic as always.

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 2 Tsumsitters (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland 2 Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

Azul's part is different from the one I wrote for the request. At the time the event had not yet reached the English server, if I'm not mistaken.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 3 (Ace; Trey; Ruggie; Jamil; Vil; Idia; Malleus; Silver)

CONTEXT: Like the original Twisted Tsumderland 2 event, this takes place after the events of the first Twisted Tsumderland. And, surprise, your Tsum is back! But it's the only one, all the other Tsums that came with it are completely new visitors.

You were with your Tsum in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm, and it wouldn't leave the window as if it was waiting for something. You ask if it wants to go somewhere, but it shakes its head and continues looking out the window.

A short time later you heard a loud bang at the front door as if something had been thrown at it, and your Tsum finally leaves the window and hops towards the door. Even before you open the door, you can hear Ace laughing and Deuce complaining.

When you open it, you find Deuce struggling to contain his Tsum who is trying to break free from his arms.

“Sorry (Y/N).” Deuce apologizes “I can't contain this guy. It started running... or hopping, like crazy when it realized we were going to pass by here.”

Your Tsum makes that cute tsum noise to get the attention of Deuce and his tsum. The two look down and their eyes light up as they see your Tsum. Deuce’s tsum breaks free from Deuce's arms and lands right next to your Tsum. And the two tsums begin to rub their little faces and noses against each other. Deuce blushes automatically.

Ace, who watched the whole scene, stopped laughing and was now looking at the tsums with a sulky face. “Oi? What's up now with this guy?” he questions.

“I-I-I don't know.” It's the only thing Deuce can say in response.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ace continues. “Your Tsum came back? Why? Our housewarden's didn't. Neither did Cater's.”

You say you don't know.

“Maybe your tsum is dragged into everyone's messes too.” Deuce says, smiling. “Not even it has a break with us, hum?”

Your Tsum headbutts Deuce's Tsum to get its attention, taps one of its little hands on the ground 5 times and Deuce's Tsum realizes the urgency of something. The two tsums start hopping towards the gate.

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW?” Deuce shouted.

The three of you run after the Tsums, but they reach the Hall of Mirrors first and go through the mirror to Heartslabyul.

“Well, on the one hand they saved us work.” Ace says.

“Yes, but they are on the loose!” Deuce replies.

You go through the mirror, run a little further and stop abruptly when you come across Riddle and Trey. Your tsums were close to their feet and were still very close to each other.

“See? They arrived on time.” Trey says. “They must have just had a little mishap with the tsums. Right?”

Ace and Deuce confirm. Riddle welcomes you and invites you to the Unbirthday Party that will be happening soon. He also tells Ace and Deuce to go do their party preparation duties. After he and Trey leave, Deuce realizes what happened.

“I get it now. Your tsum was telling mine the time, and warning it that we were going to be late.”

“Damn, even your Tsum needs two Tsumsitters.” Ace laughs. And Deuce-tsum hits him.

When it was preparing to hit him a second time, your Tsum got in the way and started rubbing its face against Deuce-tsum’s, calming it down.

“See my point?” Ace adds, and this time it's your Tsum that hits him.

You were walking through the school hallways, with your Tsum in your arms, when you crossed paths with Floyd. He automatically smiled when he saw your Tsum.

You ask each other what the other is doing there and Floyd tells you that he was playing a board game with Azul and his Tsum. He says that he left them playing with each other in the classroom. You feel your Tsum move excitedly in your arms.

After saying goodbye to each other you go to the classroom where Floyd said they were. You knock on the door and pop your head inside. You see both Azul and his Tsum immersed in the game, but not enough to not notice your presence.

“Oh, good afternoon (Y/N).” Azul greets you with a smile. His Tsum quickly looks towards the door when it hears him say your name. “Please come in.” You do so. “Is there anything you need or-” He sees your Tsum and widens his eyes with a sparkle in them.

Azul-tsum makes that happy tsum sound, jumps to the floor, stops for a second, jumps back onto the table to make its move on the board game, and then gets off the table again to hop happily towards you. Your tsum jumps out of your arms and lands on the ground. And when Azul-tsum finally reaches yours the two begin to cuddle with each other.

Azul was focused on the game and only after making his play “Okay tsum, your tu-” did he look at the two tsums, and blushes slightly. He clears his throat loudly causing his tsum to look at him.

Azul’s tsum turns to yours and makes another cute sound, then the two of them hop back to the table. Azul's tsum returns to its place on the other side of the board, but yours jumps into Azul's arms to his surprise. He managed to catch it, then it looked at him and smiled with its eyes, making Azul stare at it in wonder.

“I'll concede that you are indeed charmingly cute.” He then whispers to himself: “As much as the person you resemble.”

You approach to sit with them and Azul suggests that you sit next to his tsum. The two Azuls exchange a suspicious look with each other.

They keep playing. When it's not Azul's turn, your tsum makes little sounds or something that makes him look at it. And when it's not Azul-tsum's turn, it seems to be undecided between paying attention to the board or looking at you so you can pet it. In the end, the two were practically tied, but Azul-tsum makes a play that makes it win the game. Both his tsum and your tsum celebrate, coming back to cuddle with each other.

“Ah, so that was your real move.” Azul said with a smirk. “You used (Y/N)'s tsum to distract me. Actually no, worse than that, you two are partners in crime.”

The two tsums looked smugly at Azul. But he didn't seem upset despite having lost. In fact, he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the tsums. You ask what's wrong or if he's okay.

“Oh, don't worry, it's nothing. I was just thinking...” He looks back at the tsums who look back at him with an encouraging look. Both of them. “From what I've been able to observe, tsums have a lot in common with the person they resemble, especially their personality. After seeing how these two work together I was just wondering...” He looks at you and smiles confidently. “Wouldn't you happen to have the same interest as your tsum in being my partner too? Hum... partner in crime, I mean.”

You were walking through the Main street with your Tsum in your arms, when you see a little thing hopping towards you. It stops right in front of you, at your feet, and smiles at you with its eyes, making that cute tsum sound, as if it were greeting you politely. From the side where the dark grey strand is facing and from the calm demeanor, you can tell it's Jade's tsum.

Your tsum makes the cute tsum sound back to Jade-tsum and you let your tsum jump to the ground for the two to rub their faces against each other.

After that, you hear footsteps approaching you. Looking ahead you see Jade. His tsum looks at him and then jumps into your arms smiling at you with its cute little eyes. When Jade gets close to you he laughs.

“He he. You are quite cunning indeed, tsum. Or should I just say coward at this point?” He was still smiling, but with that look that was worryingly difficult to decode. Then he looks at you. “Forgive me for not greeting you first, (Y/N). I got... worried about the tsum when I lost sight of it. I'm genuinely relieved that you were the one to find it safe and sound.” He looks down at your tsum. “Aw, what a lovely sight, your sweet tsum is back.”

You feel Jade-tsum tense up in your arms, but it barely moves. Jade bends down and holds out his cupped hands for your tsum to jump into them. You feel Jade-tsum once again tense slightly, but without moving. Jade raises your tsum in front of his face. It smiles at him innocently.

“Undoubtedly adorable.” Jade says. “But you shouldn't just jump into anyone's hands like that.” He lowers his hands to chest height, holds the tsum with one hand while, with the other, he makes a claw-like movement as if he were going to imprison it. “It could be dangerous.” He looks at his own tsum in your arms, who still doesn't move.

“But it didn't just jump into anyone's hands.” You say. He looks at you meeting your eyes. “However you're right, it can be very dangerous. But you should have told that to YOUR tsum.”

Both Jade and his Tsum are surprised by what you said. And suddenly you tighten your hug around Jade-tsum as if you were Floyd squeezing someone. But in this case, you are squeezing the tsum with love and affection. It waves its little arms and legs as if it were asking for help, but not trying very hard to escape.

Jade laughs delightedly, and frees your tsum from his clutches, taking it to his chest just to pet it affectionately. He looks at that little angel face face that knew he wouldn't hurt you or your tsum and smiles.

“In fact, you are a danger on the loose.” He jokes. “Tell me, would the both of you like to accompany me and my little lookalike to Mostro Lounge? We came here for a stroll around campus because I thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. But I’m sure that something like sharing a smoothie, for example, could also be great for bonding.”

You look happy with the idea of going with them to Mostro Lounge. But in the meantime you realize that tsums don't have mouths. How could they share a drink?

“Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't referring to the tsums.” He smiles at you with that bold confidence.

Kalim, his tsum and Jamil took a magic carpet tour of campus. Kalim-tsum’s eyes were sparkling the whole time during it, but something must have piqued its interest because after that it disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were with your tsum in the Ramshackle Dorm lounge when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open it to find... no one. Until you hear that happy tsum sound near your feet. You look down and see a Kalim-tsum smiling at you with its eyes.

As soon as you say hello, it wastes no time in jumping on your shoulder and brushing its face against your cheek. You hear another tsum sound behind you. You turn around and Kalim-tsum sees your tsum. Kalim-tsum makes another happy sound and jumps off your shoulder to hug your tsum. Or at least that's what it looked like despite its short arms.

If that tsum was there without Kalim, most likely he was looking for it. And consequently Jamil too. Therefore, you decide to take the two tsums in your arms and go find Kalim.

Just as you predicted, you found Kalim and Jamil together on Main Street. When Kalim sees you from afar, he happily waves his arms in the air to call you to join them.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you. “I'm so glad I found you! I really wanted you to meet-” He looks at the two little creatures you carry in your arms when you get close to him. “AH! You found it! You're amazing!”

Jamil sighs with relief. And then they both realize what, or rather, who, the other little creature is. Kalim's eyes shine and a huge smile spreads across his face.

“It can't be! There's one like you too! It's so cute! Aw, I want to hug it so much! Can I? Can I? Pretty pleeease~?”

If you’re more outgoing, your tsum will smile with its eyes at him. If you are more shy, your tsum will be too flattered and hide its face in your arms. Which will make Kalim find it even cuter.

“I know they may look like plushies,” Jamil says “but I don’t think you should treat them like one.”

“Don't worry, I won't hurt it.” Kalim says both to Jamil and to you.

“I'm also worried about the other way around. If that is even possible.”

“What? No way!” Kalim stretches out his arms welcomingly for your tsum to jump into them. And it does. He turns to Jamil. “You don't really think this adorable little thing would hurt anyone, do you?”

Jamil looks at your tsum, who smiles at him with its eyes and he blushes slightly to the point of having to look away. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“And I am a great judge of character.” Kalim completed confidently. He brings your tsum close to his face to see it better. “Oh, if you were bigger I could hug you for real.”

This gives your tsum an idea and suddenly it starts to grow, which takes everyone by surprise, until it stops at the size of a pillow. Kalim has no other way to hold it other than hugging it and that's what he does. He hugs it tight like it's the most adorable thing on earth and he never wants to let it go.

And apparently, Kalim's tsum wants the same treatment, but from you, so it also grows to the size of a pillow for you to hug it.

Jamil looks at you all slightly uncomfortably and can only say: “If you ever do that to each other, at least get a room first.”

It was already late in the afternoon. You were walking across campus with your tsum in your arms when you heard a "CUT!". You have heard that a few other times before, it was Vil's voice and he must have been filming something for the film club.

Your tsum moves in your arms as if it was also curious to see what he was doing. You follow the sound and walk until you reach the Main Street.

“Rehearsal is over.” You hear Vil say and you stop. “Now we must capture this scene before the sun sets. Focus!”

That sounded like your cue not to interrupt him. You weren't at a place where you could appear in the frame, so you just wait there, watching, just like your tsum. However, someone else was watching the scene as well, hidden in the bushes.

“Now the real fun begins.” Rook says, both to his tsum and to Epel, that he dragged it with him. “Let us watch Vil and the rest of the club shine!”

Rook's tsum hops eagerly and the two observe Vil, until something else catches the tsum's attention and it looks to the side. Rook notices this.

“You changed the target of your attention, monsieur tsum. What could have possible divert your gaze from Vil?” He follows the tsum's gaze and finds you, standing there watching Vil. “Bien sûr, there could only be one reason.” He sees your Tsum in your arms. “Oh, marvelous! Tricster's tsum is back! Even more beauty to behold.”

Everything goes smoothly until the end of the recordings. And it is only when Vil sees you and greets you that you approach him. His attention (and everyone's actually) goes to your tsum.

“I see you've also been assigned as a tsumsitter.” Vil says. “I heard it had shown up the first time this happened, but I ended up not having the pleasure of meeting it. I'm glad I got this chance.” He smiles at your tsum who looks at him in wonder. “One also appeared in Pomefiore. A Rook lookalike.”

You feel your tsum spasm in your arms, and then you hear something jumping towards you. You turn around and a wild Rook-tsum appears and greets you with that happy tsum sound.

Your tsum jumps to the ground and lets Rook-tsum approach it first. It jumps to get closer to your tsum but, to everyone's surprise, your tsum dodges and runs away.

You panic a little, your tsum had never done that until now, and Rook-tsum goes jumping after your tsum, even though it has already lost sight of it. You are about to start running to look for them when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You are startled by Rook's sudden appearance.

“Worry not, trickster. I have been following monsieur tsum and it has been an enriching experience. You could accompany me and we can observe them together. There is no place they can go that I won't find them.” he winks.

You go with Rook following your tsums. You notice that every now and then your tsum stops as if provoking Rook-tsum and when it is about to catch your tsum, it dodges again and continues running away.

“How fascinating.” Rook laughs “Tell me, doesn't it look like they're playing with each other?”

You continue following the tsums to the botanical garden, already in the early evening. Where they finally stop. Or rather, where your tsum finally lets itself be caught, in the subtropical zone. You see Rook-tsum clinging to your tsum and making a movement with its head as if were kissing your tsum passionately.

“I wonder...” Rook says “If this is all some kind of mating ritual for the tsums.” he laughs seeing your reaction. “What's wrong, trickster? That look is not from someone who dislikes the idea~ Is there anything your heart would like to share? Because any question you have about mine can be answered by looking at monsieur tsum.”

You were walking through campus with your Tsum in your arms when you heard something above you.

“PREFECT!” You hear Ortho's voice shout from somewhere. “LOOK OUT!”

You see an unidentified flying object coming towards you at high speed. Your instinct is to cower and duck. But the object stopped before it hit you and landed on the ground in front of you. You look and see an Ortho-tsum. Ortho approaches you.

“He he he. Did we scare you? Sorry. Are you OK?” He asks. You answer that you are. “I’m glad. We just wanted to surprise you. Have you already heard of these little creatures called tsums, (Y/N)?”

You stand up, revealing your tsum that had been hidden in your arms when you ducked. Both Ortho and his tsum are happy to see your tsum.

“OH! One like you also appeared! So cool!”

Ortho-tsum uses its new device to fly towards your tsum, who got surprised by it. Your tsum jumps from your arms to the ground and gestures for Ortho-tsum to come closer to it.

Ortho-tsum lands near your tsum again and it starts walking around ortho-tsum as if it is examining the new device suspiciously. The tsum make sounds as if they were chatting.

“I don't know what they're saying...” Ortho laughs. “But from the tone and what they're doing, it seems like your tsum is worried about my tsum's new antigravity device. The audio of the noises I'm capturing sounds similar to a scene from a movie I have stored in my memory, where an older sister is saying things like 'Where did you get that?', ‘Are you sure it's safe?’, ‘You could get hurt.’ Ha ha ha.”

After this conversation between the tsums, Ortho's tsum flies for a second, lands again and makes an inviting sound for your tsum. It jumps on Ortho-tsum's back and the two slowly and carefully take flight.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum. Will you play with us too (Y/N)? Pretty Please?”

If you feel safe with Ortho, he will take you flying on his back. If you're scared he'll say: “It's okay, I understand. We can play close to the ground. We don't need to go up to the clouds to have fun together."

After walking around campus you decided to stop to rest on one of the benches in the Courtyard. You sit down and your tsum stays on your lap. A few seconds later, when you thought you could rest a little, something falls into your lap and on top of your tsum, startling you both.

After enjoying your reactions, the new tsum jumps next to you on the bench and turns to face you. It's a Lilia's tsum.

“Yay! Your tsum is back!” A voice behind you startles you and your tsum again, making it jump from your lap to Lilia-tsum's side.

Your tsum starts making sounds like it's complaining, but Lilia-tsum starts rubbing its face against your tsum to calm it down.

“Khee hee hee. Sorry.” Lilia says upside down, floating next to you. “You were trying to rest, weren't you?” He gestured for the tsums to move away so he could sit next to you.

They jump into your lap, where they get so close that it looks more like they're snuggling in a nest.

“I know it may not seem like it, but my tsum was getting tired too. But neither it nor I could resist surprising you and your tsum. Isn't it as charming and cute as me?”

You look at the tsums in your lap who seemed to be cuddled up sleeping. You joke that Tsum can be cuter.

“Ow, you're just saying that because of the plush shape it has. But looking at you and your tsum, I understand what you mean. Your tsum is also cuter than you.” He sees you pout slightly, and smiles mischievously. “Khee hee hee. Looks like someone didn't like being hit with their own spell.”

Lilia-tsum wakes up from its short nap and jumps to the ground, waking up your tsum as well. Lilia-tsum makes an inviting happy sound to your tsum, who also jumps off your lap to join it.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum now.”

You and Lilia follow your tsums to see what they will do. They prank a student. He was distracted reading a magazine when Lilia-tsum makes a sound that catches his attention. He looks, sees Lilia's tsum, rubs his eyes, looks again, and sees Lilia's and yours tsums. He rubs his eyes again, looks again and only sees your tsum. He gets up startled, looks the other way, looks back to where the tsum were and there is nothing there anymore. You hear him walking away wondering if he's going crazy or hallucinating.

You and Lilia laugh. And then Lilia has another idea for a prank.

The four of you go to the library and find two students chatting at a table. One of them is telling the other that he had seen Lilia transform into a small, round creature in front of him. The other wondered if it was some shapeshifting spell or some prank of Lilia's. Lilia-tsum hopped over to them.

“SEE?! HERE! This was the creature I saw Lilia transform into!”

You appear and greet the students. Lilia-tsum jumps into your arms in front of them and Lilia casts a light spell that temporarily blinds them, long enough for your tsum to take your place. When the students look again, they find two tsums.

“AHH! It's not a spell, it's some curse!” the other student says. “If any of them touch us, we become one of them too!”

Your two tsums walk slowly but menacingly towards them, and the students run away. Lilia bursts out laughing.

“This must have been the best one yet. Don't you also think it's funny when two big boys run away in fear from a cute little thing?”

The two tsums return to you. Lilia-tsum looks tired.

“We don't have that much stamina at this age, do we?” Lilia says smiling. He holds out his arms for his tsum to jump into them, but it doesn't. “Um? You don't want me to carry you?”

Lilia-tsum walks up to your tsum and cuddles with it.

“Oho, I see. In that case...” Lilia takes his blazer off his shoulders and ties the ends together as if making a hammock. “Okay you little lovebirds, here's a nest for you.” The two tsums jump in and snuggle together. “In fact, there is one thing cuter than our separate tsums: them together.” He looks at you, but the cute smile turns into a mischievous one when he sees your face. “What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't think they would make a pretty couple. That would break my heart.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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