#(also i think this is them bonding. pls.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kalosian-woods · 3 months ago

Note

I know I already sent one but. The Bonds of Mega Evolution. The flower arranging scene but from Serena’s perspective. I beg of you. Her thoughts on being praised over Ash and Korrina who are everything she admires. Mabel’s analyses. I have so many thoughts -W-

(ps I had to do this one because my mind would not let go even through my busy day, but dw i'm still filling out the other asks + extra dw because i love this one and i can go for maybe 1 more extras from others as well if yall want... might just take a while lol but i'd rather pace myself with these and build up my writing rather than rush)

The flowerfields of Pomice Mountain were so incredibly pretty it was almost unreal in its ethereality, like a delicate watercolour painting set up in the most protected portion of Lumiose Museum and protected from human hands.

Serena looked behind her, noting the… very long distance that they made on their own legs. Well, that she made on two legs, considering how Fennekin was still a little finnicky about tracking mud sometimes. Letting the fox down, she crouched on the tip of her toes and smiled as she watched her partner frolic in the flowers. “I'm glad you like it, Fennekin!”

Coming up here was a good choice. No doubt that the likes of Ash and Korrina would travel far, but not even they would come all the way up here for a few flowers. And if Serena really wanted to impress Mabel, she had to make sure that her bouquet was as unique as can be!

Fennekin yipped at her after coming back from her moment of exploration, tail wagging happily. A small giggle came out of Serena’s mouth then as she picked out a few petals that stuck to the Pokemon’s ear. “Found something you like?”

“Fenne!” It didn’t hurt that she had Fennekin by her side. That fox was a master at ordering things, and Serena started to defer most organising details (that are doable by Pokemon) to her fuzzy little friend. It was fun and nice and such a big help to have Fennekin go through the Pokepuff ingredients, especially now as there were more tastes to account for (and more bellies to fill); just as much as there was the need to track down lost clothing blown off the clothing line or what flowers to use for their flower crowns. Fennekin started to trot forward, mouth split in a wide and toothy grin as she rounded the small hill with Serena at her heels.

Serena kept pace, letting her gaze rove over the magnificent landscape. She couldn’t believe all of her friends would want to leave this place as soon as possible: it was almost an insult to the natural beauty blooming all around them. Sure, they were here to help Korrina and Lucario master Mega Evolution, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t relax and have some fun on the way.

Nothing was a waste of time, including now.

And breathing in the fresh mountain air, Serena couldn’t imagine it to be any other way.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·.

There was a certain type of aura that can be sensed when it comes to ikebana.

With the bright and showy demonstrations, Mabel can already see the youth that shone brightly in all of her new wards—even the scientific young lad had that spark of childishness that was separate to what his Chespin had. Moving across the room, she shook her head; it didn’t matter if they nailed the technique for flower-arranging as it was.

Even though she was expecting Gurkinn’s granddaughter Mabel had opened her door to all of Korrina’s friends, and so, she would judge them all equally.

“Haha, d’you like it? I tried my best with Pikachu, but then a Ursaring came outta nowhere and started chasing me for picking some of—”

Ash was a spirited fellow, for certain. Some may say that danger followed him, as she had heard from the group’s late-night talks, but Mable thought differently. Was it relevant to his bond with his partner Pokemon? If it were Pikachu, certainly not—their joint work showed a sort of oiled-quickness to their every move, every kink that was possible ironed out for the most part. But still… there was a certain kind of disconnect between the pair: the tall and towering flowers alongside the more bushier and stout ones were telling in their own way. Ash longed for height, for growth, for greatness beyond everything he’s ever known. Pikachu wants the same, but there was some distance between that primal urge that were bared with every cut-up petal and splintered wood. She internally filed those observations and moved forward, coming to face a very vibrant display by a very familiar face doing a very unfamiliar pose: bowing.

“How do you like our work now, madame?”

Mabel chuckled once, using her cane to nudge up Korrina’s chin. There was no need for her to flatten her pride now, not without cause. Appraising the work, she can see some improvement this time—at least the plants used weren’t from two completely different fields this time. She gave a surreptitious look towards Lucario, who let out a surprised bark before turning away, and Mabel grinned. Of course, youth rarely liked to be challenged, and this young lady was still desperately scrabbling for some approval. The Lucario too. It’s clear that there is much work to be done in regard to the two of them, but at least they are moving a little closer to the true intent of the activity here, and that’s what counts for today. Refocusing lens takes time, after all.

“I’m so sorry, I was working on the Little Flower Arranger 2.55—”

“Why’s it called that?”

“Ash, let him finish!”

Mabel sighed good-naturedly as she looked around Clemont’s waist to the creation that he made alongside Chespin while the rambling flowed on above her. Normally, she would expect a Grass-Type to know their plants, but she was sorely mistaken when the other day Chespin had contracted a rash from sleeping on some poison ivy. Clemont seemed to balance out his Pokemon well with his worried nature, but they have yet to learn how to cater to both without leaving one side wanting, which could be expected if one knew of his adolescent Gym Leader status and focused Typing. Today seemed to be more of a Clemont-day, with the machine’s smoking remains blowing up a small portion of flowers and leaving the ground smoky and charred. At least he had some extras on hand to fill up the empty space—she can appreciate readiness whenever it appears, in all of its forms.

“Hey, look, Dedenne! It’s our turn now!”

Bonnie may be too young to be a Trainer yet, but she held some very interesting insights alongside the Pokemon of her choice. Their bouquets always held the most changes and variation, with some surprises being found around whenever they came back with their flowers. Yesterday was a freshly plucked Budew that they played around with while waiting for her to come around. Today seemed to be the pebbles that they arranged in a smiley face on top of the soil, with both of them mirroring the face. It was a very charming attempt, and if the group wasn’t on a quest for Korrina’s sake, Mabel might’ve indulged in her own desire to work with her as it was. The difference between this young girl and her brother was as clear as night and day, and yet, there were always the one clue (straight stalks this time). Patting the child’s head, she moved onto the final stop.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·.

Serena held her breath next to Fennekin, heart pattering in her chest as she held her hands in front of her. It was her turn to present their work of art, and bearing her and Fennekin’s heart to someone so critical… it was a lot different than just running around in the fields and doing whatever they wanted.

It felt like being on a stage.

Terrifying… and yet, exhilarating as well.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·.

As usual, a bright smattering of gold and crimson in her work. Serena was different to the others, as she didn’t strive for big or showy or even imitations of famous works from long ago. Her creations always were related to something around her—the rainy sky yesterday, the Pokemon battle on the first day the group came, and today, it seemed to be based on Fennekin itself. It’s clear that the Pokemon approved of it with the bite marks on some of the stems, but there were signs of a human hand plucking some of the flowers as well. While both Pokemon and person shared similarities, there was a focus with the delegation of each task—finding the flower, placing it, arranging it. It was unique. It was the product of them, with the skills they both displayed.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·.

“Wonderful and in sync,” Mabel murmured, too quiet for anyone but the two of them to hear.

Serena’s breath caught, and her right hand slowly rested on her chest as Fennekin shot a triumphant look towards Chespin’s dour face.

With two claps of her hand, Mabel called out, “Good work as always, everyone! See you all tomorrow!” and it was all Serena could do to stop herself from jumping up with a shout.

The first time she actually got praise, before Korrina or even Ash. It felt… thrilling, to know that she can surpass them in this way. In her own way.

Grabbing Fennekin, she quickly made her way out of the doors before she shared a conspiratorial giggle with her partner.

#i love how i already forgot what korrina's arc is supposed to be lol #i mean IK but it also just doesn't slot well sometimes in my mind. eh just ignore these two tags #anyways technically I have a whole fic about this so i'm not going to touch on everything here #but yah i'm equally as insane about that whole thing #serena's tendency to defer to her pokemon's judgements and wants is so different to the rest of the group #and i feel like that sets up so well in korrina's arc where both girls do it #but serena is more emotional while korrina is more for battles #and it translates differently with flower picking #where serena has a vested interest in it and combines that interest with fennekin more readily #because she doesn't feel 'judged' for it in a way. it's not a 'calling' or a direction to her #it's just them two having fun and playing around #while korrina has this need to impress mabel so she and lucario both chose what they think is good #aka two views #i don't think serena can bear to separate herself from fennekin in that way #while ash is just like 'yay i have to make it as BIG and SHOWY as possible so i'll be the best EVA'#and pika just.. doesn't subscribe to that. bro is tired. this is day 6 of flowers he's getting allergies from this #man am i analysing 'the bonds of mega evolution'? yes. yes i am #gotta make a post about THIS as well now lol because i can't even finish my thought process here #i went over 1k with this snippet pls #diancie delivers #<- new tag for these blog-only snippets #though i'm definitely expanding on this with my fic fr #magearna records

5 notes · View notes

lionblaze03-2 · 2 months ago

Text

idc that I’m allergic I love dog so much I need dog in my life. Look at this face. Like come on

And this one??? Forget about it

#Izzy looks like she’s saying. ‘Get a load of this guy!’ but there’s no guy there #I guess Monty (snake) is back there lol #Anyway yeah I just. Love my dog children. They are horrible and rude and give me hives but I love them so much they bring me such joy #I didn’t need my skin to function anyway!#And also. Horrible headaches all the time. But for them. It’s all worth it #They love me!!! They really do!!!#Idk if. I ever stated officially and publicly that /my/ dog; bella; passed away #It happened back in November and I kinda just went silent and then when I came back it felt like too long had passed?? Idk #So I guess this serves as that too. She had secret spleen cancer nobody knew about that also spread to the liver. 11 1/2 years old #We adopted another dog not too long after. I went to the shelter to see puppies and try and feel better and ms Weeble. Dog in third pic.#Her intake date was Bella’s death date. So it just felt. Fitting? She was in the same room from the same shelter. Looking all sad #Used to call both girls (Bella and Izzy) little weebles. It felt like fate. So now we’re a two dog house again!#Weeble is EXTREMELY different from any dog we’ve had before. We’re used to lower energy dogs like pits and shar peis #Weeble turned out to be a secret German Shepard mix with an extremely high prey drive! She’s taken 4 lives already. (3 birds and a squirrel #(We do not know how to stop her. She’s already in a fenced in yard. animals pls stop coming in the yard I beg. We have a murderer)#But we love her all the same!#She ended up being more of my mommas dog but honestly it’s sweet as heck. She loves her momma sooo much #She also loves. Putting us in her mouth. Not even in a mean way she just wants to hold us and walk us like our arm is a leash she’s holding #With her mouth #Weebles a little freak but I love her dearly #But yeah if anyone was wondering why Bella wasn’t appearing in mentions or in random I love my dog posting like this #She unfortunately passed away and I didn’t know when/how to say it and I still don’t so I’m dropping it in the tags of my usual dogposting #My special lady. My angel.#Now I don’t have a dog in my room. For a minute weeble was but my schedule is too erratic and she’s happier with her momma anyway #Izzy comes to hang out sometimes tho as you see in the picture up there. we’re buddies we have a good time #I think we both are still grieving Bella. Izzy has a miraculous memory and always smells the baseboards where her bed used to be and her #Her hair is still stuck #Me and her have bonded extra over that grief I think #Sad eyes dog taking refuge in my room… she’s always welcome to look out my window tho 💖#I like having little friends I need them. Despite my allergens

0 notes

tw1sters · 8 days ago

Text

Foolish Hearts

Loving Clark Kent is easy, but he seems to find letting you go even easier. At least, until Clark is forced to fully reckon with what it means to really lose you.

▸ PAIRING: Clark "Superman" Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort?, very little angst, limited knowledge of DCU ▸ WORD COUNT: 4.6K ▸ A/N: quick thing i wrote instead of working. i love a soft yearning clark who gets a lil jealous. also a sucker for exes to lovers so here we are! pls go easy on me, clark isnt the easiest to write :')

—

The breakup is easy. Painfully easy. Too easy.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Clark. I’m tired of constantly waiting for you, wondering if you’re going to show up and being disappointed when you don’t. I think… we just want different things right now.”

His gaze only briefly falters before he nods silently, keeping his head ducked. “I understand.”

No fight. No rejection. Part of you hoped that Clark would say something, convince you to stay. If he even asked you to reconsider, you would’ve. It wouldn’t take much for you to forgive Clark Kent.

But he doesn’t, so you let him go, and he does the same for you.

Being friends with Lois and Jimmy throughout the early stages of your careers means that you are bonded by the shared struggle of being a journalist in Metropolis. The violent streak of villains streaming into the city. The sick billionaires plotting the deaths of good, innocent people. The corrupt government willing to sell themselves to said billionaires for more power over neighboring countries, even allies. That sort of depravity binds you.

Regardless, meeting Clark was inevitable. On the surface, Clark is broad and tall, oftentimes too big for whatever space he is in, no matter how many times he tries to shrink himself to avoid attention. But Clark is also delicate and gentle and clumsy, all of the traits that make him endearing to those around him.

You can’t help but want to protect Clark. When someone’s giving him a hard time, you are the first to stand up for him. He is a man who means well.

It is not difficult to fall for him, especially when the glances he sends your way are shy and curious. Whenever he gets caught looking a little too much, he quickly drags his eyes away with a blush creeping up his cheeks.

Clark is thoughtful. Once he finds out how you take your tea, he prepares a perfect cup for you every morning. The right temperature, the right sweetness. He never fails to walk you home at night, taking the time to make conversation to learn more about you as you also learn about him growing up in Kansas. He reluctantly leaves you at your door each evening, refusing to actually depart until he sees you waving at him from the safety of your home.

Clark Kent is a good — no, he is a great — man.

When he finally asks you out to dinner, it is natural to say yes. The first date quickly leads to a second and a third, consecutive nights spent giggling over nothing and everything. Clark asks you to be his exclusive girlfriend with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a home-cooked meal.

With strawberry pancakes on the table and the stars twinkling outside, Clark shyly asks you to love him and only him.

Again, another easy yes.

Things with Clark are easy, at least for a while. Superman’s growing popularity along with the Justice Gang (you’re still debating if you really want to put that name on paper) draws plenty of unsavory characters to Metropolis, the temptation of challenging Earth’s mightiest heroes luring them into the otherwise quiet city.

With Superman getting busy, so does Clark. The two seem to have a good bond, with Clark getting exclusive interviews after every battle, which makes big splashes on the front page. His career takes off and Perry has been more than pleased with his work.

However, with this new steep trajectory, it also means that Clark has less time to spend on things outside of work. One of those things is you.

There have been a handful of dates where he shows up an hour late, if he even shows at all. When he does, he is disheveled, having rushed from wherever the battle had been to the date spot that you had picked out and planned. When he doesn’t even appear, the apologetic texts come in hours after you’ve gone home and prepared yourself for bed.

These days come with excuse after excuse. Perry held me up. Trains were delayed. Traffic was crazy. There was an accident on the highway. Superman this, Superman that. At some point, you have to salvage your pride and admit to yourself that maybe Clark isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. He has a stronger relationship with Superman than he does with you.

Because someone who wants to make time would. Right? That’s what you’ve always believed.

Perhaps the bitter pill to swallow is just that — Clark does not want to make time so he doesn’t. It’s a simple line of thinking but it’s one that you settle one to give yourself a reason to call it quits. With an amicable breakup, there is no tension between the two of you. A few awkward silences here and there, but nothing either of you can’t handle.

Your freelance work with The Daily Planet also means you frequently see him at the office. You walk in and greet your friends, Clark included. When you wrap up a meeting with Perry, Clark is there waiting with your cup of tea ready. He is still same old Clark which makes it difficult to not fall more in love with him.

Even today, as you step out of Perry’s office and towards one of the spare desks, Clark is rising from his desk with a cup of tea. Clark is still indisputably beautiful. The way his dark curls fall against his forehead, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Your heart aches. Once upon a time, you had buried your fingers through his thick hair as he whispered kisses onto your skin.

Now, his touch feels like a distant stranger.

“Good afternoon,” he smiles, dimples appearing.

Your heart flutters traitorously in your chest and you stomp down on those butterflies in your stomach. He really is unfairly handsome. “Good afternoon,” you return politely.

As much as you tell yourself to be calm, cool, and composed around him, your heart never fails to say otherwise.

“How was your meeting with Perry?” Small work talk is always his safe bet.

“Good, I’m making good progress on my piece. Just need to do a little bit more digging to polish things up.”

At that, his brows furrow in concern. “Aren’t you working on that piece about the Gotham masked vigilante? What’s his name again? Batman?” You’re surprised that he knows what you’ve been investigating. Maybe it came up in other conversations with the Daily Planet team. “Is that safe? I mean, Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not that you’re not strong, because you are, and you’re very smart and incredible—” he bites his tongue, wincing when he realizes that he’s rambling.

This is the Clark that you’ve missed. Awkward, concerned, adorable.

“I could go with you, it might be safer,” he offers. You cock a doubtful eyebrow at him. Clark is big and tall, but he’s also a semi-klutz. You can’t imagine him going with you into Gotham with his puppy-dog eyes and golden retriever energy, talking to your sources. Superman feels more of his speed compared to Batman.

“Thank you, Clark, but honestly, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been working with Gotham PD and I’ve got good sources who have my back. I’ll be safe.”

He looks far from convinced but that’s just who Clark is.

Thankfully, he decides to drop the subject and move on to the next. By the way he keeps shifting around your desk, you almost think that he wants to spend more time around you, even if it means talking about the most meaningless things. “Are you going to the event tonight?”

It’s an industry networking night The Daily Planet is hosting. Every year, Perry invites the who’s who of the news world — anyone from newspapers, television, and even social media (the last one Perry is less happy about but he has to keep up with the times). It’s a chance for his full-time staff and any adjacent journalists that he likes (you) to meet other professionals.

Really, it’s an excuse to drink and shit talk the industry that you all love with your peers.

You show up on time, hoping to get a few drinks in to loosen you up before the head honchos arrive. Apparently, a few of your friends have the same idea. When you enter the room, your eyes immediately land on Clark.

It’s not that you’re looking for him, your eyes naturally find his tall frame in the room. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Lois waves you over and you snatch up a glass of champagne on the way. Your shimmery black dress flutters against your thighs, landing at an appropriate length without looking too risque, but also not too conservative that it looks like you’re going to a business dinner.

“Look at you,” Lois beams, taking your hand and twirling you around.

You giggle and stop with a curtsy. “Thank you, you clean up very well yourself, Miss Lane.” Lois’ navy blue dress is stunning and emphasizes every gorgeous part of her.

Jimmy tugs you into a side hug. “I might need you to protect me tonight. Those two girls from accounting keep making eyes at me and I’m starting to get scared for my safety.”

A smirk pulls at your lips. “Only you would be terrified of hot girls pursuing you.”

“It’s not just me! Tell her, Clark. They’re relentless and I just want to write my articles.”

That is when your gaze finally shifts to Clark. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at him because you already know how your body will react. It’s always been the worst at self-control when it comes to Clark.

Still, you eventually have to look at him and he is delicious in his classic black tux. His glasses are still perched on his nose but his hair has been slicked back slightly, taming the wild tendrils.

“Mhmm, relentless,” Clark mumbles distractedly, too busy looking at you in the dress. You can feel the trail of fire his gaze leaves on your skin as he peruses you. When his eyes finally meet yours, you could see the blues have turned into midnight.

Shivers snake up your spine and your breath hitches quietly in your throat as you try to pull your stare away from him, but you can’t help it. Your body feels tingly all over with the way he drinks you in like a man parched.

You remember the nights Clark looked at you like this, right before he slants his lips over yours, tugging you desperately into bed. He’s always been greedy with you, chasing after your kisses, refusing to let you leave. He bides his time worshipping you until you have no other thoughts except his name rattling in your mind.

Swallowing thickly, you watch as Clark’s eyes fall to your throat. His fingers twitch by his side, betraying his desire to reach out to you.

The magnetic pull to him is undeniable. You almost cave. You want to give in.

However, the sound of your name crescendoing in your ear yanks you out of this haze. Clark looks away just as Perry reaches you. He looks irritated. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Lois and Jimmy look relieved to be released of the tension, glancing at each other with knowing looks. They are fully aware of how things ended between you and Clark, opting to choose no sides.

Before you can respond, Perry is already dragging you by the elbow towards a man some distance away from your friends. Sighing, you plaster on a smile when you finally lock eyes with the man Perry is introducing you to.

“This is Mark, he works for the Gotham Gazette.”

Your eyes flick to Perry briefly, a go-get-him look in his eyes. You’ve been meaning to talk to someone at the Gazette to see if they have additional sources or if they’re willing to offer a comment for your piece.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mark,” you force out your brightest grin.

Honestly, you are in no mood to socialize, but anything for the article right?

The three of you chat briefly about how Mark and Perry knew each other. Mark is significantly younger than Perry but no less ambitious. You can see him being the editor-in-chief for the Gazette soon. Perry gives you one last look before leaving the two of you alone to chat.

“Can I get you a drink?” It’s an open bar but sure.

So you make your way to the bar and he puts in both your orders. Mark mentions his interest in learning more about your piece on Batman and what you’ve found so far. “Well, I can’t really share my sources. Plus, I’d like to publish it once it’s final, so no sneak peeks,” you smile behind your cocktail.

“Beauty and brains,” Mark hums. You feel heat lick at your skin at the compliment. Mark is good-looking, you’ve spotted a few dirty looks thrown your way since you started speaking with him. But he can’t hold a candle to Clark.

Speaking of Clark, you try to search the room for him and spot him some distance away. His eyes are still on you, narrowed now but still on you.

Mark interrupts your thoughts, “Would you like to get some air? I’d love to chat more with you, it’s just getting a bit loud here, isn’t it?”

The absolutely not nearly falls from your lips, but you remind yourself again that this is work. This is what tonight is for. Armed with pepper spray in your purse, you let him lead you out onto the balcony of the banquet hall. The music fades out behind you, turning into a distant muffle. Mark’s hand reminds low on your back, a little too low.

The two of you share more small talk for a little bit, but all you want is to get more out of him for your article. You don’t care much for his Ivy League education or his pretentious boarding school. You’ve seen your fair share of privileged kids and Mark feels like another.

“So, what else do you know about Batman?”

The corner of Mark’s lips tip up. Perhaps you sound overeager, but he still plays along anyway. “How about, if I share some of my Batman sources with you, you go on a date with me.” He leans against the railing, a charming smile dancing on his lips as he leers at you again.

The look isn’t particularly flattering nor uncomfortable so you let it slide. The industry is smaller than you’d like, which means you can’t exactly tell him to piss off without ruining Perry’s relationship with the man.

“Trading secrets for a date? Your editor would be ashamed of you,” you choose to tease.

“Well, anything to get to know you a little more. Even if it means risking my journalistic integrity.”

One date for more sources? That seems like the easiest and best bargain you’ve ever struck.

However, before you can agree, Clark’s face flashes in your mind. Sweet Clark. He would likely hear about this date. And while the two of you aren’t technically together anymore, it doesn’t mean you want to close out that possibility completely.

Crap.

You open your mouth but the words don’t come out when you feel an arm slide around your waist. Whirling to your side, you crane your neck to look at Clark who is suddenly next to you. You didn’t even the door click open.

“Clark,” you blurt out.

“Perry says he wants to see you,” he bites out. His eyes are laser focused on Mark as he says this, fingers digging into your side.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, something about that senate policy piece for next week.”

The senate policy piece isn’t due for another two weeks, the hearing was pushed back. You cock an eyebrow at Clark but he still isn’t looking at you.

“Sorry about that, I have to steal her for a second.” He does not wait for Mark to respond before he manhandles you — gently — back into the building and straight into a closed-off room on the side.

Once you’re in there, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He paces the length of the room, which isn’t long at all, while you stand by the shelves, arms crossed over your chest.

Clark isn’t a liar until he needs to be, you suppose. The question is why he needs to be one.

“What’s going on? I know that piece isn’t due for a while. Perry wouldn’t be badgering me on a night like this for work.”

“Were you going to say yes?” Clark asks, a little breathless as he stops and turns to look at you.

His eyes are bright blue underneath the room’s fluorescent lights. They are softened by the creases on his face, the concern that etches itself deep into his skin.

“Say yes to what?”

“To a date with him?”

How did he— “How did you hear that? You weren’t even there when he asked me.”

Clark purses his lips and only looks at you. “Well, were you?”

“Why does it matter if I did? It would’ve been for work.”

“It was a date.”

“I wanted his intel for Batman.”

A groan slips past his lips as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, curls coming apart. “I could help you get that, you don’t need to go on a date with him for that.”

“How would you help me do that? You don’t do work or pieces on Gotham.”

Clark opens his mouth, frowns, then promptly shuts it again. “I would’ve figured it out.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Clark. Mark isn’t a bad guy, Perry knows him, that’s why he introduced us.”

He looks far from appeased, earning a sigh from you.

“You want to tell me what this is really about?”

His face crumbles, blue chipping away into something lighter, something more vulnerable. “I miss you,” he whispers. “I miss you so much.”

Fuck. All the air is sucked from your lungs as you look at him. “Clark, don’t do this.”

“I do. I know it’s been a couple of months but I can’t stop thinking about you, how good things were between us. And I know it wasn’t perfect, I’m not perfect, but I want to be with you.”

This can’t be happening. Not now. You’re in the midst of a very public event for god’s sake and Clark is… Clark. He’s beautiful and he’s honest and wonderful, and he’s telling you that he misses you.

Your heart splits in two as you look at him. Fury and sorrow mixes inside you. How dare he but also why is he doing this? Why is he doing this to you now of all times? “If you told me all this when I told you things weren’t working out, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. I would’ve stayed. But now that time has passed, I still don’t see things changing. It’s not like we’re any different.”

Clark swallows. “We can be different. We can. I need to tell you something—”

The door slams open and Lois spills inside, stumbling in her heels. “Clark, you have to see this.”

The desperately apologetic look on his face says everything. The excuse on the tip of his tongue is loud and clear before he even opens his mouth. Another story to chase. Another thing that takes him away from you.

Something in you cracks because this is not unfamiliar. It’s like the time before and the one before that. You know that nothing is going to change between you and Clark. Doomed before you even start.

Seeming to sense that shift, Clark steps up to you and catches your chin between his fingers. His eyes are earnest, pleading, as they search yours. “I have to go, but I’ll come by your place after.”

It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a promise.

Instead of arguing, you whisper, “Okay.” He presses his lips against your temple. His touch is gentle, but there is a tremor to his mouth that melts your heart. With one last squeeze of your hand, Clark heads out to what most likely is a battle scene.

By the time you regain your composure and rejoin the guests, everyone is honed in on the one television screen in the room. Some massive monster has breached the Delaware Bay, clawing its way towards the shore. News and police choppers are circling the scene, the whirring of its blades buried in the monster’s roars.

The Justice Gang has been at it for a couple of hours with no progress made. You see Superman fly into the scene and the guests erupt into cheers. It’s another day in Metropolis but Superman somehow always puts on a show.

Superman’s laser beams are followed by Hawkgirl’s strikes. Mr. Terrific’s T-Spheres and Green Lantern launch combination attacks of offense and defense. In no time, the heroes take them down. Another successful day for the metahumans. Just another day in Metropolis. The attendees swiftly turn back to their conversations.

Glancing back at the screen, you wonder if Clark is already out there. You wonder if he’s safe. If he got his big story. If he’ll make it back to you.

When the camera comes in close to the heroes, they do a full close-up of each hero, including Superman. His face, dashing and bloodied. But that’s not what you pay attention to. It’s his eyes.

The eyes of a man who has looked at you across the office for months. The same eyes you yourself have gazed upon on those late nights sharing snacks and giggles under your duvet. The same eyes of the man who made you a promise just thirty minutes ago.

You have never paid too much attention to Superman. He’s another superhero. A supposedly, particularly kind one who really considers humanity when saving the world. But there are enough journalists who write about him that you have never felt the need to really care.

Plus, you have Clark and he is equally — if not more — cute and nice and big.

Now that you’re really looking at him, looking at his eyes, you think that Superman has Clark’s eyes.

And you’ve never been an idiot. At least, you didn’t think so until today. Everything seems to fall into place. The excuses, the disappearances that are always timed with Superman’s fights, both domestic and international. It all makes sense.

You are still stewing in this discovery when you hear a knock at your door a few hours later. You know who it is, of course.

When you swing your door open, the first words out of your mouth are “you’re Superman.”

Not an accusation, just a fact.

Clark shows up at your door with flowers, your favorites, and no glasses. You feel your breath catch. The resemblance has always been there, you don’t know how you could’ve been so blind. All the pieces seem to click into place.

He takes a step forward, you take a step back. One after another until you’re pressed up against the wall and the door is closed behind the two of you. He sets the flowers on the hallway table and dips his head, a shaky exhale escaping. He leans closer, until his lips are brushing yours.

“I am,” he murmurs.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

The time that you’ve lost. The evenings you spent wondering what if.

You look up at him, those familiar blue eyes that now you’re struggling to fully recognize. “Why now? I mean, we had months. You had months to say otherwise.”

Clark shies away slowly, his gaze shattered with guilt. “I thought I’d be content with just being in your orbit, just by being… around you. But I realize today that it’s not enough. The idea of you with someone else — someone else who makes you laugh, who cooks you breakfast for dinner, who gets to tell you that they love you every day — I don’t want to imagine that. Today, I felt what it was like to possibly lose you and I’m not perfect, and I’m selfish, but I want you. I want to be with you.”

Your palms flatten on his chest as you push him away. The flicker of hurt in his eyes is unmistakeable but you need space. You need to breathe and think about this.

It had torn you apart months ago to end things with Clark. You knew it was a leave you before you leave me situation. All this time, you thought it was the best thing to do for yourself. Although you weren’t with Clark for that long, your chemistry wasn’t something you could ignore.

There are piece of yourself that you’ve given Clark that he can’t possibly return.

“I don’t get it, you— we could’ve had all that. I always just thought that you didn’t have time for me, that you weren’t actually interested.”

Clark winces as another sympathetic expression settles on his features. “For a while, I thought it would be easier for you, if I wasn’t in your life. I didn’t want to inconvenience you or hurt you more than I already have.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, it seems like I have fudged it up, haven’t I?” He smiles softly. Fudged. God, as if you couldn’t be any more endeared by this man. “I can’t be the perfect boyfriend. To be fair, I don’t think anyone can. But I can promise you I’ll do my best to be better. I’ll overcommunicate. I’ll always have the justice… thing supporting me. It won’t be all me all the time. I’ll make sure we have time.”

“Clark, that’s not… right. You have a city and a world to protect, and I don’t want to be the person standing in the way of that.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. He pulls on his curls again. “You can’t— you can’t possibly think that that’s why. I’ve always wanted to protect the world, that’s what I always believed to be my purpose. But with you, it’s even more clear. I want to make sure this planet is safe, because you’re in it. So if you’ll allow me, and if you’re willing, I want to give us another chance to make it. Because I really, really like you.”

The gravity of his words sink into your bones. Clark is at his best when he’s like this. Beautiful, sweet, honest. He is trying now and you have to give him credit for it. And you miss him so, so much. You don’t even realize how much until he’s right here again with you. You miss how he held you gently with his large hands, the way he would slip into your bed quietly and tuck you into his chest.

And maybe this time, you can make it work.

You know you can.

“I really like you too,” you confess quietly.

Clark’s eyes brighten and that beam of hope strikes you in the heart. “What do you say? Would you give me a second chance?” He is smiling but you can see that his eyes are tight. He’s nervous.

You laugh, “Yeah. Let’s try this again, Kent.”

–

Bonus:

“Wait, so does that mean you’re friends with Batman?”

Clark freezes. “Um, yes we have met a few times.”

“Do you think you could get me an interview with him?”

“Honey…”

“Come on!”

#clark kent #superman #superman movie #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent imagine #clark kent x y/n #superman x reader #superman 2025 #superman x you #superman x y/n #superman fluff #clark kent fluff #clark kent fanfiction #superman fanfiction #superman fic #clark kent fic #my work

2K notes · View notes

solxamber · 5 months ago

Text

Guide Rank: Overwhelmed || Malleus Draconia

Being a high-ranked guide is tough—you’re basically a glorified babysitter for overpowered, emotionally constipated espers. But it gets harder when Malleus Draconia, the strongest esper in existence, asks you to guide him. And somehow, despite it all, you’re pretty sure Malleus is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Or: Guideverse au!

Series Masterlist

The world is a nightmare. It used to be bad enough with things like taxes, slow WiFi, and that one sock disappearing in the wash. But now? Now you have random cosmic hellmouths opening up and vomiting out monsters that think humans are snack-sized protein bars.

They call them Gates. They pop up out of nowhere like your intrusive thoughts at 3 AM, and if no one deals with them, entire cities get turned into discount horror movie scenes.

The only reason people aren't living in a monster apocalypse is because of Espers—overpowered individuals who fight these creatures with sheer force, wild abilities, and a complete disregard for their own safety.

But there’s a tiny problem. Espers have the durability of a wet paper bag. They burn through their energy, go berserk, or outright implode if left alone for too long.

And that’s where Guides come in. Guides stabilize Espers, keep them from disintegrating mid-fight, and prevent them from making headlines as "Local Hero Explodes on Live TV."

And you? Congratulations! You are an SS-Class Guide, one of the absolute best. This should mean power, prestige, and maybe even free drinks. Instead, it means you are a walking, talking, highly sought-after life support machine, and every Esper on the planet wants a piece of you.

And not in a fun way.

You’ve spent your entire career dodging unhinged, desperate, overpowered individuals who think "force-bonding" is a reasonable dating strategy.

Some try to flirt their way into your schedule (bad idea). Some try to bribe you with things like gold, private yachts, and one guy who straight-up offered you a castle. And then there are the truly feral ones, who don’t understand the word “no” and think "What if I just grabbed them?" is a valid problem-solving technique.

One time, an S-Class Esper sent you 72 marriage proposals in a single day. Another time, a different one broke into your apartment and left a PowerPoint presentation on why you should bond with them. With transitions.

If you had a nickel for every time you had to physically dodge an Esper trying to latch onto you like a clingy octopus, you wouldn’t need this job anymore. You could retire to a nice, peaceful life in the mountains, away from all of this nonsense.

But no. You’re still here. Still dodging Espers who treat you like a Black Friday deal at 90% off.

Something has to change.

It’s another day at work. Another day of wading through a swamp of increasingly deranged requests for guiding, because apparently, every high-ranking Esper on the planet thinks you’re the Holy Grail of Stability™.

You take a deep breath, open your inbox, and immediately regret your life choices.

Request #1:

"O Supreme and Benevolent Guide, I have compiled a PowerPoint titled ‘Why You Should Guide Me and Not Those Other Losers.’ Please see attached. I am very persuasive. Also, I have snacks. Just saying."

Attached: A 657-slide PowerPoint presentation with bullet points like “I Only Go Almost Berserk Like Every Other Tuesday” and “Look At This Dog I Found, Do You Like Him?”

Request #2:

"Greatest and Most Esteemed Guide, I humbly request your guidance. I will literally pay you in gold. Actual, real gold. Or cash. Or—listen, name your price. My mental stability is at stake here. I am ONE bad day away from levitating into the stratosphere and exploding like a firework. PLEASE. I am BEGGING you. Sincerely, your most devoted, desperate, and slightly deranged fan."

Attached: A poorly photoshopped picture of you both standing in front of a sunset. You’ve never met this person in your life.

Request #3:

"GOD-TIER GUIDE, PLEASE, I WILL DO ANYTHING. I WILL FETCH YOUR GROCERIES. I WILL WALK YOUR PET. YOU DON’T HAVE A PET? I WILL GET YOU A PET. I WILL BECOME YOUR PET. PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, JUST GIVE ME 10 MINUTES OF YOUR TIME. MY LAST GUIDE QUIT ON ME AND MOVED TO AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. I AM VERY STABLE. PLEASE."

Attached: A video of the sender crushing a monster’s skull with their bare hands while sobbing.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

This is your life now.

And then—you see it.

A request.

A normal request.

No groveling. No bribery. No half-deranged monologue about why their existence is crumbling without you.

Just a plain, simple request for a guiding session. No attachments. No drama.

You do not even look at the name or the rank.

You just slam the approve button so hard your screen nearly cracks.

And you schedule them for today.

Whatever poor, normal, well-adjusted Esper just sent that request? You’re about to meet your new favorite person.

You hear a knock on your office door and, without looking up from your third coffee of the afternoon, you say, "Come in." You assume it's just another esper with an unhinged request or a government official trying to bribe you into a permanent bond arrangement (as if free coffee is enough to make up for dealing with an unstable murder machine forever).

But when you finally glance up, you’re met with Malleus fucking Draconia.

SSS-class esper. Only because the measuring device physically cannot display values above SSS. If it could, it would probably just scream in binary before shutting itself down out of fear.

And Malleus, the walking cataclysm, smiles at you. A polite, almost sweet smile that absolutely does not match the soul-crushing amount of raw, unstable power radiating off of him.

He thanks you, so genuinely, for agreeing to guide him, and suddenly, you feel like maybe—just maybe—the guy who sent you a PowerPoint presentation about why he’d be the perfect esper for you would’ve been a safer choice. Because in what world were you qualified to guide Malleus Draconia?

But you’re a professional. A highly trained SS-class Guide. You’ve dealt with terrifying espers before. (You survived guiding Leona Kingscholar, and that man once threatened to bite someone’s hand off for waking him up.) So you take a deep breath, paste on a practiced, reassuring smile, and gesture toward the couch. “Please, take a seat.”

Malleus does, settling in like a well-mannered prince, and when you take his hands, his power hits you like a truck.

No, scratch that. A truck would be merciful. This is like getting yeeted into the sun.

Because for all his outward composure, for all his eerie, elegant calm, his body is ripping itself apart from the sheer force of his own abilities. His energy is so volatile, so uncontained, that even just touching him feels like holding onto a live wire dipped in liquid magic.

You open your mouth, fully prepared to yell WHAT THE HELL, but instead, what comes out is a weak, strangled, “So… how long has it been since your last guiding?”

Malleus blinks, tilting his head slightly, as if the question is odd. “Ah,” he hums. “A rather long time, I suppose.”

You squint at him. "Define 'long.'"

There’s a pause. And then, with the same pleasant smile, he says, “Over a decade.”

…

…A decade.

You stare at him. Your soul leaves your body. Your hands are on him right now, guiding him, and no other guide has touched him for ten whole years??? You’ve guided espers who've almost lost their minds after three months without stabilization, and this man—no, this monster, this eldritch entity in the shape of a handsome Esper—has been raw-dogging reality for a full decade???

And the worst part is, you get it.

You’ve heard the stories. No guide is willing to risk their life guiding him. He’s too powerful, too unstable, too dangerous. But also??? He’s the reason those cowardly soy-latte-drinking guides even get to enjoy their caramel cream monstrosities without getting eaten by a Gate Beast. The least they could do is try.

So you do.

You take all that power, all that impossible, barely-contained force, and you stabilize it. As much as you can, at least, because Malleus is like an ocean, vast and endless, and you are one person desperately trying to keep the tide from sweeping away an entire city. But you manage. And when the strain starts to weigh on you, when exhaustion creeps in, Malleus—ever the gentleman—gently removes his hands from yours before you overextend yourself.

He looks at you like you’ve done something extraordinary. And in that soft, almost reverent voice, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

And when he asks if you’d accept his request again, how could you possibly say no?

You’ve seen Gates before. Too many, in fact. You’ve spent years standing at the edges of battlefields, waiting for Espers to stumble out after pushing themselves to their limits, ready to catch them before they crumbled into a pile of unstable, overpowered problems.

Usually, you’re waiting outside, stationed alongside other Guides, ready to stabilize the Espers who come stumbling out looking like they just did twelve rounds in a blender.

And today? No different.

The Gate suppressors finish their job, and as the shimmering tear in reality finally vanishes, a wave of exhausted Espers begins to stagger out.

Your fellow Guides immediately spring into action, swarming their assigned Espers like the world’s most exhausted yet underpaid nurses. You hear the usual litany of groaning, the occasional complaint about “why does guiding feel like drinking a warm glass of sadness,” and at least one voice yelling, “DON’T THROW UP ON ME, BRO.”

All in all, a standard post-Gate event.

But then—then.

Malleus Draconia walks out.

And the reaction is palpable.

Every Guide freezes. The air itself seems to shift, a held breath, a quiet hesitation, a collective someone else handle it.

Which, yeah. Fair. SSS-class esper. Walking apocalypse. If the world were a video game, he’d be the final boss, the secret bonus boss, and the eldritch horror you accidentally summon if you input the wrong cheat code.

But unlike every other high-class Esper, who would immediately demand a Guide’s attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket, Malleus just… looks around. Sees the other Espers getting help. And without a word, he simply starts walking away.

And something in you breaks.

It’s not just that your fellow Guides are scared of him. It’s the fact that he expects it. That he doesn’t even try. He just accepts that no one will come for him, and he leaves.

It’s one thing for a terrifying Esper to demand your attention, to expect you to fix them as if you’re a mechanic and they’re a car with the check engine light permanently on. But this? This quiet resignation? This acceptance of the fact that no one will help him?

Oh, absolutely not.

You push past the usual crowd of unstable, desperate, feral Espers who are trying to grab at your hands (“PLEASE, I WILL PAY YOU IN GOLD—OR FAVORS—WHICHEVER YOU PREFER”), and you march after him.

“Malleus,” you say, grabbing his arm before he can vanish into the night like a dramatic antihero.

He turns, blinking down at you in quiet surprise. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” you say, like he just told you the sky is blue. “I’m a Guide. This is my job.”

His expression flickers, the barest crack in his usual calm. “You would guide me?”

“Yes,” you say. “Now sit down.”

He actually listens. Thank the stars. You’re not sure what you would’ve done if he refused. Probably wrestled him to the ground, which would have been a terrible life choice, but whatever.

You sit across from him, take his hands, and—oh.

Oh.

Oh wow.

It's as bad, if not slightly better than the first time.

If guiding most Espers is like sifting through a river, guiding Malleus Draconia is like being pulled into the center of a supermassive black hole. It’s overwhelming, his power a heavy, crushing thing that hums under his skin like an unrelenting storm, pressing at the edges of your mind.

“How long has it been since your last session?” you ask, voice a little strained as you work to stabilize him.

Malleus tilts his head, thoughtful. “My last session was with you.”

Your grip tightens around his hands. “It's been 5 months.”

He hums. “No other Guide has been willing to take me on.”

That—that makes you want to throw something. Because sure, Malleus is terrifying. Sure, he’s a walking natural disaster. But he’s also the reason those Guides get to breathe.

You exhale sharply. “Well. That’s stupid.”

Malleus blinks. “Stupid?”

“Yes. Stupid.” You focus, pouring everything you have into stabilizing him, because you might not be able to guide him fully, but you sure as hell can make things better.

Malleus says nothing. He just… watches you.

And when you’re finally done—when you pull back, exhausted but satisfied—he tilts his head, voice soft.

“Allow me to escort you to your car.”

There’s a weight to the way he says it. A quiet intent.

You glance at the still-lingering crowd of Espers who have been waiting for their chance to pounce, and—ah.

That’s why.

Because Malleus walking with you means no one is about to harass you for an impromptu guiding session.

You glance back at him.

Malleus Draconia. The most powerful Esper alive. Unstable. Dangerous. Literally a walking storm.

“…Okay,” you say.

He walks you to your car, a steady presence at your side, and for the first time in years, you are not approached, begged, or proposed to on the way.

It’s peaceful.

Nice, even.

And as you slide into the driver’s seat, Malleus thanks you again, voice warm, quiet.

And impulsively—because your brain has fully given up on thinking before speaking—you blurt out, “Repay me by taking me out for coffee.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

And then—Malleus smiles.

Not his usual polite, diplomatic smile. A real one.

And you realize, with sudden clarity, that you may have just changed the course of your entire life.

The next day, you step out of the Guidance Center, utterly exhausted.

You’ve spent all morning dealing with overworked Espers who don’t believe they need guiding until they start twitching like a broken lightbulb. One guy genuinely tried to convince you that he was “built different” and then proceeded to collapse mid-sentence.

So yeah. You’re tired. You just want to go home, take a nap, and not think about the absolute disaster that is your job.

And then you see him.

Malleus.

Waiting just outside the building, standing with the kind of stillness that makes him look more like a painting than a person.

But it’s not just him.

It’s the flowers.

A full bouquet, wrapped neatly, cradled in his hands like something precious.

And when he sees you, he smiles.

Your brain immediately blue-screens.

You walk up to him in a daze, already bracing yourself for the inevitable attention this is going to bring because, let’s be honest—Malleus Draconia standing outside your workplace holding flowers is about to start rumors.

(And by rumors, you mean your coworkers are never going to let you live this down.)

But when you reach him, he doesn’t do anything dramatic. Doesn’t say anything insane like “these flowers pale in comparison to your radiance” or “I will obliterate anyone who disrespects you.”

(You have, unfortunately, received both of those lines from unstable Espers before.)

Instead, he simply hands you the bouquet, his voice warm. “For you.”

And just like yesterday, you realize—this is different.

It’s not some desperate attempt to tie you to him, not an unstable Esper trying to own their Guide before anyone else can get to them.

He’s just… appreciative.

Grateful.

Your heart does something very annoying and fluttery at that realization.

You glance at the bouquet, then back up at him, and—oh.

He looks so pleased.

Like giving you flowers is the highlight of his week.

“…Are you free for that coffee now?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, expectant but unassuming.

And despite your exhaustion—despite knowing that this is probably the beginning of something huge and irreversible—you find yourself smiling.

“…Yeah,” you say, holding the flowers a little closer. “Yeah, I am.”

So far, this coffee date has been perfect.

You’re sitting across from Malleus, ranting about the absolute clowns you have to deal with daily.

“…And then this Esper looked me in the eyes and said, I will literally perish if you do not guide me this instant. Like. Sir.” You slap a hand on the table. “Sir. Please. This is a Starbucks.”

Malleus chuckles, eyes alight with amusement. “And what did you say to that?”

You sigh dramatically, tilting your head back. “I said, ‘Sounds fake, but okay.’”

He actually laughs at that—low and warm, and oh no, it’s really nice.

Before you can spiral about that, your drinks are ready. Malleus, being the gentleman he is, gets up to retrieve them.

And that’s when you feel it.

That unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your instincts immediately go on high alert. Slowly, casually, you glance at the table next to you, expecting to see some shady esper trying to worm their way into your life.

What you actually see is so much better.

Sitting at the table next to you are three of the most suspicious individuals you have ever seen in your entire life.

The first one is a tiny man drowning in a trench coat three sizes too big, like a detective in a noir film gone wrong. He has an obviously fake mustache that is slightly peeling off his face, and he is watching you intensely.

Next to him, there is a guy wearing a tragically ugly pink wig.

He is asleep on the table.

Just. Fully unconscious. Like someone just unplugged him.

And finally—

A tall guy in fake glasses with an even faker nose, aggressively shoveling cake into his mouth while glaring at you like you just stole his firstborn child.

It’s silent.

You blink.

They blink.

And you immediately have to slap a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

Malleus returns, setting your drink in front of you, and you immediately point at the disaster trio sitting next to you.

“…Do you know them?” you ask, barely holding it together.

Malleus follows your gaze.

Sees the absolute circus happening at the next table.

And sighs.

A long, suffering sigh. The sigh of a man who has seen some things and has just realized he is doomed to see them for the rest of his life.

“Yes,” he says, like the words physically pain him. “Unfortunately.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

You immediately wave them over.

Because honestly?

Why not.

They look hilarious.

And you were right—Lilia (who introduces himself with a flourish and an actual theatrical bow) is an absolute riot. Silver, despite the crime against fashion sitting on his head, is actually very nice. And Sebek—who is still burning holes into you with his eyes—is begrudgingly polite, only because you’ve been guiding Malleus.

It turns into a full-blown sitcom.

At one point, Lilia pulls out a picture of an egg and tries to convince you that it's a baby picture of Malleus. You're not sure if he was serious. Sebek is still glaring at you, but it’s now 30% hostility, 70% begrudging respect. Silver almost faceplants into his drink.

Malleus, across from you, looks like he’s actively questioning all of his life choices.

It’s beautiful.

Eventually, when it’s time to leave, Malleus insists on walking you to your car.

And that’s when you notice it.

He’s pouting.

Not a dramatic pout. But his lips are slightly pressed together, his brows furrowed, like a cat that just got denied a seat on the kitchen counter.

You immediately find it endearing.

“What’s up?” you ask, amused.

Malleus exhales, glancing away. “…I was hoping for this to be a time where we could get to know each other.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s adorable.

You grin.

And before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Malleus freezes.

His eyes go wide. His breath catches. He looks like you’ve just blue-screened his brain.

You step back, grinning. “I'll see you around.”

And before he can respond, you slip into your car.

But as you drive away, you catch a glimpse of him in your mirror—

Standing there, hand pressed to his cheek, smiling like you just gave him the greatest gift in the world.

You hate Gates.

You hate that they can just open whenever they want, completely ignoring normal human schedules like some kind of otherworldly chaos entities (which, to be fair, they are).

But mostly, you hate that they always seem to open in the middle of the night.

Like, is there some kind of Gate Union that collectively decided on this? Do they hold meetings where they specifically vote to screw over guides by opening at the most inconvenient times?

And in the dead of winter, no less.

Truly, suffering knows no bounds.

Still, you drag yourself out of bed, slap on as many layers as physically possible (to the point where you briefly resemble a sentient pile of laundry), and head to the Gate’s location. On the way, you stop by an all-night café, because if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well be miserable with hot chocolate.

You even get two cups.

Not because you always do this for espers (you don’t—they can suffer like the rest of you), but because he is different.

Malleus.

The most powerful esper on the field tonight. The one who singlehandedly keeps half the Gates from turning into full-scale disasters. The one who always acts like he’s completely fine no matter what comes out of them.

And, most importantly—

The one esper you have a ridiculous, stupid, undeniably massive soft spot for.

So, you wait.

And wait.

You’re perched on a bench, holding your hot chocolates, trying not to think about how this is starting to feel like some kind of romantic drama scene, when you finally see him step out of the swirling remnants of the Gate.

Even exhausted, he still looks ridiculously elegant. His coat is dusted with frost, his dark horns curved like the wings of a dragon at rest. His presence—so big, so vast—immediately settles over the field, even as other espers struggle to regain their balance.

His expression is neutral, as always. Composed. Untouchable.

Until—

He spots you.

He blinks, as if surprised to see you.

And his face softens.

He doesn’t react right away, like he’s making sure he’s seeing correctly. But then, when it clicks, his lips part just slightly—an unspoken question, a faintly surprised blink—before they curve into the warmest, most gentle smile.

And wow. Wow.

Maybe the cold is getting to you, because you suddenly feel a little too warm.

You lift a hand and wave.

Malleus immediately starts walking toward you, his movements slow but steady. His eyes stay locked on yours, like he’s drawn to you without realizing it.

“You’re here,” he says, voice carrying that soft rumble that’s way too nice to listen to at this ungodly hour.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, Gates don’t believe in work-life balance, apparently.” You hold up the second cup of hot chocolate. “Here. Thought you could use something warm.”

“For me?” he asks, sounding so genuinely touched that your heart does something stupid.

“No, for the other giant dragon esper who just walked out of that Gate,” you deadpan.

Malleus huffs out a soft laugh, the kind that makes you think he doesn’t do it nearly enough. He takes the cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours, and you don’t miss the way he lingers there for just a second too long.

“You should let me guide you,” you say, reaching for his free hand.

Malleus makes a vague sound of protest. “That isn’t necessary.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

And then, before he can argue further, you unleash your most powerful technique.

“Please?”

Malleus Draconia—the Apex Esper, the one who holds dominion over storms and shadows, the one who can level an entire battlefield with one command—

Folds like a house of cards.

“…Very well,” he murmurs, looking a little defeated, a little amused.

You beam and take his hand, immediately pressing your energy into his.

And wow, yeah, he definitely needed this.

His presence, which is usually so steady, flickers faintly at the edges. He must have been holding himself together through sheer force of will, because the second you start guiding him, his shoulders finally relax.

Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

You feel his weight lean into you ever so slightly, just enough that you know he’s letting you support him. His energy curls around yours, vast and dark but gentle, like the hush of a midnight storm.

For a while, neither of you speak.

The night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of other guides working, of espers coming down from battle-highs.

You steal a glance at Malleus. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath even, his fingers curled loosely around yours.

“…You do this often?” he asks suddenly.

“What, guide tired espers?” you shrug. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta be here to catch them before they crash.”

Malleus hums, a thoughtful sound.

“…No,” he says. “I meant… this.”

You blink. “This?”

“Wait for me.”

Oh.

Your grip tightens slightly, a flicker of warmth creeping up your neck.

“I—” You hesitate, then exhale through your nose. “No. Not really.”

Malleus watches you closely. You can feel his gaze on you even as you pointedly avoid meeting it.

“…Then why?” he asks, and his voice is so quiet, so genuine, that you feel yourself falter.

You take a deep breath.

And then, before you can overthink it, you grin.

“Well, you always push yourself too hard,” you say, squeezing his hand once for emphasis. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t keel over from exhaustion.”

Malleus huffs, clearly amused. “I assure you, I would not—”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

He laughs, quiet but real, and your heart skips a very concerning beat.

“…You are quite peculiar,” he muses, gazing at you like you’re some kind of strange, fascinating mystery.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, waving a hand. “Now, if you really wanna thank me, take me out for coffee again later.”

Malleus pauses.

You watch, in real-time, as your words settle.

And then—

Slowly, slowly, he smiles.

“…I would like that,” he says, his voice quiet, but so very certain.

And suddenly, the cold doesn’t feel quite so biting anymore.

It was late. Too late. So late that if anyone dared to bother you right now, you would simply keel over and die on the spot out of sheer spite. You had finished your work, logged everything, and were seconds away from clocking out and going home to live as a blanket cryptid when someone grabbed your wrist.

That was already mistake number one.

You turned around, tired and mildly homicidal, to see one of your fellow high-ranking guides standing there. You recognized them—someone competent, someone respected, someone you had never spoken to outside of required work matters.

And yet, here they were, gripping your wrist like you were about to reveal the secrets of the universe to them.

"You got a second?" they asked, eyes shining with something too intense for this ungodly hour.

No. You did not have a second. You barely had the energy to stand upright, let alone entertain whatever nonsense this was about to be. But before you could tell them that, they were already pulling you off to the side, lowering their voice like they were about to ask you for classified information.

"How’d you do it?"

Your brain, already running on fumes, barely processed the question. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb," they said, looking equal parts exasperated and impressed. "How'd you bewitch Malleus Draconia?"

Your mind, previously sluggish and exhausted, full stopped.

The sheer audacity of the question short-circuited your ability to respond. You just blinked at them, waiting for them to explain whatever the fuck they were talking about.

They misinterpreted your silence as playing coy because they leaned in conspiratorially and hissed, "Don't gatekeep. We want a bite too."

It was at that moment you considered committing actual murder.

"I'm sorry. A bite?" you echoed, voice dangerously calm.

"You got Malleus Draconia—Malleus Draconia—to let you guide him, regularly," they stressed, looking half in awe and half like they wanted to shake you for answers. "No one else has ever gotten close enough to work with him like that. If we knew he was harmless, we would’ve stepped in ages ago. But we weren’t going to take the risk."

You could physically feel something in your brain snap.

So that was it. That was why. It wasn’t that they hadn’t had the opportunity to guide him—it was that they had actively chosen not to. They had taken one look at Malleus, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to risk handling someone as powerful as him, and just left him alone.

And now, because you had proven he wasn’t some terrifying force of destruction, they suddenly wanted in? They suddenly thought they deserved him?

Like he was some exclusive club they wanted membership to?

Your hand twitched. You ripped yourself free from their grip, scowling. "Screw this."

Their eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that reaction. "Wait—"

But you were already storming off, anger burning through your exhaustion. You didn’t even realize where you were going until you stepped outside—

And saw Malleus standing there.

Waiting.

For you.

His sharp eyes flickered with concern the second they landed on your face.

"Are you alright?"

Your rage didn't cool, but it twisted into something tighter, something that made your throat close up for an entirely different reason.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached out, grabbed his hand, and started dragging him down the street.

Malleus didn’t resist. He simply followed, letting you pull him along like this was perfectly normal behavior.

The café door chimed as you shoved it open with more force than necessary, still stewing over the conversation from earlier. Malleus, utterly unbothered, stepped around you to order both of your usual drinks without hesitation.

The fact that he had memorized your order without ever asking, without making a big deal of it, without using it as some kind of flex, made something in your chest ache.

You sat down at the table, staring blankly at the surface as you tried to untangle your emotions.

Why were you this angry?

Was it because they had ignored him? Because they treated him like some kind of trophy instead of a person? Because they had assumed the worst of him and only changed their minds when it was convenient?

Yes. Absolutely.

But then—why did you also feel like crying?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table.

And that’s when it hit you.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

You liked him.

Like like liked him.

Like the kind of like that made you want to scream into your hands and never recover. The kind of like that made you want to turn back time and stop this from happening before it was too late. The kind of like that meant your life was now ruined beyond repair.

Your whole body tensed, brain going into full meltdown mode.

And then—just to make everything infinitely worse—

A cup slid into view.

You looked up, and there he was.

Malleus.

Standing in front of you, holding out your drink.

His eyes were gentle, studying you carefully, like he could see every single thought racing through your head. "Are you alright?" he asked again, voice quiet, sincere.

And in that moment, you realized you had two options:

• Stay here, drink your drink like a normal person, and accept the horrifying truth of your newfound feelings.

• Launch yourself out of the nearest window and never be seen again.

Option two was looking real tempting right now.

Another night, another gate opening at the worst possible time.

You were so tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary, existentially exhausted. The universe seemed determined to ensure that you never got a full night’s sleep, and you were starting to take it personally.

Still, you were here, bundled up against the cold, sipping a hot drink as you waited for Malleus.

The gate was a high-level one tonight. You knew it had to have been difficult—he was strong, but no one walked out of those things completely unscathed. So you were already standing up, ready to meet him halfway, when—

That guide.

The one who had all but interrogated you last time.

They stepped in before you could move, approaching Malleus with their best professional smile, like they hadn’t spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Do you need guidance?" they asked smoothly, their voice dripping with the absolute audacity.

Malleus blinked at them, clearly surprised. Because why wouldn’t he be? No one else but you had ever offered before.

And your chest burned.

Of course he’d pick them.

They were higher-ranked than you. More experienced. More respected. Malleus, despite everything, was still an outsider to most of the guide network, and it would make perfect sense to accept help from someone with more prestige.

You braced yourself, swallowing the bitter feeling threatening to rise—

But then—

He looked past them.

His eyes landed on you.

And then he smiled.

"I must decline," he said simply, voice polite but final.

And then—much to their visible horror—he walked right past them and straight to you.

The sheer triumph that surged through you was immeasurable.

You barely stopped yourself from cackling, but as you took his hand, guiding him like always, the urge to turn back and stick your tongue out at that seething guide was so strong.

Malleus, oblivious to your inner gloating, watched you with a softness that made your heart ache.

And then, suddenly, it all just—

Hit you.

The sheer depth of your feelings, the way your chest tightened at the sight of him, the way everything in you just settled when he was near—

You broke.

You grabbed him, yanking him forward, and before he could even react—

You kissed him.

Malleus let out a surprised sound against your lips, but after only a second of hesitation—

He kissed you back.

It was warm, steady, and when you finally pulled away, he was glowing, his expression soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"I like you, Malleus," you confessed, your voice quieter than you expected.

And his smile—

It was like you had given him the world.

He cupped your face so gently, kissed your forehead like he was sealing the moment into reality.

"I have feelings for you too," he murmured.

You melted.

You leaned against his chest, warmth seeping into you despite the cold night air.

And as his arms wrapped around you, as you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn’t help but be so glad you had accepted his guidance request all that time ago.

(And okay, maybe you were also smug as hell about it. Because when you glanced back at that other guide—

They looked ready to throw hands.)

You had been waiting.

Patiently. Lovingly. For months.

Malleus loved you. You loved him. You were in a relationship, you slept in the same bed, you guided him, he refused to let anyone else even offer—so what the hell was taking him so long?

Why wouldn’t he just ask?

It was infuriating. It was agonizing. It was the most painfully obvious conclusion to your relationship, and yet—

Malleus refused to bond with you.

And frankly? You were at your limit.

So tonight, as you lay wrapped around each other in bed, his arms comfortably encircling your waist, you finally decided to just ask him.

"Malleus," you said, looking up at him, voice soft but firm. "Why haven’t you asked me to bond yet?"

He stiffened. Just slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested on your back.

And then—

He gave you that look. The sad, gentle smile. The one that made your heart clench because it meant he was about to say something infuriatingly self-sacrificial.

"If you ever regret me," he murmured, "you won’t be able to guide anyone else." His thumb traced circles on your back, soothing even as his words infuriated you. "I don’t want that for you."

You froze.

You stared at him.

And in that moment, you were torn between laughing at his stupidity or crying because how could someone so powerful be so utterly dumb?

So you did neither.

Instead—

You kissed him.

You kissed him until he was breathless, until his arms tightened around you, until his body melted into yours and he let out the softest, neediest little sound against your lips.

When you pulled away, his pupils were blown wide, his expression dazed, and you felt the way his heartbeat had turned erratic beneath your palm.

"You," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, "are the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life."

Malleus let out a shaky breath.

And then you kissed him again.

You pressed him into the bed, slotting yourself against him, feeling his hands grasp at you like he was afraid you might disappear.

But you wouldn’t.

Because you were here. You chose him.

And that night, you finally bonded—just as you always should have.

Malleus had always been powerful. From the moment he was born, strength had been woven into his very being.

His draconic lineage alone made him stronger than most, but when his Esper abilities awakened, it had set him apart even further. Too far apart.

The strongest being in the world.

And because of that, people had feared him.

It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Even other Espers, who should have understood, kept their distance. Some whispered about him behind closed doors, about how a being as powerful as him didn't need guidance in the first place.

It had been Lilia who had guided him for most of his life, a steady presence who never flinched, never wavered, never treated him as if he were something to be afraid of. But when Lilia lost his guiding abilities, that stability was suddenly gone, leaving Malleus untethered.

For years, he had gone without. And then, one day, he heard about you.

You were a Guide who accepted nearly every request. You had guided Espers with overwhelming abilities, those who were labeled as difficult or too much to handle. You had never turned anyone away. And so, despite knowing the likelihood of rejection, Malleus sent a request.

He had expected nothing to come of it. But instead, he got you.

You had seemed nervous when you first met him, but it wasn’t the type of nervousness he was used to. There was no fear in your eyes, only cautious curiosity—an instinctive wariness, perhaps, but not rejection. And despite whatever initial hesitation you had, your hand had reached for his without trembling. You had guided him.

For the first time in over a decade, Malleus had felt light.

And then, the first time you guided him outside a Gate—

That had been a key moment in his life.

He had stepped out, battle-worn, expecting emptiness. And instead—you had waved at him.

You had smiled at him.

He had thought, at first, that perhaps you had simply been assigned to check on him. That maybe it was some unspoken duty, a requirement of your role. But then, as if that warmth weren’t enough, you had asked him to coffee.

He had expected a quiet outing, a moment to rest and speak with you in a more peaceful setting. Instead, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had shown up, disguises both laughable and obvious, as if the flimsy mustaches and oversized trench coats could fool anyone. He had braced himself for your irritation, for exasperation or a resigned sigh.

But instead—you had laughed.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you had welcomed them to join you.

That had been the moment he first thought, perhaps, he liked you.

The first time you had brought him hot chocolate would forever be etched into Malleus’ memory.

It had been a bitterly cold night, the kind where the air cut through even the thickest of coats, where breath curled in the air like mist, and the sky was so crisp and clear that it felt endless.

The battle had left him drained, his energy worn thin in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. He hadn’t expected you to be there. There had been no reason for you to wait for him—you could have guided someone else, finished your duties quickly, and gone home to rest.

But instead, there you were.

Sitting on a bench, bundled in layers, your arms crossed to hold in whatever warmth you could, with two cups of hot chocolate in your hands. You had waved at him like it was the most normal thing in the world, like of course you were waiting for him. Like of course you had brought him something warm to drink.

He had been so startled by the sight that for a moment, he simply stood there, staring, trying to commit every detail to memory. The way the streetlights cast a soft glow against your skin, the way your breath curled in the cold, the way your fingers tapped against the side of the cup as you held it out to him.

He had taken it without a word, still dazed, still trying to process why you had done this. And then, as if you hadn’t just shaken the very foundation of his existence, you had grinned and asked him to take you out for coffee again.

Malleus had never known such warmth, even in the frigid winter.

Then there was the day he had waited for you.

He had been standing outside the guidance center, patiently waiting for you to finish your duties. It had been something of a habit by then—he always waited for you when he could, just as you waited for him. He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him, the way you always greeted him like you had been expecting to see him there.

But that day, when you finally stepped outside, there was no warm smile, no familiar greeting. Instead, you stormed out, eyes blazing, frustration radiating off you in waves. Malleus had barely opened his mouth to ask what was wrong before you grabbed his wrist and started dragging him down the street.

He followed without hesitation, allowing you to pull him along, his mind still catching up to what was happening. You had led him straight to your usual café, barely stopping to take a breath as you shoved the door open and beelined for your favorite spot. Malleus sat across from you, watching with quiet curiosity as you fumed, hands clenched around your menu, your foot tapping aggressively against the floor.

And then, as the tension in your shoulders refused to ease, as you let out a frustrated huff and glared at your drink like it had personally offended you, you had finally told him what had made you so upset.

They had questioned you. They had asked how you had bewitched him, of all people. Like he was some trophy, some untouchable relic that no one had dared lay claim to until you had somehow managed to crack the code. They had assumed that if he were harmless enough to guide, then they would have taken him for themselves. They had spoken about him like he was something to be owned.

Malleus had expected you to be upset. What he hadn’t expected was for you to be so furious on his behalf.

And he shouldn’t have liked it—shouldn’t have felt anything beyond quiet gratitude for your defense of him. But there was something ugly in his chest, something selfish and dark that thrived off the way your anger was so fiercely his.

For so long, people had feared him, had rejected him, had kept him at a distance out of self-preservation. And yet, here you were, not just standing by his side, but fighting for him, defending him, choosing him.

And he wanted that.

He wanted the way you almost stormed into battle for him. He wanted the way your voice shook with anger because you cared about how he was treated. He wanted the way you grabbed his wrist without hesitation, the way you dragged him to this café because he was the person you sought out in your frustration.

He wanted you.

And as you finally sighed, your anger fading just enough for you to take a sip of your drink, Malleus came to a quiet realization.

He had liked you before. But now?

Now, he was falling.

Malleus had never expected to be offered guidance by anyone else.

It had never once crossed his mind as a possibility—he had long since grown used to being avoided, used to the way others hesitated to even meet his eyes, let alone reach out to him. The moment he stepped out of the Gate, still feeling the lingering exhaustion of battle, he had been prepared to find you, as he always did.

And yet, instead of you, there was someone else.

A guide—one he recognized, one who had been among those who had always turned away from him before. And now, suddenly, they were standing before him, offering their assistance as if it were something he needed, as if he should be grateful.

Malleus didn’t even consider it.

How could he? How could anyone else fill the space that was meant for you? How could he even entertain the thought of accepting someone else’s hand when your hand was the only one he ever wanted to hold?

So he simply stepped past them, not bothering to spare them a second glance, not wasting a single breath on an answer. Because they were irrelevant.

Because you were there.

And the moment he spotted you, standing just a few steps away with that bright, warm expression that was meant only for him, he felt something in his chest ease. Like everything had shifted back into place, like the air had cleared, like he was where he was supposed to be.

And when you laughed, really laughed, like this was all some great joke only the two of you were in on, he thought it might be his favorite sound in the world.

And then you took his hand, and the moment your fingers intertwined with his, he knew with absolute certainty—there was no one else for him. There never could be.

And then you kissed him.

For all his years, for all his strength, for all his wisdom, Malleus Draconia had never once been prepared for this.

You had grabbed him, pulled him in, and pressed your lips to his, and Malleus had let out an embarrassingly surprised sound before his instincts took over, before his hands found their way to your waist, before he was kissing you back like he had been waiting for this moment for centuries.

And maybe he had been.

Because when you pulled back, just far enough to whisper, “I like you, Malleus,” he felt like the world had stopped spinning, like time itself had come to a halt just to give him this moment, just to let him have this.

And when he smiled, it was because it felt like you had just handed him the world.

So he kissed your forehead, let his lips linger against your skin, and whispered against you, “I have feelings for you too.”

And when you leaned against him, when you let yourself rest against his chest, Malleus felt something settle in his soul.

He was home.

Then you asked him to bond.

And Malleus hesitated.

Not because he didn’t love you—he did. He had never loved anything the way he loved you.

But because he was afraid.

Because bonding with him meant forever. It meant you would be tied to him, it meant you would never be able to guide anyone else, it meant that if one day you woke up and realized you regretted him—realized you wanted something else, something more, something that wasn’t him—then you would be trapped.

And he could not, would not, allow that to happen to you.

So he had told you no. Not because he didn’t want you, not because he didn’t ache for you in ways he could never put into words, but because he would die before he let you shackle yourself to him forever.

And then you had kissed him.

Hard.

You had pressed him into the bed, breathless and unyielding, your lips against his like you were trying to prove something.

And maybe you were.

Because when you finally pulled back, when your fingers threaded through his hair and your forehead rested against his, you whispered, “You’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”

And Malleus—Malleus, who had spent his entire life waiting to be chosen, waiting to be wanted—felt his walls crumble.

So he let himself believe you.

He let himself hope.

And when he kissed you again, when he let his hands roam over your skin and let himself take you, it wasn’t just an acceptance of your love.

It was a promise.

A promise that no matter what, no matter where life took you, no matter how much time passed—he would always be yours.

And as the bond settled between you, as he felt the pull of your soul entwining with his, Malleus let himself hope for more.

He hoped you would be with him forever.

You woke up feeling warm.

Not just from the blankets wrapped around you, or the way the room was still dim from the early morning light, but from the way Malleus was wrapped around you.

His arms held you firm but gentle, his breath soft against your forehead, his body curled protectively around yours. It was comfort in its purest form.

You smiled, still basking in the afterglow of your bond, and tilted your head up to kiss him.

Malleus stirred, letting out a sleepy hum as his lips curved into a small, contented smile against yours. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, and you both just… looked at each other.

The love in his gaze was overwhelming.

So, naturally, you asked the most important question of your life.

"Was the egg picture that Lilia showed me actually you?"

Malleus blinked.

Then blinked again.

And then, to your absolute delight, he looked flabbergasted.

"You—" He stopped, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of your first words after bonding. "That is the first thing you wish to ask me?"

You nodded, completely serious. "I've been meaning to ask for a while."

And then—

Malleus laughed.

Laughed and laughed.

Deep and rich, his chest vibrating against yours as his entire body shook with amusement.

You pouted and waited for him to get it together, only for him to kiss your forehead, still grinning.

"Yes," he admitted, eyes twinkling. "That was me."

You gasped. Vindication.

Finally.

The mystery that had plagued you for months was solved.

With a triumphant little noise, you snuggled back into him, pressing your face against his chest as sleep threatened to claim you again.

Malleus chuckled, tucking you closer, and as he rested his chin atop your head, he couldn’t help but think—

Despite your eccentricities, he had never been happier than being yours.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia x you #guideverse x reader #guideverse #࣪ ִֶָ☾. guideverse

2K notes · View notes