#I also have two secret Santa’s I have to do

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“But I’m not just gonna let you die here. Obviously. What kind of monster would that make me?” 

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

“Max,” you read aloud. He barks in return.“ Guess it’s the three of us,” you announce to no one in particular.

What a trio 😅

"You again," he says with an unfairly charming smile that makes two dimples appear on his cheeks. “Well, we can’t expect you to rescue everyone and fight the big bad of the week,” you reply with an embarrassed smile.  

Valid, she's just taking up some of the load

“Okay,” you mutter, eyes dropping for a second. “Let’s not make a thing out of it.” “Oh it’s a thing,”

Damn it, too late 😅

Before you can say wait, what now, he’s already scooping Max into one arm. The little dog immediately starts licking his face and wiggling furiously. Then it’s your turn. A strong arm wraps around your lower back, securing you and the fishbowl against an insanely firm chest. He grins down at you. “Ready?” “Not even a little,” you reply, your shriek of surprise lost to the rush of wind as you’re suddenly airborne.

I would probably scream the whole way lol

He was staying obviously and so was the fish. 

Obviously 🙂‍↕️

“Seems like you’ve got a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” says a familiar voice behind you.

I don't know how he came to that conclusion 🤭😅

“That’s Santa,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right, sorry. How about a protein bar and…Gatorade?” you offer, glancing down as Max tugs eagerly at his leash, tongue flopping out the side of his mouth.

Protein bar and Gatorade cracked me up 😂

 And just like that, you're walking side by side with Superman back to your apartment. You, in your bleach-stained leggings and fraying sweater, and he, golden and heroic-looking. It’s surreal. Especially when you pass a young woman pushing a stroller whose eyes go wide the second she sees the two of you together. You can’t blame her. You must look like an odd pair.

Just a casual walk, no big deal, nothing to look at

“Bob?” He questions.  “The goldfish,” you explain. “He didn’t come with a name tag, so…I went with what felt right.”

Fair

There’s a part of you that doesn’t really expect Superman to show up on your balcony. But the part that does spends a frantic thirty minutes whipping up your grandmother’s famous chewy chocolate chip cookies while simultaneously trying to make your apartment look halfway clean. If he doesn’t show up you’ll still have baked cookies and a clean apartment. It’s a win-win. 

So true

Bob watches the chaos from his bowl with his usual vacant stare, occasionally blowing a bubble or two. Max, on the other hand, paces back and forth by the sliding glass door like he knows someone important is coming over. You’ve already tripped over him twice. 

I think dogs have a sense for when you ate in a rush or stressed be be then right infront of your feet lol

You also take the time to change into a more presentable outfit and do your hair. You’re not too proud to admit you swipe on a little mascara and lip gloss too. This isn’t a date. Obviously. Superman probably doesn’t even go on dates. And if he did, it wouldn’t be with someone like you. If the tabloids were to be believed, he was embroiled in a torrid love affair with Batman and Wonder Woman. Which was understandable. The legs on that woman were something you thought about entirely too often.

Valid

“You’re looking for work?” he asks. You shrug, trying to brush it off. “Yeah. Just...trying to figure things out. Got a fish to feed and Max to keep flush with toys. You know how it goes.”

Someones gotta put food on the table and I have an inkling that it won't be Bob lol

Accepting help always makes your skin itch. It felt like exposing too much of yourself. You’re half-surprised you even confided in him, but then again, who else could you trust, if not Superman? He had that same calm, steady energy as a priest in a confession booth, like he was honorbound to keep what you told him a secret. 

Fair

He tilts his head, kind but firm when he says, “Stop by on Monday, first thing. Bring a copy of your resume.” Then, as if to really drive the point home, he plants his hands on his hips, elbows out. The red cape billows behind with a well timed gust of wind. “Maybe bring some of these cookies,” he adds, taking the cookie and finishing it in a single, impressively clean bite. He doesn’t speak again until he’s swallowed, mild-mannered, always it seems. “They’re pretty swell. He might enjoy them too.”

Oh really 👀

The man towers over you, a tousled mess of curly hair falling across his brow, thick black glasses slightly askew over striking blue eyes. He’s handsome in that sweet, nerdy way you’ve always been a sucker for. There’s also a familiarity to him that catches you off guard. You press your lips together, swallowing hard.

I truly am a sucker for that look too, so I get it 🤭

You stare at him dumbly trying to think of some way to say “Superman sent me” without sounding like a crazy person. “We have a...mutual friend who sent me,” you manage, immediately cringing at how vague that sounds. Clark tilts his head slightly, brows raised in polite confusion, clearly waiting for more. You step in closer, lowering your voice, and glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “Big guy. Cape. Really into truth, justice, and the American way.”

Hahaha I just loved this bit

Clark’s expression flickers with recognition. “Oh, Superman,” he says casually. You wince. “Yeah. Him.” “Great guy,” he agrees, still smiling, as if this kind of conversation happens more often than you’d expect.

Him being so casual is just too good 🤭

“Well,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward an open corner of the bullpen, “anyone who comes bearing chocolate and references Superman is worth at least a conversation. Come on.”

He's so real for that 😅

“They were pretty amazing,” he says, with a slight tilt of his head. “Just wish I’d had a glass of milk to go with them.” That line tugs at your memory, and you pause. A strange wave of deja vu rolls over you, stilling your thoughts. You brush it off a second later, standing up and planting a hand on your hip as you fix Clark with a mock-serious look.

No a glass of milk giving him almost away

He stops by the receptionist desk often, usually under the pretense of checking in on you for the mutual friend you share. Though more often than not, he lingers, asking about your day and talking about his.  Sometimes he brings you one of those buttery croissants from the cafe down the street.

He would have my heart the moment he would get me that croissant

You’ve got a crush on him. Obviously. You catch yourself watching the way he pushes his glasses up when he’s thinking, or how he always holds the elevator door open for others. He’s gentle, funny in a dry kind of way, and listens like what you’re saying actually matters. There’s also a quiet steadiness to him and sometimes, just for a moment, he reminds you of someone else…someone you can’t quite place.

There are worst people to have a crush on 😌

“Well,” you say, eyeing him over the rim of the bouquet, “he returned it and brought me flowers. Hard to stay mad at a guy like that.” Clark chuckles softly, then reaches up to rub the back of his neck, an endearing tell you’ve seen a few times. “Full confession, those are actually from me,” he admits, a slow blush creeping across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.  “My ma always said you should never return something empty. Thought you might like the flowers.”

He is just so sweet 😍🥰

Clark shifts his weight, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “I, uh…was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out to dinner sometime? If you’re free, I mean.” “Of course, it’s not a big deal if you don’t,” he says quickly, his voice a little rushed. “I just thought…well, I enjoy spending time with you. But if I’ve misread anything or made you uncomfortable -”

Can he get any more perfect?

“Max would love that,” you reply, your grin widening. “Well, that’s good. He’s the one I’m really trying to impress,” Clark says teasingly.

🤭🥰🤭🥰

Of Monsters, Dogs, and Goldfish

Summary: You keep crossing paths with Superman during life-threatening situations, but strangely, neither of you seems to mind. Pairing: David!Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 5.K Warning: General. Fluff, flirting, humor, and romance. A/N: No movie spoilers here. Thanks to Becca, @broadwaybaggins, and @aninnai for looking this over! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wail. Metropolis is under attack. 

Again. 

Outside the small shop where you’re hoping to land a job, a crowd rushes past in a blur of panic. It’s hard to believe that only this morning, your biggest worry was whether you’d make a good impression in the interview. Most of the customers cleared out as soon as the sirens started, but you held onto the hope that the interview would still happen and that you might still walk away hired.

A deep, distant boom rattles the building, sending a fine dusting of plaster drifting from the ceiling like ash. That, apparently, is all the receptionist needs to call it a day. She bolts from her desk, headset still dangling from one ear, and vanishes out the front door without so much as a goodbye. And just like that, you’re alone. Well, almost alone.

There on her desk, still bubbling in oblivious serenity, is a small fishbowl. Inside, one goldfish stares at you with its big eyes, its mouth opening and closing. Behind him, a green plastic plant sways with each subtle vibration as the building trembles.

“She just left you, huh?" you question. 

The fish stares.

You glance toward the door, then back at the bowl. “Listen. I have a very strict no-pets policy at my apartment. And I've definitely killed all the herbs I bought from Trader Joe’s. You don’t want to come home with me."

The fish blows a bubble. With a resigned sigh, you scoop up the bowl, tucking it under your arm.

“But I’m not just gonna let you die here. Obviously. What kind of monster would that make me?” 

You step out into the streets and they are full of shouting and motion. You're regretting choosing heels to appear more professional for this job interview as you wobble your way away from the sounds of chaos. Head down, you plow through the crowd until the mess of bodies begins to thin about two blocks later. Here, the noise dims slightly and the street settles into a tense, uneasy quiet. Still not safe, but calmer.

Your arms ache as the contents of the fishbowl slosh over the rim, soaking your side. You pause, trying to adjust your grip when you spot a tiny terrier-looking dog tied to a tree. It’s barking, pacing in frantic little circles, its whole body trembling. The street is mostly deserted now, just abandoned storefronts and broken car alarms echoing in the distance. You squint at the dog, then scan the area. No sign of anyone nearby. Surely someone didn’t just leave him here.

Or maybe, you realize grimly, they didn’t have a choice.

You crouch beside the dog and offer your closed fist, trying to seem non-threatening. The dog eyes you warily, trembling slightly, but after a few cautious sniffs, his tail gives a tentative wag.

Only then do you reach for the leash, fumbling with the knot while doing your best not to tilt the fishbowl too far. It takes a few clumsy attempts before you get the leash free and straighten up.

The dog immediately presses against your leg. You reach down and scratch behind his ears, feeling him relax under your touch. A glint of metal catches your eye, and you spot a golden dog bone tag hanging from his collar. You tilt it toward the light.

“Max,” you read aloud. He barks in return.

“Guess it’s the three of us,” you announce to no one in particular.

You start walking again, leash in one hand, goldfish cradled in the other, making it maybe six feet before an SUV, or what’s left of one, comes hurtling down from above. It smashes into the street and a second later a figure drops from the sky, landing beside the lump of twisted metal.

There's no mistaking those broad shoulders or the red cape that flutters behind him.

It’s Superman.

He stands tall, hands on his hips, surveying the wreckage, until his eyes land on you.

"Oh gosh," he says, brows raised, stepping toward you. "Are you okay? Do you—"

He stops mid-sentence.

His eyes flick down to the goldfish bowl. Then to the trembling dog. Then to your heels. Then back to your face. You stare at each other for a beat.

"You again," he says with an unfairly charming smile that makes two dimples appear on his cheeks.

You're stunned he remembers you. It’s been a few weeks since that chaotic night when Metropolis was under attack by some kind of giant flaming eyeball. Your interaction with Superman had been brief, just a quick exchange as he helped you and your elderly neighbor down a fire escape. You hadn't expected to make a memorable impression, just one of the city's many citizens feeling in terror. Then again, you had been wearing flamingo-themed pajamas, which, in hindsight, were aggressively pink and wildly unflattering. Hard to forget, probably. 

"Yeah," you say finally, out of breath, hair sticking to your face. You sound way calmer than you feel. “Me again.”

He grins. “Last time I saw you, you were helping an old woman and her…four cats evacuate the building.”

You shift the bowl in your arms as the dog paces anxiously. That night had been an experience, trying to wrangle four ancient, furious Siamese cats who had absolutely no interest in being rescued, all while making sure Mrs. Nash didn’t tumble off the rickety fire escape. You were pretty sure you still had scratches on your arm to show for it. 

“Well, we can’t expect you to rescue everyone and fight the big bad of the week,” you reply with an embarrassed smile.  

He lets out a surprised little laugh, the kind that makes his dimples appear again.  “And now you’ve upgraded to...a fish and a dog?” 

“The receptionist ditched him,” you explain. “I couldn't just leave him. Or the dog. Someone tied him to a tree.” 

Superman tilts his head slightly, eyes steady on yours. “No,” he says softly, “I bet you couldn’t.”

Warmth suffuses your chest, an uncomfortable prickling sensation breaking across your skin. You shift your weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. It’s a lot being the subject of his entire focus, and you’re all too aware of how sweaty and gross you are. Ugh, you’re covered in fish water too. And he predictably looks amazing somehow, despite fighting intergalactic crime and falling out of the sky. The only sign of any wear on his part is a small smudge of dirt on his cheek. 

“Okay,” you mutter, eyes dropping for a second. “Let’s not make a thing out of it.”

“Oh it’s a thing,” he says before glancing skyward, his expression shifting slightly. “The Justice League is herding the, uh, giant squirrel in this direction. So you probably shouldn’t stay here.”

Then he meets your eyes again. “I can take you somewhere safe.”

You raise a brow. “Well, I do live on 61st and Plymouth,” you say, only half joking. “Tenth floor. Little balcony you can just...leave me and my menagerie of pets on.”

“I can do that,” he says seriously

Before you can say wait, what now, he’s already scooping Max into one arm. The little dog immediately starts licking his face and wiggling furiously. Then it’s your turn. A strong arm wraps around your lower back, securing you and the fishbowl against an insanely firm chest. 

He grins down at you. “Ready?”

“Not even a little,” you reply, your shriek of surprise lost to the rush of wind as you’re suddenly airborne.

–

Predictably, the next time you run into Superman, it's during yet another life-threatening alien attack on Metropolis. 

It’s only been a month since the whole giant rodent incident. 

This time, you’re just trying to take Max for his morning walk. Mrs. Kochek, your judgmental downstairs neighbor, gave you an unimpressed once over when you passed her in the hall wearing what could only be described as your “it must be laundry day” outfit. Bleach-stained leggings and an oversized hoodie with flip flops. But she’d also lied to your landlord about the sudden appearance of both a goldfish and a dog in your supposedly pet-free apartment, so you can’t hold the glare too much against her.

Your search for Max’s owner eventually led to a very frazzled woman who explained that Max had belonged to her mother. Thankfully, her mom was alive and well, just recently relocated to the suburbs, far from the daily alien invasions. Max had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle of the evacuation.

The woman offered him up for adoption, saying you were welcome to keep him if you were interested. You told her you’d think about it. That was weeks ago, and now, Max had a dog bed in your living room, matching food and water bowls in the kitchen, and a small army of obnoxiously squeaky toys.

He was staying obviously and so was the fish. 

“Come on, little guy,” you encourage, jingling Max’s leash to get him to move on from an apparently suspicious pile of leaves that needed a thorough inspection. 

You just wanted to make sure Max got a good walk in and burn off some energy before your busy afternoon of job applications. But fate, as usual, had other plans. You barely make it around the block before a patch of sky above you starts to shimmer in that weird way that usually meant something with tentacles or way too many eyes was about to arrive.

Sure enough, a moment later, a terrifying thing emerges with an ear-deafening screech. Luckily, so does the Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League, streaming by in a heroic rush. You squint up at the scene as a wave of emerald light wraps around the creature. It lets loose an unholy shriek, and a nearby trash can explodes.

“Well,” you mutter, turning to Max and scooping him up, “that is officially our cue to get inside.”

“Seems like you’ve got a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” says a familiar voice behind you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

“Or maybe Metropolis just needs to calm down for five minutes,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder to meet Superman’s incredibly blue eyes.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees with a tired sigh. “Would you like a lift back to your apartment?” He adds. 

You spin around to face him, lifting a hand to halt whatever superspeed nonsense he’s about to pull.

“No, thank you,” you say firmly. “I can walk. Not that I didn’t appreciate the absolutely terrifying experience of flying through the air.” 

Superman chuckles, arms crossing over his chest. “Fair enough.”

You eye the glowing battle still unfolding behind him. “Shouldn’t you be…helping?”

He glances back casually, as if giant tentacle creatures are just part of the morning routine. They probably are, you realize.

“The Justice League has it covered.” “Well then,” you say, a little surprised at the boldness in your own voice, “I guess you can walk me home if you like. I promise to leave milk and cookies out for you on my balcony as a thank-you for rescuing me. Again.”

“That’s Santa,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Right, sorry. How about a protein bar and…Gatorade?” you offer, glancing down as Max tugs eagerly at his leash, tongue flopping out the side of his mouth. 

“I’ve never been one to turn down milk and cookies,” he says after a beat, voice warm.

And just like that, you're walking side by side with Superman back to your apartment. You, in your bleach-stained leggings and fraying sweater, and he, golden and heroic-looking. It’s surreal. Especially when you pass a young woman pushing a stroller whose eyes go wide the second she sees the two of you together. You can’t blame her. You must look like an odd pair.

You tug at your sleeve self-consciously, acutely aware of how disheveled you must seem. But weirdly…you also feel kind of at ease. There’s something about Superman that’s so genuinely earnest and kind that it’s disarming. He doesn’t make you feel small or ridiculous, but truly seen 

It’s easy to forget he’s a world-famous superhero and not just some guy you happened to meet on the street.

“So…” Superman begins, breaking the silence just as it starts to linger a little too long. “Rescued any more pets since we last met?”

“No, but the day’s still young,” you reply, completely serious. “I’m thinking maybe a bird. Just to round out the collection.”

You glance at him sideways just in time to catch him already looking at you. There's a hint of amusement in his expression and some other emotion. 

“Well then,” he says, straight-faced but clearly teasing, “after I wrap this up…what did you call it? ‘Big bad of the week’? I'll come by to check out your menagerie and some of those cookies you promised me."

“Okay then,” you say, spinning around to face him as you stop in front of your apartment building. “Max, Bob, and I will be waiting.”

He lifts a single brow, clearly intrigued. You have to bite your lower lip to keep from laughing.

“Bob?” He questions. 

“The goldfish,” you explain. “He didn’t come with a name tag, so…I went with what felt right.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something more, but the moment is shattered by a piercing shriek in the distance. You both glance skyward.

“I should help wrap this up,” he says, a little reluctantly, gone in a blur of red and blue as you turn to head back inside.

–

There’s a part of you that doesn’t really expect Superman to show up on your balcony. But the part that does spends a frantic thirty minutes whipping up your grandmother’s famous chewy chocolate chip cookies while simultaneously trying to make your apartment look halfway clean. If he doesn’t show up you’ll still have baked cookies and a clean apartment. It’s a win-win. 

Bob watches the chaos from his bowl with his usual vacant stare, occasionally blowing a bubble or two. Max, on the other hand, paces back and forth by the sliding glass door like he knows someone important is coming over. You’ve already tripped over him twice. 

You also take the time to change into a more presentable outfit and do your hair. You’re not too proud to admit you swipe on a little mascara and lip gloss too. This isn’t a date. Obviously. Superman probably doesn’t even go on dates. And if he did, it wouldn’t be with someone like you. If the tabloids were to be believed, he was embroiled in a torrid love affair with Batman and Wonder Woman. Which was understandable. The legs on that woman were something you thought about entirely too often.

So lost in through you nearly miss the ding of the oven. You bolt inside, narrowly avoiding a second-degree burn as you yank the cookies out and begin frantically plating them. Once you’re finished, you hear the all-too-familiar whoosh of air followed immediately by Max’s frantic barking. You look up, spatula still in hand, to find Superman standing on your balcony. Hands folded neatly behind his back, he’s facing out toward the city, politely pretending he can’t see into your apartment.

You're almost certain he’s aware of every single thing happening inside, but he doesn’t actually turn to face you until you step out onto the balcony, a plate of cookies in hand. Max circles his feet excitedly, tiny paws pressing against Superman’s red boots. 

He glances down at both of you with a smile, and you can’t help but grin back, your heart pounding so loudly you’re convinced he must hear it. You’d felt strangely bold when you invited him, but now that he’s here, towering on your too-small balcony, that confidence starts to slip.

“They smell incredible,” he says, reaching out to take one of the cookies before bending down to scratch Max’s ears absently. 

“Thanks,” you manage, shifting your weight back on your heels, nerves starting to creep in as you watch him taste it.

He hums, low and pleased, and your stomach flips.

“These are really good.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and take a bite of your own, careful not to drop any crumbs. He reaches for a second cookie, and the two of you share a quiet, amused look until you suddenly remember you’ve missed something.

“The milk!” you blurt, thrusting the plate at him before spinning around and rushing back inside.

When you return, Superman is still standing exactly where you left him, crumb at the corner of his mouth, expression somewhere between amused and confused.

“And here I thought I was the fast one,” he says with a crooked smile as you hand him the glass.

“Well, a girl’s gotta keep her promises,” you reply, taking the plate back and doing your best not to stare as he downs the milk in a single, effortless gulp. 

He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, those bright blue eyes fixed on you with a teasing glint. “You wouldn’t happen to be trying to adopt me, would you?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, but you manage a grin. “Couldn’t afford you,” you shoot back. “My only job interview ended early when that giant squirrel attacked. Apparently, stealing a fish from the place you want to work doesn’t exactly scream ‘hire me.’”

Superman’s expression shifts in an instant, the playful spark in his eyes dims, replaced by concern. A deep furrow forms between his brows as he studies you more closely, milk glass now forgotten in his hand.

“You’re looking for work?” he asks.

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “Yeah. Just...trying to figure things out. Got a fish to feed and Max to keep flush with toys. You know how it goes.”

He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his thoughts, then steps closer, gaze steady. “I have a friend who works at the Daily Planet. His name is Clark Kent. He’s a good guy. If you tell him I sent you, he might be able to help.”

“I’m not a reporter,” you reply quickly.

Accepting help always makes your skin itch. It felt like exposing too much of yourself. You’re half-surprised you even confided in him, but then again, who else could you trust, if not Superman? He had that same calm, steady energy as a priest in a confession booth, like he was honorbound to keep what you told him a secret. 

“Clark knows a lot of people across the city,” he continues. “If there’s a job opening somewhere, he’d hear about it. And he could put in a good word for you.”

You fidget with the edge of the cookie plate, trying not to squirm under the weight of his sincerity. 

He tilts his head, kind but firm when he says, “Stop by on Monday, first thing. Bring a copy of your resume.”

Then, as if to really drive the point home, he plants his hands on his hips, elbows out. The red cape billows behind with a well timed gust of wind. 

“Alright, alright,” you relent, shoving another cookie at his broad chest in mock defeat.

“Maybe bring some of these cookies,” he adds, taking the cookie and finishing it in a single, impressively clean bite. He doesn’t speak again until he’s swallowed, mild-mannered, always it seems.

“They’re pretty swell. He might enjoy them too.”

“Cookies and resume. Aye aye Captain,” you reply.

He grins, eyes bright until something shifts. His gaze drifts past your shoulder, expression sharpening as if he's listening to a sound you can’t hear. Whatever it is makes him frown. 

“Ah, shoot,” he mutters with a sigh. “I gotta go. Seems like another creature slipped through the big guy earlier.”

“Good luck,” you say brightly.

He gives you one last glance before crouching to give Max a final round of scratches. “Monday,” he reminds you, voice suddenly serious.

You flash him a big thumbs-up like an idiot and stay on the balcony long after he’s gone, chewing your cookie slowly. It’s not until later that you realize Superman stole your glass of milk.

–

When Monday morning rolls around, you find yourself standing outside the Daily Planet bright and early, watching the city’s denizens rush by in a blur of caffeine and purpose. It takes a few minutes,and a few deep breaths, before you finally muster the courage to step into the lobby.

You scan the space for a receptionist but find the desk unmanned. Everyone around you looks far too busy to notice, talking urgently into phones and typing furiously on their keyboards. You smooth down the front of your dress and start plucking Max’s wiry hairs off the sleeve of your cardigan. No one pays you any mind, and your anxiety quietly grows. 

The resume in your hand is slightly crumpled, probably a bit damp too. But hey, at least you're wearing flats this time. And, miraculously, the tupperware full of chocolate cookies survived the subway ride unscathed.

With a deep breath, you push yourself forward, one step at a time, until you’re standing in the middle of the bullpen. The only photo you could find of Clark Kent was a small, grainy headshot next to one of his bylines online that wasn’t much help.

Behind you, someone clears their throat, and you jump, twisting around to look up.

The man towers over you, a tousled mess of curly hair falling across his brow, thick black glasses slightly askew over striking blue eyes. He’s handsome in that sweet, nerdy way you’ve always been a sucker for. There’s also a familiarity to him that catches you off guard. You press your lips together, swallowing hard.

“Can I help you?” he asks kindly. 

“Oh, um, yes. I’m looking for Clark Kent.”

His brows lift behind his glasses, and his smile widens. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m him. He is me,” he adds with a chuckle.

You stare at him dumbly trying to think of some way to say “Superman sent me” without sounding like a crazy person. 

“We have a...mutual friend who sent me,” you manage, immediately cringing at how vague that sounds.

Clark tilts his head slightly, brows raised in polite confusion, clearly waiting for more. You step in closer, lowering your voice, and glancing around to make sure no one’s listening.

“Big guy. Cape. Really into truth, justice, and the American way.”

Clark’s expression flickers with recognition. “Oh, Superman,” he says casually.

You wince. “Yeah. Him.”

“Great guy,” he agrees, still smiling, as if this kind of conversation happens more often than you’d expect.

“He said you might be able to help me find a job,” you say quickly, then, realizing how awkward you sound, you thrust the crumpled resume toward him. “I brought this.”

He takes it without hesitation, though you’re certain he notices how it’s slightly wrinkled and maybe a little smudged from your nervous hands. He takes his time reading it with a thoughtful expression.

“I also brought cookies. My grandmother’s recipe,” you add, holding up the tupperware with a slightly shaky grin.

Clark looks down at the cookies, then back at you, his smile softening. There’s something in the way he looks at you that settles the nervous tension in your shoulders before you’ve even conscious of it. 

“Well,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward an open corner of the bullpen, “anyone who comes bearing chocolate and references Superman is worth at least a conversation. Come on.”

Three hours later, you find yourself sitting behind the receptionist desk, officially hired on a trial basis. The interview with the editor-in-chief had been mildly terrifying. The man’s resting expression hovered somewhere between irritation and outright disdain, and you’re still not sure he blinked the entire time. But after looking over your resume and raising one skeptical eyebrow at your unique reference, he sent you to HR to fill out paperwork with a stern warning to never be late.

Clark stops by your desk after lunch with a big grin, leaning casually on the counter, arms folded across the top. The muscles in his biceps make the crisp white fabric of his shirt pull and strain in a way that’s so distracting that you almost staple your own finger before you manage to drag your eyes back where they belong.

“So, how's your first day going?” He questions.  

“Pretty great. Thank you again for putting in a good word.”

“Oh that was nothing,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You had a good resume, I just got you in front of the right person.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” you say again. “I’ll bring you even more cookies next week.”

“They were pretty amazing,” he says, with a slight tilt of his head. “Just wish I’d had a glass of milk to go with them.”

That line tugs at your memory, and you pause. A strange wave of deja vu rolls over you, stilling your thoughts. You brush it off a second later, standing up and planting a hand on your hip as you fix Clark with a mock-serious look.

“That reminds me. If you see our mutual friend, tell him he owes me a glass. Last I saw him, he absconded with mine.”

Clark laughs softly, a genuine sound that makes your chest do something annoying and fluttery.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a playful little salute. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

–

Your first month at the Daily Planet is chaotic, but surprisingly fulfilling. The rhythm of the newsroom is oddly comforting with its constant hum of conversation, the clatter of keyboards, and the occasional bark from Perry White’s office. You find yourself looking forward to work each morning. 

It doesn’t hurt that you spend most of your breaks with Clark.

He stops by the receptionist desk often, usually under the pretense of checking in on you for the mutual friend you share. Though more often than not, he lingers, asking about your day and talking about his.  Sometimes he brings you one of those buttery croissants from the cafe down the street. Other times, you find yourself making a second cup of hot chocolate and casually dropping it off at his desk like it’s no big deal.

You’ve got a crush on him. Obviously. You catch yourself watching the way he pushes his glasses up when he’s thinking, or how he always holds the elevator door open for others. He’s gentle, funny in a dry kind of way, and listens like what you’re saying actually matters. There’s also a quiet steadiness to him and sometimes, just for a moment, he reminds you of someone else…someone you can’t quite place.

Still, you’re determined to keep things professional. Of course, any friend of Superman would be kind and welcoming. It didn't mean anything; it was just common decency and plain old midwestern politeness.

And if you happened to gush about him to your apathetic goldfish and overly affectionate dog the moment you got home? Well, that was strictly between the three of you.

–

You don’t hear from Superman as the weeks slip past, not that you expected him to stroll through the golden doors of the Daily Planet just to check in on you. But you find yourself a little disappointed, at least until you arrive at your desk to find your missing glass sitting neatly beside your mouse. But it’s not empty. It’s filled with a small, colorful bunch of wildflowers, the stems slightly uneven. It’s the kind of thing someone picked by hand, not bought from the store.

“Ah, you found the glass,” Clark says, appearing beside your desk with his usual perfect timing. “Superman asked me to return it for him. He’s a busy guy, I guess.”

You blink, a slow smile spreading across your face as you bring them to your nose. They smell fragrant and sweet, but not overpowering.

“Well,” you say, eyeing him over the rim of the bouquet, “he returned it and brought me flowers. Hard to stay mad at a guy like that.”

Clark chuckles softly, then reaches up to rub the back of his neck, an endearing tell you’ve seen a few times.

“Full confession, those are actually from me,” he admits, a slow blush creeping across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.  “My ma always said you should never return something empty. Thought you might like the flowers.”

A shy, pleased smile spreads across your face as you lower the bouquet. “Oh,” you say, a little breathless. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you. I love them,” you add.

Clark shifts his weight, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “I, uh…was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out to dinner sometime? If you’re free, I mean.”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink at him, wide-eyed, your brain scrambling to catch up with what he just said. Clark takes in your stunned silence and immediately starts backtracking.

“Of course, it’s not a big deal if you don’t,” he says quickly, his voice a little rushed. “I just thought…well, I enjoy spending time with you. But if I’ve misread anything or made you uncomfortable -”

“I’d love to!” you blurt out loud enough that Jimmy and Steve at the next desk glance over, startled. Even Lois Lane pauses mid-call to arch an eyebrow in your direction. You clear your throat, face burning. “I mean…yes. I’d like that. A lot,” you say more softly.

“That’s real swell to hear,” he adds with a nod, stepping closer. “There’s this great little Italian bistro over on 63rd Avenue. They’ve got a dog-friendly patio, too.”

“Max would love that,” you reply, your grin widening.

“Well, that’s good. He’s the one I’m really trying to impress,” Clark says teasingly.

You laugh, unable to hide how much that charms you. “You’re off to a good start, then. But I have to warn you, Bob’s the real tough nut to crack.”

“I think I’m up to the challenge,” Clark replies with a grin.

You meet his gaze, feeling the heat linger in your cheeks.

“Good,” you say, a little breathless. 

And with that, Clark gives you one last smile and returns to his desk. You watch him for a moment longer, the glass of wildflowers still cradled in your hands, your heart skipping happily in your chest.

If you’d like to see more drabbles about these two, feel free to drop ideas in my inbox!

[markos-husband]

Hi could I request any of the lost boys or reader just yearning for each other?

Sooo some of these kinda got off the topic or yearning and more the boys love languages/how they show their love but i loved this idea!! I also wasn't sure how to make a story out of this idea necessarily so these are headcanons!!!

Yearning headcanons

♧ The lost boys x GN reader

♤ fluff, smoking

A/N: I desperately want to go to a concert with Dwayne 😭

These boys are yearners, without a doubt, and before you got together they all tried to court you in many different ways.

♤ The biggest yearner is definitely Dwayne. He has a lot of love to give and if you catch his eyes he will show it. He prefers quiet, especially with how loud the other boys can be, so he likes to take you on dates hangouts to secret spots only he knows. He'll take you to a clearing in the woods, a secluded spot on the beach, a small café, any place that's low traffic and peaceful.

However, he is still a lost boy so he also takes you to concerts with him. They're usually an underground rock or metal band playing at a bar, club, or even at the boardwalk. He will not pay for tickets if there's a big or famous band, like when the Scorpions came and played at Santa Carla, Dwayne didn't pay a dime to see them but snuck in and watched anyway. On the other hand, he will pay if he takes you to see an underground band. He will not contribute to making the rich richer even if he does like their music. At whatever concert Dwayne takes you to, he will always manage to get you two in the pit, right by the stage. If he's with you, he's acting as a human shield to make sure you don't get hit or grabbed by the mosh pits. He practically pins you to the barrier between the crowd and the stage, your back against his chest. He even covers your ears if things are getting too loud or he sees that you're overstimulated. If he's alone however, he is moshing 100%.

Overall, Dwayne shows his yearning by taking you on dates and showing you secret spots around Santa Carla. He is also the type of person to cheat at carnival games and win you giant teddy bears.

♧ The second biggest yearner is surprisingly David. He may seem cold and reserved but if he falls for you, he's not letting you go (example, Michael). He has a hard time saying I love you, so instead, he shows his love through yearning and actions. He'll let you ride on the back of his bike anywhere you want to go. Paul could ask David to go somewhere and David would roll his eyes and say "I'm not driving all the way out there." With an annoyed huff, but if you ask, "Of course, hop on." He is also more conscious about his smoking. If you smoke, he'll always have a second cigarette lit and ready for you. If you don't smoke, he tries to smoke less around you, or make some space for the smoke from his cigarette doesn't bother you. And if you're quitting or trying to quit, he'll make sure he doesn't smoke around you at all. It's difficult for him because he really likes to smoke especially since he knows there won't be an effect on his body but he's willing to cut down if it helps you quit. This also extends to the other boys, he'll scold them if they smoke a cigarette or a joint when you're hanging out with them.

Quality time is David's main love language other than acts of service. He sits with you while you read or draw or do basically anything. He'll smoke a cigarette, neither of you really speaking but it's how he shows his love. If he didn't care, he wouldn't bother spending time with you. Gift giving is big with David too. He hates receiving gifts, he always feels like he owes someone something if he gets a gift from them but he loves giving other people gifts, even if it only small things. He'll give Marko a fabric he found that he thought he would like, if he finds any cool rings or necklaces he gives them to Paul, he gave Dwayne a whole tool set one time that he had found on the boardwalk. With you, he'll share his cigarettes (if you smoke), he'll go out of his way to look for things he thinks you'll like whether that be art supplies, records or tapes, jewelry, clothes, or books. He also gives you sea glass he finds, rocks, soda tabs, buttons, and smaller trinkets, like a crow.

♡ Next is Paul and when it comes to yearning, Paul's a little tricky. If he likes you, he'll just tell you even if you'd only know him for a day. He doesn't really have any fear of rejection because people rarely reject him. But when the boys met you, they all told Paul he needs to tone it down and not immediately confess his love to you. This was extremely hard for Paul but he tried to best to take it slow.

He's extremely touchy, his love language being physical touch. He would touch you at every given chance whether it be a pat on the back, ruffling your hair, or holding your hand to drag you somewhere. He played it off as just friendly touches but he was desperately hoping you'd catch his hints. He also would openly flirt with you, remember he was supposed to be taking it slow, and then trying to play it off as friendly banter. He always offered for you to ride on his bike with him despite him being the most irresponsible driver and he always insisted you sit next to him whether on a ride or just on the couch. He gives you big sad puppy eyes if you don't.

He knows not everyone loves physical touch as much as he does, like Marko, and he completely respects that. If you ever told him to tone it down or be less touchy he absolutely would. His alternative to physical touch is sharing his interests with you. Like Dwayne, Paul goes to a lot of concerts and loves taking you with him. If concerts aren't your thing or there's just no good ones in Santa Carla, he makes you mix-tapes! He makes of ton of them for himself and the boys but he takes extra care with yours. He makes different themed mix-tapes with your favorite songs for different moods. He also steals a Walkman from his dinner if you don't already have one.

◇ Last, but not least, Marko. We all know Marko definitely loves giving you gifts that he made. A jacket like his, a shirt for a band you like that doesn't have any merch, or a drawing of you. Anything like that, Marko lives for. You're his muse without a doubt. When he's bored or just lacking creative ideas, he draws you. Some are small doodles to warm up, some are giant paintings. He brings up the idea of nude painting with you, for anatomy purposes of course! He's great at sewing so if you ever ripped your shirt or favorite pair of pants, you'll find them the next day on your bed all fixed up.

Similar to David, he likes to sit with you while you each do your own thing. He sits on the floor, adding another patch to his jacket, while you sit in a bean bag next to him doing your own thing. He prefers the silence but he'll play music if you want. He has a hard time focusing when music is playing but he'll power through it for you. He'll sit in his cove with you for hours just doing your own things. He loves the other boys very much but he needs alone time or else he gets cranky, you're the only person allowed to bother him during his alone time but he will still kick you out after he helps you with whatever you need.

Boundaries are very important to Marko. He will cuddle you, hold your hand, or wrap his arm around you on the boardwalk but he doesn't love to be touched 24/7 like Paul. That doesn't mean he won't show his love in other ways. He puts his jacket on you if he sees you're chilly, you are the only person allowed to wear it other than him so it's kinda a big deal. He'll buy you anything and everything you could want. He even goes on rides with you like the Ferris wheel or a roller-coaster. If you have any boundaries, he respects them so much. The first time you set a boundary with him, he actually got butterflies in his stomach because he was so happy you trusted him enough to set that boundary.

Overall, these boys all love you very much and will do everything in their power to make you happy even if they aren't perfect all of the time.

[accirax]

Valentine's Day is fast approaching on the set of DRDT... sounds like time for a sequel! 💕

[bookwyrminspiration]

hey (has three completed big bang artworks locked and loaded, ready to post)

[darkdragon768]

Having a blorbo with anger issues made me think about my past.

I remember, when I was in elementary school, if I didn't like someone I showed that. Someone was celebrating their birthday and the teacher had us stand in line and everyone was supposed to say something nice. Well, except me. I said something like "I wish you an awful day". The teacher scolded me after that. I also made that girl cry due to this.

Another situation. We had a bully in class many didn't like. There was one day where he ended up on the floor and people were standing around him, kicking him and stuff. Now that I think about it, I don't think I joined in and kicked him too, I was just watching and thinking "heck yeah, that's what he deserves!". Some other day I had a fight with this guy tho.

I think that was at the beginning of school. There was a girl I couldn't stand. I remember a time where I pushed her and she accidentally hit her head against a... metal pipe?? and I didn't want to say sorry to her. However, I ended up being on good terms with her? We even became friends???

Then one time in kindergarten I found a cool rock on the ground, picked it up and then decided "actually it isn't that cool" and threw it behind my back accidentally hitting another kid on the head. And I swear this was by accident. This has nothing to do with being pissed but it's something I remember vividly.

I don't remember if my parents ever heard about any of those and scolded me. I know the teachers did tho.

Nowadays I still get pissed off of people but the difference is the actions stay inside my head.

[bilbao-song]

tiny notes for secret rocker santa people:

first of happy thanksgiving to all thanksgivingers <3

today and tomorrow i am pppprobably going to be sending messages to a few of you asking if you're willing to be santa for multiple people (unless you already specified one way or the other in your form). it is 100000% okay if you don't want to (please don't take on more than you can or want to do! this is supposed to be fun after all lol); i just need to know so i can finish making matches as soon as possible :-)

once again the sign-up form is still open! we have more people than ever this year (!!) but the more the merrier <3 i'm going to leave it open until i'm completely done doing matches, so it'll probably stay open for about 24 hours more.

and some general reminders:

once again it would be really great if you could please send me an ask that i can respond to with information about who you'll be santa for, as described here. this is not required, but is super helpful! lots of people have already done this, so thank you!! <3 i will answer as soon as everything is ready lol

more notes and reminders of varying importance in the next few days, so stay tuned!!

andddd don't forget to turn on anon asks before december 1st :~)

[plasmaheatshipping]

i'm writing a christmas fic based on an idea i've had for a while. wish me luck that i can finish it before christmas

[thepandalion]

nothing beats looking at art I made 3 years ago and going "... I. don't hate this"

[flowersforbucky]

starry eyed

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: reader gets a special gift from her secret santa

warnings/tags: mostly just fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, one minor injury, language, kissing and some sensuality

author's note: short little feel good christmas fic! everyone is alive and happy because i say so. i originally got the idea for this fic last winter, but i hadn't got back into writing at that time. happy that i was able to put it into words finally.

my masterlist

“So, whose name did you draw?”

You shove your hand into an oven mitt, grabbing a large dish out of the oven. Everyone had been assigned to bring a different breakfast food to the Christmas morning potluck.

Sam brought chocolate chip pancakes, Steve brought a shit ton of sausage links, and Sharon brought a giant fruit platter to name a few. You figured that the easiest, cheapest way to help feed a group of a dozen people is a couple tubes of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

“That kinda takes the secret out of Secret Santa.”

Bucky leans on the island in the middle of the compound’s kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee of the morning. His breakfast dish of choice? A sack of two dozen McDonald’s hash browns.

“I was just testing you,” Bucky jokes. “You passed. Do you want to know who got your name?”

“No!” You whack his stomach with the oven mitt and he feigns injury. “I do not. Have I passed all of your tests?”

“I’m proud,” Bucky says after a big gulp of coffee. “You’re stronger than Sam, at least. He’s been asking everyone who drew his name for the last week.”

You roll your eyes. “He does that every year and no one ever tells him.”

Your friends begin filing into the kitchen, everyone grabbing plates and piling them high with all of the food scattered across the island. After making your plate, you retreat to the living room and nestle yourself between Natasha and Sharon on the couch.

Everyone is so occupied with stuffing their faces that there’s hardly any conversation. You halfway pay attention to the Hallmark Christmas rom-com playing on the television as you devour a stack of pancakes and hash browns.

Truthfully, you had hoped to draw Bucky’s name from the hat. You had a gift in mind for him already, and if you’d gotten his name then it would have presented you with the perfect opportunity to give it to him without any pressure for him to give you a gift in return.

You ended up drawing Sharon's name, but you decided to get the present for Bucky, anyway – a vintage tabletop phonograph from the forties that you’d snagged for an incredible deal on eBay. You didn’t put it under the gargantuan Christmas tree with all of the other gifts. It sits in your bedroom, waiting for you to give it to him later today when you’re not surrounded by all of your close friends.

To no one’s surprise, Sam and Peter are the first people to finish eating and immediately begin handing out all of the presents under the tree. You’re still finishing up your breakfast when Peter practically throws a small box wrapped in snowmen print paper towards you.

It's addressed to you, from your Secret Santa. Right off the bat, you’re sure that the gift didn’t come from Natasha – you know how much pride that she puts into gift wrapping. Not that this gift is wrapped poorly, but compared to Natasha’s typically extravagant bows, you’re confident that she wasn't the one who wrapped this present.

You also notice that the handwriting appears to be more on the masculine side. It looks familiar, though you can’t say with confidence who it belongs to.

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Sam says loudly enough to quiet all the chatter going on. “No one would spoil my gift for me and I’m getting impatient.”

You and Bucky share a knowing glance and eye roll at his words. He sits in a recliner directly across from you, holding the gift from his own Secret Santa.

“I’ll go first,” you offer excitedly, giving the box in your lap a small shake that gives nothing away.

You carelessly tear at the wrapping paper until it’s in pieces by your feet on the floor.

“What’d you get?” Sam asks.

You don’t respond at first, taking in the packaging of the box.

A northern lights projector.

You feel warmth spread across your cheeks and you can’t help but smile down at the gift in your hands, no longer having any doubt about who this gift came from.

One Month Ago

“These Spaghettios expired a couple weeks ago. Do you think we should risk it?”

You stand in the small kitchen of the Alaskan safe house, rifling through the limited options in the pantry. Some instant oatmeal packets, a few cans of Beanee Weenees, and the aforementioned expired Spaghettios are tonight’s dinner choices.

You can’t say you’re surprised – you’ve been doing this job for a while, and poorly stocked safe houses are pretty much the standard in this line of work. It doesn't help that this is the fifth night that you and Bucky have spent in this particular safe house, and you've eaten through all of the better options at this point.

“If you want to risk getting food poisoning in addition to that sprained ankle, then you go for it. I'll be sticking to the oatmeal.” Bucky reaches around you, grabbing a packet of maple and brown sugar oatmeal from the shelf that you stand in front of.

He's right. The oatmeal is the safest option.

One more night of this, you remind yourself. Tomorrow night, you'd be back in the comfort of your room, where you can DoorDash Chinese food.

You sigh, grabbing the remaining packet of oatmeal.

“You know, I wouldn't even mind the food situation nearly as much if I could just see the lights. Five nights here and nothing,” you grumble.

It’s your first time in Alaska, and you had high hopes for being able to see the northern lights. Each night so far, after long days of recon, you’ve stayed up past the point of exhaustion checking to see if they’re visible.

So far, the weather had been nothing but rainy and dreary, making the sky close to impossible to see at night. The clouds finally let up some today, but you've still seen no hint of an aurora. Just inky blackness, a crescent moon, and a steady downpour of snow that began a few hours ago.

“You could always get one of those projectors,” he teases with a shrug. “Northern lights, galaxies, constellations… all right there on your bedroom ceiling.”

Even though he won’t say it, you know he wants to see the northern lights as badly as you do. He's made it obvious by the way he glances out the window every so often to check.

You’ve been hoping that they’d make an appearance for him as much as for yourself. He's technically seen them before – decades ago. But never as himself. Never as Bucky.

“Those are neat,” you agree glumly. “I've just always wanted to see them in person. Kinda a bucket list thing.”

Getting to witness them with him would be the cherry on top, but you don’t add that part.

Bucky insists that you sit down on the couch and ice your ankle while he prepares the instant oatmeal for the two of you. You’re too tired to protest, so you retreat to the sofa and flip through the limited number of channels on the old TV with your foot propped up.

Fucking black ice. The last day of this mission and everything had gone swimmingly up until you slipped on a patch of clear ice earlier today, twisting your ankle.

You’re just thankful that it happened in front of Bucky, and not Sam. You can only imagine the teasing that would have ensued if it had been Sam that saw you eat shit.

The two of you eat by the warmth of the dwindling fire while watching a Seinfeld re-run.

You’re over three thousand miles from New York, but it doesn’t feel like you’re far from home at all. Bucky and you have been mission partners for quite some time now, and he has a way of making you feel like you’re at home, no matter where you’re actually at. His presence is familiar and comforting – whether you’re at the compound, or in a different country, or in Alaska – the familiarity and comfort of home is there, as long as he is.

“I’m gonna go get some more wood for the fire before bed,” Bucky says when he finishes scarfing down his food. You give him a quick nod, your mouth still crammed full of oatmeal. “You stay here and try not to sprain anything else,” he teases with a glance at your foot that’s elevated on the coffee table in front of you.

You shoot him an obscene gesture once his back is to you. “You act like my leg got cut off,” you grumble as he exits the house.

No more than ten seconds pass before you hear him call your name from beyond the front door. You look over your shoulder with wide eyes and he all but sprints back into the house with an animated expression.

“What? What is it?”

“The lights. They’re visible,” he exclaims. He walks over to the couch, taking your bowl from you and sitting it on the end table next to you before you can process what’s happening. He offers his flesh hand to you in an attempt to help you up.

“Holy shit, really? You better not be messing with me.” You push yourself up off the couch, momentarily forgetting all about your ankle.

“I’m not messing with you,” he snorts. “Come see for yourself.”

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist and you throw yours over his shoulder, helping you walk to the porch without putting too much pressure on your injured foot. You lean into him, his body heat providing a nice reprieve from the night air as you step outside.

You don’t pull away, and neither does he.

Side by side, you stare up at the seemingly endless expanse of swirling rivers of blue and green. The auroral rays seem to dance across the sky, electrifying the night with the shimmering veils of color.

“Wow,” you whisper in awe. Wow doesn’t begin to cover how ethereal the phenomenon is, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

You're acutely aware of the bitter chill of the cold wind. If it weren't for the fact that Bucky feels like a personal space heater, your teeth would be chattering. But with the view before you, you find it hard to care.

“I’d give anything to be able to see this where we live,” you breathe. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you.

“Wouldn't you?” You ask him.

“I really would.”

Present Day

“Oooh,” Natasha coos beside you, snapping you out of your memory. “A northern lights projector. I wonder who that could be from.”

You can tell by her tone of voice that she knows exactly who it’s from – even if you hadn't blatantly told her about seeing the northern lights on your mission with Bucky last month, she's too smart to not be able to figure it out herself.

You playfully elbow her in the side, silencing her teasing but the smirk on her face remains.

“Thank you, Santa,” you say with a glance at Bucky. “I love it.”

The rest of your friends open their presents one by one. You try your hardest to pay attention, but all you can think about is how perfect you think the gift that Bucky picked out for you is. He could have just given you a gift card, or a generic gag gift, but what he gave you is personal, and sentimental, and thoughtful.

When all of the Christmas morning festivities have come to an end, you retreat back to your bedroom with your presents. Despite getting many great gifts from your friends, the one from your Secret Santa is by far your favorite.

You unbox the projector and set it up on your nightstand before plugging it in. As soon as you press the power button, the ceiling of your room is covered in shades of blue and green that mimic the natural hues of the northern lights that you had witnessed first hand just a month prior.

You flick your light switch off, making it easier to envision yourself standing under the Alaska sky. Of course, there’s nothing like seeing the real thing, but it’s still pretty, and the meaning behind the gift is what makes you happier than anything.

Smiling to yourself beneath the undulating ribbons of turquoise and emerald, you can’t help but replay the memory of standing under the aurora with Bucky.

How he got so excited when he went outside and realized the lights were visible, the contrast of his warm body against the cold night air as he helped you stand on your hurt foot, and the way that he was smiling at you instead of taking in the scene before him –

Your phone chimes from your back pocket, drawing you back to reality.

A projection probably doesn’t really compare to the real thing, huh?

You smile at your phone, sitting down on your bed. You think of how you should respond when you remember the present you bought for Bucky that sits in your closet.

Come and see for yourself, you respond.

With his room being just a short distance down the hallway, it’s only a few moments before you hear a soft knock against your door.

“Come in,” you say softly.

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of nerves, and you tell yourself it’s because you’re antsy about giving him the present you'd picked out for him.

Bucky eases into the room, closing the door behind him. He takes in the display across your ceiling with his hands shoved in his pockets – a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed many times before, though you can’t pinpoint why he’d be nervous right now.

“Pretty cool,” he admits. He takes a seat in front of you on the edge of your bed and finally meets your gaze. “Can’t say it quite compares to the real thing, but at least it’s a whole lot warmer here.”

“The food is considerably better here, too,” you joke. “But really, thank you. It’s definitely the best Secret Santa gift I’ve ever received,” you add, cringing when you remember the toilet shaped coffee mug that Sam had gotten you two years ago.

You use it regularly, of course. But you like Bucky’s gift far more.

“And I got you a present, too,” you add in a small voice before you can chicken out. “I know I wasn’t your Secret Santa, so I hope you don’t think it’s weird. It’s okay if you don’t like—”

“Can I tell you something?” He interrupts you. He’s grinning big – the kind of grin that brings out the lines around his eyes. You snap your mouth shut and answer with a quick nod.

“I wasn’t your Secret Santa originally,” he sighs. “Natasha was. But I convinced her to switch names with me.”

“But why—”

“I got your present as soon as we got back from Alaska, but then I started overthinking it… just thought it would be easier to give it to you if I had the excuse of being your Secret Santa,” he shrugs.

You’re momentarily stunned. It dawns on you – he’d been worried about the exact thing you had. You’d been so worried about him being weirded out by you getting him a gift that you waited until you were alone to give it to him, and he’d been so worried about getting you a gift that he convinced someone else to let him have your name in Secret Santa.

How silly of both of you, you think.

He sits by you on your bed, waiting for your response with a patient, albeit uncertain expression. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips.

It had been a fleeting thought when you stared into his eyes under the colorful Alaskan sky – how beautiful it would be to kiss someone under such a serene and mesmerizing sky. How beautiful it would be to kiss him, here. It was a thought that you shoved down, out of fear for crossing a line and making yourself look like an idiot.

It's a thought that is once again at the forefront of your mind, sitting beside him in your bedroom under the imitation aurora.

Under the true northern lights, or under your bedroom ceiling in New York – it doesn’t matter. You think kissing him would be beautiful anywhere.

And so you do.

Or he does – you’re not actually sure who leans forward first. But you are sure that he still tastes faintly of maple syrup and coffee from breakfast, and that when he cups your face in his flesh hand and tilts it to give him a better angle to sweep his tongue along your bottom lip, your brain turns to static white noise.

You let him set the pace – it’s slow and soft, like he’s trying to memorize the map that his tongue draws inside your mouth. You place one of your hands on the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers in the short tufts of hair.

Still holding your face in his hand, he pulls away with a gentle tug of your bottom lip between his teeth and looks at you in the blue-green glow of the projector’s illumination.

“Was that my present?” he smiles, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You laugh, reeling in the afterglow of the kiss.

You drop your hand from his neck, and hold up a singular finger to him, indicating for him to give you a moment. You walk over to your closet, retrieving the large gift bag containing the phonograph.

When you walk back over to your bed, you turn on your bedside table lamp for a bit more light before handing him the bag.

He smiles, blushing faintly as he pulls the tissue paper out of the gift bag. He eases the package out of the bag slowly, as if he’s scared the contents will break. You watch as he takes his time with the unboxing, now feeling a fresh wave of nervousness at the anticipation of him seeing the gift.

His smile only grows once he realizes what it is.

“My ma used to have one just like this,” he murmurs in awe. He grabs your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you. It's perfect.”

He turns to place it behind him on your mattress before pulling your face to his once more. It’s shorter than the kiss before, but just as tender and sweet.

“But just so you know, you could have just given me a kiss, and I would’ve been just as thrilled.”

••••••

thanks for reading!! i had fun writing this cute little piece ♡

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A drawing of a Mindflayer and a Streetcleaner from Ultrakill, which the artist refers to as Radium and Burnet respectively, talking in a mall which is in no way canon-compliant. The palette is relatively saturated, dark, and eclectic, biased towards a reddish purple. Radium is dressed in a teal blazer, jeans, a studded belt and silver jewelry, and they hold up an unpurchased black shirt to Burnet: an anatomically correct heart and the word "SOUL" are partly visible on the front of the tee, printed red. They appear to ask if they should buy the shirt for a Mannequin friend. Burnet, in nothing but a sun-embroidered pair of overalls and a gold piercing through zier dragon-like frill, seems to love the idea, gesturing with zier hand excitedly. The two of them are standing in a dark store which is most analogous to Hot Topic; a puppet employee handles shirts to the right side of the image, including one with the artist's diagetic signature. Among the mall's stores are numerous parodies of and references to Ultrakill itself, along with sights such as a gathering of post-shopping Virtues and an enraged Mindflayer chasing down a fleeing V1. End ID.]

FROM: @peridots-pixiwolf TO: @cherripups

[queenangella]

my moms disappointed in me that I told my aunt to shut up and follow my grandmas schedule cause she tried to force dessert out so she could leave earlier but what is she gonna do? ignore me? did that already for two years. look mad at me? would be like n improvement from last years Christmas where she literally didn’t look at me once let alone talk to me

[aria0fgold]

I'm sorry OMORI anniversary. Your special anniversary fanfic from yours truly will have to wait. I need to get through the consequences of my actions first.

[diqldrunks]

snap out of it — max verstappen

requests are open! send me anything!! [nav | inbox]

a/n: i did not expect people to enjoy part one so much and i’m also in mourning that max didn’t do grid secret santa 😔 so here you go 🤭

content: rivals to lovers, reader is in a crappy relationship they haven’t broken up YET, red bull!reader, this is christmas-y 🎄

this is part two to a series!! find part one here!!

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yourusername just posted!

liked by maxverstappen, hotwheels and 94,363 others

yourusername ✓ who needs santa when you have a dutch redbull addict?

tagged: @/maxverstappen, @/hotwheels

17,517 comments…

user7 i am not well

user8 no bc i think this killed me

user9 i think the simulation glitched

hotwheels 🏎️💞

yourusername 🥰‼️

user10 THEY MADE DIFFERENT TYPES OF PINK CARS? I THOUGHT THIS WAS A LIMITED EDITION ‘ONE MODEL’ THING

hotwheels not only do we have different models, but the pink is here to stay! there will be at least one pink car in every collection released

user11 having her max do this for her after what nathan said is crazy

user12 it’s poetic

a/n 2: this was all from the fact that i could not find a pink hot wheels car in the shops. i know they exist but i actually control the universe 🤓☝️ and say that for this fic, they don’t.

max taglist; @see-me-wilding @forzacharlie16 @pastryfication @i-wanna-study @popsycles @cow-boy000 @iambored24601 @persephone-haven @eclipsedcherry @reidsworld @sepptember @formulaal @weekendlusting @elieanana @bby-aj @lottalove4evelyn @landossainz @rawr-123s-stuff @angstynasty @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @safeikik @sunny44 @theseerbetweenus @anilovessadbooks @raynetargaryan2 @stereading @kodeelynn @wierdflowerpower @lilypat

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨�� 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[tsuutarr]

Demon Delinquents x Human! Reader

Here's my gift for @ozzgin (who organized the secret santa event, tysm)!!

Content is about 1K words about you and your new delinquent demon besties <3

You, a human, somehow ended up in a school filled with demons. Though, you’re surprised to see that everything is rather… normal? Despite your peers and teachers sporting horns and other demon-like features, your demon school really seems like every other school.

You’re introduced to your classmates who politely clap, before you’re ushered to your new seat. All normal stuff, really, except that you’re seated at the very back in between what looks to be two delinquent demons. And, just your luck, you seem to have caught their eye. They could probably drill a hole through your skull with how much they’re looking at you.

So it’s really no surprise when you’re called out to the back of the school when class is over. You’re trembling as the demons loom over you, sharp teeth glinting underneath the sun.

“You’re gonna be our hench human,” the demon with red skin cackles, smile wide. You’re pretty sure he could bite your head off.

“And you’re gonna like it,” the demon with yellow skin adds, his frown showing off all his sharp teeth.

You’re too scared to say anything, but they take your silence as agreement.

“Good!” the red demon guffaws, pointing to himself. “Name’s Rex.” He points to the yellow demon beside him. “This guy’s Lem.”

Lem juts his chin out at you. “‘Sup?”

You’re really not sure how to react, making the three of you just stare at each other.

Finally, Rex raises an eyebrow. “Yer name?”

“Oh,” you say, blinking, before stuttering out your name. Rex and Lem look pleased.

“A’ight, great.” Slinging an arm over your shoulder, Rex begins to maneuver you as he begins walking, Lem following behind closely. “First order of business…”

You’re going to die. You’re convinced of it. Why else would they be dragging you with them?!

Surprisingly, however, you find yourself in the cafeteria. Somehow, you expected demons to be more rowdy, but everyone seems to be minding their own business. Even Rex and Lem are standing in line, waiting for their turn despite being delinquents.

You’re not left too much time to ponder, however, since it’s soon your turn to order. You’re certain they’re going to make you buy their lunch, but they… don’t? They pay for their own food, before dragging you away again until you’re on the rooftop.

“Here,” Rex says, tossing you a sandwich. “A good hench human’s gotta be strong.”

“And ya only get strong by eatin’,” Lem adds, shoving a whole melon bun in his mouth.

You blink, sandwich in your hand, as Rex and Lem dig into their lunches.

Rex looks to you, before swallowing down his food. “What? Ya not hungry? Or d’you not like sandwiches?”

“Uh, no, just…” you purse your lips. “I guess I didn’t expect you to buy me lunch?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Rex says, wiping some mustard off of his bottom lip. “You’re our hench human now, ‘course we gotta feed ya. We can’t have a weakling followin’ us around.”

Lem nods in agreement.

“Uh, right.” You nod with a stiff smile. “Thanks.”

With a loud laugh, Rex rips open a bag of chips. “‘Course, hench human! Let us know if you’re still hungry, got it?”

“...Got it,” you agree, before digging into your own sandwich. It’s actually kind of good.

Since that point onwards, you continue to hang out with Rex and Lem. Contrary to their appearance, Rex and Lem are good students, always on time to class (and thus making sure you’re on time too). They’re not… really delinquent like, truthfully.

In fact, one time, you thought they were smoking, but they were just eating lollipops. Another time, you thought they were drinking beer, but it was just apple juice. Frankly speaking, they baffle you – other than their appearance, they don’t really… do anything delinquent-like. But they’re also convinced that they are doing something delinquent like.

“We’re showin’ up to class ‘cause we’re asserting our dominance,” Rex had explained when you asked why he wasn’t skipping class. 

Lem nodded sagely in agreement. “The class is all scared of us, y’see? We gotta show ‘em who’s boss.”

When you asked them about the lollipops and apple juice, Rex said, “It’s ‘cause lollipops and apple juice have a lotta sugar. They’re super dangerous, which is why we’re usin’ ‘em. We’re strong like that.”

“Yeah, we’re cool like that,” Lem agrees.

You honestly don’t really get their logic, but… they’re not bad to hang out with. They take you on bicycle rides (not motorbikes, though, since Lem is scared of them). They walk you home because, according to Rex, “No one’s gonna hurt our hench human!”

They’re strange guys, but they’re kind of fun in an endearing sort of way, maybe. You don’t really mind hanging out with them. Plus, they always buy you lunch. It’s nice eating with them on the rooftop.

“Man, I can’t believe midterms are comin’ up,” Rex groans, looking displeased as he tosses a chip into his mouth. “Gotta study.”

“You guys are studying for midterms?” you ask, making Rex and Lem nod solemnly.

“We hafta. How else are we gonna show the rest of them how scary we are?” Lem inquires, crossing his arms as he chews on his lollipop. “We gotta show ‘em that we’re the strongest.”

“Don’t worry,” Rex says, slapping your back with a grin. “Ya got us, yeah? We’ll make sure that no one can mess with ya. Lem and I are top five in the whole school – we can teach ya, no worries.”

You blink slowly, processing the information. They actually study despite being delinquents to the point that they’re top five in the entire school? Huh?! How does that make sense?

But as you watch them eagerly discuss how they’ll make study guides for you to help you study, you can’t help but let your incredulousness go.

Because, yeah, they’re not traditional delinquents… but they’re doing their best and they care about you a ton, so maybe that’s what really matters in the end.

Maybe.

[sototallynormaliswear]

I'm kinda bummed that more people don't care for Isaac and Stiles' canon dynamic

you put them anywhere near each other, they are already fighting, insulting everything about each other, the haircut the trauma the outfit, no bars held. Isaac puts his hand too close to Stiles' face, stiles bites him. they have a staring contest while Isaac slooooowly pushes all of his stuff to the ground

but Isaac is one of the only people to go "hey stiles I think you're really fucked up are you straight up dying??" and stiles refuses to answer so Isaac is immediately more on edge. and Isaac was trusted to finally trap the nogistune, which I imagine stiles would have some pretty heavy sway over.

also, the scene at the lunch table? "you could try being helpful for once" "for half my childhood I was locked in a freezer so being helpful is kinda new to me" "you still milking that?" it's so easy to read this as stiles being a dick (because he kinda is) but watching back season two, Isaac is actually fairly reluctant to talk about his father, even to people that FOR SURE know what happened. further more, stiles just doesn't care in the same way about the pack that other characters do, so the pack isn't trying to justify themselves to him. so Isaac doesn't want to talk about it and stiles isn't pressuring him, but suddenly its four months later and Isaac is bringing it up casually and stiles isn't surprised about ANY of that. and they both refuse to skate around it despite that fact that that is one of their strongest skills. whether or not Isaac actually uses his father's abuse as a way to get out it isn't QUITE as interesting as the way that the two of them seem comfortable talking about it, especially when everyone around them DOES seem visibly uncomfortable

anyway. those two are my favorite pair of angry cats. they would die for each other. last week Isaac ate Stiles' homework. about a month ago stiles broke into his house to hide his spoons. they got each other for secret santa, Isaac got him a box full of pennies and a bottle of his mom's perfume stiles got him bottles of dirt and a handknit scarf