#Let him show who he was and how much love he had to offer

[storiesoferoda]

𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

summary: Clark x fem!reader, late-night doubts creep in when dating a superhero

warnings: hurt/comfort, not proofread

word count: 1,366

author's note: I wrote this while listening to I Know You by Faye Webster. If its jumbled, Im so sorry

The night was cold, and Clark's warm arms around you did little to help that. Your silence cut through the room like a blade. You didnt want to be silent and mad and but you were still wrapped around his arms, stuck in this confusing cycle of not knowing who to be for him. 

A friend, girlfriend, just there? You knew he had so many options, and that fact ate you up inside. It clawed at your stomach, killing all the good butterflies around you whenever he showed his love. It instantly replaced itself with doubt, worry, and anxiety. It loomed like a shadow over you. 

It was hard to stick around with that, but how could you leave Clark? You didnt want Superman, you wanted Clark Kent, the sweet, loving guy you knew from Smallville who kept you up at night with the endless questions of your future. You knew Clark Kent, you knew what he needed and what he wanted out of life. What you didn’t know is what Superman wanted. 

Your arm traced small patterns on the arm that was currently wrapped around you like a lifeline. He still had his suit on from saving people. You didnt know how to speak up, but the fire crackled like a reminder to not let this fester between you. To not let this doubt inside of you ruin something good. 

“What do you want out of life Clark?” your gaze looked up his and your neck was craned but you could see the confused expression on his face as he stared down at you, his face was dirty and still had some sweat, this wasnt the Clark you grew up with and that made the pit grow deeper inside you. 

“To help people, save them when they need it, and be there for those around me,” He answered. His answer was like honey, but honey was sticky, and this one coated your ears and made everything fuzzy. You looked away, eyes heavy and glossy. If you kept looking longer, the tears would fall, and he would know all the dark thoughts that clouded your mind on nights like these, when the night is so cold the fire and the warmth of Clark can’t too much to keep it from reaching your bones. 

“That’s what you, Clark Kent, want?”  Your voice was quiet in these conversations. You always were meek and small, you didnt want to take up too much room in Superman's already hectic life. 

“What do you mean, what Clark Kent wants?” his grip loosened; the only thing keeping it there was the fact that your arm was also resting there. “It is what I want, it's what I've always wanted to help people.” 

“So if you had no powers, then what?” Your words cut deeper than you intended, but that is what has always happened. It's why you kept quiet for so long. You knew not much could hurt Superman, but you knew this would. “If you had no powers, would you want a family? A small life like Smallville on a farm or a big city life with busy moving parts like right now..?” 

“Who's to say I couldn't have a family and have powers?” He sat up, and you fell a bit without his support behind you. You felt unbalanced as you shifted to face him; his face was no longer soft. Clark Kent never had a stern face, but he would be focused, trying to really listen to you. Understand you, he always knew what it felt like to not be understood, to feel like an outsider, so he always sat when someone tried to explain themselves. “Where is this coming from?” 

The couch had already hit your back; there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to curl up and hide. The couch offered no consolation to you as you sat and stared at him for what seemed like forever, but probably equated to 20 seconds. Time froze when you looked into his eyes. It was only ever the two of you in Smallville, now it was the 2 of you. And a million others that adored Clark. 

“I-I don't know. I feel like I'm pushing you away. Like I'm trying to push you out of my life before you push me out of yours.” Your voice shook. He just stared like he was waiting for more from you, “I love you, I always have, but lately I think…I think I only know the past. When we were younger, before all this, before Superman. When it was just us. I think I might be having a hard time coming to terms with it not just being us in some sense.” You scrambled the words, didnt even make sense to you. It felt like you were grasping at a million different thoughts, trying to make sense of the hurt you felt inside. 

“Are you worried I'm outgrowing you?” his hand reached out, it only extended so far, making sure you wanted his hand before continuing. 

“Yeah, is that wrong? Am I wrong for feeling this way while you're out saving the city? What am I contributing here, Clark?” The tears were too much now, and like a dam, they fell, hitting the couch uncontrollably. Clark saw and his hand left you, you didnt look to see where he turned to, but you almost laughed at how quickly he retracted. 

That was until you felt the soft fabric of a tissue wipe away the tears. A soft dabbing motion touched your cheeks as he was attentive to what was going on with you. He set aside the tissue, grabbing both your hands this time. 

“No, you aren't wrong for feeling this way,” you nodded. “Im scared too.” Your eyes met his, always so honest. “Scared that maybe you would only want Clark and not Superman.” he nodded, and his eyes were sad. 

Your head tilted. “I love both, I am just so scared that-” you couldn't continue. You did love both. You loved his insatiable need to help others and do good in the world, and that was both Clark and Superman. You just felt small next to him. 

“Can I tell you something?” he waited for an answer, your head nodded, and he continued, “When I fly, I always listen in for you, see if you're safe. Most of the time, I catch you talking to yourself while working. It makes me happy just to hear your voice. At work, I have the bracelets you made late at night when you couldn't sleep, which you left in my lunch. They’re right next to the photo of you on the beach looking straight at the camera, where you look so happy you could burst.” You laugh, you hated that photo, your hair was a mess, and the camera was blurry, but Clark had always said you looked the most beautiful in that one because you were happy. “I kept every note you’ve ever left me. Even the ones from when we first started dating. I read them whenever I'm sad, when I feel like I can't go on. Your words, you, lift me back up. Not the glory or the social media comments. You lift me back up whenever I feel like I can't take another step. You're next to me every step of the way.” He didn't move. 

His hands stayed holding yours, his gaze locked on you even when it became too much and you inevitably looked away from him. You didnt speak. The words didn't form, but that was okay. Clark said enough for both of you. 

That night, he didn't need big gestures of love or long kisses and touches to show you how much he needed you. You felt all around as the night grew even colder around you, and Clark stayed right behind you, planting kisses in your hair as he let you cry the last bit of doubt out on the couch. 

In the morning that followed, you woke up before him, his suit still on, the dirt still on his face, and his arm wrapped around your body holding you close.

(🏷️ @theelementofsurprisee, @angelicp0etry, @animegamerfox, @alexiaangelkisses)

comment or dm me to be added or removed from the taglist!!

[skzjiiiii]

Firsts with Felix ⋆˙⟡ —

pairing: felix x reader

genre: fluff, your firsts with Felix, college au, it’s so cute guys trust, slight angst, Felix is so down bad for the reader, kissing, hugs.

note: thank you so much for all the love on wrong chat, right choice!! I've decided to try writing more so I hope you guys like this actual written imagine???

First time meeting ⋆˙⟡ —

Your friend had invited you to go to the book fair back in college. It wasn’t a huge event, just people coming to sell their second hand books and bond over similar interests and tastes. You were browsing the poetry section — that was rather secluded and empty — when you bumped into someone. Both of you hurried to apologize for bumping into each other when you finally took a good look at him. It was as if the world stilled for a bit, letting you look — really look — at him. His eyes sparkled with so much life. His cheeks were adorned with the most beautiful freckles you’ve ever laid eyes upon. His smile went all the way up to his eyes, wrinkling the corner of them just a bit.

“I’m so sorry, I seriously need to look where I’m going.” he apologized again.

“No, no I was the one who had her head stuck in a damn book,” you countered his apology with another one. It seemed that both of you were the perfect pair. You were a bit taken back by how deep his voice was considering how adorable he looked.

“I’m Felix, by the way,” the blonde said, offering his name like a gift. You gave yours in return, and he smiled brighter, if that was even possible. You both exchanged goodbyes after chatting about poetry for a bit and how it should be more popular. You found yourself thinking about him for the rest of the week.

First Hug ⋆˙⟡ —

Finals season weren’t a joke. It hit you like a truck. Deadlines on top of deadlines and tests stacked on top of tests. It seemed as if the world forgot that you needed to breathe. Your days consisted of waking up, studying until the next day, crashing, and repeat.

That night, you were crunched up on your chair trying to figure out how the person in the youtube video managed to solve an equation. You swore that they made up a variable. Your hands gripped your hair like a lifeline, causing it to resemble an amateur bird’s nest.

Felix was lucky enough to witness this sight. You had left your bedroom door open just enough for him to be able to see into the room. He walked in with a cup of tea and your favorite: his home-made brownies. He called your name once, twice, and trice until you managed to look up at him.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I brought reinforcements.” You looked up at him as if he was your saving grace. Your eyes were bloodshot with under eyes so dark it made you resemble a raccoon. He bit down a smile, although you looked like you had been through war and back he still thought you looked adorable.

“Tough day?” he asked with concern masking his eyes.

“Tough month- actually screw that, tough year. I hate this. I hate it here. Why did I even pick this major??” you grumbled.

Your train of thought was cut short when he pulled you into his arms. Your limbs froze up at first but eventually, you melted in his arms. His hoodie smelt like home and his arms felt like the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You don’t hate this, you’re just stressed… and that’s okay. The most important thing is that you’re still here. You showed up. Bad state or not. That’s the girl I know.” he whispered against the crown of your head.

You hated how he could see right through you. But you couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

First Kiss ⋆˙⟡ —

You didn’t think it was going to happen this way although you weren’t exactly sure how it’d happen. It was a late summer in July, when the air was warm and the cicadas singing too loudly. You and Felix were sitting by the lake next to his family’s house. Wind blowing into your hair gently as you ranted to him about how hard it was to find a decent guy these days.

All of your past talking stages and “situationships” only ended in you being hurt. Felix could only sit and listen as you questioned what it would take to find a guy that knew how to respect boundaries and have some form of emotional intelligence. One that wouldn’t treat your heart like it had many lives to live.

He didn’t know if it was the way you bit your cheek out of exasperation or if it was how animated you were when you talked about your feelings. But right then, at that moment, he knew that you were the one.

It didn’t matter to him that you might not have felt the same or if you were way out of his league. He just felt that it was right. Whatever this was between you, friendship or more, he’d want this for the rest of his life.

He also didn’t expect to blurt out the one thing that would change your relationship forever. You were contemplating on what you should do next after college since you only had one semester left.

“And my dad is always asking what I plan to do when even I don’t know what I want in life. It’s complicated… I’m still young. How do people even expect someone—"

“I’m in love with you.” he said, hand not fast enough to cover his mouth. His eyes widened as if he had just processed what he said out loud. The air between you stilled. You looked at him in shock, like he just told you that you had won the lottery.

“What?” you blinked. Once. Twice. Enough to process what he said.

“I said, I’m in love with you… well maybe love is a bit too crazy considering that we’re friends but I wouldn’t say just like because that’s so weird like of course I like you you’re my bestfriend so I just thought—"

You kissed him.

It was messy and sudden—you practically threw yourself onto him— but it didn’t matter. His hand caressed the side of your face when he kissed you back. It was slow and reassuring. It said the things he wasn’t able to say all these years. Your first kiss wasn’t perfect by any means but it was yours.

perm tag list: @maryhyun254 @bemyaehiweloveskz @jeonginslittledoll @pochacco-baby @jj-one @channieschocco @peskybirdysya @afararraaaa @ilovedallywinston @vhskai @asesinas

[c4tluver02]

I have a very cute but cheesy request :)

Soo okok, so Steve and reader had a fight. idk what the fight should be about but probably not a huge like breakup fight but still one that makes reader avoid Steve. so reader is avoiding Steve as much as they can at school...like runs away if they see him. So Steve is like "i gotta make it up to them!" and comes to readers window with a speaker(here it gets cheesy) and plays baby come back by player. the lyrics fit the situation. anyway, reader is like rolling their eyes while lowkey laughing because Steve is being soooo cheesy. until they crack and let him come inside, where they talk and apologise and they are fine again :)

I love a little angst to fluff😌

baby come back!

wc: 3.3k

cw: mentions of anxiety, angst to fluff!, nothing rlly but if i missed anything lmk! <3

a/n: i am so sorryyyy this took forever to get out!!!! i hope you like it!! :)))

Driving to school with Steve is one of your favorite things. 

A moment of peace and happiness before your dreadfully long day of school. A day that barely involves your sweet boyfriend. The only time you see each other is lunch or if you’re lucky during periods. 

Steve even got the two of you some breakfast food to munch on before school. Always so thoughtful and kind. One of his hands grip the wheel as the other shoves a bagel into his face, crumbs landing on his perfectly fitted jeans. Your hand also has a bagel in it, with less crumbs falling, and the other is on Steve's neck. Playing with the head on the nape of his neck, he loves your hands on him at any time. Some band is on the radio but you can barely hear it through Steve's muffled voice. 

“And you’d think she would give me a good grade. I mean I barely skipped that class.” It’s good that you’re so in love with Steve that you don't find him utterly disgusting for this, seeing the dough in his mouth as he talks. 

He’s talking about his recent essay that he didn't do too well on. You’ve told him countless times that you’d help him with it but he’s weirdly defensive about it. Not wanting any help from you. Maybe it’s because he doesn't want his girlfriend looking at his bad grades, which is fair. But even after you voiced that you won't have a hint of judgement he still said no. And now he’s complaining about a bad grade. 

“I know, I think she’s just a harsh grader.” You say trying to be supportive, helpful even. 

“Shes a pain in my ass is what she is.” Steve sighs, pulling into a spot right by the front doors of the school. A lucky spot but only if you get there early enough to grab it. 

Because he spent the whole drive eating and talking his bagel is almost gone, leaving you with one half of yours left. You’ll offer it to him because he's already having a bad day and it hasn't even really started. And when he asks you if you’re sure you’ll show him how you haven't even finished the one still in your hand. Both of you sit there eating and watching the kids that walk into the building. 

–

You’re lucky that the day has gone by somewhat quickly. It’s already lunch and Steve is sitting at the table, talking to Tommy as he waits for you. When you make it to him he feels arms around his shoulders and he doesn't need to even look up to see who it is. Your manicured nails and the bracelet he bought you for christmas is all he sees and it’s proof enough. 

“Hey baby, how’s class?” He asks as you sit down next to him. 

“You’re right, Mrs. Smith is a total bitch.” You don't even bother hiding the eye roll and sigh that comes out of you. 

All Steve does is laugh, along with opening his lunch to share with you. And when you're in the middle of hearing Carol talk about a girl from the cheer team you feel a presence behind you. Carol stops once she notices the person isn't going away, it’s what makes you turn around. 

“Steve, can I talk to you for a sec?” Nancy asks. 

He freezes at just the sound of her voice, letting your hand slip through his as he gets up. She takes him into a corner of the cafeteria, the more isolated area. You want to watch, to try and read her lips and see what they are talking about. But you don’t, instead you turn back to Tommy and Carol just to see they are already watching Steve and Nancy. It would be horrible for you to ask them what's going on right? 

“Can you tell what they're talking about?” You whisper. 

“Nope, Harrington looks a little shocked and Nanc looks like some kicked puppy.” The way her nickname rolls off his tongue makes you feel a little light headed. Like the past that involved her is still here, buried beneath everything Steve's built with you. 

“She always looks like that.” Carol giggles. 

They aren't the best to be asking such important things. When you turn your head over your shoulder to quickly get a glance of what's going on Steve's already walking over to you guys. 

“Is she okay?” You ask. 

“Yeah, yeah she just needed some advice is all.” He gives you a nod and asks Carol to resume her story. 

It has you feeling whiplash over what just happened. His ex who he hasn't talked to in months just walks up to him and he listened to her with no issue. There was no push back or resentment, just an understanding of what she needed. And even worse he won't tell you the full details of it. Steve Harrington who tells you all of the gossip happening in the school, obsessed with it more than you. 

Little did you know that wouldn't be the last time Nancy Wheeler interrupts you and Steve. 

–

It was the weekend and you were at Steves. The two of you were laying in his bed and he was telling you about a new movie he wants to see with you. Mentioning that it has the romance you like and the comedy he likes. Your head laid comfortably on his chest as his hand traps you in. You could fall asleep but you don't want him to think he bores you, it’s honestly the opposite. His voice is so calming and gentle. How could you not feel so cozy and sleepy? 

If it weren't for the loud doorbell that rang through the house you probably would've slept. But Steve just had to go answer it, thinking it was the mail or a package. When a few minutes passed and he still wasn't back you mustered up the strength from your warm spot to go look. 

Before you even went downstairs you heard Nancy's voice. Steve is trying to whisper and her soft voice is already meeting him there. You can't hear every word but something about having trouble with Jonathan, needing Steve's help. It’s hard to make out but even then you find her weird. Why can't she go to her friends about this? Why is your boyfriend the person she goes to when they don't even talk? When Steve says goodbye and shuts the door, you run back to his room and get under the covers. 

“Was it a mail man?” You ask, voice fluffy and sweet. 

“Yeah, wouldn't stop talking to me.” He says letting out a huff in faux annoyance and a big grin. 

That night you were stuck in your head. Keeping secrets was new for Steve, normally he tells you everything and enjoys hearing your feedback about it. He probably knows your feedback about talking to his ex wouldn’t be very good. Still if you can’t have conversations like this how will you two survive in a relationship. There’s worse things to talk about and if he can't come to you when someone asks for his help it’s downhill from there. 

When you wake up the next morning you tell Steve you aren't feeling well. That somehow, overnight a headache has formed and your throat hurts. That you simply must go home so he doesn't get sick. 

“Y’sure you don't wanna say? I’d take such great care of you I swear.” His arm is wrapped around your torso as you put your shoes on but you're stuck in your ways. Slipping out of his grip and heading to his car before the keys are even in his hand. 

He drives you home with no fuss. A little pout here and there about how much he’ll miss you even though you’ll see him the next day for school. But you need a minute to think, to try and not lose your mind over something that's probably not even that important. 

But when he leans in for a kiss and you let his lips meet your cheek he starts getting a feeling. And when you shut his car door without looking back and waving at him he starts thinking. Chalking it up to how horrible you really must feel, that tomorrow he’ll pack a soup for lunch knowing that you won't do it yourself. 

–

The next morning the routine follows, he picks you up and drives the two of you to school. He talks up a storm and you listen offering tid bits here and there. But your energy is off and he can feel it. When you two get out to walk to class it seems like it’s hitting you even harder. Much worse than yesterday, as if you fell deeper into whatever hole you got stuck in. Your arms are crossed and you aren't leaning into him. An awkward and stiff position making Steve remove his arm from you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go and head back home.” He asks as you put things away in your locker, repeating the words you spoke to him earlier. 

“I’m fine Steve. Just drop it, I’ll see you at lunch.” 

And with that you’re on your way to class. Now Steve’s thinking it’s more than a sickness, because he’s seen you sick. You were quick to get help from him and even begged him to stay with you. And when he did leave you told him everything along with frequent updates. Now he's starting to think that it’s got something to do with him. 

His case doesn't get much better either, because Nancy comes back again during lunch. Needing to take Steve away to talk. It only makes you shrink more, getting lost in your head with what is happening between the two of them. Like if Nancy and Jonathan break up, maybe she wants Steve back. And then he gets rid of you and goes back to his first love, an easy fix, like something that never even happened. 

When Steve comes back he continues to act like nothing ever happened, unbothered by her constant questions. His hand rubs your back and you hate how your body melts into him. He says something and it goes past you, only a shake of your shoulder gets you out of your head. 

“The bell rang. Do you wanna hang with the nurse for the rest of the day?” The way he says it almost makes you break. He sounds so caring and truly worried for you. 

“S’okay only two more classes.” You nod, his hand still remains on your back, soothing circles that instantly calm you down. 

Those classes go quickly, and before you know it you’re back with Steve in his car. His hand resting on your thigh as you look out the window. There’s no talking, only the hum of the engine and some music that you don't know the words to. Steve wants to ask you what's wrong, why you’re so out of it but he thinks it will just get you more upset. He should just be patient and caring for you right now. 

However, when you tell him to drop you off at your house he can feel his patience wear off. The whole ‘sick’ thing sounds a lot more like you’re sick of him and he doesn't even know what he’s done wrong. And when he’s parked in front of your house and you’re taking off your seatbelt he pops the question. 

“Can you please tell me what's going on, what is it that you can't tell me about?” You almost want to laugh at the irony. How crazy he’s going because you aren't communicating with him. 

“I really don’t want to talk about it Steve.” The last thing you want to do is blow up at him, all the rage and questions you've had to keep together ready to explode. So instead you remain sitting in his car with your arms crossed. 

“Yeah, you really haven't been wanting to talk about anything these past few days have you.” This time he’s the one that lets out a laugh. Except it’s not because it’s funny, his voice remains low and he shakes his head. 

“You know it’s really crazy that you bring that up Steve because it seems like you’ll just talk about anything except what you’re doing with Nancy Wheeler.” 

“What? What am I doing with Nanc?” Again with the nickname. Like they are just so close that even when they go without contact they can still remain harmless. Unbreakable. 

“I don't know it’s quite literally all I’ve been thinking about! Why she’s asking you for help or why you lied to me when she came over to talk. Trust me I wish I could tell you what you’ve been doing with Nanc.” Her name feels just as bad saying it as it does hearing it. Venom coats your tongue in a heavy way and before you spew anything else out you leave his car. Shutting the door even louder than the day before to make your way into your home. 

Steve leaves after a minute or two of you leaving. Unsure what to do with this new information you gave him. He didn't know you knew that Nancy came over, and even worse that you've been thinking about them. Truthfully Nancy just wanted to talk to him about Jonathan because Steve will tell it to her straight. He honestly doesn't care about them so whatever happens, happens. It’s what gives her a clear mind about the situation. But now not only is he having to hear Nancy's problems he has to hear how she's causing you two problems. Steve thinks she must be bringing her curse onto you and him. 

The thing is you are stronger than Nancy and Jonathan, better in every way. Maybe you lack a little communication here and there but what relationship doesn't every now and then? Unlike Jonthan, Steve is determined to fix things between you two immediately. Already thinking of things to make it up to you. 

The whole drive home he kicks himself for how he didn't realize this would affect you. How weird it must be to see your boyfriend talk to his ex, he understands your point. And the fact that you felt you couldn't talk to him about it makes him feel even worse.

Flowers felt too small, nowhere near enough. He gets you flowers for opening the door for him. Perhaps a nice dinner to explain things could be nice. But maybe you aren't feeling up for that. It needs to be big, something he doesn't do normally that will show just how sorry he is. 

It’s why you hear music coming from your front yard later that night. You’re up reading and Steve knows this, he has your routine down to a science. Instead of crawling through your window like he normally does he’s outside with a speaker on his shoulder. You don't even know it’s him, but the thought of someone out late at night with loud enough music to wake the whole neighborhood makes you get up. 

When you open the window, the music gets even louder making you wince hoping your parents don't wake up, you then see Steve. He’s singing the bridge but you can barely hear him over the music. Once he notices you're seeing him he puts on a whole performance. 

Falling to his knees pointing at you as he sings the lyrics. Pointing at himself when the words “I was wrong” pop up. His antics get a laugh out of you. If anyone from school saw this he would tell you to hide him forever but apparently that’s nowhere near important right now. 

By the end of the song he’s way closer to you and you don't even realize you're smiling so big until you feel your cheeks hurt. A hand covers your mouth as to appear unfazed but the smile reaches your eyes. He’s being extremely cheesy right now and you feel like you’re in some rom-com. Barely believing that this is your life and this is what your boyfriend is doing. 

Once the song ends a few seconds of silence pass until it tries to replay, only getting a loud ‘shhh’ from you and he finally turns the music off. 

“How was that?” He asks, completely out of breath from all the movement he just did. Hands resting on his knees to hold him up, the speaker lying on its side next to him. 

“I think you’re absolutely insane, Steve Harrington.” It comes out with a giggle which brings a smile to Steve's face. The first time he’s heard that sound in days he couldn't even begin to explain how much he missed it. 

You raise up your window to open it more so his body can fit through. He’s quick to do it too, not wanting to waste a second for you to think it over and break up with him. 

“I cannot believe you just did that, you do know people are sleeping right?” You ask as you sit on the edge of your bed, hands on your cheeks to try and stop your smile. 

“It couldn't wait till morning, I had to come and talk to you.” 

“And what if I was already asleep?” You tease, arms behind you to hold your body up. 

“You’re never asleep by this time, you stay up too late reading.” He responds, walking over to stand in front of you. Your head tilts up to see him and he can see your red glossy eyes, it breaks his heart even more. 

“I’m really sorry honey.” He starts. “I should've told you about Nancy, I swear nothing's going on. She wanted to talk to me about Jonathan and I didn't care. I think she saw that and wouldn't give up on it. I promise nothing's going on with me and her.” 

“I should’ve just asked you about it instead of keeping it to myself.” Your eyes land to your hands, picking at your nails. Not wanting him to see the tears that build back up on your eyes. 

His hand reaches for your jaw to bring your attention back on him, looking into your eyes. “No, no baby I should've told you and that would've stopped this whole thing. M’sorry I promise it won't happen again. Forgive me?” 

Playfully, you tap a finger against your cheek as if to think about your response with a hum. His hand rests on his hip as he waits for an answer but he lets out a loud groan. Almost too loud of a groan that would make you shush him but instead you get up on your knees to be eye level with him. 

“I forgive you.” You answer, placing a kiss to his lips. 

His whole body relaxes as he sighs into the kiss. He’s missed your kisses, he doesn't remember the last time he went this long without them. It’s like the air got knocked back into his lungs. His hands go to your waist as he deepens the kiss, a squeal comes out of you when you almost fall back but Steve’s got you. 

“Can you stay the night?” Your eyes are big and he can see how happy you are that things are back to normal. 

“Of course honey.” He gives you one last kiss before getting himself ready for bed, which really just involves him discarding his jeans and t-shirt. 

When you wake up Steve will tell you just how great he slept, you next to him all happy. 

[sevsevteen]

for jun/hoshi x reader i would honestly love to see a hyper bf x calm gf trope

i think this trope fits hoshi specifically so so so good

THANK YOU ANONNN !! i made the plot a lil different because JEALOUS HOSHI 😝😝 please enjoy <3

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

Tuesdays were your favorite.

Not because it was a day off or because of a rare schedule gap, but because it meant one thing: dance class. A familiar studio, comfortable clothes, and just friends who loved dance for dance’s sake - not cameras, not perfection, not performance - just passion.

It was also the only place where Hoshi wasn’t Hoshi, Seventeen’s performance leader.

He was Soonyoung: chaotic, loud, dramatic over warm-up stretches, and unapologetically glued to your side.

"Yah, your leg's supposed to move like this, not trying to fly off like a helicopter," he teased, poking at your thigh mid-pose.

You scoffed, swatting at his hand. “Says the one who slipped during the last drop.”

“Performing arts, you mean,” he claimed with a grin.

The others in the class were used to the both of your antics, long given up trying to stop the bickering - only letting it slide with a shake of their head.

You and Hoshi had chemistry that couldn’t be faked; playful energy that bounced between you like a tether no one could cut through.

.

Until he arrived.

Jiwon, a friend of a friend. Sharp with moves, and sharper with intentions.

From the start of class, Hoshi noticed it - how he’d gravitated towards you.

Standing closer than needed; offering to demonstrate simple steps to you, a dance professional; even throwing jokes that mirrored his usual style.

You didn’t read into it. Maybe he was just being friendly.

“New guy’s quick,” Hoshi muttered under his breath when Jiwon adjusted your arm position during a move breakdown. You noticed his usual playfulness fading, shoulders more squared to appear broader, movements more precise.

Suddenly, Soonyoung was Hoshi again - your performance leader, Seventeen’s best dancer, and no one was about to one-up him in his territory.

When Jiwon offered to help you with a spin technique again, Hoshi stepped in without being asked.

“Actually,” he cut in, hand catching yours mid-move, slipping it away from Jiwon’s grasp. “Her shoulders tense up if she moves it up too much like that. You’ll trigger her old injuries.”

The tension in the studio shifted. Jiwon blinked, a little surprised. “Oh– sorry. I didn’t know.”

Hoshi offered a smile that curved his eyes, “It’s okay,” yet his gaze never faltered. “I do.”

The rest of class became a silent battle. Jiwon trying to show off – Hoshi upping the stakes every time.

Higher jumps, cleaner lines, faster transitions.

When it came time for group practice, Hoshi insisted on partnering with you; pushing your limits, guiding you with such precision it left you breathless and slightly confused.

As the last verse faded, you collapsed on the floor with a laugh, sweat glistening across your forehead. “What’s got into you today?” You asked, towel in hand, nudging his feet with yours.

He looked down at you, chest still rising from exertion. “Do you like him?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“Jiwon.”

“…No?” You tilted your head. “I mean, he’s nice, I guess, but—”

“He’s not me,” Hoshi blurted. “He doesn’t know your rhythm. He doesn’t know when your ankles start to hurt or when your breathing changes in fast songs. He doesn’t make you laugh during cooldowns or walk you to the convenience store after practice.”

You stared at him, stunned.

Then softly, carefully. “Soonyoung…are you jealous?”

“No way!” He let out a breathy laugh, one that could barely pass real. “I just don’t like when someone else dances next to you like they know more than me, the Kwon Soonyoung, does.” His voice turned softer now.

Your heart thudded, the confession hanging in the air heavier than the sweat and adrenaline.

You opened your mouth - only to shut it when he turned away, scrambling to pick up his things.

“…Just so you know, I’m still gonna beat you in next week’s freestyle round.” He flashed you a sheepish smile right before his foot stepped out.

You laughed, following chase into the hallway - heart full and cheeks flushed. “You’re unbelievable. Wait up!”

“Yeah,” he grinned, turning back with twinkling eyes. “But I’m your unbelievable.”

And just like that, Tuesday became more than your favourite day. It became yours and his.

--

[mingiatz]

When Y/N is assigned to a university group project, the last person she expects to be paired with is the boy who meant everything to her once—and then disappeared without a word. Yeosang was her childhood best friend, her first love, and the person she thought she’d never see again. Now he’s grown, gorgeous, and one of eight loud, chaotic guys living in a shared house. But Y/N isn’t the same girl either. Hardened by abandonment, toxic relationships, and the weight of keeping everything together, she’s built walls she’s not sure anyone can break through. But Yeosang never forgot her. And this time, he’s not letting her go.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Female Reader (College AU)

Trope(s): Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers, Friends to Real Love, Second Chance, Found Family, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Toxic Ex (FWB dynamic)

Genre: College AU, Romance, Drama, Angst with a healing arc, Smut (emotional/intimate), Fluff

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as Yeosang’s roommates and found family, Toxic side character: Taemin (original character)

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

She had a system.

Wake up. Don’t check your phone. Shower with music playing—loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Grab a coffee. Avoid the café where you might see anyone you know. Go to class. Work. Go home. Pretend your silence is strength.

It wasn’t a good system.

But it worked.

Mostly.

She threw herself into the project like it was a life raft.

Late nights in the library. Research tabs open in every browser window. Notes scrawled on napkins, receipts, her own skin. She hadn’t slept more than four hours in three days, but it was fine. Fine was familiar. Fine meant she didn’t have to think about how much her words had hurt Yeosang.

He hadn’t texted since the scheduling message.

He hadn’t asked if she was okay.

And yet… he kept showing up.

It started at the bench outside the art building.

She’d been sketching without thinking—just dragging the pencil across the paper in shapes she didn’t care about—when a presence settled at the far end of the bench. Not close enough to be intrusive. But close enough to be felt.

She looked up.

Yeosang.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, like they were classmates again. Like they were normal.

She should’ve gotten up.

But she didn’t.

And when he left ten minutes later, she realized she’d drawn a constellation without meaning to.

After that, she started seeing his friends, too.

Mingi in the campus bookstore, holding out a pen she’d dropped before she even realized it.

Wooyoung waving at her across the quad like they’d known each other for years.

Jongho offering her a wrapped protein bar during a crowded group study session in the library.

Yunho giving her a spot in the café line even though he’d been there first.

None of them asked anything of her.

None of them mentioned Taemin. Or what she said. Or the fact that she’d looked Yeosang in the face and told him to leave her alone.

They just… existed near her.

Like shadows that didn’t demand light.

It irritated her.

Not because they were doing anything wrong.

But because she didn’t know how to need people who didn’t walk away.

She started avoiding the art building. Took new routes to class. Switched cafés. Changed her study hours.

But somehow, Yeosang always found her anyway.

Not on purpose.

Not loudly.

But he’d show up—across the room, two tables down, just close enough to be known.

And it made her want to scream.

Or cry.

Or both.

Because part of her wanted to believe he meant it. That he wasn’t like the others. That he wanted to stay.

But the louder voice—the one that had kept her safe for years—said people only stick around until it’s inconvenient.

And she refused to make it easy for anyone to prove that true again.

So she worked harder.

Stayed later.

Slept less.

And told herself it was better this way.

Because needing someone meant losing something when they left.

And she wasn’t ready to lose him again.

Not even almost.

She didn’t want to go.

Not because she was angry. Not because she was tired. Not even because she didn’t want to see him again.

She just wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend.

Pretend that she wasn’t breaking a little every time Yeosang looked at her like she mattered. Pretend that the quiet presence of his friends—always warm, always patient—didn’t rattle something buried in her chest.

But the outline was due soon. And she had a role to play.

So she put on a clean hoodie, tied her hair back, and took the train to the address Yeosang had texted the night before.

The house looked the same as the last time she visited—slightly chaotic, strangely cozy. Mismatched shoes piled at the door. A plant hanging slightly too low over the entryway. A few shirts drying on a rack near the window, catching the light like faded flags.

She barely knocked before the door swung open.

“You made it!” Wooyoung beamed, pulling it open wider. “Come in, come in. We were just talking about you.”

Y/N froze. “You… what?”

“I said we were talking about you, not stalking you,” he teased. “Different energy.”

She gave a weak smile, stepping inside. The warmth of the house hit her immediately—heat and voices and a kind of casual liveliness she hadn’t felt in years.

The others were all gathered in the living room.

Mingi waved from the couch. “We saved you a spot at the table.”

“You don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Jongho said simply, glancing up from his tablet.

Y/N blinked.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. No one made a big deal. No pity in their faces. No obligation in their words.

They just meant it.

That was the worst part.

Yeosang was already seated at the table, flipping through the project outline. He looked up when she entered, and for a moment, everything around her faded.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but steady.

She nodded. “Hey.”

He gestured to the seat beside him.

And beside it—a small box of snacks.

She stared.

They were her favorite as a kid. The kind she used to share with him at lunch in elementary school. Hard to find now. She hadn’t seen them in years.

“Saw them at the market,” he said casually. ���Thought you might want some.”

Her throat tightened.

“You remembered?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, just a faint smile.

“Of course I did.”

They started working after that.

Sprawled papers, laptops open, phones buzzing every few minutes. Yeosang was focused as always, calmly explaining which sections needed review. She forced herself to match his pace, to stay composed, to act like everything was fine.

The others stayed nearby—some studying, some bantering quietly in the background. Jongho played soft music on his phone. Yunho brought out bowls of chips without asking if she wanted any. San cracked jokes about the ethics professor’s haircut.

It felt… normal.

Too normal.

And maybe that’s what made it dangerous.

Y/N kept her gaze on the screen, eyes darting across paragraphs that blurred together the longer she stared.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then paused.

Somewhere to her left, Wooyoung was laughing. Mingi was humming off-key. And Yeosang leaned just close enough to slide his notes toward her with a nudge of his elbow.

“I rephrased this section,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

He was right. She did.

She didn’t tell him that.

She didn’t know how.

The session ended the same way most group projects did—quiet chatter, a few relieved sighs, and someone stretching their arms with a groan of “We’re actually ahead of schedule.”

But the feeling in the room wasn’t the same.

Y/N sat back in her chair, notebook closed, hands idle in her lap as the boys began to shift around her.

“You don’t have to rush out,” Yunho said, glancing at her. “We’re making dinner soon if you’re hungry.”

She blinked. “Oh. I—no, that’s okay.”

“There’s enough for everyone,” Mingi added. “I’m making too much like always.”

“You should stay,” Wooyoung chimed in. “You survived our house twice now. That qualifies you for honorary membership.”

She laughed once, a quiet exhale through her nose.

It should’ve been easy to brush them off.

To thank them politely. To leave.

But something in her wouldn’t move.

Not when they looked at her like this—with open faces and easy generosity. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks acting like they were strangers.

Like she wasn’t the one who told Yeosang they’d go their separate ways again when the project ended.

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly. “You don’t have to—”

“We know,” Jongho said gently. “But we want to.”

And that did it.

She felt it crack first in her throat.

Then her chest.

Then her eyes.

She turned her head slightly, blinking fast—too fast—and stood up before anyone could see her unraveling.

“I should go.”

“Y/N—” Yeosang’s voice was low, careful.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

The words spilled out too fast, too sharp.

They silenced the room.

She stared at them, hands clenched into the fabric of her sleeves. Her breath caught.

“I was awful to you,” she said. “I pushed you away. I told you I didn’t care. I meant it.”

That was a lie. They all knew it.

“So why—why are you still—”

Her voice cracked.

“Why do you keep showing up?”

No one rushed to answer.

Not because they didn’t know what to say—but because they were giving her room to feel it.

That was the worst part.

They didn’t guilt her. Didn’t scold her. Didn’t pity her.

They just stayed.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because she didn’t know how to receive something that didn’t come with conditions.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Seonghwa said quietly. “But if you want to stay, you can. You always can.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

Then looked at Yeosang.

He didn’t say anything either.

But the look in his eyes—

It said everything she couldn’t handle.

And for once, she let it.

Just for a second.

She sat back down.

And when dinner was ready, she didn’t leave.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no dramatic turning point, no perfect moment when everything clicked into place. The shift was subtle, stretched out over weeks of late-night study sessions, casual conversations, and quiet moments she didn’t know how to name.

But it was happening.

She was changing.

It started with the little things.

San showing up at her table in the library to hand her a chocolate bar with a post-it that just read: “Brain food. Trust the process.”

Wooyoung saving her a seat in lecture even though she never asked him to.

Jongho texting her the night before a quiz just to say, “You’re gonna do fine. Don’t stress. You’ve got this.”

Mingi offering to walk her home after a late group session because “it’s dark and I have good elbows.”

They never asked anything from her.

Never demanded a version of her she couldn’t be.

They just let her exist—and treated her like she belonged anyway.

And then there was Yeosang.

Always quiet. Always steady.

He never brought up the past again. Never pressed for more.

But he showed up.

With backup chargers when hers died.

With articles bookmarked and annotated before she even asked.

With tea when her throat was sore, even though she insisted she didn’t need anything.

And it made something inside her ache.

Because he was making space for her, even when she didn’t know how to ask for it.

One evening, they ended up alone at the shared house after everyone else scattered for different club meetings and part-time shifts.

The table was cluttered with open notebooks and half-eaten snacks. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead with a sigh.

“You’re getting better at this,” Yeosang said.

She glanced over. “At what? Research?”

“At letting people care.”

Y/N stared at him.

He wasn’t teasing. Just observing. Gently.

She looked away. “I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Sometimes she forgot how still he could be.

How calm.

Not passive. Just patient.

It was a kind of presence she wasn’t used to—someone who didn’t need to fill every silence, who didn’t treat closeness like currency.

She didn’t realize she was watching him until he looked up and met her eyes.

“What?”

She blinked. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything she wasn’t ready to say.

Later that week, she found herself smiling during a group game night. Real, unguarded laughter spilling out of her mouth as Wooyoung and San yelled over a board game and Mingi accidentally spilled popcorn all over the rug.

She caught Yeosang looking at her.

Not in a way that made her uncomfortable.

In a way that made her want to keep smiling, just for him.

And that terrified her.

She lay awake that night thinking about it.

About him.

About the way he remembered everything—the snacks, the tiny details of who she used to be, the version of her she’d tried to bury.

About the way he looked at her like she hadn’t been ruined by the years between them.

And the truth settled in her chest like something unshakable:

She was falling for him.

But now it wasn’t just a childhood crush anymore.

Quietly.

Dangerously.

And she didn’t know how to stop it.

It hit him on a Wednesday.

They were walking back from class—nothing special, just another cold afternoon, the air crisp enough to bite. Y/N had offered him half a rice cracker from a vending machine, and he’d taken it without thinking.

She wasn’t smiling, exactly. But her mouth was relaxed. Her eyes soft.

And for a moment, she looked like she used to.

That’s when he knew.

He wasn’t just remembering who she was.

He was falling for who she’d become.

It wasn’t a crush anymore—not the way it had been when they were kids. It was something heavier. More real. Something that settled in his chest and stayed there, humming quietly under his ribs.

She was different now. Sharper in places. Quieter in others. But still her.

Still Y/N.

Still the girl who used to share her pudding cups at lunch, who drew smiley faces on his pencil case, who once punched a kid for stealing his glue stick.

And now she was the woman who stared down professors, held herself like she owed no one anything, and blinked too fast when someone was too kind.

He’d never stopped caring.

He just hadn’t known how much was still there.

The others noticed.

Of course they did.

It started small.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone like a middle schooler,” Mingi teased.

“He only does that when she texts,” San added.

“It’s cute,” Wooyoung said. “And also painfully obvious.”

Yeosang had ignored them at first.

Until the teasing turned into something gentler.

One night, after dinner, Jongho nudged him on the balcony.

“You like her.”

Yeosang didn’t deny it.

“You going to tell her?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s been through enough. I don’t want to make it about me.”

Yunho nodded, thoughtful.

“Then don’t make it about you. Just let her know you’re not leaving.”

That stuck with him.

More than he expected.

Later, when all the lights were off and the house had gone quiet, Yeosang sat in bed, staring at the glow of his phone screen.

No new messages.

Still, he opened their chat.

Scrolled through the conversations—mostly study plans, a few memes, a voice note of her yawning and cursing at her laptop.

And then one, from a week ago, that just said:

Thanks for not giving up on me.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then whispered to the dark room:

“I never did.”

The day was unremarkable. Cold and gray. A little too quiet on campus, like even the wind had given up.

But she found herself at the shared house again.

Not because of the project. Not exactly.

They were “done,” technically. Final edits submitted. Formatting cleaned up. Grades pending.

Still, Yeosang had texted:

“Everyone’s around if you feel like coming by. No pressure.”

No pressure.

Right.

She came anyway.

The house smelled like ginger and burnt toast when she arrived. Someone had clearly attempted to cook. Probably Mingi.

Yeosang opened the door before she could knock, like he’d been waiting.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “They’re in the living room.”

She followed him down the hallway, the familiar clutter already less overwhelming than it used to be. Someone had left a hoodie draped over the bannister. Someone else had left behind a mug with “I Am Not a Morning Person” written in angry font.

It felt… lived in. Not perfect. But safe.

Like him.

They ended up outside later, the others retreating indoors for snacks or warmth or both. She stayed by the porch railing, eyes on the sky. The air was crisp, her breath fogging in front of her.

Yeosang joined her after a moment.

No words. Just presence.

She liked that about him.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asked quietly.

He tilted his head. “You mean… Seoul?”

She shrugged. “All of it. The pressure. The expectations. Like maybe starting over somewhere else would make it easier.”

He was silent for a beat.

Then: “I used to want that. Before I met them.”

He didn’t need to say who.

She knew.

And it made her chest ache a little.

Because she’d never had that.

Not until now.

She turned to look at him, eyes flicking up to meet his.

His hair was wind-tousled. His lips slightly chapped. His expression unreadable in the low light.

He was standing close. Too close.

Her fingers twitched.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

And for a second—a single, suspended second—she forgot to be afraid.

She leaned in.

Just barely.

He mirrored her.

Slow. Careful. Like he was giving her time to change her mind.

Their noses nearly brushed.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

And then—

She pulled back.

Fast.

Too fast.

“I—I should go,” she said, stepping away.

“Y/N—” Yeosang’s voice was gentle, but it stopped her cold.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t trust herself to.

“I just… I can’t—”

He didn’t chase her.

Didn’t press.

Just stood there, still and quiet, as she walked back inside, grabbed her bag, and left.

She didn’t cry on the way home.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t even breathe properly.

She just kept moving.

Because if she stopped, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to.

The apartment was cold when she got home.

Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere—sterile, untouched, as if it hadn’t been lived in for days. The way she left it. Her jacket slung over the chair. Empty water bottle on the floor. A sticky note with a scribbled “Do laundry” that hadn’t been crossed off.

She dropped her bag and collapsed onto the bed without turning on the lights.

Just the glow of her phone screen blinking at her from the nightstand.

Two messages. Neither from him.

She ignored them.

Then opened her contacts.

Scrolled.

And stopped at Taemin.

The name alone made her stomach twist.

She hadn’t spoken to him since that fight outside the café.

Hadn’t wanted to.

But now, with her thoughts in shambles and her heart lodged somewhere between her throat and her ribs, the pull of the familiar was suddenly loud again.

Not because she missed him.

Not because she wanted him.

But because he was a pattern she understood.

And Yeosang…

Yeosang was a maybe. A risk. A door she wasn’t sure she deserved to walk through.

Taemin, on the other hand, was easy to close.

Her thumb hovered over the name.

One tap. That’s all it would take.

One message to remind herself that people didn’t stay. That kindness meant nothing. That hope was still a bad idea.

One little self-sabotage to reset the world into something she recognized.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Breathed out.

You’re not twelve anymore.

That voice in her head—quiet but steady—wasn’t his. It was hers. Or maybe the version of her that had survived everything and still chose to come back.

She exited the screen.

Locked the phone.

Pressed it face-down into her pillow.

And whispered to the dark:

“I’m not running this time.”

It wasn’t a victory.

Not yet.

But it was a beginning.

She didn’t text.

Not that night. Not the next morning. Not the next evening, either.

It wasn’t unusual—she wasn’t the type to message constantly. But after the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d pulled back… the silence felt heavier this time.

Yeosang sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, screen still blank.

No notifications.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

But he waited anyway.

The memory kept replaying.

The porch light casting gold on her face.

The way her lips parted—like maybe, just maybe—

And then her pulling back.

Like she’d touched something too hot.

He hadn’t followed her inside. Hadn’t said anything. Just stood there like a fool, watching her disappear.

He should’ve stopped her.

No. He shouldn’t have let it get that far.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, tossing the phone beside him.

She had just started trusting him again. Started laughing again. Smiling again.

And he pushed.

He leaned in.

He ruined it.

“You alright?”

Yeosang looked up. Jongho was leaning against the doorframe, holding a cup of tea.

“You’ve been staring at the same wall for like twenty minutes.”

Yeosang sighed. “I think I messed up.”

Jongho walked in and handed him the cup. “With Y/N?”

Yeosang didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Jongho sat beside him.

“You didn’t mess up by caring about her.”

“I didn’t mean to make her feel cornered. She looked scared.”

“She probably was. But not of you.”

Yeosang said nothing.

“You’re not the one who hurt her,” Jongho continued. “You’re the one who stayed.”

That stuck with him long after Jongho left the room.

Because maybe he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Maybe what scared her wasn’t him—it was everything she thought would happen after.

The leaving. The disappointment. The inevitable heartbreak.

Things he’d never intended to give her.

So he made a decision.

If she came back—if she stood in front of him again—he wouldn’t leave anything unsaid.

He’d be honest.

Not just with her.

But with himself.

Because after all these years, he was done pretending it didn’t matter.

He wanted her.

And if she let him in—

He’d stay.

There was a knock.

Not loud. Not hurried. Just… there.

Yeosang didn’t expect it.

Most of the guys were out. The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday, and he had just started to tell himself that maybe it was better this way—that maybe space would be what she needed.

But when he opened the front door, all of that fell apart.

She was standing there.

Hair damp from the cold. Hands stuffed into her sleeves. Eyes wide with something like fear… or maybe hope.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then:“Hi,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t ask why she was there.

He just stepped back.

“Come in.”

He led her to his room without another word.

She didn’t resist. Didn’t ask questions.

Just followed.

Like they both knew something had to happen now.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the air shifted.

She looked like she might speak.

Might apologize. Or panic. Or run again.

So Yeosang didn’t give her the chance.

He spoke first.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

He took a step closer—not too close. Just enough to make sure she was looking at him.

“And I don’t expect anything from you. But I need you to know something. All of it.”

Her brows knit, but she stayed silent.

He took a breath.

“I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“You were my first friend that ever felt like home. And when my parents made me leave, when they told me to forget you—I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

His voice caught, just slightly.

“I looked for you on campus the day I transferred here. I hoped—God, I hoped—you’d still be the same.”

“I’m not,” she said softly, a reflex.

“I know,” he replied. “Neither am I.”

He smiled, and it hurt.

“But even after everything… the way you fought so hard to survive, the way you carry everything without asking anyone to help you… I still see her. The girl who gave me half her sandwich when I forgot mine. Who knew all the constellations by name. Who said I was her favorite person.”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he said the last part.

“You still are.”

The silence that followed felt deafening.

But Yeosang didn’t rush to fill it.

He had said what mattered.

It was hers now—his truth, laid bare.

And if she chose to run, he wouldn’t stop her.

But if she stayed…

She took a slow step forward.

And didn’t say a word.

He took a step closer—not too close. Just enough to make sure she was looking at him.

His voice wavered.

„Somewhere along the way, it wasn’t just about missing you. I loved you, Y/N.”

“As a kid,” he added softly. “When I didn’t know what love really meant. And now—now I do.”

His eyes searched hers.

“And I still love you.”

The words hung there—fragile, final, terrifying.

“Not some perfect version of you from the past,” he continued. “You. The version that exists right now. Who’s been through hell and still shows up.”

She didn’t speak at first.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

And for a moment, Yeosang thought he might’ve ruined it all.

That his honesty had pushed her past whatever limit she had left.

But then—

Her face crumpled.

Not dramatically. Not like in a movie. Just the slow collapse of someone who had been holding it together for far too long.

“You’re not allowed to say that,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to believe it.”

Her voice cracked, and his heart did with it.

She stepped back, covering her mouth with her hand as if trying to press the emotion down.

But it spilled out anyway.

“You don’t understand. I’ve spent so long thinking I wasn’t worth that kind of love. That no one could look at the mess I’ve become and… still see something good.”

“I do,” Yeosang said. “I always have.”

She shook her head. “You’re not supposed to.”

“Too late.”

That made her laugh.

A breathy, broken sound—but still a laugh.

And then—finally—she looked at him.

Really looked.

“I’m scared, Yeosang.”

“So am I.”

“What if I ruin it?”

He stepped forward, slowly, gently, like approaching a frightened deer.

“Then we rebuild it.”

“And if I run again?”

“Then I’ll still be here. Waiting”

“And if I break?”

“I am good at puzzles, I will just glue you together again.“

She stared at him for another long moment.

Then reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Tight.

Like she didn’t trust herself to let go if she tried.

Yeosang held her just as fiercely.

And neither of them said anything more.

Because there was nothing else to prove.

Not tonight.

She didn’t let go.

And Yeosang didn’t move.

Not for a while.

But eventually, she tilted her head up, her cheek still damp from a single tear. Her eyes met his, full of something new—still afraid, still unsure—but no longer guarded.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

His brows furrowed gently. “Say what?”

“That you love me.”

Yeosang exhaled, like he’d been waiting his whole life for her to ask.

He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing just beneath her eyes.

“I love you.”

His voice cracked as he said it again, this time more certain.

“I never stopped. Not when we were kids, not when I couldn’t find you, not even when you told me to let you go.”

He took a breath, forehead resting against hers.

“I’ve only ever wanted you. Even when I didn’t know it.”

“Yeosang…”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t care about perfect. I don’t care about timing. I just want you.”

And when she didn’t pull away this time—when she leaned in, trembling slightly but still there—he met her in the middle.

Their lips touched.

Soft at first.

Tentative.

Then deeper.

Like years of silence falling away. Like everything he never got to say, and everything she never let herself feel, melting into the spaces between them.

When they finally pulled apart, her breath was shaky.

But she didn’t look away.

And she didn’t run.

The room was quiet.

Not tense. Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Full of breath, of warmth, of something too soft to name.

Y/N sat beside him on the edge of his bed, one hand still laced in his. Her lips tingled from the kiss, her heartbeat a nervous stutter in her chest.

She should have been panicking again.

She wasn’t.

Instead, she felt… calm.

Like her body was finally allowed to rest somewhere it trusted.

Yeosang turned to her slowly, eyes searching.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, voice caught in her throat. “Yeah.”

“We don’t have to rush anything.”

“I know,” she whispered.

And then, after a moment: “But I don’t want to wait.”

His fingers twitched in hers.

He didn’t ask if she was sure.

He just looked at her—really looked.

Like she was something rare. Precious.

And then he kissed her again.

It was nothing like before.

This time, it was deeper.

Slower.

Not desperate, but intentional.

She felt it in the way his lips moved against hers—measured, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth.

His hands framed her face, thumbs stroking gently along her jaw. When she touched his chest, she felt the soft catch of his breath under her palm.

They both paused, foreheads touching.

“Let me show you,” he said quietly. “How much I mean it.”

She nodded.

And then he was guiding her backward, inch by inch, until her back met the cool sheets.

He hovered over her, eyes never leaving hers, fingers brushing her cheek like she might vanish if he held too tightly.

There was no rush in him.

He kissed her again—slower this time, softer—and moved to her neck, trailing warmth down her skin in quiet, aching touches.

Y/N’s hands found the hem of his sweater, tugging gently.

He pulled back only long enough to lift it over his head and toss it aside.

Her breath caught.

He was beautiful.

Lean muscle beneath smooth skin, a soft scattering of moles across his collarbone and chest, like constellations she wanted to trace with her fingers.

He looked down at her, more nervous now.

“Too much?”

She shook her head, already reaching for him.

“Not enough.“

When he kissed her again, it was different—less hesitant, more open. His hand slid beneath her shirt, fingertips brushing the skin of her waist. He moved slowly, waiting for her breath to hitch, for her hips to shift in silent permission.

Then he pulled her shirt up—inch by inch, asking with his eyes.

She raised her arms.

And then it was gone, and she was half-naked in front of him.

But she didn’t flinch.

Because he was looking at her like she was art.

Like every soft curve, every scar, every imperfection was just more of her to love.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the spot just beneath her ear.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to convince you,” he replied. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Yeosang kissed her again, deeper this time. The kind of kiss that made the world quiet. One hand cradled her face, the other splayed across her waist, warm and steady, grounding her.

He pulled back only to whisper, barely above a breath:

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Still—just promise me you’ll say it if you do.”

“I promise.”

Her voice was soft. Steady.

And that was all he needed.

His mouth found her collarbone, kissing down slowly. Tenderly.

Each press of his lips was patient, exploratory. Like he wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere, only to appreciate what was already there.

She felt his fingers slide beneath the waistband of her jeans, pausing.

“Can I?”

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

“Yes.”

He unbuttoned them slowly, carefully tugging them down her hips with no urgency, like unwrapping something fragile. His eyes never strayed too long. He didn’t stare—he savored.

Once she was left in her underwear, he pulled back just slightly to look at her.

And smiled.

A little breathless.

A little in awe.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to deflect.

To argue.

But he leaned in and kissed her quiet before the words could ruin it.

She reached for him this time, hands brushing the waistband of his jeans. He gave her a slight nod, and she undressed him in return—slower than she meant to, distracted by the planes of his stomach, the subtle tremble in his muscles under her touch.

He lay back beside her then, their bodies lined up, skin to skin, warmth meeting warmth.

And everything stilled.

He moved carefully, kissing her again as his hand slid across her thigh, up her hip, brushing over the fabric of her underwear. He paused at her waistband once more.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

He slid them down with care, as if undressing her was something sacred.

And then—when they were both bare—he didn’t rush to anything.

He just looked at her.

Looked like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Like she wasn’t just someone he loved.

But someone he’d been waiting for.

His fingers traced slow lines across her stomach, up between her breasts, then down again. Not to arouse. Not to tease. Just to know her.

She leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his.

Their breaths mixed.

“I want to feel you,” she whispered.

“I want to make sure you feel safe.”

She nodded.

He reached down, guiding himself gently, sliding just the head of his cock against her folds—slow, careful strokes that made her shiver.

He pressed in gradually, watching her closely.

There was no force. No rush.

Just warmth.

Just him.

She exhaled, body stretching around him inch by inch. And when he was fully inside her, they both went still.

He kissed her temple.

Then her shoulder.

Then her lips.

“Okay?”

She nodded, overwhelmed.

“You feel—” she broke off, unable to finish.

“I know,” he murmured. “Me too.”

As Yeosang moved inside her—slow, steady, reverent—Y/N felt something she hadn’t expected.

Not just pleasure.

Not just closeness.

But love.

Real, gentle, undemanding love.

It settled around her like a blanket, warm and quiet, and for the first time in her life, sex didn’t feel like something she was giving away to earn affection.

It was affection.

She wasn’t being tolerated, used, or held at arm’s length.

She was being cherished.

And that alone made her eyes sting.

This wasn’t like Taemin—like hollow words and rough hands and pretending she didn’t care.

This was Yeosang.

And it was real.

They moved slowly.

Like the world had given them this one moment, and neither of them wanted to waste it.

His hips rolled in gentle rhythms, never too fast, always watching her reactions—when her fingers gripped the sheets, when her breath stuttered, when her legs wrapped around his waist like she never wanted him to go.

And through it all, he whispered.

“I love you.”

“You’re enough.”

“You always were.”

She came quietly, her body arching, breath catching in his name.

Yeosang followed not long after, burying his face in her neck, his own release quiet and trembling, like he couldn’t believe he got to feel her like this.

They lay there afterward in silence, chests heaving, bodies tangled together.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

Only whispered once more, against her skin:

“You don’t ever have to run again.”

The first thing she noticed was warmth.

Not the usual kind — not a blanket, or the sun pushing through half-closed curtains — but the quiet, human kind. Steady. Solid.

His arm was still around her.

Yeosang’s chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, his skin warm against hers. Their legs were tangled under the sheets, bodies pressed close with no space between them.

He hadn’t let go.

Not even in sleep.

Y/N kept her eyes closed a moment longer, just listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Letting herself believe, however cautiously, that this wasn’t a dream.

Because it felt like one.

But it wasn’t.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found herself facing the window. The soft gray of early morning filtered into the room, painting everything in pale gold and blue. The air smelled faintly like the detergent on his sheets and the skin at the base of his neck.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Everything about this moment was still. Uncomplicated. Quiet in a way she hadn’t known she needed.

And for once, she wasn’t thinking about what came next.

Not yet.

Yeosang stirred behind her.

She felt the subtle shift — his arm tightening slightly around her waist, his chest pressing a little closer.

Then a sleepy hum against her shoulder.

“You’re awake?” he asked, voice still gravel-soft with sleep.

“Mhm.”

“Since when?”

“Not long.”

She turned slightly, enough to see him.

His hair was a mess — flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. His eyes were puffy and half-lidded, and his mouth curved into the smallest, most unguarded smile.

It made her heart ache.

“What?” he asked, catching the look on her face.

“Nothing,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… you’re still here.”

He blinked, then laughed — soft and breathy.

“Where else would I be?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because the truth was: she didn’t know how to believe in “staying.”

But here he was anyway.

He brushed a piece of hair from her face, fingers barely grazing her skin.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. Then, more honestly: “I’m not used to waking up like this.”

He nodded. “Me neither.”

“But you don’t look nervous.”

“That’s because you’re still here too.”

Her chest twisted.

She buried her face against him to hide it.

They stayed like that for a while. Breathing each other in. Letting the moment linger.

No alarms. No questions. No plans.

Just morning light and a softness that felt brand new.

At some point, their conversation faded into silence again.

They lay facing each other now, bodies still tangled under the sheets, his hand drawing light circles on the back of her shoulder as she rested against his bare chest.

The air between them was warmer somehow — not just from proximity, but from something unspoken, something new.

Y/N had never known what it felt like to be held without expectation.

To be touched and not reduced.

To be looked at, truly looked at, and not feel judged or inspected or claimed — just seen.

Yeosang’s fingers slowed.

Then stilled.

She glanced up just in time to see him looking at her — not with intensity, not even with that soft daze he’d worn earlier — but with focus.

Like he was about to say something important.

And he did.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, “I’m yours… if you want me.”

Her heart skipped.

He kept going.

“Not just like this. Not just in bed. I mean, really. If you want someone who’ll stay. Who won’t run. Who’ll walk beside you no matter how hard it gets…”

His thumb brushed over her cheek.

“If you want me — as your boyfriend, as someone in your life again — I’m here.”

She didn’t respond immediately.

But it wasn’t hesitation.

It was weight.

The weight of something real pressing into her chest — pressing so gently, but so completely.

She swallowed, fingers curling in the sheet between them.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I think I always have.”

His breath caught — visibly, audibly — and then a smile spread slowly across his face.

Not triumphant.

Not eager.

Just relieved.

As if he’d been waiting for permission to stay.

She leaned in to kiss him.

It wasn’t heated.

It wasn’t even deep.

Just a press of lips that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re really not going anywhere?” she asked when they parted.

“Not unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I’m yours.”

They didn’t get out of bed until late afternoon.

And even then, only because Yeosang’s stomach growled loud enough to break the silence and make her laugh.

He whined into her shoulder.

“I’m never going to live that down.”

“Nope,” she giggled. “Not a chance.”

They dressed slowly, quietly. Not because they were unsure — but because neither of them really wanted the moment to end. She tugged on one of Yeosang’s hoodies, and he didn’t comment, only smiled softly when she met his eyes.

When they stepped out into the hallway, voices drifted in from the kitchen.

Laughter. Music. The clatter of something hitting the counter and San’s dramatic “Yah, that was my fork!”

Yeosang gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

But the nerves didn’t last long.

Because the second they stepped into the room, six pairs of eyes turned toward them — and none of them looked surprised.

Jongho blinked at them. “You two alive?”

Hongjoong snorted. “Barely.”

San grinned. “Was about to send a search party.”

And Wooyoung — dramatic as always — pressed a hand to his heart and sighed, “Finally.”

“You guys done being emotionally constipated?” Mingi asked, stuffing chips into his mouth.

Before Y/N could get embarrassed, Seonghwa stood from where he was sitting and walked over to her.

He smiled — calm, genuine, warm.

Then pulled her into a hug.

“Welcome home,” he said.

And somehow… that was what broke her.

Not into tears, but into something quieter.

Relief.

Real, bone-deep relief.

Because for once, she wasn’t being tolerated.

She was being embraced.

And it didn’t feel like she had to earn it.

It just… was.

The kitchen was a disaster.

Hongjoong didn’t even seem to mind.

There were two cakes on the counter — one made by Seonghwa, decorated with painful precision, and another shaped like a cartoon frog that Wooyoung insisted was “a work of edible art.”

Music pulsed from the Bluetooth speaker, and the rest of the house buzzed with energy. Mingi was trying (and failing) to out-dance San in the living room, while Jongho and Wooyoung had started a very serious debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Yeosang sat beside her on the couch, one arm slung casually over her shoulders, eyes gleaming with quiet contentment as he watched his friends.

Y/N leaned into his side with a small smile.

This didn’t feel like something she was borrowing anymore.

It felt like home.

“You’re really smiling a lot tonight,” Yeosang said into her ear, barely audible over the music.

She gave him a playful look. “Is that so strange?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Just… nice.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she kissed his cheek and stood up, tugging on his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quieter.”

They stepped outside onto the small back balcony.

The air was cooler out here — crisp with the hint of spring, the buzz of city life humming below them. The laughter from inside was muffled behind the sliding glass door.

Yeosang leaned on the railing. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I just wanted a second. With you.”

She hesitated, then turned toward him fully, fingers fidgeting at the hem of her sweater.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

Yeosang straightened slightly, brows lifting just a little.

She exhaled. A puff of cold breath.

“I love you.”

His eyes widened — not in disbelief, but in stunned softness. The kind that made her heart twist in the best way.

“I know you said it first,” she went on, voice quiet. “And I didn’t say it back. Not then. Not even when you probably needed to hear it.”

She looked down.

“I think… I was scared that if I said it out loud, it would mean I had something to lose.”

Yeosang reached out and took her hand in both of his.

“You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I want to. Because it’s true. I love you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to stop being afraid of it.”

There was a pause.

Then his fingers curled gently around hers.

“I’ve loved you since you were ten and made me eat grass because you said it tasted like cucumber.”

She laughed — really laughed.

“I did not say that.”

“You absolutely did,” he teased, tugging her closer. “And I did it. Because I loved you then, too.”

She leaned into him, hands on his chest, the city lights flickering behind his shoulder.

“I love you,” she said again, like she was memorizing it now that she finally could.

Yeosang smiled — wide and full and free.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“One more time.”

“Yeosang.”

“Please?”

She laughed, pressing her forehead against his.

“I love you.”

When they kissed this time, it was different.

Not new.

Not hesitant.

Just… right.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[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!

[illumoria]

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Wₒᵤₗd ₛₕₑ gₒ dₒwₙ ₒₙ yₒᵤ ᵢₙ ₐ ₜₕₑₐₜᵣₑ?❞

Save A Horse...!

⋆·˚ ༘ .⋆𖥔 ݁ ˖۶ৎ farmhand!art x pervy!farmer's daughter!reader content warning!!: smut | cowgirl/riding (duh), strong language, public sex illi's notez!: I have an insanely huge brain eating obsession with this man.

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The whole town talked about him. It was mostly older men, who'd hire him for some help around their own farms–The occasional grandma who'd try to set him up with their own granddaughters, praising their progeny when you knew they didn't know so much as one thing about working–much less on a farm. All stupid city girls...

They didn't know a thing about getting what they wanted and unfortunately for them–you did.

Your work around the farm wasn't hard in the slightest, but you sure knew how to make it seem that way. Complaining to your father about your poor sore hands and aching legs. Daddy's little girl were you?

He loved you to death and the last thing he was gonna have was his poor girl suffer under the hot sun.. So he got a farm hand to help around where you couldn't–one that you may had purposefully mentioned a few times and how "All your friends talk good about him, Daddy. Real strong too."

And who was he to say no to you? You'd won the moment the name "Art Donaldson" left your lips.

Suddenly he was calling up Betsy's number–"an old friend's wife", asking about her husband and when Art could swing by this afternoon for "a little extra cash".

And as if the universe heard your prayers, they were all answered with a low "Of course, sir." and a little country accent.

So now?

Now your eyes were on him like a cat to a red laser, never looking away for even a second.

You could see him from the window in your bedroom, his usual cowboy hat on, his muscles glistening in the hot sun like something out of a dirty magazine.

You'd never get tired of it. Not ever. Not even when–

"Sweetheart! Why don't cha go offer the help some lemonade? Your mother's worrying 'bout that poor boy."

Your father's voice rang out as he called for you, probably nursing a beer in his old rocking chair, eyes glued to the TV like always.

"Coming!" You yelled back, trying not to sound all too pleased as you rushed down the stairs, finding your mother in the kitchen holding a pitcher in one hand and a glass in the other.

"Take these out to Art, will you? It's so hot outside..", she leaned in a bit closer before whispering, "I told your father to give him a break. He's so stubborn..always complaining."

You broke out into a small smile, trying not to laugh as she poured some of the lemonade into the glass, handing it to you before turning back around and wiping her hands of the condensation.

"I'll be right back, Momma." You murmured, kissing her cheek before walking out back to the large field your home was planted a top of. You heard him before you saw him, a soft grunt as he lunged a haybale.

He was cuter up close, a walking temptation...but you were here for one reason only.

"Art!" You yelled out, walking closer to him, a sweet smile on your lips as you shaded your face from the sun with your hand, the other holding his drink.

His ears perked up at the sound of your saccharine voice calling him, blue eyes locking onto your figure as you ran up to him.

"Hello there." He smiled softly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before placing his hands on his hips. His shirt was soaked through, sticking the his abdomen like a second skin, showing off all the dips of his abs beneath the cotton button up.

God, this had to have been on purpose...

"My momma's worried about you," you started, letting out a little laugh as his smile began to widen, "Fresh lemonade here for you, sir. It'll cool you down."

"You sure this is meant to cool me off? 'Cause you walkin' out here's got me feelin' hotter already."

You swallowed hard. Your eyes drifting down his body like it was just another thing in your daily routine. Well it was. He just wasn't aware of it. Not until now.

"Are you flirting with me, cowboy?" You giggled, handing him the glass before clasping your hands behind your back.

"Would it be a crime if I was?" He replied, taking a large gulp of the cool liquid, some of the lemonade dribbling down his chin, sliding down his neck like an arrow direction–urging you to follow where it went.

"Now you're just doing that on purpose."

"Doing...what?" He laughed, letting his hand fall back to his side as he took a step closer to you.

"Tell me what I'm doing."

"I'll tell you what you're not doing."

"And what's that princess?" He drawled, holding your chin between his fingers with his free hand.

"Touching me."

He let out a low whistle, carelessly dropping the glass onto the ground before grabbing your waist.

"You want me to touch you? All out here in the public's eye–Sure I'll touch you, sweetheart. He smirked–Too carefree. Too willing–as if he was waiting for this moment longer than you.

His voice went straight between your legs and he could tell the effect he had on you.

"What you thought I'd say no?" He muttered, squeezing your waist tightly, bringing you closer till you were flush against his sweat glazed chest.

"No...I would've convinced you. Just didn't know you'd say yes this fast."

"And if I had say no?"

"You wouldn't have." You stated simply, lips parting ever so slightly before he suddenly kissed you, dragging his hands down to the plush fat of your ass.

"I wouldn't have." He reassured you, though you didn't need it.

"Mm.."

You moved your lips against his hungrily–starving for something only he could give you. He suddenly picked you up, your legs instinctively going around his waist–something he didn't expect as he tumbled back into the haybales behind him.

You landed right on top of him, giggling like a maniac as he tried to get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one could get on top of a stack of hay.

"You alright there, sweetie?"

"Are you?" You laughed, your breath fanning over his neck as you tried to calm down your giggle fit.

"I hope you know I'm stronger than that.." he murmured, his fingertips running back up and down your sides.

"Oh definitely, cowboy." You whispered, planting a little kiss to the slope of his neck–his skin slightly sticky from the heat.

He grunted in response, watching you prop yourself up above him, your knees bracketing the side of his waist.

"What cha up to?"

"Nothing..just relax for me.." you cooed, dragging your hips not so subtly against the noticeable bulge prodding at the fabric of his jeans.

"Oh God." He choked out, his hands instantly finding your sides, resisting the urge to thrust into you right then and there–even with the restriction of his pants.

It was perfect. Albeit you would've preferred a bed–but you had the boy of your dreams beneath you. You couldn't really ask for more..

"Quit teasing..please?" He whispered breathlessy, desperately pulling you closer, trying to gain more friction.

"Say please again." You chuckled, placing one hand against his chest as you rocked your hips once more.

"F-fuck..please."

And who could say no that pathetic little whimper?

You hovered above him for just a second before moving your hands down his body, unbuttoning his jeans, whispering a hushed "c'mon lift up", before dragging his boxers down along with his pants.

He was flushed to the tip, pearly white pre-cum dripping down the side of his dick like an invitation, practically begging for your touch.

You didn't bother with foreplay. You were too desperate and you knew he was too–not wasting a single second. You slid your panties to the side beneath your dress, giving him a few slow strokes before lowering yourself onto him–gently, letting yourself feel every inch of him before stuffing your cunt to the hilt.

"Oh..shit..' he muttered under his breath, his hands gently massaging your sides as you rolled your hips against him, barely adjusting to the stretch before he was thrusting up into you.

"Haah–Ohffmmfuckingod!'

"Someone's gonna hear you sweets–Gotta keep quiet, can you do that for me?

"Mhm.."

He slipped his hands beneath the flowly material of your dress, groping your ass, guiding you as he lifted himself–kissing your cervix with each thrust. After that, when you pushed back to meet him?–all control was lost. It was sloppy–wet–each roll of your hips drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Thought about this–for s-so long!" You gasped, bunching up the fabric of his shirt for support–every nerve in your body in flames.

"I know–Fuck–I know, baby." He murmured, his voice ragged, barely holding on.

The rythym between you grew more frantic, more desperate. His grip grew tighter, harsher around you as you both moved together in sync.

"I can't.." you whispered, burying your face into the crook of his neck, trying to muffle the sounds bubbling in your throat as the pressure inside of you coiled impossibly tight.

And then–you broke. And he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Ohh–!" You squeezed him for all he had left, your entire body tense yet trembling at the same time as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Art–the gentleman he was–held you through it, whispering soft praises against your temple before you'd calmed down.

"Still with me?" He asked after a beat, tracing your cheek with his thumb.

"Mhm..."

"Your Daddy's gonna kill me, y'know that?"

"Let him. I'll just meet you in the after life."

[chaos-chloe]

Accidental Exposure

Summary: A picture gets posted and everyone is freaking out?

TW: Boyfriend!Droid, kisses, soft love, reader doesn't like to show their face

My phone buzzed, vibrating gently against the polished wood of the kitchen counter. I was halfway through my third set of glute bridges, a resistance band stretched taut around my thighs, the sweat beading on my forehead. ElasticDroid was already cooling down in the living room, humming some inscrutable techno beat.

"Oh, he finally posted that shoulder shot," I muttered, catching my breath. He’d been prattling on about his "epic pump" from yesterday's chest and shoulder day. I grabbed my phone, ready to send a fire emoji and a sarcastic comment about him hogging the mirror.

I tapped on his story icon, the little ring around it glowing bright. The picture loaded instantly, filling my screen. And then I froze, the resistance band slipping down my legs.

There he was, glorious and sculpted, his back a map of sinew and muscle, his deltoids bulging like cannonballs. Exactly as he’d described. But then, there I was. Right there. My perfectly manicured nails, still a vibrant scarlet from last night's impromptu pamper session, raking playfully down his etched lats. My arm wrapped around his side, my face tilted, eyes narrowed in that teasing, mischievous gaze I reserved just for him. And a fresh, glossy kiss mark blossoming like a scarlet rose on his impossibly wide shoulder.

My eyes. Just my eyes. Peeking over his deltoid, glinting with a secret I thought was just ours.

My shake, still half-full, hit the counter with a soft thud, sloshing over the rim. "You idiot," I whispered, but a laugh, low and breathy, bubbled up from my chest. My no-face rule! My carefully cultivated, anonymous, gym-beast persona! All shattered by a single, accidental click. Or rather, not shattered. Just… cracked. Exposed. My eyes.

I pushed myself up, suddenly feeling a surge of energy that had nothing to do with my workout. I found him in the kitchen, already meticulously portioning out his next meal prep, completely oblivious.

"ElasticDroid!" I called, my voice a blend of mock-exasperation and genuine amusement. He looked up, a scoop of brown rice hovering mid-air over a tupperware.

"Yeah, babe?" he replied, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I held up my phone, the incriminating image still displayed. His eyes, usually so focused, widened incrementally. He looked from the phone to me, then back to the screen, a slow flush creeping up his neck.

"Oh. Uh oh," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head, a tell-tale sign of his growing realization. "I… I guess I didn't crop it enough. I was just trying to get my delts in focus. The light was perfect."

I couldn't help but burst into laughter, loud and uninhibited. "You were so focused on your precious delts, you didn't notice me draped all over you like a scarf, leaving a love bite on your shoulder?" I walked over, poking his bicep. "And my face? Or, well, my eyes, at least?"

He looked genuinely contrite, his superhero-like build suddenly seeming small. "Should I take it down?" he offered, reaching for his phone, his thumb hovering over the delete option.

I paused. The story was already up. People had seen it. His direct messages were probably buzzing with questions. My eyes. Just my eyes. And the undeniable implication that he wasn't just some lonely gym bro; he had a girlfriend. A very hands-on, nail-scratching, kiss-marking girlfriend. A girlfriend who knew how to balance a killer leg day with a perfect manicure.

A slow, mischievous grin spread across my face. "No," I said, a new, daring glint in my own exposed eyes. "Leave it up."

He blinked, surprised. "Are you sure? I thought you liked the… mysterious vibe."

"Oh, the mysterious vibe is very much alive," I purred, leaning in and pecking his cheek. "It's just that now, there's a hint of the mystery. A sneak peek, if you will." I ran my fingers through his short, cropped hair. "Let them wonder," I whispered, my voice dropping, "It's just my eyes, after all. And it certainly adds a new… dimension to your 'single and swole' aesthetic, doesn't it, Droid?"

He chuckled, a rumbling sound in his chest, and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. "My followers are going to explode."

"Good," I replied, leaning into his warmth. "Let them. It's about time they realized there's more to me than just quads and triceps. And more to you than just… well, just you." I winked, a playful secret shared between us. The 'no-face' rule was still mostly intact, a strategic veil still in place. But now, a corner had been lifted. And watching the story counter tick steadily upwards, I had a feeling this was just the beginning of a whole new game.

Tags: @littlepinkbirdie

[sofeb]

The fairy and the giant (Part 4)

FINCH POV:

-That’s alright … thanks - Lavender responded anxiously, with her eyes glued to the floor. Finch needed to take a moment to process what the little fairy revealed. She had been abandoned, to fend for herself. A terrifying anger began to creep inside of him.

Why would anyone do that?!

Why would anyone leave her on her own?!

Alone.

Many magical creatures were dangerous … including him.

Of course he would never do anything that could hurt her. Not consciously. Still, he wanted to make those responsible pay. While the idea enticed Finch, it also horrified him. Unfortunately, he knew of what he was capable of. His neck started to ache, and his new beard started to get itchy, yet he wasn’t going to change his position even if his life depended on it. Lavender stood in silence, and the giant now realized, unlike the first time they’ met, she could now make eye contact without fainting. Sure, her fingers fidgeted awkwardly, but at least they could have somewhat of a normal conversation. He had so many questions. His heart ached at the thought of her broken wing and its mysterious cause. Perhaps…

-Well, uhm…, keep in mind you can deny my offer. - He trailed gingerly. Her beautiful features showed a curiosity that Finch desperately hoped it would overcome her fear.

-I’d like … t-to get to know you b-better. - Little eyebrows raised in shock. Seconds felt like an eternity. - Y-you know… I-I’d like to be … f-friends. - There, he said it. He cleared his throat, making sure not to raise his tone. Lavender looked like she’d seen a ghost. And it had stolen her tongue in the process.                                     

He felt a bitter taste. “Just shut up already!”, alas Finch ignored his brain. - A-and in return … I c-could help you in any way I c-can. –

“I can protect you.

I can keep you safe.”

Still, he kept his desires at bay. Besides scaring her, the last thing he wanted was to offend her. Fragile or not, she had survived this long despite her unfavorable circumstances. 

-… why? - a knot the size of a huge rock tumbled down his throat. He had recognized terror, panic, fear, discomfort and even anger all in the short time they’d met. Despite how much it hurt him, he understood. But what Finch couldn’t understand is why the little fairy seemed … sad, so sad and confused.

‘Oh no no no’ had he upset her? Did the mere idea of becoming friends disgusted her so much that it made her want to cry?’ Then again, he had to remember that he looked like a gargantuan beast to her. For the love of earth, he wanted to scratch his beard so badly now. He swallowed, unaware of the obvious movement of his Adam’s apple. Still, the knot remained there, painful and piercing. He turned his head, now he was the one anxiously avoiding her gaze. That, for some reason, lingered with intensity.

-I-I mean … - Lavender found her voice once again. Shaky, yet sweet. - Blue eyes found their way again to her with caution. He didn’t want her to think that he was insulted. - Why would you … want to befriend s-someone so … s-small … in c-comparison? 

LAVENDER POV:

His bushy eyebrows rose slowly, as if he came to an understanding of my reasoning. I’m not sure why, I found myself looking at his beard. Huh, I wonder how he would look without it. Sudden vibrations brought me back and I noticed he simply cleared his throat yet again, selecting his words. … why? … why was he so wary around me?

It seemed as if …

He genuinely cared about my perception of him.

-W-well … it’s me who’s obnoxiously huge, heh - 

His defeated chuckle removed some locks of hair out of my face, and I felt goosebumps all over my skin. Despite it being booming, it made my body tingle in a pleasant way … huh.

-… Listen, I know my … stature can be … a lot. – Oh, buddy it´s way more than a lot. I couldn’t help but laugh at that statement. Strangely enough, he smiled softly.

-Alright, let’s do it then. – I don´t know what brought me to accept his bizarre offer. My rapidly beating heart was a clear reminder that my fear persisted. Though, there was an unknown part of me that defied my common sense.

…

I didn´t want to be afraid.

Or at least, I didn´t want to be paralyzed by it

Maybe pretending to be human also made me foolish.

-W-wait … REALLY!? – Involuntarily I covered my ears as his volume amplified.

“Run” Ah, there it was again. Well, at least I still had some sanity left.

-O-oh I’m so so sorry. – His deep voice pleaded in a loud whisper. He slowly raised his head in order to cover his mouth in shame.

I had to take an instance to contemplate my situation. Now, I had to look up at this behemoth of a man, a man that had just carried tons with an absurd ease and painstakingly reallocated a literal mountain so it wouldn´t “bother” me. A man that could effortlessly step on my home if he pleased. And yet, he positioned himself smaller or at least tried to. If it were me, I would’ve sat up by now. Finch was truly impressive, not only his size, but he was also … kindhearted.

Nevertheless, I had to stay inside the walls I’ve built up for a reason.

FINCH POV:

-Under one condition.  – Lavender instructed with an odd tranquility. Her velvet voice made Finch unhinged. “Anything” the giant man couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around how happy he was. He wanted to giggle like an idiot and jump with joy. Still, he focused on mentally handcuffing himself. – Of course, anything you need. – he agreed with a tender smile. His chin slowly met the ground again.

-You won’t touch me. – His chest tightened. Needless to say, he would never do anything to hurt her or make her feel uncomfortable. The mental image of Charlie appeared. He reminisced on his skittish laughter. The frail little boy loved the idea of having a giant best friend that could take him anywhere. “C’mon Finch, higher!” The tiny human cheered as he used his fingers as climbing bars while the giant placed his free hand as a safety net. Sure, he was 15 feet shorter give or take and thus, less overwhelming. Undoubtedly, they were different individuals, with vastly different personalities. This was Lavender, the enigmatic fairy. The reserved, cautious and exhilaratingly beautiful woman.

The woman that had Finch wrapped around her pinky finger.

-I promise. – With excruciating care, he picked up the end of what looked like a twig between his index and thumb. A flash of panic manifested on the fairy’s features, yet she remained still as the other end of the stick shortened the distance between them. When it stopped, Lavender couldn’t avoid showing her confusion.

-T-to seal the deal. – He explained while feeling so dumb.

-O-oh. – Finch could’ve sworn he saw the smallest smile of relief.

His heart swelled as a tiny hand grabbed the stick on the weirdest attempt at a handshake. A warmth caressed his skin. Though, he wasn’t quite sure if it was the sun rays or because he was beaming. As Lavender removed her hand, he slowly did the same. Unconsciously, he scratched his chin as he enjoyed the sweet sent of the forest. – So, is there anything you might need assistance with? – Finch offered. The little woman seemed to be contemplating. Her eyelashes were batting in concentration as she switched her weight to her other leg.

-Well, I doubt you can fix broken plates. - She sassed as she crossed her arms in accusation.

-So no, I appreciate your proposal. But I don’t need help with anything at the moment.

Finch begged to differ as his gaze studied her cabin. The roof had a thick layer of dirt that in no way, shape or form Lavender could reach to remove it without putting herself in danger. “Note to self: the fairy is not only reserved and cautious, but stubborn as well.”

He felt rightfully ashamed for unknowingly breaking her stuff, so he opted to not press on the subject. Finch was about to apologize for the tenth time when those olive eyes left him speechless.

-… Do you need … help with something? – She pondered with an awkward pacing.

A slow, stupid smile appeared on his face. He couldn’t avoid finding her adorable.

No one had ever asked him that.

-Well … uhm, I don’t suppose you have any magic that could get rid of this, right? – Finch inquired while passing his fingers through his beard, that stupid grin still plastered.

She took a bit to respond as she ruminated for a solution. -Hmm… Oh I may have something! – The giant man lit up as he noticed the shift on her tone. She seemed … excited?

-I’m gonna change clothes and help you out, ok? Just give me twenty minutes – She could take more than a day, and Finch would wait patiently for her. – Take your time. – The little woman retreated, confidence on her stride. And before she entered her cottage Finch blurted out.

-Hey Lavender? – Her head turned back as she tilted her glance upwards. The wind danced along strands of her hair. He sighed, and Finch wasn’t sure why, but he felt something long forgotten.

-Yes?

He felt hope.

-Thank you …

[runes-and-roses]

She who has fallen from the sky

A Johnny Storm x reader (oc) love story

Warning: No warning for this part, at least none that I can think of

*Happy Sunday! Here is a late post for you all it's more of a filler type chapter with family bonding time with the F4 family. Part 3 will carry on with the main plot of the movie. I hope you enjoy

Part 2.5/?

If you could’ve curled into the corner of the Baxter Building and disappeared, you probably would have.

The place was too clean. Too bright. Too together. And you felt like a scribbled question mark dropped into someone else’s neat little sentence.

You didn’t even know your last name.

But they gave you one — Dawn. A name that sounded like hope. Like a beginning. You werent sure you deserved that, but… they didn’t ask much from you. Not yet. Just to try.

So today, you did.

Your first real day out of your room. First real day with them.

Ben was the first one who found you lingering in the hall, looking lost and probably one wrong glance away from bolting. He held out a can of orange soda like it was a peace offering. “Figured you needed somethin’ cold.”

You blinked. “I—thanks.”

“C’mon,” he said, his voice rough in that warm, gravelly way. “Sue’s makin’ somethin’ in the kitchen. She says it’s banana bread, but that’s optimistic.”

You followed him because you didn’t know what else to do. And maybe because he made it feel like you werent being watched or judged. Just… included.

In the kitchen, Sue had flour on her nose and a kind of chaotic determination in her eyes. Reed was standing nearby, halfway helping, halfway mentally solving quantum problems with a whisk in his hand.

“Perfect timing,” Sue said, eyes lighting up when she saw you. “We need a tie-breaker on chocolate chips — yes or no?”

“Chocolate chips always,” you said, surprising yourself with how normal it sounded.

She grinned like you'd passed a test. “Knew I liked you.”

Somewhere between stirring batter and watching Reed accidentally turn on the hand mixer before plugging it in (which he insisted should be possible), you started to feel the corners of yourself relax.

The banana bread came out uneven and slightly scorched, but nobody cared. You ate it anyway at the round dining table like it was a feast. Johnny rolled in late, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled like he’d flown through a wind tunnel.

“Is this edible or is this one of Reed’s prototypes?” he asked, poking the slice on his plate.

“Say one more word and I’ll throw you off the balcony,” Sue muttered sweetly.

“Love you too, sis.”

And then, somehow, he turned toward you.

“You’re sitting next to me. That means you definitely rigged the chocolate chip vote.”

You smirked before you could stop yourself. “Guilty.”

He smiled — and not in the show-off way he probably used on magazine covers. It was something smaller. Warmer. Just… real.

“You’re alright,” he said. “Even if you do have terrible taste in bread.”

“Better than your taste in shirts,” you shot back.

Ben let out a low whistle. “She’s got you pegged already, hotshot.”

And just like that, the room didn’t feel so foreign.

After lunch, we all moved to the lounge. Johnny insisted we watch a movie that turned out to be the kind of dumb comedy that makes you laugh in spite of yourself. Reed kept pointing out logic flaws, and Sue threw popcorn at him every time. You laughed more in those two hours than you had in… maybe ever.

At some point, you caught Johnny watching you instead of the screen. When you looked over, he didn’t look away. Just smiled again — that same quiet smile like he saw something in you that you hadn’t figured out yet.

And in that second, something in your chest unfurled a little.

You didn’t know who you were. You didn’t have a history or a clear reason why you’d fallen from the sky like a broken star. But they weren’t asking you to be anything other than here. Present. With them.

And maybe that’s what family really was.

Not where you come from.

But where you land — and who’s there when you do.

[zepskies]

Ooooh yeah, it's go time. I can't wait to dig into this! The header and accompanying aesthetics are so well done, creative, and lovely - especially with the color scheme!! 😍

Like I said on the ML, this premise is so interesting already. I'm diving right in...

Dead, hollow eyes stare back at you once you continue to place the body down on a small slab of rock, its surface covered by a tablecloth of moss – today's offering. Let's see how they like this...

Already you got me good with this opener loll. Had me convinced she was laying down an actual body, which of course it kind of was. 😂 That "mob" would def be a good alarm system lol

Not the happy screams either – God, you haven't had those in a while. Heard enough of the others.

lol something tells me Mark can help with that 😏

or when you hear a fox screech somewhere in the woods behind your house, its cry blood-curdlingly similar to the agonising cries of a woman who's being brutally tortured for hours on end.

First of all, I see you there, foxy. 😘 But also geezus, her PTSD is so real 😭

Some may think of autumn as a dark and depressing time of the year. And sure, things die and sink back into the mud while thick fog gobbles up any leftovers. But to you, there's something oddly tranquillising about the way life is slowly forced to move inside.

Love this bit so much. Fall/autumn is my favorite time of year! (PSL season is almost upon us!!) 🍁🍁

His charming smirk and confident attitude had left an impression on you which you still can't quite make sense of. It's been almost a whole year, and you can still feel his intense eyes searching you for any major injuries, how they'd flickered between bourbon whiskey and emerald green when the artificial light of the warehouse bounced off his sun freckled cheeks and his lips twitched into a befuddled chuckle once he'd noticed that despite looking like you'd been thrown into a blender, you'd smiled.

I'm salivating already at this description lolol. But also becoming more and more intrigued here...

Undercover work destroyed your sense of self. But witness protection had successfully finished the job.

God, I feel for her so much 😭

You're painting such a vivid picture of how much she's gone through and much she's still going through, basically being treated like a second-class citizen even though she risked her life and sense of self for UC work.

"Oi, if you spent less time watching them kiddie shows and more time feedin' that brain of yours some good ol' David Attenborough, you wouldn't be nappin' every bleedin' evenin' in a food coma now, would ya?" "You leave Rick 'n Morty out of this. You're just miffed 'cause I usually get the bigger slice of pie."

lmfaoo this argument is hilarious! 🤣 I love me some David Attenborough though!

Air thick. Breath caught in your throat. Lips tight. "Now you listen to me, –" he says your last name with a clear edge to it, "I won't let ya fuck this up. As long as you're in witness protection, you play by our rules."

God I want to throttle this prick! He doesn't even see her as a person, just sees her as jeopardizing the case. 😤 That combining with her PTSD flaring up, my heart was in my throat for her. 🥺

The house you've been given, stands tall, unwilling to yield to the force of time. Like a grandmother; ancient, slightly hunched-over and wrinkled with a lifetime of stories and defeated battles but still refusing to let go of life and become one with the dirt.

I love this beautiful description so much too. Reminds me of Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas 💕

When your eyes lock, he smiles – until he notices the gun. "Jesus – fuck – Hold on! Hold on!" the guy yells over the frame of his car's door where he dived down for cover.

LMFAO. Poor Mark, doesn't know he stepped into a proverbial bear trap 🤣 (mans doesn't know he triggered her PTSD baddd 😭)

He hasn't changed one bit. Except for that patch on his temple... I wonder who decked him.

I also wonder lol. But the way he says "It's good to see you're okay," with that soft smile already has me melting for them. 🥹 Please let him be the one who helps her feel safe again 🙏🏽😭

"Hey there. You feelin' okay?" You. You hiss internally, jaw clenching subtly.

I'm sorry, I know she's going through it and my heart hurts so bad for her, but I couldn't help but laugh at "hiss internally"

"So…" you begin in a more neutral voice, "You've been assigned to be my bodyguard, is that it?" Mark nods, then flashes a lopsided smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Minus the love story."

Oooh I don't know about that, Mark Meachum. 😏 I've got no doubt he can be "fun" lol

Of course I love how her reaction to him just grabbing her ankle, all quick reflexes and man strength, just had her week in the - er - knees 😝

This is such a fantastic start to this series, Jolly!! I'm so happy you used the 5K Challenge as a starting off point for this, but just know that I would've read this even if it hadn't been for the challenge. Consider me freakin' HOOKED. 😍👏🏽👏🏽🧡🧡🧡

New Life, Old Herbs & Same Bullet

Main Masterlist ❀ Mark Meachum Masterlist

⋆ ˚｡⋆ PAIRING Mark Meachum x fem!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SERIES SUMMARY After years of undercover work as an LAPD Detective, you're ready to leave your past behind, make a fresh start in the countryside and move on from the demons that still haunt you at night. However, your old life soon catches up with you, and the annoyingly charming LAPD Detective assigned to protect you isn't making things any easier.

WARNING / TAGS Kinda tainted Fluff? with heavy underlying Angst Rural farmhouse vibe | Cozy, Angsty, Cozy, ANGSTY | Reader is in the WitSec program* | Reader is scarred by her last undercover case (no graphic descriptions) | Reader is dealing with PTSD / trauma | Detailed descriptions of panic attack and blacking out | mention of a dead fish? | Language | Mark likes to call Reader "Sunshine" | Kind of a dash of enemies to lovers vibe? | Mark and reader have a rough start lol | Mark might be a bit OOC (consider this my personal take on him from what I’ve seen so far!) | No use of Y/N. English isn't my native language. *It is by no means meant to be fully realistic, so please be lenient! 😉

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS ~7k

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES This first chapter is for @zepskies Summer Writing Challenge and her wonderful color prompt! Thank you so much for the beautiful colors! 🧡 I feel like after my first Enemies with Benefits Mark smut, Gunpoint, I had to repent lol, so here’s some bittersweet fluff with lots of angst mixed into it! 😘

Series Masterlist ❀ Taglist

You've always been one to smile even when it's wet and broken. Or when it was busted, and the rest of your face looked like Pollock's hand had slipped across it.

Other than that, you won't take much with you from your time undercover.

Knowing the ingredients of different drugs down to the ounce or being able to spot a mule in a crowd or learning the routines of human traffickers like you're one of them is not going to help you in the countryside.

There is one unspoken rule you've learned the hard way, though, and that one you definitely won't forget:

Always make sure you play well with the mob.

So that's what you do.

Different place, different mob, different murder. Same job.

This time, though, the sweet sound of windchimes sings across your weathered porch and a gentle breeze brushes the hair from your face. The jingling dances with the tall grass and flowers that pool around your bare ankles as you step through them.

You crouch beside the old maple tree, reach into the basket at your side and swat away a couple of flies. Unroll the newspaper across your lap. The stench of something putrid and rancid curls into your nose. Luckily, there's not much you haven't learned to stomach.

It's just one of the many things that going undercover teaches you – how to bury your gag reflex and smile like it's all just another Tuesday.

Dead, hollow eyes stare back at you once you continue to place the body down on a small slab of rock, its surface covered by a tablecloth of moss – today's offering.

Let's see how they like this...

You wipe your fingers on the crumpled paper, adjust your flowy dress, and pick up your basket before you step back some feet. Then wait.

Sure enough, the mob comes.

Crows announce their feast with excited caws before they come swooping down beside the lonely tree at the edge of the wheat field, where you've laid out the leftovers of a fish. You watch how the family merrily chatters away, the adults keeping lookout, while a pair of younglings peck at your offering.

"You like that, huh?" you call over to them, chuckling to yourself as one of them tilts its head and ruffles its feathers in response.

Mob happy. Mission complete.

Over the course of the last summer month, you've grown quite close with your new mob. They've learned your routine and you've learned to read their calls. They make great alarms, actually. They will caw loudly and cuss out any intruder with a foreign face from a mile away. Especially useful when you're living all alone Pippi Longstocking-style at the end of a dusty road somewhere off the brim of Oregon.

There are no neighbours.

Except for Miss Jenkins, whose husband either died long before you moved here or is being held hostage in her basement. And who should live far enough away that she shouldn't be able to appear on your porch spontaneously, like she's just been spawned there, yet she manages to do so at least once a week.

To "check in on you" as she likes to put it. Nosy old woman...

Otherwise, you're positive that there are no neighbours for miles who'd hear you scream.

Not the happy screams either – God, you haven't had those in a while. Heard enough of the others.

Some still ring in your ears whenever you lay in your bed at night and count the cracks in the timber that's supporting your ceiling or when you hear a fox screech somewhere in the woods behind your house, its cry blood-curdlingly similar to the agonising cries of a woman who's being brutally tortured for hours on end.

But all in all, you love it here.

You tiptoe back through the field that leads up to the gates of your garden. The gate creaks shut behind you, just like the four steps up to your back porch groan when you climb them – everything in this house seems to have its own voice, and isn't afraid to use it.

You're sure you'll get used to it, eventually. You say, and remember the many times the howling wind has startled you awake when the shutters clatter and the old wood creaks in the middle of the damn night.

Your gaze sweeps across your porch. The small wooden table, worn down by generations but spruced up by an olive green tablecloth with floral print, is readied nicely for your guests. The floor on the other hand is – once again – littered with leaves of the nearby maple tree.

Not that you'd mind, but you had a different use for them, than leaving them to rot on the porch.

You grab the broom from the corner and get to work.

Unlike others, you don't swipe the dead leaves off your porch, but into a nice heap for you to collect them once you are done. Their beautiful auburn-harvest colours will make a great addition to the décor and the candles in your living room. With every rhythmic swipe across the floorboards, your mind begins to wander to the months ahead and how you're going to spend them in your new home.

Soon, autumn will beckon you to huddle up inside with fresh pumpkin spice tea warming your palms, its hot steam cupping your cheeks like a pair of hands and a fuzzy blanket hugging you from behind while you watch the flames twirl and flicker inside your fireplace from the corner of your favourite couch.

Some may think of autumn as a dark and depressing time of the year. And sure, things die and sink back into the mud while thick fog gobbles up any leftovers. But to you, there's something oddly tranquillising about the way life is slowly forced to move inside.

It reminds you of your childhood, the family gatherings you'd groaned at back then, the warm laughter and the gossiping of aunts and grannies while your mother was cooking in the kitchen and decorated the house with the smell of roasted turkey and mashed sweet potatoes. Just like the sound of crackling fire and the scents of pumpkin and cinnamon spices which you hope will soon fill your own home with life.

There's just something about the warmth and safety of this season's forced proximity that harbours a certain coziness and sense of belonging, reminding you of the good old days, before you'd willingly rolled yourself in the mud and done whatever it took to make an undercover mission a success.

Autumn may call many things to an end, but it in your mind, also allows you to finally focus on the things which are important, the ones which stay. Which make a house, a home.

My home. You smile proudly.

Then give the neatly cleaned floor a once over, hands on your hips, satisfied with your work.

Once in your kitchen, you set the basket with the pile of leaves down in the corner next to the stove.

I'll take care of those later…

For now, you'll be occupied with the chopping of dried herbs you've got hanging from the ceiling. You carefully pick them down one by one and begin to spread the bunches out on your counter. The smell of thyme, rosemary and peppermint fill the warm kitchen once you begin to chop them into small pieces – for your own tea mixes.

Some of their mossy green colours remind you of that guy who'd busted you free from your last undercover gone wrong.

His charming smirk and confident attitude had left an impression on you which you still can't quite make sense of. It's been almost a whole year, and you can still feel his intense eyes searching you for any major injuries, how they'd flickered between bourbon whiskey and emerald green when the artificial light of the warehouse bounced off his sun freckled cheeks and his lips twitched into a befuddled chuckle once he'd noticed that despite looking like you'd been thrown into a blender, you'd smiled.

He probably thought you'd either been coked up or you were just generally off your rocker.

"You still with me, sunshine?" Something tingles in your chest at the memory of the deep timbre of his voice and the warm feeling of his hand patting your cheek. Head tilted up. Eyes searching yours. Deep and intense.

I didn't even get to ask him for his name.

You push the thought aside. He's part of a life that's in your past. It's probably for the best this way. And yet…

Gratefully, you're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the familiar sputter of a car draw up to your house and kill its engines once it's parked in front of your entrance.

You've been expecting them, the guys of WitSec, but they're a little early as always. You can't help but groan to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

Not for much longer… two more days and I'm done. Just gotta make my statement and that's it. You remind yourself.

You open your kitchen window to gesture to the backside of your house. "Go to the back! I'll be with you in a minute!" One of them responds with a grunt and the other with a lazy wave of his hand.

Charming as always.

You go back to finish chop up the last bit for the tea you'd prepared, while you feel your fingers curl tighter around the knife's handle.

Whenever you have to face them, it takes all of your energy to keep smiling.

Their presence is like a constant reminder of all those months you spent in fear, of the countless times you were relocated across half of the US, and of them watching you the entire time.

The clack-clack-clack on the carving board comes to a halt. Hands slightly shaking. You take a couple of deep breaths, steady yourself and wait for the tremors in your hands to fade.

But your mind keeps going.

Every step of yours had been meticulously planned, monitored and executed. No friends. No family. No freedom. You wanted to talk to your mum? The Marshal would overview any form of communication. Invite your old best friend for a coffee? Ask the Marshal (he said no). Flirt with the cute guy who was visiting his mother next door every Wednesday? The Marshal had his résumé at hand before you could even ask him for his name. Step outside? Ask the Marshal.

You couldn't even get a damn muffin in the local bakery without his permission.

Undercover work destroyed your sense of self. But witness protection had successfully finished the job.

It was the price for your safety, as you'd been told countless times. One you'd agreed on. And effectively made you to their pawn.

Even now it manages to make your jaw clench.

I didn't choose this. Not really. They called it a choice. But it wasn't.

Because worst was, that you had let them rule your life – or what was left of it – and still the fear of someone sneaking up to you and throw a bag over your head, would follow you around like a constant shadow. Each and every night was spent all alone in bed, in complete isolation, drenched in sweat, eyes glued to the shadows moving under the door, expecting one of Chavez' men to kick it down any moment and drag you out by your hair.

For over eight goddamn months.

It was hell.

The nightmares and panic attacks ruled your life until last month, when they finally caught Rick Chavez and his right-hand man, Jackson Walker, and you were finally given back your own life.

Now they're just waiting for your statement to finish the case. Once and for all.

Two more days.

When you step out onto the porch, U.S. Marshal William Bailey and agent Thomas Rhodes are already waiting at your table like two vultures. You set down the pot of tea between the two, but don't take a seat.

Play nice now. You force that perfect lovely smile like you'd learned to.

"I made pie," you say, thumbing towards your kitchen, "I'll go get some."

From the corner of your kitchen window, you keep an eye on them while you cut three slices of your freshly baked apple pie. Not too big. Just enough to keep their mouths occupied.

You watch from behind the curtain how Rhodes' knee bobs up and down. He looks like he's a good 10 years younger than Bailey. Perhaps in his early 30s, as fidgety as a Border Collie surrounded by sheep (and you have no doubt that he's just as agile as one). His left hand rakes back his ash-blond slicked hair, making his British suit crease around his chest and expose the shoulder holster slung over his pinstriped vest, matching his suit and clad trousers.

He glances your way, checking what takes you this long – you quickly look back down and continue to prepare everything... in slow motion.

Rhodes then shifts his focus back to his partner.

His hand drops down with a frustrated huff, just to continue with his fingers tapping the tablecloth while he fishes a cigarette package from his chest pocket with his other hand.

"Did ya know, that a hawk can pick a dove right outta the sky?" he asks out of nowhere, words drawled across his tongue with an undeniable thick British accent he must've adopted from his mother. His blue eyes flicker to Bailey just to check on his attention before they return to the cigarette he's twirling in his hands.

Bailey tilts his head to the sky. Pauses.

The marine blue suit hugging his broader frame, rides up on his forearms as he folds his hands behind his short inky locks that curl around his palms. His dark brown skin shimmers with a cool, silver undertone in the patches of mid-day light. The sun has made it past the leaves of the trees by this time of the day, its shadows playfully dancing on the white porch.

Bailey smacks his lips. Then replies slowly.

"Sounds like a load of bullshit to me."

"Yeah, you bet your bollocks, I'm tellin' ya-" Rhodes runs a hand down his neatly trimmed brown chevron moustache before he tucks the blunt between his lips and continues halfway muffled "- just swoops down and grabs it mid-air. The poor dove don't stand a bloody chance. Smashes its bones to bits, like a bloody shotgun blast." He flicks his lighter on, smoulders the end of the stick and takes a drag. "Nature's right brutal."

Bailey rolls his eyes lazily and mumbles with a huff through his nose. "You watch too many movies, man. Makes you all antsy."

"Oi, if you spent less time watching them kiddie shows and more time feedin' that brain of yours some good ol' David Attenborough, you wouldn't be nappin' every bleedin' evenin' in a food coma now, would ya?"

"You leave Rick 'n Morty out of this. You're just miffed 'cause I usually get the bigger slice of pie."

"Now that is bollocks," Rhodes snaps at Bailey in defence.

An amused snort escapes you, luckily out of ear shut.

They continue their bickering, when all of a sudden the ringing of a phone cuts through their conversation. Moments later, Bailey's and Rhodes' voices take on a serious note when the younger of the two calls out for you.

You can feel how the air has shifted the moment you step back outside and onto the porch. Rhodes' heel is nervously tapping against a loose floorboard, even faster than before, cigarette stubbed out on the plate. Even the Marshal, who's usually got the air of a Buddha, seems tense, his expression gone uncharacteristically stern.

"We just got a call from WitSec," The Marshal starts and your own muscles begin to coil up more with every second that passes as he goes to explain how Molly – the one handling your case at WitSec – had just been talking to them about the latest developments in the Chavez-case.

You nod but you don't listen.

The voices of your tormentors are getting louder, more intrusive. They still sit in the back of your mind, like a relentless ugly weed which just keeps pestering you whenever you think you've finally gotten rid of it.

"Oh you think you're so clever you little bitch, hm?" "Once I get my hands on y-"

Okay – stop. Breathe. I am save. I am doing fine. I am in the here and now.

You shake off the uninvited memory of their threats. Instead shift your focus to the presence. Feel the cotton under your fingers as you wrap them in the fabric of your dress. Breath the fresh late summer air.

Now, life is goo-

"Jackson Walker's free."

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt.

The world stops. Your heart stumbles, then slams hard against your ribs.

Not him. Not again.

You feel the scars flare up, even though you shouldn't be able to feel them anymore – the bruises he and his men left, the sound of boots on concrete, the smell of gasoline in the dark.

You taste blood.

"W-what?" is all you manage.

You feel the twist of a knife between your ribs when Rhodes goes on with an explanation that has your guts curl inwards.

"That bloody bastard's greased the right palms, and now we've got two of our key witnesses pulling out their testimony, and the court's on hold for another three weeks," he grumbles, "We're back to square fuckin' one, for Christ's sake."

Someone must've pulled the ground open underneath your feet, because you feel like you're in a free-fall, hurtling down into the open jaws of a wolf.

Your world, peaceful and perfect one moment, comes crashing down like a deer shot through the flank.

"But- but… what about-?"

"Chavez's still in custody. But with his guard dog off the leash it's only a matter of time 'till he rounds up the rest of the witnesses and soon that bastard's back on the street."

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. Mind still struggling to process the information that Jackson Walker is free. Unrestrained. Out there. As they speak.

You startle when both of the men are suddenly on their feet and Bailey pulls out his phone, apparently readying it to make some calls.

"We'll have to relocate you, stat."

His annoucement slams down like a guillotine.

Your chest tightens. Lungs cave in. You remember what it felt like to be shoved in the trunk, bleeding out and praying they'd just shoot you already. And now they're telling you to vanish again? To start over? To lose this home too?

No. Not again.

You’d rather die here, in a place that feels like an actual life.

"No."

Their heads both snap up to stare at you.

"What did she just say?" Rhodes asks in disbelief. Bailey shakes his head like you'd told them a stupid joke, "We're just trying to protect you. Or would you rather have Chavez' men have another go at you?"

You swallow. Hard. Eyes narrowed. Determination flaring up inside you.

Not your pawn anymore.

"You're not protecting me," you hiss, "You're burying me alive." Bailey and Rhodes share a look, clearly taken aback at your sudden sharp tone. "If he finds me, he finds me. But I’m not running anymore."

Rhodes' upper lip twitches his moustache. Dangerously.

The next moment he backs you up against the railing with two quick steps that send tremors through the floorboards under your feet and rattle the mismatched floral dishware on the table next to you. You stumble a step backwards until you knock into the railing with your hips.

Air thick. Breath caught in your throat. Lips tight.

"Now you listen to me, –" he says your last name with a clear edge to it, "I won't let ya fuck this up. As long as you're in witness protection, you play by our rules."

The way he stares you down with piercing cold eyes has you flinch and instinctively lean further back, the railing digging into your back.

The Marshal seems to take note of your discomfort, because he reaches out to give Rhodes a pat to the shoulder which has him take a few steps back. One fist subtly curled into a fist.

It allows you to let out the breath you'd been holding.

"Three weeks. That's all I need. I'll give you your statement. Just let me have this," you try to reason with them. Or maybe you're more like pleading now.

Rhodes is not done with putting you in place, though. Each and every word he spits your way makes your throat tighten up more.

"You signed a bloody agreement. We keep you alive and "- he waves a finger your way -" you make that statement. A bit hard when you're dead, innit? If you decide to jeopardise our plans, I'll personally have you relocated to one of WitSec's secret bunkers. If I have to, by force. So, it's either that, or you're on your own, dove." The Marshal cocks an eyebrow at that last threat but doesn't contradict him.

Instead he steps up next to Rhodes and drawls in a calm but final tone.

"So, what's it gonna be, dear?"

Three days later.

You're sat in the cold dirt between the bushes in your garden. Collecting herbs. Or you would be, if it wasn't for the fact that you keep replaying the same discussion over and over in your head as if it would change anything. The same twig of rosemary hanging loosely between your fingers for the past ten minutes.

"In that case, I'm leaving," you'd snapped at them. "I told you. I'm done. Now get the hell off my land." You'd even grabbed for the broom to send them fleeing off your porch.

Rhodes was swearing like an English sailor, hands going everywhere except your way. "You really willin' to throw yourself to the bloody wolves?" he'd barked, outraged as he ducked under a swing of your broom, and Bailey'd continued, "Don't be so stupid, are you going to throw all of this away now?" he was afraid you'd chicken out, now that the deal was off.

But, "I'm making that damn statement. But this time, I'm doing it on my terms." had effectively shut them both up.

You're free now to do as you please. At least on paper.

Which feels great.

But your nightmares are back ten-fold. So are the panic attacks.

You finally snap the twig of rosemary off and rub it between your fingers, then bring it up to your nose. The smell usually has a calming effect on you. But even rosemary had a hard time now to calm your mind.

For the past three days it has been a complete mess.

Thoughts spiralling more often than not. Questions, doubts and what-if scenarios tearing at your sanity without a break.

Maybe they were right – maybe I am being stubborn, maybe I am throwing myself to the wolves –

You should hazard the consequences of your deeds when you were undercover, shouldn't you? Your doubt puts all your energy into the efforts to grind down your determination and make you question your decision.

Over and over and over.

You drop the twig into the basket to the other herbs before your fingers instinctively go to curl into the fabrics of your soft coloured dress. Your boots digging further into the dirt.

"This is my home now. I don't need them. I'm safe here."

You keep repeating those words out loud like a mantra.

And it works, as your attention begins to shift to your surrounding and your senses finally seem to return to the here and now; Bathing in the late summer sun, watching how the clouds slowly swim across the roof of your house, just like the day you'd walked up to it for the first time.

They had told you it wasn't much.

Little did they know that this new life is the closest you've ever come to a home. Sure, the circumstances couldn't be more wicked, but the little Victorian house that's got the clutter-stuffed flair of the Weasley's Burrow wrapped up in a cottagecore look, couldn't care less, and neither could you.

The house you've been given, stands tall, unwilling to yield to the force of time. Like a grandmother; ancient, slightly hunched-over and wrinkled with a lifetime of stories and defeated battles but still refusing to let go of life and become one with the dirt. You're convinced she has witnessed countless families come and go, you've seen how their weight dented the stairs and their children's youth is still carved into the door frames of your kitchen.

She has watched the seasons take over and get driven back again, like the relentless ebb and flow of the ocean, as the roots of nature keep wafting up against her walls, weathering the painted wood down and cracking its walls of white and honey dipped colours open.

But to you, every blemish only adds to her charming beauty.

You gladly exchanged the skyline of Los Angeles for the crowns of the forest, snaking along the border of vast fields of wildflowers, their colours spangling the golden wheat fields like the floral patterns on the wallpapers in your bedroom, and the lush green grass pulled up to your front porch like a fluffy blanket.

Instead of constantly watching your back for the shadows that follow you home, you can watch how daisies, large balls of lavender and bushes of those cute little pink flowerets jostle for the best sun spot.

It's a tad bit chilly by now – but the sun warms your exposed skin enough to keep the goosebumps at bay and to tingle the back of your neck like the gentle kiss of a bearded lover. When a twig from behind you, grazes the nape of your ne –

"Get to your fuckin' knees."

You freeze.

A shiver runs down your back at the intrusive voice scratching at the inside of your head and the feeling of a cool muzzle grazing the nape of your neck.

The taste of copper fills your mouth.

No.

No I will not. Fuck you, Jack. You wrangle him back into the hole he once again slipped free from.

Take a deep breath. Then let out a long exhale.

Slow. In... Out. That's it.

You shift your focus to your hands. Ignore the slight tremble…

No more cold unforgiving steel under your finger pads or crusty crimson clinging to your fingernails no matter how much you'd rub them with acetone. Your fingers now curl around the handle of a cute little basket like they always use in those Easter commercials to collect their eggs.

Now focus on your ears… your nose…

You can hear the distant clucking of your chickens, roaming freely around what's yours and what nature offers you with generous hands. The wind, rustling of leaves. Chirping of birds. Craws singing. The untamed flora and fauna fills your senses with the smell of the woods. The scent of spices like thyme, rosemary, basil and citrus hang over your garden, and whenever the wind is just right, a swift waft of floral rose hits your nose.

You let out a long exhale.

That's it… just keep going. Just keep going. I'm alive. I'm ali-

The distant friendly chattering of the crows suddenly turns loud and alarmed. Your head snaps up, scrambling to your feet simultaneously.

Moments later, sputtering and groaning cuts through the idyllic atmosphere as tires comb through the dirt road and pull a flag of dust behind them.

You watch a vehicle emerge from the forest.

Not the Marshal's.

It grows bigger and bigger and your hands on the basket unconsciously tighten more and more.

From one moment to the next, your spine has gone rigid. Your pulse is hammering in your ears. And your throat is closing up like an invisible rope has been draped over your head with the intention to lead you up to your porch and get you hanged by the braces of your own home.

You're snapped out of your petrified state as the sound of the car draws up to your front porch and the basket from your hands hits the ground.

If you weren't feeling the adrenaline rush right now, you'd probably be scared of how quickly your muscle memory kicked in.

You don't even remember when you'd grabbed the shotgun next to your front door, or when you'd thrown said door open, gun cocked and finger on the trigger, eyes zeroing in on the car and the person stepping out of it.

When your eyes lock, he smiles – until he notices the gun.

"Jesus – fuck – Hold on! Hold on!" the guy yells over the frame of his car's door where he dived down for cover.

You stop at the first step of your front porch and bark back. Voice tight, yet sharp.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

After a beat, when no shot's being fired, he dares to perk his head out, both his hands coming up slowly in a placating gesture.

"I'm coming out – don't fuckin' shoot me, okay?" - he slowly steps out of his cover, a strand of his dark brown hair fallen into his face, his hands still raised, waving them slowly - "Not a threat, see? It's me. LAPD detective Mark Meachum, reme–"

"Stay back!" you cut him off. He pauses and when your elbow moves he instinctively ducks his head, palms facing your way again. Voice raising. "We know each other! I'm the guy who busted you out!"

The guy who…?

You freeze. Gun still trained on him. Finger hovering over the trigger.

Mark doesn't flinch. Just. Smiles. "Remember me, sunshine..?" And of course you do. That charming bastard with the green eyes.

Who'd not only saved your life, but somehow managed to get stuck in the back of your mind ever since.

"You – … Why – how do you know about my location?" you sputter.

"Mind takin' that out of my face first..?" Mark jerks his chin at you, hinting at the barrel that's still aimed at him.

Right. You lower the shotgun, then nod back at him. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here on chief Norman's order," your eyes widen and he quickly clarifies, "Don't worry, no one knows about it."

"It's good to see you're okay," he comments and the way the corner of his lips pull into a soft smile sparks the memory of when you'd met him for the first and last time.

He hasn't changed one bit. Except for that patch on his temple... I wonder who decked him.

His beard's still full and dark around his sharp jaws, hair swept back with a stray strand hanging into his face, toned chest hidden beneath his grey shirt and smooth black leather jacket lining his broad shoulders, his bow legs bouncing and tugging at his jeans in all the right ways with every step he takes towards you.

Mark stops at the lowest step, head tipped back to meet your eyes. He looks as charming as ever – until a crease forms between his eyebrows and he manages to crush every positive memory of his in just two seconds.

"The better question is, why the hell did you leave WitSec? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Maybe he's not as nice and as charming as I remember him.

"What?" you almost scoff at his offending tone.

"You heard me," and he just adds to your irritation when his tone grows more pointed, "You're aware that the guy who almost killed you and did god knows what to you, is walking free and tracking you down as we speak, right?"

You blink at him, confusion still written all over your face until your patience finally snaps and your hands begin to tighten around the handle of your shotgun.

"What's it to you?" you snap back, "I don't want your damn help," or your patronizing attitude.

Mark's expression darkens and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I wasn't asking." He scoffs.

"Neither am I," you retort, "I told them. I'm staying. End of story." He rolls his eyes at your words and you feel the sudden urge to add a patch to his other temple.

"Are you even listening? Chavez wants you dead – or worse for fucks sake!" he yells back, voice raised to make up for the height difference between you two right now.

You want to bite back but you find your voice stuck in the back of your throat at the mention of your old tormentor's name. It's enough to send a shiver up your spine. Stomach twisting into knots. Chest tight and aching.

With just the right words, he successfully managed to tip over the first domino of the walls you had so carefully build inside your mind to keep the anxiety and panic at bay.

Without realising it, you spin on your feet and find your legs carrying you away. Away from him. From his annoying tone. His infuriating attitude. His eyes which bore into you every time they lock with yours.

"Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?" he calls after you in annoyance and moments later you can hear his boots thump up the stairs, "Hey – hold on, don't be so goddamn stubborn – At least hear me out!"

You don't stop, neither do you turn to snap back at him. Mark stares at your back as you march across the porch and into your house where he stops in his tracks when you slam the door into his face.

Who does he think he is? Why the hell does he even care? I told them I was done. That I'll stay here. And I'm not letting anyone take this away from me and lock me up again.

Screw him. Screw WitSec. Screw all of 'em.

Mark now faces your door, stunned. He scoffs. Shakes his head and rakes his hair back with both of his hands before he barks after you once more.

"I'm not gonna leave! Just so you know!"

Your hands are shaking – your grip on the counter's vice-like, weight braced against it, forehead pressed against the cupboard next to the pans hanging from their metal hooks, as you force the air down to your lungs.

I'm okay. Everything's okay. I'm fine – I'm –

"Fuck!" you curse out loud.

But your voice cracks. Like somebody had just choked you and your cords are still strangled and the air's still thin. Getting thinner.

"Now get a grip of yourself," you scold yourself and it does nothing to smoothen the tremors in every breath you take and to the way your muscles are coiled up like a spring.

Their voices lick at the back of your mind. Again.

Their threats ring in your ears. Graze the back of your skull with cold steel and wrap their long fingers around your throat. Pressuring. Speeding up your heart and cutting off your airway.

"Should've listened to them, doll." "You know what we do with cops like you, hmm?" "We'll take our time and-"

Shut up.

Ignore it.

You try your best to block out the fear that's clawing its way up your spine. The flashes of memories that cross your inner eyes.

Just ignore it.

Your chest starts to feel constricted, left side stinging like a blade's twisting your heart whenever your lungs try and fail to expand.

You can feel your control slipping. Fast. Too fast.

The beats of your heart hammer in your ears, your breath now ragged as the world begins to spin and your vision grows blurry, unfocused. Black.

When your eyes snap open, dazed and confused, first thing you feel is the soft bedding of your cushions against your back. The shelf hoarding books sits across from you, the heavy curtain with its floral patterns brushes your shoulder and some dust particles swirl through the god rays that shine through the window you're leaned against.

Your eyes drift off, follow the rows of books about random household skills like cooking, sewing, gardening and whatever your predecessors had left you here and you liked to thumb through in the afternoons with a nice cup of black tea with milk and a plate of freshly baked cinnamon rolls while getting cozy in the corner of your very own reading nook.

You loved this spot, but.

This is definitely not where I was last.

Your focus is drawn to the adjusent hallway when you hear steps coming up the wooden stairs, each of them groaning and creaking in protest, closely followed by a gruff voice.

"Hey there. You feelin' okay?"

You. You hiss internally, jaw clenching subtly.

Mark rounds the railing of the stairs and walks up to you where he sets down two mugs onto the tiny round coffee table and slides into the single chair next to it, keeping a respectable distance to you, but still close enough to reach for your arms if he felt need.

"You okay?" Mark asks again.

"What…" you groan, mind still spinning. You rub your head, feeling a small bump there that has you stifle a hiss.

Damnit, I must've blacked out.

"I... I'm fine, yeah…" you mumble under your breath, eyes averting his and trying your best to ignore the way they've taken on a vibrant sage green, matching the paint of the inside of your nook, and the way his hair's dark in the shadow but oh so soft with a shimmer of chocolate brown in the streak of light casted across his face.

You try very hard to not notice any of that.

But the way Mark's eyes are on you this entire time isn't helping either.

"Must've been the low blood pressure, that's all," you add the blatant lie, eyes still anywhere else but meeting his.

Can't he laser-eye something else?? I'm not a paper target on a shooting range!

Mark's eyebrows raise and he leans to the side to capture your wandering gaze. Damnit.

"Blood pressure, huh?" he probes, "That happen often?"

You persistently ignore the faint tingling in your stomach when your eyes lock.

"Yeah, on occasion." You shrug it off.

There's a moment of awkward silence. The air feels like it's going to shift any moment between you two, although you're not sure what direction.

Neither whether you want to find out. So you make sure it goes out the damn window where it belongs.

"Well, now that you've seen that I'm fine, you're welcome to get lost."

He cocks his head, then chuckles lightly. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen, sunny."

Excuse me? You blink at him for a moment.

"This is trespassing," you comment pointedly.

For a split second, his lips twitch into a smug smirk.

Is he enjoying this entire situation?

"Denial of assistance," he counters with a half-hearted shrug. "Had to make sure you didn’t get sniped on my watch." He reaches over to the coffee table next to you and grabs one of the hot mugs and then pushes it into your hands. You look down at your favourite mug with its cute cat paw prints and flower petals on it, surprised and frankly a bit befuddled.

"Felt weird to carry a lady to her bedroom without offering her a drink first," he quips with a flirtatious smile and then gestures with his chin at the pillow nest you've ensconced yourself in, "Plus, this funny granny closet looked much more cozy."

"It's a reading nook!" You correct him and aim to playfully kick him in the shin but he's faster.

Mark grabs you by the ankle and holds your leg back down to the cushions with such speed and smooth precision that you have no doubt that, despite your training, he could disarm and pin you down in a flash if things ever got heated.

Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected contact.

You'd expect the reason to be panic. Muscles tense and ready for the fight-or-flight instincts to kick in. But what happens instead throws you off entirely.

Something inside you is burning up as you feel the warmth of his hand on your bare skin, calloused finger pads rubbing against the inside of your ankle as his large palm wraps around it and fits perfectly there like a grounding weight, and something more which sends a shiver right to your – whoa okay hold your damn horses, woman. It's just a hand for Pete's sake.

When your eyes meet, Mark's voice suddenly drops a notch. Eyebrows pulled low. Voice edgy.

"You want me to detain you for assault on a LAPD detective, young lady?" You swallow. Mind gone on a fritz.

A teensy-weensy voice somewhere inside you pipes up "Hell-fucking-yeah" – but it never makes it to your conscious mind which thankfully is out of order right now.

After a beat, his serious face cracks and the familiar amusement and mischief is twinkling in his green eyes again as he leans in, teasing in a charming tone.

"Just fuckin' with ya."

Mark pats your leg once before he pulls his hand back to his knee.

All casual and smug.

Like he's done this a million times before, to every woman colleague, or newbie, or pretty front desk secretary... or helplessly lonely ex detective who'd willingly exchanged bullets for stainless steel tea infusers.

Wow… Ass.

Mark doesn't miss a single cue.

His intense eyes watch you closely before he slowly leans back into his chair, arms crossing in front of his chest. The corner of his lips suddenly pulled into a frown.

"Quitting the program was a really dumb move." Your jaw clenches at his lecturing tone while he continues with a "But-" which you cut short right there.

"I don't care what you all think, I said I won't –" This time he interrupts you. His voice raised enough to make you suck in a sharp breath.

"Just– " Mark rubs his temple with a frustrated groan "– let me finish my damn point, yeah?"

Your hands tighten around your mug, eyes dropped to the steam that's still wafting up into your face to avert his stern look. Its warm smell of cinnamon spices caresses your nose and you inhale it deeply while you close your eyes for a moment, allowing the scent to ground you.

"Fine," you mumble. Not really convincing, but he takes what he gets.

"But. I'm not here to drag you away," he watches how your head perks up at his words and his voice softens in response, "Look – I'm not gonna sugar-coat it. Things aren't looking very peachy. We lost eyes on Walker and we have no idea what he's up to, but it goes without saying that he's gunning for you until you've made that statement of yours. And–" Mark taps the coffee table once to get your attention, "that's the only reason why I'm here."

Your eyes drift back down to the tea between your fingers. Blinking at it as you take in his words.

"So…" you begin in a more neutral voice, "You've been assigned to be my bodyguard, is that it?"

Mark nods, then flashes a lopsided smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Minus the love story."

You don't laugh.

Is this whole thing a fucking joke to him?

"Do I have a saying in this?" you ask, tone flat. Mark huffs through his nose and rakes his hair back.

"Nope." He tips his head to the side to meet your eyes again.

"Great," you scoff softly, your fingers tighten around the mug to the degree you can feel the stinging heat bite at your skin. "So I've got a watch dog latched to my ankle for the next three weeks."

With a sardonic smile, Mark rubs his forehead, causing your molars to grind together.

"Guess you better get used to me. I can be fun, though, promise."

J / Note: Pheew, I hope this wasn't all too bad for my first chapter. The setup took more words than anticipated, but from now on we'll focus on those two. 🤭

Please let me know what you think and whether you're interested in more, I appreciate all of your support so much! 🧡

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↬ Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for anything I post for the universe of Gunpowder Tea! ♡

[gammajacksleftsock]

Gamma Jack x OC angst one-shot

Gamma Jack and Soundwave always had a complicated relationship in the Glory Days. They hated eachtoher's guts, but, with time, Jack saw himself falling in love with someone he never even thought of seeing that way, and so did she. They lived peacefully together for some good years, eventually moving in, marrying, thinking of starting a family... All was well until something changed everything. Project Kronos.

This is a one-shot about Gamma Jack and my original character, Soundwave. Feel free to read this as an X Reader if you so wish ^^ I write other fanfictions, usually slow burn, on AO3, this is my first time writing a one-shot lol So I'm sorry if it's not that good. Anyway, enjoy!

The school day had ended, and the halls were mostly silent except for the faint sound of Leona's shoes tapping along the polished floor. Her choir class had gone well; the kids had sung with energy, and she'd almost forgotten that she wasn't supposed to be special anymore. Heroes weren't allowed to be heroes now.

That's why she almost ignored the elegant woman leaning casually against the doorway of her classroom. Platinum blonde, perfectly poised, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. Mirage.

"Ms. Rose" Mirage said, her voice smooth as warm honey. "Lovely performance today. Your students clearly adore you."

Leona tilted her head, clutching a stack of sheet music to her chest. "Can I… help you?"

Mirage stepped forward, offering her hand. "Name's Mirage. I work with someone you might know… Gamma Jack."

Leona blinked, her posture shifting. "Jack?"

"Yes. He’s been doing some work for us. Very… special work. He recommended you." Mirage smiled again, warm enough to seem real but just sharp enough to hint at power. "We could use someone with your talents. He wanted you to see what he’s been up to, said you’d worry less if you saw it for yourself."

"He insisted." Mirage's tone was just enough reassurance to crack through Leona's lingering doubt.

Leona hesitated. Jack hadn't told her much about what he did on those "work trips." She assumed it was low-level hero assistance, small clean-up jobs to keep him from climbing the walls in boredom.

But the way Mirage carried herself… it all felt official, safe.

"He… recommended me?" Leona blinked. "That's... new for Jack." She snorted a small giggle.

The island facility looked almost unreal. Metal and volcanic rock intertwined like some futuristic fortress, faint neon lines pulsing along the walls. (tbh i have no idea how to describe the island)

She nodded slowly. "Huh. Okay… let me grab my bag."

"Jack's inside already," Mirage said, her voice echoing as she led Leona through sterile corridors. "He's testing something big."

Leona smiled. It sounded just like him, showboating for strangers, showing off for anyone who would watch. Especially women.

The chamber was massive, high ceilings with mechanical scaffolding dangling overhead. In the center, Gamma Jack was in his element.

His whole body pulsed faintly with radiation, a dim emerald green glow radiating off his frame. Controlled radiation bursts crackled at his fingertips. He could focus those bursts to burn holes through steel, vaporize entire vehicles, even disintegrate a person if he wanted. At maximum intensity, his beams had a one-hundred-meter range before they weakened significantly, but within that space, he was destruction personified. With a thought, he could also direct radiation below him, creating propulsion strong enough to fly, hovering with a smug grin while others scrambled below.

"This is it? This is your big machine?!" he shouted as the Omnidroid lunged. Its massive black body rolled like a sphere before sprouting four segmented limbs tipped with claws.

He zipped downward, landing, still glowing faintly. "C'mon! Is this all you’ve got?!" Another wave of radiation surged outward, forcing the machine to backpedal as scorched marks trailed along its armor.

Jack laughed, letting his aura flare brighter, the smell of ozone searing the air. He launched himself upward with a controlled burst from his hands and feet, spinning in midair. A lance of concentrated radiation shot from his palm, striking one of the Omnidroid's arms. Metal warped and glowed bright orange from the heat. "You're gonna have to try harder than that!"

"Leona?!" His face lit up for a second, he hadn't expected her, but of course, he assumed it was for his benefit, to see him win. He flashed her that cocky grin he always wore, one hand raised like he was saluting his own audience, before sending another controlled burst at the machine's core.

"Jack!" Leona called out instinctively as she saw him.

The Omnidroid adapted quickly, limbs shifting to shield vulnerable parts, sensors recalibrating to predict his angles. A claw whipped out, seizing Jack by the waist, pinning his arms to his side in a crushing grip. He snarled, his glow intensifying, trying to burn through it, but adaptive plating distributed the energy evenly, dispersing his radiation harmlessly.

That's when Syndrome stepped into view.

"Relax, sweetheart!" he shouted over his shoulder, still smiling, still arrogant. "I’ve got this!" He flared again, launching short, sharp bursts, but it was already clear—this machine was built to kill people exactly like him.

Jack wasn't sure if he was saying those things to relax Leona or himself.

He emerged from the air, hands clasped behind his back, red hair perfectly coiffed, mouth curled into a predatory grin. "Impressive, Jack. You still think you're untouchable, don't you?" His voice carried easily, each word thick with venomous satisfaction.

Jack scoffed. "Who the hell—"

"Oh, me? Just the guy who made this little playground. And I have to admit, you're giving my Omnidroid a workout." Syndrome leaned forward. "But the thing about you Supers is… you don't know when you've already lost. You think being born special gives you the right to stand above everyone else. People like you ignored me, laughed at me. But look who's laughing now."

Leona stared up at him, unease crawling down her spine. She cursed herself for not noticing earlier that this was a trap. All that intelligence for what? "What are you talking about?"

Syndrome grinned wider. "Oh, Soundwave! You're here! I know all about you. Everything. Down to the smallest detail. You hide behind this normal little life, teaching music, but I know what you are. And I know what you're carrying." His eyes cut toward her stomach. "Three weeks along. Seems like someone got busy!"

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her secret, one she hadn't even told Jack yet, spilled into the air by a stranger who smiled as he said it.

The Omnidroid's claw twisted violently.

Jack turned his head toward her, his expression shifting instantly from confusion to wide-eyed shock. His grin vanished, replaced by something raw; fear, disbelief, something protective, as he struggled to break through the bot's claws even more desperately. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for an answer he wouldn't get. He didn't speak.

He didn't even have time.

The sound was horrible. Bones breaking, the breath ripped from his lungs as his body went limp. His eyes, though… his eyes stayed on her, widened, shocked, as if silently asking why she hadn't told him, as if promising he would have been there, as if cursing the universe for stealing even the chance to say something back.

Then the life drained from them. His body hit the steel floor with a dull, final thud.

Leona's scream tore out of her throat, her sonic powers surging involuntarily. Trees fell from the vibrations, little robot animals crumpled under the wave, but the Omnidroid compensated, another arm snapping out to pin her, squeezing until she gasped for air.

Syndrome's grin stretched into a laugh. "Two birds with one stone! Efficient!"

"NO, JACK—!" she shrieked, struggling, teleporting in short, desperate bursts only to be slammed back into the claws again. Her powers, her speed, everything she had—it all meant nothing to a machine built specifically to crush Supers.

The claws tightened. There was a white-hot spike of pain, then silence as everything went dark.

The room went still except for the hum of the Omnidroid retracting its limbs, slick with blood and oil. Two broken heroes lay sprawled on the floor, their hands just shy of touching.

Syndrome clasped his hands together, stepping forward with theatrical precision. "Erase everything. On to the next."

Mirage, watching from the shadows, hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes lingering on Leona's lifeless form, one hand still curved protectively over her abdomen. But she said nothing. Her heels clicked as she followed Syndrome out, leaving behind only the empty, sterile quiet of victory.

********************************************

💔💔💔💔💔💔 Let me know what you guys think of this 🥀🥀

[thaern]

One of the many reasons to why George is my favourite musician and artist is the fact that even when he was raised in a small town with many closed thoughts he didn't let that or even the fame construct a image of him as utterly masculine and stereotypical, with his friends (different from Paul) for him showing love to everyone being physically close to them or hugging them no matter the gender, was something normal, a simple act of love.

Just like Olivia once said, George had romantic relationships with all of his friends because he was so full of it that it didn't scared him to show it, being making presents or just giving a hug, he did not let the fragile masculinity and conservative speech stop him from being himself.

And that, for a man raised in the late 50s is something to admire

[sunni-stuff]

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.