#does anyone else see or understand my vision….. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangledinlove · 15 days ago

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lovestruck and looking out the window

PART ONE | part two

pairing: clark kent x fem reader 4.6k

summary: you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

content: clark kent invents what it's like to be a gentleman time and time again. reader finds herself in trouble quite a bit lol. title from superman by tswift of course. divider from hyuneskkami ♡

Addy19 @Addison_Malii Anyone else in Arkham District hear the evacuation sirens turn on and off? Was that a test or should I be running for my life lol Mark 💸 @markusup ↳ replying to @Addison_Malii That’s what you get for living in “Arkham District” bro 💀💀💀 cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @markusup don’t speak on arkham district with metropolis in ur bio lmfao. i hope ur insurance covers ur house the next time superman drops a building on ur ass Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer superman haters can not be real. like damn do you guys hate joy happiness fun and rainbows too cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @mightycrabjoysluvr are we forgetting the fact that he’s an ALIEN from KRYPTON? i don’t care how hot he is i will take batman over him any day Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer a vigilante defender in my replies shitting on superman… i have really seen it all. bookmarking this tweet for when the police finally catch batmans ass btw

“—you want some?”

“Hm?”

Clark sinks into the couch next to you, his weight tipping you closer in his direction. The edge of the bowl in his hand prods your side.

“You really shouldn’t hold your phone so close to your face. You’re going to wreck your vision.”

You finally look up at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know you believed in old wives’ tales.”

“It’s not a myth!” He insists. “Put your phone down. We’re putting the movie on, and I know you’re going to complain when you don’t understand what’s happening—”

“I don’t complain, you liar.”

“—but you do, and then you’re gonna beg me to rewind. But then you’re gonna fall asleep and ask me to rewind it again, but I won’t want to because I’ve rewatched the same part five times—”

“That’s never happened before,” you lie blatantly. It happened last week and he won’t stop bringing it up. You toss your phone somewhere onto his couch and ignore the look he’s giving you when you take the bowl from his hands. “You made popcorn? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Clark laughs, the sound full and warm. He drapes a throw blanket over your laps — one of yours that he stole from your apartment — and hands you the remote. “I did. You were too busy scrolling.”

“Sorry.” You make yourself comfortable on his couch, pressing yourself into his side and stretching your legs out onto the ottoman. “I was busy doing some very important things.”

“Such as?” he asks, watching you flick through his TV subscriptions. “Oh, come on. We aren’t watching that one again.”

You frown as you click past one of your favorite movies. “I was just looking at it.”

“I’m sure.”

You kick at his ankles and watch the dimples crease on his face. It’s hard not to stare too long at the way he looks in the golden lighting from the TV. The blue of his eyes seems warmer.

“Whatever,” you grumble. “You can pick. As long as it’s not that trashy zombie show you like.”

He takes the remote from you, leveling a look at you from under the frames of his glasses. “It’s not trashy.”

“We can agree to disagree, babe.”

You fight the urge to laugh. You aren’t sure Clark realizes it, but he has the same reaction to that nickname every time — he looks up at the ceiling, and then away from you as the blush creeps up his neck. It’s even easier to see when his face is lit up like this, his sweet face tinged pink.

The two of you scroll through the movie and show selections in relative silence after. You’re sitting close enough that you can nudge him in the side when you want him to skip something, and he does so with only some complaints. You make it all the way down to the romcom section before he breaks the silence.

He coughs. Then asks, “So, what were you doing on your phone? Texting someone?”

You hum absentmindedly, inspecting the movie thumbnails. “I was reading through some Superman hate posts, actually.”

It’s not the most accurate description of what you were doing, but you say it just to get a rise out of him. Clark would never admit it, but you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s a secret Superman megafan.

There’s a look that he gets in his eyes whenever he reads something about him. It’s hard to place, but it kind of looks like he’s a little kid again, his entire face lit up with emotion.

But if he really is as big of a fan as you think he is, you have no idea how he’s so blasé about all those interviews he gets with him. Clark Kent really is one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met.

He looks at you sideways, glancing away from the TV. “You were,” he says, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Kidding. Kinda. You know what people are like. Your friend’s famous, you know. People are going to scrutinize him no matter what he does.”

Clark clears his throat and his eyes dance back to the screen, but you know he’s only half paying attention to it now. “And you… do you agree with them? With what people say about him?

Something in his voice is odd. You sit up against the couch to look at him properly, though all you can see is his side profile.

On the screen in front of you, he clicks past the titles the second they load, uncaring of what he’s scrolling past.

“I think Superman’s great,” you say honestly. You speak slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. The only change in expression you get is the slight twitch of his mouth. “Don’t know why people complain so much about someone who saves lives. Like, who cares if he’s from Kirpton?”

“Krypton,” he corrects.

You smile. “Right, sorry.”

The slight tension in his shoulders release. “You really think he’s great?”

“Yeah.” You slip the remote out of his hands and click play on the first movie you recognize. Surprisingly, Clark doesn’t complain. “He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us? I hear his harem has quite the waiting list.”

He laughs, tossing the blanket back over your leg where it’s exposed. “He’s not my friend, and there’s no harem. And hopefully, you won’t be meeting Superman anytime soon.”

“Why not? Don’t want to mix your friend groups?”

He nudges your side, relaxing into his cushions again. His arms cross over his chest, and you try not to focus on the way his biceps pull against the sleeves of his shirt. “No. If you ever run into Superman, it probably means you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

The two of you sit quietly with the weight of his words. Sure, he’s right, but you’re sure a totally normal Superman interaction isn’t out of the realm of possibility.

You wonder if the superhero has a favorite coffee shop. And how he would even order from it if he did. Would he wait in line? Maybe he’d have a priority lane specifically for him on the roof.

“Wait, what?” Clark’s voice cuts into the silence. His features have scrunched up in confusion. “When did we agree on watching this?”

“It’s Saw.”

“I can see that.”

“I chose it when you were too busy talking.”

“You sure you want to watch this one? You remember what happened when we watched The Exorcist, right?”

“The lights went out, Clark. What was I supposed to do, not scream?”

“I was sitting right next to you. Nothing was going to happen. If anything, we’d get possessed together.”

“That’s so not funny. As long as nothing supernatural happens, I’ll be good with this one, I swear.”

He blinks at you.

“I swear.”

You wake up drooling on Clark’s t-shirt.

Thirty minutes into Saw you were holding onto his arm so tightly that he put you out of your misery and put on National Treasure instead. The last thing you can remember is Nicolas Cage asking for lemon juice before the comfort of Clark’s shoulder became too much to resist drifting off.

You untangle your legs from his to sit up properly, a different movie playing in the background. Much like you a few seconds ago, your friend is fast asleep, his head leaning against the armrest in a way that can’t be comfortable.

His glasses are askew now, resting politely on his chest. You worry about the chances of them getting squished and leave them on the side table for him to find.

It’s only then, when you’re staring at the black frames on the wood, that you realize something silly.

You’ve never seen Clark without his glasses on.

He often talks about how his bad eyesight is why he’s so adamant about wearing them. You’ve asked him once before about wearing contacts, and he’d said something about how he has sensitive eyes and didn’t like them much.

You don’t mind at all. He looks very gorgeous with them on, and you find it very cute how they fog up when he gets flustered enough.

You’re grateful for the light of the TV, because it means you can still somewhat see Clark’s face. You rub the sleep from your eyes to look at him, and—

Huh.

You wonder if it’s normal to look this different without your glasses on. Sure, they can sometimes change the size of a person’s eyes, and losing a significant feature on anyone’s face is bound to make them look a little different, but…

Clark looks different. Still familiar, but undoubtedly different.

It’s weird. The changes are so subtle you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The differences are written clear as day on his face, but it feels impossible to put them into words.

Is it the shape of his jaw? You don’t remember it always looking so carved, and you would know, with how often you look at him. Maybe it’s the shape of his mouth.

Something in the back of your mind twitches, like a memory begging to come to the surface. It’s a slight tension against your skull, a pressing feeling trying to nudge you in the direction of something.

You have no idea why you do it, but your hand moves without thinking. Your fingers thread through his hair, the same way you do when you tease him for looking like he’s just rolled out of bed in the morning. As you do it, the features of his face shift just so, and…

Woah.

Clark doesn’t just look familiar.

He looks exactly like fucking Superman.

You pull your hand away so quickly the joints in your arm protests. Clark shifts underneath you, his eyes twitching as he rouses from sleep. He pats the fabric of the couch before he feels you under his hand, and he squeezes your thigh when he does.

“You alright?” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “What’re you doin’?”

“Nothing. I just woke up.”

The sentence is true in more ways than one. It feels like you’re seeing Clark’s face for the first time. How had you not noticed just how much he looks like the same man that saves the city for a living?

He blinks himself awake, and it’s like your heart flips. Staring at his devastatingly long eyelashes, it’s like everything becomes ten times clearer.

You weren’t hallucinating — he looks just like Superman. It’s uncanny.

He pats you as he sits up, still clearly in the last dregs of sleep. His words slur together when he asks you, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” your eyes search the couch for where you’d ditched your phone earlier, and you find it on the floor next to the ottoman. It’s covered in spilled popcorn from the bowl that must’ve fallen off Clark’s lap during the night. “It’s two.”

The reminder is enough to make you yawn, and you rub your eyes to clear your vision. He leans over to the side table to get the lamp, and the room is filled again with warm light.

“Geez,” Clark says. “My neck hurts like crazy. Is your back okay?”

You turn back to face him, and with the lights on you can see him a lot better. His glasses are back on, and he…

Looks absolutely nothing like Superman anymore.

You must look a little surprised, because he stops massaging the back of his neck to scan you with his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Superman without your glasses on?”

The words land awkwardly.

Clark laughs, but it’s not real. He scrubs his hand over his jaw. “What?”

“You…” It feels like you’ve said something you really shouldn’t have. “You just look a lot like him.”

“Oh,” he says. His hand rises to adjust where his glasses sit on his face. “That’s funny.”

If he really thinks so, you aren’t hearing much laughter from him.

You aren’t sure why he’s so unsettled at the thought. Based on the limited information you have about him, Superman kind of seems like the perfect guy. He’s kind, selfless, great with kids, and…

Oh no.

It’d been such a brief stint in your conversation — there’s no way he remembers it. It’d been a joke, albeit one wrapped in underlying truth.

“He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us?”

Clark is one of the most rational people you know. It’s no question that he knows you were kidding about that — hell, he’d laughed — but your technical confession is enough to make embarrassment rush through your entire body.

He seems completely upended by your comparison between the two of them. You stand abruptly, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“It’s late. I should go back to my apartment.”

It’s not far. Few people in the world live closer to Clark actually, with your apartment being directly below his. When that dog he’s fostering is running around too much, you can hear his footsteps scurry above your head.

(Oddly enough, you’ve never actually seen the dog in person, and Clark refuses to tell you what his name is, but you’re pretty sure he’s real.)

The furrow Clark gets between his brows is so deep you wonder if it hurts. “You don’t want to take the bed?”

You slip your phone in your pocket and start looking for where you’d kicked off your shoes. “No, it’s okay. Your neck deserves a break from the couch,” you say, busy checking underneath the kitchen table.

There’s nothing there. You wonder if it’d be weird to leave without them.

Clark places one of his broad hands on your lower back before he passes your shoes to you. He is so irritatingly perfect it borders on unfortunate for you.

“Thanks,” you say, quickly. You’re even faster to slip them on, uncaring of the way the heels fold uncomfortably inward.

“Hey. Hey.” His hand encircles your wrist when you turn away from him. He’s frowning, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay? You know I don’t mind taking the couch.”

The smile that softens your expression is real. “So selfless, Clark Kent. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Thank you, though.”

He tries one last time. Glances furtively at the door, like he’s hesitant to let you go. “It’s late.”

You feel evil. It can’t be ethical to turn down Clark when he looks like this, sleep mussed and soft and a little worried about you.

“You can watch me walk to the elevator if you’d like.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he offers instead, opening his door for you and stepping out. “It’ll help me sleep better.”

Looking at him waiting for you in his pajama pants and his wrinkled shirt, you wonder how you haven’t proposed.

But when he leans against the doorway of your apartment downstairs, smiling at you with sleep in his eyes and telling you to get some rest, you come very close to it.

Your friendship with Clark Kent kind of started the same way — with him taking you home.

The Daily Planet is a block away from your office building, a much smaller structure with just enough windows that you can watch the next world-ending threat from anywhere inside. Once, you got to watch Superman save an entire floor of people in the building across from you before some creature gutted half the skyrise.

You’ve witnessed enough extraterrestrial villains to not be too surprised when you see them on the news, or catch a glimpse of them in real life.

The one thing you didn’t expect, though, was to run into one from this planet.

It’s late when you’re walking to the metro after work. You’re barely half awake, exhausted after dealing with some data issue that had you and a few other people on cleanup duty late into the night.

You’re digging around in your purse, searching frantically for your phone. To make a bad night even worse, you come up empty.

“Shit,” you say under your breath, stopping to press your fist to your forehead. You remember it vividly, now. You’d left it on the counter when you’d cleaned up the cup of coffee you spilled when you were dead on your feet.

You let out a few more curses under your breath as you continue walking, hoping that you didn’t throw out that old alarm clock you found in your closet.

It happens a few minutes later, and it’s nothing like in the movies. There’s no anticipatory music, or a suspicious sound that makes you turn your head, or the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You’ve walked down this street countless times before, one well-lit by the street lights and store signs, and felt safe every time.

The universe gives you no warning. It only lets you make it three blocks before someone seizes your arm and tugs you into a damp, dark, Metropolis alley.

You don’t have time to scream. A hand, grimy with sweat and something else clamps hard over your mouth, muffling any sound you could’ve let out.

Your back presses into the rough brick of the alley. You recognize where you are immediately — a small deli that you and your coworker frequent. You don’t know how you’re going to tell her that you’re never coming back here ever again.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. And you’re not going to scream, or lie to me, because I will stab you.” The man’s voice is thick and gravelly, almost as sharp as the blade he presses into the give of your stomach. “Nod if you understand me.”

You jolt when he presses hard enough to nick your skin. The nod comes immediately after.

“You’re going to give me all the money in that purse of yours, and your phone. I need your phone.”

You glance over to your purse where it sits on the pavement. It must’ve fallen when he’d pulled you into this alley.

“Take it,” you say quickly, voice wavering with stress. You aren’t going to fight with this man over chump change and your lip balm. “You can have all of it.”

He ducks down immediately to reach for the purse, and sniffs out the money quickly. He shoves the few pathetic crumpled bills into the pockets of his worn out jeans, before turning his attention back to the inside of the bag.

You swallow, glancing towards the entrance of the alley. He wouldn’t chase you if you made a run for it, would he?

There’s a sickening crack as your stuff hits the floor, and your daydream is crushed. The man is shaking his head, pressing his hand to his forehead, mumbling to himself in hushed tones.

You press yourself further against the wall, like the extra inch of space between you will save you.

“Your phone. I need your phone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. You know he won’t believe you. You’ve never been more scared to speak.

“Did you hear me?” His voice shakes uncontrollably, his eyes narrowed to near slits. “Your phone. I need… You have to give me your phone.”

“I don’t have it with me,” you choke out. Your hands curl protectively in front of you. “I forgot it at work.”

He turns the knife back at you, though his hand wavers. Spit flies from his mouth and onto the ground in front of you. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not lying, I swear. I swear. Please, you can take whatever I have—”

Another voice pierces the silent street, one firm and so authoritative that both of you turn to look.

The man doesn’t waste another second. He turns and flees down the dark alley, taking the few things of worth in your purse with him. You don’t feel strong enough to move until he’s completely gone from your sight.

The adrenaline crash doesn’t take long to set in. Your head feels light, like it’s filled with helium. You think that’s why you don’t notice yourself walking directly into the other person there with you.

The universe had been the reason why you’d gotten mugged, but the universe also brought Clark Kent into your life.

You had caught glimpses of him at your shared apartment all the time, your similar schedules meaning you often left for work and came back around the same time. He’d held the door open for you a few times, and you’d seen him help some of your neighbors with their groceries before. You’d always known he was nice, but you had no idea stopping crime was on his list of talents as well.

After he’d saved you from that man in the alley that night, he’d walked you back to your apartment.

He did the same the next night. And almost all of the nights after that, too.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to become close friends, and for your lives to start merging together. You’d invited him over for dinner as a thank you, and it slowly turned into a regular thing. You soon found yourself splitting your time between your apartment and his.

You really like Clark, and can barely remember life in Metropolis without him.

That’s probably why it feels so terrible to ignore him.

[4:29] farmboy kent: I’ll be running a little late today

[4:29] farmboy kent: White sent us out to Park Ridge and the train back is delayed. I’ll be by your building around 5:20

[4:33] you: No problem!! also no need to swing by today. my cousin invited me over to hers so i’ll be in civic city until late

The message is marked as read a few seconds after you send it, making the next few minutes agonizingly long.

Around 4:35, Clark finally starts typing, only to delete his message. A minute later, he continues again.

[4:38] farmboy kent: Ok. Be safe

[4:39] farmboy kent: I’ll pick you up at the station later

[4:39] you: Are you okay with that? i’m not sure when i’ll get back

[4:40] farmboy kent: Of course. Text me when you know what time your train will get in

You feel like a dick pressing the thumbs up reaction on his last message. What kind of person lies to Clark Kent?

You aren’t even sure why you do it. It’s probably the lingering embarrassment from last night — it was the closest you’ve ever come to telling him how you feel about him.

So… maybe a Clark-free day is what you need.

You can’t remember the last day you’ve spent without seeing him at least once. On your days off from work he’d come by after his shifts, and even on days that one of you were busy, you would still show up at his place to say hello.

No wonder he makes you crazy. You haven’t had a Clark Kent detox since the day you met him.

Surely all good friendships need time apart, right? You’ll just spend a day by yourself and when you see him again tomorrow, you’ll be back to normal. There won’t be any more slips where you compare him to one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever seen, or where you tell him he’d be a great husband, or something friendship-ending like that.

It’ll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a great, much needed, neighbor-free day.

You’re buying a paperweight for Clark when a building falls on top of the Metropolis Museum of Art.

The remorse from your little white lie followed you through every second of your Clark Kent boycott, effectively ruining it. Your plan was to head down to the park and enjoy the weather, but you found yourself making a quick detour to the souvenir store inside the museum.

You’d come here with him a few months ago, and he’d seen the paperweight and loved it. It was a little glass sphere depicting Superman flying over Metropolis, and he’d almost bought it before reading the price tag. The guilt following you around now was enough to choke a horse, and you decided that it’d make for a great apology gift.

(Not that he was aware you were apologizing for anything.)

The crash of the building sends plumes of dust into the room, coating everything in a haze of white. The emergency sirens start their crying almost immediately, joining in what sounds like the actual crying of children on an after-school field trip.

You cough to clear your throat and find that even the air is saturated in thick dust, the cloud becoming even worse as more debris drops from the ceiling.

The roof of the museum is clearly trying its best, but it seems like the entire structure groans in protest. One of the overhead lights hangs precariously above your head, and you take a few healthy steps back from it.

Distantly, you can see the blinking red light that marks the exit. The cashier you were talking to a second ago makes a mad dash for it, ducking under a fallen beam while she does. Hordes of people crowd by the door as everyone rushes out, eager to flee.

The sun shines through the gaping hole in the museum made by the other building, and through the light it offers, you see it on the floor— the gift you’d gotten Clark.

The little paperweight sits sadly on the tile about five feet away from you.

If you weren’t afraid of inhaling too much dust, you would’ve groaned. There’s no way you’re abandoning the thing after all this trouble you’ve gone through to get it.

Against your better judgement, you move further from the exit to go and pick it up.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter.

There’s a strong gust of wind and a bright flash of light, and you’re outside again.

When your feet hit the pavement, you resist the urge to vomit. It feels like your stomach has been flipped inside out and then put back again. The dizziness makes you double over, but you’re braced by a pair of firm hands around your forearms.

You’re halfway through a mumbled thank you when you look up.

You blink a few times to clear your vision. When nothing changes, you’re forced to wonder if you hit your head somewhere in the museum.

Standing in front of you, with his perfect hair disheveled and windswept, is Superman.

notes: theyre both losers LOL. thank u for tuning into my fic lmk if u enjoyed! :) i do have a part 2 planned bc i think clark kent deserves to be kissed

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eulogiez · 4 days ago

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UNDERSTANDABLY SO.

(superman 2025) clark kent x fem!reader, 3.1k

synopsis: clark kent is overwhelmed by his affection for you, and your relentless lack of will to see it. a gift mishap in the planet office gives you affirmation of the false pretense that clark’s just not that into you, leading to a dramatic turn of events between you two.

tags: unedited, reader is a cynic && an unofficial eldest daughter with wounded self-image, clark thinks he’s being delusional (he’s not) (you are madly in love with him too), fluff && slowburn, coworkers && friends to lovers, the pov is kinda messy (sorry) (it’s roughly third person omniscient but it focuses for a hot minute on how down bad he is for you), angsty bc you drive each other crazy by not communicating, making out!

- no use of y/n!

Everyone knows that Clark’s benevolence is anything but ill-inspired. He doesn’t believe you incapable, doesn’t face you with a smug look or egocentric smirk, expect any goodwill or favors in exchange whenever he helps you or anyone else about their daily tasks—or a cup of coffee, on him.

In his head he mulls over the details of your order, —of everyone’s, of course; the heap of sugar that Lois absentmindedly churns into hers, hardly dissolving, (“I party like a rockstar, choir boys!” She defends to Jimmy and Clark) the moderate spoonful Jimmy adds in his, and when it comes to your preference—the miniature cup of cream, cautious spoonfuls of sugar, and exact number by which you swirl your stirrer. But that wasn’t him being any more excessively chivalrous than he already was, right?

Much to the dismay of an internally disgruntled Clark, you fail to see how his regular acts of altruism are especially catered towards you when he does them. He is patient, and if there’s anyone he’s willing to wait for, it’s you—but he’s unsure how to magnify that you’re the main object of his daily affections. At some point he accepts with defeat that you’re not so oblivious to his obvious adoration, just that you won’t requite it.

Stifling down his unwavering desire, he relishes in the way you take a long sip of your coffee, and when you thank him and say “Wow Clark, you could’ve fooled me. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought I’d just made this,” he almost wants to wrap himself in the warm embrace of your appraisal, feeling gratified by your satisfaction over something as simple his mastery over your cup of coffee.

On occasion you seemed especially soft towards him just the same, but Clark boiled every charitable deed down to your character, that you just shared in his goodwill and nothing more—like the time he lost his glasses.

Clark paced around his desk in a frantic haze, turning manila file folders over and shoving binders and stacks of loose leaf paper entirely aside, finally hollering from under his desk, “Has anybody seen my glasses? I remember taking them off for only a second, and—”

He hears you clear your throat from behind him after missing the click of your heels as you sauntered towards his desk. The abrupt sound coupled with his rush to get to you cause him to hit his head against the desk’s bottom and you stifle a little laugh watching his big body struggle from underneath, feeling sorry for him. Slowly he comes out from under, rubbing his poor sore head. He feels overcome with an immediate sense of serenity when he sees you, his missing pair of spectacles in hand.

This time he clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there—,” he starts.

“Don’t be, Clark,” you finish.

He sees your waiting hands nursing his glasses, and before he can mutter a prompt ‘thank you’ or take them for himself, you’re putting them on him yourself, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with a manicured finger.

His breath catches hard in his chest and his eyes zero down in on you as you do it, (vision still fuzzy), your smile cheesy and large on your face and a focused sparkle in your eye. You’re more than happy and willing to do it, so he doesn’t stop you—not like he wanted to.

“All better?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, still looking up at him, giving his still-sore head another rub. All he can do is stand there and nod dumbly, while Lois and Jimmy’s eyes return to their screens when you look back to relieve the feel of brazen eyes behind you after cheekily smiling and watching through the whole exchange. He can only shove down the feeling and the signs that might be pointing in his favor. He needed to be sure.

It never seems to register that your thoughtfulness towards him is reciprocated romantically, even if in the most trivial of ways; that you truly know him and await the invitation to explore the most of obscure trenches you’d yet to get to know of him, to finally be his—like when you’d asked him to come over to your desk and proofread an article you’d just written while you left to the lady’s room. Unbeknownst to him, you’d left a split screen tab open of a love song by The Mighty Crabjoys playing, perfecting timing your departure with the song so that the lyrics aligned with his arrival at your desks with words perfectly encapsulating how you felt about him.

In all fairness, you’d wanted him to know how loudly you’d loved him in the quietest of ways, with as little words as possible. A part of you couldn’t believe a man could be this good and expect nothing in return, and that he could feel as strongly about you when you felt you had so little to offer. Often overcompensating for insecurity and fear of abandonment, you serviced him and others to assure yourself of having some purpose or usefulness, paying extra attention to him, whether it be his quirks and interests or ‘punkrock’ bands he’d loved ardently in his adolescence. You’d wanted to dismiss him most times when he’d offer you help, wanting to take the reins on any major task yourself and not wanting to appear a bother to him, your sweet Clark.

Whenever you’d tell a story to your coworkers or drone about the random events of the weekend, it was always Clark whose eyes yours had the tendency to meet, it was only him you really cared to tell the happenings of your life to—whether they were plain and mundane or eventful. Every now and then you’d narrate to them your close encounters with Superman, who seemed, by sizable coincidence, rather prone to saving you, or at least catching you for small talk in between lifting metal beams above his head or clobbering a wild beast to its knees, much to your confusion. You recalled to Lois, Jimmy and Clark how Superman had once left a monster’s severed green, suctioned tentacle, festering with great big leaves, at the foot of The Daily Planet’s entrance and how you’d glided over the slimy thing, landing right on your bottom.

“And he left this slimy thing—I don’t even know what it was—on the concrete when I was leaving work and you won’t believe how I tripped right over the giant thing, it was just covered in mucus all over the sidewalk so I never stood a chance getting past it unbruised. Green ivy monster tentacle…whatever slimy gross diseases it had on it made me itch for a week.” You told the story with a fit of laughter that encouraged the three to join in, too, making Clark feel better.

He winced a little at first, feeling apologetic at the damage he’d dismissively left unfortunately for you, and you didn’t fail to leave out how remorseful Superman looked as he brought you back to your feet with the creature tailing only mere feet from behind him. That week you’d headlined Superman, on the front page in big bold letters dubbing the story badly, “Superman Shunts Tentacled Green Ivy Monster.” Clark gave you two thumbs up and an amused grin from over the papers across you at his desk only seconds after skimming the headline. Your heart fluttered within your rapidly pounding chest when you smiled back.

Everything you take from one another is with a grain of salt, the fleeting glances (more like stares), lightest flutters of touches before darting away, and compliments especially tailored to one another; you both noticed everything.

Against all odds (besides the subtle implications that there might be something there), Clark decided to make the first real big move to finally initiate something between the two of you. If you really weren’t up to accept his final advance, he wouldn’t let his pride be wounded. He was a man, and he could dismiss the torment of rejection for your sake, because nothing made him happier than doing something for you, and so be it if that something meant letting you go.

For months, Clark thought to carefully plot his way around asking you out—finally settling on a simple but sweet gesture that would shed a light on how he knew you, on how he listened. After all, listening and memorizing seemed to be your shared love language. He’d bought a rather large vase in your favorite color, wrapping it with a ribbon of an accent shade of that color. The vase was filled to its brim with your favorite flowers in a bright, big, bouquet. A tag hung loose around the neck of the vase.

Clark arrived early that morning, awaiting your arrival; you were of the first at your desk when the day began and the regular Daily Planet chaos ensued. All he needed to do was write a date proposal on the tag of the vase.

Somewhere between now and his lost-glasses fiasco, he’d lost the pen you’d given to him one day, in your favorite color, when he’d loosely mentioned how many of his own ran dry and he needed to make a run to the store that day for a refill on supplies. Frantically searching high and low, the glint of the pen caught his eye from afar, on Lois’s desk. He was sure she wouldn’t mind him shuffling through her penholder for it.

In his best handwriting, he scrawled on it, “Unlike slimy green monster tentacles, these won’t give you poison ivy. They’re nicer too, I hope.”

He smiled down at the vase, proud of his work. He turned the tag over to its other blank side to pen the note’s author as well as your name, but all he could get out before hearing the boom of Perry’s voice from his own office was “From Clark.”

“Kent!” Perry squawked at Clark with a furrowed brow, hands on his hips before ushering him to his own office, going on about how he needed to talk about his latest column of the paper and his miraculous interview scores with Superman. He anxiously left the vase there, awry still on Lois’s desk.

Victim to Perry’s droning, he missed you filing in closely after Lois.

“What’ve we got here?” Lois asked rhetorically, immediately seeing the vibrant flowers perched idly on her desk.

“Ugh, must be that hookup from a month ago that keeps showing up at my apartment. God, if he knew anything about me, he’d know I’m sensitive to pollen,” Lois exclaimed, completely missing Clark’s scribbled note and wrinkling her nose in revulsion before letting out a roaring sneeze. You laughed beside her, admiring the gift wistfully and thinking about how lucky you’d be to receive something as simple but grand as this, even if the guy totally failed to think it through especially for Lois. She tossed the vase in the wastebasket beside the coffee hutch before slumping in her seat.

Noticing Clark’s absence and entrapment in Perry’s office in the last ten minutes since you clocked in, you gave him an apologetic glance (which he exchanged with a grateful smile) when you made your way towards the piping hot coffee percolator. Humming to yourself, you stopped in your tracks noticing the tag that Lois had missed to see entirely—the side of it reading “From Clark.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t already believed Clark couldn’t like you back, but to finally have to settle with the reality of it when you had the slightest twinge of hope made you feel completely idiotic. It was like you thought, that this friendship couldn’t foster something more, that the discreet intimate moments you shared and sweet nothings amounted to just that—to nothing. You made your way back to your desk, forgetting your coffee and feeling defeated. The rest of the day you were practically mute and unreceptive to your coworkers’ advances at conversation, leaving them dazed and confused.

Clark wasn’t any more chatty than you. Finally leaving Perry’s office after a good while, his eyes settled on you, whose were completely trained to your screen, and to his great disappointment, noticed your abandoned flowers in the chasm of the coffee station wastebasket. He left out a great sigh of disbelief and woe, utterly taken aback, so much so that he could only fall as silent as you, no words threatening to leave his mouth before he could regret them with an embarrassed remorse, no efforts made to interrogate you. He sat back at his desk to watch you, only to notice the way your eyes completely dodging his at every glance through the entirety of the shift, clacking nervous nonsense on your keyboard and glancing down at your clock between words, awaiting the end to your day with anticipation.

Only when you were making your way out of the Daily Planet did he make any true efforts to converse about the matter, hesitating for just a moment before calling your name, hoarse and weak, with your back turned towards him.

You swiftly turned your heel to finally look at him, like it didn’t hurt, like the last thing you wanted to do was leave him here in the newsroom lobby, knowing he didn’t deserve it, but that you couldn’t take it, that you couldn’t bear to be here, with him.

“The flowers,” Clark started, eyes fluttering shut with anguish before opening to look back at you. “Why—”

“Clark, you don’t need to explain to me. I just feel stupid for ever thinking that this,” you cut through over him, pointing between the two of you, “could be something. That we were something. And it’s not fair to you that I iced you out for that, and that I can’t just be happy for you trying your shot with Lois, but—

“They were for you,” Clark didn’t bother letting you finish. He couldn’t bear a moment longer of hearing your misconceptions that his affections could be for anyone else but you. Couldn’t you see what you do to him? He looked utterly disheveled standing before you, black curls unkempt atop his forehead glistening with sweat, tie nearly undone and dress shirt unbuttoned some way up the collar, pink lips slightly parted, all tense and distant from the heartbreak he’d endured all in a single work day. The abrupt confirmation that you’d felt the way he did was some consolation in his woe over the principle of the situation and that his efforts at you had almost gone unheard.

You suddenly pitied him, feeling that familiar heart drop. You shuffled your feet, looking down at your heels. “Clark, why didn’t you say anything?” You were meek when you asked, suddenly afraid.

“Why didn’t you?”

His question was rightful as your own, the thousand words you’d been meaning to say to him finally making their way to your lips, in due time after for so long suffocating, choking down within you.

“Clark, I’m no good for you, I could never actually consider that you’d actually want to be with me,” you let out a mirthless laugh as your eyes well to their brims with tears that you fight to keep down.

“How could you say that about yourself?” he asks more to himself more than to you, as he makes his way over towards you, closing the vast gap of air where tension lingered. Clark was not only inherently an empath and raised by a good pair of people. Aside from the virtue that so naturally came to him, like it coursed within his veins, he had to study the mosaic of the human character, acquaint himself with all its complexities, and understand that cynicism didn’t come as easily to him as it did others, understandably so.

If there was nothing in the world to be cynical of, Clark wouldn’t be suited up against ravenous beasts every other day. He had to sympathize with, though he could never understand, that for some odd reason you were riddled with a sense of damaged esteem that made sure you were never made privy to his adoration.

You can only fall silent as the tears finally stream down, feeling vulnerable there before him. The silence stings and thickens the air.

“Let me?” he asks you gently, opening his arms to embrace you, to which you timidly nod. He rests his chin above your head, hunched over.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, feeling even more timid and vulnerable than you. You nod at him with a weak smile when his eyes meet yours, but his lips don’t meet your own. They kiss your tears away, and at your forehead, nose, and quivering chin, and your shaking hands, whispering in between each thing he loved about you, how kind and noble you were for being here in him in this moment, naked from the shell that for so long you’d found solace in, your brains and beauty, how you made him laugh the most of everyone in the office, that being here and working with you was some beautiful luck of the universe and the only great thing he had to look forward to every day, if nothing. That memorizing every incandescent detail about you—from your coffee preferences to the animation with which you narrated your stories, and the crinkles by your eyes when you laughed with him while doing so, was a routine he never would tire of.

When his lips finally meet yours, you’re both warm and calm with a sense of comfort, of togetherness here in this moment. You’re unconcerned with your worthiness to latch on to him, or shy away when his strong hands cup your face, or when he deepens into the kiss passionately.

When he breaks away and the pacific blue of his eyes meet yours, breathing heavily, he says, “We’ll go slow. I want you to trust me, I want you to know how much I really like you, and I like you a lot,” he says and you share in your laughter this time, genuine and hearty.

“I like you a lot too, Clark Kent. Thank you for waiting, for liking me this much,” you say sincerely. He wants to say he doesn’t need nor expect any gratitude for being enamored by you, that it really takes no work, that it’s less task and more instinct, and that you were worth every second of the wait. Before he can open his mouth again, you are pressing your lips to his again and all he can do is melt into it, and hold you.

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bambisnc · 3 months ago

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( ➴ ) 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬, 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖬𝖤! ♡

୨ৎ. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

### . STARRING ⌢ p.sh ⋆ oneshot + 1.2k // kissing + reader has an ex + i need you guys to j trust me on this please ˖ ✧

[ 陰 🤍 ] ─── i have nawt read the manga before anyone asks; i found the name super funny & then a little lightbulb in my head went "!!" ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor.

he’s heard people around him say this; multiple remarks of how his moral conduct seems totally unshakable. a pillar whose boundaries not one single temptation could consider breaking, they'd say.

but, he finds himself thinking, if all that were really true, he wouldn’t really be in this position—with heeseung's girlfriend all pretty in front of him, pinned up against a wall—would he?

not that he's complaining about the sight in front of him, of course.

you are nothing less of a divine vision with slightly swollen and spit slicked lips, your delicately applied gloss now smudged from the earlier … activities.

his eyes take in the loose strands of hair framing your features, the way your eyes are delectably glazed over and the lightest sheen of sweat highlighting it all. it’s a wonder he’s able to resist diving right back in and claiming your lips in another kiss, really.

heeseung should've known better.

he should've known that leaving you alone with sunghoon could not possibly lead to any good outcomes.

one doesn't harbour unrequited feelings for months and leave scott-free, with zero after effects. there’s bound to be some catches.

sunghoon blamed many other things too.

firstly, the sun. for subjecting him to its sweltering heat and for rendering him into a half-dazed stupor. for being the reason you were wearing that gorgeous sundress, casual but enough to catch the attention of all the others lazily roaming around the open shopping complex.

secondly, he blamed ni-ki. like, did the boy really have to drag heeseung away because he saw a michael jackson DVD (limited versions only) on display?

granted, that particular compilation was seemingly not available anywhere else without having to pay a price so scandalous that it hurt to think about. and the singer did happen to be ni-ki's favorite.

but gosh, how selfish could people be?

most importantly, though, he blamed your ex.

for? his mere existence.

it had been going just fine, peachy even, right until that person showed up, he recalls, absentmindedly tracing your lower lip—doing his best to ignore the expectant gaze you were directing towards him lest he end up doing something he'd regret.

well. regret more than he does already, that is.

when your previously cheery smile had suddenly been replaced by a pall of worry, he couldn’t help but immediately mirror your concern. you had anxiously clutched the edge of his sleeve, murmuring that you had just happened to see song eunseok. also known as your ex.

“i just… i really don’t want to face him right now.”

that was understandable. sunghoon wouldn’t want to see the face of the man who had been such a horrible boyfriend to you (your words, not his; circa last july, pre-heeseung era) either, lest he end up lobbing a punch his way.

“do you think you could hide me?” he could practically see the unease wrapped in a sheath around you from the way you chewed on your lip, “please?...”

what was sunghoon supposed to reply to that? say no to your plea? as if he could ever.

so he did what any dutiful friend would do. he let you use him.

an arm braced against the wall and another awkwardly fidgeting by his side—he wasn’t sure where it was considered appropriate to keep one’s hand while helping their friend’s girlfriend hide from an ex—he stood leaning towards you.

his broader, taller frame could cover yours with laughable ease. should the ex boyfriend happen to glance your way, he wouldn’t even realize there was another person there.

it was fine even up until that point. it wasn’t like sunghoon couldn’t control himself and immediately took advantage of the situation. no matter how much he really, really wanted to.

he would never do that to heeseung or you.

all he needed to do, he thought determinedly, was to not make eye contact and hope that this was over soon.

but suddenly, you were tugging him closer, saying the position seemed way too odd, too awkward. and now he was closer to you than ever, and quite aware of the fact that he was sweating bullets.

“hoon?... are you okay?” you had piped up, voice slightly muffled due to quite literally being pressed up against him, “you seem so flushed… is it because of the sun?”

no, it was most definitely not because of the sun.

he vaguely recalls replying back with some offhanded agreement to your words. you, bless your heart, had immediately brushed the back of your hand against his forehead, checking if he was truly okay.

sunghoon swore his breath hitched at the contact. noticeably.

only then did it sink in. the reduced proximity, the charged air brewing between your bodies. he really shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

"?..."

“i’m fine.” his voice was low, cautious. he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them—a nervous tick of his. “you need to stop this.. a guy can get the wrong idea, you know?”

you had only giggled at that airily, “no wrong ideas here, i promise.”

then, as if it was the most natural thing to do—it might as well have been, with how perfect it was—you had tipped your head upwards, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth.

“am i still being unclear?” your head was tilted at a 45° angle, playing off a cute innocence.

... there was no way he could say no to that, rationality and morals be damned.

and so instead of gracing your teasing remark with a dignified comeback, he simply let you close the distance between your lips once again.

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor, sure. but right now? right now, the only thing he’s sure of is that he’s fucked up. big time.

heeseung… one can only imagine how his friend would react to this information. none of the possible scenarios that run through his head are any good.

with a jolt, he jerks away; the hurt look on your face doing nothing to break his resolve. (mostly.)

“this isn’t—this isn’t right. you have a boyfriend, heeseung… he—he’ll be devastated.”

“what?” confusion spreads across your face, genuine enough if he stopped to take it in. “sunghoon, no that’s not it—”

“we—it’s best we forget this happened. i, um,.. i won’t say anything to him.”

a blink. and you’re laughing. wait what?

“ah…” the way your head is thrown back as you struggle to keep a straight face almost distracts him. “heeseung is actually going to burst out laughing, oh my god.”

before he can even comprehend what that could mean, you show him your phone screen opened to a chat between you and your boyfriend (?).

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : dude if you’re planning on making out w/ hoon rn do NOT do it in front of me and niki i beg.

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : cause like it’s one thing having to hear ab how u bad u want him 24/7 (it gets to a point oh my god?)

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : go get ur man by all means but i do nawt need to be seeing allat !!!!!

“see? i only made him pretend we were together because eunseok was being a little bitch. it was super funny seeing his reaction, if that helps!”

sunghoon’s not sure if he wants to now laugh himself or instead cry. maybe both at the same time? he would rather not scare you off already though. hence, he does the next best thing.

he kisses you once again. softer this time, as if he’s taking the time to savor the moment.

you part for air only when it becomes an absolute necessity. “what was that about?”

“i need to make up for lost time. all this while, i really thought i had no chance. and…” a pause that indicates he’s struggling to find the right words.

his tone is sheepish when he finally says what’s on his mind.

“and... i could’ve been a better fake boyfriend, by the way. for the record.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

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bitterreid · 1 month ago

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🐛 Choose the latter, choose the latter 🐛

Summary: Your dad has a fondness for vintage cars. You have a fondness for his mechanic. A collection of times you run into Hawkins' resident freak-turned-car-mechanic and can't seem to stay away from him. --- (This is part one of my mechanic!Eddie series My Clementine, but can be read as a stand-alone!)

Wordcount: 4.1k (fluff/smut)

Contains: fem!reader x mechanic!Eddie, teasingggg, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, eddie being down bad, incorrect car facts probably, woops

A/N: This came to me in a vision, def let me know if anyone wants a part two because I loved making this and I have more ideas for this pairing, title is from Finn's song which is a BANGER, also, am I developing a mechanic kink? Is that a thing? Does anyone else share this? It's starting to become a problem lol

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"You sure you need me today, Wayne? It's like, 700 degrees out." Eddie simply did not care enough to conceal the whining tone in his voice, already feeling the way his clothes stuck to his skin.

"Stop complaining and be grateful you got a job at all, kid." Wayne tossed over his shoulder, used to Eddie's constant chatter by now.

"No, of course, yeah, yeah, but you see this? The soles of my shoes are melting into the pavement," Eddie clumsily put his foot in the air - soles completely intact - to show Wayne, who did not turn around.

Slightly begrudged, Eddie continued his sulking pace. Not that he really minded his job, after all.

"Remember," Wayne said as he pushed the big doors to the garage open, "I need you to be on your best behaviour today. No antics, you get me?"

"Oh I got you," Eddie quips absentmindedly, too taken aback by the legion of vintage cars that awaited them. "These are all property of your supposed childhood friend? What is he? A mob boss or something?"

Wayne rolled his eyes, "Just a businessman, Eddie, and I mean it, no standing around either, he's been a customer for almost twenty years now, and I'd like to keep it that way. I even held his daughter when she was a baby, this is not someone you want to disappoint."

But Eddie was lost in the shiny contours of the expensive cars, trying to calculate just how much cash was gathered in this room alone.

"Oh and make sure to keep an eye out for the neighbourhood kids, they like to sneak looks inside, so don't let them in, understand?" Wayne got no answer, "Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, let no one in, I'm not a toddler you leave home alone for the first time I'll be fine." He waved Wayne away, perusing through the rows of cars.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Half way through the day, the first kids popped up at the large doors. At first Eddie just heard giggles, then whispers, then he saw three little heads poke through the doorway, eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight.

"No, nu-uh, out, you three!" He felt like an old man yelling for children to get off his lawn. But it worked, the kids scurried away again, giggling and screeching in the process.

Eddie wiped the sweat off his brow, again, as he had done every ten minutes since he had gotten here. He was eternally grateful for the faint breeze every once in a while, but the white tank top he was donning was - besides smeared with oil - now also almost drenched. Great. Just as he was about to bend back over the 1957 Porsche, he heard more footsteps approaching. Wayne had left to go get them some lunch in the supermarket down the street, leaving Eddie to deal with the greedy little onlookers all on his own, but he was getting tired of scaring them away.

"Just go already! How many more times do I-" his tirade halted when he turned around to find you. Huh, he thought, okay, not the normal crowd, but he wasn't one to judge. "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

You cocked your head at him, cherry lollypop between your lips, your summer dress faintly blowing in the wind. "I can't?"

Eddie was somewhat taken aback. "This is private property" was his lame response, which even sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

"Is that so?" you replied idly, stalking forward and running your fingers over the hood of one of the cars.

Eddie surged forward, "Hey! You can't just-" he grabbed your wrist, not hard, just to keep you away from the precious cars left in his care. All you did was smile up at him, completely unbothered.

Eddie was stunned, like all the files in his mind had been corrupted, and in pure desperation threw it back onto the old guy lecturing kids, "Listen here, missy," (missy, really, Eddie?) "You can't just barge in here, okay? I'm gonna need to ask you to leave, respectfully."

The cheshire cat grin on your face only grew at his words, "Ooh, respectfully? Well, if you ask so nicely…" Your tone was teasing, all drawn-out and suspiciously sweet. "I guess I'll see you around, then…"

"Eddie," he supplied, partly against his better judgement.

"See ya, Eddie." And then you were gone.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Wayne, I already know what you're going to say, but can I test-drive one of these babies?" Eddie harboured no hopes that the answer would be yes - ever - but daydreaming never hurt anyone.

All he got back from his uncle was a deadpan stare and a raised brow.

"Right, right."

I was the next day, still doing check-ups on the cars, whose drivers' seats seemed to glint alluringly at him every time he popped their hoods.

"Did I tell you about that girl who came by yesterday? That was weird,"

"Eddie. You've told me several times now, I think I get it." Wayne was changing the oil on one of the Ferrari's, wondering for the umpteenth time why, again, he had hired his own nephew?

"Oh, right. Right." Eddie couldn't seem to get you out of his head, the way you had been so unfazed, your eyes trained on him the whole time, there was an undeniable pull towards the idea of you. See you around, you had said. Faintly, somewhere, Eddie hoped it was true.

And it was.

Around noon, once again, you appeared in the door opening, this time with a different coloured lollypop and a dog circling your feet. Eddie took in the sight of you, radiant in the contrasting light of the doorway, but it wasn't him you were looking at.

"Mister Munson!" you exclaimed, a bright, honest smile taking over your features.

"Sweetheart, hey, how you been?" Wayne wiped his hands on a rag and came over to you, smiling almost affectionately.

"Not too bad, just making sure I don't melt, you know, in this weather. How about you? I see you brought help this year?"

"I'm good, honey, thanks, yeah, this is my nephew, Eddie." he gestured vaguely in Eddie's direction.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," your smile was coy and well-practiced, with a glint of mischief behind your eyes that Wayne didn't seem to notice at all when he tumbled into a slew of questions, keeping you entertained.

"Tell me, how's your father, how are you finding college? Are you home all summer?"

Eddie was gobsmacked. Could it be that he had commanded you to leave your own garage? Your own house? Oh how he wished the floor would grow teeth and swallow him right about now. Instead, he busied himself with polishing the same mirror roughly eleven times over, not so subtly eavesdropping on your conversation.

"So, I'll be heading off now, gotta take this one out for a walk," you scratched the dog behind her ear, "See you later, Mr. Munson," you looked over your shoulder, smiling sweetly "and bye, Eddie." All Eddie could muster was an impressively fake smile until you rounded the corner.

"Wayne!!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing his dirty rag at his uncle, "what the fuck??"

"Hey!" Wayne scrambled to swat the rag away, "what now-"

"That's the girl! The girl that came by! The girl that I sent away!"

Wayne could hardly suppress his smile, "You sent the daughter of the owner away? Nice, Ed, real classy."

Eddie raised his hands in desperation, "You said his daughter was a baby!"

"Boy, I said I held her as a baby! Years ago! That's what you get for never listening to me," Wayne snickered.

Eddie groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I called her missy."

At that, Wayne couldn't help but properly burst out laughing, "Missy?! Well, you have only yourself for that one, don't ya?" This earned him another rag to his face.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

That afternoon, heat almost unbearable in the garage, Wayne had a plan.

"Eddie, fetch some water, will ya?"

"Water, from where? The store?"

"Nope," Wayne answered, barely looking up from the screw he was fastening, "the kitchen."

Eddie stood up straight, "The kitchen? You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Why do you want to punish me, Wayne?"

"Boy, it's just some water, go fetch."

"I'm not a dog," Eddie mumbled as he wiped his hands and attempted to fix his untamed curls in the reflection of one of the windows. He stalked out of the garage and rounded the corner into your backyard. They had been given permission to help themselves to anything they needed, but normally Eddie made Wayde grab him stuff. Not that he was scared of you, or anything.

He climbed up the steps to your backdoor, looking down at his oil-smeared outfit that clashed starkly with the light blue kitchen tiles coming into view. If he was lucky, he would be in and out before anyone noticed him. He just had to find the cabinet you kept your cups in and get some water and he'd be a free man. Only, which cabinet?

This kitchen was about seven times as big as his own, with about seven times as many cabinets, which made the guess, somewhat… impossible. So he started opening doors, and shutting them as silently as possible after the so manieth cupboard of only decorative plates. (How many decorative plates could one family need?)

He was almost getting desperate, nearing the end of the row of doors, thinking maybe fancy people didn't use cups? Until he finally found them, shiny and sparkling. He grabbed the first one he saw, finally turning around towards the tap and-

"Jesus- oh my god, what the-" You were smiling at him from the other side of the room, languidly draped against the doorframe.

You cleared your throat, putting on fake wide eyes, "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

"I, um, I just needed to get some wat-" he barely managed.

"This is private property" you mocked, a smile seeping through your tone. The twinkle in your eyes was what finally betrayed your agenda to him.

"Ahh, ha ha, real clever, I get it." he turned the glass over in his hands, trying to will his nerves away.

"Took you long enough," you chirped, pushing yourself off the doorpost and strolling towards him. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, um, no, it's, it's for Wayne," could he sound any more like a middle schooler that got caught red-handed?

"Aah, then you'd want this," you said, pulling open the doors of your giant refrigerator and producing a bottle of sparkling water, "he likes this one the best."

Eddie had never seen the drink before, probably too fancy to keep around in the trailer, "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the blue bottle from you.

"No worries," you started backing away into the doorframe you had come from again, while Eddie grew faintly more aware of a feeling blooming in his chest that somehow wanted you to stay. "Just, yell if you need anything else, alright?"

And then you were gone. Again. The smile on your lips lingered in Eddie's mind for longer than he'd care to admit.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The next day, Eddie was determined to strike up a real conversation with you. Preferably one where he didn't scold you like a mean teacher or came off extremely clueless, if possible. But the day rolled by, and no sign of you. He even volunteered to get more water in the kitchen, hoping to run into you, but to no avail.

He had all but lost hope, until he spotted you in the garden. You were sitting at the far end, reading a book at a picnic table underneath a wooden arch covered in flowers. You were a vision, in your short shorts and the soft sunlight on your face, you could have stepped into any of those mushy romance movies Eddie pretended not to like.

"Hey, Wayne, you go ahead and leave without me, alright?" Eddie said, hoping to sound casual.

Wayne glanced up from packing his things, inquisitively at first, but then he spotted you. "Sure, kid. Just one word of advice-"

Eddie groaned in anticipation of the words to come.

"Don't call her missy, alright?" a grin taking over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, I'll try for sure." Eddie rushed away from his uncle, checking his appearance one more time in one the windows of a particularly shiny Mustang. He looked like he just worked an entire day in unbearable heat, which he did, so at least that checked out, but it would have to do. He slowed his walk, tried his best for casual, and strolled up to you in your large, well-kept garden.

"Hey there," he said, alerting you of his presence, and slid onto the bench opposite you.

You looked up from your book, not startled at all, Eddie noted, and smiled at him, "Hi."

Eddie smiled back, already scrambling for words, swallowing hard at the sight of you, framed inside a border of roses.

But conversation seemed to come easily to you. "So, which of the cars have you been dreaming of stealing the most?"

Eddie let out a surprised laugh at that.

"I bet it was the red Porsche, or the Black Corvette?" You raised your eyebrow, "or are you more of a convertible type, Eddie?"

"Aah, you got me," he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Hmh, then I bet you'd like, the dark green one," you snapped your fingers, "the uh, um, what's it called?"

"The 1955 Ford Thunderbird, with the 312 cubic inch Y-block V8 motor," Eddie blurted out, too enamoured with the car to curb his enthusiasm.

"That's right," your smile widened, "See, I got you all figured out."

Oh, Eddie was in looooveee. And very much unable to play anything cool, ever, though he was willing to die trying. "And you? Any favourites you'd run away with?"

"Oh, I'm not really a car kinda girl, only really know what my dad tells me about them."

"Oh really? But I bet you have a favourite, right?" He was trying to throw all of his charm in the ring.

"Hmm," you pondered his question, "I guess I have a soft sport for the Porsche, the light blue one?"

"The 911 T? Good choice, good choice, a lady with taste."

You laughed at that, "Yeah, you know how cars kind of have a face?"

"I, um, I can't say I do?" but he was intrigued by where this was going.

"Yeah you do, the headlights are the eyes, the bumper is the mouth, and that one just looks, kind? I don't know," your laugh was getting bashful now, almost shy, "Maybe I'm talking nonsense."

"No! No, I see it, sure, you're right, even, very friendly car. Real sweetheart." You swatted at his arm, only making his lopsided grin more fond. "No, I mean it, didn't even give me any trouble during its check-up."

"Isn't it exhausting, all these long days in this heat?" You asked.

"Eh," Eddie waved his fingers, "had better days, but it's alright, honest work, you know."

You nodded, "Seems like hard work… you must be tired." Your eyes were flicking over his body now, but your smile remained kind and compassionate.

"I mean, well, yeah, kinda…" Eddie was slowly getting flustered by your attention.

"Working with your hands all day, can't be easy…" you trailed off, fidgeting with the edge of your book, "You know, I admire that, the craft, I mean." You slowly stood up, abandoning your book and walking around the table.

Eddie swallowed hard, trying to stay cool and collected, as he couldn't tell where this was going for the life of him.

You came to a halt behind Eddie, still musing aloud, "Not afraid to get your hands dirty, and, you have to be quite strong… right?"

You trailed your fingertips over his exposed upper arm, just like how you had done to the car a few days ago, but this time, Eddie didn't stop you. Instead, he inhaled sharply, tracking your movements with his eyes.

"Right, Eddie? I bet you're really strong, carrying all those things, lifting the tires…" You bent down, your face nearing his ear, to whisper, "I bet you work really hard, Eddie, and I think- " your lips grazed the shell of his ear and Eddie thought he might faint on the spot, "I think you deserve a reward for that."

Eddie felt a shiver run down his spine at your words, his eyelids fluttering to stay open. Your hands were on his shoulders now, while your lips dragged over the hot skin of his neck. Sparks ignited all over his body upon the soft contact, rendering him speechless.

"Right, Eddie? Don't you think you deserve to be spoiled a little? For all your hard work?" You planted small kisses all over his neck, and when his head tipped back - involuntarily - you moved on to the column of his throat. Not satisfied with his lack of response, you purred his name again, "Eddie?", which poured oil on the flames igniting in his belly.

"Y- yeah, I do." His voice was hoarse, even to his own ears.

You smiled against his skin, satisfied with his reply, "That's right, so do you want me to take care of you, Eddie? Spoil you? Hmm?" Your voice was velvet to the touch, the words curling around him in an intoxicating spiral.

"Yeah, yeah, I- I do," his mumbling was interrupted by a low groan that left his throat as you planted hot, open mouthed kisses on his jaw. He was pretty sure he was in heaven.

"Turn around then," was all you said, and Eddie couldn't obey you any faster, swinging his legs over the bench to face you, no doubt red-cheeked and with dazed eyes. And you, you were a vision. So innocent looking, just standing there with your sweet smile and your gorgeous legs, looking at him, of all people.

Then, you slowly, ever so slowly, got on your knees in front of him. And oh god. Eddie thought he might lose it, might wake up from this daydream, might get told this was all a cruel joke, but the way you held his eyes as you sank down, this was his ultimate wet dream come true right before his eyes. He swallowed, by lack of anything else to do, as 'casual' had gone out the window a long time ago.

You looked so pretty sitting in between his spread legs, Eddie almost felt the need to stop you right there and ask to take a picture. But he didn't, because you were reaching your hands up to his belt now, carefully unbuckling it. The metal sounds of the clasps sounded out of place between the twittering birds in your garden, but Eddie couldn't care less, so entirely enveloped by your gentle stare and careful hands.

"May I, Eddie?" you asked, voice still as sweet as ever.

All he could do was nod, vigorously, and lift his hips to help you slide his jeans down his legs. He was hard. Of course he was, who could blame him? He had been living out his own personal wildest fantasies for the last ten minutes.

His breath hitched once more when your lips got closer to his length, but instead you attacked his thighs, planting sweet, soft kisses on the pale skin there. You were driving him wild, insane, mad, deranged, you name it. All of it the work of your plush lips on his skin.

Suddenly, a clear thought made its way through the fog in his brain "W- what about your parents?" There was a clear wobble to his voice, but he was under strict instructions from Wayne not to screw this up.

You laughed a little, maybe at his question, maybe at his disheleveld state, "Out of town, Eddie, don't worry."

"Oh," he swallowed thickly, "right, yeah. Neighbours?"

"What neighbours?" you giggled, as indeed, your house was located far away from the rest of the town.

"Right, right," he couldn't think straight with your lips so close to his aching dick that was straining his boxers by now.

You smoothed your hands up and down his legs, "Relax, Eddie, lay back, let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he tried to chill, but the mix of nerves, butterflies and arousal in his stomach was a hard one to swallow. All of his efforts, though, went completely out the window as soon as you palmed his dick through the fabric. A sinful, drawn out moan immediately escaped his lips upon the first experimental stroke you gave.

You giggled quietly, a matching heat catching on your cheeks as you leaned forwards and licked his leaking tip through his boxers. Another sound escaped him, and he was sure by now his mouth was hanging open, bewitched by the (un)holy sight before him.

"You like that, Eddie?" you purred, slowly working his dick over.

"Y- yeah, oh fuck, yeah."

"Good," you said as you finally hooked your fingers behind the waistband, pulling his boxers down. "Be as loud as you want, by the way, I think it's really hot."

The compliment, paired with the casual way you said it, made the burn on Eddie's cheeks even brighter, the blush now creeping down his chest as well. You looked absolutely angelic, and yet absolutely sinful, the way your beautiful face was framed between his thighs now, and your delicate hand wrapped around his dick.

When you licked up his shaft for the first time, fire sparked right through his entire body, igniting something stronger, deeper, than he had ever felt before. Your tongue wrapped around his head next, while it glided between your soft, plush lips. Eddie was so gone, groaning in pleasure with every stroke.

You worked up a steady rhythm, your mouth as warm and intoxicating as your touch. The way you looked up at him, all innocent and pretty, made Eddie's insides swoop, drawing a high-pitched whine from him which he didn't know he was capable of.

His eyes wanted to roll back into his skull, but he fought to keep them open, not wanting to miss a single second. He carefully weaved his fingers through your hair, not so much steering you as just going along with your movements, craving more contact. "This okay?" he asked, voice raspy and deep.

You hummed around his dick, sending shivers of pleasure through Eddie's body. He was sure you'd be the death of him.

Eddie was getting closer, though he tried to hold off from finishing for as long as possible, both to save his ego and to savour every last second of this moment. But your skilled movements and honestly just the mere sight of you kneeled between his legs alone made it extremely hard on him.

His moans became breathier, and he knew that he was getting close. His heart was pounding in his chest, the muscles in his abdomen were flexing tight, and pleasure was clouding his brain to the point that the only thing that existed in the whole universe for him were you, and the way you looked, and felt around him.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart," he moaned the words rather than said them, "Oh, fuck, I'm so- so close." But you didn't stop. On the contrary, you kept going, even faster, sucking the head exactly the way he liked it. "Oh god, jesus, fuck," all kinds of profanities tumbled from his lips, feeling his high rapidly approaching. You looked up at him one final time, your big eyes locking onto his, and that's what did him in.

His orgasm crashed over him in burning, white- hot waves of pleasure, making him moan out your name over and over as he finished. His hands were still in your hair, feeling the way you carefully worked him through his high. When he opened his eyes again, he saw you wipe your mouth, a satisfied smile on your face.

Eddie was still beyond dishevelled, completely out of it, you name it. He watched you with wide eyes and pink cheeks as he caught his breath, still half in disbelief about what just happened.

You licked your lips, still kneeling before him, "Was that good?"

"Good? Good?" (Eddie's brain had stopped working like half an hour ago) "Sweetheart, 'good' would be the understatement of the century." He brushed your hair behind your ear, "That was, fuck, that was like, the best moment of my life."

You laughed at that, finally standing up and dusting off your knees, "Ah, don't flatter me, Munson." Your smile was bright and warm, and Eddie found himself in deep, deep trouble.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx + If anyone has requests, tell meeeee, and lmk if I should make this a series :))))

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #mechanic Eddie munson #mechanic!eddie #bitterwrites #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

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miserycanary · 1 year ago

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DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play.

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused.

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar.

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.”

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.”

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine!

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap.

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

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himbosandhardwear · 7 months ago

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Steddie I Soulmate AU I 2k I Rated Mature I idiot4idiot

The thing about linking with your soulmate, you never knew when it was going to happen. There were horror stories about it happening during weddings to someone else or while performing heart surgery or landing a plane, but linking was so rare, stories like that seemed more like fairy tales than cautionary ones.

If anyone had asked Eddie what he thought about it, he would've said the odds of there being some guy out there destined to be his mate, let alone that he'd have to worry about linking during some critical moment, were astronomically low.

He'd be wrong.

Because his ears are ringing, his vision has tunnelled, and there's an empty vacuum where his usual chaotic thoughts should be. All signs pointing toward-

Hello?

Jesus H. Christ, not now! Not right now, this cannot be happening now. Quick! Think of something else! Uhhh… Golems! Ice golems! Or maybe frost giants. Yeah! Not having hate sex with your arch nemesis. Shit! Stop thinking about it! Frost giants, frost giants, frost giants!

Hate sex? He hears echo around his noggin next. Arch nemesis?

Fuuuuuck. No, darlin’, don't even worry about that stray thought! Nothing to see here. I'm, uh, baking! Yeah. Brownies. For a charity bake sale

A long pause, empty space between them, before he says, I don't believe you. I think you are having sex

Sex?! He screeches. How dare you! I would never!

You would. Go balls deep into a guy you don't even like, sounds like to me. Class act.

Oh god, there’s gotta be a way to salvage this.

No, let me explain, please!

Knock yourself out

Right. So, this guy, I know him from school, right? And he was always kind of a jerk. The space between them pings with a sort of stung feeling but Eddie doesn't understand how any of this works yet so he ignores it. But we end up having a few mutual friends, and this one really weird event happens that forces us to, like, team up, I guess. After all that I'm spending more time around the guy and he's not so bad. Invited me over to smoke up with him, which was cool. I'm gonna be totally honest, I'm not sure how exactly we got here, the sex part, but it’s pretty hot and heavy, kinda aggressive, so… yeah. Hate sex I guess

Soulmate is quiet again. His feelings bleed through anyway, at least Eddie's pretty sure that's what he's getting. It feels like embarrassment and disappointment.

You okay? Did I scare you off?

You don't like the guy at all? You said arch nemesis

Oh. Uh. Well… How did he explain to his future partner, if he hadn't already ruined it, that he likes him plenty, he's just been holding him at arms length, metaphorically, because he assumed the guy was straight? Up until roughly twenty minutes ago. He should probably start with honesty.

No, I like him okay. He's not as bad as I'd always thought. We give each other shit but I'm pretty sure it's just left over bullshit stereotypes from high school. I bully him about his music taste, he bullies me about my shitty van. That type of thing

…Right

He waits to hear back from his soulmate but he's not very talkative. That's okay, Eddie can talk enough for both of them.

So, what were you up to when we linked? Not driving I hope

He can hear the guy sighing over the link, which is worrying.

You'll never believe it, but I'm also having sex at the moment

Seriously? That's hilarious

Yeah. A hoot

Not having fun?

I was. But I recently found out the guy doesn't like me that much. So, yeah, real mood killer

Oh man. That sucks

Oh my god. Yeah, it really does. Kinda wish he'd get off of me so we can get the awkward part over with but he's distracted at the moment

Doing what?! Eddie yells, offended on his behalf.

“He’s busy not realizing he linked to the guy he was hate fucking.”

Huh?

“Eddie, open your fucking eyes.”

That's Steve talking.

He blinks his eyes open to see Steve looking up at him. He's not pleased.

Wait

“Yeah.”

Oh my god

“As impressive as it is that you managed to stay hard through that whole thing, I'd appreciate it if you-” He hisses as Eddie, rudely he realizes, pulls out without warning.

He scrambles to the end of the bed, bunching up the comforter around his junk. “I'm so sorry, fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry. I don't… I didn't…”

He can't fix this, he starts to slowly comprehend. He's made Steve think he hates him.

“Nah, it's cool. I get it.”

I don't hate you, I swear. You have to believe me

“Sure, Eddie.” He's yanking his briefs back on, angry and trying not to show it. “You just don't like me much.” Can't believe I did this again. So fucking stupid

Eddie's certain he's not meant to hear any of that but he responds anyway.

You're not stupid. Please let me explain

“You already did. And I am fucking stupid,” he snaps. “Here I thought we were flirting this whole time and you thought we were bullying each other. That's real fuckin’ stupid of me. I'd convinced myself you actually-” He snaps his teeth shut but Eddie can still hear the unfinished -liked me. “I really wish you would control your feelings, dude. You're broadcasting your horror straight into my head.”

“I don't know how to stop,” he quietly admits.

“Well if you'd ever shown up to health class you'd know how to control it.”

I never thought I would get a soulmate

Steve's surprise at that pings around his brain before he does what Eddie can't and shuts it down.

“I did. I've been thinking about it for years.”

And you ended up with me… And I ruined it before we even got started. I ruined it. Steve Harrington is my soulmate and I ruined it. What the fuck

“You don't have to say it like I'm some kind of prize.” He steps into his jeans and tugs them back up to his hips, not even bothering to do them up. Which is- “I guess it's nice that you think I'm hot. That's something. Maybe we'll be the first casual hookup soulmates.”

He has to fix this. Somehow. Think, god damnit! Wait! That's it! He just has to show Steve what he's thinking!

“I wish you wouldn't.”

“Too bad!” He snaps back.

Okay, as embarrassing as this is about to be, he has to tell the truth.

Eddie was in the 8th grade, Steve in 7th, when they first met. Or, when Eddie first noticed Steve anyway, they never really spoke to each other, their cliques already established by then. But Eddie can remember it like it was yesterday. It was lunch, Eddie was walking by with his bagged PB&J, when he heard it. Steve laughing. It was so joyful, Eddie didn't even know what he was laughing about but it made him smile anyway. Of course one of Steve's shitty jock friends caught him staring and called him a queer freak but that wasn't unusual.

“What the fuck, Eddie? Why do you remember that? And how are you so good at visualizing?”

He ignores the questions to move on to the next memory. Eddie's sophomore year they somehow ended up in the same Shop class. Again, they never spoke but he got to watch Steve work, tongue poking out while he concentrated, the proud look on his face when he whittled some hunk of wood into a recognisable shape.

“I forgot about that. It was a dolphin. I was dating Chelsea Hosteller, they were her favorite animal.”

“Lucky her.”

“Hey, fuck you, man, you're the one showing me this shit! What am I supposed to assume from any of this? You thought I was cute? So what? You clearly don't like who I am as a person, so what difference does it make?”

He's not going to have the patience for every single moment, and they're a lot of them, Eddie realizes that now. So he speed runs through them, making sure to send every bit of feeling through their link.

Steve in his Scoops outfit, luring Eddie to the mall but never making him brave enough to go in. The horror of not knowing whether Steve was alive or dead when he heard about the mall burning down. The joy of finding him at Family Video, somewhere he had reason to visit.

You never even talked to me there

Listening to every word to every story Henderson told him about Steve and his bravery. Pretending to be annoyed so no one noticed he was eating it up. Getting to know the real Steve over Spring Break, the giddiness he couldn't quite tamp down, even as he was scared shitless. The pain of knowing Steve was still in love with Nancy Wheeler, even though it was the obvious narrative to Steve's fairytale life. Of course he gets the girl at the end.

What? Is that why you-

The way he stuck around afterward, even though their dynamic was more antagonistic than friendly, and the way Eddie thrived off of every snarky comment. How it felt like banter even though Eddie knew, by all logic and reason, Steve was merely tolerating his presence. They would always be antithetical to each other, circling but never meeting.

Eddie, no

Steve growling ‘Do you ever shut up!’ before pouncing on him downstairs. The heavy pounding of his heart as he wrestled Steve up the stairs. The way his brain never did catch up to what was happening or why, until it was too late, and he was ruining both the greatest sex he'd ever had and also the chance to prove, though he's still completely unworthy, that he has already been primed and ready to fall for Steve for years. The shame of ruining it. The heartbreak of ruining it. The teeny, tiny spark of hope as Steve stares him down. He has to close his eyes to avoid it, lest he say something stupid and fuck it up again.

You…do like me?

Yeah, Stevie. I like you a whole lot. I just didn't think I was allowed to like you. I didn't realize you liked me too. I'm sorry I said all that shit earlier. I didn't want to tell the guy I'd just linked with that I was thoroughly enjoying the chance to sleep with this guy I'd had a crush on for years. That seemed rude

The bed dips and so does Eddie's stomach. Steve's enormous hands slide up his neck, into his hair, and gently cradle his face as he leans in to kiss Eddie square on the mouth.

Oh. Hi

This is nice

I think so too. How do you feel about finishing what we started but this time we both know that we like each other?

That sounds awesome. But are you sure? I really, really fucked up the first time

I thought you were perfect up until you called me your arch nemesis

I have been told that sometimes I'm a little dramatic

You know what, that's fair. I really should've taken that as a compliment, if anything

See? Now you get it

What I'm getting is another condom. Hold my ankle so I don't slide off the bed

You got it, baby

Unbelievable. Salvaged the wreckage of his own stupidity and managed to bag the hottest guy in town! Score one for the nerds!

“I heard that.”

#soulmate au #steddie #ficlet #my writing

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bunny-jpeg · 3 months ago

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virtual tracks

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, sim racing, oral sex/face sitting (reader receiving), masturbation, dirty talk, sub!max

you knew what you were getting into when you first saw the sim racing set up in his apartment. redline was a big part of his life, just like formula one. even when he wasn't streaming, it still meant a big deal to him.

and you were happy that he had a hobby! after all, it wasn't the worst video game to play. you were fine with him playing his silly little racing games and chit-chatting with friends and fans.

but sometimes, you wanted to break that set up with a hammer and toss it over the balcony.

how was this possible? you were standing there in nothing but blue lace panties and one of his redbull windbreakers, the zipper down enough to show your wonderful cleavage. you were inviting him for sex. and max was not paying an ounce of attention.

you were almost dumbfounded until you crossed your arms and said, "max."

"in a minute, my treasure. one second." he said, his eyes didn't peel away from the screen. he steered the virtual car around the curb on a virtual track. you pinched the bridge of your nose and zipped the windbreaker back up.

you went over and grasped the back of his chair and leaned, "max verstappen. for someone with sharp enough vision to win four championships. you are painfully blind." and placed another hand loosely at his neck.

"just let me finish this race and i swear i'll go down on you until you cum at least three times." he promised as he felt an uptick in his pulse. your engagement ring glimmered in the low light.

"you're picking a video game over me, max?" you leaned in a little closer, "thought i taught you better than that. i dressed up for you and you're too busy with your games." your hand lowered to his shorts where you got your hand under the waistband. you gave his cock a little attention, feeling him grow hard under your touch.

he instantly crashed the sim car into a wall and let out a sweet little moan. there was the max you knew and loved. the man who whimpered.

"please, my love." he shuddered, "i'm sorry."

"i understand, you boys love your silly little games. but, now that you're done with that level. why don't you keep your promise?" and played with his cock until he started to get up from his seat.

you knew that max was smart and to see him put that brain to use was always a good sign. you guided him to the bedroom. he let you lead him then pushed him onto the bed.

he reached for you and tried to grab you, but you swatted his hands away. your tone was stern as you said, "look, don't touch. got it?" he then put his hands back on the bed, but those blue eyes were trained on you as you stripped of your minimal clothes. if he had behaved, he would have been able to undress you like a present. he felt his cock twitch in his shorts.

"look at you, maxie." you purred as you got onto the bed, "aren't you the sweetest thing ever? mister big and tough on the track, but when it's just you and i, well, you're just a cute little kitten." you reached for him and kissed him firmly on the lips, "see you look better on your back than in front of a screen." you laid him out on the bed.

he shifted on the bed and felt his pulse spike once more. he could already feel the heat in his face, you stripped him of his black shirt and his shorts. you ran a finger up his hard cock and he almost came from that, you just giggled.

you licked your lips, "do your little racing friends know that you're such a good boy for me? so sweet and loved? does your teammate know? the other drivers on the grid? i bet everyone can see if on your face." your voice sounded nurturing, but your words were erotic.

it was no secret that you were more assertive, some would consider you a little brash. but max loved it. you were quite the pair. you were unlike anyone else he had ever been with.

"are you going to make me cum with that tongue of yours? you leaned in for a kiss before you got on top of him. when you broke the kiss, you got your knees planted on either side of his head.

he licked his lips and you pressed your wet cunt up against his mouth. he clenched onto the sheets as he rubbed his tongue against your pussy. he shuddered as his cock leaked pre-cum.

he was stupid for not focusing on you. you dressed up so nicely for him. racing should have been the last thing on his mind when he could be devouring your sweet, sweet cunt.

you reached down and held onto his shirt blond hair. you remarked with a small chuckle, "your hair is getting a little long, my dear. it feels nice, a good length to yank on."

he groaned, you weren't going to pull out the strands. but the small tug made him only further aroused.

maybe it was how good he made you feel, but you were feeling generous. you looked at him between your legs as you rocked your hips against him. you said softly, "max, my love. you must be so needy. you can touch yourself."

he mumbled a 'thank you' as he reached for his cock and he stroked himself. he made a blissed out noise as he feverishly pleasure you with his tongue. he swore under his breath as he felt the sexual pleasure grow.

max was so good for you, and you were so good for him. he moaned, as did you. you held onto the headboard and moved your hips further against his face. you clenched your thighs around his head.

he knew how to eat you out so well. he was talented with his tongue. he knew the pace that really got you going, the pressure to make you eager for more. his talent, to make you moan.

you groaned and pulled his hair a little more as you rubbed up against him further. you cursed under your breath.

"master with that tongue, max." you shakily exhaled as you moved further up against him, "look at you, fuck. you look good under me, max. you look better with my thighs crushing your skull." you looked as you felt the pleasure continue to course through you.

his tongue grazed across your clit, his licks were a little more heavy and it made your pulse jump as the heat coursed through you. fire in your blood as the hot blond between your legs made your cunt with sexual want.

"drive me crazy, honey." you purred, "you know what you do to me, is that why you were so focused on that stupid game because you are such a tease." you clenched your thighs a little tighter, he groaned as you said, "you're such a tease, max."

his thought were swamped, he could only think of you, you were intoxicating. alluring. you made his cock throb, even as he stroked himself. he could feel pre-cum slide down his knuckles. he breathed through his nose as he licked your beautiful cunt.

heaven.

that was all could be said about you. he needed you deeply, carnally. he yearned for you, in a certain way that he could only describe as being heavenly. is sang in his soul. he yearned for you, needed you. he loved you, even when your thighs were squishing his head. to die by them around be a noble death.

you moaned as you felt the pleasure brew in you. the intense feeling soon reached its peak and you held onto his hair tightly and continued to move against his face. it was an intense feeling as the warmth continued to flow through you.

max continued to jerk himself off, he needed his release soon. the pressure of erotic heat was far too much for him. everything in his body ran hot as he stroked himself quickly. his cock ached for you, when you moaned, he knew he was close. his pace was quick, matching with how he gorged himself on your cock. his dedicating to pleasing you.

you panted heavily, "fuck, fuck, yes. fuck, max. that's it." your noises got louder as you felt climax so close, like it was on the tip of your tongue.

as you came on his tongue, he came around his hand. you finished together. you slowed your ace to a stop and relaxed around him. you panted heavily and pushed hair out of your face to get some relief on your heated cheeks. you got off his face, your pussy was soaked.

you laid out next to him and let him catch his breath for a moment.

"fuck, you're so good to me." you said as you wiped your wetness from his mouth before you went in for a hot kiss.

he got the cum off his hand before he pulled you closer to him and kissed your sweaty forehead. he happily accepted your affection.

"this was amazing." he purred as he held you close to him. you felt good in his arms. he kissed you head and relaxed further into the bed.

you took him by the chin and made him look up at you. you said to him, "you said you were going to make me cum three times." then smiled, "time to get to work, max and then maybe you can go back to sim racing."

"yes, please." he said as he got back between your legs,. he was focused the same way he was when he raced.

you chuckled as he gripped your thigh, "good boy." <3

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frownyalfred · 5 months ago

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Okay I was re-reading my “Hal and Bruce in the JL showers” fic and it made me remember something I forgot to add into that fic, which probably didn’t fit as well because it was mostly poking fun at Clark’s Midwestern sensibilities. But someone also mentioned it in a comment so I wanted to expand on it here:

If you’re Clark, and you’re coming into your Kryptonian powers at that awkward age somewhere between elementary and high school (incrementally, heat vision one year and super strength later, maybe) and one day you’re just crazy ripped? The Kryptonian genes decide THAT is when you get the full benefits of sun and therefore the Superman physique?

You’re not taking your shirt off around anyone who’s not your parents. Not in the communal showers, not during gym class, not at swim practice. Middle or high school kids are BRUTAL. You’d think abs aren’t things to make fun of, but it’s not about the abs, it’s the fact that they’re different. Why does Clark suddenly have abs? Does he think he’s better than us? Why is he so freakishly tall all of a sudden? Is he working out every night all night, and that’s why he’s not hanging out with us?

It prompts questions, jealousy, and — most importantly — staring. Nonstop staring, good, bad, and neutral. People are confused. The gym teacher doesn’t understand how this scrawny kid got built up virtually overnight. And why he still can’t participate in sports worth a damn. It’s like he doesn’t even try.

So yeah. Clark keeps his body covered, from that point onward. Clark Kent can’t explain those muscles, not until he’s moved and set up a new life somewhere else. He starts laying the groundwork for bumbling reporter Clark Kent — he wears big shirts, poorly fitted pants, anything that softens or hides the lines of his physique so he doesn’t get questions.

And while we do see him embrace himself and his Kryptonian heritage later on, I always wonder how much that period of potential shame and avoidance early on in life affected his confidence later — not as Superman obviously, not as the shirtless muscled guy on an oil rig saving people, but as Clark. The guy who sees Hal and Bruce showering near each other without any sense of shame, or any staring, or really any value judgements at all about appearance other than “do I have goo in my hair?”

#anyway that’s my bad ramble rant this morning #about how maybe it is just Midwestern sensibilities #but what if it was also internalized shame from childhood #because he was different #Clark Kent #superman #smallville #myfic #theresurrectionist #batman #bruce wayne #Hal Jordan #green lantern

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actuallynickels · 19 days ago

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Inspired by the previous ask I got, I wanted to talk about some thoughts I have on shipping, not just with Digital Circus, but with all fandoms.

Also to be clear: NO HATE TO THAT USER! They just had a valid question that activated my fandom autism lmao

I think fandom spaces would get 1000% less toxic if people stopped touting what ships would most likely be canon, should be canon, so on and so forth.

I generally see two camps when it comes to shipping and it feels a lot like one side just does not like the other because they can't understand them and it causes so much unnecessary fighting.

Camp 1: I just think they're neat -smashes characters together like barbies-

Camp B: I think these two have the best chemistry based on their canon dynamics and so I firmly believe they are/should be canon

Camp 1 is my camp. I just like smashing characters together and seeing how their dynamic would play out in fun scenarios regardless of canon and have no interest in how "realistic" it is. Going to use a real world example I experienced to demonstrate. Funny enough A LOT of people were toxic as hell to me back in the day because this is how I shipped Radiodust.

Love/Hate. Annoying the fuck out of each other. Basically zero romance. Tons of fun.

This is where Camp B comes in. And I want to be clear not everyone on this general side of shipping is shitty or toxic. But a lot of people who see shipping as an exercise in what should or should not be canon then started to swoop in and make all sorts of insane claims that I support abuse and in particular the abuse of queer men??? and that I'm acephobic???????

And I think this happens because Camp B folks who think of shipping only in terms of canon don't/can't understand that not everyone shares that mindset like Camp 1. So to Camp B these weird unrealistic ships feel almost like an attack on them and the canon if that makes sense?

I completely understand how it feels that way. And let me be CLEAR. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with shipping according to the canon. That can be super fun as well! I have a lot of ships that line up with canon just as much as I have absurd ones. However I think the issue comes in when people who ship according to their vision of canon then believe they have the CORRECT opinion and need to be validated by the canon.

The things you love are valid by the sheer virtue of you enjoying them. It doesn't need to be canon or validated by anyone else but YOU!

But anyway thanks for sticking with my long winded rant lmao

TL;DR Shipping is silly and fun. Don't take it seriously.

#actuallypost

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revelboo · 9 months ago

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An idea for the Metroplex x reader fics in the long term, it’d be interesting to consider the reader finding a way to merge with him sometime down the line! It might be difficult to explain with a human reader, but a little plot convenience never hurt anyone.

If you haven’t read the Windblade comics, merging is where a regular cybertronian connects with a titan, sharing one mind and also having access to their entire frame. It’s cool stuff. When Windblade does it, she does see a vision of Metroplex (relatively regular sized) holding out his hand to her.

I’ve been thinking about titans a lot and I think while merged Metroplex would be able to feel as if he’s being held like a normal bot, even if that’s not really happening. I ramble on. The Windblade comics are so good I recommend them to everyone, that is my message. Thank you for delivering us top tier fics with lightning speed 🫡

Looks they’ve pulled the IDW TF comics from Kindle aside from what I already own. I need to track down a copy of the Windblade series and drag the bulk of my physical comics out to reread.

I Can Feel You Pt 5

Metroplex x Reader

• It’s a slow process. One word at a time. Repeating yourself until he slowly, painstakingly responds. Simple things since that’s all you’re really capable of with the limited phrases in the educational files, writing a question and repeating it out loud for the massive Autobot. Then quickly copying down his response to try and translate it. You spend all night that way, stretched out on the floor, the aching in your back and shoulders distant as you focus on Metroplex. On talking to him, needing to let him know you see him. He’s not alone or forgotten.

• Centering himself with the feel of your heartbeat, he watches over you as you sleep, cheek on your outstretched arm where you’d fallen asleep waiting on him to form a response as day broke. All night speaking to him, that knowledge spreads warm through his spark even as exhaustion drags at him. Making such small things, detailed things, so difficult, sapping his energy and ability to focus. But to be able to talk to you, it’s worth it. Do you understand how much the effort means to him? That you’d tried at all when no one else bothers?

• It’s mid afternoon when you wake up, body aching from laying on the hard floor. Pushing yourself upright, you lean back against your berth. Reluctantly pulling yourself to your feet, your sleepy mind almost doesn’t notice the dark rectangle of missing floor in a corner. Moving closer, you peer into the darkness below, seeing stairs winding down and as you look, biolights flare, running like circuitry in the walls. Did he want you to go down there? He must, but your nerves jangle as you lay a hand against the wall, faintly uneasy at the claustrophobic space and darkness. He can’t know how much you hate small spaces, but he’s reaching out again. You can’t just ignore him. “Okay,” you whisper, skin prickling as you start down the stairs. Realizing he’s leading you into his massive frame and unsure how you feel about that.

• Your palm slides along him as you move slowly down the stairs and he can feel you trembling faintly. Afraid? Why now? Flaring biolights for you as you keep going, he’s aware of the way you keep looking up toward the rectangle of light, of the way your breathing is becoming less steady. Trusting him enough to keep going, though. But so silent. He’s so used to you talking to him constantly that he’s very aware that you’re not talking. Just a little further, though. Deeper inside the labyrinth of his frame. He’s not even sure if this will work, but wants to try. Needs to know.

#transformers x reader #metroplex x reader #idw metroplex

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violentdeliiights · 5 months ago

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admiring

i haven't written properly in so long and i fully blame uni and my silly sad little brain but i'm back! hopefully won't be such a massive break next time!!

this is fully just drabble to be honest- nothing really happens it's just pure fluff but i was watching austin powers for the millionth time and the fembots' night dresses gave me a vision

cw: female reader, slight misogyny at the start??, simon likes to stare but so does reader, just fluff

word count: <1k

Simon had never been one to bother with looks.

His mother had raised him to view women as more than their outward appearance. He couldn’t stand hearing boys in school reducing their girlfriends to mere sexual objects, or ranking girls in their year based on their tits.

It made him irrationally angry when he was on base and would overhear recruits talking so crudely about their own wives and girlfriends.

Even when he was asked what his ‘type’ was, his answer was always, “s’Long as she’s a good’en I’m not fussed.” His partners were his- what right did anyone else have to make comments about their appearance? He’d always thought his partners were gorgeous, but he didn’t have specific demands or things he was attracted to.

Looks would fade, the number of the scales would vary, but a good heart would remain always.

However, he can't help but think every time he looks at you that he truly hit the jackpot. Your face fits perfectly in the cradle of his palm, his arms wrap warmly around your waist, your legs entwine snugly with his under bedsheets, his chin slots just right in the space between your ear and your shoulder.

Most importantly, your heart has a glow that he’s pretty sure he can see every time he looks at you. He’s never met a person so good. Someone that just…gets him. You are his person through and through.

His favourite hobby when he comes back from deployments is to simply just observe you. Honestly, he’s not even bothered if you find it creepy. He just loves to admire you. Can’t believe he got so lucky- a big, belligerent brute like him with such a perfect lass?

You’re partial to those flouncy, vintage nightdresses- the ones that kind of remind him of the Austin Powers girls he used to fancy as a young lad. Since you got together, he’s bought you countless of them; he adores how you look in them and how feminine and confident they make you feel.

Sat against the headboard with your kitten, Toast, napping on his broad chest is how he finds himself most evenings, watching you through the mirror of your vanity. He knows your routine like the back of his hand at this point; after a shower you make yourself a sleepy time tea, wash your face, and then sit at your vanity to put your rollers in and do your night time skincare. It’s the same routine you’ve had since the very beginning of your relationship, and so a couple weeks in, Simon knew he had to get you your own vanity at his place- the same one you now sit at in your shared flat every night.

Even when you’re going out with friends or putting makeup on for a date night, he loves to just come and admire you. Admittedly, he still doesn’t understand the daily torture of that eyelash curler fucker but he knows better than to question anything you do.

His greatest miss when he’s away on deployment are- other than your presence in itself- those moments every night when he can just sit in your silent company and admire.

You’d only questioned him once, back when you’d first got together before anything was even official; “Everything okay?” you’d asked amusedly through the mirror, feeling Simon’s eyes burning holes through your face.

“Just like lookin’ at you, birdie.” His stare never faltered, and his tone was so matter of fact that a blush bloomed across your freshly moisturised skin.

After that, it was just an unspoken thing. Even when you weren’t at your vanity- on the couch watching a film together, bustling about the kitchen for your keys when you’re late for work, strolling through the little park just behind your flat, sitting across from him at the dinner table.

Part of it comes from the military background of course- if he can see you at all times, nothing can happen to you.

Unknowingly, Simon isn’t the only one who loves to stare.

Most of the time, he’s fast asleep by the time his head hits the pillow and you’ve always been a night owl, preferring to stay up late with a cup of tea and a book. Therefore, there are a few hours each night where Simon is dead to the world, Toast curled into the crook of his neck, and cuddled so innocently into the soft downy duvet you insisted on that you can use to simply admire.

His scarred cheek fits so perfectly in the cradle of your palm, his arm winds just right around your waist so that he can be near you even when unconscious, his legs slip snugly around yours under the sheets. His heart shines, even when you know he doesn’t think very highly of himself, plagued by his past. But you know he’s a good man. Your Simon. Your person.

He was so reserved when you first met. Cards kept so close to his chest- the mask he never took off even on the first date. It makes you admire him even more when considering how far you’ve come. How much he’s grown as a person. How good you are for each other.

The scars never bothered you. The tattoos covering decades of battle wounds only made you want to open him up. The way his nose was permanently crooked, his hearing damaged from years of living in warzones, his lips scarred and showing teeth when he wasn’t smiling. None of it mattered to you. He was a good man, and his heart was the most noble thing about him.

#simon ghost riley #fanfiction #cod fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

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mutiny-huyutiny · 1 month ago

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so everyone (me and two other people) have been talking about the whole burda sculptor x painter au and i remembered about this small comic i made a few months ago

translation: [hey, can we go already?]

and a few thoughts about my vision below the cut

so paradoxically i see daniil as a person who does not understand modern art, does not respect it and doesn’t like it. i mean, in his eyes, there are a bunch of tala ted people who just ???do nothing???? with their skills and ideas. it annoys him af, because if ‘all those skills and ideas were applied on practice (i.e something that has a ‘proper utility’. miracles are supposed to work for people’s sake, they must serve us as natural resources do. so, he respects basically any artist who experiment not on the canvas, but right here, before themself. he respects architects, directors and those who try to make impact on a person or challenge their mind through the art that physically exist, those who prepare theoretical part of miracle. well, you can argue with a lot of points here. i can argue. i do not agree with him on how art utility works, there are many contradictions, and i find his approach to the art wrong. (also there are many nuances i can’t care enough to discuss it with myself (or anyone else) in this tumblr post

contrary, artemy, as a person who feels, as a person who’s lead by love and intuition, as a person who knows lines - any art that was made with a concept, with a thought, any art is special to him. he can feel this art, almost can hear what it says or that it’s silent. it speaks with him and he listens. he loves it, he finds it interesting and intriguing. art doesn’t necessarily needs a utility, miracle does not need a human nor does it have to serve humanity.

#art #pathologic #digital art #daniil dankovsky #artemy burakh #burakhovsky #мор утопия #даниил данковский #артемий бурах

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prettydaisygirl · 1 month ago

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Oh god I love all your fics you are so amazing ♡♡♡♡

¿Can I have another firefighter au about James? That beautiful man driving me crazy. Sorry, but not sorry. .

Maybe where this time, if there's a dangerous fire in the reader building and he can't find her in her apartment or anywhere and he's so nervous going outside that he starts asking everyone if they haven't seen her.

And he doesn't realize that she comes back from work and runs to hug her and we're all happy.

hi nonnie thank you so much for this req! I love my man Chief James, he is so hot. Hope you're having a wonderful day, lovely <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who can't be found during a fire ✿ 977 words

cw: fem!reader, apartment building fire, everyone is okay, James panicking

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James hears the call the moment it comes in. It’s not you, but it is your building. Of course he recognizes the address. No one seems panicked or alarmed, which isn’t surprising given your building’s fire alarm goes off every other day it seems.

As Fire Chief (and as your boyfriend) James takes the call more seriously than the others do. He doesn’t blame them for it, though he does yell at them to pick up the pace. After a while it does start to feel like a ‘boy who cried wolf’ situation. The fire truck gets loaded up, the boys all step in, lights go on, and they’re off.

Things change the closer they get to your flat. The plume of smoke billowing into the air creates a tension that makes everyone antsy, and the visibly growing fire when they when the truck onto the street has them all jumping into action. Especially James.

Because now, he’s worried. He hasn’t heard from you in a few hours, which wouldn’t normally be unusual, but right now your building is on fire. James’ heart pounds, he shouts orders at his crew and they get to work. His eyes scan the crowd, everyone looks terrified and panicked, but he’s not looking to see how the bystanders feel. He’s looking for you, and your face is not here.

Some of his men begin to pull out the hose, some pull out ladders, and James and a few others run into the building to search for any remaining people trapped inside. James wants to beeline directly for your apartment.

He can hear various shouts of ‘clear!’ as he jogs his way up the stairs. He still does his job, looks around to check for others, but his main mission is to find you. To see your face and know that you’re okay.

The smoke pours through the halls, clouding his vision. He knows the path to your apartment by heart, and he follows it without hesitation. He doesn’t find anyone else on his way there. The fire has grown significantly by the time he reaches your flat. He flings the door open roughly, the lock crumbling under the strength of his hand and the heat of the fire. He doesn’t care about your door, shouting your name as he pushes into your space. He checks your bedroom, your bathroom, the kitchen, but you aren’t anywhere.

This, understandably, causes him to panic more. He double checks everywhere, but as the fire continues to build, he knows he doesn’t have much time. He rechecks every room and hallway on his way down despite the fact that he’s already checked them once.

“Did you find anyone?” He shouts to his crew as he walks out. Water sprays down from hoses, slowly helping contain the flames. He hears various responses of ‘No, Chief!’ ‘No, Sir!’ But the denials don’t help the adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins. He stomps through the crowd, his height giving him an advantage as he pushes through people. He’s not trying to be rude or rough, but he feels like he can’t even intake a full breath.

He calls for you, your name leaving his lips in sharp gasps. He can’t find you, he can’t see you, he’s fully on the verge of a panic attack. It’s very unlike him, but the tightening of his chest is distinct.

He practically runs over Remus, whose face morphs into one of confusion when he sees the look in James’ eyes. “You alright, Chief?” He asks, and it’s only then that James even registers Remus’ face.

“I’m- I can’t find-”

“Looking for your Angel?” Remus asks, then gestures across the street to where you’re standing by your parked car, phone pressed to your ear. “She just got here, came looking for you while you were inside.”

James doesn’t hear the tail end of Remus’ words, already halfway to you. You stand as he approaches, the phone still pressed to your ear as he gathers you into his arms. You hug him back with your free hand, managing to end the call with a final ‘yes, I’m okay. I promise’. He buries his face in your neck, at least as much as he can with his uniform on.

“I thought you were inside, Angel,” He forces his breathing and heart rate to calm now that you are back in his arms and he knows you’re safe. “I thought you were trapped, I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, hugging him back just as tightly. “My last meeting ran late and then my boss wanted to speak with me and…”

“It’s okay, as long as you’re okay.” He pulls back, eyes glancing over you from head to toe one more time. His hands grip at your waist, and he finally deems you safe. “I need to get back and help, but I couldn’t focus until I knew where you were.” James leans down to place a long kiss to your lips, longer than he should allow, but he’s the Chief so who will tell him off? He pulls back, then presses a quick one to your cheek.

“Is everyone okay?” You ask, the gravity of the situation coming back to the front of your mind. “Is my stuff going to be okay?”

“Everyone is fine, they made it out safely and we already checked the building.” He assures you, sliding his hands down your arms. “I’ll do my best to save your things, it’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Yeah…” You say like you aren’t convinced, and truly he isn’t either. He’d seen the state of your apartment when he’d gone inside.

But the two of you will figure that out after this, together. And, really, he thinks he might get to use this as an excuse to ask you to move in with him.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #james potter #firechief!james potter #firefighter!james potter #james potter x reader #james potter au #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter drabble #james potter x fem!reader #hp marauders #marauders fic #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #james potter x yn #james potter fanfiction #james potter x femreader

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