featherofthecrow

[featherofthecrow]

Whose Cat Is It Anyway?

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: For the longest time, you thought the cat roaming the tower wasn’t owned by anybody. Then you eventually realize that the “Tower Cat” does, in fact, have a name, and is owned by none other than Bucky Barnes himself, the one team member you aren’t exactly best friends with. After Bucky finds out that Alpine has become fond of you, he starts giving you odd looks and passive-aggressive comments. This leads you to the conclusion that he is jealous of you for taking his cat. However, as time goes on, you come to the realization that it might be the other way around.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings/Tags: Bucky is so bad at feelings, Reader is an unreliable narrator, Reader is very oblivious (it’s bad)

A/N: Is it realistic for somebody to get jealous over a cat? Probably not (keyword being probably), but I thought it was funny, so here you guys go! First post on this account :) Enjoy!

Cats.

You, like many people, adore the creatures.

They can be affectionate and cuddly on good days, purring and rubbing up against you as if nothing else exists. However, they can also be mischievous little demons.

Either way, you’ve always loved cats.

Recently, you had been planning on getting a cat, but after moving in with the rest of the team, the plan had been put on hold.

It was a tragedy. You were really looking forward to adopting one for yourself. You weren’t exactly sure if pets were allowed in the Watchtower. Technically, you didn’t see any rules against it, but you didn’t want to adopt a pet immediately after getting new roommates.

That being said, you did ask Valentina, but that didn’t really go well.

-

You shuffled anxiously, hearing the phone ring before it eventually picked up. “Hey, so—”

“Is this an emergency? You do know this number is for emergencies only, correct?” She said, and you could practically see the eye roll.

“Welllll, not exactly, but you haven’t exactly been around for us to ask any questions. You also don’t respond to my texts…” You trailed off, mumbling the last line. It’s not as if you wanted her around, but it would have solved this issue ages ago.

She remained silent for a moment, and you heard her sigh, exasperated. “Well, what is it?” She asked.

“The policy for pets?”

She sputtered for a moment, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Pets,” you said slowly as if talking to a child, “can we have them?”

She huffed, and sharp laughter rang in your ears. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You exhaled, “Damn…” You mutter to yourself, thinking she wouldn’t catch it.

“I do not want to see a pet there. I don’t care if it’s a dog, cat, guinea pig, snake, or turtle. No pets. Now, please, save this number for emergencies only. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone before you got a word in.

You soon realized after that incident that either people didn’t know about the policy, or didn’t care (likely the latter).

You didn’t immediately notice the animals. You weren’t even sure if they were always there or a new addition. The story of how you found out is actually pretty anticlimactic.

Yelena walked in with a guinea pig in hand.

That's really about it.

You watched as she sat down on the couch, petting the animal without a care in the world. You raised an eyebrow. You weren’t sure if this was a deliberate act of rebellion or if Yelena just didn’t know. Either way, you didn’t mind. You just needed to know where everybody stood, you know, for… reasons.

“Did Valentina ever mention the policy for pets?” You asked casually, walking over to sit next to Yelena. The guinea pig crawls over her lap into yours. You smile as you pet them gently.

Yelena pauses, “You know what? I don’t know.” She looks down at the guinea pig on your lap, “I also don’t really care. I don’t think Valentina knows I have her anyway.”

You nod, chuckling. “Fair enough. Would you care if she told you otherwise?”

Yelena laughs before her smile falls, “Not one bit.”

Frankly, you find it hard to believe Valentina did not notice the guinea pig. She seems like the type to have cameras everywhere and have constant monitoring. However, you let that slide, after all, it wasn’t exactly an animal that freely roams the tower.

What truly surprised you was the cat, or “Tower Cat” as you began to call her. She just appeared one day. Nobody said anything, no “hey guys we’re going to have a cat around, hope you don’t mind!” You wouldn’t have minded, but it's the principle that matters.

You had just finished up a solo mission. It was nothing too difficult, but you were exhausted nonetheless. You walked into the empty common area, blinking in confusion. Normally, there’s always one person here. You cautiously entered the space, looking around for any signs of life.

“Uhh, anybody home?” You asked, your voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

You walk over to the couch to try to catch a breather for a moment before you see her.

A cat. A fluffy white cat.

How’d she get in? You aren't sure, but you weren’t going to complain. You look around one more time to make sure nobody is nearby.

“Hello there!” You slowly moved to the cat loafed up on the couch. You tried to extend a hand to her, but she immediately moved away as if offended by your attempt to pet her. “Not the cuddly type, huh? That’s okay.” You now had a new goal: befriend the cat.

Over the next few weeks, you had taken to various methods of befriending Tower Cat. You had bought some toys and treats for her. While she was initially very hesitant, and you mean very hesitant, she slowly started to warm up to you. She would now walk up to you to eat the treats you offered her. You considered that progress since the first time you tried to feed her treats, she hissed at you.

The first time she approached you was a moment to be written down in history. You were hanging out in the kitchen, making yourself a quick snack, when suddenly you noticed something fluffy next to you.

You immediately paused whatever you were doing, looking down at Tower Cat. You didn’t want to scare her away, so you slowly started to turn your attention away from her. As you cooked, you noticed that she didn't leave the area. She didn't try to engage with you, but she watched you cook, never straying very far.

Eventually, when you finished, you went back to your room to grab the cat treats. To your surprise, she actually followed and made herself comfortable on your desk.

“Oh, so you just own my space now?” You asked her, grabbing a treat out of the bag. You hesitantly offered her a treat from your hand. You hadn’t tried this since the initial scratch incident. She stared at you for a moment before eventually deciding to approach you and take the treat. You withheld your gasp, allowing her to lick your hand before she became disinterested and claimed your desk as her own once more.

“You’re cool there?” You asked her.

She watched you silently.

“Okay, have fun, I guess.” You smiled, leaving the door to your room ajar in case she wanted to leave.

You weren’t sure if the rest of the team noticed the new addition, but you can’t imagine they didn’t notice. With how many former assassins and super soldiers you live with? No way they didn't notice. The first time you heard anything about it was when you were talking with Bob and Yelena.

“Oh, damn it.” Yelena sighed, groaning in frustration. You and Bob, being the only ones in the room, turned towards her. She was looking into her room, looking less than pleased.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Damn cat got into my room again. Knocked over all my stuff.” Yelena responded, walking into her room, leaving the door wide open. You watched as Tower Cat came out from her room looking innocent.

You blink, “The cat? Didn’t realize anybody knew she was here.” You looked between Yelena and Bob.

“She’s not exactly hard to miss,” Yelena said, walking out of her room, closing the door behind her. She looks down at Tower Cat before shaking her head and walking back over to you and Bob.

“It’s just that nobody talks about her. I just assumed it was one of those things that everybody sees, but never speaks about.” You leaned against the armrest of the sofa. “So I’m assuming she isn’t any of your guys’ cat?” You raised an eyebrow, looking between Yelena and Bob.

Yelena shook her head, “Nope.”

Bob similarly shook his head, “Not mine either.”

“Huh, do we know whose cat she is?” You asked.

Yelena shrugged, “I thought she just wandered in one day, and everybody let her stay. Haven’t really asked though.”

You hummed, “That’s funny. I was actually considering getting one too. Maybe it’s fate.” You joke, smiling.

Yelena laughs, “Please, take her. The first, and only, time I tried to pet her, she hissed and tried to scratch me.” You nodded in sympathy.

“Yeah, she did that to me the first time, too. She eventually warmed up to me, kinda. She actually came into my room the other day just to relax.” You said, looking over to the cat in question, who is walking through a hallway. Bob and Yelena followed your gaze, watching as the feline slowly walked over to your door before waltzing in like it was her own. “Oh, hey there she goes, what timing.” You laugh at their stunned faces.

“Does she have a name?” Bob asked.

“Well, I was gonna name her, but her original title of ‘Tower Cat’ just kinda stuck.” You explained.

“How’d you get her to like you?” He asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity.

“Treats and patience. Wanna see if we can try and get her to warm up to you a bit?” You asked, grinning.

Bob smiled, nodding silently. Yelena laughs sharply before bidding her goodbyes for the night. She did not want to deal with that cat any more than she already did that day.

That’s how you started your “Cat Time” with Bob. You grew close over your similar love of cats. However, there’d be times where Tower Cat wouldn’t be anywhere in the Watchtower, betraying her name entirely. You and Bob would walk around, checking around, but there’d be nothing. She always showed up the next day or two after, so you assumed somebody would just let her into their room, but you didn’t know who.

Eventually, after weeks of exposure, she warmed up to both you and Bob considerably. She’d hang out with you two while you watch TV or talk. Everything was going well. You finally got the cat you wanted.

Then you found she wasn’t your cat to claim.

-

If there was one person on the team where you weren’t sure where you stood, it was Bucky Barnes.

To be clear, you had tried to establish friendly relations, seeing as you were living together, but after multiple attempts being met with nothing, you eventually gave up.

When you first moved in, you wanted to make a good impression on everyone, and for all intents and purposes, you were successful.

Alexei was not very difficult. You just engage in conversation with him often and laugh. He could actually be pretty funny sometimes, much to Yelena’s embarrassment.

Ava was a bit more difficult, but she eventually warmed up to you. Sometimes when you baked, you’d offer her some cookies, and you two would talk. Yelena would join in too occasionally. Those nights were always fun.

John was John, meaning he was kinda an asshole. You eventually got somewhere with him... kinda. You both would banter back and forth, but initially it was not banter. The insults over time turned less aggressive and more along the lines of “you annoy me, but you’re alright, I guess.” In your defense, you did try to be nice to him at first, but he made that very difficult with the way he treated other people, especially in the beginning. You eventually figured it out, though.

Yelena was the easiest next to Bob. She immediately became one of your best friends. She was one of the people on the team you really looked up to. You two would often end up hanging out with each other. This was how you were introduced to Bob.

Initially, it was kind of awkward with Bob. Both of you were friends by association, meaning you both liked Yelena, but didn’t really know each other. Eventually, once Tower Cat came into the picture, you both would hang out. You realized how funny he was once you actually got to know him. This led to a lot of late nights with you, Yelena, Bob, and Tower Cat. Sometimes Yelena would insist that Tower Cat must go, but for the most part, that was your little group.

So overall, you thought you did a good job establishing a positive relationship with the team. If you try to forget about Bucky, that is. You almost feel embarrassed thinking about it. By the end, you had gotten pretty desperate and had tried bringing him coffee in the mornings, or checking in to see if he was injured after missions. If you two were friends and your efforts had succeeded, you wouldn’t be embarrassed. However, they failed, and failed miserably.

The coffee incident? You wince even thinking about it.

“Oh, hey, I left some coffee on the counter for you. Not sure how you like it, so I left the sugar to the side.” You smiled as you watched Bucky walk in. He looked like he had just woken up, hair disheveled, rubbing his eyes.

He looked over to you before glancing at the mug you left for him, filled with coffee. He nodded slowly, walking over to it hesitantly. He stared at it for a bit before clearing his throat, “I was actually going to go to the gym.”

You tried not to sigh and look over at him. “No worries. I’ll just, uh, clean it up.”

He nods, looking at you, muttering a small “Thanks anyway.”

As he walks away, you immediately feel embarrassed. Well, that was pathetic.

Of course, that wasn’t the only embarrassing incident.

Bucky had been returning from a mission with John. However, you only saw Bucky exit the elevator and head toward his room. You noticed that his face had a deep cut on it.

“Hey, you need help with that?” You asked, walking over to him. He paused before looking at you.

He smiled reassuringly, but you can see in his eyes he’d rather be anywhere else than talking with you. “I’m good, thanks.”

You blinked, watching as blood dripped down his face from the wound. “You sure? I don’t mind-”

“I am fine.” He cut you off. “I will be fine, thanks.” He told you, not even looking you in the eye. His words sounded so final that you didn’t even try to follow him. He closed the door behind him, leaving you staring at it.

That was when you realized that the “good impression” mission you had was a failure.

You had tried, and maybe it was because of your personality, you aren’t sure. He just did not like you. After that incident, you backed off of him, not offering aid or doing small gestures for him. His previous interactions sent you a clear message, and you received it.

Were you hurt by it? A little. You did put effort into trying to make him at least think you were an okay person. You couldn't help but admire him from a distance. Anyway, you tried not to take it too personally, after all, he’s been through a lot. He probably just isn’t comfortable with you, which you get, but it still hurts putting in effort for such blatant disregard.

So you can imagine your surprise when he approaches you on a random day.

-

“. . . and I was so confused, like how did you come to that conclusion?” You raise your hands, gesturing confusedly. Bob chuckles at your outrage.

You sigh, putting your hands down, petting Tower Cat on your lap softly. “I dunno, I was just so over it. I eventually confronted her, and she had the AUDACITY to act confused.” You continue to rant, neither you nor Bob noticing the elevator opening.

“And I’m assuming you weren’t going to let that slide?” Bob asks with a soft, amused smile on his face. You grin back at him.

“Not a chance. So—”

“Is that Alpine?”

You and Bob immediately turn toward Bucky. You blink. “When’d you get here?” You ask.

“Just now,” he pauses, “since when did Alpine start hanging out with you two?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“‘Alpine?’” You repeat the foreign name back at him. You and Bob look at Tower Cat, or apparently “Alpine.”

You look up at Bucky, “She’s your cat?” You feel your mouth drop in surprise.

“Whose cat did you think she was?” He asks, looking at you in disbelief.

“I thought she was like the communal tower cat or something.” You say, your voice quiet as if that will quell Bucky’s growing bewilderment.

“The ‘communal tower cat?’” He repeats incredulously.

“Okay, sorry, sorry.” You apologize profusely, hoping that he won’t murder you for taking his cat. Bucky seems to stare at you for what feels like forever. You shift uncomfortably under his stare.

“Uh, you can have her back, if you want.” You eventually say, mumbling the last part. Bucky just continues to stare at Alpine in your lap. You look toward Bob to see if he is feeling the same awkward tension you are. He quickly glances at you, then Bucky, then back at you before shifting awkwardly.

You try to pick up Alpine without disturbing her. The moment you try, her eyes snap open. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” You coo softly to the cat. You offhandedly notice Bucky shifts stiffly.

“Bucky’s back, though. Wanna go with him?” You speak softly to her. In response, she pushes herself closer to you, purring against your collarbone. “Aw, I’m sorry, I wanna cuddle with you more too.” You frown at her before gently handing her to Bucky. Your hands brush his as you try to give her to Bucky without disturbing her too much.

She meows softly, and you feel your heart break. “Didn’t realize you liked cats,” Bucky says.

Bob laughs, and you both turn to him before he covers it with a cough and low “Sorry.” He knows you love cats.

“Love them.” You respond with a strained smile. He looks at you for a moment longer. Eventually, you clear your throat and look away from his gaze, “Sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky seems to stare at you for a moment longer before leaving. Not a word said, he just leaves.

“Well, at least we know why Tower Cat or ‘Alpine’  disappears some nights,” you comment, Bob shaking his head, amused, “but damn, he hates me.” You whisper as if Bucky will hear you, and knowing him, you can’t be too sure.

“I doubt that. He just has…” Bob pauses for a moment, trying to find the word for it, “struggles.”

You huff, “Yeah, that’s one way to say it. I don’t even know what I did to him. It’s not my fault your cat likes me.” Actually, it is your fault, but Bucky doesn’t need to know the details.

In your defense, Alpine did just waltz around the entire place like she owned it. There was no indication she was owned, let alone owned by Bucky of all people.

“He do that often?” Bob asks. You raise an eyebrow at him to elaborate. “The staring.”

You scoff, “Only in days that end in ‘y.’” You shift on the couch so that you’re lying down instead of sitting. “I assumed it’s one of his weird quirks. I thought it was just a former assassin thing where he just stares at you as if assessing if you’re a threat,” you hold your hand up to emphasize your next point, “which I am not.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re pretty?” Bob suggests, and you laugh loudly, making him raise his eyebrows at you in slight concern.

You smile at Bob, “That’s so sweet,” you put your hand on his shoulder gently, “but so very wrong.”

Bob shakes his head but smiles, “You never know.”

You shake your head confidently. “No, I do. He’s probably planning different ways to kill me if needed. The stare of ‘I’m planning your murder because you took my cat.’” You stick your hands up into the air, doing jazz hands, still staring up at the ceiling.

“Is that a thing?” Bob asks, doubtful.

You look at him, contemplative. “I don’t know, but if it was, he definitely invented it.” You respond.

Bob frowns, but he nods, agreeing with the sentiment anyway.

-

You initially thought Bucky was jealous of you.

After all, Alpine decided that you were now her favorite person, and Alpine was his cat. Therefore, it’d make sense if he were a little upset over how Alpine clung to you.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little smug.

“Hey, whatcha guys doing?” You walk into the common area, watching as the team stands surrounding the center coffee table.

“Don’t fuck this up—”

“Shut up, John. I’m trying to concentrate.” Yelena cuts him off.

You eventually walk over and see the situation.

“What are you doing?! Don’t pick that one!” John points at the Jenga tower in front of him. Yelena leans over it, slowly tugging at a piece that’s halfway out.

Yelena stops, turning toward John, “John, I swear if you don’t be quiet, I will knock over this tower on purpose.” She points a finger at him, and he mutters a quick “Okay,” his hands held up in mock surrender.

You notice that on the couch sits Bucky Barnes himself, which immediately strikes you as odd. Bucky, while not explicitly against these little bonding activities, didn’t ever seem to care for participating in them. He’d support them, but from his own room. Seeing him actively engaging with these activities is definitely new. You also notice that Alpine is curled up on his lap.

Everybody else is standing, eagerly watching the game of Jenga. It appears that Yelena and John are on a team, which is a concerning team-up on its own, and Ava and Alexei are on a team. Bob seems content watching the game.

“GOT IT!” Yelena raises the Jenga piece into the air in victory.

Ava groans, looking at the tower, and you feel her pain. There were seemingly no good moves. You decide to walk up to Yelena and John to see how they’re doing.

“Oh, finally decided to join us?” Yelena pats you on the shoulder as you walk up to her.

“Didn’t realize you guys would be out here still.” You admit, you’d come back from a walk around the city.

John shrugs, nodding his head slightly, “Yeah, I didn’t think we’d still be here either.” He mutters.

You raise an eyebrow, “How long have you guys been at it?”

“Eh, not that long.” Yelena waves a hand casually.

”Two hours.” John deadpans at the same time.

You chuckle, deciding to sit down. “For one game?”

“We’re determined.” Yelena joins you on the couch.

You smile, nodding, “Say, since when did he start joining?” You quickly glance at Bucky, sitting on the other couch.

Yelena shrugs, “I don’t know, why?”

“Well, I mean, he just doesn’t ever show up to these. Was wondering how you guys got him to actually sit through a game.” You whisper, hoping he can’t hear you. However, you suddenly get the feeling that he’s watching you. You try to discreetly look at him, but when you do, he’s still staring at the game in front of him.

“What happened?” John asks, hovering over you and Yelena sat over on the couch.

“None of your business.” Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Well, if you are talking about B—”

“Oh, so now you’re eavesdropping.” You click your tongue, disappointed in him.

“You guys aren’t quiet.” He looks unimpressed.

“That’s not fair. We are quiet by normal people’s standards.” You turn to face him. You’re so focused on proving John wrong that you don’t even register Ava yelling “Alpine! No! Get off the table!”

“Well, I thought to inform you that perhaps the person you’re discussing can hear you, seeing as he wouldn’t fall into ‘normal people standards.’” John does air quotes.

You slowly turn to see if Bucky is watching you three have your not-so-quiet discussion. To your surprise, he is looking at you. Also, to your surprise, everybody is looking at you.

You feel yourself shrinking under their scrutiny. Did they all hear your conversation? “What?”

“The kitty cat likes you! I did not think she liked anybody.” Alexei laughs, and you furrow your brows, confused. You eventually sit up to find Alpine looking up at you, sitting right at your feet.

“Oh.”

She meows before hopping onto your lap. Yelena immediately shifts away from you, and John similarly moves away.

“Keep her there, please? She almost knocked over the tower.” Ava sounds exhausted.

“Uh, yeah sure.” You respond, still processing everything that just happened. No wonder Bucky was looking at you.

You glance up at him to find him no longer sitting laxly, but instead leaning forward, staring directly at you.

You grimace, trying to mouth an apology to him, but his expression stays the same. By this point, everybody else is sucked into the game again, except you two. You think that maybe he’ll just resolve to stare at you for the rest of the game, but no, he stands up.

Alpine purrs on your lap, but not even that can ease your growing stress levels as you see Bucky maneuver his way to your couch. You expected him to talk to you, perhaps ask for his precious cat back, but he does none of that.

Instead, he sits on the couch with you, saying nothing. He makes himself comfortable as if this is a normal occurrence. He decided to sit on the other side of the couch, pretty much the furthest he can sit from you while still being on the cushions. You can’t help but glance at him a few times, as if that would elicit an explanation.

Alpine looks up at you as you stare at the game in front of you, rigidly. You don’t dare to move or say anything. After minutes of silence from you two, you eventually turn toward him.

“Did you want Alpine back?” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if afraid that any louder would garner the team’s attention once more.

He turns toward you, and for the first time, you are struck by how blue his eyes are.

“It’s fine.” He matches your volume, glancing toward Alpine on your lap. If you weren’t looking for any sort of reaction, you wouldn’t have caught the way his eyes narrowed as he gazed upon Alpine in your lap.

You feel obligated to give Alpine back, even if every bone in your body is telling you to keep her. He even said, “It’s fine,” meaning it is definitely not fine. That, combined with the narrowed look towards his cat, probably means that he wants his cat back right now.

“No, really,” you start to shift, Alpine’s purring ceasing, “it’s okay. Sorry about that.” Just as you’re about to pick her up to give her to Bucky, he reaches over and gestures for you to stop, putting a hand on your shoulder.

He says your name, making you pause as your hands freeze under Alpine, ready to pick her up. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. If she likes you, she can stay with you.” You nod, very aware that his hand is still on your shoulder.

“If you’re sure…” You trail off hesitantly.

“I am.” He looks at you smiling, but can’t help but think it looks forced.

The rest of the night continued without a hitch. The game of Jenga eventually ended, with Ava and Alexei winning. John swore that he saw Ava cheat and phase her hand through the tower in order to grab a piece at just the right angle, but he couldn’t prove it. He grumbled about it for the rest of the night, taking snips at them, but he eventually let it go.

Throughout the entire night, you sat there with Alpine. Bucky did not ask for her. However, you did notice that every now and then, he’d turn to look at you, or more accurately, look at Alpine. You thought that maybe he did want to say something, but didn’t want to cause a huge scene. You would’ve assumed it’d be to ask for his cat back, but he seemed insistent that you keep her.

So you sat, watching as the team started slowly turning in for the night. As one by one went, you waited for Bucky to say something, anything, yet he sat there.

By the time almost everybody left, it was just you two. You had pulled out your phone by this point in order to look as if you were busy. Feeling a weight lift itself from your lap, you look and see Alpine get off of you, slowly walking across the couch to make her way to Bucky. You decide that this is your cue to leave.

You stand up, brushing off loose cat fur left on you. Just as you are about to leave, you sneak a glance toward Bucky, only to find he is already staring at you.

“Sorry about that.” You break the silence, casually pointing at his cat, as if his whole behavior hasn’t put you on edge all night.

He seems surprised that you spoke to him, looking from you down to Alpine. “It’s alright. She seemed to like being close to you.” You thought you could detect a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, unsure how to respond.

Silence permeates the room once again. “Well, I’m gonna head out.” You slowly start walking towards your room. “Good night,” You bid him before turning around and heading out, not expecting a response.

“Night,” he returns softly.

You pause in your retreat, turning around, to see him looking down at Alpine. You offer him a small smile before heading back into your room.

-

So yeah, you thought that between the constant looks, bitterness, and not-so-subtle glares, he was jealous.

Not wanting to fuel his anger, you tried to avoid being in the room at the same time Alpine would be with Bucky. Alpine could be cuddled next to you, but the moment Bucky walked in, you’d vanish.

He gave you weird looks, as if he were trying to figure out what your deal was. You just continued to give him a polite smile every time.

Cooking in the kitchen was always an invitation for Alpine to join. She liked it when you cooked because she’d just watch you, and Alpine decided watching you cook was the most fascinating thing. You didn’t mind, so you let her.

You wash the final dish before going to consume the results of your Alpine-monitored cooking session. Just as you’re about to eat, Bucky comes walking in. You make direct eye contact with him, before glancing to Alpine perched on the counter next to you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, approaching you two.

“Eating,” you look down at your plate of food, “I was going to go eat in my room anyway. Alpine is all yours.” You did not plan on eating in your room, but you did that night.

Incidents like this didn’t stop as you had hoped.

Whenever you folded your laundry, Alpine would magically find her way onto your clean clothes. She liked the warmth, and so she’d make herself cozy. You pretended to be upset, but you enjoyed her company.

Then you hear a knock at your door, which was already open, so you turn around to see Bucky.

You can’t mask your surprise before he makes a comment. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just wondering if Alpine was in here.” You shift to the side, allowing him to see the very asleep feline on your bed in a pile of clothes. You immediately put down any hangers in your hand.

“I am so sorry. Here, sorry.” You gently pick up Alpine, apologizing to both her and Bucky. She meows softly, annoyed at being disturbed from her rest. You would be upset too if you were suddenly woken up and removed from warmth. “Sorry, she just likes sitting on the warm clothes. Here, take her back.” You give Bucky the fluffy cat, and he looks hesitant to accept her, but does so anyway.

“I’m sorry about that, won't happen again.” You smile, embarrassed. Bucky stares at you as you slowly shut the door on him and cover your face in embarrassment.

What made all of these incidents worse is that instead of becoming less frequent over time, they seemed to almost increase in frequency as time went on. You’d always see Bucky or Alpine. You couldn’t walk around the tower without seeing one of the two. Even worse, once one shows up, it wouldn’t take long before the other magically appeared.

You would be sitting with the team, Alpine on your lap, when the sound of the elevator would ring out. Most of the time, it wouldn’t be an issue, but since you had Alpine on your lap, it had to be Bucky because the universe hates you.

“Do you still want to try that new cafe you were talking about earlier?” Ava crosses her legs as she leans back in one of the chairs.

You grin, “Oh yeah! I heard their pastries were amazing.” You pet Alpine as you pick her up to walk around with. She wouldn’t let anybody else hold her, even Bob, but she would allow you to hold her. Actually, now that you think about it, she’d probably let Bucky hold her too, but you haven’t asked him (and you don’t plan to).

“Did you wanna try and go today? I don’t know when exactly they’re busy, but we can always check.” You walk around the coffee table already thinking about what you might order once you get there.

Then the elevator rang out.

Unconcerned, you turned around to welcome the newcomer. That is, until the doors open to reveal Bucky.

Feet frozen in place, you look down at Alpine in your arms. Bucky walks out of the elevator and immediately meets your eyes before he looks at your arms.

You don’t break eye contact with him as you slowly put Alpine down on the ground. Immediately, she heads over to Bucky and rubs up against him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, despite not being very apologetic. If given the chance, you'd absolutely pick her up again. To make things worse, you completely forgot that Bucky can definitely hear you. Feeling his focus shift from Alpine onto you, you internally wince.

Forgetting Ava is witnessing this interaction, you hear her call your name out, and you turn to face her. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you wanna head out now?” She looks between you and Bucky, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely, let’s go.” You nod enthusiastically, ignoring the piercing eyes on your back.

“Where are you two going?” Bucky asks, grabbing Alpine for himself and holding her in the same position you were sporting not even a minute before. Hoping Ava won’t say anything, you look dead into her eyes, pleading.

“New cafe,” she ignores your plea, “wanna come with us?” Feeling your stomach drop, you decide to confront the problem yourself by doing the one thing he does best: staring directly into his eyes.

He matches your stare, unsurprisingly, and then looks towards Ava. “You sure?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, it’s all good. We were planning on asking Yelena to come with us anyway.” Ava dismisses casually, as if this isn’t gonna be a miserable trip.

Continuing your staring contest, he breaks the silence with one dreadful word: “Sure.” He ends whatever trance you two were in, turning to smile at Ava before returning his gaze to you.

“Alright,” Ava gives you two an odd look, “well, I’m gonna go grab Lena, I’ll be back in a minute.” She starts to walk away, and you feel your soul leave with her.

“You sure this is okay?” Bucky questions, startling you.

You nod, turning to face him, “Yeah, she said it was all good.” You smile at him.

He nods slowly, “Yeah, ‘she said,’” he quotes, “I was asking if you are okay with me coming along.”

You nod, “Yep, no issue with it.” You lie.

He nods, watching you and definitely not believing you, “Alright, if you say so.” He walks over to the couches where you’re standing by. “Didn’t realize she liked you that much that she let you carry her.” He comments casually.

You immediately understand the hidden meaning. He may seem all innocent there, standing with a fluffy cat in his arms purring up against his chest, but you know it isn’t that simple. He is challenging you right now. He is asking you how you managed to win her affections over and is silently reminding you that she is not yours. Talk about being passive-aggressive.

You keep your smile, “Yeah, it’s actually pretty crazy. She doesn’t even let Bob hold her. To be honest, I’m surprised she let me carry her around.”

Bucky smiles, it’s softer than you expected. “Perhaps she feels as if you’re a safe person to be around.

You nod, humming in acknowledgment.

“Alright, are we ready? Come on, I want to get some coffee.” Yelena walks out, Ava at her side.

“It’s almost nine at night.” Ava comments in disbelief.

“Yeah?” Yelena pauses, “Well, I like coffee. Let’s go.” She enters the elevator, waiting for you all to join her.

The elevator ride wasn’t as awkward as you thought. Yelena and Ava managed to ease the tension for the most part. Whether or not they were even aware of it is a discussion of its own, but knowing them, they probably knew.

The walk to the coffee shop wasn’t very eventful either, for the most part. About halfway through, you realize that Ava and Yelena are heavily engrossed in their own conversation. Earlier, you couldn’t stop talking, but as the topics changed, you started to say less and less as they transitioned to your less knowledgeable topics. By this point, you didn’t even know what they were talking about. This led to you walking ahead of them.

To your surprise, somebody else decided to join you in what you thought was your brief solo walking moment.

“They seem to be passionate.” Bucky comments, and you both look behind you to see Ava nodding her head with a drawn-out “Yes!” All of this occurs while Yelena gestures wildly, seemingly approving of Ava’s agreement.

“Huh, yeah, I guess so.” You add on, amused. You two walk in silence for a moment before you eventually just decide to ask the question bugging your mind. “So, uh,” you pause as Bucky immediately gives you his full attention, “why exactly did you want to come?” You look at him.

He seems slightly taken aback by your question, but smiles anyway. “I like coffee, you guys said the cafe was good.”

You nod along, finding yourself questioning previous incidents. You had offered him coffee before, and he had decidedly not accepted it. So either he was lying, or he just really wanted to embarrass you that one time. You can’t tell which one is worse.

“You do? Really?” You ask, unconvinced.

“Yeah.” You laugh at his answer, “What?” He asks, matching the smirk on your face. “You don’t believe me?” He asks, acting as if he’s offended.

You continue to laugh, and he once again stares at you, resolute. “No, no, I believe you.” You smile at him.

He looks at you, nodding as if accepting that to be the end of that discussion. You eventually stop at the door of the cafe. The moment you’re about to open it, Bucky puts his hand in front of you, halting your action. You pause. What is he about to do?

Dazed for a moment, you watch as he opens the door for you. You smile at how unabashedly old-fashioned he is.

“Thank you.” You tell him, walking in. He smiles at the gratitude, garnering Yelena and Ava’s attention.

“What is it you are doing?” Yelena asks him as she walks inside. Bucky follows in behind her and Ava.

“Holding the door?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“No shit. I meant the” she gestures to her own face then to Bucky, “smile.”

“Am I not allowed to smile?” Bucky asks, disbelief written all over his face.

“I mean, you can,” Ava asks, but even she seems doubtful of her statement, “you just… don’t.”

“Oh, so you want me to have a restriction on being happy now?” Bucky asks, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. The three of them join you in line.

“I mean, I thought you already did.” Yelena blatantly admits. You all turn to her, “What?”

“Next up!” You roll your eyes at their discussion before going to the counter and telling the barista your order. Yelena and Ava peep over your shoulder and tell her their order as well. However, Bucky stands behind you three silently.

“What do you want?” You ask him.

He pauses, “Uh, black coffee.”

“‘Black coffee?’” You repeat, and he nods in confirmation. It was the exact same coffee he had rejected months ago.

“Okay, black coffee for him.” You turn back towards the barista, telling her your name before pulling out your card to pay.

Just as you’re about to tap the card, Bucky pulls you back, “Hey—” He taps his card.

“Oh, thanks, Bucky.” Yelena nods at him. Ava also gives him a quick “Thanks.”

You look up at him, suddenly feeling unsure about everything. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, “I wanted to.”

“Thanks.” You tell him, and he accepts your gratitude with a nod before you all find a table to sit at.

This whole situation is odd. You genuinely thought he hated you. Well, hate is extreme, but he decidedly went out of his way to avoid your previous attempts at friendship.

Tagging along to a cafe with you, walking with you, and generally acting like a gentleman was not exactly what you expected this trip to be. You expected more backhanded compliments like before. If this was some sort of way to get to you, he was really playing the long game.

He hasn’t mentioned Alpine once during this whole excursion. It makes you wonder if you’ll have to be the one to confront him about that. That’s not exactly something you want to do, but you feel like it’s coming anyway.

You take a look at him to see how he’s faring here. He’s in a deep conversation with Yelena and Ava, all leaning away from you. You can’t hear what they’re discussing, but Yelena and Ava both make eye contact with you throughout their little talk. You aren’t even sure if you want to know what they’re talking about.

Hearing the barista call your name, you grab the drinks and pastries for the group, and you thank them before heading back to the table.

“So,” Ava starts cautiously at your return, glancing at Bucky for a split second before looking back at you, “when did you two… start?” She gestures between you and Bucky.

You take a slow sip of your drink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know this whole,” Yelena interjects, “thing you two have going on. It’s painful.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

Suddenly, the room feels hot, and it doesn’t help that your drink is also hot. You turn to Bucky, but he just looks at Yelena and Ava, bored. You take another sip, hoping he will say something, anything.

After a period of silence, you accept the fact that he will not be denying anything, so you eventually speak up. “No idea what you’re talking about.” You shrug.

What makes it worse is that you truly don’t know. Your excuse is terrible, and so they will think you’re lying when you genuinely have no idea.

Ava nods her head, “Mhm, okay.” She says, looking between you two.

You turn towards Bucky, who has not taken a sip of his coffee once. “Thought it was your favorite.” His attention snaps to you.

”I never said that.” He shakes his head.

“Then why’d you order it?” You raise an eyebrow, amused.

He looks at you before taking a long, slow sip of his coffee. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “Happy?” He asks.

You smile, “Thrilled.”

Walking home is not exactly silent, after all, you’re in New York, but it’s definitely quieter. Once again, Bucky decides to walk next to you. He makes a big deal about you being on the outside of the sidewalk, you roll your eyes, but let him have his moment.

You turn around every now and then to check and make sure Ava and Yelena are behind you. However, every time you turn around, they are already looking at you. Ava gives you a nod with a small smirk, and Yelena gives you a thumbs up. You give them a horrified look the first time it happens. However, by the third time you turn around and they repeat their same shenanigans, you give up, shaking your head, trusting that they will stay behind you and Bucky for the rest of the walk.

When you get back to the tower, you all enter the elevator. The ride up is relatively quiet, but then the door opens. You walk out, Bucky on your left, and John walks by, turning to see who came back, only to look at you two with an appalled expression.

“Did you two go on a date?” John looks at Bucky as if doubting what he’s seeing.

Ava and Yelena step out right after John’s question. “No, they just walked side by side together, and got coffee while teasing each other across our table.” Yelena walks over.

Alpine makes her presence known and walks over to you, rubbing herself against you. “You wanna take her for the night?” Bucky leans toward you, whispering to your ear. You feel your heart rate increase.

“Oh God, they’re sharing custody over the damn cat.” You hear John remark, exasperated. You both ignore him.

You frown at him. For somebody who is so protective of his cat, you would never have expected an offer as gracious as this one. “Are… are you sure?” You ask him hesitantly.

He smirks, amused, “Yes, I’m sure.”

You nod slowly, “And you won’t be upset?”

He tilts his head slightly, “Why would I?”

You look at him, his eyes on you with a fondness that sends your stomach whirling. You feel instantly conflicted. Why is he acting like this? What happened to being upset about you stealing Alpine’s affection? Were you wrong? There’s no way you were wrong. He was definitely upset when he commented about how much she liked you.

“We should go.” Ava looks towards the remaining team members who are watching you and Bucky. “Give them some privacy.”

John scoffs, “‘Privacy?’ There is no privacy here.”

“Just because you ruined your love life doesn’t mean you have to be bitter over other people’s, John.” Yelena snaps, disapprovingly.

His eyebrows raise, “Jesus, okay. Let’s give them some privacy.” He walks away from them, not even checking to see if Yelena and Ava follow behind him.

As that whole discussion went down, Bucky continued to look at you, confused.

“I just thought you might be upset?” You eventually respond to his question, unsure whether you're stating something or asking.

“Over you sleeping with my cat next to you?” He asks, sounding progressively more perplexed.

You open your mouth to say yes, but the look he gives you leaves you speechless. You try to say something, but everything that your brain comes up with sounds unreasonable. How do you tell somebody that yes, you thought they’d be upset that you were snuggling with their cat?

He huffs, his voice softening, “Why would I be upset about that?” You briefly wonder if he can read minds, but shove that thought away.

You eventually muster enough brain power to speak, “It’s stupid.”

He looks at you, shaking his head, “I doubt that.”

“No, it’s really fucking stupid. You’re going to think I’m insane after this.” You reiterate.

“I promise I won’t think you’re insane.” He chuckles, picking up Alpine, who was demanding attention.

You remain silent for a moment, staring at him, holding Alpine in his arms. Both Bucky and Alpine stare at you as if awaiting your response. You look around, as if checking to make sure nobody is going to hear what you’re about to say.

“I thought you were jealous…” you look up at him, finding him patiently waiting for you to explain, “of me taking Alpine all the time.” You look away from him.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you look at him once more. He isn’t reacting at all. You shift on your feet, unnerved. Suddenly, he cracks a small smile, exhaling amused. However, your dismayed reaction causes his smile to fall.

“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?” He desperately tries to keep the amusement out of his voice, but you can hear it as clear as day, much to your chagrin.

You open your mouth to explain, but hesitate for a brief moment. “So you’re not jealous of me taking Alpine… I just wanna confirm.” You mutter.

He shakes his head, amusement lighting up his eyes, but he humors you, “No. I am not jealous of you taking Alpine.”

You walk over to the couch and sit down, leaning over and placing your palms against your eyes. “So you weren’t making passive-aggressive comments about me taking her?”

“No, promise.” He confirms, joining you on the couch.

“Okay, well,” you look towards Bucky, who nods for you to continue, “I thought you hated me cause in the past every time I tried to talk to you, you’d just ignore me. So eventually I just kinda assumed that you did not like me. Then you saw me with Alpine, and started acting weird, so I was like ‘oh no, he’s going to be upset that I took his cat.’” You ramble, watching Bucky’s eyes get wider as you progress.

“You thought I hated you?” He asks, as if the concept were absurd.

“Yeah, I mean, there was that time I made coffee for you and you just rejected it. Then I also tried to help out with an injury you got during a mission, and you said no and sounded upset at me, so I just figured you didn’t like me around you.” You explain sheepishly.

Bucky exhales harshly, “I never disliked you. I thought it was sweet when you did all that.”

You blink, “You did?”

He laughs, Alpine moving off his lap onto yours. “Yes, I did.”

You frown, “But you always rejected my offers.”

Now he avoids eye contact, “Well,” he locks eyes with Alpine, “I didn’t know how to approach you. I didn’t know how to talk to you without messing everything up, so I didn’t. I was scared.”

“‘Scared?’ Scared of what? Me?” You repeat.

He laughs softly, “Terrified.”

“I am like the least scary person on the team. Why the hell would you be scared?” You laugh at the idea.

“Because,” he looks at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips briefly before going back up to your eyes. You look at him, anxiously awaiting his response.

“You said you thought I was jealous of you,” he shifts the topic, “because you won Alpine’s affection.” He shook his head at the thought. “I was never jealous of you.” He reiterates, moving closer to you. You remain in your spot, watching as he grabs your hand. “I was jealous of her.” He looks down, smiling at the ridiculous notion.

“Of… Alpine?” You repeat dubiously.

“Because,” he looks up to meet your eyes, “she was able to get close to you. She was able to just insert herself into your life like she always belonged.” He looks down at Alpine purring on your lap. “Something I wasn’t able to do.”

You take a deep breath, “I thought you disliked me…”

He shakes his head, “I could never. I was stupid, but I have never once disliked you. I never wanted to hurt you, but I guess I did that anyway.” He exhales with a soft huff of laughter, but there’s no humor.

“This whole time?” You ask softly. “This whole time you’ve…” You glance down at his hands, clasped in your own.

He nods slowly, “All this time.” He confirms softly.

You gape at him, not saying a word. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something. Instead, you say nothing, shifting closer to him on the couch, closing what little space is between you two. Alpine doesn’t even move from your lap despite the disturbance. You look at him, and his lips part open. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Slowly, you inch closer, giving him time to back out. You feel his breathing quicken before you close the gap.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but a soft one. You barely linger, removing yourself from him, before he can react. His mouth is slightly open out of pure awe. He looks at you, as if ready to lean in again, pupils dilated. You put your hand on his chest, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“At least take me out on a date first, Barnes.” You smirk, chuckling breathlessly despite the short-lived kiss.

He grins, looking awestruck, eyes lighting up with that same amusement from earlier, “I did.” He squeezes your hand tighter, trying to move you closer once again.

You shake your head, “No. You tagged along to my cafe quest with two other team members.”

He chuckles, looking down in disbelief that this is even happening. “I would take you out on a date every single day if you asked me,” he rubs his thumbs along your hands. “But all I want right now, all I need right now, is you.” He slowly raises his arm up to hold your face, his hand cradling you gently.

You feel your face heat up at his words, “You drive a hard bargain…” You pretend to think about it. Eventually, you shift yourself so that you're leaning against him. Alpine looks up at you two, annoyed. “Aw, did we disturb you?” You ask her. She meows before climbing to rest on both you and Bucky. You laugh, feeling her purring resume and leaning just a little closer to him.

-

“Oh my God.” You blink away the sleepiness from your eyes. Oh, right, you’re still on the couch from last night. Alpine is on top of Bucky’s chest, peacefully asleep. You are cuddled up next to Bucky’s side.

“What the fuck, we sit there.” John sounds affronted, loosely gesturing to you and Bucky on the couch. “You could’ve gone to your room to do that.”

Bucky, now also awake, raises an eyebrow at him. “Sleep?”

“You know what you did.” John narrows his eyes at you two. You stand up, stretching as the rest of the team walks in.

“What happened?” Yelena asks, walking in.

“Nothing, we just fell asleep on the couch last night. Nothing crazy.” You shrug, giving a pointed look to John.

“Oh, so you two figured it out, great.” Yelena walks over to make herself coffee.

“You knew?” You walk over to her, not entirely surprised. You notice in your peripherals that Bucky, still lying down, is now being scrutinized by the rest of the team, John standing over him disapprovingly.

Yelena pauses, giving you a look. “Yes, I knew… Everybody knew. You even asked me about him.”

“Yeah! He stares at you like you hung stars.” Alexei adds on, pointing to the ceiling.

“You mean the moon?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Eh, moon and stars.” He adds on.

You roll your eyes, looking over at Bucky. He’s sitting on the couch, the rest of the team asking him various questions, presumably about you two. Seeing him now, he looks so stoic. Then, almost as if he can feel you watching, he turns towards you, and you physically see his eyes soften.

“Oh wow, he’s bad,” Yelena comments next to you, watching him. You laugh at her, but continue to admire just how soft he looks. The image is something you could not have imagined merely weeks ago, but now you have the pleasure of experiencing it.

“I’m glad it worked out, it was getting difficult to watch,” Yelena adds.

You give a small smile, “Thank the cat.” You look down at the feline rubbing up against your legs.

I hope you guys enjoyed that! This is my first Marvel fic so it might take a moment for me to find my footing. I really don't want to make characters too ooc, so feel free to leave any feedback. Thank you for reading if you made it all the way through :D

[featherofthecrow]

he's all that.

clark kent x reader. (3.2k)

summary: as a reporter of the daily planet, you haven’t been shy of your dislike for superman. clark is desperate to prove to you how superman, and by extension, him, is not as bad as you think.

content: flufff, clark kent being an adorable loser, still a loser as superman, interview banter, superman as the wingman for clark (cheeky ik), silly coworkers having a crush on each other but having no idea its reciprocated, office romance

author’s note: seeing clark’s frustration in the interview and article scene in superman 2025 got my head spinning 😏

“Okay, but why do you dislike him?”

Clark is on his interrogation case again. You don’t blink an eye as he settles across your desk, squeezing into the office chair with one elbow leaning on the armrest as he waits expectantly, almost desperately for your answer.

Every time you publish a new article with your detailed opinions on Superman’s recent actions, to provide an alternate perspective against the other rose-coloured articles of Metropolis’s favourite metahuman, Clark is always the first in line to question you.

“I don’t particularly dislike him.” Typing away at your computer to polish up one of your drafts, you rehearse the same line you tell everyone. “How could I dislike someone I’ve never met?”

“Then why the title?” He huffs. “I mean, come on. 'Superman’s Ulterior Motives In Recent Metropolis Fire Controversy'? You make him sound like a criminal."

“Come on, Clark.” You give him a pointed look. “You know how article headlines work. If I wrote something like “a critical approach to Superman’s latest actions regarding the fuel explosion”, who would read that?”

“I would.” His response is immediate, and it forces you to crane your neck, away from your latest article that’s been giving you writer’s block, to cast your attention to him.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but one reader wouldn’t exactly meet my paycheck’s expectations.”

“Well, I’m sure there are others who would appreciate a less cash-grabby title.” He retorts.

He realises the error in his words the moment he's on the receiving end of your icy glare.

“I have work to do, Clark.” Placing a metal sign that states "DO NOT DISTURB" on your desk, he doesn't need a hint to get that you're telling him to leave. "Even if you don’t appreciate my efforts, you could at least go distract someone else with your critiques.”

Clark knows he’s made a huge mistake. He doesn’t actually think your work is cash-grabby, he just wished you could see him- well, his alter identity in a more positive light. He loves your work, even if it makes him cringe when you point out his flaws with your cutting tongue, getting under his skin better than anyone else could.

You’re brilliant, and he’s just.. him. As Clark Kent, he doesn’t hold a candle to you. You’re fierce, bold and you leave a mark with your words and your presence. He can’t even begin to describe how much he admires you, but you barely even glance his way.

Maybe that’s why he’s in the office, eight on the dot every morning with a coffee in hand for you, asking you about your articles, your thought process, anything to get a few minutes with you.

Now, he’s officially screwed it up. Whatever tolerance you held for him previously, it’s all gone now thanks to his stupidity.

He sighs, shutting down his computer. He can’t even focus, and his eyes were starting to strain over staring at the blank document. Glancing over at you, you’re still typing away, with that same furrow in your brow that he’s memorised in his mind. How could he make it up to you? How could he change your mind?

Shifting his weight, his chair squeaks as he ponders.

“What are you looking at?” Clark jumps, suddenly registering Jimmy’s voice. Its rare for him to not hear footsteps nearing him, and it's only more proof of how much of a distraction you were. “Oh, her. Your office crush.”

“I do not have a crush.” Clark interjects, feeling oddly defensive. Having a crush on you, it makes his neck hot from the mere thought of it. “I just made her angry, and I’m thinking of how to make amends.”

Jimmy laughs. “Unless you somehow snag an interview with Superman for her, I think you’re going to have to wait awhile for her to cool down.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you’ll have to wait awhile?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, an interview?” Jimmy scratches at his head. “I overheard her talking to Lois about how she’s stuck on her most recent article, and that she wished she could have a one-on-one with Superman to hear his perspective.”

That’s it. He may have screwed it up with you as Clark Kent, but Superman may be able to salvage this. Clark practically leaps off his chair, giving Jimmy a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, man. Seriously, I owe you.”

“Woah, dude. You’re heavy.” Jimmy huffs. “You’re welcome? But how are you going to get Superman to agree? It’s not like you have his contact or anything, do you?”

Clark doesn’t bother to reply, determination coursing through his blood as he walks out the office. Nearly out of ear-shot, he still hears Jimmy’s ‘Wait, Clark! Do you?’ repeating as an echo through the walls.

By the time you've managed to break a paragraph into your latest article, you feel that incoming headache and back-pain on its way to torment you for your incompetence. There's this block in your mind that refuses to be drained, and your tension with Clark earlier this morning certainly didn't aid you in your focus. You look up, noticing that the office is practically empty, and that most of the lights are off except for a few desk lamps from other co-workers who haven't left either.

You eye Clark's desk discretely, only to feel a pang of disappointment that he's already left. You rarely fought with him, as much as he was an insistent Big Blue fan. He was the sweetheart of the office, and on some days, you'd like to think he extended his sweetness a little more to you than everyone else. After today's conversation, you probably soured his impression on you after bashing his favourite metahuman in your headlines.

There's some part of you that worries you won't see him at your desk tomorrow with your coffee and another debate ready on his lips. He had left so early, which is incredibly unlike him. He couldn't possibly still be upset that you told him to bugger off, did he? He didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge, but maybe today was a step too far?

You shook your head, trying to shake off all your thoughts about your strange co-worker with his oddly charming demeanour and a size too large for his clumsy antics. Maybe you should pack up and go for a walk to clear your head. Sitting around here wasn't doing you much good other than increasing the hours of your back and eye strain.

Metropolis was nice at night. The city, which was always packed with crowds and honking cars, had quiet down at this hour. You watched as the lights went out in the tall buildings around you, signaling people leaving their work stations or going to sleep for the day.

If only you could get your hands on an interview opportunity with Superman. Funnily enough, despite having lived in Metropolis your whole life, you've never seen the hero who was so beloved in people's hearts. Other than social media spottings and the morning news, you have never seen the actual man who captivated Metropolis.

Kicking a crushed soda can on the sidewalk, you wonder if your bad luck in sighting him has to do with your articles being the singular negative perspective in the Daily Planet.

"Should I consider that as littering?"

Your head snaps up, and you.. can't believe it.

"Superman." You gasp, and realise this is probably the first time you've addressed him to his face rather than through an article.

He smiles, and you're surprised by how human it is. He bends down, picking up the soda can you kicked and tossed it into the nearest trash can- which was nearly ten feet away.

"You shouldn't be out alone this late." He comments. "The city's crime rate is higher at night."

"Isn't that what you're here for?" You ask. "To keep the city safe?"

His dimple deepens, and he lowers his head in a nod. "I do my best, but I can't be around every area no matter how fast I try to fly."

"Right." Through your daze, only one thought comes through with sharp clarity. You can't lose this opportunity to interview him. "Um, actually. I'm a news reporter from the Daily Planet. I was wondering if we could have a-"

"An interview?" His voice is filled with mirth. "Of course."

That was easy. Easier than expected. The daunting task and envy of Clark being able to secure interviews with Superman so easily seems less intimidating now, but you find yourself at a loss of what to ask as you prepared your recorder.

"What is your line of thought regarding the recent Metropolis fire?" You decided to start there, the topic most fresh in your mind from having just published the article this morning.

"I saw people that needed saving, so I did just that." He answers.

"However, when you saved the culprits who intentionally started the fire and insisted they be brought to the hospital and taken care for, you received a lot of criticism for not considering the victims who had to watch you care for the culprits."

"In life or death situations, I don't place people in boxes based on their roles. I do think the culprits need to face the consequences of their actions, but they were also injured. A life is still a life."

"You have very strong morals." You responded. "However, people are concerned on whether your judgement can be misplaced one day, and that you'll let the wrong people walk off free because you only cater to your own morals. What do you have to say to that?"

"If I had to consider what everyone wanted before I made a decision, I would have lost a lot of lives. In my situation, I will always be prone to making mistakes, so I try to make the ones I'll least regret."

"That is true." You answered, not expecting him to be so honest and open to your intrusive questions. "You are one of the only few metahumans in Metropolis. Have you ever felt out-casted by living on Earth?"

"Not really." He shrugs. "I always saw myself as human. I was raised by human parents with a normal human life. I am a Metropolitan as much as everyone else here."

"Just with ridiculous strength and the ability to fly." You point out.

He laughs. "And that too."

He walks alongside you as you add on more questions, your excitement palpable over the chance to finally have a real debate with the man himself. He's charming- irritatingly so, and sometimes, you have to force yourself to focus on what he's saying and not the way his eyes glimmer under the street lights, or how his height makes you crane your neck to look at him in the eye.

“So do you swoon all reporters this way to keep your pristine reputation?” You tease.

“Nope.” That damn dimple of his. “You’re the first person I’ve ever done this with.”

“Interviews? You sure give plenty to Clark.”

“Clark?" His expression freezes for a moment before relaxing. "Ah, that Daily Planet reporter? He’s a nice guy who happens to be around whenever I.. save people.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You huff. “He might be your biggest fan.”

He takes note of your tone, the near sigh at the end of it. “Do you not.. like him?”

“No, I never said that! It’s just that..” How could you tell Superman of all people that you had a disagreement with Clark just this morning about him? “I was a little harsh with him this morning.”

“How so?”

“Well, before I met you.” Evading your gaze, your force yourself to admit the truth. “My impression was different to his, and it was quite obvious from my articles. He commented that my works were cash-grabby.”

“That’s a rude thing to say.” He responds.

“Really?” You implore. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly kind when twisting my words to fit the narrative of what sells. I didn’t consider how you also have feelings, and that you’ll probably feel horrible if you read what I wrote. Maybe I felt defensive about what he said because I was scared he’d be right.”

“Well, he isn’t right.” His gaze is determined, so sure his words are the truth. “Your articles are amazing, and he’s a fool to comment on them so carelessly.”

You blink. “You read my articles?”

He realises his accidental confession, his lips stuttering to come up with a response. “Occasionally.” He coughs, being the one to avert his gaze this time. “I am a Metropolitan, and you make good headlines for the news covers. Even I can be curious about what the Daily Planet writes about me.”

”My, if Superman is keeping an eye on my writing, I’ll have to be careful on what I say.”

“No, I like your honesty.” There he goes again with that smile. You understand what people mean when they say it blinds you. “It’s refreshing. And it’s good journalism.”

You snort at his words. “If Clark heard you say that, he’ll never dare critique my articles again.”

“You sure do mention Clark a lot.” He murmurs. “Is he a close colleague or..”

“Oh, not really.”

For some reason, his expression dampens at your words.

“He’s, how do I put it?” You mutter. “He’s like this ball of sunshine. He’s always got something nice to say to everyone, and a real big heart. He'll help out when the photocopier is down, when someone could use an extra coffee, when someone needs a proofreader. He’s the complete opposite of me. It's like he came into this world to help others.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks.

“No, actually I-” You bite your lip, wondering if you should tell him. I mean, it’s not like him and Clark are tied to the hip or anything, it’s practically the same as telling a stranger. “I kind of do- like him.”

Superman is silent. Deathly silent. It’s like he’s going through cardiac arrest, and you hurry to speak to clear the air. “You can’t tell him. I swear, not even my closest friends know about this.”

He seems to be recovering from your words, with a small grin raising the left corner of his lips. “I can keep a secret.”

“No, seriously. No one except you and my cat knows about this.” You sigh, feeling the flurry of emotions overwhelm you. “He drives me crazy.”

He looks like he’s trying to contain his laugh, making you feel even more silly. “How so?”

“He never gives me a break to recover from well, him. It's like he's always ready as soon as I reach the office with my favourite coffee, having already read through my entire article even if I published it minutes before. He’s always hogging my desk and asking me questions during my break too, and I do my best to not feel special because he treats everyone nicely.”

“From the way you put it, I think he likes you too.”

“Seriously?” You ask, trying hard not to be swayed by his confidence. He's looking at you so earnestly as he says it, it's almost like he knows he's right.

“Why don’t we do a little test?” He offers. “Does he wait to give coffee to other people in the morning?”

“No..”

“Does he ask other people about their articles?”

“Not that I know of?”

“Does he spend time with others during break or is it always just with you?”

You’re silent, feeling the racing of your heart. Superman smiles again, as if he already knows the answer you refuse to accept.

“I think you should have a talk with him.”

The moments you had with Clark flash through your mind. All the times he was so considerate with you, so passionate, and.. how you ended things today with him during your conversation. You didn't want to lose him, not when you had a chance to turn things around. “You know, Superman? Maybe you're right.”

The next day, after Superman graciously dropped you off at your apartment per your directions, you feel your anxiety clogged up in your throat as you wait for the office elevator. Your foot taps anxiously, wondering if you should truly take the advice given to you and confess to Clark.

Worse case scenario, you get rejected and have to face a lack of free morning coffees and interrogations for the rest of your career. That realisation does pummel your spirits down a little. You do like his interrogations, even if you had to be held at gunpoint to admit it.

You reach your floor, and step out with a chaotic choir shrieking in your chest, instinctively looking to your desk where Clark would usually be waiting with your coffee. Your heart seizes when you find no one there. Right, maybe this is a sign that your plan is bogus and you should come back to Earth, instead of listening to some metahuman’s love advice-

A call of your name interrupts your train wreck of thoughts. You turn around, and Clark is standing there with your coffee.. and a bouquet in hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be late.” He stammers. “Your favourite coffee spot was crowded today, and the florist was on the opposite side of town, and I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked.”

“Also, I’m really truly sorry about the other day.” It’s like he’s on a marathon but with words, spilling sentences out like he’s rehearsed them beforehand. “I didn’t mean to call your articles ‘cash-grabby’. You’re an amazing writer, probably the best I’ve ever met, and I don’t want you to feel insulted by my stupid comments-”

You step closer, ignoring his rant and place a kiss on his cheek, stopping him in his tracks. His lips are still parted midway through his sentence, only now, there’s no sound coming out from him.

“Thank you, Clark.” You replied, ignoring the shakiness of your hands. “And lilies are my favourite, so good guess.”

He swallows dryly, blinking like a morse code pattern as he tries to find something, anything to respond to you. “Well- Right. That’s good. Flowers are good.”

You laugh, taking the coffee from his hand to take a sip, mostly to ease your nerves from your impulsive action. The faint scent of coffee and peanut butter was still lingering in your mind from having been so close to him. “I have a new article on Superman." You brought up, trying to seem casual as you toy with the back of your chair. "I thought you would like to have a read.”

That seems to kick him back into his senses, his response arriving as soon as you stopped yours. “I would love to.”

You move the monitor to make the article visible to him. “I’ve come up with a few pointers, but I need help with the title. Do you want to.. work over it while getting lunch together?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, a grin so wide on his face it nearly splits it in two. “I mean, yeah." He shrugs, a light red coating his ears. "I would be glad to help out.”

You can’t help the grin that slips out when you see his, which is as infectious or even more so than Superman’s. Maybe Clark was right about Superman being more than the words you wrote about him in the past. Yet, it was the man in front of you now.. that held your heart.

a/n: I love him so much. The movie was so good, I was geeking the entire time. I have so many more fics I want to write for Clark, I can’t wait!

[featherofthecrow]

no. 1 party anthem — clark kent (superman) ! ᢉ𐭩

⟢ synopsis. what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

⟢ contains. clark kent x reader, ots and lots of fluff! it is one of the more romantic things i have written, cute blind date, characters are dumb, set up date, lois is a mastermind, i do not know anything about journalism, pinning from both sides but too shy to do anything about it.

⟢ word count. 5.8k+

⟢ author’s note. i can’t get this man outta my head pls help me 😣 the voices!!! also feel free to imagine this as any clark (and i mean any i swear: comic book, adventures with superman, tom welling, david corenswet, henry cavill, or even reeve)

“Hey, you’re gonna hate me but I’m gonna be like 10 minutes late. You go ahead and check in and order. The table should be under my name. I’ll pay the bill. I’m so sorry!”

You weren’t exactly surprised when the message lit up your phone screen. You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose. If there was one thing you knew about Lois Lane, it was that urgency wasn’t always her strong suit—unless it involved an exclusive scoop or a headline-worthy disaster with Superman. Still, considering this was supposed to be a work-related meeting, you had half-expected her to arrive early, not leave you waiting.

You typed out a quick reply, telling her it was fine when it really wasn’t, telling her to take her time when you wished she wouldn’t. Then, slipping your phone back into your bag, you made your way toward the hostess stand.

“Table under the name Lane?” you asked, offering a polite smile.

The hostess nodded, flashing you a warm smile in return. “Right this way.”

As she led you through the restaurant, you took in your surroundings with subtle curiosity. The place was charming—exactly the kind of cozy, floral-accented spot Lois would dig up for an ‘informal work chat.’ The kind of place that felt like it had stories tucked between its soft candlelit tables and ivy-draped walls.

You tried to dress the part, too—professional but approachable. You weren’t here for a casual dinner, after all. This meeting was supposed to be a quick sit-down with a lawyer Lois had arranged, someone who could confirm a few key details for a piece you were both working on. A case involving a corporation and some shady legal maneuvering—Lois had the sources, but you were the one handling the research. You’d spent the past week buried in legal jargon, piecing together statements and contracts, and now you just needed a professional to verify what you suspected before the article could go to print.

By the time you reached your table, you were already running through the questions in your head, mentally preparing for the conversation. The restaurant wasn’t grand, but it was stunning in its own way. You admired the decor, taking in the quiet hum of conversation and the delicate clink of silverware.

At least if Lois was late, you had time to go over your notes one more time.

You ran your hands over your portfolio, smoothing the cover absentmindedly as you flipped through the pages. The neatly typed notes stared back at you, but none of the words really registered. All you could do was wait—for the lawyer, for Lois, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time.

With a sigh, you reached for the glass of wine you ordered a few minutes ago, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. You had to pace yourself, or you’d drain the whole thing before anyone even showed up. You checked your phone, hoping for an update, but the screen remained frustratingly blank.

Disappointed, you rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting across the restaurant. The warm glow of golden light reflected off polished wood and delicate floral centrepieces, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of silverware. Your waiter had already stopped by twice, politely offering more appetizers while you tried not to look as painfully alone as you felt. If they came by again, you weren’t sure if you’d accept out of politeness or embarrassment.

And then, just as you took another sip of wine, a familiar figure walked through the entrance.

Clark Kent.

You blinked, watching as the hostess led him inside, guiding him through the rows of neatly arranged tables. Even from where you sat, you recognized the way he carried himself—like he was constantly trying to shrink his presence, shoulders slightly hunched, movements careful and deliberate. It was ironic, really, considering how much space he naturally took up. Clark was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss, yet he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

You knew him, but not really.

Not as much as you want to.

You were office acquaintances at best—two reporters who shared the same workplace, desks across from each other, but rarely the same conversations. There had been moments, though. Fleeting ones. Catching his lingering glances during late nights at the Daily Planet, both of you working in near silence, save for the tapping of keyboards. A handful of polite exchanges over the coffee machine, his voice always gentle, soft-spoken. And then, of course, there were the times someone would call out "Hey, Smallville!" across the office, earning a sheepish smile from Clark as he adjusted his glasses and ducked his head.

He looked nice tonight. Not too different from his usual work attire, but more relaxed. A crisp button-up, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a strong line of his forearms, dress pants fitted just right. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top button undone. Simple, but put-together. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been so charming, but somehow was.

And then you realized the hostess was leading him closer.

You quickly dropped your gaze, staring into your half-empty wine glass like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. The last thing you wanted was to be caught staring, especially while sitting alone, nursing a drink, and very clearly sulking.

Maybe, just maybe, if you looked busy enough, you could avoid drawing any attention at all.

And for a moment, it worked.

You picked up your phone again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time that night. With a little too much urgency, you started to type out a message to Lois—something casual, something that wouldn’t sound desperate, something that would make it seem like you weren’t upset about currently sitting alone in a nice restaurant, swirling the last remnants of your wine waiting for her to get there. You were so focused on forming the perfect text that you almost missed it—

Your name.

Spoken softly, but clear. Familiar.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The voice had a weight to it, warm and steady, like someone genuinely surprised but pleased to see you. You swallowed and glanced up, feigning a search for the source before your gaze finally landed on Clark.

He wasn’t seated directly beside you but rather at the table across, angled just enough that you had to turn your head slightly to meet his eye. His lips curled into a sheepish smile, glasses slipping just a little down the bridge of his nose before he quickly pushed them back up again.

“Hi.”

That was all. Just hi. Simple, unassuming, but it made something settle in your chest, something you hadn’t even realized was tense.

You couldn’t bite back the smile forming on your own lips. “Hi, Clark.”

“Hey.”

A kind man with few words.

Though you’d heard him talk endlessly before, especially with Lois—deep in discussion, debating headlines, getting lost in conversations about ethics and reporting. But with you, it was always something short and sweet. A few words here and there. And yet, even the simplest conversations had a way of lingering. Would it be silly to admit that your brief, slightly awkward chats with Clark kind of made your day? Even when it was just him asking to borrow an extra pen?

God, you felt like a teenager again, having a crush on a classmate.

You watched as he rubbed at his cheek, the scruff there catching the soft glow of the restaurant lighting. His pointer finger rested idly at the seam of his lips, and you forced yourself to focus—not to stare at his mouth, not to let your gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t.

He was your coworker, for fuck’s sake.

A really pretty one.

A really kind, really good-looking coworker.

You exhaled lightly, pressing your fingertips against the stem of your glass as if that might ground you. “It’s nice to see you.” The words came out before you could stop them, but they were true. It was nice.

It was almost like he perked up at that, his posture straightening just a little. “Yeah, great to see you too. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I... I could say the same.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. You tried to temper it, but it was hard when Clark Kent was looking at you like that—all honey-eyed.

“Are you here for work?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio by your hands, stacked neatly beside your drink.

You glanced down at it as if you had momentarily forgotten it was there. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting with a source, so... they should be here any minute.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s your story on LexCorp, right?”

Your fingers, which had been absently tracing the condensation on your glass, paused. “Yeah, it is actually.” You blinked at him, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”

His smile was almost bashful, his hand brushing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was being modest. “Oh, I just remember you mentioning it a few days ago. It’s a great story.”

Something in your chest tightened—not in a bad way, just in a way that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone bring it up. The conversation you’d had at work had been so brief, just an offhand remark about how you were stepping outside your usual comfort zone. No one else had really asked you about it since.

“You think?” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I thought it was kind of a stretch. I mean, like—a stretch from what I usually write, you know? I don’t really deal with politics and corporate stuff and all that.”

Clark shook his head, that gentle, reassuring look in his eyes making it impossible not to believe him. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an amazing writer.”

You were smiling even wider now. Compliments weren’t uncommon at the Daily Planet—people gave each other nods of approval, a “good job” here and there. But Clark said it like he meant it, like he had read your work, thought about it, believed in it.

It reminded you of the time he had quietly left a sticky note on your desk after an article of yours had been rushed to print. Really great work on this one! -CK. You’d found it hours later, after everyone had gone home. It had been such a small thing, but you’d kept the note tucked inside your notebook anyway.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Clark. I think you’re a great writer too.”

He ducked his head slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just something familiar to the pauses between you two at the office. Expect this time you didn’t have any work to distract yourself with. You hesitated before finally breaking it.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh… I have a date, actually.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, you felt your stomach drop slightly, and you almost wanted to smack yourself in the head for not catching on sooner. Of course, he was here on a date, looking like that—all charming and shy.

He even smelled good, like fresh linen and something warm, something undeniably Clark.

“I know how it looks,” he started, and you noticed the way his shoulders began to hunch in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Feels strange. I don’t think I’ve been dating since college.”

You let out a breath of amusement, nodding slowly. “Wow. Uh—good for you, though. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He hesitated, then glanced up at you, a little sheepish. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what this person looks like or who they are.”

You blinked. “You don’t know anything?”

“They’re a friend of Lois.” He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “But that’s as much as I got.”

“Oh.” Your lips parted, then closed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Clark.” You shot him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’ll be here for moral support.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve got your thing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend out too.”

The words left your mouth before you had a chance to really think about them. Friend. You wondered if you could even call yourselves that. You were more acquaintances if anything—a friend of a friend. But Clark always did little favours for you, and he was always kind to you.

Like the time he had grabbed you a coffee when you’d been stuck in a seemingly endless editorial meeting, dropping it off at your desk without a word. Just a small smile, a quiet “figured you could use one.”

Or the time he’d helped you carry an entire box of research binders up three flights of stairs because the elevator was down. He had done it without hesitation, without you even asking, took it from your hands like it was weightless.

Then there was the time he had lent you his jacket when an assignment had left you stranded in the rain. It had been late, the Daily Planet nearly empty, and you had been standing by the windows, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly as you tried to figure out how to make it home without getting completely drenched. Clark had passed by, paused, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Just give it back tomorrow,” he’d said.

But it wasn’t just him.

You had done things for him too.

The time you had stayed late to help him rework an article after an editor had torn through it with a red pen, sitting beside him as the newsroom emptied, tossing ideas back and forth until it finally felt right. He had looked at you then, something warm in his eyes, and said, “I owe you one.”

Or the time he had misplaced his glasses—how he had checked every possible spot, growing more and more flustered, only for you to walk over and pluck them from where they had been resting atop his head. You had laughed, shaking your head as you handed them back. He had gone pink in the ears, mumbling something about being forgetful, but the way he had smiled after made you think he didn’t mind the teasing.

Then there was the time you had covered for him when he had mysteriously disappeared right before a meeting. Lois had been looking for him, impatient and muttering about how he always seemed to vanish at the worst times. You had lied—just a small one. Said he had mentioned stepping out for a quick errand, and that he’d be back soon. You weren’t sure why you had done it.

Helping him out never hurt. So it shouldn’t hurt one more time.

Well, maybe it would. Just a little bit.

It might hurt your pride, mostly.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and no one’s showed up.”

“That’s... odd.”

“I know,” you muttered, glancing at your phone again, the screen glowing with no new notifications. You hesitated, thumb hovering over your messages before sighing and picking it up. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course,” Clark said, ever patient, though his brows knit together slightly in concern.

You slid out of your seat, weaving through the dimly lit restaurant. The warm hum of conversation filled the air, glasses clinking, silverware scraping against plates. A jazz melody played softly from the speakers, almost drowned out by the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. You stepped toward the front, near the entrance, where it was quieter, and pressed the phone to your ear.

Lois hadn’t answered your last two—three?—messages. You tried calling her once. The line rang and rang, then went to voicemail. You exhaled sharply and called again, tapping your fingers against the wooden counter near the hostess stand.

On the last ring, she finally picked up.

"Hello-?"

“Where are you?” You didn’t bother hiding the frustration in your voice, pacing a little near the door.

"I'm... on my way, I swear."

“You said that almost half an hour ago, Lois.”

"I know, I know—I’m sorry. I was just about to call—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through your teeth. “And the lawyer, do you know when they’ll get here?”

A pause.

"I… I don’t know."

Your stomach dropped. “You don’t know?”

"No… now that I think about it… I don’t think I confirmed a time."

“Lois,” you breathed, dragging a hand down your face.

"I’m sorry. Maybe we should rain check. I’ll leave them a message or something and we can do this another day."

You glanced back toward your table, then toward Clark, who was politely minding his own business, idly staring at his menu. Your eyes flickered to your untouched portfolio, the very reason you had come out tonight in the first place.

“I need the papers approved by Wednesday.”

"And it’s Saturday night. You have plenty of time."

“This is rich coming from you,” you deadpanned, rubbing your temple.

"I know, just… maybe it’s a sign you gotta take things slow. You know, focusing on yourself instead of work. Maybe you should go to a club or something."

You scoffed, barely biting back an incredulous laugh. “Lois… this fucking sucks.”

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? I’ll take you out tomorrow for brunch, swear on that. I promise. And I’ll transfer you for whatever you order tonight. Keep the receipt and give it to me."

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

"What? And waste a perfectly good night? You should stay out, meet new people, socialize with things that aren’t your laptop. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You exhaled, staring blankly at the floor tiles. “I think a movie from my bed sounds really nice.”

"I’m not even gonna fight you on this."

“Bye, Lois.”

"Bye. Love you."

You ended the call with a quiet sigh, lingering in place for a moment, letting the frustration settle. You had spent the entire day mentally preparing for this meeting, running through questions, making sure every document was in order. Now, all of it felt like wasted energy.

With another steadying breath, you pushed off the pillar you had been leaning against, shoulders still tight with frustration, and made your way back to your table. The restaurant hadn’t gotten any quieter in your absence—if anything, the crowd had only grown as the night grew longer.

Clark glanced up as you returned, and the way his expression softened told you everything—he didn’t even need to ask how the call had gone. He just knew.

Still, before he could say anything, you beat him to it. “Your date’s not here yet?” You sank back into your seat, brushing a stray napkin aside as if the small action would help ground you.

Clark shook his head, and he didn’t seem too disappointed. “No, not yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, observant way of his. “Is everything alright?”

You blinked at him, still half in your own thoughts. “Hmm?”

“The phone call,” he clarified, “you seem… a little… annoyed.”

That was putting it lightly.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push further, then asked, voice gentle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of it—the way he just offered, no pressure, no expectations—unravelled some of the tension in your chest.

“I don’t wanna bother you about my stuff,” you said honestly.

“It’s no bother.”

You glanced up at him, at the unwavering patience in his expression. “You’re really sweet, Clark. You know that, right?”

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears. “I wouldn’t say that…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in your nature?” you teased.

He let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I definitely wouldn’t say that either.”

That made you smile—something small, something real.

“Well, it’s true,” you insisted. “Must’ve been the way you were raised.”

“Must’ve been.”

Before you could say anything else, a waiter arrived, carefully setting a starter plate and a drink down in front of Clark. He thanked her politely, offering a small nod before she walked away.

“I, uh…” He gestured to the plate. “I ordered some nachos if you want some.”

You raised a brow. “Shouldn’t those be for your date?”

He gave you an easy, lopsided smile. “They won’t have to know.”

A small chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The nachos were surprisingly good, crisp and warm under the layer of melted cheese, but you barely tasted them. Instead, your focus kept drifting—to Clark, to your phone, to the door.

At first, you thought about calling it a night. You could have told Clark you were heading home, and he probably would have understood, probably would have even offered to walk you to your car or wait with you for an Uber. But something stopped you.

Maybe it was the way he seemed at ease, talking to you like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Maybe it was how easy it was to talk to him tonight, without work looming over you, without deadlines keeping your conversations clipped and efficient. Or maybe—maybe it was the nagging feeling in your gut that kept telling you he was waiting on someone who wasn’t going to show.

You hated that thought.

You didn’t say anything, though, not when another ten minutes passed, not when he checked his phone for the fourth—or was it fifth?—time. You just sat with him, keeping him company, even if you dreaded the moment someone else walked through those doors.

Clark kept insisting his date would be there soon. But every time he said it, the confidence in his voice waned.

By the time another twenty minutes passed, you were sitting with your phone open in your lap, ready to call an Uber. You should go home. It had been a long day, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be out any more. But you hesitated when Clark spoke again.

“They should be here any minute now,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You glanced up at him, watching the way his brows pinched slightly as he checked his phone again.

He had said that before. More than once.

You were starting to feel bad for him.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to get stood up for a date (work was something else you could get over by tonight but a date?)—to wait around, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the person you were waiting for was running late instead of ignoring you altogether. And worse, you were starting to get peeved. How could anyone ghost Clark Kent?

But you didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t seem upset.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to be.

Either way, you didn’t want to remind him of the rejection. If he was pushing through it, then so were you.

It wasn’t until another thirty minutes flew by—until the sky outside had fully darkened, the city lights reflecting off the windows—that you finally exhaled and set your phone down.

“My source isn’t coming.”

Clark blinked at you, pulling his gaze away from the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a mix-up with the times or something.” You waved it off like it was no big deal, even though frustration still sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t nearly as mad as you had been earlier, but you had still wasted your night on something that should have been simple.

Clark studied you for a moment, then gave a small, almost amused huff. “Looks like we’re both out of luck then.”

You watched as his gaze flickered back toward the entrance, and then, after a beat, he sighed.

“I don’t think my date’s coming either.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” you said, and you meant it.

“Don’t be,” he told you, and before you could say anything else, he was already flagging down the waiter, asking for the bill. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he turned back to you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You blinked. “And go where?”

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere. I don’t mind.”

And somehow, that was how you ended up walking down the streets of Metropolis, shoulder to shoulder with Clark Kent.

The night air was crisp, cool enough that you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. The sidewalks were busy with people, cars rolling lazily through the streets, their headlights casting soft glows against the pavement.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how a frustrating, dead-end night had turned into this. But you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you were enjoying every minute of it.

The streets of Metropolis buzzed with an early-night energy. Neon signs flickered, storefronts cast golden light onto the pavement, and the hum of conversation from passing pedestrians filled the air. You walked close to Clark, close enough that your arms brushed with every step.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something trusted about it—something new.

You risked a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. But when the light of a passing car swept over his face, you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly, like he was thinking about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a split second before softening into something reassuring. “Yeah. Why?”

You lifted a shoulder, tucking your hands into your coat pockets as you shrugged. “Just… getting stood up sucks. I figured you’d be at least a little upset.”

Clark exhaled a small huff of amusement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could be. But I’d rather not waste my night sulking about it.”

You nodded, accepting his answer. But then, after a few seconds, you heard him add, quieter, “Besides… I’m having a nice time.”

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

You kept your gaze forward, pretending like those words didn’t sink into you in a way that left you warm despite the cool night air.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time, it felt different. More aware. More weighted.

And then Clark suddenly spoke.

“Can I show you something?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. “Uh… sure?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it, something hesitant like he was second-guessing himself. “It’s not far.”

Curious, you followed his lead, stepping off the main sidewalk as he turned down a quieter street, where the glow of streetlights gave way to something softer, something greener.

Within moments, you realized where you were headed.

The city park.

You’d been here plenty of times before—Metropolis had its fair share of green spaces, a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of the skyline—but Clark led you past the more well-known paths, past the benches where couples sat talking in hushed tones, past the fountain that usually served as a meeting place.

Eventually, he guided you toward a narrow, gated pathway, tucked between a stretch of trees. He reached for the gate, pausing before glancing back at you.

“It’s, uh… it’s kind of a secret spot.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Secret?”

His lips quirked. “Sort of. I mean, it’s public, but not many people know about it.”

“Riiight... totally not a cheesy thing to say.”

“Just, come look.”

You watched as he pushed the gate open, stepping aside to let you through first.

You hesitated for only a second before slipping past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you stepped inside.

And then you saw it.

A sheltered little garden.

It wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful. A small, enclosed space, with an arched trellis overhead wrapped in evergrowing vines. Flowers bloomed in neatly arranged clusters, their colours muted under the soft glow of the moon and city. A narrow stone pathway curved through the space, leading to a bench beneath another canopy of vines.

The whole thing felt… unreal. Quiet. Removed from the city entirely.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is…” You exhaled, searching for the right word. “Wow.”

Clark smiled, stepping further in behind you. “I found it by accident a while ago. It’s kind of nice, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Kinda nice is an understatement, Smallville.”

The two of you lingered in the quiet, the city’s distant sounds muffled by the greenery around you. And when you looked at Clark again, you caught it—

That brief hesitation. That barely-there glance.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly busying himself with adjusting his glasses.

It was awkward. Endearing.

And for some reason, it made your heart beat just a little faster.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to break the silence. “So, what, you bring all your failed dates here?” you teased lightly.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just you.”

His voice was light, teasing back—but something about it stuck with you.

Just you.

You had no idea what to say to that.

So instead, you just smiled. And hoped the darkness hid the warmth rising in your face.

Clark shifted beside you, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze flickering toward the night sky. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just... don’t tell Lois about this place.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Or else it’ll be on the front cover of the Daily Planet and it won’t be so secret anymore.”

You snorted. “Figured.”

Then, almost immediately, your lips twisted into a frown. “Ugh, you know what? I’m still kinda pissed off with Lois.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Lois? What—why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “She was the one who arranged the whole meeting with the lawyer today. My source. She forgot to confirm or something and cancelled last minute. Can you believe it?”

Clark blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither. She’s probably got caught up with Superman again or something—I don’t know.”

Clark’s head tilted slightly, brows drawing together. “Sorry? Superman?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke between us and our friends. Since she’s so close with the guy, we joke that whenever she’s acting weird, it’s because of him.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Does she usually?”

“Not really. But we like to watch her squirm when we bring it up.” You smirked. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

Clark hummed, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. When she was telling me about this date, she just... wasn’t herself, I guess. Left a lot of things in the dark.”

Your steps faltered slightly, your brows knitting together as something in his words made your stomach twist. You turned to look at him, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying.

“Wait—” You exhaled, mind racing. “Lois set you up?”

Clark slowed as well, blinking as if he’d only just realized you hadn’t put it together yet. “Uh… yeah?” He frowned slightly. “I did say my date was a friend of hers.”

“Right.” You blinked, mind catching up. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The sounds of the city—distant honking, the chatter of pedestrians, the hum of neon signs—faded into a dull blur. It was as if the entire world had taken a collective breath and was holding it, waiting for the two of you to catch up.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together—Lois arranging your meeting, forgetting to confirm, being strangely vague about the details.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Clark’s eyes widened just a fraction, his breath hitching. And then, almost at the same time—

“…No way.”

You exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking your head as your mind reeled. Clark let out a chuckle of his own, one hand running through his hair, his fingers ruffling the strands at the back of his head. His ears—just barely visible under the glow of a nearby streetlight—had turned the faintest shade of pink again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just looked at each other, as if confirming that, yes, this was real, and yes, Lois Lane had absolutely just played matchmaker.

“Well,” Clark finally said, voice warm, laced with amusement. “At least we won’t have to spend the whole night getting to know each other.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The tension in your shoulders, the nervous energy, the awkwardness of the night—it all melted into something else entirely. Something softer. Something that felt… kind of nice.

Clark was still smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and you had to resist the urge to look away, to keep from giving away the way your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced down for a second before looking back up at you.

And then, with just the slightest hint of something almost timid in his voice, he asked—

“Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Sure.”

“When Lois was telling me about the date... I was hoping it would be you.”

“…Really?”

Clark nodded, lips pressing together like he was debating whether he should keep going. But then, in a quieter voice, he admitted, “Yeah... It was the only reason I agreed. And when I saw you at the restaurant, I was really excited—until you told me you were there for work.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Sorry I let you down.”

His head snapped up. “No.” He shook his head, quickly, almost too quickly. “You didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I still had fun,” he added, a little sheepishly.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “You should’ve just said something.”

Clark exhaled a laugh, glancing down again. “I know. I just... I’m not really good at this stuff.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good so far. Had me swept off my feet.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice just a little lower, a little softer.

“Oh yeah.”

A pause. A lingering look.

And then—

“We should do this again.” His lips curled, a little nervous but hopeful. “On purpose next time.”

You grinned widely, feeling warmth spread through you, from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’d like that a lot.”

[featherofthecrow]

new city

[I still haven't finished the game so no spoilers in tags!!]

[featherofthecrow]

diva que inspira

[featherofthecrow]

Dancing Through Life - Fiyero Tigelaar

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader

Summary: When you, a quiet scholar at Shiz, accidentally catch the attention of the ever-charming Fiyero, your world turns upside down.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mild Angst, Fiyero Being a Flirt 😭, Possible Drama Incoming, Light Touching and Storm Symbolism

Words: 1.9k

Chapter 2?

The Emerald City was always dazzling, but nothing compared to the first time Fiyero Tigelaar smiled at you.

You had always been more comfortable in the shadows of the grand halls of Shiz University, nose buried in a book while the world danced around you. And danced they did—especially Fiyero, the carefree prince who swept through life without a worry.

You had never expected him to notice you.

And yet, there he was, standing in the library, leaning against the shelf you were browsing, that signature smirk tugging at his lips.

"Tell me," he drawled, tilting his head. "What could possibly be more interesting than skipping class and having a little fun?"

Your fingers tightened around your book. "Learning, for one."

He chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "You sound like Elphaba."

Your lips twitched. "And you don’t."

Fiyero placed a dramatic hand over his chest. "Ouch. Wounded." But there was a glint in his eyes, like he’d found something intriguing.

You tried to return to your book, but he wasn’t having it.

"Come on," he coaxed. "I promise, just one dance. One night where you don’t have to think so hard."

You hesitated. You knew his reputation. Fiyero Tigelaar was all charm, all mischief. And yet, something in the way he looked at you—like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve—made your heart beat just a little faster.

Maybe, just once, you could let yourself dance.

And so, with a sigh and a reluctant smile, you let him take your hand.

Fiyero's grin widened as you hesitantly placed your hand in his. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you through the dimly lit halls of Shiz. It was late enough that most students had retreated to their dorms, leaving only the faint hum of the wind and the distant laughter of Munchkinland exchange students still lingering near the courtyards.

“Where exactly are we going?” you asked, half-curious, half-wary.

“You’ll see,” he said, that ever-present mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Moments later, you found yourself in the grand ballroom, its crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over the polished floors. It was empty, save for the two of you.

“Fiyero,” you said slowly, “did you break in?”

He scoffed. “I prefer ‘borrowed without permission.’ Besides, the doors were practically begging to be opened.”

You gave him a look, but before you could protest, he tugged you forward, one arm slipping around your waist as the other held your hand.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t worry about steps,” he interrupted. “Just follow my lead.”

And for once, you did.

The music in the room was nonexistent, but somehow, Fiyero’s presence filled the silence, his movements effortlessly smooth as he twirled you across the floor. At first, you were stiff, uncertain, but the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing worth paying attention to—made your heart race.

“You’re a natural,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, smirking. “But I like the way you laugh when you let go.”

His words sent a warmth through you, something dangerously close to giddiness. This wasn’t how you’d expected your night to go. You were supposed to be in the library, studying, not twirling under the soft glow of candlelight with a charming prince.

But then again, Fiyero had a way of making you forget about expectations.

As he spun you one last time, you stumbled, and in an instant, he caught you—his arms steady, his face inches from yours.

For the first time since you met him, he wasn’t grinning.

He was just looking at you.

Your breath hitched. “Fiyero?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly at your waist. “You make it very difficult to just be charming, you know.”

You swallowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he murmured, tilting his head, “that I might actually want to dance with you again. And not just because it’s fun.”

The words sent your heart into a frenzy. This wasn’t just a game to him. Not anymore.

And for once, you didn’t want to run from the feeling.

So you smiled, just slightly, and whispered, “Then ask me again sometime.”

Fiyero grinned—this time, something softer, something real.

“Oh, I will.”

And as the two of you stood there, wrapped in the quiet magic of the moment, you realized something.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Fiyero was still holding you close, his grip steady, his breath warm against your skin. Your heart pounded in a way that had nothing to do with the dance. It would be so easy to close the gap, to let yourself fall into whatever this was.

But then—

“Ahem.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat shattered the moment like glass.

You and Fiyero broke apart, spinning toward the source of the interruption. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Elphaba.

Her expression was unreadable, but her raised brow told you she had been watching for far longer than you’d like.

“Should I even ask what you two are doing in here?” she deadpanned.

Fiyero, ever the smooth talker, flashed a grin. “Elphie! What a lovely surprise. I was just giving our dear friend here an essential lesson in the art of not taking life too seriously.”

Elphaba’s eyes flickered to you. “And you’re going along with this?”

You hesitated. “I… wasn’t exactly given a choice.”

Elphaba snorted. “Of course not.”

Fiyero put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Why does everyone assume the worst of me?”

Elphaba ignored him, turning her attention fully to you. “Look, I get it. He’s charming, and sometimes he even pretends to be deep. But don’t let him fool you.”

“Elphaba,” Fiyero groaned. “Can we not ruin the moment?”

She smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m here for.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, the tension in your chest easing—just a little.

Elphaba sighed and looked at you again, her expression a little softer. “Just… be careful.” Then, with a pointed look at Fiyero, she added, “And you—stop stealing dance partners in the middle of the night.”

Fiyero raised his hands innocently. “I make no promises.”

With a shake of her head, Elphaba turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall.

As soon as she was gone, Fiyero let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that was unfortunate timing.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

“Oh, don’t tell me she’s won you over with her anti-Fiyero propaganda.”

You shrugged playfully. “She has a point.”

Fiyero sighed and placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” But his eyes were still locked on you, something teasing, something warm.

And then, before you could say anything else, he took your hand once more and bowed, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to your knuckles.

“Until next time, my favorite dance partner.”

Your breath caught, your skin tingling where his lips had touched.

You should have pulled away, should have laughed it off.

But instead, you whispered, “Until next time.”

And as you walked away, heart pounding, you knew that this—whatever this was—was far from over.

. . .

You had told yourself that was the end of it.

That one dance with Fiyero Tigelaar was just a fleeting moment, a small ripple in the otherwise quiet routine of your life at Shiz. But the next morning, as you made your way to class, you realized how wrong you were.

Because the second you stepped into the lecture hall, there he was.

Fiyero was leaning against a desk near the back, chatting lazily with a few students who were hanging onto his every word. But the moment his eyes found yours, his entire expression shifted—his signature smirk slipping into something softer.

You should have looked away.

Instead, your feet betrayed you by stopping in place, heat creeping up your neck when he tilted his head in amusement.

"Well, well," he drawled, making his way over to you with that effortless, lazy confidence. "Fancy meeting you here."

You folded your arms. "This is a classroom, Fiyero. Meeting me here isn't exactly fate."

"Maybe not," he mused, stopping just a little too close. "But wouldn’t it be more fun if it was?"

You huffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse picked up. "Are you always like this?"

Fiyero grinned. "Only when I find someone worth bothering."

You definitely weren’t blushing.

Before you could come up with a response, the professor entered, forcing you to take your usual seat. But even as the lecture began, you could still feel Fiyero’s gaze lingering on you.

And that was only the beginning.

For the next several days, Fiyero seemed to have made it his personal mission to insert himself into your life.

At breakfast, he conveniently happened to sit at the same table as you.

("Did you know you look adorable when you're concentrating on your food?")

During study sessions in the library, he'd show up claiming he needed "urgent help" with his coursework—only to somehow derail the entire session with his antics.

("I swear, I was about to take notes! But then I got distracted by how serious you look when you're thinking.")

And worst of all? The little things.

Like the way he always greeted you with an easy smile, like he had been waiting to see you. Or how he casually brushed his fingers against yours when passing you a book. Or the way his voice softened whenever he said your name.

It was dangerous.

And yet, despite yourself, you found that you didn’t hate it.

One evening, as you were leaving the library, you felt a familiar presence fall into step beside you.

"You know," Fiyero said casually, hands in his pockets, "for someone who claimed that dance was a one-time thing, you haven't exactly been avoiding me."

You scoffed. "You're the one who keeps appearing everywhere I go."

He gasped in mock offense. "Are you suggesting I’m stalking you?"

"I’m suggesting you have too much free time."

Fiyero grinned. "And yet, here you are, talking to me again."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path illuminated by the soft glow of Shiz’s lanterns.

Then, after a moment, Fiyero spoke again—his voice quieter this time.

"You know, I wasn’t lying that night."

You glanced at him. "About what?"

His usual playful expression was gone, replaced by something unreadable. "About wanting to dance with you again."

Your breath hitched.

Fiyero stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The warm light from the lanterns cast a golden hue over his features, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

"You make me want to try," he admitted softly. "To be more than just some prince who coasts through life. And I don’t really know why yet, but... I think I want to find out."

Your heart stumbled.

For the first time, Fiyero Tigelaar wasn’t just charming or teasing.

He was real.

And you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just a game to him anymore.

It wasn’t a game to you, either.

But before you could figure out what to say—before you could even process the weight of his words—thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the sky.

A storm was coming.

And somehow, you had a feeling it wasn’t just the weather.

[featherofthecrow]

SOPHIE THATCHER — for Variety by Dan Doperalski

[featherofthecrow]

iris you are so loved by me and i would support each of your actions and and and

[featherofthecrow]

Fiyero request! Something like childhood friends reunited or friends to lovers. Thanks!

strawberry tarts (fiyero. t)

synopsis ➾ gn! reader, purple butterflies and strawberry tarts; the memories of him who turned bittersweet with growing up. He replaced them with lovers and careless days, you replaced the memories with studying, never thinking your new worlds would ever collide again. [w.c 3.3k]

warnings ➾ angst, miscommunication, fiyero being too adorable for this world, his parents being questionable.

fiyero masterlist

main masterlist

read part 1 first - purple butterflies

You didn’t know why you had agreed. A peculiar feeling really. One that went against your wishes of keeping a distance. And as Fiyero grabbed your hand, brushing his fingers with yours, you knew the distance was going to be harder and harder to keep.

That's how you found yourself amidst the dance floor of the Oz Dust, his hand against your back as you swayed to the rhythm of the band.

You were stiff, to say the least. Feet tumbling over one another at each careful step, eyes darting away from his. Uneasiness resting in your irises as he attempted to make you turn to the beat of the song.

You awkwardly stumbled back into him, his hand resting a new time against the small of your back. You felt as though his presence was made of fire, surely his fingers would burn through the violet fabric adorning your back.

"That bad?" He smirked, one of his easygoing smirks that made you want to hit the back of his head. Your eyes darted to meet his. "You look tense," he noticed.

"Oh," you cleared your throat. "Sorry." You awkwardly swallowed, mouth dry as you tried to make sense of the swirling feelings fluttering in your mind. You knew you were tense, you did not need him bringing it up.

He kept the butterfly bracelet. He gave you the most gracious, genuine smiles. He had asked you to dance.

Great Oz, you were losing your grip on reality.

"It's alright," he offered yet a new princely smile, the ones that came so easily to him. You bathed in awkwardness as you looked back at him. Owl eyes trying to decipher every micro-expression lodged on his features. You were doing your best attempts at trying to slither through your feelings, grasping at any dot to connect in the myriad of unanswered things Fiyero threw your way.

You don't know how long you sat in that awkwardness.

"I can't believe you kept it," he broke your swirling thoughts, hand gently squeezing yours.

"What?"

"Your bracelet."

You blinked, confusion seeping through you yet again. You were powerless under his blue eyes, incapable of offering anything else but a weak, "of course I did."

Your mouth suddenly went dry again, or maybe it hadn't stopped being dry in the last ten minutes. You felt shy under his gaze, you wanted to curl like a little animal who only wished for the comfort of its warren. Sink into your pillows and forget this had ever happened.

But you didn't leave his side. You looked at him, eyes softening as a mix of pain and sadness picked at your stomach, fizzling right up to your gaze. Your eyes were becoming glazed and you almost caught a slight change in his own eyes. Did he notice?

"I'm surprised you kept it," you managed to pull out, hand squeezing his.

"Why would I have removed it?" His voice was gentle, laced with a tone you couldn't decipher; utter confusion, honesty, mixed with...disappointment? Was he also being condescending? It was a puzzle your mind struggled to put in place and all you found yourself stammering and stuttering.

"I- I don't know- you-"

"I'm the one who is surprised you kept it," he awkwardly chuckled, and yet another wave of confusion washed over you.

"Why?" You unintentionally squeezed his hand tighter, subconsciously preparing for the answer. You didn't know how much your hands could take the stress-squeezing coming from both sides.

"Well..." He looked away, averting your gaze before finally speaking in a shy voice. "You never replied to my letters..." His thumb caressed your wrist, and you didn't know if it was the gesture or his words that suddenly lit your body on fire and led your heart to almost stop.

"Your letters?" Your steps became twisted and you stumbled back into someone, nearly slipping if not for Fiyero catching you; and of course, he had to catch you as if you were in a fairytale novel, as if he had purposefully dipped you as part of the dance.

You were caged in his presence, and if you thought there would be no escaping him before, now you were truly trapped. Your entire weight was leaning against his grip on your back, your hands tangled behind his neck, fully dipped like one of those pretty princesses and princes you read about.

He was looking down at you, eyes asking for nothing but compassion and answers; maybe reflecting your own gaze as you peered up at him. You were so close your breaths were mangling into one and the jasmine, roses, and leather felt like your own.

"You wrote me letters?" You whispered, and the frown that adorned his face was so honest you didn't know how to react.

"Yes," he slowly lifted you up, and your knees would have buckled if not for the way he was holding you. "Hundreds of letters I sent you in the course of those, I don't know many years."

No. It couldn't be. He hadn't. Because if he had it meant he would have received your own hundreds of letters. Letters you had stopped bothering with years ago because they had been unanswered.

He was toying with you, and you weren't going to have it. No amount of charm could erase the pain and heartbreak you spent so many years mending.

"No," you scoffed, almost tapping your foot on the marble of the club. "I'm the one who sent you letters you never replied to-"

"What?"

"You're the one who never answered mine," you pointed to him, index finger digging in the blue of his coat adorning his chest before you took a step back, shedding his hands from your body.

He said your name, a dry chuckle falling from his lips, "no." He looked at you with something new in his gaze. "You never sent me letters."

"I did Fiyero! Almost every day for months and months, but you never replied," your eyes were stinging, why were they stinging?

This had to be a joke. This was a joke, right? Or a horrid nightmare you will wake up from tomorrow. Yes, a nightmare. That's what you would settle on.

You'll wake up tomorrow morning, in your dorm room, safely tucked in your sheets, and remember this was all a dream. Fiyero never came to Shiz, you never sneaked out to the Oz dust.

You were safe. Tucked away in your corner of the world.

But it wasn't a dream. It was cold, harsh reality.

"Neither did you reply to mine!"

"I never got your letters Fiyero!" You took a step back, gripping the edges of your outfit in an attempt to grasp at something. You looked up at the ocean above you, madly blinking; you would not cry in front of Fiyero.

Suddenly you heard a gasp from him, and you tore your gaze away from the swirling of colored fishes.

Color had drained from his face, and you were almost worried.

"I know what happened," he sighed, almost desperately. "Dammit, I didn't know they had done it this early, or to even you-"

"What are you-"

"My parents spelled my letters so I wouldn't receive or send anything from anyone but them, or royal business... I just didn't think they had blocked your letters."

"Fiyero this isn't a joke," you turned away, you couldn't take this, not right now.

"Hey, no" He shuffled to follow you. "I promise you, this isn't a joke. They thought that would discipline me or something. Focus on my studies, no outside distractions-" He grabbed your wrist.

You let him.

You blinked at him. You didn't know what to believe.

You searched his gaze for an answer. Much to your disbelief you found nothing but honesty.

You wanted to cry, but instead, you whispered.

"You sent me letters..."

"I did," his fingers gripped your wrist a little more, thumb grazing the back of your hand soothingly.

You looked down. How? It felt impossible. Fiyero sending you letters all these years.

"You never got mine..."

You felt hot, cold and everything else all at once. You wanted to leave, you wanted to hug him, kiss him. Anything to quiet your mind and the swirling thoughts that were circling you, caging you in their embrace. The tears were starting to pick at your eyes, and you knew you needed to make a choice.

You knew he would see you crumble in front of him, and you refused to do so.

"Hey," he attempted, feet moving to get closer.

"I have to go," you muttered, ripping your hand from his.

"Ranger, please," he was almost begging, sad eyes peering down at you.

You would not cave. Not even when he used the nickname he had made for you years ago.

"I'm sorry."

~

"You should stop sulking."

"No."

"Get out of bed for me at least?"

"No."

Elphaba crossed the room to you, sitting on the edge of your bed. She removed her bag from her shoulder and started shuffling through it.

"Fine, but I'm only giving you this afternoon to be sad, and tonight we're stealing ice cream from the kitchens, and tomorrow were going to the poppy field to have a good cry and scream and then you'll be back to normal."

"No promises... Although midnight ice cream does sound tempting."

"It does doesn't it," she wrinkled her nose in mischief, before dipping her attention back to her bag. "Here," she grabbed a big textbook flipping through the page where she placed a sheet of paper. "These are the exercises from Mr. Dillamond," she placed it on your bedside table before fishing for something else. A small leather-bound notebook. "My notes from the day are all in here, make sure you copy them before Saturday, I'll need them."

"Thank you, Elphaba," you muttered against your pillow.

"Can you stop pouting?"

"No," you snuggled further into your covers.

"He asked me if you were okay, you know?"

You didn't answer.

"I don't think he believed me when I told him you caught a cold."

"Hm."

She waited before speaking again, looking at your awkward shape from under the covers.

She knew you were hurt. She had attempted to make you feel better at lunch break, bringing you your favorite dessert and trying to cheer you up with a pep talk.

Even attempting to cheer you up by telling you Fiyero had officially friendzoned Galinda.

But nothing was working, and you were left a mess, attempting to find the truth and fiction within your conversation with Fiyero the night before.

She sighed, a long sigh you caught even from your place a thousand leagues under your covers.

"I could... Try to locate the letter? See if he's telling the truth."

You popped your face out of your covers, raising an eyebrow, "you could do that?"

"I mean... I can try?"

You sat up on your bed.

"I mean, you want answers right? Closure?"

"Yes…"

"Ok," she gave you one of her small determined smiles. "No promises."

You watched her; removing the bag from her lap before cracking her knuckles. She gave you an encouraging smile, sitting more comfortably on your bed before closing her eyes.

She sighed through her nose before speaking in her clear voice, "could you tell me what you wrote in one of those letters?"

"Huh-"

"If you don't mind-"

"No, it's fine," you cleared your throat. "They never started with Dear Fiyero, it was always-"

"Wait I think I see them," you watched her frown, one of her hands gripping your sheets. "They’re locked in magic boxes. He wasn’t lying." Your breath caught in your throat. "There are two boxes. I think one is for the ones he sent, other is received."

Your eyes were stinging. You were about to thank her, about to mutter something when she stopped you yet again.

"I think I can bring them."

"Here?" Your eyes widened, and you watched as her frown deepened. "Elphaba?"

No reply. You watched her, mouth agape as she was muttering something under her breath.

Suddenly, with a flick of her fingers, a loud thud rang across the room.

You squealed, she screamed. You both jumped off the bed, eyes darting from each other to the table in the middle of the room.

Indeed, two iron boxes rimmed with gold laid on the table.

"It worked," she muttered, disbelief written all across her face. "I can't believe it worked!"

"Elphaba you’re amazing!" You jumped to hug her before bouncing towards the chests.

They were gorgeous. Clearly built in Winkie country, with intricate golden loops and flower-like crests. You approached them, in awe. They were dusty; untouched and unopened for years.

You took the small lock in one of your hands. "They're locked"

"Let me do it," she approached you, and with yet another easy flick of her fingers, both chests opened by themselves, creating a big cloud of dust, floating above you like halos.

You coughed, before finally looking at the content.

"This one is to Fiyero," Elphaba muttered, "yours must be from," she noticed.

You grabbed the first letter atop the large pile, and indeed Fiyero Tigelaar was written in big where the sender's name should be. Fiyero had sent loads of letters, you thought. Both boxes were full, but this one had a significant amount more.

You flipped the letter.

Y/n L/n,

Shiz University

"This one's for me," you mumbled, frowning. "He wrote my address down as Shiz."

"Must be a recent letter."

"You think he sent me letters all the way til now?"

"Maybe you underestimated him..."

You raised an eyebrow, heart racing as you opened it.

My Dear Ranger,

I hope you are well.

Call me a fool for writing you, but I thought I would, at least today. I heard through the grapevine that you were at Shiz, I plan on transferring to Shiz next month. Maybe I will see you there.

Your-

You folded the letter, holding it against your beating chest, "he really did it. He really wrote me..."

"Well, here are some of your own letters. Unopened." Elphaba dropped a pile of ten letters she had scavenged from the box onto the table. And indeed, none of them had been opened or read. "There must be more at the bottom?"

"These are the last ones I sent, yes," you looked at them with a sad smile.

"You okay?" Elphaba placed a hand on your shoulder.

"I don't think so-" You were going to say more, try to express the feeling that felt like someone had just poured hot cement at the bottom of your stomach.

A knock rang across the room.

"It's opened," you shouted in a hoarse voice, staring at Elphaba with big eyes.

The golden handle of your door twisted, and when you thought the door would open to your roommate, you found Fiyero staring back at the both of you, bright blue eyes gone wide as they caught sight of the two boxes on the table, and the letters flowing out of them.

"I-" he stared at you like a fish, mouth agape. "I came to see if you are alright." He blinked, unsure of his next move. "Are these-?"

"It's on me. I used my magic to- um- bring them here."

Fiyero did not reply. Instead he walked across the room to you. He took a good look at the boxes, all too familiar with the design. His fingers traced the top of the box before his eyes landed on the opened letter in your hand.

"So you truly did not receive any of these..."

"I will leave now," Elphaba smiled, not leaving you time to respond before scurrying out.

Tension could be cut with a knife as he observed the letters with careful eyes. He looked at the opened one in your hand, a sad smile you had never seen on him before adorning his features.

You watched as his delicate hands fished inside the from Fiyero box; admiring all his never-answered letters. He silently looked at the dates, gently moved the ones he did not seem to care for to the side, right until he found the one he was looking for.

It could be differentiated from the others by its pastel blue envelope. He handed it to you without a word being shared, sparkling eyes pleading for you to take it.

You let go of a breath you did not know you were holding before your fingers reached the blue paper.

To 'Y/n L/n',

White Orchid Farm, Lilly Valley, Winky Country.

Your fingers traced the night sky blue ink.

"Any of yours you want me to read?" His voice was soft as he moved to the second box, fingers catching the one Elphaba had already placed on the table. It dated way before Fiyero's last letter to you, and his eyes seemed to scan the writing of his name on the back.

"Um, the one with the green flowers," you mumbled, watching as he nodded and dived his hands in the myriad of letters.

Your eyes went back to the one in your hand, you took a breath, filling your lungs with courage before starting to open the letter.

My dearest, Ranger,

I think it is time I admit to you, and maybe to myself in the process, that I do not know how to live without you. You are my guide, my through line to a life I keep wishing to escape, and I do not wish to deny it any further.

I love you.

I love you to the stars and back, actually not even the distance is enough to calculate my love for you.

Please come back to me,

Your Scarecrow.

"Fiyero-" You mumbled, eyes darting up to see him--still reading your own letter. You waited, watching as his eyes started to sparkle in comprehension.

He did not voice his feelings, but his movements portrayed a new color you were barely familiar with on him. He looked at you, like a lost puppy as his hands placed the letter back on the table.

You do not know how long you stood there, waiting to decipher something, anything from him.

You didn't have time to register as he took a step forward, hand finding the small of your back and holding you as delicately as the night before. His other hand found your cheek, he barely asked for permission with his gaze; he could see it in your eyes that you were desperate for the same thing.

Before you could say anything your lips collided. He tasted as sweet as you had remembered, and you felt your head spin at the contact. It was soft, delicate, hesitant, and everything you had ever hoped for.

And suddenly you were thirteen again, giggling in the forest as your lips clumsily collided with his for the first time.

But you weren't thirteen anymore, years had passed by, you were grown now, and as Fiyero's lips brushed yours again, the years of yearning burst back to the surface.

Your own hands found his hair, pushing you even closer to him, and turning the kiss hungrier.

You don't know how long your lips had glided over one another before you pulled away for breath, foreheads leaning against one another.

"Great Oz, I was starting to think I'd never to do that again," he mumbled with kiss-bitten lips, making you giggle.

You smiled as you watched his doe eyes, peering at you with admiration.

"Please never leave me again, Ranger."

"I missed you calling me that, I hadn't heard this nickname in years," you blushed under his gaze.

"I missed calling you that," he placed his hand gently under your chin before bringing your lips to his again, "I love you," he kissed you again, "Oz it feels great to say it," and then again his lips found yours, "I love you," another time, "i love you" and yet again, "I love you."

You giggled in his arms, "and I love you, my scarecrow," you smiled, before dipping your head to find his lips yet again.

Oz how you had missed him so.

[featherofthecrow]

Omg requests for fiyero!

How about an angsty childhood best friends to strangers to lovers? Maybe growing up together, parting ways and then reuniting at shiz?

Thank you!

purple butterflies (fiyero. t)

synopsis ➾ gn! reader, purple butterflies and strawberry tarts; the memories of him who turned bittersweet with growing up. He replaced them with lovers and careless days. You replaced the memories with studying and focusing on your future, never thinking your new worlds would ever collide. [w.c 4k]

warnings ➾ reader is heartbroken and sassy, angst, fiyero being cute, me being shit at science and inventing my own rules bc let's face it this takes place in a magic land

authors note - omg stop I ADORE this request, I've had so much fun writing this <3 hope you like it. also i hope i didn't miss any accidental pronouns, i wanted to make this gn, lmk if i did!.

fiyero masterlist

main masterlist

and strawberry tarts (p.2)

Purple butterflies and strawberry tarts. If you were careful you could still taste the faint sourness of the fresh strawberries from the grounds of Kiamo Ko. The freshly made dough and the sugar sprinkled on top, caramelised just enough to balance it with soft bitterness.

But now it seemed the bitterness conquered it all. Turned the strawberries tasteless, the pie crust burnt to an overbearing crisp and the sugar overcooked, with it chased away the butterflies and turned the grass greener on the other side.

Kiamo Ko had been left empty by the prince a long time ago. When his turbulent personality started bubbling up to the surface, the king and queen started to grasp every straw they possibly could, clinging for any solution to mend their son’s behavior.

When the list of tutors fell short, by the twentieth one who ran out of the castle with freshly broken glasses and a dirt stained shirt, howling scandal as he pushed himself through the doors—it had been a final decision. Fiyero was to be sent to boarding school.

With him gone, emptiness was brought to Kiamo Ko, and his family decided to move away. To another castle, another place that would better suit their new needs.

Your family was thanked for their service. Your father retired from his duties in the royal guard, and stayed behind to tend your farm. Only your eldest brother had accompanied the royals in their new life.

It's not like you wanted to become strangers. You tried to grasp at your friendship. Sending him letter after letter. But when the letters went unanswered, you were left with a universe of unanswered feelings. Unanswered questions that would forever cloud your heart.

With that, the prince became a distant memory. Chasing fluorescent purple butterflies in the gardens of Kiamo Ko at night and eating his mother's strawberry tarts became faded dreams.

Your only source of information became gossips and your brother's occasional letter, reporting on Fiyero's short stays at the new castle.

You heard he had asked about you, once, maybe twice. But as years passed, and his interests fully shifted, so did yours.

~

Your vile was running out of ink. Your fingers were stained blue, from your palm to the very tips of your fingers--stains you would struggle removing.

Your scribbles were getting rougher. You needed to finish this, you wanted to finish this before the clock struck three. You were getting a headache, your blueish hand was cramping, and you were starting to stain the parchment.

But people were squeaking, whispering, and where the library once felt quiet and peaceful it now felt like a coffee shop on saturday afternoons, filled to the brim with gossipers.

You continued scribbling. Something about Munchkinland being saved from rebels. A leader, a general was involved in the lot, you couldn't remember his name, you wanted to remember his name. So you continued to fill the paper with nonsense until his name would come to your mind.

But you were running out of ink. The loops felt lighter, were lighter, you wouldn't have enough to finish. So you pressed th quill further on the page. You continued to write, a sentence than another, a word than another.

Snap.

Fuck. Your feather snapped in half.

"Dammit."

"You alright?" Elphaba broke your turbulent mind, glancing towards you.

That's when she noticed; the broken quill, the stained hands, the essay dirtied in front of you.

"Fine," you mumbled, throwing the quill aside. "I thought I could finish this today."

"It's not due til next week, you'll be fine."

"Hm," you wanted to rub your forehead, but quickly realised it wouldn't be a good idea.

Elphaba saw it, she fished for her handkerchief in her pocket and handed it to you.

You thanked her, cursing again when you realised the extent of the mess on your fingers.

"What's going on?" She asked when another sigh escaped your lips.

"Nothing," you mumbled. "I have a headache, I'm hungry, tired-"

"You're working too much."

"I need to pass this class. Since Mr. Dillamond left-"

"I know. We're all in the same situation here, don't worry about it."

"Right..." You continued wiping your fingers. She was right. The whole class had been going on a down spree since the new teacher arrived. He was harsh, focused on shallow things from history you shouldn't be studying. Where once it was about analyzing the impact history had on the lands of today, his class became about glorifying the heroes still alive and spreading propaganda.

It didn't help that the whole school seemed to be brewing with anticipation. Your gaze caught once again for the fourth time that day; three students whispering and giggling to each other about something. They were squeaking and blushing.

"What is going on?" You huffed, twisting the handkerchief.

"A prince arrived at school or something."

"Prince?" You raised an eyebrow. You wondered who it could possibly be. Most princes of Oz had already graduated university, and as far as you knew, Fiyero was on the other side of Oz studying at Killimand.

"Oh Oz," you cursed, one of your bracellets had been contaminated by the ink. You wanted to cry, or maybe it was just the nerves from the day building up. This was your favorite. It had too many memories attached, memories you didn’t want to forget just yet.

"What happened?"

"Bracelet's stained," you tried to clean it but it kept falling from your grip.

"Here, let me help," she grabbed your wrist and the handkerchief.

Indeed the small butterfly wing pendant had been stained by blue.

"Here," she smiled, wiping it clean. "All good." She dropped your hand and placed the fabric back in her pocket. "It's pretty," she noticed as you checked it. "Anyone has the other half?"

"How do you know it has another half?"

"It's half a butterfly," she suggested and you smiled at the observation.

"It is. I don't think anyone has the other half," you replied with a tight smile. You knew the other half had existed, but whether or not it still did, or was still worn by its owner was another question. You started to fold your essay and clean your writing supplies. "So, this prince?"

"Oh, yeah, everyone is already swooning over him. Stumbled across him, he didn't seem like the brightest."

"Does he have a name?"

"It's that Winkie prince, Fiyero something-"

"Fiyero Tigelaar?" You gulped, and your face must have fallen because Elphaba scrunched her eyebrows.

"You know him?"

"N-no," you quickly shook your head, "just heard of him... Everyone has-" you breathed, why your hands were getting clammy?

"I'm going to go, I'll see you tomorrow," you collected the last of your stuff. Shoving your books and quill in your bag faster than you realised.

Elphaba looked so confused, you almost felt bad, almost wanted to turn around to apologize, but your mind was already on overdrive. Your chest was starting to uncontrollably heave--you needed to get out, quickly.

Fiyero was here? At Shiz?

If you thought you were having a bad day, you didn't think it could get any worse. The one person that you thought you would never see again was now roaming the very halls of your University. You'd probably share a class or two with him if you were truly that unlucky.

Oz, what did you do to deserve this?

Would he even remember you? Would he even realize the heartache he had caused you?

Would he remember what he had told you that night under the stars when it was official he would be leaving to boarding school? How he had held your hand, squeezed it so tight so you would remember his touch.

Would he even remember chasing purple butterflies for the last time together that night. How impatient he had been, how he scared them, making them flutter away, only for the small creatures to circle the both of you.

How the butterflies, the moonlight, and the silent trees were the only other witnesses to him kissing you.

Your first kiss.

His first kiss.

Though it would be his first kiss of many; a start to a life of accumulated lovers, you reminded yourself as you clenched your books a little tighter.

You had just been his first victim.

That night, under the stars of Winkie country as fluorescent purple butterflies swarmed around you, as his hand slithered around your waist, the other brushing the apple of your cheek in a sealing touch. That night he had sealed the fate of your heart with his lips.

Because the next morning he had left you and Kiamo Ko behind with no regrets, only preparing himself for his new life ahead.

"And so this is the library," Glinda's voice mumbled over your ears. You were too focused on your boiling thoughts to even register her, or to notice the figure trailing behind her.

You royally bumped into them, full strength as you attempted to dart out of the library.

Whoever he was; he was strong. Years of training behind him as you felt his arm wrap around your shoulder in attempt to cushion the crash.

"Wow hey there, watch out," his voice was soft, charming, familiar almost- "Ranger!?" He squeaked in delight. Your mind swirled, no one had called you that since-

Fiyero.

You opened your eyes to meet his.

Indeed you were face to face with him, his arms still wrapped around you.

He was older, but then so were you. He didn't change a bit though, still as handsome, maybe even more charming than before. You found yourself staring up at the same blue eyes, the same grin you remembered and loved.

Your heart looped in your chest, and that's when you knew you had to get out of here, quickly.

But as he looked at you his eyes sparkled, and the brightest smile you had ever seen him wear raised upon his features, somehow your feet were stuck in place.

"Oh Oz! How have you been?" Fiyero did not hesitate to cage you in his arms again, and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

His hug was perfect. Just like you remembered. As if the years had never passed and you still fitted against one another like two pieces of a puzzle.

Two wings of the same butterfly.

You felt incapable of reciprocating the hug. He didn't feel the same, yet he felt exactly like you remembered. He smelled the same, jasmin, fresh roses and leather, almost intoxicating as the memories came crashing through again.

You wanted to cry. Right there in the middle of the Shiz library, as his arms were wrapped around you; you wanted to cry.

Suddenly you craved Cruck, your rabbit stuffed animal that you left behind under the soft covers of your childhood room. You wanted to be tucked into your pastel sheets by your mother. You wanted to fall asleep with a smile on your lips as you remembered the day's adventure. That sleep would take you as you dreamt of the roses of Kiamo Ko; because you knew you would wake up just to run to them again the next morning.

Because you knew that after your mother attempted to have you eat breakfast, you would run back to the castle just to find Fiyero waiting for you up in the tree by the gates.

You almost melted into the hug. Almost.

Because after the jasmin, the roses and the leather there had been heartbreak. The lost letters, the unanswered calls. The empty promises.

"I'm alright," you attempted, still crushed in his grip.

"You two know each other?" Galinda squeaked behind her books. Eye brows scrunching, of course she would be the one showing him around.

"Yeah!" Fiyero bounced on his heels, loosening his grip on you.

He was gazing at you as if you were a wonder of the world and you did not like it one bit.

Hand still on your shoulder, people were starting to gather around, curiosity getting the best of them. After all, you had suddenly become a competition in the conquering of his heart.

But the more eyes were on you, the tenser you felt--and Fiyero did not seem to care or even notice.

"Yeah! Her brother works for the royal guard, we grew up together! Oz! How have you been?" He repeated, and you blinked--was he truly this happy to see you?

You wanted to disappear into the books, melt into the shelves, and be one with the stories.

"I've been fine," it was colder, drier than you wished. You didn't want to speak to him that way, but you couldn't help yourself. "I have to go Fiyero."

He almost seemed disappointed. You almost felt bad.

"See you around?"

You didn't reply.

You left without even glancing back to him.

~

The clock was ticking painfully slow, and you watched as Mr. Willows grabbed yet again another bicker from the shelves by his side.

He placed it on his desk and stepped towards the small glass greenhouse. Five small bright neon blue mushrooms stood proudly atop a mound of dirt.

He delicately removed the glass top of the greenhouse and the mushrooms suddenly lost all their fluorescence, turning grey white. You carefully watched as he plucked one right out and dropped it into the bicker.

As he placed the glass jar back on top and the mushroom's colors shone brightly again, he grumbled in his low voice, "Now, do you know what causes their fluoresces?" He turned his glass-hidden eyes towards the twenty-six heads in front of him.

No answers.

You hesitated, but giggles stopped you. Giggles coming from the back left of the classroom, not far from the door.

In the quiet of the room, all eyes turned to them. Of course, they had bloomed from Fiyero's chest, and you eyed as he leaned back in his chair smirking, with a blushing Galinda by his side.

"Is there something funny Mr. Tigelaar?"

Fiyero seemed to be taken aback, but he brushed it off just as quickly, "no, please continue with what you were saying."

"Can you answer the question for me?"

He blinked.

"Could you repeat the question?"

"What causes the fluoresce of those mushrooms?"

"The fact that they're magic?" Fiyero poorly offered, and you were sure it had caused a laugh from a red-headed girl sitting across you.

Mr. Willows sighed, placing his glasses further up his nose.

"Anyone else?"

"It's caused by the chemical reaction of their molecules when it's exposed to dark lights. The moon is enough to light them in nature, but during the day, to see it you'd have to place it in special glass, like the one you have, Sir."

"Very good. At least someone is paying attention."

You missed the grin Fiyero was throwing you.

~

"Hey, Ranger!" His voice caught in your ears, tangling like honey and seeping through every parts of you.

You were tempted to escape, but somehow he had melted your feet to the ground, and all you could do was wait for him to catch up, "still love being the smarter one I see?" He offered, leaning to you with a sly grin.

What game was he playing?

"Fiyero, it was a simple answer, you should have known that."

"Will you come to the Oz dust tonight?"

"No. I've got to study."

"C'mon! It will give us a chance to catch up!"

"No," your reply was stern, and you could almost catch a glimpse of disappointment across his features; same as this morning in the library.

"Do it for me, please?" he pouted, big blue eyes sparkling again--and suddenly you were back in the gardens of Kiamo Ko, with a pleading boy prince, begging that you join on his mischief.

"I'll think about it," you sighed, tightening your grip on your books as you started bouncing on your heels to leave. Oz, you'd have to work on the effects his charm had on you.

You were over him.

You had been over him for years, or so you thought.

"You better be there," he pointed out.

"I'll think about it," you repeated, giving him a short smile before finally disappearing into a corridor.

~

"So what was that about? Your dramatic, I don't know Fiyero, but I clearly do?" Elphaba raised an eyebrow, looking up from her book.

"It's nothing," you huffed, focusing on your history book. You turned around on your bed, your back towards Elphaba in a silent plea to stop the questions.

"I'm calling it bullshit."

"I'm allowed my secrets," you mumbled against your pillow.

"No," she grinned. "Not with the way he was staring at you."

"Same way he stares at everyone."

"Galinda will beg to differ. She's been pestering me with questions about you all day!"

You heard shuffling from behind you, and glanced from the corner of your eye to see Elphaba closing her book and marching the few steps towards you.

"Then let her think. It will do her some good to use that brain of hers," you turned your focus back on your textbook--eyes squinting as you turned the page; only to be met with Winkie Country in bold black letters, with a drawing of the plains and cities below it.

"Ugh," you harshly closed the book, slapping it across the bed.

"Will you tell me at least?" You barely noticed as she sat by the foot of your bed.

"There's nothing much to say," your eyes met hers. "We grew up together, then we lost contact."

"And nothing else happened?"

"No," you lied.

"I refuse to believe that."

"That's what you will have to do, sorry," you sighed and stared at your ceiling lamp, a pretty purple crystal flower blooming from the ceiling.

"Right..." She paused in thought, you were almost curious as to what she would say next. "Well I don't, and I'll keep pestering you about it."

"It's almost curfew, you need to get back to your dorm," you mumbled, sitting up and grabbing your hair brush from your bedside table.

"Stop changing the subject," she warned. "Galinda's probably there getting ready with her two shadows anyway."

"Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb," you laughed to yourself, starting to detangle your hair. "Are you going to the Oz dust with them?"

"No. You?"

You shook your head no, snuggling deeper into the cushions of your bed.

"I heard Fiyero asked you to come," she teased.

"You heard nothing," you pointed to her with the tip of your hair brush. "Now get out before I throw that book in your face," you accentuated your words by pushing your textbook toward her with your toes.

"Fine," she chuckled. "I'm warning you, I'll get the answers out of you somehow," and with those words, she disappeared through the doors of your dorm, leaving you alone with the shadows of your thoughts.

Your eyes went back to the lamp on your ceiling before fluttering closed. You sighed through your nose, heart squeezing in your chest.

Pictures of a dancing boy in a pastel green suit flashed before your closed eyes before you could stop them. The polished marble floors of the great hall as music flowed. Your father in a uniform, adorned by medals; a change to his usual knight's armor you rarely saw him out of. Your mother in her most beautiful dress by his side.

Fiyero dragging you through the dancing bodies, causing havoc once again. The Queen scolding him later that evening.

You almost expected to open your eyes to the beautiful adorned ceiling of Kiamo Ko's great hall, but when you did, you weren't met with the familiar stained glass. You weren't met with the family portraits of generations of Tigelaars.

You were met with that damned purple ceiling lamp.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to go...

Maybe you could get some answers out of him?

Maybe you could finally get some closure.

But could you handle the hypocrisy? Could you handle seeing him dancing with Galinda, just for him to look at you with puppy dog eyes the second she was out of his sight?

~

Your outfit felt tight against your body. Tighter than it usually did. The purple mesh pooled around you perfectly as you walked, trailing behind you gracefully with each step. For a golden second, you felt like you belonged here, walking down the steps of the Oz dust.

The music was loud, echoing through the cave in its gripping melody. People were cheering, singing lyrics you did not know, and it suddenly felt as if you were drowning, maybe you were. Caged under the ocean in a bubble of music, sweat, and fairy dust.

That's when you spotted him. He was dancing with a boy you shared mathematics with. Jory, a tall handsome blonde that had most students swooning before Fiyero had stepped a foot at Shiz.

You noticed Galinda was nowhere to be found, nor was Elphaba.

You breathed.

You could do this.

If your biggest fear was Galinda's judgment, and she wasn't even there, then why was your heart beating out your chest the more your feet took you down the stone steps?

You twisted the fabric of your sleeves as you darted towards the bar. You smiled at the waiter before ordering your drink, your rings clinking with your coins as you placed them on the marble counter. to pay.

And suddenly he was there. Like a shadow he appeared, attracted to you like a moth to a flame.

"You came," there was a smile in his voice you couldn't deny. It made you at a loss for words, awkwardly swallowing as you figured out what you should say.

"Where's your date?" You finally spoke, keeping your gaze focused on your hands on the counter.

"Left with her roommate."

"Hm,"

"I'm glad you're here," his voice was soft over the music, yet you could still hear it just as clearly.

You didn't reply, simply smiled before turning your attention to the drink the waiter slid to you.

You took a sip, bathing in the silence between you.

Fiyero's silence was loud, so loud your ears were ringing.

Before you could even register, his hand reached to yours. Pinky finger searching your own on the polished counter. You watched, unable to let your attention fly from his hand. The moment felt painfully slow, and too fast all at once.

Suddenly you saw it, the pull of your butterfly pendent.

You noticed his only after, the golden bracelet amidst the myriad of others; leather cuffs, silver, and gold chains. But the one you had placed upon his wrists years ago was still there, and as his hand crept closer, the two pendants collided like they were meant to.

The magnets merged and the purple butterfly was whole again.

Two wings of the same butterfly.

You gazed up to see him, just to find his eyes already on yours.

Neither of you spoke, scared to break the silence.

Your vision was getting blurry, your breath was becoming chopped. Now you really felt like you were drowning.

Drowning in a myriad of purple butterflies.

You were back in that forest. His eyes were the ones of a small boy again, standing amidst the gardens of his home. The jasmin, the roses and the leather were engulfing you whole, filling your lungs to the brim.

"Dance with me."

"We shouldn't-"

"Please?"

[featherofthecrow]

Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl (2024)

[featherofthecrow]

Challenged myself to paint Yusuke's Desire from Persona 5 as a christmas gift for a friend

Definitely went out of my comfort zone with this one, but it was an extremely fun challenge

Acryl on canvas, 39x30 cm

[featherofthecrow]

unadulterated loathing masterlist

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

status: complete!

summary: you are forced to pair with up fiyero for a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

featuring (one sided) rivals to lovers, constantly stressed reader and constantly flirting fiyero, and a sprinkle of angst in a lot of fluff with even more banter

overall warning(s): reader is insecure and stressed to the max bc she is an academic weapon! but this is basically all fluff

total wc: 15,311

part 1 ↳ 5.5k words | doctor dillamond pairs you and fiyero together for his midterm. you promptly decide that you hate him.

part 2 ↳ 4.9k words | turns out you have to spend a lot of time together to write a ten page essay. maybe you don't hate him that much.

part 3 ↳ 4.7k words | things come to a head between you and fiyero in more ways than one.

[featherofthecrow]

— Piano Man, Billy Joel (insp.)

[featherofthecrow]

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

[featherofthecrow]

Foolish Ones

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: What if...there is a Prom at Camp Half-Blood? Aka, a story where the both of you are just blind fools who finally crossed the line between friends and something more (best friends-to-lovers, angst, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke, HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!!!)

Note: Not proofread thoroughly. Idk, thought it would be funny if Prom was a thing at Camp Half-Blood. Sorry for the long break, I've been really busy but Easter break is coming soon! Inspired by a couple lines from "Dress" by Taylor Swift.

Word count: 3.8k

Despite the abnormal life of being a Demigod, campers still buzz in excitement at the announcement of a prom happening at Camp Half-Blood. Never would they think that that would be a thing. But now that they knew it was an upcoming event, talks, gossip and bets started infiltrating every corner of the camp — who do people think would ask who to prom, who would reject who? After all, they were all still teenagers.

There was one thing that neither you nor Luke knew: the bet with the leading amount of participants was on you and Luke. Some theorized he would take up this opportunity to finally confess his feelings and ask you to be his prom date. Some people bet that you would be the one to do the asking. Others claimed they had zero hope because it seemed like you two had been dancing on this line of something and nothing for too long that they could not remember when it started. 

Now, where to even begin on you and Luke. You were his first friend at camp. Despite the fear of opening up after the Thalia incident, it somehow felt so easy when it came to you. Then came your five years of friendship, and somewhere in between, glances turned to looks of longing. It became so evident that if you were to ask any campers about it, they’d have something to say — perhaps theories on when this all began or speculations on when the two of you would finally cross the line. Yet, somehow, the two of you were the only people who did not know of this slow-burn mutual pining.

The announcement of Camp Half-Blood’s Prom was in April, with the date of the event happening mid-May. You have rejected two prom date offers solely due to a pinch of hope that your best friend would ask you. You were hoping all his little actions that you sensed as things beyond the line of friends were true. But as time ticked, your confidence slowly diminished.

It was now the beginning of May, and that slight hope that Luke would ask you has now been reduced to the size of a grain of sand.

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen, Clarisse. Prom is two weeks away,” you sighed, hands on both sides of your face.

“Well, why don’t you ask him instead?”

“I would have…but by now, if he has not asked me, that probably means he is not interested, so I don’t see the point in doing so myself.” Gods, it was slightly exhausting for Clarisse to watch the both of you pine after each other for years only to stop right at the boundary of stepping into something. She watched as you sunk into some kind of self-spiraling moment. It was evident on your face that your brain was trying to convince you that Luke only felt platonic things. Sometimes, she believed you both must be utterly blind to not realize how the other felt.

“Well, I think—” Clarisse stopped when she saw you look behind her, mouth slightly agape with a shocked look. She smirked at this, almost letting out a breath of relief that Luke finally asked you to be his prom date. The girl turned around to face the sight that you were looking at, but she almost jumped upon seeing what was behind her. “Oh…?” The response left Clarisse’s mouth before she could think twice.

There he was, standing with a singular rose in his hand and a nervous look on his face.

“Y/N, will you be my prom date?”

The whole area was silenced. You were convinced other campers could even hear your thoughts in this deafening quiet. Gods, you could even feel their eyes glued onto you like hawks waiting on their prey.

In front of you was a boy from the Hermes cabin. Honestly, you did not even know his name. You just remember seeing him around occasionally. 

No, it was not Luke.

A short laugh left Clarisse’s mouth before she could stop herself, but she quickly did upon seeing you look in her direction. But to Clarisse, it was obvious, especially when you and Luke have had this long history of mutual feelings that everybody could see — Surely, the boy knew better. You have even turned down two others —

“Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.” Murmurs among campers came as soon as you said those words. You swore you heard gasps as well, though you ignored it as you stood up to take the flower from the boy’s hand. You gave him a half smile while deliberately ignoring the confused look Clarisse was sending you.

Somewhere between realizing there were merely two weeks before prom and getting asked out by this Hermes boy, your brain has prompted you to say yes. Your mind finally convinced you no good would come along with crushing on your best friend, not when he was not interested in you, and neither were you planning to be a fool to wait around any longer. Maybe getting asked out by other guys were signs you should move on. 

You could feel your heart aching and screaming at you to take your prom proposal acceptance back, but you ignored it. You have made up your mind. You knew moving on would hurt, especially after liking Luke for such a long time, but you deemed the pain as a necessary part of the process.

Little did you know, Luke was standing still in the corner he was emerging from, frozen as his breath got stuck in his throat. His heart sank at the sight of what he had just witnessed. Luke’s eyes fluttered as if hoping he could blink away the sight before him. However, as the situation sunk into his bones like claws digging and ripping through his skin, Luke let out a chuckle of dejection. 

“Luke?” Chris called out. Though upon seeing the sheer look of sorrow on Luke’s face, Chris tried to comfort his friend, “Come on, you can—”

“I can what? It’s too late, Chris. I took too long.” The Hermes cabin counselor looked down at his and Chris’s hands. He blankly stared at the poster he had made yesterday, balloons, the bouquet of your favorite flower that he had hand-picked for you, a box filled with gifts, and photos of you two. 

If only you knew Luke had spent the last month preparing for this prom proposal. He snuck out of camp multiple times to buy the things he needed, including hunting down the items you have always talked about. He wanted it all to be perfect because, to him, you deserve nothing less. Hence, it took him so long to ask you to prom…too long. 

Luke shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. He shook his head before deciding to hand everything to Chris, who was spilling out words of encouragement. However, realizing they were useless, Chris stopped. His eyes widened when Luke muttered at him to just throw away all the stuff that was now in his hand. Before he could object or change Luke’s mind, the Hermes cabin counselor had already vanished to clear his mind. 

Left alone, Chris looked down at all the stuff in his hand and sighed — Oh, you two were blind fools.

For the next two weeks, camp seemed duller from the lack of interactions between the two of you. The bet among campers was nullified since no one had bet that either of you was going with somebody else. They were so sure the two of you were meant to be.

Just like the rest of camp, you have felt off. You haven’t seen Luke since the day that boy asked you to be his prom date. It seemed almost like your best friend had been avoiding you, though you ruled it as his counselor duties filling up his schedule, especially considering prom was tonight, so there was a high possibility Luke was helping with setting up the event.

You made your way back to your cabin to get ready, though you felt uneasy because of a negative feeling looming over your mood. You remember being so excited for prom when it was first announced, even anticipating it would be the night you had the most fun in your life. Yet, here you were, foot feeling heavy while heart feeling disconnected. You stopped in your step as you spotted a familiar figure, and the feeling that was weighing you down lifted slightly.

“Hey, stranger,” you could not bring yourself to say his name because you knew doing so would make your own heart tug. His name has somehow become part of your vocabulary—a word so endearing that it warmed your heart and brought a smile to your face every time you said it. You knew learning to unlove him would be a hard task, but not having him around felt daunting, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with counselor duties,” being best friends meant being able to pick up the slightest of signs that something was off, and you could hear the alarms ringing in your head. You started picking your nails but stopped when you saw him eying your hands. Curse his ability of knowing you too well.

Luke’s eyes softened at your nervous habit. He wanted to hug and comfort you over whatever unease you had, but the boy knew that would do more damage to his heart. To be so near you and knowing you didn’t like him that way. After all, you rejected two guys before agreeing to that one specific boy. Surely, that must have meant you thought the guy was cute or something.

“Oh, well…” you paused before quickly blurting out, “I’ll see later, then?” You could hear your brain scowling at your heart. You wondered if you seemed desperate.

Meanwhile, Luke felt his heart soar at the thought of you wanting to see him, yet at the same time, it ached. He felt pathetic, really. But nevertheless, he was willing to take anything you were willing to offer him, even if it was just a small glance his way. 

Luke wanted to mock his own heart sometimes, calling it sadistic because how could it want you so badly that it was willing to hurt itself doing so? Yet, deep down, the boy knew if crushing his own heart into pieces would bring a smile to your face, he would do exactly so. Gods, you were going to be his demise.

“Yeah, see you later, Y/N” he answered, and you quickly waved him goodbye before entering your cabin and going towards your bed. You sat down on your bed, feeling the mattress sink while your heart also did the same slightly. You let out a deep sigh. Something has changed between the two of you, and you hated this awkwardness looming around.

Your eyes landed on the dress you bought a month ago. Your eyebrows scrunched whilst trying to ignore how your heart was aching.

It was in Luke’s favorite color. 

~~~~~~~~

Shawn, your prom date was a nice guy. When he saw you, he gave you a flower and said you looked pretty, and you thanked him before complimenting him back. Then, the two of you joined others around the campfire, swaying along to the music while engaging in small talk. You tried your best to ignore the feeling that was weighing down your chest. Though, you could not help but zone out from whatever Shawn was saying.

Luke hated knowing Shawn and knowing he was not at all a bad candidate for you. However, Luke also hated knowing he could be better than Shawn and could offer you so much more if only he had done so sooner. 

You looked ravishing tonight. Luke felt as if he had been bewitched at first sight. You left him stunned and speechless. Every inch of you left him mesmerized. 

Oh, your dress was in his favorite color. His heart leaped at that as his eyes lingered on how the fabric hugged your body. It’s been an hour since you arrived, and Luke’s eyes have not left you at all, as if they were made just to look at you and nothing else. Even with the music and conversations around him, he could only focus on your occasional laughs and murmurs. He sighed in longing at the thought of having you in his arms as the two of you danced the night away, leaving this one night branded in his heart as one that would redefine his life. Instead, here he was, a spectator rather than the lucky one. 

Luke looked away, trying to breathe out the envy that was overfilling every organ in his body. He felt his chest was hollow like an empty glass frame with only his crumbled heart hanging up to be displayed, and worst of all, everybody could see it. He might just have to abandon his Demigod life to build a time machine. 

The boy knew he was to be blamed for the anguish he was drowning in, He hated the complete despair of losing something and someone he never had. Maybe your acceptance of Shawn’s prom proposal was Aphrodite telling him to move on. However, that was the last thing Luke would ever do. He’d rather love you in the dark forever instead.

You have re-painted his notion of love and rearranged his understanding of it. Now, whenever he even remotely thought of the word, he could only seem to think of you. Luke could not fathom thinking of anybody else ever when thinking of love.

Luke turned back to where you were, hoping to steal one last look before leaving the event. He thought that maybe this was it. Perhaps it was time to forever close the door on the idea of ever letting you know of his feelings. However, his heart quickly hitched when he saw that your eyes were already on him — those eyes that could talk him into doing anything. 

He wanted to turn away, he really did. But how could he be the first to break eye contact? Gods, you were his Achilles heel, and forever would you have him at your disposal, even if your heart does not belong to him.

His mind started rewiring. You hadn’t stopped looking at him, and the expression on your face was enough to spark a speck of hope in him. But like always, anything related to you would spread through his heart, mind, and body like a wildfire that he never had bothered to put out. 

Before Luke could think about it, his foot took him towards you and through the bodies of people dancing. By the time he reached you, he was not sure if it was the campfire or the nerves that were heating up his cheeks. 

“Can I steal Y/N for a second?” Luke spoke as Shawn spotted him. However, the second Shawn saw the look on Luke’s face, something seemed to click in his mind. He turned to you next, and that was when he knew it was time. There was no competition here, at least from Shawn’s point of view. There was a love story, and it was clear as day who you were meant to end up with. Part of him knew of this even before asking you out, yet he wanted to give it a shot anyway. But it was time for him to step away, and Shawn did it without much bitterness. He nodded and patted Luke on the back before walking away.

One of your favorite slow songs started playing, and Luke smiled when your eyes glimmered at that. Luke felt that heavy feeling in his heart lifted for the first time in two weeks. He never realized the extent of it, but just seeing you happy was enough to make him feel the same. You mirrored Luke’s smile, letting out a small sigh of relief when noticing he was no longer distant. Gods, you missed the way both his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and that’s how you knew he meant it. You were elated at the thought that maybe things are returning to normal for you two.

“May I have this dance?” Luke offered a hand to you. There was something so sincere in his voice that caught you slightly off-guard. Though, you brushed it off like always, still convinced that your best friend did not see you that way.

Before you knew it, the two of you were swaying while giggling along with the song. You almost snorted from the jokes Luke was whispering in your ears while Luke would proudly smile at himself when you playfully hit his chest from his cheeky comments and remarks. You both swayed to the music that was slowly fading away. He softly leaned his head on yours, closing his eyes with contentment as he caught the smell of your perfume, which would always linger behind, leaving traces of you every time you departed.

The song finished, but Luke’s feet continued swaying despite the silence between songs. He would dance until his foot deteriorated if that was the only way to keep you near him.

Oh, to have you but not have you. It felt as if somebody had cut Luke’s heart open and sprinkled salt on the wound. It hurt him, but nevertheless, he looked at you like you were the only one that he could imagine himself being with. His eyes lingered on every detail of you, swallowing them whole as if he intended to make you the subject of all his paintings, like an obsessed artist.

“Luke?”

Luke closed his eyes briefly as his breath quivered at the sound of his name on your lips. You said his name, and his world just stopped. It has been a good two weeks since he had heard his name from your lips, and it suddenly reminded him how much of a desperate man he was when it came to your words, your touch, your looks, and everything that had to do with you. He was utterly defenseless.

“I don’t want you like a best friend,” Luke breathed out before he could think twice. Realizing what he had just said, he decided right then that he wanted you to know everything. He wanted to let you look into his heart and understand it has always been yours.

“What?”

“I want you—I want to be yours,” he spoke, tripping over his words as his mind spun around what to say next. There were too many things he wanted to say, and he desperately wanted this moment to be perfect. 

“I really, really like you, Y/N,” he spoke, hoping it would send the exact message he was trying to convey. “Like in a hopeless and irrevocable way… it’s driving me insane.” He added, his voice slightly shaking, though his heart burned when you didn’t reply. 

“Please say something,” he whispered, any bit of courage he had earlier evaporated faster than he could imagine.

Your mouth hung slightly agape at his words.

He wanted you. 

You almost laughed at how pathetic it was that both of you had been sulking the whole night over something that could have been avoided if either of you had the guts to speak up. Just an hour ago, you were so determined to get over him. Yet, here you were. This moment felt like having your dreams come true and unsure what to do with it. But deciding enough time has been wasted, you wrapped your arms around his head and pulled him down towards you.

Luke met you in the middle. His breath trembled slightly as your lips met his. He immediately put his hands on both sides of your face, caressing it ever so delicately like he was holding a national treasure in his hand. The boy felt his angst melting away, heart tangled in his throat as the moment rendered him speechless. If he could pick one singular moment to remember in his next life, this moment would be it.

You giggled as Luke unintentionally whined quietly when you pulled away. You mirrored his actions and set your hands on the sides of his face. Your thumb rubbed his face before uttering, “I like you too…” You watched as a grin grew on his face, and you mirrored it, quickly adding, “In fact, I think I like you a little too much.”

“Gods, you don’t understand how much I like you.”

“I’m sure we’ll have time later to find that out,” he grinned at your words.

The sound of someone whistling pulled you both from your little moment. Turning both your heads, you saw Chris with a big folded piece of paper, balloons, flowers, and a rather big box. Luke let out a chuckle in disbelief. He was grateful his friend did not follow his words and threw away the items. 

You watched as Luke left your side for a second to grab the box and muttered something to Chris. The other boy unfolded the paper, and your eyes widened slightly at the sign.

“I was gonna ask you to be my prom date, but Shawn beat me to it,” Luke approached you with your favorite flowers and the box, opening it to let you peer in. When your eyes landed on the things in there, your heart almost melted. Some of it was your favorite treats, a small photo album of the two of you, and gifts you always mindlessly said you wanted to have. Some were hard to find, and the thought of him going out of his way to hunt down these items warmed your heart.

“It’s too late to ask you to be my prom date now…but I do have another question I want to ask,” you looked up at him, and the way he looked at you right at that moment made you realize you were screwed forever because nobody would ever measure.

“Will you be mine instead?” Luke watched as you smiled at his words and took the flower out of his hand.

“How could I ever say no to you?” you pulled him in again, and Luke, once again, sank into the kiss like an addiction he welcomed with open arms. 

Oh, you were the best thing that ever happened to Luke, and he was never intending on letting you go.

-------------------------

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[featherofthecrow]

Flatline

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: A certain hospital equipment exposed Luke's feelings for you (funny, fluff, friends to lovers, banter dynamic, minor injuries, happy ending).

Note: I’m sorry if this is not as good as my other works, writers block + being sick has been killing me.

Word count: 2.7k

It was somewhat strange at first to see Luke in normal clothing rather than that bright orange camp shirt that you’ve grown so familiar with. But after spending four days outside of camp and on a quest together, you’ve actually somewhat grown fond of the sight. You could still vividly remember the moment he picked you as his quest companion without an ounce of hesitation. It wasn’t surprising, considering you two have always made a good team, a likely result of training with each other for three years straight. Nevertheless, it warmed your heart that you were his first pick. 

“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting Luke's wound as he sat against a tree and sighed in relief when you realized the cut was not too deep. 

Just a couple of minutes back, you two were walking through the forest and on your way to the nearest bus stop that could take you back to camp. However, the universe must have thought the long journey was not enough of suffering because somehow, you two came across a chimera that managed to claw your arm and Luke in the abdomen. 

“It’s not too bad. I think we can still make it to the last bus if we just quickly wrap your wounds up,” you noted. 

Meanwhile, all Luke could do was watch you. He knew he should be listening, but how could he when you were so attentive to him at that moment? He hungrily took in the way you were taking care of him in such a worried manner as if you were his personal guardian angel. Part of him wanted to soothe your worries, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy it this time because it was for him. 

“Hey, did you hear what I said?” you asked when you didn’t hear a reply. You turned towards Luke, but was quickly caught off guard. 

There was something sincere and sweet about the way he was staring at you. However, somewhere along three years of knowing him, you have concluded that Luke Castellan must have made it one of his life missions to annoy you because he has never passed up on any opportunities for flirty antics just to see you grow flustered. Hence, you ignored how he was gazing at you, though you scowled at yourself internally upon feeling your cheeks warm up. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you forced out. 

“Like what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Luke almost chuckled at how you started blushing from just the way he was watching you. Oh, if only you knew. Luke loved getting your attention on him. He would snatch up any chance just to have your eyes on him or to have you care for him. The boy loved just seeing you blush over his little teasings. It was also fascinating to him how you never realized the true intentions behind his actions. Luke knew that half the camp probably knew that he was absolutely dotted on you from the way he was acting like a five-year-old boy chasing after his crush. Though, you always deemed his words and gestures as playful and jokes rather than genuine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. However, the cheeky grin on his face told you otherwise, and you hit his arm in retaliation. “Ouch, is that the way to treat an injured person?” Luke joked.

“You’re barely injured. The wound is not even that deep.” 

“Well…surely, if it’s not that bad, you can just kiss it better, right?” Your cheeks tinted a more evident shade of pink at his words, and you let out a deep sigh before giving Luke a playful glare. He only smirked at this, and Gods, you found that annoying yet endearing at the same time. Meanwhile, the boy was proudly relishing the idea that he was the cause of the blush that was adorning your cheeks.

“Okay, I say, let’s find somewhere safer, and then I’ll disinfect and wrap your wound up, yeah?” You suggested, purposefully deciding to ignore Luke’s previous words.

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke breathed out. 

However, before you could help Luke up and relocate, two hikers spotted the both of you. It was a middle-aged married couple, and you slightly cursed under your breath. As you predicted, they started panicking at the sight of Luke’s bleeding wound and asked if you both needed help.

“Oh no, we’re fine,” you tried saying, though you could see the husband already calling 911. “Seriously, we have this handled,” you tried to reassure them, reaching out to the husband so he’d put the phone down, but the wife touched one of your shoulders.

“How did this happen?” the over-caring strangers asked.

“It was…a bear,” you settled on saying, grimacing when you realized you were less convincing than you wanted. You hoped the woman would not ask for further elaborations because that would require the impromptu level you were not ready to play at.

“The ambulance should be here soon,” the husband informed while keeping 911 on the line, and you abruptly turned to him. Now, your mind started panicking. You two were meant to keep a low profile.

“What? No, he’s really fine. It’s just a minor injury. Look! He’s practically like he always is. Right, Luke?” You turned back to Luke, hoping he’d attest to your words against these strangers. However, you were caught off-guard by the sight of him with his eyes closed instead. “Luke?” you called again, this time louder. Yet, you were met with the same response - utter silence.

Then came the sound of sirens, and the next thing you knew, you were sitting on a chair next to a hospital bed where Luke was lying still. You’ve been sitting there for two hours, calmly waiting for the boy to wake up after recovering from the initial panic over the thought of something seriously wrong with him. The only noise in the room was from the ticking clock on the opposite wall to you, as well as the occasional sound of magazine pages being turned.

“Y-Y/N…?” The quiet sound of Luke calling out your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from the magazine in your hand. “Where are we?”

“The hospital,” you answered promptly. You watched as the Hermes cabin counselor looked down at the item in your hand, then back up at your face again. 

“Well, you seem awfully calm. Not even worried at all about me?” You almost chuckled at his words, slightly in disbelief that even after getting knocked out, Luke somehow still had the energy to joke.

“Nah, the doctor told me you were going to be fine. Apparently, it was the mild concussion from knocking your head against the tree that made you pass out. Said you’d be up in like three hours or so.” Luke nodded as he remembered the chimera shoving him, causing him to bash his head against a tree. The boy sat up on the hospital bed, and you helped him by adjusting his pillow so he could lean against it.

“So you would have cared otherwise?” He gave you a teasing grin. Things like that had you thinking sometimes if he was just being playfully flirty or if he meant more. Luke does not seem to do this with anybody else at camp. But once again, you ruled out the theory of him having feelings for you in that way. 

“Only because I would not have anybody else to harass if you die,” You poured Luke a glass of water and handed it to him. He only smiled at your witty reply and took a sip of water. However, you took the opportunity to be honest, just so he’d at least know that you do care about him, despite the sarcastic remarks before.

“On a serious note, though… I’m glad you’re okay, Luke,” you sent Luke a sweet smile. Though there it was again — that look. However, for some reason, he didn’t whip up a clever, flirty line to joke around, which made you wonder what was on his mind.

Meanwhile, Luke felt as if his lungs had lost half its capacity. Gods, under the moonlight, you looked ethereal. It made him wonder for a second whether he was in a coma because you felt too good to exist in this ever-so-cruel world. Don’t even get him started on the way you were smiling at him, so sweet like caramel that his eyes were tracing to forever remember. He internally sighed, wondering how many more signs must he give out before you would get that he was genuinely interested in you.

You misinterpreted Luke’s look as one of vulnerability. Your brain theorized that maybe he was shaken from the chimera attack, so you slowly but surely grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. However, you didn’t notice the slight hitch in Luke’s breath as soon as you did this. His eyes almost fluttered shut at how nice it was to have your hand around his. If he could hold your hand every day, he absolutely would. You started rubbing your thumb on his knuckles as well. Oh, to be somebody you found worth worrying about and caring for. Luke thought maybe he did win the lottery after all. He could feel his heart wanting to crack his ribcage open to jump out of—

Unexpectedly, you heard a sudden continuous beeping from one of the equipment nearby and looked at it. Luke followed your gaze, and his face immediately started flushing over the drastic change in the heart monitor’s graphic representation of his heartbeat. The beeping still continued when you looked back at him with evident concern on your face.

“Woah, are you alright?” Luke tried muttering an affirmative answer but froze when you leaned closer and lightly graced his forehead with your hand. The boy gulped while you were cluelessly trying to see if he was coming down with a fever or not — which you assumed he was due to the way his face seemed to have warmed up. However, you were greeted with a normal body temperature and the sound of the heart monitor beeping even faster.

Suddenly, everything clicked. You cast your gaze on Luke again, tilting your head in amusement.

“Am I making you flustered?” Luke’s cheeks flared even more at your words. The Hermes cabin counselor looked away from you, taking his hand out of yours now as he attempted to slow down his heartbeat. However, you immediately took hold of his face and moved it back towards you. A mischievous grin grew on your face as you took in Luke’s blushing. How could you pass up the opportunity to finally torment him and get him flustered, especially when he has been doing the same thing to you for the past years?

Luke watched as you had him wrapped around your fingers both figuratively and literally, smirking as if you knew you had entire control over him. But he knew you only knew the surface level of it because even he doesn’t know the extent to which he would go for you. The only thing he knew was that he was in deep, deep trouble. He knew whatever part of him that was logical would perish as soon as you let him be yours. Yet he did not seem to mind discarding all his senses and submitting to whatever these feelings were.

“Careful there, Castellan, keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to believe you’re secretly obsessed with me.” You were only joking, but the way his eyes fluttered when you said that made you gulp. 

“And what if I tell you I am?” At his words and the sound of his heartbeat speeding up on the heart monitor, you froze. 

It was as if all the clues had come crashing down at once. It finally sunk in for you that perhaps you were wrong this whole time for thinking Luke was not into you. Because now, this hospital room had somehow become a crime scene filled with evidence of his feelings for you - the way he was intensely looking at you with dilated pupils, the uncontrollable speed of his heartbeat that you could feel where your fingers lay near his neck and pulse point, his shallow and nervous breathing, the beeping sound from the heart monitor that would make others think it has gone haywire, and most of all, the earnest and resigned look on his face as if he had already embraced the fact that his feelings for you would not change whether or not they would be reciprocated.

Your hand left his face to brush his dark curls. Your eyes cast down at his lips quickly before looking back up. You noticed the yearning in his eyes and how he copied your actions. 

“...Can I?” Luke uttered breathlessly as if all the air in his lungs had been replaced with pure, relentless wanting. Even as a victim of heavy longing and subjected to desire, Luke still awaited the green light. His eyebrows slightly scrunched as if silently asking for permission, and you knew exactly what he wanted when he glanced down at your lips again. 

One tiny nod from you, and he pulled you in. His hands delicately held the sides of your face as your lips clashed. Almost instantly, Luke felt as if he might flatline soon from the way your kiss was seemingly sending him into a cardiac arrest. He practically melted as you giggled into the kiss when the heart monitor started beeping even more frequently, indicating Luke’s increasingly erratic heartbeat. Something about this moment felt so urgent yet endearing like a long-awaited wish come true.  

Slowly but surely, he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you up onto his hospital bed effortlessly, as if desperately needing you to just be closer to him. You both somewhat laughed at this before you wrapped both arms around his shoulders without breaking the kiss. 

One of your hands started playing with his hair. You were not sure why but you pulled it and almost instantly, Luke had to break away from the kiss as a raspy groan escaped his lips. Your other hand on the side of his face and neck could feel the way it echoed as a hum in his throat, and you gulped at your effect on him.

Luke licked his lips as he stared at you again. He came to the conclusion that after that kiss, you were wrong that he was obsessed with you. Instead, he was everything above that - devoted, fervently fixated, infatuated, an addict who shamelessly wanted and needed you. Gods, maybe he was a madman when it came to you.

Your eyes flickered to the clock nearby and noticed it was 4:41am, realizing there was just enough time for the two of you to leave the hospital and catch the next bus back to camp. That prompted you to whisper, “I think we should leave now. If we do, we’ll be on time for the next bus.” Luke groaned at your words while you hopped off the hospital bed and grabbed your jacket. The boy unhooked himself from the heart monitor, though his eyes lingered on it for a bit while a smile grew on his face. 

“Why the rush?” He asked, grabbing his own jacket before opening the door for you.

“Cause as lovely as that was, I don’t want to make out again in a hospital,” Luke froze before grinning at your words.

“Oh, does that mean it might happen again? Us making out?” He asked, watching as a cheeky smile grew on your face despite you opting to just shrug at his question. You fanned your hand out before him, smiling even more when he put his hand in yours. 

With that, you led him out of the hospital hand in hand while he grinned like a fool behind you.

Honestly, Luke would blindly go anywhere you lead him.

-------------------------

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