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"crushcrushcrush"— wherein the highlight of your days comes as a 6'4", nerdy, football player with a big heart, who's oh so hopelessly in love with you.
ᯓ 💬 .ᐟ ⊹ -> football player!clark kent x student aide!reader who's just as hopelessly in love with him, reader is gender neutral, reader is mentioned to be in the student council as well, fluff, a little suggestive in the end, university!au, mentions of bruises ( but nothing too serious ), clark isn't superman ( or maybe he's just holding back 👀 ), clark is very silly, I had both tom welling & david corenswet's clark kent in mind, mixed povs, possible grammar & spelling mistakes ( I did proofread, but just a heads up! ) word count: 2,627
[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — crushcrushcrush by paramore
Dirt on the bottom of his cleats.
Sweat all over him.
The sound of the coach’s whistle putting practice to a halt.
Clark doesn't head straight to the bench, doesn't grab his water bottle to drink, and doesn't acknowledge his teammates pat on the back. His mind is straight on to the shortcut he takes to visit the clinic. Where he knows you’re helping currently.
Clark’s been keeping tabs on you. Ever since that day you bumped into him on the hallways, papers and folders clutched in your arms, as you frantically tried to keep up with Ms. Oliveira’s strides. He knew that the moment you tried to insist his help, with that determined—or possibly stubborn—look in your eyes, that he was hooked. You had cast your bait, unknowingly, and he fell for it. You reeled him in. And from then on he never stopped chasing after you.
Perhaps it was out of the blue. Suddenly, there’s this huge, dorky, football player following you around and insisting he walks you to your next class. Or even accompany you when you’re doing a task as one of the student aides. But Clark’s actions are very kind-hearted. He has promised you that. Plenty of times. His words being “I won't force you into anything that you don't want.”. And so far, you don't seem to be complaining about his company.
So, for today, he’s decided that this small scratch on his arm calls for an emergency visit to the clinic.
“Clark Kent.” A woman, in her late-twenties and also your university’s registered nurse, greets your best friend with a knowing look. And a glance at you to pair with it. “Hello, Ms. Winters.” Clark, who wasn't expecting her when he slid the doors open, gives her a quick nod before bee lining towards you behind the desk. Where you just finished giving a freshman his allergy medication after a minor flare up.
“Have to get this back real quick, Clark.” You push your chair back, heading towards the nearby medicine cabinet to store the allergy medication you just grabbed. Clark follows you like a big puppy, taking up more space than he intended that he almost knocks the chair back. He holds it steady before you can notice. But Ms. Winters definitely did. “Mr. Kent.” She says his name in a firm, almost scolding, manner. Clark whips his head back to her, a baffled expression on his face. He almost looks hurt. And it seems to work on Ms. Winters, as she sighs.
“Do you need anything?”
“Uhm, Well, I’m sure its nothing my friend here can't help with.” He pats you on the shoulder, in what seems to be his normal strength but sends you coughing. Ms. Winters raises a brow. You turn and send her a reassuring smile, and you catch Clark’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to.” He mouths, you nod your head, understanding the fact that he can sometimes forget his own strength. Especially when he’s all flighty like this.
“Right, so, what is it this time?” You ask, pulling Clark near one of the empty beds. He, happily, follows you with a growing smile on his face. You can almost see his imaginary tail wagging behind him. “A wound.” He says, as if its the most alarming thing in the world, while taking a seat down on the bed. He lifts the sleeve of his jersey and shows you the wound—that’s just a small, thin, and red jagged line—on his bicep. You hear the student, who supposedly has a bad headache, on the next bed gasp as she lifts her head up to ogle. You raise your brow at her and she lays back down, pretending like nothing happened.
“Clark, is this becoming a thing now?” You sigh, feigning annoyance—but really you’re just as amused as he is, as he forces a hiss when you clean his wound. “What do you mean? I got hurt and I went to you.” He says, fighting back a smile, and you see Ms. Winters roll her eyes behind her monitor. As you reach for the antiseptic—and a hello kitty band-aid that Clark very much insisted on—you can feel him gazing at you intently.
“Hey, ow, careful now. You know I don't do well with wounds.” Clark jests, as he jolts his shoulder up dramatically. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that it’d just fuel him. “There. All done.” You say as you place the band-aid on top of his small scratch, the hello kitty design is a stark contrast to the rest of him, but you’re still enamored by it. “Thanks.” Clark responds, his voice rasped with a sudden intimacy. You look up at him, slightly startled, but he only smiles.
“Let me walk you home.”
“Clark, you don't have to.” He finds your hand and squeezes it, silently pleading. You give in.
“Its not because I have to. But because I want to.” Clark pulls away, not before giving your hand another squeeze, standing up. You try to push his sleeve back down but he stops you. “Uh-uh, gotta let coach know that I meant business going here.” He winks, you let out a chuckle, and he grins at that. The sound of your laugh causing butterflies in his stomach. “See you later.” He then adds, waiting for you to wave at him before heading out the clinic. Ms. Winters eyes you both from behind her desktop, a small smile creeping up her lips.
“Is he your boyfriend yet?”
“Oh, God, no.”
She shakes her head and mockingly tuts. You turn your head down, a little embarrassed.
Maybe when the moon turns blue.
“That’s the last time I’m ever stepping foot on the field.” Clark laughs at your quip, with a kind of smile that makes his eyes disappear. And make your heart do somersaults, apparently. He’s changed into his casual clothes, paired with his varsity jacket. It’s funny, You've been hanging out with him so much that you’re starting to predict his clothing patterns.
It was either that Letterman jacket or those denim ones, that he paired with any colored flannel shirt underneath. Which he’s sort of claiming as his own staple, despite not meaning to. Now every time you see someone wearing a similar outfit, you always think of Clark Kent.
Which might be a great tactic to creep his way into your mind.
“Oh, come on, coach already loves you.” Clark exclaims, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you to his side, when the janitor turns around the hallway with his mop bucket—which almost collided with you. Your eyes widen in a fraction from your sudden proximity. And when Clark notices you tense, he pulls away. Not wanting to make you uncomfortable. Even though it has nothing to do with that.
“Didn’t even meet the guy.” You manage to say, reaching the front steps of the school. Clark shrugs, mumbling something about how it’s not hard to love you. Which you catch, the words falling in your ears smoothly, making you smile. Your family’s apartment isn't that far from here. Though, you prefer taking the bus home for safety purposes. But since Clark’s here, you feel safe enough to walk straight home.
“How was the Debate club recruitment?” You ask after a long moment of just walking side by side. Clark hums, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, with a small tilt to the side. Which leads you to believe it was mere satisfactory. Not too bad but not too good. “The freshmen still need improvement. But they did good, considering they’re new recruits and all. They have that eagerness to improve, I can tell.” You love that about Clark. That once he’s really passionate about something, he treats it with utmost care and importance. Just like his love for debate and journalism.
Much like with you.
“What about you? I’ve been seeing you take on more tasks than usual.” You both stop at the sidewalk, just as the pedestrian light goes red. Clark’s referring to your tasks as a student aide, and of course he’d notice. It’s not like you’re not aware that he’s been keeping tabs on you. But he is right.
You’re part of the student council yourself, and have been helping out in the faculty since. So it didn't take you much convincing to become part of the university’s student aide association. Volunteering to help just came easy with you. But you can understand why Clark would worry.
“I’m fine, Clark. I swear. I won't take this much load if I can't handle it.” He gives you a brief side glance, before nodding his head. You can tell he’s not buying it but he doesn't want to upset you either. Once the pedestrian light turns green, Clark’s hand hovers on the small of your back, instinctively, as you cross. “Okay, but we made a promise. That we both won't overwork or burn ourselves out.” You chuckle, nodding your head. It’s sweet that he still remembers that.
“Promise, I won't. I’ll even let you drag me away mid-task.”
“Holding onto that.”
You arrive in front of your apartment building a couple of minutes later. Clark seems like he doesn't want to let you go yet, and as much as you don't as well, someone has to make the first move. Or else your mom’s going to keep feeding him until you can no longer have seconds. “So” He drawls, kicking a pebble and trying to stall you as long as he can. But you hold yourself back from falling for it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clark.” He pouts, you laugh.
“Library, tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, with Ms. Ashcroft.” Clark nods his head at that, as he slowly turns around, taking as much time as he can while watching you ascend up the stairs to your floor.
Clark wears a smile on his face the entire night. He ends up rerouting his way home, the bus stop looming further behind him, as he finds himself entering a flower shop.
The library’s bustling with students this morning. You see Ms. Ashcroft, the usually bright librarian, peek her head from the small crowd of students surrounding her desk. Her eyes scream for help when they meet yours, as you step inside the library. This wasn't the morning you expected, you sigh as you head towards her.
“Sorry, dear, can you email me the file again? I don't think this is the right one.” You hear Ms. Ashcroft say in the middle of the chaos she’d found herself in. Ironically enough, the library stayed silent. “Ms, how do you..” A girl with braids holds her phone up towards you, silently pleading for you to take over. As you take a step closer to her, some of the other students start handing their phones to you as well. And you have to hold your hand up. “Alright, why don't we take this one at a time?” But a student chimes in. “But I need this paper now. My class is in an hour.” Ms. Ashcroft sighs from your side and stands up.
“Who needs their files printed now?” Two, then four students raise their hands. Followed by another one a little while later. “The rest can have their files printed to me.” You say and Ms. Ashcroft’s shoulders ease, relieved that you offered. “Thank you, dear. For a second, I thought I was going to reboot.” A chuckle comes out of you at her small jest, before she sits back down and ushers the other students to her side.
“Let’s get the rest of you settled.” You turn towards the three students left, nudging each other to go first.
You’re back to your usual routine of checking the bookshelves, after the crowd has gone. Meanwhile, Ms. Ashcroft is showing her new intern around. When you take a few steps back, eyes glued on the books, you notice a small book wedged in between two large ones, looking out of place. That was definitely not there before.
As you pull it out, Clark greets you from the other side. You flinch in surprise and you can hear his laugh as he heads to your side. “Clark.” He holds a hand up in mock surrender, his other one noticeably hiding something behind him. He says your name in the same chiding tone you use, and before you could ask about what he’s hiding, he presents the bouquet of forget-me-not flowers to you.
Clark watches your eyes widen, taking the bouquet from him. He’s starting to grow a little shy from your silence, letting out a bashful chuckle to fill it. “Forget-me-not?” You ask and Clark hums, shrugging in a coy manner. “I noticed they were the flowers outside the window next to your seat.” You share a few classes with Clark. One of them is Public Relations, and coincidentally that classroom has one of the nicest view in the building. So, you decided to sit near the window, unaware that Clark’s taken notice of your seating choice.
“Well, I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to thank you for being thoughtful.” You tease, and he smiles brightly. His eyes turned into half moons. You find yourself doing the same thing, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your arms. It’s light, but with its sudden significance, you almost don’t want to drop it.
“And I guess this is also the part where I ask you out on a date.” Clark steps closer to you, cutting your distance short. You feel your breath caught just as his fingers curl around the belt loops of your pants, pulling you closer. The plastic of the bouquet makes a small noise as it wrinkles. “Is this your way of persuading me?” You ask, trying to hold yourself together. But your voice comes out breathless. Clark finds it amusing. “Maybe.” He says, nudging his head to the side, you see his eyes glance down to your lips before returning back to yours. It makes you shiver.
“Would you do me the honors of being my date this afternoon?” His voice is low as he asks, leaning closer so his face is just inches away from yours. You don’t answer him, you just pull him down for a kiss. And he smiles into it, as if it’s the only answer he was expecting. Clark lets go of your belt loops, his hands now trailing up from your hips to your waist, as he tilts his head to the side to kiss you even deeper. “We’re gonna get caught.” You whisper, but you’re already lifting your arms to wrap around his neck.
“Then let’s change locations.”
“You would-” But he’s already breaking the kiss, just to pull you into one of the study rooms with him.
Fortunately, no one caught you.
Unfortunately, though, the bouquet got squished. But its still salvageable. According to Clark.
sora 😰😰 my eli obsession is back oh no what do i do....... he's so handsome....he's my type.... his way of speaking so unique....I can't stop listening to 'my king will be kind', 'perfect storm' and 'if you're gonna break my heart'
uGH ur so real for this aimee, HE'S SO ANNOYINGLY CHARMINGG!!! I wish irish men were real 😔
𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 … ྀི𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐭 ۫ ׅ ⌇ grace doesn't really like leaving home unless it's for work. why would she? when she has a pretty girl waiting for her every single night.
❨🏷️❩ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ grace ashcroft x gn!reader · I did, however, write this with an afab!reader in mind · established relationship ( grace & reader are a couple ) · grace only listens to reader · both of them are very cuddly and soft with each other · sickenly sweet fluff · possible grammar & spelling mistakes! · written in second pov⌇ wc: 1,073
── .✦ resident evil masterlist
ꉂ ` 🗒️ `˖ * 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐤 ⌯⌲ oh hello grace ashcroft and why are you in a life or death situation even. also please have this grace gif for now, my creative juices have been EMPTIED. but I will make a header soon dw!
Grace can hear the rain pouring heavier outside your apartment, the sound of pitter-patters turning into rhythmic drums, as dozens of rain droplets hit the roof. It’s a perfect weather to stay inside, but her co-workers could argue otherwise.
“I just couldn't, you know, stay. Parties aren't my thing.” Grace mumbles, her back pressed against your chest as you cuddle in bed. Her laptop rests on her lap, untouched, trying to convince herself that she’s doing work when she isn't.
All her attention has been on you ever since she made it back to your apartment. She successfully dodged the little party her co-workers kept inviting her to since the beginning of the week. It was the end of the month, and everyone wanted to let loose. But Grace’s idea of letting loose was in bed with you.
“I get it. It’s also raining pretty hard, so I’m glad you're here with me.” You smile against her hair, hugging her waist tighter. Grace sighs and finally gives up on pretending, closing her laptop shut.
She turns around to face you, and you let her, arms moving to wrap around her neck while hers settle around your waist. Grace buries her face against your stomach, earning a laugh from you. Your hands try to pry her away out of instinct, and she looks up at you in return.
“You know I’ll always choose to be where you are.”
You can't exactly disagree with her. You love spending time with Grace too. Whether it was a lazy night in like this, or working side by side on your own laptops.
It was peaceful. And, somehow, just being in each other’s presence took some weight off of your shoulders.
“Well, you're not the only one.” You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her face. Grace returns your smile, coyly, and leans against your palm.
“I know.” She mumbles, face down on your lap, because it’s apparently the most comfortable place to be in for Grace.
You let your hands comb through her hair a couple more times, before laying down on the bed from resting against the headboard.
Keyboard typing and occasional thrumming of fingers, you realize you're waking up from a slumber you never even knew about. And you can't feel Grace beside you, in her place is a pillow and you’ve apparently moved to face your right.
However, you’re quick to spot your girlfriend, hunched on her chair with one foot up. Her laptop’s illuminating light infront of her face, but somehow the sight of her at her desk—focused on work—makes you feel some type of way.
Grace is smart, intelligent in a way that impressed most her colleagues, but made some envy her. Despite this, she keeps to herself. And doesn't like bringing attention to herself, preferring to apologize for something she didn't even do just to avoid conflict. Most people tend to underestimate her because of it.
But for you, it’s endearing.
Grace doesn't notice you waking up, nor propping yourself on your elbow, by your side, to stare at her.
She’d tucked you in earlier, when she woke up first early in the morning. Since then, she’d had two cups of coffees and two remaining reports to work on.
She was clearly in a flow state, and you’re content just watching her quietly from the side.
However, just like the rain, it didn't last. Grace picks up her mug, only to notice that she had emptied it. She pushes herself away from her desk, noticing you propped up from her peripheral. Grace quickly turns her chair to look at you.
“You're awake.” She says, a surprised lilt in her voice.
You smile, giving her a playful shrug. Which she responds to with a similar smile.
“You want me to get you coffee?”
“No, thanks. How much have you had?” You ask, eyes on her tapping foot. Grace quickly stops it. But it’s too late and she gets all bashful.
“You’re addicted.”
“I’m not!” She swiftly defends herself, placing her mug down on her desk and making you think she’s given up on it. But you know she’s still thinking about it.
“Grace Ashcroft, this is a serious obsession.” You start sitting up, teasing her. You’re aware she hasn't had coffee since the beginning of this week, but it’s fun. Grace lets out a small scoff, leaning back on her chair.
You stare at each other for a while, seeing who breaks first. But you know she always loses this.
“Come here.” Her voice comes out small, completely given up, and you stand to walk over to her. Grace’s hand reaches out to you, shaking it a little, desperate for you to take it. You let out a laugh when you do, kissing your way up to her lips.
This time, Grace is the one to laugh while kissing you, her hand moving up to the back of your head. You let out a sigh against her mouth and her own breath catches.
“You're a distraction.” She whispers when you pull away. And all you can think about is how beautiful she looks after getting kissed.
“Only because you allow me to be.”
“.. You’re not wrong.” Grace gets all pouty and you get the urge to hold her face. Her cheeks squish against your palms, and you think you’re getting cuteness aggression.
Grace then raises a brow when you suddenly hug her. And yet she hugs you back, not complaining when her face is all pressed up against your chest. This might just be another version of heaven for her.
“Don’t let me see you like this ever again, please.”
“What?”
“You’re adorable.” You feel the vibrations of Grace’s laugh against your chest. And you don't let her go until after you’ve kissed her forehead.
She’s all red and flustered when you pull away, which is just another beautiful sight for you. Her hands around you remain, as she looks up.
“I think I don't need another cup of coffee.”
“Good. But I don't think you’ll be getting any work with me here.”
Grace smiles. You're right, of course. She did say you’re a distraction, a pretty convincing one at that.
But if there's anything she’d learned ever since getting with you. It’s that she’d always prefer you over her work.
“That’s the point. So, stay for a little while. I need the rest.”
"let go of your hurt" — you really needed a job this summer. and, luckily, your friend offered for you to work at her father's record store. only that she didn't mention it came with a very awkward, but cute, co-worker.
ᯓ 💬 .ᐟ ⊹ -> co-worker!robert (bob) reynolds x crush!reader, reader is gender neutral, slight sunshine!reader, fluff, strangers to friends to possible lovers, featuring my ocs (once again), mixed povs, no void and no sentry just bob, bob has a habit of checking the time, possible spelling & grammar mistakes, might be a little ooc?, word count: 2,386
[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — LGOYH - let go of your hurt by kwes., Sampha, Tirzah
Today’s going to be a good day.
You can feel it.
You didn't wake up at the sound of your neighbors arguing about rent or whatnot. You actually witnessed the sun rising. And you swore you heard one or two birds chirping outside. The egg you cracked even made a perfect sunny side up. It was phenomenal. Life changing even.
After getting your chores done, you made your way to the record store. Which is just a couple of blocks away from your apartment building. Your path wasn't as crowded as usual. Which you took as another sign for a good day. Then you bumped into your co-worker, Bob, who seemed deep in thought with his earphones on. You tapped his shoulder and that’s when he noticed you, showing you a crooked smile afterwards. It was cute.
“Morning, Bob.” You smiled, too bright for a Monday morning. And Bob almost kissed a wall, taken a back, if it wasn't for you maneuvering him to the side. The action actually sent goosebumps on his arms. And it’s not like it was cold. It was the middle of the summer. It was scorching hot! So, it was obviously you and Bob’s—recently discovered—attraction over being manhandled around.
Hey, happens to the best of us, right?
You helped him open the record store and Bob immediately got to the task of unboxing the new arrivals. While you tidied up the shelves.
It was only 9:50 in the morning.
Bob sees your silhouette between the spaces of the beaded curtain, separating the storage room and the counter. It’s only been three weeks since you started working here at the record store. Bob heard that you’re a friend of the owner’s daughter, and that you’re working here only for the summer. But you already had him tripping on his own feet and stumbling over his words. He wasn’t usually so clumsy. But every time he tries to act cool with you, it backfires on him. Still, that doesn’t stop him from making small talks with you.
Like that one time he asked if you liked Green Day. When you said yes, he immediately paused your conversation and went to change the song—playing on the speakers—to Last Night on Earth. And you thought that was actually sweet.
He might not be the most interesting person. But you were stuck with him this whole summer, and the last thing he wanted was to make this a bad experience for you. Not that he was this hospitable with his last co-worker. But it was you. And that made a difference.
Bob clears his throat when he hears the doors open. Someone had entered the store. You straighten your back, phone hidden under the counter and you chuck it in one of the shelves to greet the customer with a smile. Meanwhile, he snaps out of his trance and realizes that he dropped the box cutter on the table. Bob picks it up to tear one of the boxes open. He gets into a familiar routine of opening boxes, picking up the records and sorting them out, alphabetically and by their genres. Then, he’d either give the boxes to you—when you switch—or he’d have the time to put them on the shelves. Though, when the both of you were free—and no customers were coming in—you’d do it together. And Bob really likes when that happens.
But right now, you seem as occupied as he was, chatting up the customer who’d just come in.
Oh, well. It was only 10 in the morning.
“Hey, Mai.” You greet the pink-haired girl coming into the store with a smile. She’s the said store owner’s daughter. But you know her better as one of your longest friends in this forsaken town. You say that because the only thing you can do here is either play on the swings of the old playground, or shop at the very outdated mall. Oh and by the way, it was the one and only mall.
“Well, you look awfully happy for someone working a summer job.” She says, placing her hands down on the counter with a smile. You can see the playful glint in her eyes and let out a chuckle. “I’m just having a good day.” You respond, a genuine look on your face. Mai raises a brow at that, suspicious, but then steps back to take a good look at you and doesn't say anything else. “Sure. Let’s say that.” You shrug, she does the same, eyeing the storage room behind the counter.
“I actually need to pick up something on the back–”
“Oh, you’re here.” A new voice chimes in, Bob, you both turn your heads to see him carrying a box. He blinks once or twice, before stepping aside. “Your dad’s phone?” He asks, you share a glance with Mai before she nods her head, heading inside the storage room. “How’d you know?” You ask Bob, amused, he shrugs with another crooked smile. It’s a staple. “Her dad usually forgets when he goes here to lock up. It’s kind of becoming a bad habit.” You chuckle, he rambles. “Not– Not that I’m talking bad about him. It’s just ..” He motions with his other hand, trying to make sense.
“An observation?” You back him up, he nods his head with pursed lips. “Yes. An observation.” See! You really do have him stumbling over his words! Bob clears his throat, looks away before he remembers what he’s here for. The new records. He needs to restock the shelves. Right. Got it. “I have to g–” You cut him off. “Do you want me to help? I don't see any customers coming in. Is there another box?” There’s too many things inside Bob’s mind, making him buffer as he registers your words. He really needs to lock in. By the time he’s formulated a response, Mai walks in between you both, excusing herself with her dad’s phone in hand.
“Leaving now.” She waves her hand, already rushing to the door, with an expression that could only mean she’s up to no good. You’re already expecting your phone to blow up later with messages from your group chat.
Mai: @everyone they talked again.
Trevor: don’t they have to? i’d be concerned if they didn't interact once.
Finn: they’re basically married now.
Trevor: what the hell, sure.
That’s how it would probably go.
“I do need your help.” Bob cuts through the silence, you smile at him, pushing yourself away from the counter. “Oh, uh, you can take this. The other one’s much heavier.” He gives you the box he’s carrying before you can step inside the storage room. You take it from him. “Thanks, Bob. I’ll get started.” He nods his head, his heartbeat going fast. Holy shit, that actually took a lot out of him. He feels like he’s in a hurricane with all these emotions. “Okay, uh, I’ll just pick up the other one.. yeah..” Bob side steps through the beaded curtain, disappearing back inside.
It’s only around 10:13 in the morning.
Make It With You by Bread is playing on the speakers while you and Bob are stocking the soft rock section. It’s a cute coincidence, you think, grabbing another record to put on the shelf. Bob spent a few of his time last night making a new playlist with songs that he thinks you might like. So he can play it for the next few days, and watch you gush about the songs you do like. It’s nothing too special, it makes him feel like he’s finally doing something to impress you.
“Where do you find these playlists? Or do you make them?” Bob looks up at you, kneeling down on the floor, his box already half-empty. Woah, he was fast. Makes you feel a little competitive. You grab two records this time. “I actually make them. This one playing right now is new, though.” He says, really happy you asked, as he shifts his attention back to the rest of the records.
Bob didn't like taking his earphones off when he’s at work. Even if he only keeps one bud in, and its not even connected to his phone. It helps him concentrate and blocks out any unnecessary noise. But when you started working here, his earphones quickly found their place in his pocket.
“Really? That’s cool, I like your music taste, Bob.” He pauses, a hand hovering above the box. You like his music taste. You like his music taste. You like his music– Okay, get a grip, Bob. You heard them the first time. “Great. oh, uhm, I mean that’s nice.” Bob lets out an awkward chuckle, looking back up at you. Your eyebrows are scrunched together, trying to stifle your own chuckle, with a record in hand. One of his favorite ones too. Bob opens his mouth to say something else, to add something quirky and cool to impress you again. Or something funny to hear you laugh. But then the doors open and it ruins his momentum.
“Excuse me?” A voice of an old woman cuts through the music, your head pops up from behind one of the shelves. “I’ll be back, there’s a customer.” You give Bob’s shoulder a pat, walking away to help the old lady.
It’s 10:27 in the morning. Huh, time flies by fast when he’s with you.
There weren't much customers today. And if you were working any other job, maybe you would’ve been bored out of your mind. But Bob was here and he was great company. You even managed to play a couple rounds of Uno during the one hour interval between customers. Which was pretty weird. But you and Bob timed it, and there was definitely a one hour difference each time.
Oh, and the Uno cards came from the lost and found box. But Bob told you it had been there for almost a year. Nobody really came back for it.
By the time you got an even score again, Mai’s dad had already come by to take over for the rest of the evening.
It was already 8.
Bob didn't even get to watch the sun set like he usually did. Back when the most interesting thing he could do was daydream while working. But now he’s got you and his life has certainly turned upside down. Bob knows that his plan was supposed to be him welcoming you. But this was a pretty nice turn of events.
He checks the time once again. It’s 8:13 pm. By this time he was usually speed walking home to binge watch some movies or shows until midnight. And fall asleep with his laptop still on. However, you offered to take him to a nice Chinese restaurant—that sells the best crab rangoons in town—and he couldn't say no.
“Are you serious? You haven't had fried rice in months?” Dinner was a blast. In fact, you enjoyed it too much that Bob went teary eyed after having a spoonful of fried rice. And that’s when you found out that he hasn't had one this good in a long time. “Yeah.. I haven’t eaten that good in a while, honestly.” He tries to make it sound light-hearted, but you know the weight in his words.
Money was tight. And you were well aware of that. That’s why you took up this summer job in the first place. And you can excuse many things, but when it comes to food? Now that’s something serious. “Here, how about we both start a shared meal prep?” You turn around, walking back now. And Bob’s senses are working overtime, making sure you don't bump into anything or anyone. Or, shit, making sure he didn't bump into anything or anyone. “Meal prep? You don't have to bother–” You tut, shaking your head at him. Bob reaches out to move you to the left, so he was near the main road instead. Since you seem to be stressing him out.
And the pot holes, the cars, the honking..
You ended up changing locations. And taking a detour to the old playground with the rusty swingsets, and even rustier slides.
“Think about it, okay? I promise it’s worth it.” You take the next swing next to him, and he smiles. Bob never really had anyone care this much about him. Let alone offer a solution to his problem. He was used to just pushing it aside and dealing with it like how he knows best, which was pretending it didn't exist. But like you, he knows this wasn't going to help him in the long run.
“Thanks. You're really cool, you know?” It’s your turn to smile, bashfully, now. Holding onto the swing, pushing and pulling yourself just slightly. “Don't think I’ve ever been this shy from being called cool before. But thank you, Bob.” You lean towards him, he stays on his spot, looking at you.
Bob had plenty of scenarios in mind as to how this night would go. And none of them ever happened. Instead, you were here sitting with him in some playground, just chatting, and already making his night a little better. And he wonders if it was the same for you.
And maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't just Bob’s wishful thinking for once.
“So.. Do you have the time? Because I kind of know a spot that has some good soft serve ice cream.” You offer, trying to stretch this evening out as much as you can. Bob checks the time. 9 pm. For the first time, in a while, he didn't want to go home just yet. Bob actually wanted to stay out for a little longer. You stand up, dusting the bottom of your pants. Then he offers you his arm, finding the confidence somewhere in the middle of it all. You took it, interlacing it with yours.
“Look at you going out. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself with me.”
“Never really doubted that."
It was 9:05 in the evening. And Bob was right exactly where he wanted to be.
-> *ੈ ✩ ‧₊˚ leon kennedy x gn!reader | mostly written in lowercase | fluff, comfort, blurb, possible grammar & spelling mistakes | line divider is from @honeyluvsw so all credits to them <3 | wrote this in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep </3 anyways, have some soft leon this new year :3c | word count: 472
every bath after his missions felt like a white flag for leon.
the amount of ungodly things he keeps putting himself through was—terrifyingly—becoming normal. but the thought of having you to come home to at the end of the day was what kept him going, and possibly sane.
the moment he steps inside your home, all beat up from his recent mission, still feeling filthy, he immediately melts into your presence. it's not something he controls, it's just a response.
he's on your mercy from then. him and his hulking frame going putty as soon as you lay your hands on him, helping take his coat off and the rest of his gear. again. it's not something he can control. and leon did feel a little embarrassed about it at first. but he quickly learnt that there was no use fighting his exhaustion. and your gentle hands that just want to take care of him. for once.
he's grateful, he really is. and kisses you on the forehead before you can take the rest of his clothes off. it's like shredding an old skin. almost. if only every other mission didn't take a toll on his sanity. but with you he lets himself forget.
you're careful with washing his hair. nails massaging his scalp hard enough to make him let out a groan, and lean his back on your chest. you've joined him in the bath, just like you always do, and it's intimately domestic.
he used to think this kind of life wasn't for him. the kind where he lets his guard down and finally be vulnerable. but you made that possible. even when he tried to push you away at first.
leon regrets everything, of course. he gave you a hard time. but you weren't exactly the type to give up that fast. you had an advantage, something he certainly didn't have, which was patience. and mixed with your own brilliant mind, you got him wrapped around your fingers in the end.
you won. but it didn't feel like a loss for leon either.
he's too tired to let his mind form a thought. but if he was able, he'd probably be in awe at how you manage to clean him up without much fuss. he knows he's heavy, and he's practically putting half of his weight on you, laying on your chest like this. but you don't say anything and leon reaches for your hand to kiss. another thank you for putting up with him.
"do you want to stay here for a little longer?" he can feel your smile against his neck.
"how about we never leave?" you let out a laugh, wrapping your arms around him.
"and get sick together?" leon turns to you, a lazy grin on his face.
"wave at boats" — on a weekend getaway, in one of your friends' lake house, you have a heart-to-heart conversation with peter—after finding out that he waves at boats.
ᯓ 💬 .ᐟ ⊹ -> tasm!peter parker x gn!reader | slight hurt/comfort · fluff · friends to lovers · both reader and peter have been pining for so long (real) · mentions of my ocs ( becca & eli ) · brief alcohol mentions · peter gets emotional by the end | I haven't written a fic in so long so excuse how rusty this is </3 also possible grammar and spelling mistakes | word count: 1,546
[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — wave at boats by kwes.
"Eli, I can't do this right now."
"Wait, I didn't mean to– Becca."
You hear the chimes echo throughout the whole diner, as your friend, Becca, storms out. While her girlfriend, also one of your friends, Eli, follows her behind like a puppy. You sit with Peter on your booth with an awkward silence, the tension from their fight still lingering in the air.
It started small. Just the both of them bickering inside the car, on your way to Eli’s lake house. But things quickly got heated and you suggested stopping by the diner, so Eli wouldn't accidentally crash the car. You know she wouldn't, but you just couldn't stay inside the car with them.
And now you’re here. Sitting beside Peter, staring at your half eaten waffle, and debating whether you should keep going or not. You’ve lost your appetite long ago. But you don't want to waste food.
“I can eat it for you.” Before you can protest, Peter swaps your plates. He’s smiling at you when you’re eyes meet, obviously trying to lighten the mood. But you can see he’s also slightly tense.
“Thanks, you didn’t have to.”You say as he takes a bite. Peter only shrugs in response, a silent understanding shared between you.
Becca and Eli weren't always like this. Before they dated, everything was fine in your friend group. Although, there was still that playful bickering, the arguments were less, almost rare. But now, it’s like someone flipped a switch.
After that, you started growing closer with Peter. And eventually every hang out involved just the both of you.
This 3-day-weekend-getaway was supposed to bring you four closer again. But it feels like you’re off to a rough start.
“Is something wrong?”Peter asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You realize you’ve been spaced out, and he’s finished eating your last waffle.
“I don't know if this trip is the right idea, Peter.”You say and he hears the doubt in your voice. Peter wishes he can just toss it away and have it dissipate in the wind, never to be seen again. You deserve a break. After all, you’re the glue holding this friend group together. He knows it. Everybody does.
“If you’re worried about Becca and Eli. I’ll talk to them.”
“No, that’s.. fine. You don't have to.”
“I want to. It’s for the best. And you need to stop stressing that pretty mind of yours.” He props an elbow down on the table, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek. A warmth blossoms in your chest from his sudden touch, causing you to pause right on the spot, just staring at Peter’s eyes. Which seem to appear brighter than usual against the afternoon light.
“You say that like it’s easy.”You mumble, your words contradicting with the way you seem to melt right into the palm of his hand.
Peter seems to love it though, smiling when you lean further into his touch.
He’s not blind. He knows something's changed between the both of you. And maybe he’s been hoping for this day to come ever since high school. Which is funny, since you’re both graduating from college now. Which means it’s been almost a decade.
But it’s about time all this longing came to an end. So if happens in some diner, or at the lake house, Peter wouldn't complain.
“Ready to get back on the road? I’ll drive this time. And you’re riding shotgun.”He says, giving your cheek one last squeeze before pulling away.
“You know me so well, Peter."
“In my defense, you’re pretty hard to forget.” And he takes your hand before leaving the payment on the table.
The rest of the ride to the lake house went a lot smoother with Peter driving. Becca and Eli went quiet as well, after apologizing to each other and making up—out—at the back seat of the car. While you fell asleep, with Peter’s sweater covering you like a makeshift blanket.
When you arrived at the lake house the sun was setting. And everyone agreed on hanging out by the dock to watch the sun go down by the horizon.
“I’m sorry about earlier this morning.” You’re sitting by the edge of the dock, when you feel warm hands on your shoulders, along with a small peck on the top of your head. It was Becca, coming to apologize.
“You made up with Eli?” She hums, moving to sit down beside you, the tip of her feet grazing the water. And you notice that she’s wearing Eli’s flannel.
“I know we’re both a mess.”
“Can't say I disagree.” You quip, Becca laughs.
“We’re gonna try arguing less around you and Peter.”She says, leaning her head on your shoulder. And you let out a deep breath. You can't remember the last time you’ve had a moment of peace like this. It feels almost sacred.
“I’m gonna count you on that.”
The moment is interrupted when you hear Eli calling out both your names. she’s already in the water, arms out, waiting for Becca to jump in.
“I’ll catch you, come here.” She smiles, and Becca pulls away to take her flannel off.
“You coming?” She turns to you, smiling.
“Maybe later.” Becca nods her head before jumping in the lake, and Eli catching her just like she promised.
You stay back, sitting on the dock, watching them splash each other. Maybe this was going to work out after all.
Peter waves at boats. Eli pointed it out after a couple of boats passed by the lake house, and he never once failed to greet each one with a wave of his hand. Becca teased him about it and everyone laughed about it.
But now you’re at the shore still thinking about it.
“I’ve always had a feeling you were the type to wave at boats.”You blurt out, just as Peter makes his way by your side.
“Is that a good thing?” He raises a brow, amused.
“Yeah, don't worry.” You laugh, Peter nods his head with a big smile.
The sun was long gone, and darkness scattered all over the lake. The only light was coming from the moon, and the lake house from behind you.
“What else have you had a feeling about?” Peter asks, out of the blue. You turn to him and he’s already looking at you. His gaze holds so many unspoken things from years of holding himself back. But now it seems like he’s on the edge of a precipice, wanting to spill them all out.
“A lot of things.”
“What about us?”His question makes your heart skip a beat. You can feel the weight from it, like he’s been looking forward to this opportunity for so long. But he wasn't the only one.
That night at the home coming back in high school. When you asked him to dance, after he refused everyone else because he was waiting for you. You had been jittery prior to that, asking yourself why were you so nervous about asking a friend to dance.
Then there was Becca’s house party years after. When everyone was in the pool, the speakers blasted with music, and drinks were being poured. You sat on the porch with Peter, drunk and giggly. You found everything he said funny. And he found himself falling way too deep for his own good. He definitely didn't need a drink to know you that you still make his heart beat the same.
You almost kissed him that night. But Peter knew better, and he stopped you before you could.
Though, he still plays your conversation inside his mind from to time. When it’s late at night and all he can think about is you.
“Peter, we’ve waited for too long.”
“I know. But I prefer if you kissed me and still remembered it the next day.”
And then there was now. Years later, both all grown. Yet you’re still just as nervous as you were back in the homecoming. And Peter was still the same boy waiting for you.
“I think I’ve always been sure.” You say, moving closer to him. Peter grabs your hand, lifting it up to press your knuckles against his lips. He doesn't keep his eyes off you, even when they turn glossy with tears. Your heart stutters.
“You’re crying.”Just as you say that, a tear escapes and slides down his cheek. You reach out with your other hand, wiping it away.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just–” Peter laughs, but more tears come out and he can't help but pull you into an embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck immediately, pulling him closer.
“You don't have to apologize." You whisper, kissing him on his temple, which seems to undo him even more.
“I’m just happy.” He says, hiding his face on your neck for a while, before pulling away to face you again.
“I know I look like a mess but can I kiss you?”You chuckle at his question. Because why wouldn't you say no?
“I had a feeling you would ask that.”You quip and Peter laughs.
