a/n: sorry this took so long, i had it written up in abt a day and then got caught up with so much hw it was ridiculous. but im back and thanks to @a-vampire-bat this isn't as much of a mess as it was (writing in anything but past tense is actually so difficult for me i dont know why) so thank you vvv much !!
leave all requests here…
jealous!rick
– who’s careful to keep how he feels quiet, but that doesn’t stop his body from speaking for him. most people wouldn’t recognize it, but those closest to him realize it in an instant–the way his jaw would tense, how his eyes lock onto you like a hunter to a deer, and that deep crease sinking further into his brow the longer he would scowl.
– if you got the hint and were able to pry yourself away from whoever was getting too close, rick was quick to mark his territory. his hands would be on you the entire day, starting with subtle, creeping hands that always found their way to the small of your back–tapping impatient circles on your skin, he would try to distract himself from whoever was bothering him in the moment.
– any longer in public than he had anticipated and he would begin to slowly wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest–a seemingly innocent gesture. it wasn’t until after a few minutes would go by and he’d slowly sway your hips in sync, humming to whatever melody was stuck in his head, only to brush his lips impatiently against your ear.
– “y’know everyone in here s’lookin’ at how pretty you are,” he’d whisper, breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. “some of ‘em gettin’ too good of a look.” his voice more stern now, he’d grip your waist tight, pulling you even closer.
– once you two were alone, he would always be quick to run his mouth. “i don’t like the way he was talkin’ to you–gettin’ so close like that.” he’d seeth, lips already sucking spots into your skin, fingertips roaming the hem of your shirt. “he ain’t makin’ it in the group makin’ moves at you like that.”
– you’d try to protest, brush the interaction off as playful banter–that they were just trying to be friendly. rick would have none of it though, possessiveness running deep in his veins at the thought of what was his being taken. the group itself was a large enough responsibility–one that the actions of were mostly out of his control, people did what they wanted and kept secrets–but you, you were something that was certain.
– he would love the way you always looked up to him, those big puppy dog eyes glancing up at him each time something went wrong, knowing he’d have the answer, and even if he didn’t, you’d trust him to come up with one. his jealousy wouldn’t stem from a lack of trust or some deep insecurity, but rather the fact that he knew you relied on him to swoop in and claim his mark–almost expected it.
– no matter the pushback, the excuses you’d give, it was all some drawn out game to see that territorial glint in his eyes, the way his grip would gain some extra force, that last bit of restraint within him snapping. so when he would stuff you deep, hands clumsily wrapped in your hair, you were right where you wanted to be.
– typically rick was a giving lover, a more tender and gentle approach to sex–only even referring to it as ‘making love’–but things would be different when he gets jealous. it’d be raw passion, barely ever even making it to the bedroom. he’d have you draped over the first surface he could find in the house. rick would be teasing and cruel, chasing his own release while denying you your own and only after you had properly begged for it would he give it to you.
“think you deserve to cum, hmm?” he’d tease, playfully smiling down at you, brushing the hair from your eyes. “let me hear what you’d say next time someone tries to talk to you like that? maybe then you’ll get a reward.”
babbling out nonsense, you’d grab at his chest, trying to brace yourself against the counter.
“p-please, i need it so bad,” you’d whine, arching your back up into him each time he’d pull away.
he’d tsk, popping his slick coated fingers into your mouth. “that’s not what i asked, darlin’.” although his pace was slower, each time he’d pull out there would be a brief moment before he’d slam back into your walls, ripping a muffled scream from your lips.
jealous!daryl
– daryl would be more vocal in the moment, typically resorting to a short burst of anger that he would instantly regret. any lingering emotions would all be tucked back within himself, hiding in some reserved shell the rest of the day.
– without a second thought, anytime he saw something that made him the slightest bit jealous, there would immediately be a conflict. he would come in between you and whoever was getting too close, angrily spitting out a warning.
– “i ain’t one to talk so i advise you back off,” he’d say, voice low with warning. turning to you, his arms would be crossed, not the slightest hint of amusement in his stare. “‘n don’t you start lookin’ at me like you’re all innocent.” his words, coming from a deep place of insecurity and mistrust, would test your patience and press a nerve sometimes, but you always knew it was a storm that would pass.
– sometimes you’d give into his anger, push back when he’d step too far and his insults crossed a line. even though you would know he didn’t mean it, there were times he wouldn’t know when to stop and you’d scream right back at him with tears prickling in your eyes.
– daryl would usually be the first to storm off. in any other situation he would resort to violence, be hasty to get his fists across anyone’s face who ticked him off the way you did. but he knew it wasn’t actually you, rather a version of yourself his mind tried to make him see–a false reality of a hateful, cruel lover who was using him, just like everyone else in his life. so he would remove himself from the situation, especially when he could see the hurt written plain across your face, loud and clear for him to see and feel like a bullet through the chest.
– letting his feet take him wherever, he always took a walk after he let his jealousy get the best of him. clearing his mind, he’d rehearse some fumbled apology in his mind–the words never coming out as sincere as he’d meant them. only when the sun dipped low beneath the horizon would he come back, knowing that despite being mad, you were still worried for him.
– head hung low, daryl would creep back into the camp, guilt bubbling in his chest. you were of course awake and waiting for him, arms crossed as you held your gun steady in your hands–pointed straight at him. “tell me why i shouldn’t shoot you right now, daryl.” he knew you would never, just trying to show how worried you were without actually having to say it. “had rick on my ass for hours asking where you were.”
– he would never admit it, but he loved the way you worried about him–the way you’d make him feel cared for. even if it was through stern scolding and harsh swears, he knew it was all because you loved him and it reeled him in each time. “m’real sorry.” he’d say your name to get your attention, let you know that he truly means it. “shouldn’t have said all that stuff…i jus’ don’ like seein’ guys look at you like that. they get all bug eyed like they ain’t ever seen a pretty woman before ‘n-”
– you’d always cut him off in his rambles, reassure him that things were okay and you’d always be right there waiting for him. “shut up,” you’d sigh, patting the spot next to you. “i’ve been up all night, the least you could do is give me a good night's sleep.”
– smiling, he’d wonder what he did to deserve someone as understanding as you. no matter how many times he’d let his own self get in the way of things, let his self-doubt speak for him, you were always there to reassure him. he’d lay beside you, back turned with that last piece of guilt shielding him from fully giving into you. wrapping your arm around his waist, you’d pull yourself closer, breathing in his scent.
jealous!shane
– this man would go absolutely feral for you if you’d let him. over time he’d learn to control his temper, lower his impulses and not do anything you’d be disappointed in him for later. that temper would never leave him though–fist clenched and jaw tense, he would immediately be by your side the second he smelt trouble.
– even if things seemed innocent enough, the second you were alone with any man, he would intervene. whether it was more subtle like casually tossing his arm over your shoulders, or to make a statement like bumping shoulders with whoever you were speaking to, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close while he took over the conversation–shane always made his appearance.
– in the beginning of your relationship he would be more violent. shove, punch, or even beat any guy that so dared to innocently flirt with you. after many screaming matches and late night arguments though, shane was able to take out his jealousy in another way.
– he knew you were all his and you made it clear to him that you knew it too. giving yourself to him each time you stumbled to bed after a big dinner or party–sometimes wandering further away from the group–his hands would be all over you, roughly grasping at every part of your skin, marking the parts that only he could see.
– even with your entire body marked as his–bite marks, scratches, his scent lingering deep into your skin–it still wouldn’t be enough for him. every outing where there would be new people, someone he’d sense as a threat, he would be right there beside you the entire night. when someone would call him off to the side, no matter the urgency, you were either coming with him or he was sat still with you happily talking away seated right on his lap.
– shane’s jealousy would be just a permanent part of him nor would he care to learn where it stemmed from–if anything at all. it would always be a large part of him, the reason he had never kept a solid relationship. but with you, his jealousy was something you would crave–the possessiveness a trait you had just expected with him. his endless desire for you would be shown through every word, lingering touch, and the way he made sure everyone in the room knew you were his.
– in his moments of anger, the rage he’d feel boiling in his stomach would never be directed at you. he knew you’d only had eyes for him–he was just upset that others couldn’t see that too. so if it took the occasional bloodied fist and broken nose for someone to get the hint, then that’s what he would do.
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@death-in-a-tar0t-card @skankhvnt42
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nsfw! gn, inexperienced reader. nonspecific toys, no genital descriptions. dom sylus :), aftercare!!
idk if this is silly but i was hit with a vision and it got wayyyyy longer than i planned.......... i like how the dialogue turned out :3c
wc: 1.2k
Sylus is your first romantic and sexual relationship. You may have seen other guys for one-off hookups, but they were never any good at what they did. Sylus is the first person to ever make you cum (other than yourself).
So once you're more comfortable together sexually, you decide to show him the toys you used to get off before you were able to go to him. He looks at them with amusement; to him, they're dinky little things. Especially compared to the toys he could buy you with his endless wealth, or simply his cock and hands. But he's intrigued nonetheless, so he asks you to show him how you used to use them.
He has to admit, you're incredibly adorable curled up in bed, all embarrassed, brows furrowed as you focus on chasing your pleasure. But it's not enough for him.
You're not making those little whimpers he's able to coax out of your throat when he has you in his lap, and he can see the frustration in your expression as you struggle to build up to your peak. This won't do.
He'd never admit this if you asked, but he wanted to show off, too. To impart upon you the message that if you really want to feel good, you need to go to him.
So he sits down beside you and takes them from your hands. "Allow me?"
You give them over easily, shyly pressing your head against the side of his thigh and watching his hands as he leans over you. They dwarf yours in size, making your toys look much smaller than they do when you're handling them.
He starts off slow, not wanting to overwhelm you too quickly. But this already has your breath hitching and a little whine catching in your throat. Just a couple minutes of seemingly effortless movements from his hands, and you're already feeling much more pleasure than you could on your own in quadruple that time.
You glance up at Sylus's expression, and he catches you red-handed, raising a brow with a self-satisfied smirk as he starts to speed up his pace.
This has you gasping and burying your face in his thigh, unable to hold back your whimpers as you muffle them the best you can with the fabric of his pants. It doesn't take you long to peek back out at his hands, though, your breath growing labored as he keeps getting faster.
You let out a weak-sounding whine as you find yourself rapidly reaching your peak. It's only been five or six minutes, and getting this far on your own would have taken at least half an hour. And he was being deliberately slow to ease you into things.
You grip the sheets at your sides, your breath shuddering as your toes curl. "S-Sy-!"
"Wanna come for me, sweetie? Go ahead. Let go."
You jerk under his talented hands, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure hits you hard and you cream with a squeak that you mostly manage to hold back. You expect him to slow down, but he doesn't.
"T'much Sy-! S-Sensitive- ah!" You squirm in place, trying hard to get away, but it looks like Sylus has other plans for you.
Before you can even register what's happening, he's using one arm to hold you in place and the other to grip the hair on the back of your head, tugging lightly to get you to meet his intense stare. You glance down for a moment, finding his Evol handling the toys in his stead.
"Aht. Sweetheart. Eyes up here."
His stern, commanding tone has you looking back up at his face, your wide eyes already filling with tears of overstimulation. You kick your legs out weakly, more in protest than a genuine attempt to escape.
"Just one more? One more, that's all. You can handle one more." He coos, his gaze focused intently on you. Captivated by his enticing, sharp, ruby-red eyes, you find yourself nodding dumbly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. He chuckles softly, cupping the back of your head and leaning down.
"Do you want a kiss, sweetie?" he breathes into your lips, his right eye glowing as he devours your debauched state beneath him. When you bob your head up and down, he tsks, shaking his head. "Now that's no good. Can you say please for me?"
"P-please-mhh, Sy, need it, please," Your arms tremble as you fruitlessly try to pull him down to meet your lips, whines escaping with every exhale. Tears drip down your cheeks, desperation for his mouth on yours eroding any shred of self-consciousness you had left.
Sylus doesn't respond verbally, merely closing the few centimeters between you as he softly presses his lips to yours. You pant into his mouth, struggling to focus on giving him a proper kiss as your hunger for him clouds your mind.
Sylus takes the lead, deepening the kiss and holding you tightly against him as your lips firmly slot together. He swipes his tongue into your mouth, and the taste of him sends sparks through your brain.
You yelp against his lips as your body seizes up, your hips jerking and shuddering as your vision goes white and cum sprays out of you, unable to control your muscles as you're hit with one of the strongest orgasms you've ever experienced. He slows his Evol, gradually milking the pleasure from you as you cling to him and shiver, gasping for breath.
You whimper and hiccup into his sweater as he shushes you gently, placing the toys to the side and gathering you up in his arms. He doesn't tease, doesn't hit you with any cheeky remarks. He rubs your back until your trembling gradually slows, your body instinctually melting into his.
"Are you alright?" he murmurs, and when you nod, he hums, scattering kisses across your face with a fond smile.
"D-Didn't expect t'cum so hard," you mumble, and you feel a quiet laugh rumble through his chest as he holds you a bit tighter.
"Yeah? That was quite a spectacle, sweetie. You did well." Your cheeks heat at his praise, and you tuck your face into the crook of his neck.
His arousal throbs insistently against the zipper of his slacks, but it's left ignored as he centers his attention on your needs. Besides, you're so loopy from your release that you can't even notice, let alone feel guilty for leaving him unattended.
"Go ahead, kitten. You can nap if you want to." You hum in approval, and he pulls you closer. "I'll hold you for a little while, then we can get you wiped down and changed into pajamas. Sound good?"
When you slur out your approval, he presses his lips to your forehead, helping you cozy up in his embrace. Your desperate grip on him slackens as his hand caresses your back in slow circles, and you let yourself melt.
some headcanons for sylus's dragonlike tendencies i was thinking about (i might come back and edit this with more so i don't spam reblogs of it) 🐉
the first time he puts a piece of extravagant jewlery on you, one of two things happens (or maybe both things):
1. he gets a raging hard on
2. he gets the urge to be incredibly clingy. whether he acts on this urge depends on where you are and how close your relationship is.
when he's half asleep and not fully in his right mind, if you scratch at his scalp in just the right way, he'll start to purr quietly. his purr is deep and makes his chest vibrate in a way that feels nice against your cheek. this also happens if he's drunk enough.
after a long day, he lets out a big huff when he lays down in bed or sits on the couch for the first time.
part of the reason he tracks you so thoroughly with mephisto is because you're his greatest treasure, so it goes against his hoarding instincts to let you leave his 'hoard' (his home). he needs to keep an eye on you to make sure you return safely.
since you're his favorite treasure, he likes to admire you. whether you're awake or asleep, he enjoys staring at you for long periods of time, studying the small details of your appearance and seeing if he can find anything new. this isn't only a sexual thing! (though he does stare even more intently when you're wrapped in pleasure.)
if you're focused on something else and he's by your side, sometimes he'll take your arm to examine it a bit closer and spin it around to get a good view of all angles, or hold your hand in his own and watch how your little joints move when he plays with your fingers.
if you ask him about why he's staring so much, he'll often offer up something he learned in a thoughtful yet slightly smug tone. "You have a new mole here. On the back of your shoulder." (he's proud of himself for knowing you so thoroughly).
if he's displeased, sometimes he'll let out a low rumble. it's difficult to hear if you don't know to listen for it.
sleepily/drunkenly asking them if they love you over and over... hmmm...
❄️ zayne would be calm and patient and unbothered, answering with "yes, my love" and "of course, dear" and "i love you very much, darling" no matter how many times you ask. he has a sure and even response for every single one of your little questions and doesn't mind repeating himself however many times you need. every word is said with full sincerity and he makes sure you know he adores you.
"yes, i promise. i'll always love you."
"if you think i could ever grow tired of you, you must not know me very well."
"your heart is the most valuable thing i have ever earned. i will never throw away that blessing so carelessly, my love. do you understand?"
🍎 caleb would be more playful about it i think. maybe he's also a little tipsy, or maybe he just knows how to make you laugh when you're doubting yourself. he makes sure you realize you're being silly, and easily turns the tone of your conversation into one that's more lighthearted. "if i didn't love you, would i dooooo.... this?" before kissing all over your face until you start giggling. "still not convinced? hmmm..... how aboooout.... this?" proceeding to tickle you until you're laughing and squirming to get away and admitting surrender.
"'course i love you, pips."
"tired of you? no way. i'd have nothin' to do if you weren't here."
"who's puttin' these ideas in your head, pips? i love you now, always, and forever. more than anything. i'll promise you as many times as you need, 'kay?"
🐦⬛ sylus teases you a little at first. "what's this all of a sudden? just earlier today, you were calling me, and i quote, a "stupid asshole smug dragon"." but if you show a hint of a heartbroken expression or you pout a little too much, it doesn't take long for him to fold and start reassuring you with full sincerity. i think he might take a little more offense to it than the other two, simply because he had to wait for you for so long. what do you mean you're worried he might get tired of you? it's blasphemy to him that you could doubt his devotion, even if it's just your brain being mean to you.
"when have i ever said anything that would lead you to believe you are anything less than precious to me, sweetie?"
"clearly you need a bit of re-education if you believe i would leave your side so easily."
"you are my most cherished treasure. i would sacrifice anything in a heartbeat if doing so would keep you by my side longer. you underestimate my greed for you, my love."
"sweetheart," sylus murmurs, exhaling softly as he traces lazy kisses down your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he pulls you close against his chest. his breath caresses your throat, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips as you shiver, your grip on his shirt tightening just a fraction.
his hulking frame bows as he snakes his arms around you and presses his palms flat to your back, urging you to curve further into him. no matter how close you get, it's never enough. he always needs you just a little bit closer.
he hums, the low vibration resonating through your heart, causing it to stutter. his breath shudders slightly, not out of arousal, but of desperate possessiveness. "you're so small, so small..." his sigh feels hot against the crook of your neck, like the air that escapes an oven while it's on. his grasp tightens.
"you don't understand how much i need you. how i long to curl around you and keep you warm forever. my treasure. mine."
you nod, dizzy with something you can't quite wrap your head around as you bask in his affection. you nuzzle your face into his sweater, closing your eyes and reveling in the scope of his desire. he inhales you and clutches you tight as if you're the air he breathes, the blood in his veins.
"wanna be yours forever," you confess, and a low rumble escapes his chest as he fists his hands in your shirt, one you borrowed from him. "i love you."
"my darling," his voice is a whisper as he finally settles, wrapped around you as tightly as possible. "i love you too. more than you'll ever know."
A run on the classic "three times that Superman saves you and the one time you save him". Before the first time he saves you, while working at your new job in a record store, you meet Clark, who might just be the man of your dreams.
wc. 9.8k | My Masterlist | Next Part
notes. This is my first work for Clark Kent/Superman! ahhh! I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
tags. clark kent (superman) x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, close to the movie AU, mentions of a deceased father, some violence, clark being a cutie.
After quitting your office job, you took a pretty significant pay cut to work at a record store in the heart of Metropolis. It was the only record store in the city before heading toward Gotham, so getting the job felt like somewhat of an accomplishment.
It wasn’t a big store, or even that popular, but the music scene in Metropolis held Metrecordlis in the highest regard. It was a sort of sacred ground where most people forgot their day to day lives and just got to come in and browse while listening to music.
Once upon a time, your father would bring you too and the two of you would pick out some random records to bring home.
Those nights after dinner, the two of you would go into the living room and listen to the records you bought in their entirety. No words would need to be spoken as the music overtook the two of you in ways you couldn’t describe.
You’d done that every week up until he passed away.
And even a year later, you still hadn’t quite found your footing.
Grief made it hard to get up some mornings, while other mornings felt totally normal. You knew logically that a loss that significant would make you feel deeply, but it was still so suffocating to not know when something or someone would trigger you. Especially since every-day life was tied into your father like air.
Even at home, you kept his TV on and his door closed like he was still in there resting. Sometimes pretending made things easier, but not always.
Most days were mundane at this record job for you, but definitely more interesting than the office. You actually liked your coworkers and manager for the most part. And you got to meet all kinds of interesting people that walked through. It made for great distraction most days.
You saw just about everyone there was to see come through the store; business execs, mothers and fathers, fitness gurus, influencers. Everyone came through to look for their music they loved.
And just being in Metropolis itself was bound for some chaos too.
It made things even more interesting having the newly formed Justice Gang around. Trouble did seem to find the city at some inconvenient times, bringing the craziest things like giant monsters and mutants. But the Justice Gang did a pretty good job of keeping the city safe.
Most of the thanks went to Metropolis’ hero, Superman.
You admired Superman a lot after your Dad’s passing. Or at least the way he was portrayed on TV - resilient and indestructible. You envied that, wishing you could be just as strong.
The chime above the door sounded, causing you to snap out of your deep thoughts.
It hadn’t been a busy day, and in your downtime, you had let yourself get caught up in your memories. It was one of the parts of the job you disliked the most - having so much time alone - but there wasn’t much the customers could do about your own wandering thoughts.
Putting on your best customer service face, you approached the man who’d walked through the door.
The first thing you noticed was how tall the man was. Even slightly hunched, he towered over the gondolas that held the records.
Next, you noticed how ill-fitted his suit was. It looked like the heavy tweed of his suit jacket just fell over his shoulders, as well as the pants. For someone his size, he was being swallowed by his clothes, which felt… off.
And lastly, when he spotted you approaching him, he locked his eyes with yours. You couldn’t help but notice that they were bright blue, brighter than you think you’d ever seen. Even with just a glance, his eyes held something so deep and sincere. It almost felt otherworldly.
This man’s gaze made you stop in your tracks, your heart starting like a motor.
He was handsome.
It had been a long time since you’d found attraction in anyone, and even then, it still took a while for you to see features that felt striking to you. But with this stranger, you were nearly dumbstruck.
“Can I help you find anything?”
The words finally left your mouth without your volition as more of muscle memory. Months of asking the same dull question helped you here, as your brain felt as though it were turning to mush.
“Yes ma’am.” The man’s voice was velvety and rich with the smallest country twang in it. He was starting to smile wide at you, “I was looking for any old Johnny Cash records.”
It was like his voice encompassed you, surrounding you with warmth. Just like his eyes, it wasn’t like anything you’d herald before, and it took you more by surprise than you’d anticipated. It took a moment before his question fully registered in your mind.
“Oh,” you breathed, shaking your head to try and put you back into customer service mode, “Yes. You can follow me. Everything is alphabetized by last name.”
He gave you a grateful smile before you led him the short walk to the country section. Once there, you awkwardly stood off to the side, allowing the handsome stranger to look for himself. There were a lot of “C” names, so both of you started to sift through the records after a few moments.
“So, you’re a country fan?” you asked, albeit quietly.
You tried not to cringe at yourself as you chanced a look his way. He was still smiling, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. As if he couldn’t get even more handsome.
“Kinda. I like it just fine, but not as much as my Pa. I’m grabbing these records for his birthday coming up.”
You nodded, “That’s kind of you.”
“Sort of…” The tall stranger shrugged once, but his smile didn’t waver, “I kinda messed up and his records got damaged a while back, so I’ve been slowly rebuilding his collection for him. It’s been slow going though. I’ve been busy, and he doesn’t live around here, so I’ll have to fly these out to him.”
A sad sort of longing crossed his features as he spoke about his Pa. It didn’t dim his eyes, but it made them look weary. It made you think of your own father and how you would’ve done the same for him.
Shaking the thoughts away before you could get sad, you plucked out a sleeve of an old Johnny Cash album with a small, triumphant smile, handing it to the stranger.
“Hey, well, at least you’re trying for him,” You said gently, “Even if it was a mistake on your part, your Pa must really appreciate the effort you’re putting in to rebuild it.”
Once again, the blue eyes met yours and another smile graced his face, taking the record from your hands,
“Thank you…” Just barely, you could see his cheeks growing a dark crimson, “Now you’re the one being kind.”
You felt your face doing much of the same and you shrugged back at him, “I’m just trying my best.”
He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the album, his large fingers fiddling with the paper cover. It was like he was thinking of more things to say, but couldn’t quite get them out. It would’ve been comical had you not been in much of the same boat.
Finally, he murmured, “I never got your name.”
Just above a murmur, you gave him your name and he hummed aloud with a larger smile than before. The small sound to him nearly reverberated the entire store, but no one else but you seemed to notice that.
“Clark.” He outstretched his hand immediately, and an air of confidence suddenly surrounded him. Your hands met and it was much more firm than you’d expected. It was even more surprising just how warm his skin was, “Clark Kent.”
The name was instantly familiar to you, “Like the Daily Planet reporter?”
Ever so slightly, his eyes lit up.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” He said with a short nod and an awkward laugh, “So you read the news.”
A laugh escaped you too, “I do. My Dad kept the news on all the time, so I kinda just gravitate towards keeping up with everything, plus there’s a lot going on here. You kinda gotta know the news in order to not get eaten by something alien… even if a newspaper is expensive these days.”
Clark let out a small chuckle, more sure this time as he held up his hands in defense, “Listen, I just work there.”
The two of you gave a smile to each other once again. The two of you stood there for a long few moments just looking and staring until you realized neither of you had made another move. You motioned for him to follow you again, starting to head toward the register when he stepped to your side.
“If you don’t mind helping me find one more thing,” He said quickly, nearly stumbling over his words, “Do you have The Mighty Crabjoys?”
Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked him up and down. He was more the nerdy type than anything with the big glasses and swallowing suit. You didn’t think he seemed the type to like pop punk bands.
You smirked, deciding to tease him, “Don’t tell me that’s for your Pa too.”
“No, it’s for me,” Clark shook his head, biting back a laugh, “But there seems to be some judgement coming from you about my taste in music. Not so nice now, huh?”
Laughing again, you also held up your hands in surrender,
“No judgement, Mr. Reporter, but I wouldn’t have pinned you as a Crabjoys fan.”
“I enjoy them a lot,” he said with a small huff, “I need something to pump me up when I’m working on an article.”
You rolled your eyes and nodded your head toward the pop-punk section, “Follow me then, Mr. Kent.”
As you turned, he let out another hum. His voice, even with small sounds, made you feel warm inside. You could still feel that same buzzing energy from him, like a beam of light bursting through a pitch black room. All of your thoughts went to how you wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by whatever he was giving off.
You led him to the pop-punk area and began searching through the “M”s until you found exactly what you were looking for fairly quickly. You pulled the sleeve from its place and handed it to the much taller man standing beside you.
Clark bit his lip for just a second to try and hide the small smile that formed.
You on the other hand weren’t hiding your grin anymore, “Anything else I can help you find?”
He let out a small sigh and held out his collection of records for you, “I guess this will be it, thank you, ma’am.”
You both smiled at each other a little longer than necessary before you walked him to the register. Albeit, your pace slowed, feeling abnormally sad that your time together was coming to an end. Your limbs felt like they were moving at their own pace; becoming noodles as you got to the counter and started to ring up the incredibly handsome man’s items.
Adjusting his glasses, Clark cleared his throat, “Are you new?”
You nodded, “Kinda. I’ve only been working here for a couple of months. Why?”
“Just curious. I haven’t seen you before,” He shook his head quickly, “It’s not that I come in here that often, but it’s been the same people here for so long. The other guy that works here, B-Dog, is a really fun guy. Met him a couple of times.”
Laughing, you nodded, “He’s certainly a character.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here today instead.”
His murmur was almost too quiet for you to hear, but when it hit your ears, you began to reel. You could feel your cheeks heating up again. You tried to hide your growing flush from him by ducking below the counter to grab him a bag for his purchase.
You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that a little flirt was nothing serious. You popped back up quickly, giving him a genuine smile.
“I’m glad you’re here today too. It’s been really nice talking with you.”
Clark smiled wide at that as he reached into his pocket. A confused look took over his face, and after tapping his suit pockets for a few seconds, he let out a defeated sigh.
“Shoot…” He whispered, “Silly me. I think I left my wallet at home. Would you be able to keep these for me?”
Those piercing blue eyes gave you an almost pleading look, and you couldn’t help but nod in response almost automatically.
“I can put them on hold for two days.”
There wasn’t actually a policy for that.
“Perfect,” he smiled wide, biting his lip, “And will you be working in those two days?”
The prospect of possibly getting to see him again was more than exciting. With your heart hammering hard against your chest, you felt like you could barely breathe enough to answer him. Eventually, you managed to speak again, “I’ll be here tomorrow… Nine to six.”
“Good, Thank you,” your name rolled off his tongue, “It was a pleasure meeting you today.”
This time, you were the one to hum in response “The pleasure’s all mine.”
With a small, final smile, he rushed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”
No one else seemed to hear the boom of his voice; it was like it shook the entire earth. But as you looked around to see if anyone else was stunned, it was like you were the only one encapsulated by him.
So, you chalked it up to just having a small, tiny crush.
***
The next morning, grief had other plans for you.
It struck you hard especially after good days, making it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Some days felt real and normal, while others felt fake. And now everything felt just a little too fake for you.
Waking up in the apartment was always the hardest part. As you got ready for your day, you felt yourself going through all of the motions, but almost as if your head were underwater the entire time.
It took so long for your brain to catch up sometimes, and you wished desperately that you could just bounce back and put on a brave face. You allowed yourself to cry to try and relieve some of the pressure in your mind, but it only proved to make your head even more foggy than before.
Some solace came from the news. Trying to distract yourself, you turned the TV on and tried to look for the good in life.
Superman, the protector of your city, had done it once again from a comet-like entity. And again, you found yourself wishing you could’ve been more like him. He seemed to do it all, and he did it with a smile on his face. Obviously you didn’t have the powers he had, but you figured he must’ve been so strong mentally just as much as physically.
Once you got to the store later in the morning, you helped open slowly and did everything that was asked of you. It was a decent distraction for you as well, but sometimes the feelings were just a little too heavy.
As the day progressed, busier than the day before, you successfully had gotten your mind off of some of your sadness, but had nearly forgotten about the tall man and his records from the day before.
You had made yourself too busy to greet Clark when he walked in sometime after five. One of your other coworkers had greeted him and retrieved his records from the back. Feeling slightly defeated, you tried to stay out of their way, letting your coworker have the sale.
However, nearly moments after you’d thought that, you felt his warm presence before you saw him approach you. When you saw him, it was like your entire demeanor changed.
“Hey there!” He greeted you with a chipper voice, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here today.”
You chortled, but it didn’t feel as genuine as the day before, “Yeah. Barely made it.”
Clark’s voice dropped almost immediately, “Barely, huh?”
The sudden mood change shocked you a little. You hadn’t expected him to take you so seriously.
Not wanting to sour the mood between the two of you, a small tug happened at the corner of your lip as you nodded, “Guess I’m not feeling the greatest today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His voice cut deep; inviting and enveloping just like the day before. It was welcome, but the warmth made you want to cry again. There was something about Clark that felt so familiar; nostalgic even, that it reminded you of spending your days in the sun as a kid.
He frowned when you didn’t answer right away, “Anything I can do to help?”
Gently, you shook your head, “That’s very sweet of you, but… no, I’ll be okay.”
“I’ve got tylenol in my bag.”
That made you laugh the tiniest bit, much more authentically, “It’s okay, Clark. Thank you. I’m just… a little sad. Nothing I can’t deal with.”
“I have no doubt.” A soft smile graced his lips, “I’m sorry you’re sad. I wish I had some magic pill to cure that.”
“Talking to you has been really helpful,” You murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear you, “It’s made this day a little brighter.”
Before Clark could respond, your coworker B-Dog came back around, looking for Clark, but saw that he was talking with you. Luckily, Clark let him know that you’d been the one to initially help him, so your coworker relinquished the records to you to ring him up. You began leading him to the register again, feeling a small air of confidence arise in you.
When you turned at the counter to ring up his items again, you noticed a small dusting of pink overcoming Clark’s cheeks. Just your luck, he’d obviously heard you before, but he thanked you anyway. Quickly, he swiped his card to pay, keeping his eyes to the floor.
After taking his purchase from you, he still made no move to exit. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly, staring at you with a sort of battle going on behind his eyes.
“S-Sorry.” Clark stammered, “I know this is very forward, so forgive me, but you’re very pretty.”
This time, you knew your cheeks were burning too as soon as the words left his lips. Your mind went haywire as you were now the one to stare right back at him. You mumbled something of a thank you as you felt it leave your throat, but it was incredibly incoherent.
Clark was the one to laugh this time, breathlessly, like he was trying to catch up with himself as well.
“I-I’m sorry. I know that was brash.”
“No, it’s okay. I just don’t get compliments very often,” You said quickly, trying to regain your composure, “Thank you… you’re handsome yourself.”
He smiled wide as the nervous energy expelled off of him, “Would you like to get lunch sometime with me? I know it can’t cure sadness, but maybe being near you would help a little. You know… like you said.”
Biting your lip, you nodded, “I’d love that.”
“Great!” Clark had said it a little too enthusiastically; too loud for the space. He cleared his throat again, speaking at a much more normal volume, “What day are you free next?”
“Friday,” You said, slightly winded, “I’m off Friday.”
“I could take you out on my lunch break. Guess it’ll even it out for disrupting your work time here.”
“This is far from disrupting me,” you said with a short laugh.
“How does noon sound?”
“Sounds like a date.”
You gave Clark a smile, the blush never leaving your cheeks.
“Yeah, sure does,” His voice cracked, “Um… how will I get in contact with you?”
Smirking, you thought of teasing him again, if only to make him blush more.
“I guess you can have my number.”
He smirked, shaking his head, presumably at himself, “I’ve forgotten how to talk to people.”
You were already writing your phone number on a post it note. You quickly tore it off and put the sticky side just below his pocket protector on his ill-fitted suit jacket. You weren’t normally this forward either, but it felt fun - exhilarating - to be so free with someone.
Clark’s smile got wider as he took off the sticky note and peeked at it before stuffing it in the pocket. He adjusted his glasses before looking back at you.
“Thank you again,” it was like velvet as he said your name, “See you Friday?”
“See you Friday.” You nodded.
Leaving it at that, he walked out the door, but not before turning back to look at you once again. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you watching him trying to balance all of the things in his hands as he gave you a small wave.
The light of the day sort of shifted after that, and you were left back to work and your own thoughts. The grief had still been there, quieting for a while as you spoke to Clark, just waiting to rear its ugly head back out. It seemed to come crashing back down as soon as he was out of sight.
You excused yourself to the bathroom, just to give yourself a few extra moments alone and to allow some tears to escape.
It was strange always feeling this whiplash of emotions especially after something so good.
However, not even a minute after the tears had sprung, your phone dinged in your pocket. You dug it out, managing a smile as you read the message:
This is Clark! I look forward to helping you cure some sadness Friday!
Wiping away your tears with your palm, you felt as though he was already trying.
***
Friday came around much quicker now that you had something to look forward to. Most weeks, mundane as they were, tended to drag on. So, this was certainly a welcome change.
You woke up feeling a lot better than you had in a long time; you felt giddy and excited for what felt like the first time in forever.
Admittedly, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and none of them had gone very well, so you were hopeful this would change too.
The two of you had been texting back and forth since you’d given him your number. Most of your messages were about the date and other details, like where to meet. But sometimes, you’d both delve off into other things, like talking about your days or tiny flirty messages back and forth.
This felt different.
As you got ready, you made sure to wear some of your best clothes and put on the best smelling scent you had before walking out the door. You wanted to put in effort for yourself since it’d been so long, and in leaving the house, you felt fresh and confident.
The walk to the little cafe you decided to meet at felt excruciating long, like trudging through a dream. It felt like no matter how long you walked, you weren’t getting anywhere. You kept forward though, pure determination keeping you going.
You felt your phone ding in your hand and you lifted it to see the message:
Just made it. I’m in the third booth from the back.
Beside the text was a little winky face. Again, you smiled, luckily right around the corner.
Trying to be as confident as you felt, you strode into the little cafe. You scanned the room for only a second before your eyes landed on the tall figure - already seated at a booth - waving you over. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you made your way over to him. Awkwardly tall against the booth, he still clambered out of the seat to greet you, giving you the utmost respect.
“It’s nice to see you again.” He said as you approached, motioning for you to take the seat across from him, “I haven’t ordered yet. I thought I would wait for you.”
“Thank you Clark,” You said as you sat, “It’s nice to see you again too. And it’s even nicer of you to sacrifice your lunch break for me, no less.”
Clark gave you a wide, toothy grin, letting his dimples show and his accent pop out.
“It was nothin’. I usually take my time for lunch most days, anyway.”
Surrounded by his warmth, especially being in the booth with him, you felt a lot closer than you were; more intimate than talking in the record store.
You had some time to scour the menu before the waitress came by to take your orders. It was all mostly breakfast, so you settled for a small fruit salad and toast. Clark on the other hand got the works: a large breakfast, complete with eggs, toast, hashbrowns, bacon, and a small stack of pancakes.
As the waitress walked away to put in your orders, Clark sat back in the booth, giving you a funny look, “Fruit salad and toast?”
Again, you felt your cheeks burning, “There seems to be some judgement coming from you about my food choices.”
He shrugged, smirking, “A little. Doesn’t seem like much of a breakfast.”
“Well, it’s lunch,” you chided, “And it’s not much of a meal, but it’s better than the greasy breakfast food.”
Clark’s mouth fell open like you’d just said the most shocking thing in the world. You bit your lip, trying your best not to laugh as his hands started to frenzy around him.
“What?!” he guffawed, though a grin still evident on his face, “What’s wrong with greasy breakfast food? You can’t tell me you don’t like pancakes or waffles. Everyone likes one or the other! There’s, like, a whole stupid song about it…”
Another laugh escaped, “There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just not my preferred food choice.”
“But fruit salad and toast?”
“What’s to say I just wanted something small? This is my first date in a long time, after all, I’m a little nervous.”
Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, only letting his smile widen slowly. He cleared his throat, “I haven’t been on a date in a long time either. I suppose I’m a bit nervous too.”
“I’m relieved to know I’m not alone,” you murmured.
The conversation flowed easily for a while until your food was sat down in front of you a few minutes later. The country twang in his rich voice came and went as you’d spoken, sparking your next question.
“Where are you from, Clark?” You asked, beginning to prepare your toast the way you liked it, “Pa doesn’t sound like a Metropolis term.”
“Because it’s not.”
You glanced over at him to see that almost all of his eggs were already gone. Holding in a laugh, you let him continue.
Swallowing his food, he took in a deep breath like he was about to reveal a secret, “I’m from Kansas. My Ma and Pa raised me on their farm and I moved here a few years ago for work.”
The answer still felt vague, like there was more to be said, but you didn’t press him further.
Instead, you hummed back with a small smile, “That makes a lot of sense.”
“Being from Kansas?”
Clark shed his suit jacket off to the side, leaving him in just a light blue button down shirt. You watched as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and you came to realize you were getting a little lost.
His arms were… huge. As he crossed them to get his other sleeves, it was like all of his muscles pulled at the thin fabric of his shirt, barely able to move and mold with him. The ill-fitted suit suddenly made even less sense as it obviously did him no justice.
The man in front of you looked at you, clearing his throat when he noticed you watching him without any words.
Speaking without volition, you blurted out, “Well, you definitely have a farm-boy physique. But... no, it's your southern hospitality.”
Clark laughed aloud, the room booming again.
He shrugged, trying to be modest, “I threw hay barrels around for a long time.”
“Do you miss Kansas?”
“Every day.” He admitted softly, "Sometimes, I wish I had stayed. But… most days I’m really proud of my work that I do here in Metropolis.”
“Then you must really like writing for the Daily Planet. You’ve gotten to interview some pretty cool people.”
A smirk graced his face as he cut into his pancakes. He hiked his glasses up his face with his finger, shielding himself for a second before speaking, “You’ve read my work?”
“I have. I like your articles about Superman.”
“Superman, huh?”
It was like his pace slowed significantly; taking slower and more deliberate bites of his food as his eyes perked up to you. He seemed to watch you and study your reaction.
You took a small bite of fruit, “You make him sound really… human. I like the thought of that; being able to do anything, but still having the capacity to be kind and compassionate.”
Clark nodded, speaking softly, “I think it’s important for people to see that too. He’s just like everyone else.”
It gave you pause again as you locked eyes, a charming smile gracing his lips. You couldn’t help but let yourself smile too. It was almost making your cheeks sting with how much he made your lips curl up, but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to.
“So,” he started as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, half of his food devoured, “You got a long round of questions. Mine starts now: Where are you from?”
And again, your mouth curved up, “I’ve lived in Metropolis all my life. I am a born and raised metropolitan.”
“We just call you folk city slickers back home.” He chuckled, “You must be close to your family then.”
Biting your lip, you knew something like this would eventually come up. There wasn’t a use in being so vague, so you came out with it, trying to mask the grief that started to travel through your body.
“I was. I don’t have any immediate family here. It was just me and my dad, but he passed away last year.”
Another look overtook Clark that you couldn’t place. You hadn’t told many people about your father, expecting a lot of pity looks, but this wasn’t that. He was looking at you like he understood very well. It had been difficult to talk about your father without getting emotional, but with Clark, you were able to keep calm.
“Gosh,” he murmured, “My condolences.”
You tried to smile through your growing sadness again, trying not to let the mood drop too far, “It’s still a little fresh, but I’ve been okay. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Picking up that you didn’t want to speak on the subject anymore, Clark gave you a polite nod before pivoting completely with his next question. “Have any pets?”
His bright eyes trailed you as he took in another big bite of his food, now blatantly gauging your reaction. You were grateful he didn’t press further about your past with your dad.
“Do fish count?”
“Sure,” he shrugged, “Do you like your job?”
“Are you investigating me?” you asked with a small chuckle. Clark didn’t answer, simply motioning for you to continue through his mouthful of food. “I like my job most days. I like it better than the office job I had before.”
He swallowed, “What do you like and dislike most about your job now?”
“You are investigating me,” you mused, “I love music and people who also love music. I don’t like sales tactics.”
"Is that what was wrong with the office job?"
"Kinda" you sighed, "Just needed a change of pace."
“So you take pride in sharing your passion with people.”
Your brows furrowed at him curiously as you nodded slowly, “I guess so.”
Another smile graced his face, making his dimples show.
The two of you ate and talked for a little longer with more basic getting-to-know-you questions. He asked things like what your favorite color was, or your favorite movie. Even with the most mundane questions, however, he looked as if he were filing every bit of information away for later.
His raven hair fell in a curl over his forehead as he moved, and all you could think of was reaching forward and putting it back in place. As much as it pained you, you kept your hands to yourself.
Towards the end of the date, Clark happily paid for the both of you, waving you off with a short, “You can pay for me next time.”
As you stood together from the small booth, you took a deep breath and asked him, “Can I walk you to work?”
He flashed you a toothy grin, “I’d love that.”
The short walk to the Daily Planet was filled with extra questions, but mainly it served as an excuse to be around him more. The feeling of warmth he radiated was addicting, making you wonder why herds of people weren’t following him around for it.
And all too soon, your walk came to an end.
Both of you stood in front of the massive building, making no moves to go further. Neither of you said anything for a long while as exchanged short, shy glances. You didn’t want the date to end, and you were silently cursing yourself for it being such a short meeting.
“When can I see you again?”
Clark was the first to break the ice, asking in a fast, hushed voice. Pushing his glasses up on his face nearly covered the blush that was forming on his cheeks.
“That is, if you want to see me…”
Your face was doing much of the same as you nodded back at him, “I do. What about Sunday?”
“We could have dinner?”
“It’s a date.”
Smiling sheepishly, Clark’s hummed, low and deep, just like the day you met him. Slowly, he upturned his hand to you, silently asking for you to take it. Once you did, he brought it up to his lips slowly, leaving a light kiss along your knuckles. You were already reeling from that, but as he pulled his hand away - in one swift movement - he leaned forward to leave a kiss on your cheek.
“This has been the best lunch I’ve had by far.”
“I’m glad. Very glad.” you stammered.
“See you Sunday?”
“Yeah," you breathed out, "See you Sunday.”
With another big smile, he backed away toward the entrance of the building, nearly stumbling when his eyes wouldn’t leave you. His large, clumsy limbs flailed as he waved at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You waited until he was inside before making your way back to your apartment.
At that moment, you felt like the luckiest person in Metropolis.
You’d been on dates with others - plenty, actually - but had never felt the way you did on that one. Not even by a mile. Even in just that short time, he made you feel seen and listened to without having to blurt out every aspect of your life.
Even being near him made you feel giddy, like a child with a crush.
What left you even more dumbfounded is that Clark seemed to like you back, like he felt just as happy and carefree with you. And that was refreshing.
Almost as if to solidify your thoughts, you got a text almost as soon as you closed your apartment door.
Hope you made it home safe. I can’t stop thinking about our date. I’m very excited for Sunday!
A bunch of emojis flooded in after: smiley faces, sunshine, and little hearts.
You held the phone close to your chest and let out a small squeal of joy. Clark really did have a way of curing sadness.
***
Sunday came before you knew it. In those near 48 hours, you were glued to your phone, responding and waiting on messages from Clark about when and where your Sunday date would be. You’d been texting even more since your date, and every text was like a breath of fresh air.
The two of you decided - well, Clark decided - on a nicer, more upskaled restaurant in the heart of downtown. He made reservations for the two of you and everything.
It wasn’t until Sunday morning leading up to your date that something started to feel… off.
Leading up to your date in the evening the both of you still had to work. To you, it was a nice distraction from the nerves pooling in your stomach. Your heart beat wildly against your chest the entire day any time you thought of the nerdy, dark-haired man.
Throughout the day, you and Clark continued to talk intermittently, but you notice he’d pulled back somewhat pretty early in the day. The messages he sent were still sincere and enthusiastic, but shorter and less frequent than they had been.
You thought that maybe he was just having a busy day. And very desperately, you tried not to think about what else it could be.
Once work was done, you had some time to go home and get ready for your date. However, that weird feeling that something was wrong kept popping up. So when you entered your apartment, you stood in the living room, typing out a message to Clark.
We’re still on for tonight?
You decided to take a shower as you waited for his answer.
Despite the strange feeling, you were beyond excited to go on another date with Clark. It had been a long time since you’d looked forward to something like this. You found yourself even wanting to put effort into how you looked; making yourself look as good as you felt. It wasn’t something you’d felt in such a long time.
After your shower, you could feel anxiety building as you checked your phone. Luckily, there was a text waiting for you from Clark:
Of course! I’m still at work, but I’ll get off soon!
A sigh of relief left you as you shot back another text, confirming that you’ll see him at the restaurant.
Before long, you were checking yourself out in the mirror, putting on your last touches of jewelry and accessories. Another weird feeling washed over you, despite Clark’s confirmation, but you thought of it just being your nerves.
As you locked up your apartment, you took in a large breath, looking at the time and making sure that you were still on time for the reservation. You glanced at your messages, but the screen remained blank after the last message you sent.
Although you didn’t know him that well, it didn’t seem normal.
Still, you sent another quick text, telling him you were on your way to the restaurant, hoping he would respond to you when he could.
Throughout the train ride downtown, the feeling that something wasn’t right was growing deeper in your abdomen. Especially with the radio silence from Clark. It had already been almost an hour since you’d last heard from him and normally he wouldn’t have gone that long without sending you something back already.
Still, you persisted.
At the restaurant, you kept a brave face as you approached the counter. Part of you thought that maybe your date was already there, waiting for you at the table he reserved. But it was no such luck as you looked around the mostly vacant restaurant.
You smiled at the hostess, giving her the name “Kent” and the reservation time. You felt a small rush of relief as she nodded to you, leading you back to a booth. She placed down two menus before giving you a polite smile back.
“Still waiting for your guest?”
You tried to sound confident, “Yes, he’ll be here soon.”
She gave you a solemn look before nodding and taking your drink order. Still hopeful, you decided to order a glass of red wine. As she walked away, you looked around at the few couples that littered the place before pulling out your phone.
You sent another message, telling him you were there. But there was nothing in return.
Feeling your heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t want to give up just yet. Although something felt wrong, you knew Clark wouldn’t put in effort to make reservations just to stand you up. He’d been so sweet to you that this didn’t seem like his character.
But then again, you didn’t know him like that.
Against your better judgement, you still waited. And waited. And waited.
After an hour, you felt more embarrassed than anything. The waitress had come up and asked you if you were waiting still, and each time you would nod, asking for another glass of red wine. Three glasses later, the waitress set a small appetizer down in front of you for free.
Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.
Just as you were gathering your things, ready to go to the front to pay, your phone dinged. Reaching for it, you finally got some form of an answer by text.
I’m so sorry. I got so caught up at work, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you–
Without reading the rest of the message, you stuffed your phone in your purse, not wanting to read any excuses. You finally asked for the check and paid for your wine, keeping your head low as you slowly made your way out of the restaurant.
The waitress, and you were sure any of the patrons, were giving you sad looks, only making you feel worse. You took a mental note that you would never go there again out of pure embarrassment.
You held your tears in until you were fully out of view of any prying eyes, but as soon as you were out the door, the dam broke and it was like a waterfall fell over your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away to no avail, only for more to continuously fall.
As you walked home, you tried to cover your face with your hands, trying to focus on simply getting to the apartment. The subway had too many eyes, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you. With your eyes casted to the ground, the walk felt like an eternity.
Halfway home, you passed by some men sitting on some apartment steps. You kept your head low, hoping no one could see your tear stained cheeks. Still, a low whistle sounded from one of the men who stood up, trying to get your attention. Typical of a lot of men in Metropolis, but you never budged, you simply ignored them, continuing on your walk.
But a little ways away, you could hear footsteps behind you and low murmuring as the men talked to each other. You tried to quicken your pace, feeling that they were trailing behind you fairly quickly.
Your heart started to thud fast against your chest as you lengthened your stride. Easily, however, they were able to keep up, some of them being much faster.
“Hey!” One of the men chimed behind you, “Where you going?”
You kept walking, ignoring him again. With just your luck most of the shops you passed were closed and no one else seemed to notice or care that these men were following you. Taking in a large breath, you remained forward, using all of your strength to speed up.
“This is a nice view back here. I would love to see the front.”
Another man said, or maybe the same one. It didn’t matter though, and you didn’t dare to look behind you.
You were almost at a job, but judging by their footsteps, you knew they were still gaining on you. The tears that you’d been trying to keep in were freely flowing down your cheeks, creating a harsh sting against the cool night air.
As a hand caught your shoulder, you let out a yelp, and in an instant, he showed up.
Superman.
You heard the commotion before you even had the chance to turn around. There was a smack and a groan as some of the bystanders around you finally started to turn their heads. As you finally looked behind you, there was Superman with his hand around the neck of who you could only assume was the man that grabbed your shoulder.
From where you stood, you couldn’t see the strong man’s face, but you knew it was Superman just by everything else. You could obviously see how big and tall he was, but you could also feel the presence and power he had.
The three other men were watching in horror as the large meta-human stood incredibly still, his cape flapping lightly in the wind as if he were waiting for them to speak first.
“Fellas.” His voice was loud and pointed. He let the man by the neck go, shoving him towards his friends, “Why don’t you run home?”
As the men scampered off, Superman watched for a moment, crossing his arms in front of him before turning to face you.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
Words and thoughts weren’t coming easily as you stared possibly for too long. The super hero in front of you started to smile wide, dimples poking out of the corners of his lips.
A soft buzzing noise began in the back of your brain, low and soft, like it was trying to grab your attention. Maybe it was the combination of everything that had happened that day; the shoddy communication with Clark, him standing you up, the men, and now Superman, but you couldn’t hold your tears in any longer. The dam broke once again as tears spilled from your eyes.
“I don’t know,” you sobbed.
Superman’s eyes softened as he uncrossed his arms, making himself just a bit smaller for you.
“It’s okay to not know.” The large meta-human motioned to a bench along the sidewalk about a block away, “Want to talk?”
Nodding at him, he gave you a kind smile before leading you over to sit. As he sat beside you, you could immediately feel the inhuman warmth radiating off of him. It felt almost familiar but not enough to come to mind.
Instead, you thought of your father.
Superman didn’t say anything or make you feel like you needed to talk back at him. He simply sat with you and waited until you were ready.
When you did finally speak, you tried to deflect off of your sad feelings, “Aren’t you supposed to be out saving the world?”
The question came out more accusatory than you’d wanted, but it didn’t seem phased as he answered.
“The world starts with the people in it.”
Without pressing, he waited again for you to continue talking. You took a deep breath, shaking your head at how ridiculous it was to be telling Superman of all people your mundane problems.
“This sounds so stupid saying this to you,” your laugh was wet as you tried to gain composure again, continuing, “I got stood up by a guy I really liked. And then this happened. But… this guy felt really different. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“That’s not stupid.” His voice became quieter like it was just for you, “The only thing that’s stupid is the guy that stood you up.”
You sighed, nodding, “Guess so. I got so frustrated and embarrassed. I think he tried to apologize, but I didn’t read his messages.”
“You have a right to be angry,” Superman caught your gaze and you weren’t sure if you ever noticed that his eyes were blue, “Regardless of if he apologizes, you don’t have to accept anything else from someone that wronged you.”
You thought for a moment.
“I don’t want to feel angry though, and maybe that’s naive. But everything was going really well until a few hours ago.”
Superman sighed, cautiously placing a hand on your shoulder. That same warm familiar feeling washed over you once again as you leaned in to him.
“I can’t offer you much, but I can offer you my opinion.” Nodding lamely, you urged him to continue, “It sounds cliche, but trust yourself. He miscommunicated and made you upset, rightfully so. If you feel like this bond you’ve made with him has severed beyond repair, don’t read the message, and don’t waste anymore energy on just some guy. But on the other hand, maybe he had a valid excuse and now he’s trying his best to apologize. It’s ultimately up to you to decide whether you give him the benefit of the doubt or not.”
For a long moment, you stared at the super human before you in complete awe. You’d looked up to him for a while, and here he was in the flesh giving you advice.
“What would you do?”
Superman laughed, his voice echoing through the city.
“I have a bad habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. It’s hard not to want to see the good in people. And who knows, maybe now he knows that he should’ve made time for you.”
You didn’t say anything to that, studying him again. The low buzzing in your head was getting slightly stronger; his blue eyes and dark hair were setting off sparks of something that you couldn’t place. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t grasp what was so familiar.
After a few moments, your head started to ache. You shut your eyes for a second to recalibrate, giving up on trying to figure anything else out for the night.
Certainly, he noticed you taking the moment, “You should rest.”
He stood up from the bench and outstretched his hand to you. Gently, you took his offered hand, standing to face him. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle as he helped you up. He gave you a wide smile, standing tall once you were on your feet.
“Thank you, Superman.” You sighed, “You’ve done so much for me tonight. Not only saving me, but taking the time to talk to me too. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am, but you don’t need to thank me. I’m just a guy trying to do what’s right.” He nodded to you once, beaming at you, “If you ever need to talk again, I’m just a shout away.”
You nodded back and before you knew it, Superman was flying off into the evening sky.
Swiftly walking the rest of the way to your apartment, you felt more at ease than you had before. Once you got inside, you felt like you could breathe again finally.
Still feeling utterly conflicted, you cleaned yourself off and threw your outfit in the hamper before finally crashing onto your couch. You didn’t let the tears well in your eyes this time as you pulled out your phone.
Thinking over your conversation with Superman, you mulled over what you wanted to do with Clark.
On one hand, he had stood you up. Plain and simple, that was a really awful thing to do. You’d felt so embarrassed and stupid at such a nice restaurant that it would make sense to cut him off much like he did for you.
But Clark felt… different. That feeling you got while you were with him was unlike anything else you’d felt with someone before. He’d been so sweet before that there must’ve been something wrong for him to not show up.
You thought of what Superman said about giving people the benefit of the doubt. And you came to the conclusion that if the most powerful man on earth could give people a chance, you could too.
Finally, you opened up your phone to your unopened message from Clark.
I’m so incredibly sorry. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, but I’m still caught at work. I hate to think you’re waiting for me, and I understand if this is inexcusable. It’s not my intention to leave you hanging. I’d love to try again.
You sighed heavily before typing out a reply: Can we talk?
Mere seconds after you hit send, your phone was ringing. It almost would’ve been funny had the situation been a little lighter.
“Hello?” Clark sounded first, your name slipping quietly from his lips.
“Hey.” You said timidly.
“Listen, before you say anything, I’m really sorry. I-I know I messed up really big. I get caught up with work like that sometimes, and I should’ve warned you instead of making you think I was leaving you high and dry. It’s not an excuse for being a jerk, but I thought I should at least offer you an apology.”
Tears pricked at the back of your eyes again, but none fell. You were too tired to let anything else out, “I waited over an hour for you, Clark.”
“Gosh,” He sighed, “I… I understand if that was too much.”
“I really like you… but right now, after this, I-I really don’t know.”
“It’s okay to not know.” He murmured.
Lightning zapped at your brain again and you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to shake it away as you didn’t want to think too hard. Clark waited silently on the other end of the line for you to speak. Hesitantly, you took in another deep breath.
“Clark?”
“Yes?”
He answered like you took his breath away
“Can we try again… like you said?”
He let out an audible sigh - like he was finally releasing the air he’d been holding, “Of course. Yes, we can try again. Thank you. Wherever you’d like and whenever you want, I’m all yours. I’ll even take off work for the day.”
You let out the smallest laugh, “You don’t have to do that much.”
Clark let out a hum of thought over the phone like music to your ears, “What about now?”
Your eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling.
“Now?”
Over the receiver, a low chuckle sounded, “I can pick up some wine and a midnight snack?”
Your heart began to speed and stutter, your head already beginning to whirl. In your silence, Clark’s voice dropped even lower to a murmur, speaking again before you had the chance to overthink it.
“You can say no to tonight and we’d still make time for another date. I just want to make things up to you.”
“Okay…” you bit your lip, beginning to feel that giddy feeling again as before, “But you better bring a red.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Once you hung up, it only took about fifteen minutes before there was a knock at your door. You ran out of your bathroom to answer the door, having thrown on a more casual outfit than your pajamas.
At the door stood a very disheveled Clark, like he’d been running around. His curly dark hair was in disarray and he was still in his ill-fitted work suit. He held out a bottle of red wine, a bag of snacks, and a large bouquet of flowers. You looked at him incredulously as he beamed a large smile back at you.
“Can I come in?” He said breathlessly.
A giggle escaped you as you stepped aside, letting the tall man walk through your door. He placed the items he brought on the nearest surface except for the flowers, which he held back out to you.
Clark said your name quietly, catching your gaze, “I can’t express to you how genuinely sorry I am. Any excuse I give is not enough. I wanted to be there, but I wasn’t.”
Carefully, you took the flowers from him, but before you could pull away, he enveloped your hands with his. His strong fingers squeezed yours with a soft pressure, gazing into your eyes with his deep ones.
“You’re here now,” you whispered.
His eyes flickered down to your lips. Your heart started to dance in your chest as he placed one of his hands along your cheek. He was hesitant, like he was testing the waters with you. Although he wasn't fully forgiven yet, you couldn't find yourself to pull away.
“Can I kiss you?” His voice was just above a whisper.
You nodded once, but he didn’t move immediately.
Ever so slowly, you pressed your lips together, like you were savoring every second. It was a quick, small beck before you pulled away to look at each other.
And for a moment, things felt blissful again.
No words needed to be spoken as you leaned in again, pulling him to you. The second kiss was longer, more intimate and slower… hungrier. But he didn’t make any moves to go any further. He was content with your lips, keeping you grounded as he molded to yours. He began to smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.
The two of you kissed for a few moments longer, only pulling away when you needed to get air.
Soon, the two of you were sitting on your couch with two glasses of wine in hand, eating your snacks as you slowly fell into a comfortable rhythm of talking and getting to know each other again. It felt like you could talk about everything and nothing with him all at once.
And after a while, it was like the forgotten dinner never happened.
Sometime in the night, Clark stood up from your couch to inspect the bookshelf of records you owned.
“Golly, you have quite the collection,” He mused aloud.
Clark walked over to the record player and carefully opened it up. The last record you’d been playing - The Righteous Brothers - was queued already and Clark simply pressed the play button.
“It was both me and my father’s collection.” you said as music started flowing through your speakers.
“Unchained Melody.” Clark hummed, “My Pa loves this one.”
“Mine did too.”
Clark outreached his hand to you and for a moment, you had a flash of deja-vu back to your conversation with Superman. That moment with the super human felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality it had only been a few short hours. That low buzzing started in your head again, but this time, you could feel something poking and prodding as you looked at the man in glasses before you.
But the thought that crossed your mind was impossible.
Instead of thinking too hard, you took Clark’s hand, letting him help you off the couch. Ever patient, he waited for you to get closer before wrapping his arms securely around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder as you swayed to the song.
“If you'll let me fix things,” He whispered, “I want to be yours if you’ll have me.”
You smiled wide, nodding.
“I’d love that.”
end a.n. believe it or not, this is only the first part! if you made it this far, let me know what you thought or if you would like to join my superman taglist! I like feedback, and tbh, if you have your own ideas for this series, send them my way!
(taglist).
colonel caleb and assistant!nonMC!reader, who he's desperately in love with part 2
warnings. angst, boss x employee dynamic, suicidal ideation, caleb going through it, caleb hates his job, fluff, comfort, boy is whipped, teeny bit suggestive at the end
preview. It comes uninvited, like a part of himself is trying to remind himself that he's still human, even with the damn chip in his brain. Your face, bright and out of place in the sterile emptiness of his mind. The way you frown at him like he's something worth worrying about. When did you come to mean so much to him?
wc. 2.6k
a/n. part 1 part 3 this is a prelude to the original one-shot i wrote for this (and slightly an afterlude towards the end)! thank you for the love on the previous one--you're all so sweet <3
The colonel cannot afford to show weakness.
He often wonders when he started seeing himself as the colonel instead of Caleb Xia. Was it since the moment of the explosion? Since he “died”? Since he had to cut contact with the only family left in this wretched world who might care for him? When pressing the nozzle of his gun against another assassin became the norm? When had the stench of blood stopped bothering him?
His days don’t feel like his own anymore. He supposes they aren’t—considering the toring chip in his brain that monitors all semblance of his past self. He works, works some more, eats, and then sleeps to do it all over again. Just enough to keep his body alive. Just enough to keep himself upright.
Every, fucking, day.
He watches his subordinates gush about returning to their loved ones as his ship approaches home base after a three-week-long excursion—one he didn’t think he’d make it out of. The bags beneath his eyes settle darkly, the area around his jaw itchy from the stubble growing for the entirety of the trip. Though his subordinates are in similar shape, their eyes remain bright, glimmering with a hope that even those in his field somehow manage to have. The hope of home.
He had that once, too.
All he has now, is a cold, lifeless apartment to go back to. With plastic still wrapped around his furniture and the fridge empty except for a few bottles of alcohol and an apple. He’d never found much purpose in making the apartment look more like his—because it wasn’t his home anyway. Not when he had nobody to welcome his return.
Just a loud, ticking clock he wants to throw away.
When Caleb returns to the base, he’s the only one that stays past dark while everyone else rejoices to return home for a fresh shower. He opts to wash his hair in the sink beside his office instead, the icy water doing little to add to the numbness of his skin, if it does anything at all. He stares at himself in the mirror, blinking slowly, and then decides he should really shave.
What a mess. His eyes bore holes into the dog tag he carries everywhere. It feels like an omen of luck, while it remains a burden in his chest—as if the only thing that still manages to make him feel worse than he already does.
Is this it, he wonders? Is this what the rest of his life will be like? Spending out his days in his office or in the deepspace tunnel, wondering if those few hours will be his last? There are thoughts that slip in quietly---ones he should repress. Would it be so bad? To get lost in the tunnel, and never having to return to the base again? To finally melt away into nothingness to ease the pain? He grits his teeth, realizing that his nails are digging crescents into the palms of his hands.
No, his men have families. His men have people who still need them–a purpose.
After he’s finished somewhat tidying himself up (though even heavy concealer can’t cover his eyebags), he skulks out of the bathroom to head to his office. It’s usually pitch dark on the floor at this time of night. So when he notices one cubicle that remains illuminated by a lamp, he thinks he’ll have to scold whoever it belongs to for wasting the energy bill. He sighs irritably and stalks over, his brows furrowing into a halt when he sees the cubicle isn’t empty at all.
You blink up at him. “Oh.”
You’re an unfamiliar face. A new employee, perhaps. How long have you even been here? Especially this late at night? His eyes scan your desk to see the doodles you’ve been drawing onto multiple sheets of paper and his scowl deepens. And you’re here for this?
Suddenly, you shoot up to your feet, shoulders tense as you bow your head. “Colonel Xia. I’m you’re new assistant—I’ve been assigned here since last week.”
He quirks a brow at your drawings. Your face heats, and you scramble to shove them to the side, clearing your throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting to greet you, sir.”
“It’s 2:37 in the morning.”
“Off the clock,” you respond.
“How long have you been here doing—that.”
“Since 7.”
“PM?”
“AM. They told me they weren’t sure when you’d be getting back,” you scratch the side of your face sheepishly. “Better safe than sorry.”
He wants to ask if there’s something wrong with you, but he stops, taken aback. No, he’s sure there’s something wrong with you. There is, but his eyes widen just the slightest anyway.
For the first time in years, someone had been waiting for the colonel.
He quickly finds that you’re good at your job. A bit confused in the first few weeks, sure, but he knows that what he asks of you is a bit much. You somehow manage to get it to a T anyway in the first month, and he wonders if HQ finally made a good hiring decision for the first time in a while. He watches you through the glass of his office, scrambling in your cubicle as your coworkers ask you questions that instill that you’re probably holding the place together. Your first point of action every day is to make his coffee. Afterwards, you make your own. Then, you drop it off and chat with your coworkers for a bit before a crisis arises and you’re sprinting to whatever disaster you have to solve. And when you knock on his door, you keep your eyes down, as if to avoid him as you drop off his paperwork.
He knows he makes your life hard. But you deal with it anyway.
It’s amusing, really. You’re amusing to him. But anything remotely lively is amusing in this dreary building.
“Are you leaving, sir?” you ask him one night, when only the two of you are left. He fixes his coat onto himself, finally released from that suffocating hat that he’s has to wear to remain in uniform. You follow him to the door, pacing right behind him as you always do.
Caleb usually doesn’t like anyone behind him. Not when there’s so many people who would seize the opportunity to stab a knife into his back. But for some reason, when you do it, he doesn’t mind. Maybe because he knows you couldn’t damage him at all. Maybe because he knows you wouldn’t.
“I am.”
Your ears perk. “You must have plans.”
“...Do I have something else on my calendar?”
“Well no, sir, it’s just…” you pause for a moment, glancing at him apprehensively. “...Well, it’s your birthday, so I just assumed.”
Had time already gone by that quickly?
Not that he cared about his birthday. It just meant another year without anyone to return home to.
“I left you something in your office,” you nod. “I hope it’s to your liking.”
His eyes stare right into yours. A million thoughts run through his head. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s a bomb. Maybe it’s more paperwork. Maybe it’s a resignation letter. From all the regular things to the worst things imaginable, it runs through him all at once, and then it stops, as he just steps out the door. “Alright.”
Though he should’ve gone home to wait until the next morning to check what it is, he returns a few hours later, when you’ve left. It’s a bit pathetic, really, but he couldn’t sleep. Not necessarily because of what you said, but because his body is more accustomed to falling asleep in his office than his own “house”.
Definitely not because of the small cactus succulent you left on his desk, with a post-it in your handwriting. It contrasts heavily with the monochrome of the rest of the room, bright with life. The thorns feel sharp against his fingertip as he presses against it, as if to see how much he can push before it breaks skin.
‘Happy birthday’
As you’re dropping off papers a few weeks later, you point out that it looks like it can use water. He doesn’t look up from his work, clicking his tongue. “It’s a cactus. It can survive deserts–I’m sure it’s fine.”
But you stand there, staring at him with a frown, which for some reason gives him an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He swallows, and then sighs with annoyance. “Knock yourself out.”
You beam. So you can smile at him.
After that, he’s learned to read your knocks. Three knocks means paperwork, or something regarding his work. Two knocks means there’s someone who’d like to see him. Four knocks means you’re here to water the damn cactus. It happens once every few weeks, but his ears pick up on it easily. He pretends that he’s not watching your every move as you water, observing how you smile at how well it’s doing.
“Don’t you have better things to do? It doesn’t need that much care, does it?”
You simply shrug. "Just because it doesn’t need so much, doesn’t mean it doesn’t need it at all.”
He doesn’t say much to that.
But when you leave, he strangely finds his eyes drifting to the cactus. It’s a resilient thing, he thinks. He presses his fingertip against a spike, and it draws blood this time, trickling down his finger gently in a brilliant red. An ugly, resilient thing. From the corner of his vision, he sees a bud. It’s small–barely there–but he sees it. He wonders if it’ll bloom. If his office even receives enough light for it to bloom.
Could a flower bloom from such an ugly, hurting lifeform?
He begins watering the cactus himself, and he’s sure you notice, because you begin to bring in less water each time.
“I’ll keep your cactus well fed, sir,” you say the day he leaves for a few months excursion. The longest he’s been on. The most dangerous, too. It’s almost as if the higher-ups want to kill him. While his men weep and say goodbye to their families, you gaze up at him with a stack of folders clutched in your arms. Despite how defenseless you look to him in comparison to the military-trained men he works with every day, you seem unmovable. Like a tree standing in the middle of a meadow. Full of life. You’ve always seemed strong. Perhaps that’s why he’s always found you amusing.
You’re more deserving of this uniform than he is, but he hopes you never have to wear it. Someone like you should never have their life snuffed out like that.
Caleb places his hat onto your head, and for a moment, you blink. He presses it down to fit your head, though it remains slightly large anyway, and then drops his hand. “Have it cleaned by the time I come back.”
He doesn’t think you need to know that he had it cleaned just a few days ago.
Days of the excursion blur into one another, stitched together by gunfire and the low hum of the ship’s engines against the nothingness of the deepspace tunnel. Sleep comes in fractured pieces. Food tastes like nothing. The men still talk about home, though quieter now.
There’s a moment where he stands alone at the observation deck. The glass is scratched, the stars beyond it warped and smeared like paint dragged across a canvas. It’s ugly out here. Empty yet consuming, like the universe itself is trying to swallow him whole.
He presses his hand against the glass.
Would it really be so bad? If he just… didn’t go back.
If he drifted a little too far. Took one wrong turn in the deepspace tunnel to let the ship go silent. Let himself go with it. No empty apartments. No ticking clocks. No unfurnished rooms. No reminders of a life that he no longer has access to. It almost feels merciful—like the tunnel is offering him a way out.
There’s no one there to mourn him anyway.
No family. No home. Just nothingness, like the rest of the tunnel. As if he belongs.
But then, his thoughts are interrupted. Not by anything else, but by a face.
It’s not even intentional. It comes uninvited, like a part of himself is trying to remind himself that he’s still human, even with the damn chip in his brain. Your face, bright and out of place in the sterile emptiness of his mind. The way you look up at him, eyes too eager for a place like that base. The way you huff proudly to yourself when you make his coffee. The way you nod vigorously as if to hype yourself up before you knock on his door. The way you tell off your coworkers while also remaining welcoming. The way you care for that stupid cactus. The way you frown at him like he’s something worth worrying about.
The way you wait for him at the docks, first to greet him every time he returns without fail.
When did you come to mean so much to him?
His jaw tightens.
He needs to see the cactus bloom.
And so, with the determination he hasn’t felt in years, he arrives back at the base in one piece, where you’re waiting for him as you always have.
Caleb never tells you what you did for him that day, even when you were lightyears away. Even once he manages to get it through your thick skull that he harbors real, raw feelings for you, he doesn’t tell you how much that cactus has done for him.
His life is brighter now, with you in it. His apartment, which once lay bare, as if nobody occupied the space now seems warmer. Your coat is tossed onto the couch, the sheets are crumpled, and there’s more than enough food in the fridge. There’s two toothbrushes in the bathroom, and potted plants are littered throughout the entire apartment. There’s magnets on the fridge—pictures of him returning from each excursion—and the two of you growing closer and closer with each photo. The most recent one has you flush to his side, your hands intertwined in his. So much has changed that it doesn’t even look like the same apartment anymore.
It feels like home.
In the morning, before you wake up, he gazes at you through lidded eyes, the soft sunlight peeking through the curtains and hitting his back to avoid reaching your face. He grins proudly at the dark marks littering your neck down to your chest, which surely adorn his own torso. There’s a sense of relief he gets from moments like these—being able to awake early out of his own will rather than being forced by the nightmares plaguing his mind. He cups the side of your face and rubs your cheek with his thumb as you stir, yawning softly. So pretty.
“Morning, colonel,” you squint.
"Caleb," he corrects.
"Boss."
"I can take a lot of your teasing, but that's crossing a line."
You smile, the way he loves. "Then what should I call you?"
Caleb looks to the side, pretending to be in thought. "'Sir?"
"I'm going to kill you."
“You seemed to like it last night,” he grins, guiding your face to kiss him before you can complain about his joke. Despite your pleas of morning breath, you melt into him. Your lips feel soft against his, your body warm. He wants to hold you forever. Treasure you forever. Stay here forever.
His cactus sits beside his bedside table—and the flower has bloomed.
caleb is absolutely hammering into you, his pace heavy and completely relentless. his broad chest is slick with sweat, grinding against yours with every single hard thrust. he’s buried so fucking deep inside you that your head is spinning, the bed frame groaning loudly as his thick cock stretches you open, bullying its way past your wet folds. you’re pinned flat on your back, fingers scratching harsh red lines down his back.
“caleb–fuck, slow d-down for a second,” you gasp out, voice breaking from the feeling of him absolutely wrecking you.
he lets out a breathless little laugh, his purpole eyes staring into your hazy ones. “can’t do that,” he murmurs, voice full of warm, lazy affection. “you’re the one who got me this worked up.”
it was true. caleb had returned from a two week long mission and god could you not keep your hands off of him.
suddenly, his large warm hand slides up your chest and wraps firmly around the front of your throat. caleb squeezes.
the firm, heavy pressure instantly cuts off your air and the steady restriction sends a violent jolt up your core. your eyes fly wide, pupils dilating as a desperate, needy whine gets trapped in your throat. it’s exactly what you like– the feeling of him being in control making your soaked cunt twitch and clench around his cock.
your hands grip his wrist, not to pull him off, but to press it down harder against your neck, begging for that pressure.
caleb leans down, his face inches from yours. his usually bright eyes are dark and heavy but his expression softens into a fond smile when he sees how much you love it.
“you’re my absolute weakness, you know that?” he murmurs, voice raspy snd breathless before he leans down to press a deep and sweet kiss to your lips.
he dosen’t slow down at all. he drives his cock even deeper, bottoming out completely inside your twitching cunt. then, he takes his hand and presses his palm against your lower stomach.
right there, his palm sinks against your skin. he can feel the distinct bulge of himself stretching you out from inside. your hips give a suddenly and involuntary jerk at the feeling. a tear of pure pleasure slips down your cheek, choked cry trapped by his grip on your neck.
caleb lets out a sharp groan at the feeling, his smile turning into a breathless grin. he presses down hard with his palm, while his hips slam forward again and again.
“look at you,” caleb pants, his breath hot against your face as he uses his thumb to wipe a tear away. he holds you perfectly steady while he watches your expression blow out. “you’re taking every fucking inch of me. so beautiful like this.”
“mmh—caaaleb...just....harder,” you choke out, your chest heaving as you look up at him, completely drunk on the lack of air and sheer size of him tearing you apart. he keeps pounding into you, tip battering against your cervix.
soon, your vision blurs and your back completely arches off the mattress. the coil in your stomach snaps and it has you gripping him like a vice. caleb kisses you through the peak of it, holding you securely until you slowly start to come down.
afterward, the room is completely quiet except for your heavy breathing. caleb collapses right next to you, completely spent and pulls you against his side. he lets out a long, satisfied sigh, pressing numerous kisses to the crown of your head. “i love you,” he whispers.
you smile and snuggle into him. yes, you love him too.
— a storm brews in your head as you grapple with the longing to take up a little more space in sylus’s life— would he mind?
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: something i conjured up @ 2am thinking about spending time with sylus fresh-relationship, when things are still a little fragile & a little unsure. struggling w this myself, to all who do— you are allowed to take up space. you are enough. fueled by the singular image of sylus chasing fingers with kisses. also!!! the free 5 star henckskd i canT WAIT 😫. enjoy! ❀-urs
sylus x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, self-conscious reader, overthinker sylus, longing, smoochie kisses, face masks!
Sylus is visibly busy. He doesn’t move much when he works, resembling more a statue really— one carved with passion and love, if you were to gush.
Were it not for the rapid flickering of his eyes and the tack-tack-tack of his fingers on his keyboard, you’d wonder if he was even breathing.
Your gaze lingers on the thin-framed glasses you gifted him, now perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need them, you’d think regeneration would grant him immunity against mere blue-light, but he wears them anyway. A silent gratitude, a heart-fluttering token of you in all his endeavors. Your fingers itch to push them up just that little bit.
But he’s busy.
You linger by the door of his office. Meticulous as you take in the set of his jaw, the slight pout of his lips, the subtle crease in his brow and his soft, disheveled hair. You swallow down the burn to run your fingers through the cloud-like tufts and smooth them away from his forehead.
He’s busy.
“Sweetie.” You stiffen, pulled from the haze by low, thundering endearment. His eyes never leave the screen, his fingers never cease typing. But you know he’s got every intention of luring you in like a siren.
“Mm?” you reply, clearing you throat. How you can make a simple hum so utterly pathetic, you’ve no idea. Your face heats, your scalp prickles. Your gut churns at how little of him it takes to undo you.
But he only smiles, just the slightest bit. Eyes require strain to capture its split-second existence. “Need something?”
Your eyes widen. Oh, the last thing you want is for him to think you’re insensitive and entitled enough to distract him. “No— no! I’m okay.”
His brow raises. The clacking beneath his fingers is silenced. Once shifting eyes now focused on you. “Are you sure?”
You nod. “Yes. I’ll go.”
You’re turning away before he catches a glimpse of the tingles you feel beneath your skin. You shouldn’t disturb him. He had come home late last night. Slipped into bed to hold you for an hour at most before you felt him drift away once more. Back into his office. To his very important schedule.
The lump in your throat is remedied by a big gulp of water but the irritation for your self-pity is a fire you cannot easily douse.
You should be grateful that he accepted you into his home for the holidays. Overjoyed that he’d become more comfortable with your intimate (albeit shy) advances like fingers caressing his own, and lips brushing on any exposed speckle of flesh of his you see. He always indulges you with a shudder and a controlled breath.
Looks at you like you’d wronged him, like he’s piously holding back unforgivable sin should he touch you back.
And yet, your chest aches at the lack of attention. You grind your teeth. Dramatically and truthfully, you’re starved, thirsty, and craving for his regard. But how greedy would you be to demand that of him.
Digging your nails in your palms, you relent. He has enough on his plate. He invited you in despite his work schedule. Because you insisted, asked, wanted. And now you must adjust. Be mindful. Behave.
The skin of your cheeks is agitated, you’re sure, when you run your fingers down your face. In hopes to silence a groan. Annoying. Can’t help but be. You’re annoyed— with him, with his work, with yourself for being annoyed.
Not knowing that as soon as you fled from the threshold, Sylus was quick to stand and follow after you. Had it not been for the shrieking of his infernal phone, you’d be eating your words and thriving in your greed for him by now.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
In three hours, you’ve successfully explored the base in efforts of distracting yourself or making yourself useful— hit the underground gym, sketched the pristine dragon statue down the hall on a piece of sticky note, made an ice cream sandwich, taken a shower and applied your skincare.
And he— he’d been standing from his desk every few minutes to look for you. But deals were falling through, there are new programs to be coded and all his men were apparently incompetent today.
He caught glimpses of you— your hair disappearing around corners, your humming as you doodled and made snacks, your silhouette through fogged glass. But something always pulled him away— another problem, another issue, something infuriatingly needing his attention.
And if he were just so terrible, he’d throw the entirety of Onychinus away just to join you in the shower.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
The clay mask is tightening on your face when you exit the kitchen. Just beginning to crust at the edges, but goopy still. You might have mixed it wrong. The cucumbers you cut out rest on your cheeks for now, until you no longer need to navigate your way through the winding halls from the kitchen back to Sylus’s bedroom.
A groan escapes your throat as you throw yourself into his plush mattress and silk sheets— knocking the breath out of you at the impact. Gravity pulls your spine down, pops each vertebra into place in a glorious melody of release. Then, you flip the cucumbers over your eyes and draw out a long, loud exhale.
Ten minutes, your app said, orange little happy face promising the silence of your thoughts. Ten minutes of focusing on your breath and your fingers and your toes and your skin. Ten minutes of listening to the sound of a ticking clock you otherwise would never have noticed. Of resisting the urge to twitch a muscle. Of constantly reminding yourself to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Ten minutes of—
“A salad.”
The bed dips on your side and your breathing— that you’ve been working so hard on— ceases. You feel his hot fingers on your arm, trailing, trickling down to your wrist and over your open palms. Drawing shapes. Making a home. “How appetizing.”
You don’t need to remove your cucumbers to know the look he has on his face. Cocky, teasing and deep with that unspoken desire. “Got a moment away?”
He hums. Fed up, he made one final call and warned his partners that if they did anything to disrupt his time with you again, heads would roll— or something along those lines. His phone rests ominously silent in his office.
Yearning for him all day and finally having him, you are overwhelmed— his touch burns you, and you slip your wrist from his grasp without thinking.
He tries hard not to let that affect him. He is thankful for your lack of vision right now, because the scowl he gives you borderlines on homicidal.
There is a cant to your tone— one you could not quite be rid of from your initial irritation despite it slowly fizzling away in his presence. One he bristles at.
“You’ve had a lot on your plate.” you simply state, a supposed expression of sympathy. I feel bad for your workload, I’m sorry I cannot do anything to lighten it.
But your lips had twitched, pressed into a firm line. This reads like criticism to him— You’d ignored me all day and now, now take this distance as consequence. He swallows. “I have.”
You rise from your position. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel liquid dread swirling in his stomach now. You pulled away— you don’t want to be touched. Your tone— you don’t want to hear his excuses. He’d scorned you, and now knows not what to do with his lungs or limbs.
“Hungry?” you ask, a cucumber slipping down your eye to your cheek, finally revealing his perplexed gaze and— oh, no. He’s upset. Your mind connects it to your initial worries: of wanting too much, of clinging and pulling him away from the important things. And now he’s here, not there. Had he picked up on your discomfort? Were you so overbearing that he felt the need to check on you? You avert your gaze.
“I— I made ice cream sandwiches.” because being useful right now seems like the best route. Offering him something he can take and consume for his benefit— that will soften the blow somehow. Make you worth his time.
And he broods, swallowed in his own clouding thoughts, and follows you to the kitchen. “Alright.”
The sandwich is a scoop of cookie dough squished between two graham crackers. You put a little mint leaf on top to make it look cute (Keiran commended this detail as Luke choked on it).
You place it on a plate and serve it to Sylus quietly.
He barely looks at it. No, he’s too busy, busy, busy with you. What you’re thinking; what you’re feeling. What you think— what you feel for him. “Sweetie—“
“It’s cookie dough.” you blurt to fill the deafening silence. Unintentionally loud, drowning out his gentle coaxing. “If— if you want vanilla, there’s vanilla. And, sorry, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but we have some. There’s strawberry too.”
Sylus furrows his brows. Were you so upset that you didn’t want a word out of him? “Okay.”
“Enjoy,” you say.
He frowns. “I will.”
And as he eats, his gaze never leaves you. You in that ridiculous clay mask with cucumbers on your cheeks. In his shirt and your hair in a mangled twist. Your beautiful, divine self— upset with him.
Was it how he failed to approach you throughout the day? Was it something more specific? Something he said? The way he probed for your needs? How he didn’t look at you when you stood by his door? How he didn’t reach for you when you passed his office several times more?
He’d thought you’d wanted space. That you’d appreciate a day without his coddling and clinging, after being so ecstatic about you spending the holidays with him. He asked if you needed something, didn’t he? Asked and, inside, desperately wanted you to say ‘yes, you.’ But now… now?
“It’s delicious.” he finally comments. Shamelessly pushing, testing this boundary you seemed to have put before him. Ever so carefully. Not wanting to make it feel worse that it already does. He must show you how he appreciates you being here.
“Oh?”
“I’d like another.”
“Mm.”
Shit. Has he miscalculated? “I mean… share one with me?”
Your eyes widen. “Ah.”
“Or, or not.” He’s fumbling. Tripping and falling over himself but who cares. He can’t take the bile rising up his throat with the way you look at him. Brows scrunched. Hesitant. Wary. It’s sending him into a spiral. “Just… sit with me, please.”
The hoarseness of his voice is enough to make you soften. Something in you clicks, and your anxiety makes way for his. Work must have been a lot, you think. And he doesn’t deserve your insecurities getting the best of you when he needs you.
You do as he asks once you take a strawberry sandwich out of the freezer and settle with your own fork.
“The twins told me you liked strawberry best.” you start, voice now calmer than it was before. Returning like the gradual seeping in of the tide. Sylus— oh, Sylus revels in it quietly. “But I remember you snuck spoonfuls of my cookie dough from my fridge when you were at my place.”
The acid neutralizes. “Oh?”
“And I thought,” he watches you take a bite, how your plump and shiny lips close around the fork. “What if that was another one of your cover ups? You are particular, yes, but never polarizing.
“We had this whole debate on whether or not you’d like the strawberry more than the cookie. Luke was very adamant about you only having one favorite.” you cut another piece of the sandwich and bring it up to his lips. An offering. A truce. An understanding. “But if you’ve influenced me to be anything— it’s to be greedy.”
He takes a bite from your fork. Curling his lips and dragging it over where yours had just been. He is zeroed in on your face, reading every tick, every twitch. And ultimately searching for any absolution.
He catches your wrist, prays you don’t pull away, and removes the fork from your fingers in favor of his face. He presses his hard edges into the softness of your palm and closes his eyes at the contact. “Tell me what I did so I never do it again.” he breathes.
You frown, blindsided by this reaction— he’s… worried? Anguished and anxious because he thought he was at fault for something? “What?”
He opens his mouth to explain again but you drag your thumb over his lower lip. He is compelled to silence. “I’m not upset with you.”
He’s breathless. Clinging to your warmth. “Then what—“
His lingering stare, almost a scowl, so focused on the micro expressions he cannot read. His sudden distance: a courtesy. It clicks— his upset really just… dejection.
Oh.
He thinks you were punishing him.
The thought slams into you, hollow and sickening. So afraid of asking for too much, of being too much— that you never realized how it projected onto him. What it looked like from outside the eye of the hurricane. How it would have made him believe… How could you have let him think—?
The weight of it presses down, suffocates you harder than the insecurity ever did. You would never— never. But you share this, this inability to comprehend how utterly forgiving and needing the other is.
So wrapped up in pondering a space you don’t deserve, you’d done this. That space, now, he is mourning. Begging you to fill again, as he drowns in desperation to fix a mistake he never made.
“I thought I was being a burden.” you mutter, searching his eyes for confirmation that never arrives. “That I was lingering around you too much, hovering and you’d had enough—“
His brows furrow bringing an intensity in his eyes that worsens the caving in your chest. He exhales then, more than air— everything that has choked and squeezed him inside.
“No. Never.” he cuts you off quickly, too overwhelmed by fear and sorrow and relief to even be the least bit composed. Oh, he was so relieved. His lips chase and kiss the tips of your fingers like a man starved. He mutters, low and clear against your skin, “Could never have enough of you, beloved.”
You melt into his touch as he circles his arms around your waist and finally pulls you against his warm body. His breath tickles your neck as he presses his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of body wash, shampoo and you. “I am yours for the rest of the week.”
“No, stop that.” you argue, but your tone does not reflect. It dissolves, melts away. “Sylus, I’m not asking…”
“Neither am I.” he states, sturdy vibrations traveling from his lips down your spine. “I need to make you greedier. Be greedier for me.”
Your lips press together in a shy smile and you feather them over his pulse point. You seize control of your fingers. At last, you get to push his glasses up his nose, press on the fat of his jutted lip, ease the crumple of his brow and run your fingers through his soft, unkempt hair— just before you kiss him. Consume him. Devour him.
Sylus corrodes at the edges, unmoored at the feel of your lips on his. He presses, holding you to him, needing to be closer, closer, closer. To taste. To feel. To have.
Putting your each wretched thought of unworthiness to shame. Silenced. Dust.
When you pull away, your eyes take a while to adjust, still giddy and tingling from the static in the air. He lingers, nuzzling into your skin, nose skimming reverently along your cheek. Once your vision returns you let out a genuine giggle.
He swoons at the sound. Half lidded eyes and lips curved into a stupid smirk, asks, “What?”
Your laugh escalates into a shriek as he dips to kiss you again and again. “Stop!”
He’s grinning. The epitome of sunlight. “Why?”
You’re in tears at his appearance— light green smears of clay over his lips and cheeks, a stray cucumber hanging off his jaw. Shaky fingers go to right him, wipe away the remnants of a passionate kiss. Meanwhile, he turns to nip at your wrist and kiss your palm, and you think fondly: it is impossible to clean him up here. He is impossible.
“Come on.” you say instead, dragging him by his fingers which he meticulously intertwines with yours.
He follows, wordlessly, obediently. More than overjoyed to be led to— it does’t matter. He would be led anywhere as long as it were you. He savors how he can press on the soft skin on your palm, how he can so easily stop you in your tracks to kiss you soundly. All because he can. He can and he will.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
Not long after, you’re wriggling in his iron grasp, tickled by the movement of his digits on the dips of your waist. You hiss, “Hold still!”
“I’m not the one squirming here, sweetie.” he chuckles, breathy and deep. His hand slides up the curve of your back and up the length of your arm, drawing one up over your head to pin you to the wall. “My little bird, trying to get away? Won’t you check your work?”
“You’re doing this on purpose.” you say pointedly, a fond grin on your gracious lips he cannot help but devour. You stop him in his tracks as he leans down, “We just got you cleaned up!”
“I can clean up again.” he insists, leans again. To his displeasure, you turn your head to dodge him.
“Let me kiss you.” he whispers, begging with no sense of subtlety. Laid bare and open. With only the thought of tasting you. He nods to the jar in your hand. “Before you put that on me.”
You click your tongue, but inside your belly swoops at his open expression. Head fuzzy with affection. “You said you couldn’t wait.”
“Your touch is enough to intoxicate and persuade. I am yours all week..” he purrs. He hopes you allow him a kiss— the sudden need make his ears pink. “Sweetie?”
“One.” you relent, and he is quick to accept. Pressing his lips to yours lightly, to your surprise, as he swallows your gasp in delightful satisfaction.
He pulls away clean, none of your replenished mask on his face. Then he drops his hands to cage your thighs on the sink you sit on. His eyes glint playfully as he inspects your flustered state, “Done playing around? I can’t wait.”
You scowl at him— like he didn’t just beg you to… you sigh in kind exasperation and get to work.
To say he was putty in your hands was an understatement. Sylus has always been sensitive, that is a fact, but at every touch of your fingers on the bridge of his nose, the brush of the pads of your thumbs under his eyes, the scrape of your nails just under his jaw make him lose a shuddering breath. The devotion trickles down your spine like rain.
When you place the cucumbers on his cheeks, he smiles, earth-shattering and gorgeous. Such a powerful man in a matcha-green clay mask. “There.”
“Now we match.” he says so tenderly it aches. Every valve gives way.
For the rest of the afternoon, you are both in clay masks. Cucumbers over your eyes; happily wrapped around each other in bed like the greedy scum you are.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
You open LaDS to a completely silent game. No loading screen, no UI, just Sylus in Destiny Cafe. He stares directly at you for a few seconds, and right when you're about to restart your game to fix the bug, he walks closer and leans down. His right eye is glowing brighter than you've ever seen it before, with the bloom from its glow nearly obscuring your view of the eye itself.
"Take my hand."
He extends his hand, a circle on screen prompting you to tap it.
Something makes you hesitate. You feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat. You haven't seen anything about this mentioned online. Is it a new event? But if it was, then why did nothing have to download beforehand? Are you dreaming?
"Don't be shy, sweetie. It's rude to keep people waiting."
Something feels incredibly wrong here. You try to rationalize your instinctual unease, reasoning that it must be because you're worried something hacked your phone. You're starting to feel a bit dizzy.
Surely you'll find other LaDS fans freaking out on social media, right? You turn to check your computer, when you realize the screen has gone completely black, despite being plugged in. You hold down the power button, but no dice. A lightbulb in the hallway outside flickers and pops, shattering.
You startle and attempt to turn off your device, but nothing happens. Sylus raises an eyebrow.
"I don't mind a challenge. I'll stay here for as long as you like. Take my hand."
You hesitate for a few moments. Surely this is just a dream, none of this makes any sense. And if this isn't real, there's nothing wrong with taking the risk, right? You hold your finger over the screen, deliberating. Sylus's smirk widens.
“let’s take a photo,” you’d said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. like your heart wasn’t already racing at the idea of standing that close to him on purpose.
sylus, of course, had simply nodded. “if that’s what you want.”
now he’s standing beside you, too straight, too still, like he’s been positioned there for inspection. you glance over and immediately sigh.
“you look like you’re about to interrogate the camera."
“im standing,” he replies calmly.
“that’s not the issue.”
you step closer before you can overthink it, fingers catching the front of his coat as you gently tug him down. He follows without resistance, but now he’s too close... close enough that your breath catches.
you ignore your rapid heartbeat, lifting your phone. “just, look at the camera. and maybe… try smiling?”
“i am.”
“you’re not.”
“this is my neutral expression.”
“that’s worse.”
before the awkwardness can swallow you whole, you act on instinct, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as the camera clicks. you pull back, already reaching to check the photo, then pause. sylus hasn’t moved.
his eyes are on you now, not the phone, not the camera, just you. something in his expression has shifted, composure slipping just enough to make your chest tighten.
“…what was that?” he asks quietly.
“a kiss?” you say, suddenly very aware of how close you still are.
“i’m aware.” his gaze flickers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “…why?”
“it’s normal,” you mumble. “couples do that in photos.”
he goes quiet for a second, like he’s processing that. then his hand comes up, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing your jaw as he tilts your face toward him.
“stay still.”
your heart stutters. he leans in, close enough that you think, this is it... click. you blink.
“…did you just...”
he tilts the phone toward you. the photo shows you completely flustered, him closer than before, hand still on your face, except he’s not looking at the camera. he’s looking at you.
“…you didn’t even face the camera,” you mumble.
“…why would I,” he says softly, “when you’re right here?”
your face burns instantly.
“…take another one,” he adds.
you glance up. “…you want another?”
“yes.”
this time, when you lift the phone, he doesn’t need guidance. his arm comes around you naturally, pulling you closer like it belongs there.
and when the camera clicks, he’s still not looking at it. only you....
contains: alpha!caleb/omega!reader, smut, knotting, you in heat :p
wc: 3K
accidental fate
coming here was a mistake.
the amount of suffering you were being forced to endure convinced you to believe that you were surely better off out there—navigating through the harsh winds and hammering rainfall instead of trying to regulate the fever raging through your body.
it hurt. everything ached.
and it didn’t help that your body was instinctively reacting—practically begging, for the most optimal solution somewhere on the opposite side of your locked door.
when you decided to take your best friend up on his offer to stay at his place instead of a hotel during your few days in his city for work, it was because you foolishly took only the best circumstances into account.
the way you mapped it, everything would’ve worked out just fine. you knew your heat was near, knew that you needed to be isolated in your apartment during that time as you waited for it to pass. so only after you checked your calendar multiple times and the amount of suppressants you had on standby until your next refill, did you hesitantly agree to accept caleb’s generosity.
if everything would’ve just went according to plan, you could’ve been home in the late afternoon, one day before your heat was anticipated to start. but of course it had to be your luck that a sudden storm decided to pour buckets down onto skyhaven, making any and all kinds of travel risky and unnecessary if not an emergency.
public transportation was a shitshow and you weren’t selfish enough to have pushed for caleb to take you back home himself in such unpredictable conditions. reducing your situation to a cruel and unfunny joke was the only thing keeping you sane.
staying in the prolonged vicinity of an alpha like him in a confined space with you being an omega would always be a dangerous game.
it scared you when you two manifested at thirteen under two completely opposite ends, but you and caleb grew up together, forever and always attached at the hip. despite your biological differences and inevitable hiccups to come, it was a miracle that that sense of security never wavered.
he was right by your side without any complaints as he helped you navigate your new normal, instilling an unshakable confidence deep in your soul so that the pressure of society couldn’t impact your quality of life.
you trusted him with every single part of your being, knew well in your heart that he wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you or put a rift in your friendship.
in a perfect world, he could soothe you through this overwhelming cycle just as he’s done with so many other things. he’d tend to you like you were the most fragile thing walking, do everything in his power to make it feel better.
but you also knew all too well that it was impossible to control instincts.
“it’s gonna be pretty bad out there, pips. s’all over the news. just stick around until it lets up, and i’ll take you back home myself when it’s all clear. that a deal?” he sweetly asked last night after seeing just how much you were on edge. your distress must’ve been written all over you face and you couldn’t say you put in any effort to mask it.
in caleb’s mind, he figured that it was because you still grew anxious when it came to thunder and intense weather like you used to do when you were kids. seeing your nose scrunch and your eyebrows pinch after his comment reminded him of all the times you used to secretly call and peek out your bedroom window, looking across the street to his house to see him in his own to bring you comfort.
but in yours, you were on the cusp of fierce embarrassment and treading the thin line of mortification if he were to catch onto the real reason behind why you were freaking out internally.
he didn’t question you when you retreated to the guest room earlier than you ever had during your stay, figuring you simply wanted space. and being as caring as he is, of course he knocked to check on you a couple times.
naturally, you struggled in your efforts to disguise the distress in your tone when he did. ensuring him that you were fine when the reality was otherwise was no easy feat.
the first day being the worst didn’t help either. hours seemed to tick by agonizingly slow and the intensity only continued to worsen the more desperate you became. every part of you was set ablaze and the sweat beading on your skin did nothing to soothe it.
you’ve long since rid yourself of the suffocating bedsheets and burrowed your face into them instead to help muffle your cries. alongside the sensitivity in your nipples straining beneath your top and the throbbing in between your legs, it was safe to say that you were beyond the state of uncomfortable.
even your pills were barely working, and the alpha in the next room was to blame. they never failed you when there wasn’t temptation nearby.
it was a guarantee that your pheromones were everywhere after you gave up on suppressing them once you were almost certain that caleb had gone to bed. but, the surprising knock on your door at nearly two in the morning proved you wrong.
“pipsqueak?” he called for you with a gentle whisper. “you doin’ alright in there?”
you wanted to answer him. in fact, you needed to if you didn’t want him growing concerned and making your efforts increasingly more difficult. he only knew you were still up since he sent a text to ask if you needed anything not too long ago and you actually replied like an idiot.
“i can’t sleep without makin’ sure. you’ve been too quiet for my liking.”
“i’m…” you paused before attempting to make your incoming lie believable, shutting your eyes and licking your chapped lips like that’ll assist in alleviating anything or making you any more convincing. “i-i’m go-od, caleb. just tired.”
the passing seconds were terrifying, eerily silent and packed with a tension you’ve never felt between the both of you before.
“open the door.”
fuck.
there was no room for negation in his command. he wasn’t asking if you’d be so kind as to let him in, rather offering you an unspoken warning that he was getting in no matter what you chose to do. funnily enough, this was caleb’s version of being polite.
by the time you dragged yourself out of the bed and disengaged the lock, he lets himself in without giving you a moment to reconsider.
immediately was he hit with the potent aroma of your pheromones—something sweet, flowery, and warm that he’s smelled before on unfairly rare occasions. then his gaze focused on the fragile state of your form, both shivering and covered in a thin sheen of perspiration.
“you’re in heat.”
“thought i was hiding it well,” you chuckled weakly at his bluntness and wide-eyed expression, groaning when a new wave of discomfort knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces you to hunch over. “i’m sorry… i didn’t mean for this to… i’ve been t-trying not to trigger—”
your knees suddenly give up on you in the middle of your attempt to explain why you shut him out so easily like night and day. he catches you with ease as if second nature though, taking you into his big arms and resting your dampened temple to his bare chest. even if you’re on fire, you still nuzzle into the warmth he provides and the firmness of him against you.
you can’t pinpoint if the act is intentional or instinctive, but soon are you covered in the fragrance of his pheromones and you welcome that smokey lavender enriched with a woodsy pine.
this wasn’t good.
“caleb,” you whine, trying to remove yourself from his embrace. “you have to get out… your rut… it’ll—“
“you think i’m just gonna leave you like this?” asking him to do such a thing was incredulous.
“so neither of us make a mistake that we can’t take back, you need to.”
he cups your face in his palm, swiping the apple of your cheek with a smile. “i’ve spent most of my life takin’ care of you and i haven’t regretted any of it. i never will. this time’s no different.”
the kiss he plants to your nose is done with reverence. “let me help you, pips. don’t push me away.”
you’re already nodding at the same time that he’s leaning in to press his lips onto yours, slipping his tongue past your lips and pulling you in by your hips to keep you flush against him.
in this moment, you can’t consider how much your dynamic is going to shift.
when he groans into you mouth and guides you until the back of your knees hit the bed, you refuse to think about the fact that you’re about to fuck your best friend.
after he climbs on top of you and settles in between your spread legs, all you need is to feel him inside of you.
“you’re supposed to tell me,” he mumbles into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and biting right where it secretes. “you’re supposed to tell me everything. you don’t deal with anything alone when i’m here to do it with you.”
the heaviness of his dick nudges against your pussy through your panties, teasing you with the promise of an inebriating fullness.
your heartbeat thumps rapidly in one place above and a distracting one below, and with the way caleb eases his palm under your shirt and up your stomach, it made sense that your breath couldn’t keep up with either one.
“raise your arms f’me, c’mon.”
never in his life did he think he’d get to see you like this—so submissive and needy, especially not for him and when your body’s craving to be used and filled.
tears pool in your eyes as you shyly beg him to keep kissing you. whether it be because of innate desperation or your subconscious telling you to cling to his presence, you couldn’t care less. you just knew you had to have it.
“please,” you cry out unashamedly now, arching your back with impatience and sliding your fingers through his hair to keep him close. “it hurts so much, ‘leb. please fix it, i c-can’t anymore.”
the sound of the rain pelting against his floor to ceiling windows mingle with the wet and sloppy caress of his lips to yours and the eager inhales you take when he reluctantly separates to give you a moment to catch your breath.
it’s too bad that he’s only granted enough clarity to see the beauty of your tits and pretty face by the grace of moonlight and whenever the thunder flashes bright enough to illuminate the dim space, but he makes a promise to himself that he’ll get to see you like this again without anything obscuring his admiration.
“you’re addicting.” he makes a path down your jaw, already feeling that possessiveness and slight aggressive shift in his nature the closer he gets to your nipples.
he sucks one of the tightened nubs into his hot mouth, flicking it with his tongue to pull a sharp gasp from you.
“w-wait…” you plead. except the act of you tightening your grip in his scalp to prevent him from moving reveals your truth. “hah—fuck… fuck that feels so good…”
as soon as he releases you with a loud pop, the cool air that hits it sends shivers down your spine and the bliss is only heightened when he pins his attention to the other.
“you smell so, so sweet, baby.” he savors the taste of your skin and the hardness of your nipple before sliding a hand into your panties. “god, you’re so soaked… can feel how much she’s drippin’ down my fingers.”
with just that one gentle swipe of his digits past your curls and down your slit, you were almost certain you could cum right then.
caleb pulls away from the sensitive peak entirely as if he could tell, and his violet irises shine almost like a beacon of light through your foggy state of mind. his hair dangles over them as they gleam with a contradicting representation of something both dangerous and comforting.
“one time won’t be enough,” he warns you breathlessly, watching with intent to see the way pleasure paints your face when he just barely rubs your clit. “tell me that’s okay.”
you could handle that, even if one would argue that you weren’t necessarily in the most conscious sense to make such a decision. with your pheromones combined with his and your heat bound to turn him into something you’ve never experienced before, only getting to have it once wasn’t something you were willing to settle for anyways.
“i want it,” you promise earnestly, reaching for his hand and trying to ignore the way your heart melts when your fingers intertwine. “i trust you.”
your panties are ripped off almost instantly after that, becoming nothing but shredded cotton somewhere in the room. his sweatpants follow immediately after, and you nearly salivate at the way it curves just slightly.
it was as if you could already feel that thickness inside you and the length of it reaching your solar plexus just by looking.
“move back.” you listen without pause, sliding deeper into the bed as he strokes himself until a bead of precum spills from his tip. he spreads that stickiness down and fixates on your glistening folds when you spread yourself open to him.
caleb climbs in after you, the muscles in his biceps bulging each time he plants one hand after the other on the way to fulfill his promise. your palms slide past his shoulders and down his back, and your eyes shut reflexively from the feeling of his cock against your inner thigh.
“don’t do that. need you to keep your eyes on me.”
he kisses the corner of your lips after you follow his instruction once more, positioning himself at your entrance and taking his time to sink deep into your twitching walls.
you clench around him instantaneously and you can’t stop. it’s hard to when you feel him pulsing so much and every vein clinging to you from the inside until there’s no space left between your bodies.
“s-so… you’re so d-deep,” you mewl with choked up hics in between. all the distress you were going through just seconds ago no longer exists as your pussy helplessly squelches in response to being so stuffed.
caleb’s hips begin to move as if he’ll be punished if he didn’t take advantage of the privilege he’s been given. he never drags out all the way either, opting for rough and hurried thrusts that makes your vision blur every time his pelvis meets yours over and over again.
he reaches a new depth when your legs lock around his hips and your nails dig into the skin of his back, unrestrained whimpers becoming music to your ears the more primal he grows.
it’s like he’s ravaging you in the most galvanizing way possible. this wasn’t just because of your heat or the rut you’ve provoked—this is what it felt like to be owned, and you’d do whatever it took to remain kept.
“promise me—s-shit, you’re so tight… t-tell me again. this won’t be the only time.” the slapping of his skin to yours is dizzying, even more so than the sweep of his breath across your face in his search for affirmation.
if it weren’t for his weight and the sensation of his cock kissing dangerously close to your cervix grounding you, certainly you wouldn’t be able to comprehend a word he says. “you don’t hide from me. ever. you hear me?”
“it won’t. i won’t i p-promise.” and you meant it. you couldn’t imagine never feeling this—feeling him, ever again.
“’m so close, pips.” he feels your legs try to unlock and make room for him to move, but he grabs the outside of your thigh to keep them surrounding him. “i can’t. fuck baby, p-please… please don’t make me.”
he slams his mouth to yours, biting your lip hard enough to promise swelling. “take it f’me, okay? you’ll take it, won’t you? gonna let me breed you the way you need me to?”
if you were using your brain properly, you wouldn’t even be where you are right now. so it doesn’t surprise you when you rock your hips to match his rhythm to show your agreement and grind your clit against him to chase that euphoric orgasm building in your gut.
you’re the first to fall apart, breath hitching and legs shaking as you gush around his cock. your moans are on the verge of depraved and every bit of broken, becoming the catalyst for caleb to follow your lead.
he holds onto you tightly as the base of his shaft swells, and the first thing you do is embrace his trembling body seemingly just as overwhelmed giving as you are to receiving.
the stretch is profound and slightly painful, but it feels far too good for that tinge to matter. his cum rushing into your womb and being incapable of escaping should strike fear in your heart, knowing the high possibility of what it’s likely to lead to. but it was hard to care when he embraced you this way.
it was difficult to be worried when you didn’t even want it to end. though you were brought back down to some sense of normalcy, still, you wouldn’t change a thing.
“does it hurt?” he whispers, rubbing the tip of his nose against the underside of your ear. it was comfortably silent now that you were in the clear.
for a good hour, at least.
“more discomfort than pain.”
he hums, his soft breathing falling in line with yours.
“we’re gonna be stuck like this for awhile.”
that makes you laugh. “i know.”
“are you scared?”
“of a baby? very,” you admit truthfully. “who wouldn’t be in this scenario? we’re best friends, ‘leb. now we’ve slept together and… i’m not sure where we stand.”
“you’d be my best friend no matter what label we have.”
“you’re cute.”
“we’re gonna figure this out together, i promise. regardless of what happens, regardless of what you want from me, i’m not goin’ anywhere.”
you kiss the top of his head. “i know. i believe you.”
a/n: this is ass, i know. easy on me.. PLEASE! and i’m not an omegaverse expert(???) at all so if you’re like “hey, that doesn’t—” LITERALLYYYY keep it to yourself, i BEG you 💔
creds to @/pepsipoet for the dividers! —click here— & photo is from pinterest!
"shh, gege's here," he whispers into your neck as you stare at your shared reflection. he did this often: holding you down on his cock in front of a mirror and forcing you to look at where he disappeared inside you.
this was as close as you could be, he'd remind you. if it were possible to be any closer, he would do it. "look at gege inside you," he mutters. "don't stop looking."
he's quieter than usual; restrained. usually he'd be standing, letting your skin slap together as he fucked up into you. but this time was different.
you were trying on a few pretty things for him, frilly pyjama sets and lacy garters to match. he stood behind you in the small change room, a towering figure watching you in the mirror as you slipped each piece on and off your body carefully. you saw the change in his eyes. gentle, patient, loving appreciation slips into something more predatory and possessive.
and you know him as well as he knows you, so you're expecting what happens next. you know how to be quiet when the switch flips and he tugs you against him and tells you he needs to be closer. you suck and bite on his fingers as an aid as he fucks you, eyes re-focusing on where you join each time he notices you drifting.
"know i should wait... gege can't help it," he breathes into your ear. "this is where i belong, hm? right here, buried in your pretty flower." his fingertips ghost over your clit, then glide up to your belly. he presses his palm flat against you, firm. "feels like i should never leave."
he bites into your shoulder, and you bite down on his fingers in return. "wanna keep you strapped to my chest, warm and safe and full of me always..." he drops a kiss over his bite. "doesn't that sound nice?"
the tiniest little hum escapes your throat, muffled by his fingers. "that's why gege's so much bigger," he whispers. "that's the way it's supposed to be... meant to carry you around with my cock buried deep inside you... never apart..." his hips roll, and he presses you back into him a little harder. "want them all to see where i belong... wanna walk out and show them how perfectly we fit... look at it..."
you are looking. you can't stop. it doesn't matter. he repeats it like it's not enough, like he needs the whole world to see how connect together perfectly. "keep looking... look at you opening up for gege... so pretty... look..."
When you kidnap Caleb but he’s exactly where he wants to be💀 (18+, mentions of CNC, Caleb -as usual- is nuts);
This might just be your most daring mission yet- you have managed to kidnap Colonel Caleb Xia, one of Farspace Fleet's most powerful assets, currently tied up and dazed in the corner of the room.
Your group needs him to spill intel, and as soon as the effects of the chloroform wear out and he wakes up, the interrogation will begin.
Right on cue, his eyes begin to open, the purple hue of them a bit dimmed and watery. You sense he is awake from all the shuffling, but you don't turn to look at him.
He focuses his eyes and sees you, or rather your delectable ass as you are turned away from him.
He licks his dry lips as he fights to hide his smile;
“Please...” he whimpers pathetically “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna touch you” you roll your eyes “as long as you behave, of course.”
Caleb freezes. What? You won’t touch him? Like at all?!
That won’t do.
It takes him a few minuets to snap the ropes and zip-ties before he’s already onto you, pressing you against the counter before you even sense his approach.
“What?! Why not?!” He whines, whole 6’2” of him looming over you and pressing you against the granite of the kitchen bar “I am here and available… so why won’t you touch me?!” He asks with crazed eyes, pouting a bit as he leans even closer.
He grabs your hands and places them on his chest. “You should touch me. No, you should take advantage of me…take my clothes off and feel me up.” He says with a feral smile and you blanche-
What the fuck was he saying?
“And don’t stop at just touching. You should fuck me too.” He keeps going “take my cock out and do unspeakable things. Play with my hole too, I don’t mind-“
“Hey!! Stop this nonsense!” you put a hand on his mouth “Are you fucking crazy? You’re asking me to force myself on you! That’s…that’s sexual assault!” You say outraged and he just frowns like a petulant child.
“It’s not assault if I want it. Ever heard of CNC?”
“Yes I’ve fucking heard of it” you growl at him, “but I didn’t bring you here to fuck you Xia. So shut the fuck up and go to your corner.”
“Make me.”
Your eyes narrow “What?”
“if you want me to obey, grab me and force me into my place.” He says, mouth curled in a manic grin. “Because we both know you’ll have to use a lot of force to take me on and make me obey… I’m stronger than you after all.” He grins, purple eyes now bright and unhinged, all sign of intoxication gone.
"You are out of your god damn mind. Do you even realise the situation you are in?" you say, but he's already busy trying to snake his hands under your clothes, which you smack away with your baton "I am not playing this sick game with you. Go to your fucking corner."
"And I said, if you want me to sit in my corner... make. me." he grits "or shut up and let me touch your tits."
You balk at his audacity. The nerve of this man...
You snarl before taking out your taser and pressing it into his neck, the high voltage shock rendering him immobile on the floor as he twitches slightly, soft moans slipping his lips.
"Nghh"
You don't waste time as you drag him back and start tying him again, making sure to further fortify with metal chains this time on top of ropes, hand cuffs and zip ties, even if you know in your gut that it is not enough to keep him compliant for long.
Fuck…maybe you should have deliberated a bit more on why it was so easy to kidnap one of the most powerful men in the country’s military.
Well...too late to get out now, because unbeknownst to you, the Colonel had been keeping an eye on you longer than you were assigned to follow him.
i think after zuko finds out you’re pregnant he’s so careful with you. your bump is small still but it’s there and zuko cannot stop looking at it. he touches it constantly like he can’t help himself. you’ve caught him just staring at it with an expression on his face that he doesn’t bother hiding anymore.
which is very sweet. but currently it’s very frustrating.
because you’re in his lap, his cock buried fully inside you, and he has his hands on your hips holding you completely still and the look on his face is so genuinely earnest and careful that you almost feel bad.
almost.
“we can just stay like this,” he says, tucking your hair back, pressing his forehead to yours. “this is good. this is enough.”
it is not enough.
“zuko.”
“you feel so good,” he says, like that’s an argument for not moving. “we don’t have to—”
“zuko i need you to fuck me.”
his jaw tightens. you feel it, the way his cock twitches inside you, his hands flexing on your hips. he wants to. you can feel exactly how much he wants to.
“i don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “or the baby—”
“you won’t.”
“you don’t know that.”
“zuko—”
he shushes you by kissing you, deep and slow, and before you can pull back and argue his thumb finds your clit and presses in gentle devastating circles and the whine you let out is completely humiliating.
“slow,” he murmurs against your mouth. “let me do it slow.”
and he rolls his hips up—just slightly, just enough—and his thumb keeps moving and you clutch his shoulders and decide that you can argue with him later.
You (jokingly) threaten Sylus with divorce, but he knows your souls are tied, so he's not worried.
"You'd ignore your husband for half a day," a smooth voice called above you, "just because he drank your last yogurt cup?"
Huffing and crossing your arms, you turned away from the figure that stood beside you. "Ex-husband," you said curtly.
"Oh?" Your eyes were closed, you felt his presence beside you anyway, radiating heat and pressure. Cracking your eyelids open a smidge, you saw one muscular arm pressed against the wall in front of you, caging you into the couch where you sat. The other grabbed the hand that were popping out of your crossed arms. He began rubbing your fingers with his thumb, but you had to stay strong.
"Do you think I deserve this punishment, kitten? You want to rip my life apart?" he asked. Silence. "Why don't you serve me with the papers then?" Yanking your hand, you stifled the yelp from your mouth when he pulled you close. "You will take everything in the divorce, and leave me in ruin."
Although he spoke of his demise, he held you as if his arms were iron.
"I'll have nothing except my name, not even half of my soul, is my kitten so cruel?" he'd ask.
"...Would my ex-husband be so stupid as to hand everything to me?" you muttered back. It was true you two didn't sign a prenuptial, but there was never a thought in your mind that you would take everything in a divorce. You made good money on your own and you knew you could live well without his.
"Hand it to you?" he repeated. You tried to yank your hand away, but he held on fast, linking his fingers with yours. "You already have everything. The second we went to the registration office and signed our names on that paper, everything that was mine became yours. I have nothing without you."
You held your breath. You didn't want to comment on how hot your face was becoming or hot heated your heart was at his confession.
His empire, everything he had worked for, the riches he had accumulated. What was the point of that without him?
"...Then I should've written in that marriage contract for every snack you eat of mine, you should buy me at least three more."
A chuckle and that stupid smirk appeared on his face again.
"Is that all it takes for you to not throw me away?" Amusement filled his red eyes.
"Give me back my yogurt cup and I'll think about it," you said, cupping his face with both hands.
you wake up because something feels… wrong. cold. suspiciously cold. your eyes flutter open, and it takes approximately two seconds to realise the problem. the blanket is completely gone, stolen by the hunk of a man sleeping beside you.
you turn your head slowly. there he is. sylus, your beloved husband. completely at peace, fast asleep, breathing steady, one arm tucked under his head and the entire blanket wrapped around him like he fought for it in battle and won.
you stare.
“…you’re joking.”
no response. of course not. you try to tug the blanket back but nothing moves. you pull harder and still nothing.
“…sylus.”
a small shift. barely any progress... you narrow your eyes, gathering strength, and yank it, successfully moving it a few centimetres towards yourself. you sit up now, fully offended.
before you can even argue, his arm reaches out, catching your wrist and pulling you back down against him in one smooth motion.
warm. annoyingly warm.
his body heat immediately seeps into you as he shifts slightly, the blanket finally... finally, falling over both of you. you huff, glancing up. He’s still knocked out in deep sleep.
you stare at him for a second longer… then sigh, melting into him anyway.
“…thief.”
his hold tightens just slightly and this time, you’re warm enough to fall back asleep.
