Content/Warnings: Use of waterboys real name, Slight swearing, change in POV’s, mostly just fluff with some kissing, and established friendship. Very Lazily proofread.
Summary: You and your favorite helpful hero spend a small evening at a beach together. 💧
A/N: hey… it’s been like forever. I’m not gonna keep making promises of more writing, but I’m happy to be making fics again. I’ve been busy and lord knows I’m just as lonely as the last time I wrote so… here u go! (Also, PS, if it wasn’t obvious. I LOVEEE Waterboy.)
The beach, a place to go to relax, meditate, and connect with some of natures finest works. It’s also a place where you first get to finally connect with your one and only- Waterboy. Your hero, saving grace, basically every cute name you could think of, that was just him all over.
You really didn’t think about it, but you’ve never seen him out of suit, nor have you gotten close to him- at least in the way you’ve wanted. He’d always come up with an excuse ‘I- I don’t- don’t wanna get your outfit a-all drenched!’ And if you brushed that off, he’d turn to the good old ‘I- I have to go! Sorry!’
He couldn’t escape it this time, but he’s been yearning, praying for contact. And with you? How could he pass it up. The only problem? As soon as he saw you in your bathing suit, all of Robert Robertson’s confidence training disappeared instantly. With that gone, in came the heavy breathing and stuttering, which was still cute in an odd way.
“Hey, Herm! You made it!” You waved him down, though it wasn’t really necessary as you glowed brighter than the sun… and the sun was blazing, telling by the pink already rising on his skin.
“Y-yeah, I… I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Y-you- you look- yeah… uhm- you look gor-great-! Wonderful!” He stuttered out, nervously wiping a hand over his mouth as he internally regretted having said anything at all. You simply smiled, moving in to hug him before he stepped away “Still no hug?”
He shook his head “n-no…” he put his bags down before his smile grew more “I need to put on sunscreen- but- I- this… this sounds weird, but I’d prefer it if you got in the water first. So I know I didn’t… I dunno, mess up something like always.”
“Herm.”
“Y-yeah?”
“We’re at the beach. I’m gonna get wet either way.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
You chuckled, but reluctantly you headed for the water, sneaking a few peaks back at him. Seeing him now out of his suit and in his cute little swim trunks warmed your heart. And it would be lying to say he wasn’t checking you out as well, but not in a creepy way- he rather adored everything about you, and seeing you in the bathing suit let him see more of you.
He stood by the shore line waiting for his sunscreen to dry as you stood in hip-deep water. “I’d complain… but I don’t want you to get sunburn, and I’m practicing patience.” He chuckled “my timer s-says I only have… uh- two more minutes.” You nodded waiting it out, asking about his day and vice versa- even though you saw each other the day prior. You are both so oblivious to the fact that you live rent free in his head as he is in yours, but then again, it wouldn’t be love if everything was spelt out.
His timer went off, and the song was familiar. It wasn’t one of Prisms, but it was a song you sent him. It seems your taste has really rubbed off on him (I could make a funny joke here, but I won’t- I’m better than that… not.)
He took a deep breath before smiling at you, moving into the water quickly and clumsily, which you could only blame on his tall and thin figure that you adored. As soon as the ocean around you two slowly reached up to your elbows through tides, he almost lunged through the water, wrapping his hands ever so delicately around you, like you’d break if he held you too tight- or like you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you at all.
The gesture was heart melting, and you’d be damned if you didn’t return his hug. As your arms curled up and held onto him, he let out a quiet hum. It was contentment, a soft sound that was followed by slightly less soft squeeze. “H-hey?” He called in a hushed tone.
“Yeah, Hermy?” He shuddered at the nickname. The team knew his name, but only you called him that, it was special to him.
“D-don’t… don’t let me go.” He whispered, burying his face into your neck, the plastic of his goggles gently rubbing against your partly wet hair.
The two of you just stood there for a while, a metaphorical wave of bliss washing over you two like never before. Your legs tangled under the surface, it’s a lovely feeling. The feeling of being one with someone, and especially with someone who loves you more than you could possibly imagine.
“Everyday I thank Robert for putting me on the team… if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” His words flowed with such succulent sincerity, your heart felt like it was going to rise straight from your chest.
Unsure of how it happened, a kiss made its way from your lips to his temple, a quiet whimper of relief leaving his chest. He didn’t care if it was embarrassing, or awkward, he’s never had someone to hold onto- not in the way you do. “Y-You always ask me for hugs when you’re perfectly dry… don’t you get- worry about getting all… wet?”
You shook your head “I’ve told you a million times Hermy, I don’t mind at all. I just can’t believe it’s taken you this long.” Though you teased, he took the matter seriously- maybe more than necessary, “I just wanted everything to be- be perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
He froze his head tilting only slightly as he took in more of your scent to calm himself. “I wan- would- would like and app-appreciate it if… maybe… we could go out and do something with me some time.”
Tilting your head in confusion, you responded “Aren’t we doing something right now?” He chuckled softly, finding your answer sweet, but admittedly it made his job harder as he had to spell it out.
“I- I mean… would you… please go out with me!” He pulled back, his hands holding onto your upper arms as he does so, neck craning downward to meet your gaze. With a couple of blinks it finally clicked, and you giggled excitedly “like… a date? Just the two of us?” Herman nodded in equal excitement, “w-what do you think?”
Water clung to your hands as you reached up and held his face. “I’ve waited for too damn long to hear you say those words.” Before you could do anything, he quickly “runs” back to shore- as fast as he can in water “HEY-?! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” You called out confused
“I need to go get ready! I have a lot of planning for our date, I must away!” He quickly grabbed his bag and suit that laid on top “But-!” “IGOTTAGO,LOVEYOU,BYE!”
His words came out quicker than anticipated, but instead of apologizing he kept running. Internally, both of you were absolutely screaming with joy. He got the date he always wanted, and you’ve finally gotten to hear those sweet words you’ve begged for.
And more than that- you finally got that hug. A wins a win.
I would love to see something about Waterboy with a surprise spouse :0
I can imagine everyone on the Z-team just teasing him all the time and then BAM very pretty spouse <3 (I'd like fem but gender neutral good too :3)
[Surprise Spouse] - Waterboy x Hero!Reader
Hope you enjoy!!!
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Context
You are Marvelstrike, or (y/n), your powers consist of hyper intelligence, photographic memory, and understand every language. You have engineered all your gear and tech and graduated college all the while being in high school. Upon debuting as Marvelstrike after saving your school from peril with a prototype suit, you became a renown SDN hero at the Berkeley branch (You went to UC Berk for college classes) – getting up there with Blonde Blazer and Phenomaman.
You are dating Herman, or Waterboy. You have known each other since highschool, and got close ever since he defended you against some bullies they felt the sight of you guys together was enough punishment then torturing you both. You dated about 6 months after that and have been together ever since.
Extra Context
(the powers are heavily inspired by Mr. Terrific, and for your suit think something similar to (or search up) Captain Laserhawk Niji 6 – kind of like body suit with armor pieces and a helmet with a visor but almost like in a mecha-aesthetic– you are very recognized by engineers and heroes like Mechaman for your genius and way around tech)
(y/n) - your name
(e/c) - eye color
(f/c) - favorite color
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
Friday meetings always feel like detention.
The whole Z-Team squeezes into the briefing room while Robert stands at the front rubbing his temples like he regrets every life choice that led him here–ya know.. The usual. Sonar is complaining about his chair. Flambae is filing his nails over a candle he just lit out of boredom. Punch-Up is holding an ice pack on his fist because of course he is.
Robert slams a folder shut.
“Weekly reports.”
Groans all around.
He points at Punch-Up.
“YOU—apologize to the senator.”
Punch-Up wheezes, “I said I was sorry for punchin ‘em in the nuts—”
“And Sonar?” Robert continues, eyebrows raised.
Sonar perks up. “Look, I just wanted a selfie—”
“THE MAN WAS BLEEDING.”
Prism snickers. “Could’ve just used TeleCam.”
Sonar cuts in, “Oh please, like YOU handled your civilian right—if I remember, you BLINDED him—”
Robert explodes.
“Will. You. All. Shut the fuck up?!”
Everyone goes dead silent.
Robert inhales, resets.
“Because this week was such a flaming hot piece of shit, we’re bringing in support from SDN Berkeley. Someone respected. Someone who is friends with Blonde Blazer and Phenomenon. Meaning—” he glares at all of us “—you WILL be on your best. Goddamn. Behavior.”
Everyone mutters.
Flambae blows a puff of fire. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
When the meeting finally ends, I practically melt into the floor. Work has been… stressful. But at least I get to go home to—
To (y/n).
My lover.
My genius.
My own personal superhero.
I open the door and immediately smell the aroma of my favorite soup in the air.
Clothes drip on the mat with each step, forming tiny puddles the way they always do when I get home.
They’re slicing honeydew in the kitchen, out of uniform, hair out of their face, wearing one of my shirts like they always do when they cook.
God. (y/n) is like home to me.
“Hey, baby,” (y/n) says, without even turning. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea,” I sigh, peeling off my gloves and lightly unzipping my suit, airing our the heat trapped within.
They glance over their shoulder. Their loving (e/c) eyes soften.
“What happened?”
“I moved up the leaderboard,” I say, trying to sound confident. “A couple heroes complained…”
Their face split into the proudest smile I’ve ever seen.
“You’re incredible. You know that, prince?”
I melt.
Literally. The floor dampens.
They laugh softly. “Hermy, you’re leaking.”
“Sorry—sorry, I just—”
I wrap my arms around them from behind, burying my nose into their neck.
“You’re warm.”
“And you’re soggy,” they tease.
I whimper softly, because being close to them always makes my whole body go soft and warm on the inside. They way their body relaxes into mine, at my touch, I feel myself drying slightly.
They turn their head and kiss the top of mine, leaving their lips damp from my hair.
I could stay like this forever. I want this to be my forever.
Eventually, I pull away, cheeks warm. “Shower. Then soup.”
They nod. “Go on.”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
(y/n)
As he heads upstairs, dripping on every other step, my phone buzzes.
Lola?
I answer. “Yeah, wassup?”
“Hey Marvel, ayou free next week? The Torrance branch needs support. Performance issues, evaluation, maybe some strategic coaching?”
A grin spreads across my face.
Torrance.
That’s where Hermy works.
His team.
His world.
Where he works so hard every day but never lets me see.
“Yeah,” I say instantly. “Count me in.”
I hang up, already to surprise him.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
It’s the next morning.
Herman is suited up by the door. Nervous. Fidgety. Wet.
I put on my suit—gear, visor, boots, everything. When I step out, he stiffens like he’s seeing a celebrity.
“Can I… drop you off, hun?” I ask.
He blinks. “W-why?”
“You’ve never let me before.”
He puffs up, flustered.
“It’s just—your bike is, uh—flashy.”
I tilt my head. “I have a meeting with Blonde Blazer. At your branch.”
“Oh.” He goes red. “Ohh.”
“So?” I smirk.
He melts.
“O-okay.”
I kiss him hard—slow, warm, intentional. His knees buckle.
He giggles breathless.
Perfect.
I step outside and summon the bike using a voice command..
It uncloaked itself from invisibility, hover engines humming, metal shifting open.
Herman watches it like it’s a piece of alien tech.
His favorite colors glow on the helmet I pull from the compartment.
Then he puts on the helmet, climbs on behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and I swear—I feel his heartbeat through the armor.
We take off.
Fast.
Wind and sky and (f/c) streaks behind us.
His grip tightens every time we ride, and I smile to myself, because nothing compares to the fact that I get to be the one he holds onto.
We land outside SDN Torrance.
He hops off, nervous.
“(Y—) I mean—Marvelstrike… maybe I should go in after you.”
My stomach dips.
But I nod. “Sure.”
He hates being teased. Hates attention. He’s scared they’ll mock him more if they know who he’s with.
I force a smile. “See you inside.”
He exhale-shakes and leaves.
The employees stare. Whisper.
Someone gasps. Someone drops paperwork.
A few villains in holding cells press to the glass.
I wave politely.
Finally, I reached the office of Blonde Blazer.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in!” Blonde Blazer calls.
I step inside.
She stands behind her desk in full uniform, radiant as ever. Across from her is—
Oh.
A tired brunette in an SDN button-up, hair lightly tousled, coffee in hand. Ear missing a small chunk.
Robert Robertson.
He looks up.
“…Marvelstrike?”
I grin, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you! And you’re Robert, right? Waterboy’s Robert Robertson?”
He blinks. “Waterboy—? You… know him?”
I internally scream.
Blonde Blazer giggles. “Marvelstrike and Waterboy go way back.”
My face burns.
Robert narrows his eyes and tilts his. “How far back?” He asks with a twinge or curiosity in his low voice.
Blonde Blazer beams. “Marvelstrike is the one who referred Waterboy to SDN. Without Marvel, he wouldn’t be here.”
I clear my throat, trying to reassemble dignity.
Robert smirks. “Well. Marvelstrike, you’re not what I was expecting.”
I laugh. “I get that a lot.”
Robert gives me a tour.
People stare. Gawk. Whisper.
It’s fine.
Because soon—
Soon Herman will see me.
And that’s the reaction I’m waiting for.
Robert whispers, “Wait for my cue.”
Inside, the Z-Team is chattering, arguing, being feral as usual. Waterboy is probably shaking in a corner.
Then—
“Alright!” Robert announces. “Meet our surprise–and temporary–hero. Marvelstrike.”
He opens the door.
I step in.
Silence hits like a dropped piano.
Every face stares.
Waterboy’s eyes go cartoon-wide.
He turns red instantly. Fully. Like a thermometer.
God he’s adorable.
I give a calm, authoritative smile.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Marvelstrike. I’m here to observe your operations and support the team this week.”
Then I look directly at Herman.
Warm. Soft.
“You,” I say. “Waterboy. I heard you’ve shown the most improvement lately. Keep it up, SDN is glad we have someone like you.”
His soul leaves his body.
I swear he stops breathing.
Someone whispers, “..What–What was that about?”
Punch-Up says, “Aye lad, are you good?”
Robert claps loudly, diffusing the chaos.
“Okay! Disperse! Shift is starting!”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
In the break room and head straight for the vending machine.
I grab two Twinkies. One for me. One for him.
The door slams open before I could even react.
Herman practically skids inside, slamming it shut behind him.
“H-hi—” he blurts, running straight to me and grabbing my shoulders gently but desperately.
Then he kisses me.
Mouth on mine.
Tongues battling.
The quiet whimper from the intensity.
He tilts his head just right to avoid the visor.
He trembles like he’s been dying to do that since he saw me.
When he pulls back he’s panting.
“I—s-sorry—I know we said—professional—but you—here—and you—look—good—and I didn’t—know—”
I hush him and cup a hand to his face, letting him melt into my palm.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know it would be your team either.”
He sags with relief, forehead against mine.
“So… you’re here all week?” he whispers.
“All week,” I say softly. “Working with you.”
His knees wobble.
Of course they do.
Just as Herman’s breathing steadies, Robert's voice crackles through the comms.
“Z-Team, Armed robbery in progress at Harborfront Bank. Hostages inside. Invisigal and Marvelstrike dispatched.”
He groans. “Nooo… I wanted—five more minutes—”
I kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Later. Hero work now.”
He blushes so red I actually worry he might evaporate.
I leave the break room smirking while he fights for oxygen.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Invisigal is adjusting herself and takes a puff from her inhaler.
“So, Marvelstrike… you’re hot and competent. What’s the catch?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed one.”
She snorts. “Kickass suit. Very ‘super’ of you.”
“That feels like an insult.”
“Oh, it is. Ready?”
I activate my display, fingers dancing over holographic panels.
“Let me hack the personnel side door,” I mutter. “That’ll take you straight into maintenance. You’ll pop out behind the break room.”
“You can do that—?”
A loud click and the lock light switches green.
“I can do that.”
She whistles. “Okay, wonder-nerd.”
She slips invisible, quiet as air.
I enter visibly, intentionally walking in the frame of every security camera.
Let them know Marvelstrike is here.
I instruct Visi to start subduing strayed-away assailants and free any hostages discreetly if possible.
Then I address bank-wide PA from my interface:
“‘Scuse me, the wannabe gangsters of Harborfront Bank . This is Marvelstrike, you are surrounded by authorities, SDN has been contacted, surrender now and get an easier sentence or do things the hard way.”
Gunmen flinch through the camera I have on a side panel I have opened.
One yells, “We’re not surrendering to some tech geek wannabe—”
I groan.
“Why is it always geek or nerd, what is this–Disney?”
I whisper to Invisigal:
“Lure the guys outside into the safe room. I’ll handle the rest.”
She taps one inside the room, making him spin.
Another gets slapped across the neck by nothingness.
Panic.
All of them rush into the safe, stupidly– per usual.
Invisigal slips out just in time.
I click the buttom on my arm piece.
The door slams at an incredible fast rate.
I smile, working the holographic interface projecting from my arm piece..
“One room secured.”
“Damn,” she says. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Three gunmen remain in the main lobby. Weapons raised.
One shouts, “Marvelstrike is IN the building!”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’ve been talking this whole time?”
Then through his comm, I hear:
“You EVER gonna come fight face-to-face, wannabe Tony Stark?!”
My eye twitches.
I plug a fiber-wire into a fallen robber’s earpiece, hack the frequency channel—
“Hey,” I say over the PA. “Have you ever had tinnitus?”
He frowns.
“Tinni—what?”
“Cool. Learn something new every day. Lesson 1–”
And crank the dial.
A piercing shriek erupts through EVERY robber’s earpieces.
They collapse like puppets cut from strings, twitching, clutching their ears, weapons skittering across the tile.
Invisigal whistles. “Holy hell.”
“Oops,” I say sweetly. “Maybe a tad too loud.”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
We cuff the unconscious gunmen.
Civilians come out from hiding.
We head back to SDN, and I walk right past Robert’s cubicle
Robert’s voice erupts from behind me just as I pass.
“Amazing job. Seriously. That was insanely impressive hacking, Marvelstrike.”
I grin. “If you ever want lessons, I’m happy to teach.”
Herm’s head snaps toward us from across the loffice.
His eye twitches.
He is jealous.
Holy shit, I could soak in this cuteness all day.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The team collapses dramatically into couches and beanbags.
Sonar is ranting,
“I swear that chick at the bar gave me the SDN phone number instead.”
Malevola pats his head. “Yeah, no girl is giving YOU digits, sweetheart.”
Flambae throws a fireball at Sonar’s tie, singing it.
Sonar screeches.
“My tie! This was worth more than your shitbox car!”
“Can we, like, not set each other on fire.. Especially at SDN?,” Robert passive-aggressively states, crossing his arms.
I laugh.
“This is normal for you guys?”
Waterboy nods shyly. “Pretty much.”
I lean back. “My team isn’t perfect either. One was raised by sharks and bites ankles. Another is a moth guy who gets distracted by shiny objects.”
Everyone laughs.
Flambae pipes up.
“Well Waterboy couldn’t even look at an attractive person without choking—”
I raise a brow.
“Oh? What’s not to like? He’s tall. Sweet. Loyal. Unlike tall, dark, and furry over there.”
I gesture to Sonar, who is currently on the verge of turning, Malevola holding him back and calming him.
Waterboy’s cheeks go SO red he looks microwaved.
I wink at him.
He almost falls off the couch.
Flambae rolls his eyes dramatically.
“You’re kidding. Wet Fart Boy? He’d piss himself into a sewer before he gets laid by someone hot—trust me. I’m literally hot.”
Something cold and furious rises in my chest.
Herman flinches.
My jaw clenches.
I stand.
Swipe my arm piece.
Drrrrt—
Four drones detach from my armor, surrounding Flambae like hunting birds.
They scan.
He stiffens. “Uh—uh—what—HEY—”
My display lights up with a file of…
deeply embarrassing photos from his early villain days.
I airdrop them straight to his phone.
He yelps, grabbing it.
“WHERE DID YOU GET THESE?!”
I smile sweetly.
“Digital footprints are real. Also—stop bullying my boyfriend.”
Silence.
Dead.
Silence.
Everyone stares at me.
And then—
“…boyfriend???”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
“WATERBITCH ISN’T SINGLE??”
Punch-Up screams, “PAY UP! I TOLD YA GOBSHITES HE COULD PULL.”
Herman scrambles, stuttering, panicking.
I take his hand.
He goes still.
I speak calmly.
“We’ve been together since high school.”
Prism gasps.
“That’s impossible. Marvelstrike is like—Marvelstrike. Waterboy is.. Well he was our janitor for a hot minute.”
I shrug.
“I was a reclusive nerd in high school. Got bullied a lot.”
A quiet smile forms on my face.
“And then Herman defended me. He was my first friend. My hero. Six months later… We started dating.”
Flambae squints.
“That sounds like a shitty Disney movie.”
I sigh.
Then I cup Waterboy’s face.
His eyelashes flutter.
And I kiss him.
He melts instantly—hands on my waist, leaning in like he’s been waiting years to do this in public. The team disappears for him. He kisses me like the world might end tomorrow.
When I pull away, breath touching his, I whisper:
“I love you. Don’t let assholes tell you who you are.”
He nods quickly, eyes shining, overwhelmed.
The room explodes.
Screaming. Cheering. Money being exchanged.
Robert is facepalming.
Waterboy buries his face in my shoulder.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
We get on my hoverbike.
He clings so tightly I feel his heartbeat against my spine.
We arrive at home what feels to be an instant.
When we step inside the house, he drops the helmet and pulls me close.
“I… didn’t know you’d tell them,” he whispers.
“They were being cruel.”
He blushes.
“You defended me.”
“Always.”
He kisses me—slow, sweet, trembling at first until I guide his jaw and he deepens it, wet palms cupping my cheeks. Our tongues war for control of each other’s mouths. A groan escapes me as he slides his hands around my body, holding me close.
We stumble toward the couch, lips locked, hands roaming, heat rising—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
We freeze.
Waterboy whimpers.
“Please no.”
Another knock.
“HEY WATERBOY,” Prism yells, “WE’RE HERE TO CELEBRATE YOUR RELATIONSHIP.”
Flambae adds in, “WE BROUGHT PIZZA AND I’M SORRY I WAS MEAN—YOUR SPOUSE IS VERY VERY SCARY.”
Malevola insults, “LET US IN, WET DOG.”
Waterboy groans into my shoulder.
I laugh and kiss his temple.
“Let’s go welcome your chaos gremlins.”
He holds my hand.
“Only if you stay by me.”
“Always,” I promise.
The second we open the door, chaos spills in.
Prism shoves a pizza box into my hands like it’s a peace offering. “For the terrifying hacker spouse who can ruin my camera roll in three taps.”
Flambae holds up a six-pack of some weird, spicy-looking seltzer. “I brought apology drinks. Please don’t leak my guyliner era again.”
Malevola saunters in like she owns the place, wings brushing the doorframe. “Nice place, Waterboy. Hi, Marvel. I like you. You’re mean in the right ways.” Malevola elbows me kinda hard, resulting in a slightly winced laugh.
Sonar beelines to the couch, already opening his phone. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be crying about how Waterboy pulled Marvelstrike before I could pull a baddie with big yiddies.”
We move furniture around to make space. Music goes on low. Someone finds the cheap LED strip lights Herman taped up months ago and turns them on; the room floods with shifting blue and purple, reflecting off his little puddles on the floor.
Herman sticks close to my side for a while—half host, half emotionally overwhelmed golden retriever. Every time someone compliments me, he looks almost confused, like he can’t believe they know about his partner.
Eventually, a slower song comes on and Prism yells, “Aww man ya’ll fucked up the vibes in here–I’m too single for this.”
Punch-Up drags Coupe into a ridiculous spin; she pretends to hate it and secretly doesn’t. Sonar tries to waltz with Malevola and almost sprains his own ankle slipping on a tiny puddle.
I hold out a hand to Herm. “Dance with me?”
He stares like I just asked him to solve world peace. “I—I’ll step on you.”
“I have armor-plated boots,” I remind him, smiling. “You’re fine.”
He lets me pull him in.
We sway more than actually dance, his hands settling tentatively at my waist, mine on his shoulders. He’s still a little damp, hair curling a bit at the edges. His eyes keep flicking down to my mouth and then away again like he’s shy all over.
“You know,” I murmur, “you’re doing really well. With all of this.”
“You mean not screaming and running into the bathroom?” he whispers back.
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Proud of you.”
He hides his face in my shoulder for a second. I feel him grin against my neck.
The rest of the night is soft and loud all at once—shitty jokes, arguments over pizza toppings, Malevola and Prism roasting Flambae, Robert eventually appearing with a “How did I get talked into this” expression and staying anyway.
One by one, they peel off.
“Shift tomorrow,” Robert reminds everyone, pointing sternly. “Hydrate. Do not show up hungover.”
Flambae salutes with a half-finished can. “Yes, Dad.”
Malevola pats my shoulder as she passes. “Keep him in line,” she says, jerking her chin toward Herman.
“Trying,” I say.
Finally, it’s just us. Empty beer boxes, faint music, and the soft hum of the fridge.
The apartment is suddenly quiet. Heavy in a good way.
Herman closes the door after the last goodbye, clicks the lock… and the silence settles between us.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
For a while, I just stand there, hand still on the doorknob, listening to the muffled sound of retreating footsteps in the hall.
My chest feels too full.
They defended me. In front of everyone. Called me their hero like it was just… a fact.
I turn around.
They’re gathering empty cans into a bag, stacking plates, moving in that careful, efficient way they always do when they’re thinking too hard.
I wet the floor crossing the room. “Hey,” I say, a little too soft.
They glance up. “Yes, my love?”
I swallow.
“Did you…” My fingers twitch at my sides. “Did you mean it?”
They blink. “Mean what?”
“That I’m your hero.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I know you said it to, like, shut Flambae up, and it sounded really cool and I almost passed out, but I just— I didn’t want to assume you actually—”
“Herm.”
They say my name like it’s a steady hand on my shoulder.
I shut up immediately.
They set the bag down and walk over, stopping just in front of me. Up close, the LED lights paint them in moving colors. Their visor is off–the most serious but loving (e/c) I’ve ever seen in my life, armor plates loosened, but they still look like they walked out of a comic panel.
They lay a hand flat against my chest, over where my heart is pounding way too fast.
“I meant every word,” they say.
I stare at them. “But I— I was just some wet weirdo in a hand-me-down shirt two sizes too big. You were always… this.” I gesture weakly at their entire existence.
They huff a little laugh. “Herm, I was a reclusive nerd buried in three advanced classes and a robotics club. I barely talked to anybody. People only noticed me to make fun of me.”
My stomach twists. I remember. The shoves into the lockers. The snickering. The way they hid their face behind their hoodies like a shield.
“You didn’t have to help me,” they continued, eyes steady on mine. “You didn’t know my name. You didn’t owe me anything. But you still stepped in. You risked getting beat up, humiliated, whatever, just to get them off me.”
They shrug slightly. “No one else had ever done that for me. I’m not even sure I would’ve done that for someone else, back then.”
I shake my head. “You would have.”
“Maybe now,” they say softly. “Because of you. Ever since that day, I wanted to do right by you. To be someone you could be proud of. To become the best version of myself I could manage. That’s why I worked so hard. That’s why I sent your name to SDN. That’s why I look at you and think, ‘That’s my hero.’”
My throat burns.
“That’s…” My voice cracks. “That’s so much p-pressure.”
They laugh quietly, thumb rubbing little circles over my chest. “It’s not pressure. It’s… gratitude. Love. You changed my whole life by just being… you. This kind, anxious, loyal idiot who keeps throwing himself into danger for people he doesn’t even know.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes.
“I don’t—” I start, then stop, because my voice is shaking too much.
They step closer, closing the tiny gap between us. I can feel their breath on my lips now.
“I love you, Herman,” they say, clear as anything. “Not hero-you. You. The boy who stood between me and three assholes in a hallway like he was seven feet tall and made of steel.”
A laugh-sob punches out of me. “I was literally crying while I did it.”
“That’s the point,” they say. “You were scared and you still stayed. That’s hero shit, baby.”
Something in my ribcage just… breaks open.
“I love you too,” I manage. “I don’t— I don’t think I ever said it feels like enough, but I— I really, really do. More than anything.”
They smile, that soft, private one that’s just for me.
“Good,” they murmur. “Come here then.”
They tug lightly at the collar of my suit, pulling me to close the inch gap between us.
The kiss starts gentle—just lips, familiar and sweet. I sigh into it, hands finding their waist automatically.
But then they slide their fingers up into my hair, tugging just enough to make my brain short-circuit. My hands tighten, hauling them closer. The kiss deepens, warmth flaring in my chest and rushing out to every limb.
They part their lips, and I follow without thinking, tongues tangling, the taste of them washing out every leftover anxiety from the night. A small sound slips out of me—half whimper, half groan.
Their back hits the arm of the couch; we stumble and kind of fall together, laughing into each other’s mouths. They end up beneath me, fingers curled in the front of my suit, pulling me down instead of pushing me away.
I break the kiss just long enough to breathe and blurt, “You sure—?”
They cup my face, eyes bright and steady. “Herm. I just told you you’re my hero. Do you really think I don’t want you close?”
My heart does a full somersault.
I kiss them again, harder this time, one hand braced by their head, the other sliding around their waist to hold them flush against me. They respond with equal urgency, matching every movement, meeting every press of my mouth like they’ve been waiting for this moment as long as I have.
The world narrows to the heat between us—the soft drag of their lips, the way their laugh keeps breaking through when our noses bump or my knee knocks the coffee table, the feeling of their hands trying to touch as much of me as possible through the stupid suit.
I pull back just an inch, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“Still your hero?” I whisper, because I’m an idiot who can’t shut up.
They chuckle, thumb tracing along my jaw. “Yeah, sweetheart. Always.”
I kiss them again, and this time, I let myself believe it.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
This one was an anonymous request! I had two versions mocked up this one and a shorter civilian one but then this one got way more involved than it needed to so I stuck with this one! Hope you like it <3
Calm Before The Storm - [Waterboy x Civilian!Reader]
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
masterlist
Context
You are just a civilian with insanely bad luck. After being saved multiple times by the same hero, Waterboy, you have a nice and cozy encounter with the goofy hero.
(y/n)
(Sorry there isn't much hair color, eye color stuff)
This is entirely from your pov!
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
(y/n)
If bad luck were a superpower, I'd be a certified black cat in a human body. You could place me next to the luckiest man alive and I'd drag his stats straight into the negatives.
Last month, I got caught in a bank fire drill that turned out to be an actual gas leak.
Last week, a delivery drone mistook my latte for a landing pad.
OH— and today? Today I'm walking in the middle of the street with a reusable bag of groceries while an actual car — MID CAR CHASE MIND YOU — barrels toward me.
"Seriously? Again?!" I shout to no one.
People scatter. Tires screech. The Kia Soul fishtails, shadowing every direction I try to dodge. I step back— only to slip on a rogue orange rolling from my bag. Of course.
Gravity wins. Per usual.
A sharp hiss splits the air, then a splurge of water bursts out between me and the car, glimmering under the streetlights. The car slams into it like a wave hitting glass. A pursuing hero leaps onto the hood, rips the driver's door open. Damn she's strong— and honestly? Stylish as hell.
I land on my ass, soaked, blinking up at a very familiar figure in yellow and blue.
Waterboy kneels beside me, water dripping from his gloves, his hair, literally everywhere. His smile is warm and apologetic.
"You okay? No boo–bruises? Concussion? Or, uh, medical.. injuries?"
I stare up at him. "You again."
He points at himself like he's double-checking the situation. "You remember me?"
"Hard to forget the guy who saved me from a crazy, cyborg creep and then tripped into a fountain immediately afterwards."
His ears instantly flush. "That was—uh—field conditions?"
"Sure it was," I say while squeezing water out of my hair. "You've got impeccable timing though. Every time something catastrophic happens to me, you're just... around. At least it seems that the SDN subscription is worthwhile." I joke, checking myself for any bodily harm.
He lets out a nervous laugh and rubs the back of his neck. "Guess I'm your point of–emergency contact n-now."
I look up at him — tall, dripping, ocean-blue eyes, that awkwardly charming smile. "Could be worse."
His comm crackles a bit. A low and monotonous voice emerges from the earpiece "Target apprehended. Nice catch... Kinda shocked. How's the civilian?"
He cringes at the jab. "It–I–they're fine," he blurts, glancing at me. "Totally fine."
"Barely traumatized," I say brightly. "Ten out of ten rescue. If you ever need me to talk up SDN— I'm your go-to." I throw in a playful wink.
He laughs softly and offers his hand. The moment I grab it, the puddle beneath us ripples and splashes over our ankles.
"Sorry!" he panics, steadying me. "Still getting the hang of uhm, dripping. Less."
"It's fine," I say with a laugh I can't suppress. "I like my rescues a little spontaneous."
Before I can thank him, another hero descends — a woman in a sleek black bodysuit with gold lines and a vibrant, split dye of pink-and-blue hair.
"Waterbitch!" she calls. "Are they hurt at all?"
"Uh, that's not—They're good–Civilian damp but conscious."
Prism smirks at us. "You've got a type, huh? Wet damsel in distress energy?"
Waterboy groans. "Please don't start."
My face heats instantly.
"I'm just fucking with you Pissboy," Prism cackles, raising her phone.
Before either of us registers what's happening, there's a camera click and she's already typing. Their dispatcher's voice crackles from Waterboy's earpiece, audibly scolding her.
"You two look like an old couple already," she teases before taking off, heels clacking as she goes.
Waterboy exhales, defeated. "She's never gonna let that go."
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
He insists on walking me home— something about "standard follow-up protocol," which I'm 80% sure he made up.
The city cools after its daily chaos. My shoes squish, but his presence makes everything feel strangely grounded.
"So," I say, nudging him and brushing against his damp elbow, "how many people do you rescue in a week?"
"Hm. Uh, counting you?" He lifts his eyes like he's doing honest math. "One... very specific person, repeatedly." He gives a small, guilty shrug.
I grin. "Lucky me."
He turns pink but amused. "Maybe you're just in the wrong place at the right time."
"Or maybe the universe keeps sending reminders that chivalry still exists—in neon spandex."
"It's tactical gear! Not—okay, yeah, there's some spandex."
I burst into laughter. "Relax, puddle boy. It's a good look."
His mouth opens, then shuts, then curves shyly. "You... really think so?"
"Would I tease you if I didn't?"
"Um... possibly? Yes?"
I can't help laughing again.
We reach my porch, the light flickering like it's conspiring with the insects. Waterboy looks around the neighborhood kind of, concerned? Then he shifts awkwardly, dripping steadily onto my welcome mat.
"Well," he says. "You're safe for now."
"For now," I echo. "Until next Tuesday's disaster."
He chuckles. "I'll keep an eye out. For you–incidents–future incidents."
There's a beat of quiet.
He fidgets. "I, uh, should go—"
"Or," I offer, stepping closer, "you could come in for tea. Surely, you need to rehydrate after using so much water to save me?"
He freezes. "Heh, that's not how my po–Wait. Are you—uh—flirting with me?"
I tilt my head. "Is it working?"
His blush is immediate and devastating. "Possibly. I'm... new at thi–"
"OH MY GODD– I TOLD YALL HE WAS WITH THAT ONE CIVILIAN FROM THE CAR CALL!"
We both whip our heads toward Prism and two other heroes loitering on the sidewalk. Prism's phone is recording? Oh boy.
"What are y– Why are you all h-here?" Waterboy squeaks, shrinking like a startled turtle.
"Roberto wanted us to check on you— but it seems you have everything taken care of," the bat-guy mutters, snickering.
A red lady– A demon-looking woman with an Aussie accent steps forward. "Yeah, and I just came to make sure Sonar didn't go off and huff drugs with Prism—"
"'Scuse me bitch, I don't know who you think you're talking about but I don't do drugs," Prism snaps. "...Anymore."
"Regardless," the demon woman sighs, "it is the end of shift and I think we should give these two lovebirds some time alone, eh?"
Waterboy mouths a grateful "thank you." to her as she scolds the other two.
As they wander off bickering, he turns to me and exhales hard.
"Sorry about them. Uh, they are very–"
"Nosy?" I offer.
"Rude, but that too."
A small silence settles. I fiddle with my fingers, then meet his eyes again.
"Would you like to come inside for tea?" I ask softly.
"I would like–love to," he replies, cheeks warm. "Sorry, I am a bit new at this."
"Same," I whisper. "But I think we're doing okay."
Lightning from a distant storm flickers behind him, reflecting in his eyes like lightning in a bottle.
"Okay," he murmurs. "Just one cup."
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Hours later, rain taps the windows. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder on my plastic-covered couch — inherited, not chosen. Steam rises from our mugs.
He talks about the Z-Team, about Prism's chaos and the bat-guy's weird Vanderstenk obsession. His voice is calm, warm. The opposite of everything he deals with daily.
I listen.
For once, nothing is falling apart.
He glances at me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I say. "For the first time in a long while."
He nods. "Guess storms can wait."
"Guess they can."
Thunder rolls softly outside.
My cat materializes like a cryptid.
"Oh wha– who? Is this?" Waterboy asks, staring at the sphynx-like creature beneath him.
"My cat—his name is Beerus."
He blinks. "Wait, black cat?"
"Yeah, he used to have fur, but the second I picked him up—lightning struck him specifically. He survived though. Now he just... vibes."
"Like straight out of a cartoon," Waterboy mutters, fascinated.
I laugh. "I named him Beerus after an anime character."
He wiggles his fingers at Beerus. "My uh, grandma— I live with her—She loves cats. I like them too, just... can't really touch them. At all."
Before he can finish processing, I plop Beerus directly into his lap.
Waterboy's hands shoot up like he's being arrested. "Why would you—he's gonna get so—"
He freezes as Beerus rolls onto his back, meowing dramatically.
"Why is he..." Waterboy gently pets him, completely spellbound.
"Beerus loves baths and water," I say.
He keeps petting, smiling like sunlight.
I look at him — really look. If he can be this earnest, this kind, this hopeful... What excuse do I have not to try living life a little more?
"(y/n)?" he asks softly, waving a hand in front of my face.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine," I say. "Just admiring a superhero."
I rest my hand lightly on his knee, meeting those hazy blue eyes.
"Would you like to come over and hang out with Beerus more often?"
His breath catches. "Y-Yes! Please—Absolutely!"
He beams.
Maybe he's exactly the kind of hero I need.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
God, it's early.
I wake to the smell of honey and tea.
Not my tea.
His.
I arise from the crinkly couch and look around, hoping he hasn't left yet.
Waterboy stands in my tiny kitchen in his suit — surprisingly not dripping water much, at least what I can see from his face — and he's staring at my electric kettle like it personally offended him.
"Oh—uh—good morning!" he says, scrambling, almost slipping from how damp he still is. "I was... trying to make tea... but the instructions are uh... cryptic."
"It's not plugged in," I inform him.
"Oh."
He stares at it like it has betrayed him on a spiritual level.
Beerus hops onto the counter and meows loudly at him.
"I think he wants you to make breakfast," I tease.
"He thinks I can cook?"
"He thinks you're tall and therefore competent."
Waterboy looks deeply flattered by this unbreakable logic. Slightly blushing and petting the beast screaming at him.
He laughs sheepishly, then hands me something.
A laminated card.
"Emergency Contact: Waterboy."Under it: his real number. Not the SDN hotline.
"You don't... have to use it," he says quickly. "I just— I know weird things happen around you and I figured— I mean— not that you're weird— I just—"
I place my hand lightly over his, stopping the spiral.
"I'm glad you gave it to me."
He goes bright red.
Beerus, sitting on the counter still like a smug gremlin, meowing at Waterboy approvingly.
Waterboy smiles. "I, uh... I like hanging out with you."
I smile back. "Yeah. Me too."
A soft rumble of thunder rolls overhead — a familiar reminder.
But this time?
It doesn't feel like a warning.
It feels like the start of something.
We spend the next hour making tea incorrectly, talking about small things, big things, nothing. When he eventually leaves for his shift, the doorway feels colder.
But he promises — awkwardly, sincerely — "I'll come by tomorrow. If... if that's okay."
It is very okay.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
BONUS
(y/n) sends a call to SDN for a cat babysitter and specifically requests Waterboy when they have a last-minute job interview.
Also (y/n) and Waterboy/Herman actually went to the same high school, they just never noticed each other– also they live like down the street from each other so. yeah.
Lowkey I forgot I was writing in gender-neutral terms for a second and for Sonar wrote "Damn, what if she lets him see her boobs? Lucky."
from my wattpad story Waterboy Imagines || Waterboy x Reader.
In honor of the last episodes, do we want that villain reader x waterboy smut or naw?
Hi, I've been following you for a while and I really like your writing! (◕ᴗ◕✿)
Do you write pregnancy scenarios? If so, could you write one where Waterboy and Y/N are a couple and one day she tells him she's pregnant? I think that would be a very cute scenario.
Little Tidepool - [Waterboy x Pregnant!Reader]
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
a request from @shikabane-bane
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
For someone who is water, Herman leaks far too easily.
That’s the thought circling my head as I stand in the kitchen, thumbs pressed into the warm ceramic of my tea mug, breathing slow and uneven. The clock ticks softly. The apartment hums. My heartbeat is a drumming in my ears.
The test was positive.
Twice.
Your doctor confirmed it this morning.
Now all that’s left is telling him.
Waterboy—my husband of one year, my favorite person on earth, and easily the most sensitive man I’ve ever known—is currently in the living room, lying on the couch like a soggy golden retriever left out in the rain. His damp hair, his shirt that clings to his torso in irregular wet patches; little droplets slide down his cheek every so often even though he hasn’t done anything remotely emotional today.
He’s completely unaware.
Completely happy.
Completely the person I’m terrified and thrilled to share this news with.
I step toward the living room.
Then pivot and step away.
I place a hand on my belly—not showing yet, but knowing makes it feel so real—and I inhale deeply.
“You can do this. You married him. You built shitty IKEA furniture together. You can survive this.”
“Babe?”
His voice floats in, warm and soft. “Are you… uh… are you talking to the Bingus again? Because I told you all he wants is more food, right? Unless… he wants something else? Should I Google—”
“Herman.”
I peek around the wall.
He’s sitting up now, hair sticking in adorable damp curls, eyes bright, smile wide.
His arms open instinctively. “C’mere.”
I go. Of course I go. His arms wrap around me, warm and wet and everything familiar. His cheek presses against miss shoulder and he sighs contentedly.
“My favorite place,” he mumbles. Humming in happiness now that he’s holding me.
My chest squeezes.
He feels me stiffen.
He sits up immediately, brows pulling together in instant anxiety.
“Are you okay? Did something happen? Did someone yell at you? Did Prism make another joke about—”
“I have something to tell you.”
His whole posture changes.
He sits straighter.
His hands fidget, then still.
He swallows.
“O-okay. Um. Good thing or bad thing? Should I get water? Do you need water? Do I need water? Oh God, I think I need water—”
“Herman.”
His name stops him cold.
I take his hands.
Breathing feels like trying to swallow light.
My voice comes out soft but steady.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
His eyes widen.
His lips part.
His hands, still holding mine, start trembling.
Then—
He crumbles.
His face twists, his breath shudders, and he breaks into immediate, unstoppable sobs.
“OHMYGOD—y-you’re—w-we’re—you’re pregnant? We’re—having a b-baby?”
Tears stream down his cheeks like a faucet someone forgot to shut off.
He grabs my hands and brings them to his chest, crying harder. His whole body shakes with joy and disbelief.
“I—I—oh God,” he hiccups. “A baby? With you? I get to—be a dad? Are you sure? Are you okay? I’m not dreaming, right? Oh my God—”
I pull him close, and he collapses into my arms, face buried in my chest, sobbing openly like he’s never learned what holding back means.
“Hey,” I whisper, stroking his hair. “It’s real. It’s real, Herman.”
He sinks to his knees in front of me without thinking, both hands trembling as they lift your shirt just enough for him to kiss your stomach.
The gentlest kiss. A reverent one.
“Hi, little tidepool,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I don’t know anything yet, but I promise I’ll try so hard. I’ll be the best dad I can be. I’ll protect you. And I’ll protect the both of you with everything I have.”
My eyes blur.
I run my fingers through his wavy hair again and I feel hi tears dampen me skin.
He looks up at me, eyes shining ocean-bright.
“I love you,” he whispers. “Thank you. For this. For—our family.”
And then he pulls me down into a kiss.
Soft. Awestruck. Wonder-filled.
The kind of kiss that says everything changes now, but I’m here.
And then—
Everything does change.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
It happens on a Tuesday.
I’m lying in bed, reading, when the little flutter hits. Barely noticeable. A strange, soft ripple under my skin.
I freeze.
My hand flies to your stomach.
“Herman?”
He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, humming horribly off-key.
I call louder.
“Herman!”
The toothbrush clatters.
He practically slides into the doorway, socks slipping on hardwood.
“What?! What happened?! Are you okay?! Did something—ohmygod is the baby coming—are we—should I get the car—should I call Chase—”
“Herman.”
I pat the bed.
He rushes over.
You grab his hand and place it on your belly.
“Just wait,” you whisper.
He nods rapidly.
A moment passes.
Another.
Then—like a tiny bubble popping underwater—a soft thump hits his palm.
His breath stops.
His eyes widen—
Then completely flood with tears.
Again.
“H—he—THEY KICKED—THEY—b-baby—oh my—HI BABY!!”
He chokes on a sob, falling forward to kiss your belly over and over.
“Did—you—feel that?! They kicked me! The baby kicked me! I—I—.”
I laugh, wiping a tear from his cheek.
He leans up and kisses me deeply, hand still trembling on my stomach.
“They’re real,” he whispers. “I mean—they were real before but—this is—oh wow—my heart—babe—I think I’m dying—”
“You’re not dying.”
“I could be dying—this feels like dying feels—”
“It’s literally a normal baby kick.”
“But it FEELS LIKE GOD JUST PUNCHED ME IN THE HEART WITH JOY.”
You kiss his forehead.
He melts instantly.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The night we brought the baby home, Herman had cried three times before we even got through the door.
Once because the nurse handed him the diaper bag so respectfully it made him emotional,
Once because the baby yawned,
And once because I stepped on a leaf in the parking lot that was “shaped like a heart—like a SIGN.”
Now we’re home, baby in your arms, Herman hovering, pacing, dripping, shaking out his hands like he’s about to defuse a bomb.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okayokayokay. We can do this. I can do this. I can—OH GOD they moved—did you see that? They—did the blanket just—did I breathe too hard—”
“Herman.”
He stops mid-spiral.
“Breathe.”
He inhales.
He exhales.
He immediately starts crying again.
“I—I just—look at them,” he sobs, wiping his face uselessly as more water forms. “They’re so tiny. So precious. Babe—they’re so perfect. How is something in the world this perfect?”
I guide him to the couch.
He sits.
I place the baby—swaddled and soft—into his trembling arms.
He freezes.
Then melts.
Completely.
His whole face softens into something I’ve never seen before—pure, unfiltered love.
“Hi,” he whispers to the baby. “It’s me. Dad. I’m—oh boy—I’m gonna cry again—sorry—sorry puddles…”
The baby moves.
He gasps like he witnessed a miracle.
He kisses their forehead. Gentle. Shaking.
Then he looks at me.
“You… you did this,” he whispers. “You made… the most beautiful thing in the whole world. And you’re here. With me. And I—I don’t know how to handle how lucky I am.”
I sit next to him.
He leans into me, resting his head against mine, baby cuddled between us both.
I place my hand on his.
He laces our fingers slowly, carefully, like I might break.
“I love our family,” he breathes. “More than anything. More than I knew I could.”
He kisses my temple.
Then my cheek.
Then my lips.
Soft. Sweet. Overflowing.
When he pulls back, he laughs through a sniffle.
“We’re parents,” he whispers. “We’re really parents.”
My heart swells.
I kiss him again.
And again.
And again.
Because yes—
We are.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Life with a toddler should come with hazard pay.
Especially when the toddler is… well… Herman’s.
I wake up to the sound of splashing.
Not normal splashing.
Precise splashing.
The kind that means someone is using their powers inside the house.
Again.
“Dadaaaa! LOOK!”
I bolt upright.
Herman, who had been curled around me in a warm sleepy tangle, shoots up so fast that droplets fling off his hair.
“Are they drowning?? Are THEY drowning ME??—no wait that makes no sense—BABE—WHERE’S THE BABY—?!”
We both rush out of the bedroom.
And then freeze.
Our toddler stands proudly in the hallway.
A tiny palm held up.
Little ginger waves sticking everywhere.
Pajamas soaked.
Chubby smile bright enough to power the city.
Floating above their hand—
a perfectly round, wobbling sphere of water
—like a miniature moon made of ocean.
Herman stops breathing.
I swear his soul leaves his body.
The toddler beams. “LOOK!!”
They wiggle their fingers.
The water-ball wobbles.
Then expands.
Then—
SPLASH.
Herman chokes on air.
Of course– I get hit full in the face.
The toddler giggles so hard they fall backward onto their butt, legs kicking in joy.
Herman bursts into tears instantly.
His voice shatters with awe.
He drops to his knees, hands trembling, staring at the toddler like he’s witnessing a comet strike the earth, cooing and cheering them on.
The baby toddles over and jumps into his lap.
“Dada wet!”
Herman laughs through tears. “Yeah! Yeah, dada’s wet! I’m always wet! But YOU—baby—you’re—you’re extraordinary.”
The toddler grabs Herman’s cheeks with both tiny hands and squishes them together.
“You cry?”
He sniffles loudly. “Yeah. Daddy’s crying. But happy! Happy cry!”
The toddler cups Herman’s face again.
Then—
A droplet floats between their palms.
Herman completely breaks down.
I crouch beside them, wiping water (and tears) from my cheek.
Our toddler looks at me, eyes sparkling with wonder.
“Look! I make water!”
“You did amazing,” I say softly, brushing their hair back. “That’s a very special gift.”
They press the floating droplet against Herman’s forehead with great ceremony.
“BOP.”
Herman gasps like he was mortally wounded.
“I—I’ve been wounded,” he whispers dramatically. “By.. my own.. child.”
I snort.
The toddler giggles again.
Herman scoops them up and spins them gently, water flying off him in glittering arcs.
“My sweet little tidepool,” he murmurs into their hair. “You’re… perfect. You’re just perfect.”
I lean against the doorway, watching the two loves of my life soak the hallway, the walls, and each other in chaotic joy.
And my heart fills with something so warm it almost hurts.
Everything feels like the calm tide pulling in, gentle and eternal.
Arc, or (y/n),was a villain recently defeated by Blonde Blazer and Brainbook. They are now the newest eligible recipient to be in the Phoenix Program. They are reluctant to join the team and get paired up with Waterboy to get acquainted with the Z-Team fast.
Context
You are Arc. You were a villain, now a superhero in the Phoenix Program. You have manipulation over all types of electrical currents and connections. You wear an insulated bodysuit with baggy cargo pants and an armored vest, along with fingerless gloves and black rubber boots.
(e/c) - eye color
(h/c) - hair color
(y/n) - your name
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Arc
Phoenix Program Orientation – SDN, Torrance, CA
The air smells like disinfectant and fake optimism.
Every wall screams hope and redemption in bright motivational fonts and cute cat posters.
I fucking despise this.
"Welcome to the Phoenix Program," the instructor chirps. "Where villains become vital contributors to society!"
I nearly choke on the word vital.Last week I was on SDN's radar. Now I'm apparently a "recovering asset."
A holographic screen flickers to life beside me, replaying a few highlight reels of my arrest—courtesy of Blonde Blazer and Brainbook, one of SDN's poster duos.
The footage is humiliating: me on my knees, half-conscious, nose bloody, and my stupid ass cracking a grin before passing out.
The instructor claps her hands. "You'll each be paired with another hero in the program for integration training. We've found synergy improves rehabilitation outcomes by 60 percent!"
I snort. "What if I don't want to synergize with whatever geeky phenoma-wannabe?"
She beams. "Then we'll find someone patient enough to survive you."
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They directed me to a ship bay. It's humid in a way that makes my skin prickle.
Standing near a tank and coiling hoses is the most awkward hero I've ever seen: ginger hair, neon-yellow suit streaked with electric blue, not to mention the water dripping from his gloves.
"Waterboy," the Robert announces. "This is your new partner, Arc. You'll be running synergy drills."
His head jerks up. "M-me? With them?"
"Congratulations," the Robert says, far too monotonously, and cuts comms.
I raise an eyebrow. "You sure you're old enough to be out here without floaties, sweetheart?"
He blinks. "Uh—yes? I—I have a certification card?"
I grin, leaning closer. "Adorable."
He straightens, trying to sound confident. "I'm—uh—a certified hero. I've handled pressure before."
"Pressure? Sweetheart, please," I coo, flashing a smirk at him, "You haven't seen nothing yet."
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Location: Bay Sector 9 — Cargo Dock 47
Objective: Protect shipment. Avoid homicide.
The air smells like salt and bad decisions. The ship creaks beneath us as waves slap the hull, echoing under the quiet hum of the harbor. Somewhere far off, a gull screams like it's auditioning for a horror movie.
My comm crackles: "Report in, Arc. Visuals clean?"
"Clean enough," I reply, scanning the deck. "Unless we count my partner's fashion choices as a threat."
Waterboy glances up from where he's checking the railing seals, brow furrowing. "You mean the suit? It's a regulation hydro-conductive polymer blend!"
"Yeah," I say, smirking. "Real intimidating. Nothing says 'fear me' like highlighter-yellow spandex."
He blinks. "It's actually lemon—wait, you're teasing me."
"Good catch, puddle boy. Starting to get the hang of social cues?"
He crosses his arms, puffing up a little. "I'm not a puddle boy. I'm an SDN hero with a specialization in water manipulation."
I grin. "You memorized that from your HR file, didn't you?"
His mouth opens, then closes. "...Maybe."
I chuckle, leaning on the railing beside him. The night air buzzes faintly around me, static curling at my fingertips. He's trying so hard to seem composed—adorable, really.
"So," I ask, "how do you usually handle pirates?"
"Uh," he says thoughtfully, "diplomacy? I think?"
"Wrong answer." I crack a grin. "Lightning."
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It starts with a soft pop—like champagne corks. Then the night erupts.
Speedboats cut through the fog, engines roaring. Dark shapes leap onto the lower deck—masked, armed, and yelling. One tosses a flash grenade that fizzles midair. Another has a grapple hook. Cute.
I roll my shoulders, sparks snaking up my arms. "Looks like the rumors were true."
Waterboy steps beside me, eyes bright and calm in the chaos. "Stay behind me."
"Excuse me?" I laugh, already charging up. "You think I'm the one who needs protection?"
"Protocol says—"
"Protocol can choke on a dick."
I vault off the stairs and land right in front of the first thug. Lightning cracks through the fog like a whip, striking a crate beside him and scattering the rest. For a glorious second, it feels too easy.
Then—bang.
Something smacks into my side hard enough to knock the breath out of me.
I skid across the deck, narrowly avoiding a stack of barrels.
"Arc!" Waterboy shouts. He's spewing out a pressurized current of water that topples three guys in a splash, but there are at least ten more behind them.
He's flustered, shouting over the chaos. "You shouldn't have gone ahead!"
"Oh, sorry," I yell back. "Didn't realize you wanted to talk it out with them!"
"Communication is key in partnership!" He shouted back.
"You're unbelievable!" I groaned.
"I know!" He grins, stepping backwards as a hook flies past his head. "But it's working!"
He's right—somehow.
Between his minorly concussive water barf and my lightning bursts, we're pushing the gang back, but not fast enough. More boats are closing in, headlights cutting through the fog.
I glance around, breathing hard. My energy's draining fast. "There are too many. We fall back, regroup—"
"No," he says, voice firm in a way that makes me blink. "We can do this."
I raise a brow. "You're cute when you're delusional."
He looks at me—really looks—and there's a spark of something fierce behind those icy-blue eyes. "Do you trust me?"
And damn it, I do.
He points toward the deck's center, where the water from his earlier attacks has pooled into a massive puddle spanning half the ship.
"Draw them in," he commanded. "All of them."
"Oh," I grin, "you're thinking what I'm thinking."
"Probably," he responded. "You're gonna like–love it."
He starts deliberately pulling back his waves, leaving trails of shallow water that look like easy paths for the gang to charge through. The pirates cheer, thinking they're winning ground.
I raise my voice just enough for them to hear. "Hey, boys!" Lightning flickers down my arm. "Hope you brought the right boots."
They rush us in a roar of stomping and gunfire.
Waterboy spins his arms wide, splurging the tide up just enough to evade their reach—perfect coverage.
I take a deep breath. The static builds, hairs rising along my arms. The deck hums under my boots like a power grid on the edge of overload.
"Waterboy," I shout, "on my mark!"
"Copy that!"
"Now!"
He slams both palms to the deck—water splashing up in a perfect current. I release everything I've got.
The lightning lashes out, racing across the ship like liquid fire. It hits the puddle—and for a heartbeat, the world goes white-blue.
When it clears, every pirate on the deck is twitching, groaning, and very much unconscious. Smoke curls off a few of them. One is still clutching a crowbar that's now magnetized to the railing.
I snort, shaking my head. "You're lucky you're cute."
He blinks. "Wait—what?"
"Nothing." I stretch, shaking off the laugh. A slight static sound erupts, immediately followed by a click in my ear.
"Good job guys, I'm actually very impressed you pulled that off." Robert chimes in with praise riddled with condescending tones.
"You're just mad because I'm better than you, though, Bobert," I mimicked, flipping off all cameras in my vicinity.
I turned to Waterboy quickly, and the words came out before I could even process.
"Wanna head back and get lunch?"
"Uh—sure," he stammers, red creeping up his neck. "You wanna try my grandma's pie?"
"Sure, puddle boy. Surprise me."
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Waterboy
They sit across from me in the cafeteria, posture relaxed but eyes constantly scanning the room like they're planning fifty ways to escape. Arc. Ex-villain. Kind of a cool name, like an arc flash. Sharp smile, small scar near their lip, and some scattered on their arms and neck. The kind of person you probably shouldn't trust—but also can't stop looking at.
They're picking at their fries, clearly annoyed by the neon cafeteria lighting.
"You don't like it here," I say quietly.
They glance up, their (e/c) eyes undilated. "Sharp observation. You use that brain or just keep it in water?"
I grin, biting into my sandwich. "I use it sometimes. Usually for filling up people's pools."
That earns a small snort. Heh.. Progress.
"So why'd you join the Phoenix Program?" I ask. "You don't seem the... teamwork type."
"I didn't join," they correct. "Got drafted. PR spin. 'Reform the rogue with a conscience.'" They shrug. "I like my odds better here than in a cell."
"Still," I say, "you're trying. That's gotta count."
They study me for a beat. "You really believe that?"
"I kinda have to," I admit. "Otherwise, what's the point of saving anyone?"
They blink, caught off guard, then look away with a muttered, "You're weird."
"Thanks, I get, uh– told that a lot!" I say brightly.
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Arc
After the shift ends, the Z-Team collectively agrees to go to The Sardine for a night out drinking. We've been here twenty minutes, and Waterboy is nursing a shitty whiskey Robert gave him. I'm pretending I am not already four Jäger shots deep and starting to feel it spark my powers.
"Why'd you join the hero gig?" I asked, slurring more than intended.
He thinks for a second. "Ever since I could compreh– understand my p-powers, I.. uh," He glances down at his glass and shakes his head with a soft grin.
"I've always looked up to heroes, especially like Phenomoman, as of late." He chuckles.
He holds his drink with both hands, swirling the glass slightly.
"I just want to-to do my part– role in society. I want to help others." He trails off.
I glance at him. "A real superhero, you know that?"
He smiles faintly. "Oh– I, uh, no.. I wish. Just someone who's messed up enough t-times to think about it."
Something in my chest shifts—uncomfortably warm. I sip the whiskey. It's so bad. He probably can't even handle it.
He turns to me. "You're not like how they described you, y-you know."
"Dangerous? Volatile?" I sneer, drawing out my last words.
"I was gonna say horrible."
I freeze, heart lurching. "You talk too much Waterdick."
He chuckles. "W-Well, my grandma would prob– maybe, uh, say it's part of the charm."
I shake my head, fighting the grin. "If this is charm, I–"
A glass cup shatters next to my head. Fights erupt all across the bar– started by none other than our very own Robert "The Dick" Robertson.
Shit.
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After the whole bar fight, finding out my twinky dispatcher is THE Mecha Man, and seeing Water– Ahem, Hermie, show a kinda hot display of defending Rob against Flambitch— I think I've fully developed a crush on that dork.
Over the next few calls, they continue to pair us. Training, patrol, public demos.
Every mission we learn something new—how to anticipate each other's movements, how to argue about morality and good judgment without losing too much focus.
The synergy peaked. We were something of a weird dream team.Some people think it's some fucked joke. Some people also happen to be getting cut next week because they're getting outperformed by Z-Team heroes– crazy, huh?
Somehow– through it all. Waterboy keeps showing up even when I snarl, even when I fail.
And somehow, I start to care whether he's okay.
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Waterboy
Later that night, I'm on Robert's balcony, overlooking a whole sprawl of copy-paste apartment lights. The bass from inside thumps through the sliding doors; somebody's shouting about karaoke; somebody else is crying over a plate of nachos. Typical Z-Team energy.
I weave through the crowd, clutching two neon-blue Buzzballs I got from Invisigal. She said, 'Don't get blue-balled,' then winked, shoved them in my hand, and pushed me towards (y/n). (y/n)'s leaning on the railing, city lights reflecting in their (h/c) hair, sparks flickering at their fingertips like nervous fireflies.
"Brought you a beer," I say, holding one out. "With, uh, vodka."
They smirk, taking it. "So thoughtful, Hermie. You finally embracing your inner party animal?"
"I'm hydrating the team," I say proudly. "Community service– uh, charity."
They laugh, soft and bright, and take a sip. Lightning flickers faintly around their rings when they set the can down.
"Not bad," they say. "I half-expected you to spill both."
"I rehearsed," I admit. "Took practice.. Buzzballs."
That earns me a grin—then silence. The city hums below us. Their shoulder brushes mine, and I swear I can feel their sparks lightly gravitating towards me– my water.
"Y'know, Hermie," (y/n) says finally, voice lower, "I don't usually do this."
"Drink?"
"Flirt." They glance up at me, eyes a stormy gold under the patio light. "At least not when I actually mean it. Usually I just... make people uncomfortable and laugh about it later."
I swallow hard. "You're not making me uncomfortable."
"Oh, good," they say quickly, rambling now. "Because I'm terrible at this. Like—terrible. I start joking, then panic, then end up saying something stupid like 'your face is distracting' when I mean 'I think you're handsome', but only like– in a cute, dorky way.. and now I'm talking too much again, aren't I?"
Their cheeks go warm, words tripping over each other. I don't think; I just move.
I slide an arm around their waist and pull them closer.
They freeze—eyes wide—then melt against me. The kiss starts tentative, soft. Then something slightly shifts in the way they press against me. Their tongue swipes my bottom lip. Then, literal sparks crackle gently against my skin; their fists in my collar. It's warm and dizzying and exactly right.
When we break apart, they blink, dazed. "Okay. Wow."
"Yeah," I breathe. "That was... conductive?"
They snort a laugh and bury their face in my shoulder. "You did not just—"
Before either of us can recover, the sliding door bursts open.
"YO! THEY'RE TONGUE-ING EACH OTHER!" Sonar yells.
Half the Z-Team pours onto the balcony—Invisigal, Prism, even Robert himself. Prism's already got his phone out, camera light on full blast.
"Hold still!" Prism cackles. "This is going on YouTube!"
(y/n) groans, hiding their face in my chest. "I'm killing them all."
My voice cracks, "Technically," I murmur, "that would violate hero code."
They glare up at me, sparks still dancing along their hairline. "You're lucky you kiss well, Hermie."
"Guess we'll have to test that," I whisper, "for data–consistency."
Prism screams, "OH MY GOD THEY'RE DOING IT AGAIN—"
Robert yells, "OFF THE BALCONY, EVERYONE!" and herds the team back inside, still laughing.
(y/n) exhales against my neck, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I hate them."
"Well, I think they're cool– awesome," I say, grinning. "But at least they saw the light."
They elbow me lightly. "Okay, that pun did not hit."
"Whaat," I say, tugging them closer again. "I thought it would shock you."
They roll their eyes—but don't move away. The city glows beneath us, and somewhere inside the apartment, our team is still howling.
For once, I don't care what they think. So, this is what Robert meant.
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Bonus
TBH, there could totally be a spicy scene of this.
Hello! Thank you for reading. I tried out "Hermie" v. "Hermy" and I think I like Hermie better lol.
(from my wattpad story (Waterboy Imagines || Waterboy x Reader))
The hum of the UV lights is the only thing filling the silence.
"You should go," I murmur, voice low. "Before this gets more complicated."
"It's already complicated," Herman says quietly.
He looks away, jaw tense. "Exactly."
Herman swallows hard. "Then... maybe I-I don't care."
My eyes snap to his–pupils sharp in the UV glow. "Herman."
But he steps closer anyway.
Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching something valuable.
"You think I came down here just to yell at you?" he asks softly. "I came down because... I didn't want to leave you alone like that. I was worried for you–"
My breath catches.
"And because," Herman adds, voice barely steady, "I wanted— I wanted to know you. The real you."
His throat bobs as he swallows.
"Herman, don't—"
He reaches out.
His hand cups my cheek. Gentle. Hesitant. Like he expects me to dissolve under his touch.
I stiffen—shock first, then something warmer unfurling slowly, creeping under my skin like sunlight through leaves.
He's so sweet. Like a puppy..
"You shouldn't," I whisper.
"I know." His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and his voice drops. "But I-I really nee–want to."
The closeness, the tension, the unspoken everything between us—
I can't breathe.
"S-Say something," he murmurs.
My answer comes out soft, and lustful.
"...Then you're going to have to stop looking at my mouth like that."
Herman's breath shudders.
Then he leans in.
It's hesitant at first—barely a kiss, the lightest brush of lips like he's afraid I'll pull away. I inhaled sharply, fingers curling into the edge of the table.
Herman pulls back a fraction, eyes wide.
"Was that— okay?" he whispers, breath shaking.
I stare at him, stunned that the sweet boy actually initiated it.
Then—
My hand slides up the front of his suit, fingers hooking into the fabric at his collar. "C'mere," I murmur, my voice slightly sultry.
I pull him back in.
This time the kiss is firmer—confident, sure, the kind of kiss that tilts the power balance in an instant. Our tongues mash together like they've been craving this contact. He whimpers slightly and I can feel myself growing wet.
My fingers guide the angle of his jaw, coaxing him open. Herman makes a small sound in his throat, surprised but not complaining, his hands settling tentatively at my waist, slowly tracing my body with his hands, exploring.
I deepen the kiss, slow and intentional, teaching him the rhythm with every pass of my mouth. When he hesitates, I tilt his chin with two fingers and murmur against his lips:
"Like this."
He follows.
God, he follows so well.
His hands tighten slightly at my hips, drawing me closer. The water dripping intensely, off our bodies into the grout, leading into the drains, reacting to his tall, lean body.
I smirked into the kiss.
"Good boy," I breathe, guiding him again with a soft tug to his lower lip. "Just like that, puddles."
He shivers—growing more red, panting slightly. The air grows humid around us as his fingers lightly twitch towards my ass. I assume he wants to pick me up.
I deny him the chance. This is my ride.
When he kisses back with a little more pressure, a little more wanting, I groan against him, sliding one hand up the nape of his neck, threading into his damp hair. I even tug a bit.
Herman melts into it.
Completely.
Oh– But I'm not done leading.
I shift the kiss, slow and coaxing, guiding him back a step until his back hits the lab's metal support column. Herman's hands fly up to steady us both, palms pressing into my hips with new, delicious certainty. I now have a better view of his lengthy bulge forming in his tight suit.
I grow wetter at the sight, but for now I want to fuck with him.
"You're learning fast," I murmured, lips brushing his.
He blushes hard, even as he leans in again, letting me set the pace.
"You're... s-showing me," he whispers.
I smile—softly.
"And you're listening."
I kiss him again, deeper this time, guiding him through every moment—
the slow pull,
the tilt of his head,
the pressure,
the breathlessness.
I can feel his length twitch against my lower abdomen. Fuckk..
Herman follows every little instruction, every gentle nudge, every shift of my mouth like it's instinct.
His fingers curl into my waist, drawing me closer. "(y/n)..." he breathes, voice cracking at the edges. "This is— god, this is—"
I hush him with another kiss, slower, lips brushing once, twice.
"I know puppy," I whisper, forehead resting against his. "I know."
Our noses almost touch. His breath ghosts over my skin, warm and shaky.
"You're d-dangerous," he murmurs.
My smile grows.
"So are you," I whisper back. "You just hide it better."
Our lips meet again in a soft, lingering kiss—
the kind that says the argument is over,
but the tension is not.
Not even fucking close.
When I finally pull away, Herman looks dazed, breathless, and a little awestruck.
I run my thumb along his lower lip, a small, wicked smile forming.
"Next time," I murmur, "you can initiate again."
Herman's breath hitches.
"And I'll teach you even more–"
My breath leaves me in a startled rush as Herman's hands slide under my thighs, lifting them with more strength than he usually admits he has. The motion is fluid, instinctive—like he forgot to be shy for one fucking second.
My ass hits the edge of the center table, papers rustling, empty glass vials clinking softly. Herman steps in between my knees without thinking, mouth finding mine again in a kiss that's nothing like the tentative beginning.
This one is hungry.
The kind he's been holding back for hours... Maybe days.
I exhale through my nose, fingers gripping the back of his suit as he leans into me, kissing hard enough to make their pulse stumble.
"Easy, puddles," I murmur against his lips, half-laughing, half-gasping. "Where'd this come from?"
"You," Herman whispers back, voice low and shaky. "You said next time I could initiate."
My smirk curves slow and approving—
I definitely like this side of Herm.
And then Herman kisses that smirk right off my face.
This time I don't guide immediately.
I let him take over for a few messy, breathless moments—his hands braced on either side of my hips, my thighs tightening lightly around his waist as he kisses me deeper, more certain, lips parting as he learned the rhythm I taught him. My wetness grows warmer and I can feel Waterboy slightly rubbing on me as if he needed it so bad. He whimpers between kisses and takes small breaths.
His breath is hot, uneven, brushing my cheek as he moves from my mouth to my jaw and back again, tracing every angle like he's memorizing them.
I suck in a sharp breath, fingers curling at the back of his neck.
"Look at you," I murmur, voice dropping. "Hero on the outside, sinner on the inside."
Herman groans softly, forehead bumping theirs, breath shaky. "Don't— don't tease me right n-now."
"Oh, Hermy," they purr. "I'm absolutely teasing you right now."
He looks like he would've busted just at hearing his name.
His hands tighten at my hips once again, possibly leaving some minor bruises and I felt the shift—the way his restraint wavers, the way he's trying so hard to stay in control.
So I take that moment.
My hand finds his jaw and tilts his face up—firm, sure, claiming.
"Come here," I whisper.
I kiss him hard, knocking the air out of both of us. I slowly slide my hands from around his neck to his zipper. I take it and slowly start unzipping, revealing Herm's lean but slightly toned body. I stop the zipper right above the bulge, leaving his black boxers to peak out from the suit.
Herman makes a noise he definitely didn't intend, a soft hitched sound in the back of his throat–
Fuck he's so adorable.
I swallow it with another kiss, guiding the pace now—slower, deeper, coaxing his mouth open with a practiced pull of his lower lip.
He melts right into it.
He begins to moan and babble in my ear a bit, sounding like he's beginning to beg. I slip a hand into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp.
"That's it," I whisper against his lips. "Follow me, sweetheart."
He does.
What a poor lost puppy.
Every shift of my mouth, every angle, every change in pressure—he mirrors it, breathless and eager, hands dragging up my back and sides in a way that makes me inhale sharply, not from pain but from the surprising confidence of it.
My fingers slide down from his jaw, trace his throat, then ghost along the edge of his collar then I bring it straight down to his bulge, massaging the member in my hands. He shivers visibly and rolls his eyes back slightly.
"You listen so well," I murmur, tilting his chin up again so I can kiss him harder—slow, consuming, commanding and soft all at once.
Herman's hands tremble slightly against my waist... but instead of pulling away, he leans in even closer, pressing them gently but firmly back against the table, his forehead touching mine as he catches his breath.
"(y-y/n)," he murmurs, voice wrecked and warm. "P-Please–I... want more."
My lips brush his—barely, teasing, electric.
"I know," I whisper. "And you're going to get better at this. But first–"
I take my hand off his throbbing cock, I reach for his hand and I rest it on my lower abdomen, right above my warmth and glance up at him—hoping he understand that opportunity I'm giving him. Herman's breath catches and his hand shakes, dripping water on me drop by drop.
"Explore Hermy, I said I would teach you."
I bite my lip and wink at him, voice silky and promising.
Herman swallows hard.
"R-really–I-I–" he whispers.
I smile—feeling safe under his touch, feeling unguarded as well.
I nod my head at him.
He slowly traces his fingertips down my warmth, lightly grazing my clit. I give a quick whimper in response and he halts for a moment, worried. Realizing it was a moan he quickly continued. Face red and breaths heavy.
He follows my wetness to my clothes core, soaked by my lust.
"M-May I–Uh, take–remove–Uh–" He begins to stutter.
"Yes, you can." I chirp at him, smiling at his dorkiness.
He begins to remove my shorts and panties, putting them carefully on the table in a random spot where it would remain unbothered.
He hovers his hand over my core. He beholds the sight of my wet thighs and my wet pussy just itching for him to touch it. He glides his two fingers over my clit which makes me let out a sharp breath. He slides down to my hole and slowly enters. Pumping his fingers in and out of me watching for my reactions and kissing at my neck here and there.
"Fuck Hermy.. That's so go–good." I manage to moan. He picks up the pace and adds another finger as he feels comfortable with the motion, now whimpering and digging his face into my neck.
"A-Am I making you f-feel good?" He asks, panting into my neck.
Fuck me please–
"Yes Hermy, you're doing so fucking go–" I begin to reassure as I feel my core twinge at the pleasure and begin to buildup a climax. I moan loudly, gripping onto her hair and leaving scratches on his back. I release all over his fingers, twitching around them as I pant heavily. His breath matches mine.
I smile and laugh a bit. I then challenge the hero.
"Ready for the real thing, puddles?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He looks at my face, then his stare trails down my body staring at my chest. My sports bra now soaked but my nipples poke through the padding slightly. He speaks up.
"O-On one term–Condition."
I tilt my head at him.
"I w-want to– I need–To see.. Y-you're." He glances between my chest and the table. I smile and sit up slightly, removing my sports bra, now fully naked on the table.
He then takes his arms out of his suit sleeves and lets it fall slightly below his waistline. He hesitantly takes out his cock.
Holy shit, he's actually huge.
For what he lacked in extreme girth, he definitely made up for in length. His cock twitches as he stares at the sight before him.
He hooks his arms under my thighs, grabbing my hips and sliding me towards him just enough for him to comfortably line himself up.
"Hermy–" He cuts me off immediately.
"Y-Yes! Are you okay? Is this go–fine?" he stutters, clearly worried he's doing something wrong. I giggle at him and just remind him of the power behind a clit.
He readies himself and looks at me desperately. He maintains eye contact and thrusts into me slowly–his tip lightly stretching me a bit as they rest of him becomes enveloped within me.
Oh my god oh my god– Fuck fuck fuck–
I moan in complete pleasure all the while he's groaning in my ear, whimpering and babbling on about how good I feel and how tight I am. He buries his face into my neck for a bit.
"F-Fu–(y-y/n) you are–you feel– so fuckin– oh my god–" He grunts, pumping into me at a steadier pace now. I can feel him hit every spot in every right way, my wetness allowing him free reign on how fast he wants this. My body melts into his. The plapping is getting louder, moans fill the entire lab. The table shakes and pens begin to roll around.
He feels so fucking good.
I wrap my legs around his waist, trapping him in place as he thrusts into me. He slows his pace then sits back up, immediately gravitating for my boobs. He gently cups one in one hand, and starts sucking on the other. My back arches at the sudden pleasure surging through my body. He's slobbering all over my tits and whimpering. He makes occasional eye contact to assure that he's doing great. Watching my reactions, watching him pleasure me.
And trust me– He's doing fan-fucking-tastic.
He hums with my boob still engulfing his mouth. I groan and tighten around his cock as he begins to pound faster again. He reassumed his spot in my neck.
The water he's secreting is every, all over the table and scrapped notes I intended to toss. The faint sounds of the drains collecting water can be heard if you really listened passed the moans and groans.
"I'm gonna–I wanna–P-Please.. Let me cu–cum." Herm whimpers, begging to release his load into me as he reaches closer and closer. His thrusts are heavy and sloppy, no exact rhythm but hitting every right spot without faltering.
I lay back a bit getting a view of his adorably red face. His icy-blue eyes that I could fall into like graves. His furrowed brows, his pathetic panting. Whimpering every now and then lightly drooling.
I smile and cup his cheek while moaning here and there.
"Yes Hermy– Please baby," I groan out as his pace begins to become consistent, fast, his cries pick up. "Fill me up, you deserve it– you're so good sweetheart."
He wraps his lanky arms around me and sends his face into my abused neck and releases his water-mixed load into me. I feel the warmth of his liquids filling me up to the brim.
I twitch.
He throbs
Both of our moans overlapping each other as they slowly turn into slowed pants and breaths.
Although–
He's still going, twitching ever so slightly, his cum leaks out of me as he hasn't moved. He looks up at me with glazed over eyes. He then looks at my body seeing what I believe to be hickeys on my neck and the fact that he came inside me. Unprotected.
"Oh my gosh I–Are you okay–I'm such an idiot– What can I do?" He hastily asks, pulling out and grabbing nearest tissues to clean up the mess between our legs.
"I'll pay– not for the sex– B.. Plan B, that is." He says slowly fading as he begins to dig money out of his wallet.
I get up and I grab his hand, stopping him from grabbing any money out– no matter how adorable his worry is. I flash him a dazed smile.
"How about we worry about that.. Tomorrow?" I ask, hoping he gets the hint that I want him to stay the night.
Oh please oh please let him say yes.
I stare up at his expression, going from concerned to lightly conflicted, he darts his eyes to the ground.
He then looks up at his goggles on the ground (that somehow came off in the process who knows) and back at me.
"I–I would like that– yes!" He stumbles, giving me a very big and embarrassed smile, still red (and hanging by the way). We both glance at our appearances and the post-nut clarity kinda hits hard here.
"Maybe we should get dressed before settling down for the evening?" I asked in a witty tone, pointing at his, uhm, third leg.
He rushes to cover his manhood and nods his head yes frantically.
"I-I would like that very much."
He begins to gather our clothes and hands me mine carefully. Surprisingly he's drying up a bit, and I feel more energetic than ever.
I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but fuck it.
Waterboy x a reader who has the power to spontaneously burst into song (musical style) with a backtrack and everything. But instead of using their powers for hero work they instead are bred on as an advertiser for SDN (and subsequently the Z-team✨)
[His Muse's Ballad] - Waterboy x Singer!Hero {Request}
another anon request!
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
You are Virtuose, or (y/n), a musically-inclined "hero" at SDN. You have an insane voice and a unique power that whenever you sing a song at any given moment, the music or melody of that song dependent on your feeling and willingness will play from thin air at whatever volume you please. You also have sonic hearing and sound/voice manipulation.
You aren't actually much of a "save-the-day" hero, you are more of SDN's poster person when it comes to marketing, needing a spokesperson at events, and basically the embodiment of SDN's media presence.
You have been recruited by Blonde Blazer to help promote and share the success of the Phoenix Program and show off the Z-team as the program becomes statewide—to start.
[a request]
(y/n) - your name
(e/c) - eye color
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
The lights in the SDN conference room hum softly overhead, which—of course—syncs to a rhythmic little beat behind my ears.
Not necessarily because there is a beat.
But because I made one.
Sound manipulation is wonderful until you're bored, and your powers decide you're living inside a musical.
I tap my fingers against the table, and a faint backtrack of something I've heard before answers my call—gentle drums, soft guitar—just existing out of literal thin air.
Blonde Blazer gives me the usual "please don't spontaneously burst into a broadway musical" look.
"I'm not singing," I whisper, rolling my eyes lightly.
"You always say that before the Disney soundtrack hits," she whispers back.
Fair.
Still, I'm trying to behave.
Because today actually matters.
SDN's Phoenix Program—in Torrance—has been quietly improving, quietly grinding, quietly working ever since the "Shroud incident."
And now?
Blonde Blazer wants to push the program statewide to start!
A full marketing push.
A real launch.
And she asked me to help.
Me. (y/n)–Virtuose.
THE walking-karaoke machine.
A sound-manipulating menace.
SDN's Rockstar.
I rest my chin on my hand and let a breath out slowly.
She could've picked Brainbrook—everyone loves her clever charm.Or Pom-Pom, the queen of rainbows and sunshine.Or god forbid, Phenomaman himself–since he's already in every single SDN commercial possible.
But she chose me.
But she looked at me this morning and said–
"Your voice moves people. And the Phoenix Program needs someone who makes the public feel something. They're rising stars, but the public doesn't know that yet. You'll bridge that gap."
And...
God.
My chest tightened.
This is big.
This is career changing.
This is bigger than music videos or late-night interviews or being some wannabe poster girl.
This is giving a team of underdogs the spotlight they've earned.
This is me being asked to help heroes shine.
And I'm honored. Nervous. Proud.
All at once.
I'm still replaying Blonde Blazer's words in my head when the door handle clicks.
I'm sitting at the polished glass conference table in full uniform—boots on, mic off, visor tucked back so people can see my face instead of the glam holographic. Blonde Blazer stands beside me like a proud mentor presenting their prized science-fair project.
The Z-Team shuffles in like a bunch of children coming in from recess funnily enough.
And they all look—
A bit gobsmacked, might I add.
A bat dude stops mid-step like he forgot how walking works.
Prism–I recognize her–gasps so dramatically I expect confetti.
Punch-Up says "holy shit" supposedly under his breath.
And then—
A lanky, and very brightly colored-suit guy walks in last.
Tall.
Damp.
Dripping on the floor like he had just hopped out of a shower.
His pale baby blue eyes land on me.
And he freezes upon seeing me at the front of the room..
His jaw lightly drops and sort of just hangs there, all the while I flash him a nice smile in greeting.
Everyone is piled up in the room at last.
This is going to be fun~
Blonde Blazer steps forward getting ready to speak. Before anyone can swarm me like overexcited toddlers, Robert throws an arm out like a crossing guard.
"STOP. Nobody touches Virtuose. Nobody crowd them. Nobody ask Virtuose to sing."
He turns slowly, eyes specifically on Prism.
"I know they are very popular and very talented—but be that as it may, if any of you harass them for any weird personal agenda I'm personally reporting you all for stalking and harassment on your files for HR."
The room falls silent.
A sea of guilty faces look anywhere but at him.
Hm, must've been the wind~
Robert exhales.
"To begin... Please give Blazer the floor."
Blonde Blazer gestures grandly, like she's unveiling a piece of art. How flattering.
"Everyone, this is Virtuose—our top-tier sound manipulator, beloved performer, and one of SDN's most successful public liaisons. They'll be joining the Phoenix Program this week to help elevate your profile, show the public your best-hero-selves, and create more statewide awareness for the program."
The Z-Team lights up—
except for the lanky guy, who is staring at me like a deer seeing the sun for the first time.
I stand, smooth, poised, and smile warmer than what the cameras I'm used to get.
"Hi," I say with a pep to my step.
"As you've heard plenty already, I'm Virtuose but as my fans know my name is (y/n)–Please, call me V if that's easier either way! Please don't panic, I don't usually burst into song unless absolutely necessary... or if someone pisses me off. Either or."
Prism immediately raises her hand.
"OH MY GOD, I LO—"
Robert snaps. "Sit."
She sits, and lets out a pout while crossing her arms.
A giggle escapes my lips.
"I'm here to shadow you, capture footage, help with promo, record some features, maybe even shoot a music video. Mostly? I'm here to show the world what the Phoenix Program has become. You've all worked hard. You deserve recognition."
A hush falls over the crowd.
Then I glance at the lanky dork, staring at me–mouth still agape.
He looks away instantly upon making eye contact with me.
Cute.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
Okay. Okay. Okay–
Virtuose is here.
Right here.
In this room. In this building. In this reality–universe?
Galaxy?
Whatever–
Virtuose.
The artist who supposedly went viral with their debut song overnight five years ago.
The singer who's voice I've listened to on repeat for the last months, practically taking over my Spotify DJ, my Youtube–well, everything!
The musical hero who's livestream I fell asleep to twice.
Whose Instagram photos I stop to admire and be amazed at when scrolling through my feed.
They're smiling at me–us.
At. us.. Me?
AT US–Gah!
Don't think that way, Herm.
Oh God.
Robert talks, but it's just white noise until I hear my own name–
"Virtuose will also be doing PR and Media training with Waterboy here and there."
I choke on my own watery spit.
Virtuose blinks at me. Soft. Sweet. Curious. Oh jeez–
My soul leaves my body.
"Waterboy?" they ask gently, attempting to reassure that the boss meant me. Their bright and starry (e/c) eyes, their shiny (h/c) hair that frame their face just perfect– Gosh, t-they're so photogenic.
I squeak.
I—SQUEAK.
Ugh. Kill me.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
Blonde Blazer gives me the full outline of whatever is happening this week.
"You'll be on set tomorrow morning for a joint photoshoot. Then a convention appearance. Then a short rehearsal and shoot for the video scene. And after that—celebration night. The Phoenix Program's success is your narrative to craft, Virtuose."
I nod.
It's an honor.
Truly.
But my eyes keep drifting to the hero I now know is named Waterboy.
The way his long, slender hands fidget.
His wet, auburn hair that reflects a twinge of red when in the proper lighting.
The way he sits is slightly hunched.
The way he tries not to stare but fails every ten seconds.
His eyes flickering to me, the floor, my eyes, then the ceiling–
He's... precious.
A soft spot I didn't expect.
And when Robert dismisses the team, they disperse like someone's gonna steal their lunch.
Except Waterboy.
He lingers. Pacing in place, sort of muttering to himself.
Again, those pale blues dart up to mine endearingly.
He takes a small sharp breath in.
Looks like he wants to say something.
Then backs away like a spooked puppy and drips toward the hallway.
What a dork.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The camera crew is set.
Prism is buzzing around me like a paparazzi drone with legs.
Waterboy stands beside me as still as he can, hands clenched, posture completely straight, dripping nervously.
"Okay!" the photographer shouts. "We'll start with–Waterboy–You should pose somewhat hero-esque. Virtuose will lean in towards you and look impressed."
Waterboy sputters.
"C-close?? Like—close close??"
I step into his space, shoulder brushing his arm.
He goes rigid like someone hit his freeze frame button.
"Relax," I whisper, reassuring him. "We're just posing, okay?"
"You're—very—um—warm," he mutters.
"And you're very wet," I tease, sneaking him a wink.
He turns red.
And redder.
Okay, yeah even redder.
I lightly chuckle at the goofy dork next to me.
Waterboy groans.
But he holds the pose, angled, crossing his arms with his chest puffed proud–taking a wider stance to even out our heights a bit.
I angle the opposite way, resting all my weight on my left hip–Leaning my torso back slightly, my thumbs resting on my belt buckle, allowing my other fingers to rest freely on my lower abdomen.
And in the shot, we look... good–Great even! He is surprisingly photogenic, the water glistens on his face but not in a way that takes away from his looks. You can faintly see his freckles and he looks mostly confident!
Well, besides the edges of his mouth fighting the urge to crack a nervous smile.
Really good.
Like a duo.
Like a fun "hero" pairing.
I can already feel a song coming along~
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
It's been about two days since that photoshoot.
My mind cannot stop making me remember how close we were–how they barely grazed me and that was enough to send me into full blown panic.
The way the met my eyes, full of confidence.
Virtuose is so kind and sweet, the kind of face SDN knows the people will watch and admire.
A face I could admire indefinitely.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
Conventions before they open are weirdly peaceful.
No screaming fans.
No lines that wrap around the block.
Just empty aisles, fluorescent lights buzzing, volunteers yawning as they set up displays.
Me and the Z-Team weave through the vendor hall on our way to the panel room. Coupe is already taking pictures of everything she passes. Golem keeps picking up swords he is absolutely not allowed to purchase. Sonar is texting his 'girlfriend' under the tablecloth of a merch booth–
Waterboy walks beside me.
Quiet. Trying not to drip too much.
His hair is soft today — less water, more wavy.
We passed a booth selling SDN fan-made merch — pins of all the big heroes, plushes of their mascots, handmade jewelry, posters, all the works
And then...
I see it.
Waterboy sees it too.
A massive print of me from my "Heartshatter" album cover.
Bold colors. Wings of sound swirling behind me.
One of my most famous images–peoples' least favorite album though.
Waterboy stops dead in his tracks.
He stares.
His cheeks turn rosy.
He tries to casually walk again.
Instead he runs into a cardboard cutout of Blonde Blazer.
Thud.
I bite back a grin.
"You okay there, Herman?"
He jumps. "WHAT—yeah—I mean—I was just—uh—looking!"
"At what?" I ask, playing coy.
"N-nothing! I wasn't looking at anything—ANYTHING—you know—uh—posters—signs—plastic—objects in general—"
I walk up to him, lean slightly into his space, voice low.
"You like the art?"
He swallows hard. "I... may have seen that picture before."
"Mhm," I purr.
"I, uh... might've had it as a phone wallpaper. Once. Not anymore! That'd be weird—unless it's not—OH MY GOD—"
He scrambles into a wet mess.
I can't help it, he's too sweet.
At a smaller booth run by a fan artist, something catches my eye:
Small acrylic keychains of different heroes.
One... is me.
It's adorable.
Miniature.
Chibi.
Sparkly.
I pick it up, turning it between my fingers.
Herman watches, entranced.
"You like that one?" I ask quietly.
"I do," he says quickly.
Well then.
"Here."
I bought it then handed it to him.
His eyes widen. "F-for me?"
"Mhm."
He holds it like it's an artifact.
Then—
I begin to walk to the next booth.
I miss a step. My ankle twists—
I can feel gravity betraying me at one of the worst moments.
Waterboy acts on pure adrenaline.
He catches me flawlessly, one arm around my waist, the other bracing my back.
Like a hero in a romance movie.
We freeze in the pose.
My breath catches.
His eyes search mine.
His hands tremble against my hips.
Then he whispers, so soft:
"I got you."
I melt against him.
"Oh," I murmur. "My hero~"
He lets me stand, blushing SO hard I worry he's overheating despite the puddle forming at his shoes.
Coupe appears, smirking. "Did you two just reenact a K-drama moment in the merch aisle?"
I laugh and wink at her. "Oh you know it."
Waterboy becomes a babbling mess, trying to apologize for grabbing me.
She cackles.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
I still can't believe I saved them–
AND they gave me a gift.
I didn't even fully realize–
I take a breath and shake the feelings off–that was like half an hour ago..
Now, unfortunately it is my turn to get onto the stage as me and some of the Z-Team–mostly Prism, Sonar, and Coupe–which is a surprise since she hates people.
But Sonar had to be pulled from the Vanderstink fan club for this panel because Golem could not fit, and Punch Up was unfortunately too short for the table seating and they had no accommodations.
The auditorium explodes when Virtuose walks onstage.
Me? They clap politely.
Fair.
Virtuose sits beside me, smelling like vanilla and cedarwood heaven.
We get a huge line, questions mostly for Virtuose but they always redirected their questions to the team to engage with us–how considerate of them–
Suddenly a fan, decked out in Virtuose merch from their pants, to their shirt, to the foam finger in hand, quickly grabs the mic and wastes no time asking their question.
"VIRTUOSE OMG I LOVE YOU SOSOS MUCH–WHO'S YOUR FAVORITE Z-TEAM HERO SO FAR?!"
My stomach plummets.
As much as I'd hope they'd at least talk about me.
I know it won't happen.
They could say Prism—she's a music artist.
Or Malevola—she's an actual demon.. Lady.
Virtuose tilts their head and looks at the ragtag group of Z-Teamers before them.
Their lips part into a sweet smile as they make quick eye contact with me and then immediately back to the fan who is basically hyperventilating into the mic making it peak a few times.
They lift the mic up to their lips as they lean on their knee.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
Oh this'll be great.
"Why choose one? They are all such amazing heroes–I mean Waterboy alone saved me from falling just before we got up here." I say smug and feigning a slightly innocent tone while gesturing to Waterboy.
Everyone's heads turn over to see the dorky guy now turning as red as Clifford the Big Red Dog.
Right there. Me and him make eye contact again before I pick up my statement again.
"These guys are real heroes, no matter if they are on the same level as the top SDN heroes or not–they risk themselves everyday for the people of Los Angeles without a single ask of anything in return."
I stand up and turn to them.
"Thank you guys for being the heroes Torrance needs."
The fan immediately screams a "thank you" while being pulled away from the mic by some security personnel.
The Z-Team looked at me in awe as if I had just won a jackpot.
I glance back down at Waterboy, who is now looking up at me starry-eyed
He makes a tiny noise that might be English?
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Finally, it's noon.
Ironclad, a metal manipulating hero, arrives for lunch break exactly the way they always do.
Leaning in the doorway.
Flexing deliberately.
Smirking.
"Well, well, well... if it isn't my favorite melody."
"That's not my name," I deadpan. Quite honestly–already sick of his shit.
"Tonight. Drinks. You, me, the Hollywood sign—"
"No."
"Playing coy—"
"I'm not playing anything– just very uninterested."
I feel a stare burning deep into the back of my head.
Ironclad seems to catch on and raises a brow, looking past me.
"Uh oh, seems like you got a fan?"
I quickly look over my shoulder to see who they meant.
I instantly lock eyes with Waterboy, who shies away upon meeting my eyes.
I have an idea~
I smirk and wave him over, nodding my head towards my direction.
He points at himself nervously, and mouths the words "me?" as if he couldn't believe it.
I give him a full smile now and nod my head.
He takes long but nervous steps towards me, basically towering over Ironclad who does not seem impressed.
I hook my arm around Waterboy's.
I feel his arm tense up around mine, they slowly relax again as his body heat clearly takes over his ears and cheeks a bit.
"I'm actually going on a date tonight," I say breezily.
Both of them freeze and look at me with questionable faces.
Ironclad has a suspicious eyebrow raised at me while also looking up and down at Waterboy.
Whilst Waterboy on the other hand, is now a sputtering mess with a look of concern on his face.
I smile.
"Waterboy."
I add in, "Sorry, not sorry, I personally don't date "heroes" who look like they think washing their ass makes them gay, so" I state, giving him a nasty up-down, before twisting my face into a sweet smile again.
I quickly say, looking at Waterboy and I nod my head to a different direction. I begin to walk away, arm in arm with the statue next to me.
Ironclad looks like the universe betrayed him.
He falls to his knees dramatically and starts pounding the ground with a fist, causing people around him to stare intently.
I laugh at his stupidity and feel accomplished at getting a date with the very cute, and moist, man.
Perfect.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
Another SDN Gala.
Of course.
Crystal chandeliers dripping overhead.
An up and coming live band I personally recommended plays in the background faintly. Camera flashes. Reporters.
New interns walking around with trays of champagne flutes they're definitely underpaid for.
And me?
I'm in the center of it all — smiling, waving, talking, walking the proverbial (and literal) red carpet for paparazzi to get their pics in–performing the responsibilities of being in the spotlight as Virtuose perfectly, as usual.
But tonight is supposed to be different.
Tonight is the celebration for the Phoenix Program's success.
Tonight, I'm not the star — they are.
The most fun and impulsive team I've been working with all week.
The very heroes who fought tooth and nail to earn that name.
The rookies who proved they weren't rookies anymore.
Sonar is chatting up Vanderstenk–yes he is in attendance after multiple spam emails from Sonar.
Punch up is wrestling with a few heroes as Coupe collects betting money from the small onlooking crowd.
Prism and Flambae are sitting in VIP with some A tier heroes–Thanks to my networking funnily enough.
Golem is sitting next to the band I hired and requesting songs.
Visi is fucking around with Robert and tampering with his drink as he chats with Blonde Blazer who is clearly in on the joke.
Even Phenomaman is here–Trust me, I can super-hear him somewhere questioning other lifeforms again.
And somewhere among them...
A super sweet dork with his hero suit on, and a black tie under a high collar adorning his neck.
Waterboy.
I spot him across the room — half-hiding behind a giant ice sculpture shaped like the SDN logo being held up by Phenomaman. He looks at me as if checking constantly if I'm safe. Then pretending he wasn't. Then checking again.
I try not to smile at his adorable antics.
Although, I have a job to do, as the spokesperson for tonight.
I'm entertaining reporters, doing the same loop of questions —
"What was your favorite moment working with the Phoenix Program?"
"Do you think you'll collaborate with them again?"
"Is it true that your sonic resonance can hypnotize people?"
"Is it true that your sonic resonance can hypnotize people?"
"When's the next song or album dropping?"
—when suddenly a man pushes in from the crowd.
At first I thought he was a drunk attendee wanting a selfie.
Then he grabs my wrist.
Uncomfortably tight.
I attempt to pull away politely, giving him a nervous smile–but his grip tightens.
"TELL ME YOU LOVE ME," he spits, breath sour. "C'mon—I KNOW you meant that song about me—I KNOW EVERY ONE OF YOUR SONGS—"
My pulse spikes.
"That song wasn't about you," I say firmly. "Let go–Security–Anyone–" I being to yell, breaking my nice tone and exchanging it for an urgent one.
He yanks harder, and fear shoots up my spine like cold lightning.
"Hey—SIR," I warn, voice tightening, ready to scream out a shockwave if I must.
"Let. Me. Go."
"No!" he roars. "YOU OWE ME—I LOVE YO—"
I stumble— reporters gasp, the guy is now literally being swept away by a sudden surge of water that comes from behind me—
—and suddenly he's soaked, laid out smack dab on the pavement.
Waterboy?
I turn quickly to find my savior stanced up.
His shoulders squared. His jaw was tight, some water droplets dripping from his mouth. His whole body trembled not with fear, but with adrenaline.
"H-hey! Don't—don't touch them!"
The man snarls, gets up, face red and a tooth knocked out, looks up angrily at us.
"Back off, fishstick."
Herman flinches at the insult—
Then I see something shift in him.
His breath steadies.
His stance roots, posture keeping steady.
His voice deepens slightly, not a sign of a stutter in sight.
"No. I am a hero of SDN–it is my job to make sure that idiots like you don't–well, harass and bring harm to V–Others." He slips, at the end.
What a guy. If I didn't know any better, I'd kiss him right here and now.
Before the man can spit another word, Herman spits a precise shot of water straight into his chest — enough force to knock him flat onto his ass and slide him another half a meter across the marble floor.
Gasps ripple. Cameras flash. Security rushes. People laugh a bit.
I clap a hand over my mouth.
"Waterboy!"
He spins instantly. Panicked.
"Was that too much?! I didn't mean—I mean I DID mean it, but not like—uh—are you okay? Are YOU hurt? Do you need water—actually wait you probably DON'T need water—uh—should I—"
His words crash over each other like waves fighting in a storm.
Without thinking, I reach out and grab his hand.
"Waterboy..."
I squeeze gently.
"That was really, really sweet–and attractive."
I lightly blush, staring at his adoring eyes, forcing eye contact.
He freezes.
No—he bluescreens.
Just...
Anxiety.
In human form.
His mouth parts slightly just as when he first saw me.
Not like it was subtle.
His eyes widened.
He doesn't even blink.
"Huh—?" he whispers.
I laugh softly. "You heard me."
He blinks. Once. Twice. Okay, it's not rocket science come on–
"...A-attractive," he repeats, dazed.
"Yes."
His knees actually buckle a bit.
I caught him by the elbow and supported him with another hand on his shoulder.
Oh my god. This man.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
I think I died a little.
I think a piece of I–me legitimately evaporated and Virtuose is talking to my ghost because no way—No way—they just said that to me.
Attractive?
Me??
Are we talking about the same, Herman, here?
When I'm soaked and nervous and probably dripping onto their shoes?
I feel lightheaded.
Virtuose leans in, voice soft, warm—
"Puddles... breathe."
I would be putty in their hands right now if I wasn't a human.
Oh my god they're touching my arm oh my god they're concern-touching me oh my god—
I try to breathe.
It sounds like a squeak. Again? Are we serious? Jeez..
They smile. "Walk with me? Take a breather?"
I nod so fast a droplet flies off me like I'm a desperate wet dog.
They laugh — and I swear I would wage war on a kingdom for that sound to last in my ears for eternity.
Okay, maybe that was a bit dorky.
We slipped out of the crowded ballroom into one of SDN's fancy balcony lounges — the kind with outdoor heaters, velvet seats, tall potted plants, and a view of the whole city. The moonlight dances on V's shimmery outfit pieces. Their tattoo seeps through the see-through mesh on their left sleeve. Our faces are catching the golden light from the city below.
Virtuose lets out a breath, visible in the cold air.
Finally, a break.
Just me.
Them.
And the quiet hum of cars and people chatting inside.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
The cool air hits us as we step onto the balcony, and instantly Herman shuts the doors behind us–allowing more privacy.
I sit on a plush outdoor bench, my tattoo glittering with the moonlight, blessing me with its beauty. Herman stands awkwardly beside me until I pat the seat next to me.
He sits — carefully — like he's afraid to touch me unless given permission.
So I lean into him first.
His breath catches.
"So..." I tease quietly, "you saved me."
He blushes so violently the snow melts on his cheeks.
"I—I would always do that. Like, always-always. Forever-always."
I laugh — and he panics.
"NOT IN LIKE A STALKERY WAY—I MEAN—UH—LIKE A HERO WAY—'C-Cuz it's my work—JOB—a... job... career? Wow. Words are... hard."
I nudged his shoulder. "Waterboy. Relax."
His shoulders finally loosen.
But then he grows quiet. Too quiet.
"Herman." he says blankly, staring at his hands.
I look up at him with a raised brow.
"My name is Herman–you can call me whatever–or Hermy." He says, head still tilted down, his eyes peaking up at me–looking for approval.
"Hermy," I ask softly. "It is nice to meet the SDN hero who's saved my ass not once–but twice. Thank you."
He stares at his dripping hands.
"...I... didn't like seeing you scared," he says finally. Voice low. Vulnerable. "It—made something in me get... mad."
A beat.
"I don't like when people treat you–or anyone rather–like you're... property."
The sincerity in his voice hits deep.
I shift, taking his hand in mine.
"And I don't like when people treat you like you're worthless," I counter gently. "You're—Herman, you're a good man. And tonight? You were incredible."
He looks at me like he's hearing something he's never been told before, something he desperately needed.
"...Do you really think that?" he whispers.
"Yes," I say, thumb brushing his knuckles. "I really, really do."
His breath trembles.
Warm vapor mingles with mine in the cold.
I look up at the sky, it's a pretty cloudless night.
"Sometimes," I begin. "Sometimes I wish we could see the stars like you can in other states."
I look at the city below. "Sometimes feel like a star lost in the sky, overshadowed by all the glitz and glamor LA tries to offer people. Like I should've been a hero but I become an asset rather than a day-to-day hero– I-I just can't fight. It's not in my blood," I ramble on and on.
Everytime I look at Herm, he's just sitting there listening intently, nodding his head and piping in when needed.
I finish rambling and still admiring the city bustling in business as everyone rushes to get home after work.
"W-Well, maybe there are no stars in California, because of you–I mean not like, in a bad way–but like, because you, uh–Sparkle–Shine so bright.?" He says quizzically, looking up to the sky looking for assurance that he's saying the right thing.
He is.
I laugh at his goofiness and he stops and shares the laugh with me.
And for a moment?
It feels like the world narrows to just us.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
They're close.
Too close.
Close enough that I can see how the moonlight brightens their (e/c) eyes.
Close enough that I can smell their heavenly perfume — the soft warmth they radiate.
Close enough that I feel..
Brave.
"(y-y/n)"
My voice cracks.
They smile anyway.
"Yes?"
"Can... Can I—uh—thank you? For being nice to me?"
They tilt their head. "You don't need to thank me."
"I do," I whisper. "Because nobody... nobody is ever, uh, well I don't hang around people.. Too often at least."
Virtuose's eyes soften. Their eyes flicker to my lips really really fast.
And I think—
I think they're about to kiss me?
My heart slams so hard I might explode.
They lean in, inches away, breath brushing my cheek—
Then—
A ring.
Not my phone, so probably (y/n)'s rings in a melodic 8-bit tone.
Ugh. Worse timing ever.
Virtuose groans into their hands.
I would like to evaporate.
Like–
Right now.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
We ignore the phone.
We stay there — leaning against each other — enjoying silence together.
I never enjoyed a silent moment until now.
It's peaceful.
Herman gently adjusts himself, scooting closer to me in a not-so-subtle way. A slight damp patch of water on the cushion where he had moved from.
I can smell his watered-down scent, a faint smell of freshwater cologne.
"You okay?" he asks softly.
"I am now."
He smiles — a small, shy, genuine thing — and my heart does something stupid.
Because this man...
This dripping, nervous, protective, heroic man...
He makes me feel safe.
And wanted.
And like I'm more than just some product-placement popstar.
In a way the spotlight never has.
He turns his head.
"I really like you, (y/n)," he whispers.
My breath catches.
"I really like you too, Herman."
Lights flicker.
Music that Golem clearly chose from the ballroom hums faintly.. Yung Gravy?
Figures, after seeing what's on Golem's playlist.
And I know—
If the phone didn't ring?
We would've kissed.
But that's okay.
We have time.
And now?
He knows how I feel.
And I know how he feels.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Waterboy
That moment with (y/n) has been on replay ever since.
Actually, today we're appearing in their music video for a few scenes for their newest single–Hero Complex
The director yells.
"Virtuose we need some chemistry–everyone loves an underdog–so show them you do too."
(y/n) strolls to me.
Slowly.
Gently.
Confidant.
They settle onto my thigh, one arm draping around my shoulders.
I make a dying-whale noise.
Like, genuinely ungod-like noise.
Virtuose shifts slightly, leaning back against my chest.
"Herm," they whisper, "breathe."
I melt into their gaze as they give me, and only me–their perfect smile.
I try.
I think I forgot how to breathe.
Is–Is it, in and out–err, out and.. in?
It doesn't help.
During the last last take of (y/n).. On me–and them singing their song
I puff out my chest like I did at the photoshoot–hoping that I could feign confidence once more.
(y/n) looks at me with loving eyes.
I immediately exhale and show a shy smile.
The director screams, "THAT–WE'RE USING THAT!"
I might never recover.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Our last night as a team is being celebrated at a bar–Misty's.
(y/n) and I are alone on the boss's balcony after returning to his new place for an afterparty.
Moon above.
City below.
Just like that night.
My heart somewhere on the floor.
(y/n) stands close enough that I can hear every breath they take.
"Earlier," I whisper, "did you... mean it? That you wanted... me?"
They step closer, smiling gently.
"Herman... yes."
"But I'm not—cool. Or brave. Or—"
"I don't want 'cool'," they interrupt.
"I want the person who defended me tonight. Who listens. Who tries so hard. Who gets flustered when I smile. I want you."
Something tight in my chest snaps open.
They add. "If it helps, I think you're super cool, Hermy~". Their voice melodic and sinister.
I lean in before I overthink it.
(y/n) meets me halfway.
The kiss is—
God—
Soft.
Sweet.
Painfully slow.
Full of their passion.
Their hand cups my jaw.
My arms circle their waist.
Music hums in the air—literally.
A background track manifests, warm and dreamy–
Out of My League by Fitz and The Tantrums
When we part, breath mingling, Virtuose whispers to me.
"I like you, like a lot, Herman."
I whisper back:
"I like you too."
And under the city lights, with Virtuose's fingers threaded through mine, I swear—
They are the only star I'll ever need to light my way.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Virtuose
The atmosphere immediately changes when we step back inside the apartment—me tucked against Herman's side, his arm still warm and protective around my waist.
Everyone turns and cheers at us for our first kiss together.
I wave my fingers, feeling slight resistance as if running my fingers through water.
I feel the music in the air and cut it off.
People look around slightly confused.
But the faint backtrack of a song begins to leak into the room—
My tattoo shimmers a bit slowly seeping into a metallic prismatic color–
Light, dreamy guitar strums up once again.
Familiar chords weaving out of thin air like warm breath.
Magic hums through my palms.
Music answers me like an old friend.
Herman looks down at me, eyes wide. "...You're gonna sing?"
I smile.
"Of course~ It's the theater kid in me."
My fingers flick gently through the air—
and the room fills with floating, shimmering soundwaves, golden ribbons of melody swirling around the lights and tinsel.
Then I breathe in.
And sing.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
The melody of the music continues as I finish the last lyric—
the party erupts into cheers, applause, whistles, and screaming as every Z-Teamer loses their collective mind.
Herman blushes so deep he looks like he's overheating.
He leans in close, voice barely above a whisper:
"You... sang that for me?"
I smile.
"For you."
He squeezes my hand, soft and stunned.
"W-Well, you is–are out of my league," he murmurs.
I rest my forehead against his.
"So? I like staying in yours."
And just like that—
The entire party becomes the liveliest it's ever been.
Music up, lights dancing, heroes celebrating—
and me?
Dancing with the water-soaked hero who saved me before the whole world ever had the chance to.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
[anon request]
FINALLY I GOT IT DONE I AM SO SORRY GANG.
I LOVE YALL I KINDA WISH I DID IT DIFFERENTLY BUT MY HERE MY POOKIES! <3
A/N: Thank you everyone for liking my stories! I really like creating stuff and once I fixate on something — especially a fandom — i just want to create things for myself and others to enjoy :) ♥️ I’m still practicing and learning but you guys inspire me to keep it going!!
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