Summary: When reader embarrasses herself and uses this opportunity to talk about some philosophical theories while James attempts to comfort her.
Note: This is my first fanfiction in several years so sorry if it's not the best. I recently saw a piece of poetry about the Eternal Return theory and thought of this. Though this story focuses mostly on the multiverse theory. Please enjoy :)
cw: best friends to lovers, no use of y/n, female reader, fluff
Her life was definitely over and the world was undeniably ending. And that wasn’t going to change no matter how many times James told her otherwise. How is accidentally sending someone to the infirmary during DADA not embarrassing to a life-altering degree? Granted it wasn’t a serious injury and the victim of this mishap was probably sent back to classes in no more than an hour but it was still mortifying. She had to sit there for a lecture and targeted reminder to everyone about being careful practicing these spells as they were “serious and dangerous” while her classmates laughed at her misfortune. How was she meant to go back to class? How was she meant to face that student again? She’d have to duck her head in the halls for the rest of her time at Hogwarts.
James, being the good and caring friend he is– his words, was sitting next to her on one of the couches in the, mostly, empty Gryffindor common room. She’s been ranting about how doomed her life is from here on out and James has been patiently listening, occasionally throwing in words of encouragement.
She lets out a dramatic groan, “I can’t believe that moment is going to play out over and over again for eternity.” James lets out a huff of air and shakes his head. “It’s not that bad, you’re being rather dramatic and that’s coming from me.” She gives a small snort at his joke and he grins. “It happened and now it’s over.” He offers her a form of encouragement by squeezing her knee. She hand moves to rest over his own and James takes a slow breath. “Actually, according to the Friedrich Nietzsche, my embarrassment will continue on beyond time itself in a never-ending loop of humiliation.” She’s aware that she’s being over dramatic but she can’t help it as she slumps down a little further. His grin falls to a worried frown and he moves his arm around her shoulder pulling her closer to him. “Well if Friedrich whatever is correct then imagine the humiliation I will forever live out,” he lets out a small, deprecating laugh, “you’ll be fine, love.”
She frowns slightly, moving to look him in the eyes. She takes a minute to stare and James gives her a soft smile. After a moment, her eyes light up a bit as she goes to speak, “I think you’d appreciate Giordano Bruno’s thought process a lot more.” He lets out an exasperated sigh as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who even are these people?” A look of excitement flickers across her features and he smiles fondly at the sight.
“Philosophers, I’ve been reading a lot of philosophy books lately to pass the time.” She brushes it off as a casual statement but he hears the subtle eagerness in her voice. He’d even bet money that she has at least 5 pages front to back of her thoughts on all the theories and concepts she’s learned about in her notebook. Clearly, she’s been dying to talk about it and he’s thrilled to be the victim of her info-dumping.
“Anyway, Bruno created the foundation of what is now known as the multiverse theory. Basically, there are an infinite amount of universes all with an infinite amount of possibilities and variations. We exist in one of these universes.” James nods along while playing with the sleeve of her shirt. He’s definitely listening but he’s certain that if her eyes weren’t so distracting, he’d be able to repeat everything back to her word for word.
He notices the excitement beginning peaking through as moves on to her main point. “In another universe, I never sent some poor Gryffindor to Madam Pomfrey’s.” He playful rolls his eyes and he squeezes her shoulder. She smiles back, her voice teasing as she continues. “And in another universe you never publicly announced your love for Lily....multiple times” . James rolls his eyes at the comment as he moves his arm before dramatically drooping down on the couch, throwing his arms up in mock frustration. “Why couldn’t we live in that universe?” He whines out and she rolls her eyes as her head shakes but a small smile gracing her features. His hand finds its way back to her leg and decides to rest there.
“I know you’re over her...” She begins to jokingly cough as she mutters out, “which I’m not entirely convinced of myself.” He shoots her a small glare but says nothing. “but in another universe you two do end up together.” He frowns much to her surprise then his face scrunches up in disapproval. “Excuse you, I am over her.” His voice is a bit higher and desperate as he pleads his case. “I’ve moved on completely.” She gives him an unconvinced look and rolls her eyes once again. “Mhm, to this mystery girl that you refuse to name. Not very convincing James.” He raises his eyebrows and his mouth falls open a little before he frowns and furrows his brows. “I shouldn’t have to tell you who she is for you to believe me.”
She waves her hand and looks away in an attempt to dismiss his argument. “Yeah, whatever,” she huffs out, turning back to face him with a small pout. Which is entirely unfair James notes because how is he meant to say no to her. “In another universe you tell me who she is.” He tilts his head back in an attempt to escape her pleading eyes. He bites his lip and takes a moment to think his way out of admitting who he likes. He’s being increasingly worried that it’s obvious it’s her based on his dodging answer and nervous eyes. He settles on saying, “And I bet I actually get to date her in another universe,” his inflection is overly mopey and he feels like he could’ve come up with something better.
She gives a small nod before raising an eyebrow at him, “Look, all I’m saying is that I would know if you liked another girl. In fact, the whole school would know who she is.” He moves his head to look at her again, one side of his mouth pulled downward. “Maybe I’ve grown past my need to publicly declare my love for someone. Maybe I’ve learned from my past failures.” His rather defensive tone shifts to be softer as he carries on, “Maybe I know that she would hate me for that.” Her eyebrows raise and her voice a little exacerbated, “She’d hate you for that?” He gives her an unimpressed look before scoffing. “You would.” She frowns and he raises his eyebrows expectantly. She sighs, “Only for like a month or so” His mouth falls open and she lets her eyes linger there for a moment which would liekly short-circuit James’ brain if he had noticed. “A whole month?!” She only nods. “See, it’d end disasterly if I proclaimed my undying love for,” his confidence falters for a moment, “...her?” Her face scrunches up in confusion and allows herself to think, only for a brief moment, that he was going to say ‘you’ instead. James can feel his heartbeat a little too well for his liking and his eyes dart elsewhere.
She can tell he’s uncomfortable so, out of mercy, she decides to switch the subject. “In another universe, Sirius and Regulus are best friends and we’re forced to hang out with all Regulus’ Slytherin friends.” James lets out a big laugh, “Yeah and somehow Snape isn’t completely insufferable so we’re stuck with him too.” She scrunches up her face in disgust and he finds himself grinning again. Godric, how he adored your smile. “Absolutely not, I don’t think there is a single universe where Snivellus Snape isn’t a prat.” She’s laughing and James is ecstatic that you’ve gone from feeling like the world was ending to laughing. “Not that I want to defend him or anything but I thought you said ‘infinite possibilities’ surely Snape being okay is one of them.” She jokingly rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I suppose.” Suddenly, her smile grows into a mischievous grin. “I don’t think I like where this is going.” But he’s smiling just as hard. “There’s a universe where you and Snape are dating.” His face distorts into one of disgust and he begins to let out exaggerated dry heaves. She’s laughs and gives a small shove. “The love story nobody saw coming.” Her hand moves from the left to the right slowly as if she’s reading off some title to a movie or play. He lightly knocks into her shoulder with his own, sporting a mischievous grin of his own. “Oh yeah? Then there’s one where you date Snivellus.” This time she’s the one who lets out a dramatic gag before they both erupt into laughter, shoulders bumping into each other.
After a bit, they both fall into a comfortable silence. “So that means there’s a universe where we date?” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think of pretending it never crossed his mind. She’s quiet and he’s panicking as his ears turn red and he finds breathing becoming increasingly difficult. She notices his fingers picking at each other, a nervous habit of his that she’s seeing more of lately, as she tries to process what he said. “I just meant,” he lets out an uneasy breath, “you kn–”
“An infinite amount actually,” her voice is soft and her hand brushes against his. James’ breath hitches as his cheeks begin to burn and he glances over to find her smiling. “Yeah?” She nods, “Yeah.” He bites the inside of cheek as he searches her eyes for, hopefully, something positive or really any sort of sign of how she’s feeling. He finds what he thinks is a flicker of hope or happiness, he can’t tell which but both feel like a sign to keep going. “What are the chances this is one of them?” He leans in and his fingers reach for hers as his heart hammers against his ribs. She has a small smile adorning her features as her hand slips into his. He gulps when she leans in a bit further and whispers, “I’d say they’re pretty good.” A large smile lights up his features and there’s a matching one on her face. He’s suddenly aware of how close they are, and James is nothing if not an opportunist, so he raises his other hand, reaches up to cup her face and leans in until their noses are bumping into each other. He can feel her breathe on his lips and he feels like time has stopped all together. “Can I kiss you?”
“I don’t know, can you?” A shit-eating grin dances on her lips and he scoffs, “May I kiss you?” She doesn’t answer, instead opting for crashing her lips into his. The kiss is soft and slow like they’re scared it’s a dream then it’s rough and feverish like they’ve realized this is real, very real. Her hand finds its way out his and around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and he hums out in approval. Eventually they part, foreheads resting against each other and smiles lighting up their faces.
“I’ve never been so happy that you research the most random topics.”
“And I’ve never been so happy about sending someone to the infirmary.”
Checkmate hires a new medic. Adrian starts wondering if he needs to get shot more often. Inspired by this tumblr post because it is soooo him
tags/warnings: fluff!!!, Adrian gets hurt a lot (not on purpose but he thinks about it), medic!reader, coworkers to lovers
i don’t want to miss you like this part 2 coming on tuesday- for now have some fluff!! Thank you @embeanwrites for looking this over for me!
Masterlist
Not many people in Adrian’s life are particularly nice to him.
Even his best friends are mean. Not in a cruel way. It’s the way the 11th Street Kids are, the way they’ve been since the beginning. Jabs back and forth, sometimes playful, sometimes with a little edge, but never truly vicious. Maybe it’s not the healthiest way to bond or build a friendship, but it works for them. They love each other, in their strange, sharp ways.
He’s used to Chris calling him an idiot. He’s used to parsing out John’s sarcastic comments. He’s used to the barbed words that Harcourt throws his way. He’s used to Adebayo’s exasperation, however fond.
But when Checkmate hires a new medic, and Adrian meets you—it throws him off. Because you don’t say anything mean to him. You’re nice, actually. Sweet. It makes him a little suspicious. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s not often he needs help, anyways. You’re a field medic. Adrian, usually, can just walk things off. A shallow stab wound is fixed by a two hour nap. He’s been resetting his own dislocated joints for years. For quite a while, he manages to scrape by without you. He’s been downplaying his injuries for months, whether he’s been trying to avoid you or impress you, he’s not sure. (Probably avoid you, because you make him nervous.)
Until one day, he can’t. He could deal with the bullet wound on his own if it went clean through his shoulder, go home and sleep it off, but it didn’t—it’s still lodged somewhere in the muscle of his bicep when he, Chris, and Economos make it back to the Checkmate building. And he can’t reach it, so someone needs to dig it out.
His two best friends are laughing at him. He tries not to be pissy about it. He’s used to their bullshit.
“Come on dude. That guy was smaller than Judomaster! You really let him get a shot in?” Economos says, loud enough for the entire office to hear.
“Go see the doctor,” Chris teases, pushing Adrian in the direction of your tiny office, an infirmary outfitted with medical equipment. “Maybe you’ll get a lollipop out of it.”
“Fuck off!” Adrian snaps, but he’s grumpy, because John is right. He should’ve seen it coming, should have dodged the bullet from that wimpy asshole. The guy wasn’t even fucking meta, for god’s sake—and now he’s got this burning bullet buried in his shoulder, and it hurts like a motherfucker. “Fuck. Goddamnit.”
He yanks off his mask as he stomps into your office and tosses it onto a table. You look up with surprise, a bit startled, but you jump up when Adrian starts to reach for the wound, stopping him with two gentle hands.
“Hey! Don’t touch it, let me,” you say, voice soft, already reaching for supplies. “Let’s take a look at you.”
You pry carefully at his shoulder armor to pull it loose, and he exhales sharply as it jostles his shoulder, irritating the wound.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“I’m sorry,” you say calmly. “Gotta see it if I’m gonna fix it, sweetheart.”
Adrian feels himself flush hot at the pet name, with embarrassment and anger, and he’s ready to bite back with a scathing remark, but when he looks at your face—your brow furrowed with concentration, your mouth turned into a focused frown. You’re not making fun of him. You’re just—being kind. And he doesn’t know what to do with that. Whatever biting words he was going to say die on his tongue in an instant. He knows how to respond to the sharp jabs from his friends, but your low voice and tender touch leave him speechless.
“Bullet’s still in there, huh?” you say sympathetically, cleaning out the wound carefully. You reach for your sanitized tweezers. “Looks like it’s still in one piece, at least. You want something for the pain, or do you want me to just go for it, get it over with?”
“Just go for it,” Adrian grumbles. He’s had worse.
He stays quiet, sits with gritted teeth and watches you as you dig the bullet out of his muscle, sanitize the gaping hole left behind, and stitch it up, bandaging it with care. He doesn’t even whine about it dramatically like he usually does, even though it fucking hurts. He focuses instead on the touch of your fingertips, the little dip between your eyebrows where they’re furrowed with concentration.
It’s nice, he realizes, not having to do this by himself. It hurts less, even—he’s got plenty of practice treating his own wounds, but your well-trained hands work with experienced ease. When you’re finished, you tap lightly on his chest to signal that you’re finished.
“Doing okay?” you ask, and he nods wordlessly, looking at you with wide eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No,” he says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing. “Um. Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” you smile. “My door is open, Adrian. I know you like to take care of things yourself, but I’m here, any time you need me.”
Adrian smiles too, but it’s a little wobbly. He feels like his world has been thrown out of whack. Because you’ve shown him a different kind of friendship, something softer than he’s used to.
He likes it. He likes it a lot.
Adrian starts spending more time with you after that. He’d been avoiding you, he admits to himself, but now he’s realizing he didn’t need to. He’s not great with new people. But you’re different. No one has ever treated him the way you do, with such unrelenting kindness.
He makes regular pit stops in your office when he returns from missions now, whether he needs something as simple as a band-aid or as serious as stitches to hold him together through the rest of the day before he can make it home to sleep. If he was avoiding you before, he does the opposite now, and people are starting to notice.
“Dude, you gotta stop staring,” Chris says one day in the office, watching Adrian’s eyes locked on you through your open office door. “You’re being weird.”
Adrian does not stop staring. “She’s so nice. Maybe I should get shot more often.”
“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” Chris says. “And you say dumb shit, like, every day.”
“See, this is what I mean. She would never say that to me.”
He keeps thinking, too, about the touch of your fingers on his skin. A sensation he normally hates so much, but god, he wants it again. He wants more of it, all the time. It’s the only time he ever feels his brain really go quiet. When you’re touching him.
So, he finds every tiny excuse to go see you.
“I got a paper cut earlier,” he says, a tad overdramatically. “It might be infected. I could die. Sepsis is the number one quiet killer, they say.”
“Is that what they say?”
“You’re the medical professional,” Adrian says. “You tell me.”
You reach for his hand, bringing it up to your face and squinting. “Oh, yeah, I see it. That’s a bad one, sweetheart. Might need to amputate.” He grins as you clean it up and wrap a band-aid around it. “All better.”
He likes it when you baby him. You fuss over him like no one else ever has, even his own family—every bump and scratch is worthy of your attention, and you never, ever turn him away or call him annoying or tell him to fuck off or call him an idiot.
He just wants someone to take care of him, he realizes. And you don’t seem to mind the way he leans into your touch, in those quiet moments after missions, when he’s bruised and bleeding and more than a little vulnerable.
He feels like you really see him, not the facade he puts on. When the mask comes off, and he’s not the suave masked Vigilante anymore, but he’s also not dorky Adrian. He’s just him, and that’s all he has to be, and no matter what you’ll be gentle and calm and caring.
One day, he drops by for you to stitch up a knife wound on his forearm, pleased that it stretches almost the entire length of his arm because it means he gets to hang out with you for even longer. Every pinch of the suture needle in his skin is worth it for the chance to crack stupid jokes and make you laugh while you work, and the feeling of pride swelling in his chest, that he’s the one to make you smile like that, is far more potent than the stinging of the wound.
Harcourt pokes her head in to ask you a question when you’re almost done. “Hey, on this report—” She pauses and cocks her head, looking at Adrian strangely. “Chase, do you even really need to get stitched up? With your healing factor? Can’t you just sleep it off?”
“Healing factor?” you ask, confused, and Adrian freezes. He hasn’t mentioned it to you.
“Um,” he says.
“He heals in his sleep,” Harcourt says. “You never thought that might be pertinent information for the medic to know, Chase?”
“Um,” he says again.
Harcourt rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Weirdo. You want to sit here and get stabbed by a needle repeatedly and unnecessarily, be my guest. I’ve got work to do. Come see me when you’re done, I have a question about your field report.”
The room is silent when she leaves.
“Should I even finish these?” you ask, gesturing to the half-done stitches on his forearm with a raised eyebrow. “Or will you be fine without them?”
“I’ll need them until I go to sleep tonight,” Adrian admits. “I do have to make sure I’m cleaned up and disinfected before I fall asleep. But after that, I’ll probably be okay.”
Your brow furrows, and you look at him strangely, but you don’t call him a weirdo like Harcourt or dumb like Chris. You’re just curious, he thinks, and a bit confused. But you finish up the stitches quietly, and Adrian tries to ignore the way his heart threatens to pound out of his chest as he looks down at you, bent over his arm, touching him so delicately.
“You’re good to go, Adrian,” you say softly when you’re finished.
“I’m sorry,” he says, because he feels—weirdly guilty? “I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’ve been, I don’t know, wasting your time—”
“You’re not a waste of time,” you say quickly. “You could never be a waste of time.”
He offers you a tiny smile. “Thank you.”
Over the next few months, Adrian starts to look forward to his missions not because he gets the chance to kill more people, but because he gets the chance to pull risky stunts that might get him shot or stabbed or concussed or otherwise injured.
He never does those things on purpose. He’s not that crazy. But maybe he’s a little bit insane, because he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t hope that some asshole would dislocate his elbow or slice him across the chest, because then he might have a good excuse for you to touch him again, the way he’s been dreaming about.
It finally happens on a late-night drug bust. Someone whacks him in the face with the butt of a gun, and he nearly blacks out. On the verge of unconsciousness, the thing that keeps him awake is the spike of adrenaline that comes from the excitement that he gets to go see you after this.
He’s practically beaming when he walks into your office, a bruise forming around a cut at his temple, the skin at his cheekbone scraped and red, his lip split. Your jaw drops when you see him.
“What the fuck happened to you?” you ask frantically, jumping out of your seat and moving him over to a chair. He smiles when your hands cup his cheeks, turning his head from side to side as you assess him. His widening smile makes his lip split even more, but he doesn’t care.
“Got pistol-whipped,” he says brightly. You frown.
His eyes flutter shut when you lean in close, your warm breath fanning over his cheeks as you swipe an alcohol-soaked cotton pad over the broken skin at his temple. His head is throbbing. But it’s worth it, he thinks, as you stand between his thighs and he takes a deep breath and inhales the scent of you. He’d endure pain worse than this for the chance to be close to you, for even a little while.
“You know, I really don’t like it when you come back from missions covered in blood, Adrian,” you tell him matter-of-factly.
“You don’t?”
“No! I would very much prefer it if you returned to the office without a head wound,” you say. “I would like it if you never got injured at all, actually.”
“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you,” he says, confused.
“You don’t need an excuse to come see me, silly. I always want to see you,” you laugh. His breath catches in his throat.
“You mean I didn’t have to let that guy get in a good hit so I had a reason to talk to you tonight?”
“No,” you say. “Are you telling me you let some bad guy whack you in the face? Why the hell would you do that? Take your glasses off for me.”
He pouts. “But then you’ll get blurry,” he complains. “And I like looking at you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh huh. I think you might be concussed.”
“Not concussed,” he says firmly, and with a burst of bravery, he continues, “You’re just pretty. And nice to me.”
You go all shy at his words as you clean up his sweaty, bleeding forehead and place a bandage at his temple. “Forgive me if I check anyway.”
Adrian obediently walks through the concussion protocol with you while you disinfect the scratch on his cheek and treat his split lip, and he passes with flying colors.
“Huh,” you say. “You really aren’t concussed.”
“Told ya.”
“Well. You’re all done, then,” you say, smiling softly. Adrian sighs as your hands fall away from his face, wishing they would linger there longer, wanting to reach up and hold your hands against his cheeks. “Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“So no need for me to kiss it better?”
Adrian’s mouth falls open, because—since when is that an option? “I—wh—no. Wait. It hurts so much. I was confused, you know, head wounds and all. Maybe I do have a concussion, you should check again—”
He falls silent when you press your lips, so soft, to the top of his forehead, right next to the bandage. It sets his heart racing. Then you move down and kiss his cheek. He inhales a shaky breath, and waits, but you just look at him.
“You forgot one,” Adrian says, trying not to sound as desperate for it as he feels. He taps his split lip with a gloved finger. His heart beats into overdrive as you lean in, and he feels your soft lips press against the corner of the uninjured side of his mouth.
“Kiss me for real tomorrow,” you whisper when you pull away. “When you’re not actively bleeding.”
Adrian lets out a whine, because you are so, so, close to where he wants you, and he really could not give less of a fuck if he’s bleeding all over the place, he just wants to kiss you now.
“Well. Head injuries are—finnicky, aren’t they?” he says nervously. “You should really—take me home. Keep an eye on me.”
You hesitate, but when he reaches out and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you in closer to him—your resolve melts. It’s the first time he has touched you, really shown you that he wants you. You bite your lip and let your fingers card through his hair. He hums. He likes the way it feels.
“I’ve got some paperwork I was in the middle of,” you say. You nod toward the cot in the corner of your office. “Why don’t you take a nap while I finish up?”
“And when I wake up, and my body has fixed itself, you’ll let me kiss you for real?”
You smile. “Yeah.”
Adrian pushes you gently out of the way, nodding eagerly. “I need to go to sleep right now.”
He makes a beeline for the cot in the corner and lays down instantly, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You laugh, and he blinks one eye open to look at you.
“What? The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I get to kiss you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m impatient.” He shuffles around on the cot, fidgeting, trying to get comfortable.
“No shit.”
“Sit with me,” he pouts, and you look at his sad, beat-up face, sigh, and grab your laptop.
You sit next to him, prop your computer on your knees, and get to work. Adrian plops himself down into your lap like it’s the safest place he could ever lay his head, and your heart swells, even as you roll your eyes, because he’s like a cat, craving attention while you’re trying to work.
You indulge him anyway, one of your hands running through his hair as he drifts off to sleep, though it takes a while because he’s so wired with excitement—with the knowledge that you want him the way he’s been wanting you all this time.
When he wakes up an hour or two later, your computer is set aside. You’re looking down at him, one hand on his face, your thumb tracing over the smooth, healed over skin of his lower lip. He smiles.
“It’s kind of crazy to watch,” you say thoughtfully. “It’s like it never even happened. Are you feeling better?”
“No,” he breathes, and you frown, a little worried, before he says, “I didn’t get my kiss yet.”
Then he tugs you down to where he wants you, lips brushing against yours. It’s soft, and nice, and everything he thought it would be. When you pull back and smile at him, he beams.
“Good morning!” Cat calls, far too chipper for a weekday morning.
“Hey, Clark,” Jimmy exclaims, balancing seven cups of coffee in two meager trays as he navigates around his desk. “Congrats on another front-page article.”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Clark replies sheepishly. “Thankful for the second look you gave it.”
“All in a days’ work.”
Jimmy sets the cardboard cup carriers on his desk, then passes Clark a cup.
“For you,” Jimmy murmurs, checking the side of another cup before he places it on your desk. You’ve worked side-by-side at the Daily Planet for a while now, yet he still manages to surprise you often.
You narrow your eyes at the cup, leaning away from it slightly. “Did you spit in it?” you question.
“What? No,” Jimmy replies, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder now that his hands are free.
“Oh, this is amazing,” Lois sighs behind you, her hands wrapped firmly around her cup.
“Did you do anything to the kind, hard-working food service employee who made it?” you add.
“Would you just drink it?” Jimmy implores.
“Jimmy!” Steve exclaims. “Jimbo, my man. Got anything for me?”
“Oh,” Jimmy hums, glancing down at the trash can beneath his desk. “You know, Steve, they were out of that fancy creamer that you like, and I didn’t know if there was anything else you’d enjoy. Next time!”
Nodding in understanding, Steve slaps the top of Jimmy’s desk and points at him. “You’re the man, Jimmy!”
“No, you’re the man!” Jimmy replies tiredly. He collapses into his seat and rolls his eyes as you take a sip of the drink he gave you.
“Thanks,” you whisper. “This is really good.”
“It’s your favorite, right?” he checks.
“It is. How’d you know?”
“I sit beside you every day. I notice things.”
“Speaking of which,” Lois interrupts. “Seems like someone else has noticed something.”
Jimmy turns in his seat, then cringes when he notices a nearby intern waving at him. He returns the wave, but shifts his attention to his computer nearly immediately.
“It must be hard, Jimmy,” you muse playfully, “turning down women left and right, having to deal with the constant fawning over you.”
“Well, you know,” Jimmy jokes, shrugging dramatically.
You continue looking over his shoulder at the new girl until she looks away. “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” you add.
“Only one?” he taunts, turning toward you.
“Why doesn’t Clark have to deal with it?”
Jimmy’s smile drops as his brows draw together. “Clark?”
“Yeah, I mean, he’s simultaneously hot and adorable, he’s tall, those curls are any girl’s dream… but you seem to hog all the attention.”
Clark clears his throat awkwardly, his fingers flexing over his keyboard as the tips of his ears go pink.
“Hot? You think Clark is hot?” Jimmy repeats.
“Yeah,” you answer as Cat and Lois agree, “Duh.”
“But you’re the one fighting women off with a broomstick,” you conclude with a shrug. “Just makes you wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Jimmy asks. You focus on your computer, and he grips the side of your desk to pull his chair into yours. “Wonder what?” he repeats softly.
“Why they’re all so infatuated with you,” you answer.
“Maybe… maybe I’m worth it.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, breaking eye contact in the proximity. “It’s not about your worth.”
“Maybe there’s a better question,” Jimmy says.
You hum, refreshing your email as you ask, “Like what?”
Jimmy leans in close, his breath fanning your jaw as he whispers, “Why can’t you see what they see?”
You swallow, cringing as you hope it isn’t audible to Jimmy. Before you can say anything, he pushes away from you and begins typing.
“Hey,” Lois says.
Snapped out of your daze, you turn and ask, “Yeah, Lois?”
“Have a minute to help me with something?”
“I can help,” Clark offers.
You press your tongue against your teeth, trying not to smile at them. They’re adorable together, you think, even if they’re still trying to convince everyone in the building that they’re not together… yet.
“This needs a woman’s touch,” Lois explains.
You pull your chair to Lois’s side, aware of Clark’s eyes on her. Lois, beside you, can feel Jimmy’s eyes every time they stray to you.
Cat shakes her head from her desk, wondering why you’re all so oblivious. You can see it for each other but not for yourselves, she muses. Idiots.
Watching your shoes, you count the steps to the corner. There are exactly 107 steps from the front door of the Daily Planet to the corner, if you’re heading in the direction of LuthorCorp’s corporate offices. Or, in today’s case, your favorite restaurant.
“How’d you find this place?” Jimmy asks, rocking back on his heels as he waits for the walk light.
“What?” you blurt out, looking up from your shoes.
“The restaurant,” he explains. “How’d you find it?”
“Oh. Steve actually sent me over here to get him lunch on my first day. Perry threatened to fire me and him for it, but the food was worth it.”
Jimmy nods, and the conversation ends. With only the sounds of traffic and other passersby, there isn’t a silence to fill. Yet you blurt out, “I’m sorry.”
“For?” Jimmy wonders, gesturing for you to move to the inside of the crosswalk when the light changes.
You begin walking, moving your hands as you explain, “What I said earlier. I didn’t mean to imply that women shouldn’t like you or that there’s nothing admirable about you. Or that Clark is a better man than you.”
“You didn’t say that last part,” Jimmy points out.
“Because he’s not.”
“It’s fine,” Jimmy assures you. “I know what you meant. I think.”
“So, we’re good?” you check.
“I’m walking three blocks to get food with you. We’re good.”
“You should be thankful I’m not taking you to the new Big Belly Burger. They have the Batburger and Joker fries from Gotham for their grand opening.”
“Why?” Jimmy groans.
You laugh at his reaction, bumping your shoulder into him. Then, the ground shakes, and Jimmy wraps his hands gently but firmly around your arms to keep you up. A blue and red blur passes overhead.
Continuing toward the restaurant, you hear radios and televisions broadcasting the fight happening downtown. Then, within minutes, Metropolis turns on its hero, and your lunch is forgotten as you and Jimmy run down the street to return to the Daily Planet.
“Try again tomorrow?” Jimmy asks, slightly out of breath from running up the stairs to avoid the overfilled elevator.
“If there is a tomorrow,” you agree.
“Lois,” you begin before slapping two papers down on her desk. You point to a highlighted line on one page and say, “This is the total value of the weapons Luthor sent Boravia.” Sliding your finger to the other page, you add, “This is what they paid for it.”
“That’s not a coincidence,” Lois decides. She stands and walks to the coffee machine, spouting theories as she goes. “…I can’t even get confirmation on where they’re holding Superman, just that Planet Watch was contracted to handle his detainment and questioning.”
Jimmy purses his lips, then pulls his phone from his pocket. He sends a quick message, then extends his hand toward you, silently asking to see the financial analysis you completed. You hand them over, watching his profile as his eyes skim the lines of transactions.
“What’s he planning?” Jimmy mumbles. His phone buzzes, so he returns the papers. After he reads the message, he jumps to his feet. “Lex is holding Superman in a pocket universe,” he tells Lois.
“What?” you question incredulously.
“Who’s your source?” Lois wonders.
“I can’t answer that, but it’s solid information,” Jimmy replies. “Is it enough to start?”
Lois doesn’t answer the question, but grabs her bag and rushes toward the door. “You’re the best Jimmy!” she calls over her shoulder.
“Mutant Toes?” you read, crossing your arms as you read Jimmy’s messages.
“Hey,” he grumbles, flipping the device so you can’t see. “That’s private.”
“You just messaged someone who replied in under a minute and told you where Lex Luthor – a psychopath – is holding Superman – a heroic alien – hostage. I think me glancing at your phone is the least of our concerns.”
Jimmy’s phone chimes again, and again, leading him to close his eyes. Whoever his source is, it obviously pained him to reach out.
“What do we do now?” you ask.
“I guess we wait.”
“Olsen!” Perry barks. When Jimmy stands, Perry sees you and calls you over as well.
“Yes, Chief? Sorry- Perry,” Jimmy says when you’re close enough to hear over the dozens of conversations occurring behind you, some with other employees and many across phone lines.
“You assisting Lane?” Perry asks.
“Yes, sir,” you answer.
“Good, keep doing that. And get an update on the website now. I want everyone in this city to know we’re on top of this.”
“Sure,” Jimmy says.
Perry nods, then urges, “Now!”
“Right, sorry,” Jimmy mumbles, turning to return to your neighboring desks.
“We need more than a pocket universe,” you whisper as you fall into your chair. “Anything else your source could offer?”
“Not without me exchanging something in return,” Jimmy admits.
“Then cough it up, Olsen. Superman needs help, and I don’t want the world to end because Luthor decided he wanted to rule a country and kill the one hero who could stop him.”
Jimmy watches you, his gaze softening at the sincerity in your voice. He can sense the fear behind what you’re saying because he’s scared too. Despite all the time you spend taunting one another, you are friends and work well together. So, Jimmy sets up a meeting with his source and invites you to tag along.
“But you might want to change,” he suggests. “And stay fifty feet away from me.”
Your brows furrow at the second half of his comment, but you don’t have the time to question it.
“Where did you decide to meet?” you whisper from beneath your hood. “Pickpocket Street?”
“Shh,” Jimmy hisses, tucking his hands in his pockets as he takes a few long steps to get in front of you.
You roll your eyes as a woman approaches him, then turn into an alley. Jimmy told you exactly where he was meeting ‘Mutant Toes,’ so you found an alternate route where whoever he or she is wouldn’t see you to know you were with Jimmy.
As you come up the south side of the alley, someone reaches out of the shadows and pulls Jimmy into a small alcove. You’re close enough to hear him greet someone – Eve, you think he says. Moving closer, you try to stay out of sight but in earshot.
Eve says one thing, however, that makes your ears ring and deafens you to the rest of the conversation.
“Lex tortured a dog earlier,” she says, her pout practically audible.
Jimmy exclaims something, but his voice is muffled by the anger making your heart pound. You’d never thought Luthor was a good guy – in fact, you’d told Lois many times that if you saw him on the street, you’d go another way, even if it was a detour that took you to the heart of Gotham. Now Lex is planning to kill Superman and has done something terrible to a dog.
“Come on!” Jimmy urges, tugging your arm. “We need to go.”
“I’m going to kill him,” you say through your clenched teeth.
“I know,” Jimmy sighs. Then, he remembers, “Superman hasn’t killed him. How would you do something Superman can’t do?”
“Superman has a moral superiority that probably makes him anti-murder. I don’t,” you reply. “And Superman doesn’t have an unregistered firearm.”
“Do you?!” Jimmy wonders, a little too loudly as his eyes go wide.
“No,” you admit, shifting beneath your hoodie. “But it can’t be that hard to get one.”
Jimmy slows, falling behind you as he watches your hips move for a moment. He snaps out of the trance-like state and yells, “What?!”
“Be quiet!” you remind him when he catches up with you.
There are people around now, so you move closer to Jimmy. You push your fingers between his, taking his hand before you push your hood down and free your hair.
“I wonder where Lois is,” you murmur.
Jimmy stares at your hand wrapped in his, then nods and clears his throat. “Hopefully, somewhere trying to save Superman. He and she are… you know.”
Your brows pinch as you glance at him. “I thought she and Clark were.”
Jimmy stops, your joined hands tugging you back toward him. “You don’t think…”
You consider it briefly, your nose scrunching as you picture timid, mild-mannered Clark saving the world.
“It can’t be,” you decide.
“Right,” Jimmy agrees.
“We should go,” you say simultaneously.
As you race through the streets of Metropolis with your hand in Jimmy’s, you forget about your idea to kill Lex Luthor, focused instead on doing everything you can to make sure there’s a future for everyone in this city. Yourself included.
Your knuckles are white where your fingers are wrapped around the safety harness in Mr. Terrific’s jet. The door is open, the fresh(ish) air of Metropolis circulating the space, and most of your coworkers have returned to solid ground. Superman won, the hole in the world has closed, and everything should be okay.
“Hey, hey,” Jimmy murmurs, kneeling before you. “What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I can’t breathe,” you whisper, a tight pressure behind your eyes.
“Listen, look at me,” Jimmy implores.
You blink but can’t focus on him.
“I’m sorry.”
Without warning, Jimmy folds his right hand into a fist and places his knuckles against your sternum. He rubs harshly, and after the short movements up and down, you release the straps and push his arm away.
“Ow!” you yell. “What the hey, dude?”
Jimmy smiles, moving his arm to catch your hand. “You’ve been spending too much time with Clark.”
“Speaking of Clark, have you seen him?”
“No, but Superman’s back,” Jimmy replies. “Are you okay?”
You nod, moving your free hand up to release the harness. Jimmy knocks your hand out of the way gently and unclasps the closure before he helps you stand. He goes down the steps backward, keeping a careful eye on you as you exit the craft.
“So… you’re spending the weekend with Eve?” you remember as you place your feet on the now-cracked asphalt.
“I guess so,” Jimmy says, releasing your hand.
“You know, I had absolutely no interest in you,” you muse, flexing the hand that had been in Jimmy’s.
“Oh, I’m aware,” he responds, laughing softly.
“Maybe- maybe,” you repeat, pointing at him for emphasis. “I can see why you’re…”
“Infatuating?” Jimmy suggests, his smile widening.
You scoff and push Jimmy away from you, rolling your eyes when he catches himself.
“Jimmy!” Eve yells, climbing out of what looks like a time travel machine.
He doesn’t notice her immediately, though, busy watching you.
“Go,” you encourage with a smile. “She deserves it. I mean, she saved the world after all.”
“We all played a part,” Jimmy reminds you.
Nodding, you say, “Lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Jimmy agrees.
You watch him catch Eve, then begin walking home. Every corner you reach makes you pause, hoping that you will be returning to a mostly intact space. Some others won’t be so lucky, you know, but Metropolis has a gift for coming back better each time.
You’re a block away from your home when someone yells your name. You spin on your heel to see who is calling to you. Jimmy wraps his arms around you and spins, lifting you. You return the embrace, clinging to him until your feet touch the ground again.
“Be honest with me,” he begins. “It was the sternum rub that changed your mind about me, right?”
“What about Eve?” you interrupt.
“She, uh, she moved on.”
“What does that mean? She met someone in the ten minutes I’ve been gone?”
“Green Lantern,” Jimmy mumbles.
“Oh!” you exclaim, struggling to keep yourself from laughing. “Are you- are you okay?”
“He just saved me from a weekend of that. And now I’m free. If you’re free, maybe we could do dinner instead?”
“That would be great,” you agree. “But this city just got banana split-ed, I doubt many restaurants are open.”
“We saved the world,” Jimmy reminds you, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Bonus:
“You really think Clark is hot?” Jimmy asks.
“Shut up,” you demand.
“All I’m saying is-“
You cut Jimmy off, placing your hands on either side of his face and crashing your lips against his. Jimmy’s arms wrap around your waist, but you pull back before he can do much more.
“Wait,” he urges, clutching your shirt in his hands.
You smile, tap his nose with your finger, and answer, “No.”
Summary: You make Jimmy Olsen feel something he doesn't understand. He grows desperate to learn more about it, about you, but you won't let him close enough to. You say you aren't wired that way, but maybe that's just your self-preservation talking.
Warnings/Word Count: Jimmy's kind of a playboy, Lois and r lovingly bully Jimmy, banter, fluff, angst, vulnerability, final scene is in an elevator, Clark is madly in love with Lois, cliffhanger/open ending. 2.3k words, requested.
A/N: second pic isn't Jimmy but it's Skyler in a sweater so close enough. Jimmy beginning a spiral into insanity because r doesn't like him back is exactly what I needed tonight and I hope you enjoy it.
Directory | D.C. Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist
When Jimmy steps out of the elevator, you turn to Lois with your lips pressed together. She nearly chokes on the laugh she tries to hide, which only draws more attention to the two of you.
“So,” you say, clenching your fists to keep a straight face. “How was your date last night?”
Jimmy’s brows draw together, his eyes on you as he tucks his messenger bag under his desk. “Fine,” he answers slowly, drawing out the word as he glances at Lois. “Why?”
“Were her feet to your liking?”
Lois laughs, and you can’t help yourself. Bending forward, you clutch your stomach as giggles escape you. When Lois saw the contact in his phone a while back – when Superman was in trouble and she was pretending like she didn’t care about him as more than a hero – you knew this moment would come. The look on Jimmy’s face, however, is far greater than you expected.
“Ha ha,” Jimmy deadpans over your continued laughter. “Lois, really?”
“Hey, you’re the one that named a girl ‘Mutant Toes’ in your phone,” Lois defends, panting for breath as she fans herself.
“Not even her name in parentheses!” you add. “That’s messed up, Jimmy.”
He rolls his eyes, then falls back into his seat and kicks the base of your chair. You stick your tongue out at him before you return to your desk. You’ve been friends since you started at the Planet, and picking on him is your way of showing that you care about him. It also serves as an excellent cover to hide your feelings because Jimmy Olsen has a unique power to draw in practically every woman he meets.
“How do you do it, Jimmy?” Lois had asked once. You’d wondered the same, only you didn’t want to know the answer. Why would you? After all, you’re not immune to his magnetism, to the pieces of him that make him so infatuating, desirable, irresistible, lovable.
Yet, you haven’t acted on those feelings, not even when Jimmy sends you a flirty smile or winks after he whispers something in your ear. You want to. Desperately. Being Jimmy’s would be a miracle all in its own.
But you refuse to be just another girl, a blurry memory among nights of stolen kisses, repeated lines that make a girl feel special until he moves on to the next. Working beside him, you see how quickly it happens. So, you cling to your self-preservation, hide your feelings behind a perfect façade of uninterested platonic relationship. If you lose that respect for yourself, give in to the desire you have for him, you’ll be the one to pay for it. Jimmy may be close to you, may smile and make your heart race, but to him, you’re just a girl. No different than any before you. So, you refuse to be another in his long list of conquest.
“Hey,” Jimmy whispers. When you look up, he asks, “What are you doing tonight?”
“Zesti Cola float and a comfort movie probably,” you answer, tipping your head like you don’t understand the true intention behind his question. “You?”
“Uh…” Jimmy fumbles for a response for a moment, then nods. “Probably just getting takeout.”
“There’s a new restaurant by the train station that I’ve heard is good,” you offer. “You should try it, let me know what you think.”
“Why don’t you try it?” he counters. “Take someone with you and enjoy a night out.”
Smiling, you lean forward and murmur, “Zesti Cola float, remember?”
“Right,” he says, watching you with confusion and something else you can’t place.
He doesn’t ask you out again. Mission accomplished.
A voice deep within you asks, But at what cost?
Jimmy paces in the break room while he’s waiting for the coffee pot to fill up again. Why Perry refuses to purchase a single-cup machine he’ll never understand, but he’s grateful for the excuse to be away from everyone now. You confuse him; you intrigue him, make him feel things he doesn’t fully understand, but you keep him at arms’ length. Like- like he’s just your friend.
He likes you, likes you in a way that makes him want to do more than kiss you under a streetlight just to lose your number the next morning. He cancelled a date tonight in the hopes that you’d finally say yes and go out with him. And here he is. With no plans and questions overwhelming his mind.
Before meeting you, Jimmy had never encountered a girl that didn’t respond to what he offers. He sends you genuine smiles, not the practiced flirty glance he offers girls on the street, but you just nod and look away again. He tells you how beautiful you are, baring part of his heart to you, and you simply say, “Thanks.”
Worse than not matching what he gives, Jimmy thinks, is that you’re simply not into him.
“She’s not into me,” he realizes aloud, his musings drown out by the sputtering of the too-old coffee machine. He stares at the pot as the last of the coffee drips, splashing over the rim. With his hands in his hair, he has one more question: “Why not?”
Jimmy watches you for a week, trying to figure out why you don’t feel anything toward him. The first thing he does is stare at you until your left hand comes into view. No ring, he sees, so you’re not married.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
It’s only then that Jimmy realized he could only see your hand because you turned toward him. And you’re still watching him, either curious, unsettled, or perhaps both because of how intently he’s looking at your arm.
“I am…” Jimmy racks his brain for an excuse. The only thing that enters his mind is the truth: I’m trying to figure out why you don’t like me, because everyone else does but right now I only care about you. He can’t say that. “I don’t know,” he offers instead.
“Okay,” you hum. “You alright?”
“Sure, sure.”
“Then you should probably get back to work. How are you going to take a pretty girl to Coast City if you don’t get paid for the article you’re supposed to be writing?”
Jimmy nods, numb as he blinks. He finds he doesn’t want to look away from you, even after getting his answer. Maybe you’re taken, but just not married yet, he thinks. He’ll have to be more subtle in his snooping next time.
The next morning, Lois flicks the back of his head as he looks over the partition at Cat’s desk.
“Ow!” Jimmy explains, raising a hand to rub the wound Lois inflicted upon him.
“Oh, that didn’t hurt,” she scoffs. “If you keep creeping on my friends, that might change.”
“I’m not creeping,” Jimmy defends immediately.
“You’ve been blocking my desk for five minutes,” Cat interjects. “Whatever it is you want from her, maybe you should just ask.”
“Yeah, I’ve already tried that,” Jimmy grumbles.
“What do you want?” Lois inquires.
“Is, uh, is she seeing anyone?” Jimmy asks, attempting to keep his voice light as he moves his hand toward you. He fights the urge to cross his fingers after the question leaves him.
“What? Mutant Toes not have time for you anymore?”
“Lois, seriously,” Jimmy replies, earnest as he looks at her.
Lois sobers, her smile dropping as she tips her head. “You really like her,” she realizes.
Cat looks up from her chair and frowns. “She’s not seeing anyone,” she offers. “But that doesn’t mean she wants someone, Jimmy. You have to respect that.”
Jimmy nods, then gets called away by Perry. Cat and Lois were no help, he notes. As he passes your desk, you’re smiling, your head tipped toward Clark’s as you whisper about something on your phone. Why didn’t I think to ask Clark sooner?
“I don’t know,” Clark says.
“Okay,” Jimmy sighs, rubbing his forehead with one hand as he taps Clark’s desk with the other. “Her favorite restaurant, then. Surely she’s mentioned going on dates there?”
Clark shrugs in response.
“Clark, help me out.”
“I’m trying,” Clark defends, slouching in his chair.
“Is she-"
“Jimmy, why aren’t you asking her these questions?” Clark interrupts.
“I want to surprise her,” Jimmy lies.
Clark presses his lips together like he doesn’t believe Jimmy. As if he can hear the fluctuation of his heartbeat when he offers what he thinks sounds better than the truth.
“Just ask her out,” Clark suggests. “If she says no, you can still be friends.”
Jimmy breathes out a sad laugh and shakes his head. “I’m not asking her because she doesn’t like me, Clark!” he exclaims. “She doesn’t like me,” he repeats emphatically. “I don’t get it.”
Clark opens his mouth, then shakes his head and looks away. “Lois,” he calls.
“I already asked her my questions,” Jimmy tells Clark. “She was less help than you.”
Lois stops beside Clark’s chair, her hand resting on his shoulder as she asks why she was summoned.
“Jimmy wants to know why you-know-who doesn’t like him,” Clark murmurs, looking up at Lois the same way Jimmy looks at you without even realizing it.
“I don’t know,” Lois answers. She raises her brows and fixes her eyes on Jimmy as she suggests, “Ask her.”
Shifting your bag on your shoulder, you yawn. It’s 11:47 p.m. according to the out-of-place clock in the elevator. Today was a big news day in Metropolis, Gotham, Central City, Coast City, and Star City, and Perry decided that you and Jimmy should be the ones to finish everything up.
“You alright?” Jimmy inquires from your side as the floor number counts down from 50.
“Yeah,” you answer, sending him a smile. “How many dates did you have to cancel?” you joke. “Trading fine dining and closed-toe heels for Lois’s spelling errors can’t be easy on a guy like you.”
Jimmy feels like you just punched him in the chest. In the weeks he’s been trying to figure out what makes you uninterested in him, your jokes have started hurting more. He knows you don’t mean harm, that it’s all playful, but he’s starting to think that you mean them, that you really see him like that.
“Why don’t you like me?” he asks.
“I do like you,” you reply easily. “We’re friends.”
“No, I mean why don’t you like me?” he presses.
With your eyes fixed on the number beside the door, you search for a way out of this conversation. 30, 29, it would have been faster to take the stairs, you think, shifting your weight in the uncomfortable silence settling around you.
“I’m nice to you, so I know I haven’t offended you,” Jimmy continues. “Do I, like, compliment you too much?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, staring intently at the door, as if you can conjure heat vision like Superman and give yourself a quick exit.
“Just tell me what I did,” Jimmy pleads, stepping closer to you.
With over ten floors left to travel, you listen to a few more of Jimmy’s questions, then decide that you may as well tell him the truth.
“Because I want to be more,” you blurt out. You turn toward him, surprised to find it puts you face-to-face. So, you press your back to the cool metal wall and take a deep breath, clutching the rail like a lifeline. “I want to be more than a- a picture on your desk or a contact in your phone that you don’t even have the decency to put my name in. I want to be more than a memory of a single night that means more to me than it ever will to you. I don’t want to be a blur in your mind, forgotten when someone prettier comes along or a new girl moves to town, Jimmy, and-"
“That’s what you think of me?”
When you bring your eyes back to Jimmy’s face, he looks devastated. Like you’re ripped part of his heart out, like you’ve told him you hate him.
After you swallow, you shrug and drop your voice to answer, “It’s hard not to, Jimmy. And it’s fine, I just… No matter how much I care about you or what I feel for you, I can’t do that. I can’t treat a relationship like a one-off. I’m not wired that way, I guess.”
The elevator doors slide open on the ground floor, but neither you nor Jimmy move. He got the answers he wanted, but now he has more questions than before. His feelings for you, though, remain unchanged. He’d promise to change and kiss you in this elevator now if he thought you would believe him.
“What if it wasn’t like that?” Jimmy asks softly. “What if it- what if we were different?”
You push off the wall, releasing the rail as you inch toward the door. “Do you think that’s possible?”
Jimmy’s brutally honest with himself and with you, because you deserve it. “I don’t know.”
When you step out of the elevator and into the lobby, you’re still looking at Jimmy. “No matter what happens next, I’ll always be here, Jimmy.”
Whatever happens isn’t good enough.
“Goodnight, Jimmy,” you offer.
He watches you go, then presses the elevator button to reach the roof. He’s not going to get out, he knows, but he needs the quiet, the peace to think.
You said you weren’t wired like that – not wired like him, you meant. Jimmy has cancelled dates, left messages unread, ignored girls calling out for him while he’s been trying to decipher you these past weeks. Maybe, he thinks, it’s time for a change.
Jimmy meets his eyes, his distorted reflection nodding back at him. “It’s time to rewire myself,” he decides. Scoffing, he remembers, “For a girl, of all things.”
Additional Characters: Perry (Mentioned), Clark (Mentioned), and Superman (Mentioned)
WC: 1,552
Warnings: Reader has trouble sleeping/insomnia, italics, teasing, banter, flirting, nicknames, and fluff
It was nearly midnight, you had to guess. Your room was cloaked in a velvety darkness. You’d adjusted your eyes well enough, but there wasn’t much to see, only the sheer curtains shifting in the steady breeze from your fan in the corner. The faint hum of its motor was the only real sound. You sighed silently, pressing the side of your face deeper into the cool pillowcase, savoring the cold spots while they lasted.
You’d fallen asleep easily enough hours ago, but something - though not a nightmare, not even a dream you could recall - had pulled you back to wakefulness about thirty minutes ago. Since then, you’d been lying here, thoughts drifting like lazy clouds, but never settling into sleep again.
The arm around your waist shifted, tightening as if sensing your restlessness even in slumber. His body pressed closer, the heat of him chasing away any chill, and a low groan, muffled against your shoulder, rippled softly through your skin. You held your breath, hoping you hadn’t disturbed him, but when his hand slipped beneath the hem of your worn sleep shirt, fingers warm and thumb drawing slow, absentminded circles over your stomach, you exhaled a quiet, content sigh you couldn’t hold back.
“You okay?” His voice was low and rough, still thick with sleep, his lips brushing the words against your shoulder.
You carefully turned in his hold until you faced him. Even in the darkness, you could make out the lines of his face, the faint furrow in his brow. Jimmy looked tired, concerned, and guilt pricked at you for waking him.
“I’m okay,” You murmured, your voice as drowsy as his. “I just… Can’t sleep. I’m sorry for waking you.”
He hummed softly, “Don’t be sorry,” His fingertips traced the curve of your spine in an unhurried path. “Anything I can do to help?”
You shook your head gently, your hand lifting to smooth his messy hair, taming strands that had fallen in every direction during his sleep. “Mm, I don’t know…” Your hand drifted down, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing along the soft rise of it. “I don’t want to keep you up.”
That made him give you one of those small, sleep-drunk grins, the kind that pulled at one corner of his mouth first, “I don’t mind, baby,” He murmured, shifting even closer. His other arm slipped under your neck from underneath his neck, settling there like a pillow as his hand raised and his fingers threaded through your hair, lifting strands only to let them fall in slow, featherlight sweeps. “I’m all ears.”
You sighed deeply, the sound looping out of you like a record on repeat at this point. You didn’t really know what to say. You were so tired, but your mind was restless, thoughts moving too quickly to catch, too loud to ignore. You worried on your bottom lip, unsure if anything could even help settle it.
At your hesitation, Jimmy’s hand slipped from your back to cup your cheek, warm and steady. “Talking might help,” He said gently, “But I won’t force you.” His thumb brushed across the space beneath your bottom lip, freeing it from your teeth with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
Your eyes dropped to your own hand resting against his cheek, your fingertips idly brushing along the dotted pattern of his freckles. “Do you think Perry will ever let me headline?” You asked quietly. Before he could answer, you continued, your voice low and tired but threaded with frustration. “I’ve been working at the Planet for months now, and I thought I was doing good work, but-”
“You do do good work,” Jimmy cut in, his tone firm but soft, like he was reminding you of something he’d always known. “Great work, actually. I don’t know why Perry hasn’t headlined you already… But you know how he is- He’s very specific about what runs on the front page and who writes it.” His thumb stroked over your cheek once more, reassuring. “I believe you’ll headline.”
You hummed softly, the sound tinged with relief, and a small smile grew at his words. Your eyes followed the path as your fingertips drifted down to trace the curve of his lips, feeling the pull of his smile beneath them.
Jimmy caught your hand gently, his warm breath brushing your skin before he pressed a soft kiss to your fingertips. “You’ll headline,” He murmured, his voice certain in that way that made it impossible not to believe him. “Your writing’s better than mine… Even better than Clark’s.”
A startled laugh bubbled out of you, amused. “Better than Clark’s? Impossible. That man interviews Superman.”
Jimmy’s grin grew a little, his thumb still brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent circles. “Yeah, but you make people feel connected to what’s going on. You make them feel something. I think that’s even better.”
You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your tired eyes. “Careful, Olsen… You keep talking like that and I’m going to start thinking you’re my biggest fan.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. “Start thinking? Pretty sure it’s a well-documented fact at this point.”
You let out another soft chuckle, your hand slipping from his cheek to toy with the edge of his shirt collar. “Oh, really?”
Jimmy’s eyes softened, though the smile stayed. “Yep. Just me. Lifelong fan, full-time supporter, and occasional bringer of late-night snacks.”
“You’d be the president of my fan club for sure.”
He let out a low chuckle, leaning in until his forehead rested lightly against yours. “Only member, too. I’m not sharing.”
Your eyes dropped to his face again, tracing the familiar lines you’d memorized a hundred times over. “Do you… Believe in soulmates?” You asked softly.
One eyebrow rose, “Soulmates? That’s a bit random.”
“I know,” You muttered, “I’m just… Curious what you think about them.”
Jimmy’s hand in your hair stilled for a moment before moving again, the motion slow, soothing. His leg slid to tangle with yours, his knee slotting perfectly between your legs. “Well,” He said after a moment, voice thoughtful, “I don’t really know. I think anything’s possible. I mean, there are such things as aliens and alternate dimensions that we know of…”
“So you believe in them?” You asked softly, and he gave a little shrug.
“I think it might be possible, yeah. Why?” His mouth curved into something more teasing, another spark of playfulness cutting through the sleepiness in his voice. “You think we’re soulmates or something?”
You didn’t reply, instead, you let your chest warm at the thought, a slow, tender heat curling under your ribs. “I heard once,” You began softly, your voice barely louder than the fan’s hum, “That freckles are believed to be marks left by a soulmate in past lives… Usually left by kisses.” Your hand found its way back to his face, your fingertips ghosting over the curve of his cheekbone, before tracing down the line of his jaw in a slow, delicate path. “You must have been kissed a lot in your past life.”
Your eyes flickered over his face, taking in every familiar curve and angle; the sweep of his lashes, the slope of his nose, but lingering most on the freckles scattered like clusters of constellations across his skin. They covered almost every inch you could see, hundreds of them, each one a tiny, perfect mark you’d memorized long ago. There was something so undeniably cute about them, something that made your chest ache in the gentlest way. You loved them. You loved him.
Jimmy’s smile brightened at your words. “I think there’s still room for more,” He teased softly, “And if past lives and soulmates are real, I’m counting on you to keep adding to the collection.”
You couldn’t help the light giggle that bubbled up, your chest warming even further. Leaning in, you pressed a trail of gentle kisses along his face, along his forehead, the bridge of his nose, both cheeks. Jimmy sighed contently, his hand slipping from yours to rewrap back around your back. His eyes fluttered shut as you continued peppering kiss after kiss across his skin, until finally you stilled and let your lips linger against his. You could feel the faint curve of his smile against your mouth before you pulled back, the space between you filled with the warmth of his breath.
Jimmy looked at you through half-lidded eyes, giving you a sleepy, almost dopey smile. He then leaned forward to press a lingering kiss right in between your brows, his lips soft against your skin.
“I think,” He slowly pulled away, “I believe in soulmates now.”
You hummed softly, the sound barely above a breath, before you melted into his arms. Your face pressed into the solid warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming against your cheek. He dipped his head, nuzzling into your hair and breathing you in deeply, his arms wrapping securely around you, holding you as if you might slip away in the night, while your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him just as much as he was to you. In the quiet, wrapped in his warmth, sleep finally found you again.
Summary: Jimmy Olsen is catnip for girls, much to his own chagrin. Luna Moth, Metropolis’ newest hero, is way out of his league. But since when has that ever stopped him from trying to take a lucky shot?
Note: Hi again. Long time no see. So I now write for Jimmy Olsen as played by Skyler Gisondo. I have been charmed by him. Which is…unsurprising to anyone who knows me. Anywho, have this. It’s set a bit after the new Superman movie, but I don’t think there are any major spoilers here. Leaned more into his abilities in the comics for always being in the right place at the right time.
Warnings: canon-typical violence.
Word Count: 6.5k
Reader is: Female, a Metahuman, late twenties
Around the Daily Planet on a typical afternoon, one devoid of giant robots and blasting lasers, several sounds could be heard. The tapping of keyboards as journalists wrote out their articles and made quick edits. The steady drip of the coffee pot in the corner of the room. The printer running. High heels on the tile floor. Perry White keeping the machine in motion.
And of course, the clicks. Couldn’t forget the clicks. The pen Clark was fiddling with in his kitty corner cubicle. And the mouse beneath Jimmy Olsen’s palm as he manipulated the photo on his screen.
It was a picture he had taken. A good one. Luna Moth, kneeling down in front of a little girl at an event at the Metropolis Public Library. It had been a Metahuman awareness event. Luna Moth was a new superhero on the scene. A young woman who, because of her large, translucent green wings, had no choice but to live openly as a Meta despite the stigma that carried. But in her brief impact in the public, she’d already been taking a stance to make the public less afraid of people like her.
He’d gone along with Clark to the event. Clark knew her from college. Apparently she’d been studying film, so he’d had some media classes overlap with hers. That was why she had agreed so easily to an interview, unlike Hawkgirl and Green Lantern, who had also been in attendance. Certainly Clark didn’t know her from…anywhere else.
It wasn’t front page stuff, like the details of Lex Luthor’s detainment, following his criminal trial, but it would be a nice fluff piece, he was sure.
Jimmy let out a breath, taking a long sip of coffee while his trained eyes scanned over the photo. The colors looked good. Her wings were so stunning, draped behind her like a cape, catching the fluorescent lights just so, glinting the tiniest bit of a rainbow into his lens. He grinned to himself at that small accomplishment.
“Hey, Clark?”
“Mmm?”
“You think you could get Luna to come to my niece’s birthday party?” Jimmy asked, calling the question over his shoulder. It was mostly a joke, but his sister’s kid really did love Luna. Had a poster on her wall and everything.
Clark thought on it for a moment, the clicking ceasing. He tilted his head. “You know, she keeps weird hours, but I can ask. No promises.”
Jimmy laughed. Clark wasn’t kidding. But the two of them went about their day, finishing up their work with…surprisingly minimal interruptions for a Tuesday. It was nice. Refreshing, even.
Obviously he didn’t know that one little joke would change his entire life. But that was just his luck, wasn’t it?
***
A few days later, Jimmy milled through the Metropolis Public Museum, a warm coffee from Jitters in hand, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the windows. He’d finished up early at work, so Perry had turned him loose, as he did sometimes on slow news days. Jimmy tended to get good shots mostly by sheer luck, getting insane angles of the insane conflicts that so often came to a boiling point in their beloved city. Right place, right time.
Which, surely, must have been at play at the moment.
He walked in the revolving doors, as he did any other day, showed his annual pass to the girl at the door, who giggled a greeting and grinned as he passed. Lois and Clark were always astounded by his “natural charisma,” but truly, any conceived “rizz” he had with the ladies of Metropolis was entirely by accident.
He’d headed up the stairs, through the empty nature exhibits to the space section. There was a visiting exhibit on Metahuman history opening in a few weeks, it would seem. Maybe that was newsworthy. Metas Through the Ages, it was called. He’d have to let Clark know. That seemed to be his wheelhouse of late, what with all the Superman interviews.
Jimmy chuckled to himself. He wasn’t sure who Clark thought he was fooling with that. No one who knew him, anyway. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve. But still, the general public hadn’t caught on yet, so his secret was safe, ironically, in the hands of one of the world’s biggest news publishers.
And there, around the corner, staring at the recreation of Mars’ surface, was Luna Moth, in all her glory. Or, as her personal friends knew her, (Y/N) (L/N).
Jimmy found a small gasp entering his lungs, his heart speeding up just a tad as the streams of sunlight hit her wings just so through the windows. His shutter-finger itching at the sight. He pushed that instinct down along with another swig of coffee.
Honestly, if he hadn’t spent so much time editing photos of her, he wasn’t sure he would have recognized her like this. She had her hair up. In one hand, an iced coffee, a bag hanging from her shoulder. A pair of headphones covered her ears as she read the display plate in front of the exhibit.
Well, there were the wings, of course. Kind of a dead giveaway, but still.
And he wasn’t sure how or why, but his feet carried him a little further, closer to her, preparing his first words to her on the tip of his tongue. They’d been introduced, sure, but it had been brief and strictly business. This was different. Her private life. You know what, on second thought, maybe he shouldn’t—ah, shit, she turned around.
You smiled warmly, pulling your headphones off. “Hey.”
“Hi there. Jimmy Olsen, Daily Planet. Off-duty, though. Obviously.” He said with an awkward chuckle. “You’re…here.”
“I come here a lot, yeah. Helps clear my head. And I know who you are, Jimmy.” You grinned, tapping your temple. “I always remember a face. Clark texted me a few days ago. Something about a birthday party for your niece? Next Saturday?”
Jimmy chuckled, rubbed the back of his neck, freckled cheeks a little flushed. This was not usually how his interactions with women went. “Oh. I was joking, mostly. Clark can never tell. She, ah, she loves you, though. My niece. She’s seven. Has a poster of you on her wall. But that stuff is way below your paygrade. You do not have to come to her birthday party.”
“No, I want to.” You replied, sipping your drink casually, as though you hadn’t just promised him a Hail Mary miracle that would cement him forever as the “bestest uncle ever” in Cecilia’s eyes.
He replied very eloquently. “Huh?”
“It’s kind of a hallmark for a new hero. Being invited to a little kid’s birthday party. This is my first. Obviously I’m going to go.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool, that’s cool. I’ll, uh, email you my sister’s address. She lives in the suburbs.”
“Cool. Sounds awesome. But keep it a secret. This job of mine…makes planning things kinda difficult. It’s a weather-permitting kind of situation. But, barring a giant robot or an alien invasion, I’ll be there.”
He nodded, blue eyes wide in thought, locked on the wheel of the Mars rover beyond the glass. “Awesome. That is awesome. Any preference in cupcake flavor?”
***
The morning of the party, Jimmy kept his eyes both on the skies and also his phone, expecting the unexpected to strike at any moment, even as he strung up streamers and balloons in his sister’s backyard. Somewhere inside the house, his little niece had no idea Luna Moth herself had been invited to her bug-themed birthday extravaganza. That was the kid’s thing. Bugs. It was kind of adorable when she didn’t have a spider cradled in her tiny hands, all excited to show her uncle her latest creepy crawly find.
And yet, no disaster came. A few of the guests started to arrive around noon, and Jimmy thought maybe you’d forgotten. Maybe this all really was below you. Until there was another ring on the doorbell and he pulled it open to reveal you standing there in your uniform, wings extra perky, hair flawlessly done, and a large giftbag in your hand.
“This the right house?” You asked with a grin that he quickly reciprocated, stepping out of the way so you could walk into the house.
“I can’t believe you’re here. The kids are just getting here.” He chuckled, eyeing up the bag you’d brought. “Whatever this is, it’s too much.”
“Oh, nonsense. You said she had a poster, you said nothing about toys. They had some stuff at the store.” You said, handing him the bag.
He took it without asking, leading you through the house, toward the backyard, his camera around his neck. “Do you mind if I take some pictures? I can make sure they don’t end up on social media. They’re just for Cece’s scrapbook.”
“Post them wherever you want once the party is over, I don’t care. I trust your vision. You always get my best angles.” You chuckled.
He grinned, a little more comfortable now that it was clear you were just a person who happened to do hero stuff. “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”
“It would be hard not to.”
Jimmy pushed open the backdoor, stepping out onto the deck where the dads had convened, grilling up some hotdogs and burgers and suitable substitutions for the little ones. A few of them stared at you, jaws slack, their beer bottles almost slipping from their hands. “Hey, Cece, this random lady wandered in the front door, you think she can stay for cupcakes?”
Cecelia sat straight upright, little eyes wide, her bright red hair pulled up into two spacebuns. With a squeal, she came running over right as the two of you stepped down onto the grass. “Luna Moth!”
“Hi, Cecelia! Hope you don’t mind me crashing your awesome party. Your Uncle Jimmy told me you like bugs, so I brought you some goodies.” You gently took the giftbag back from Jimmy, handing it to her instead.
“What do we say?” Jimmy asked, but he barely had the chance before the kid yelled out “THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!”
She took you by the hand, confidently guiding you over to where all the kids were settled on the grass, looking at you in shock and awe.
“You’re not the reallll Luna Moth…” A little boy insisted, his eyes suspicious.
“I am.” You said softly, confidently. You gave a shrug.
“Prove it!”
“Alright, well, if you’re twisting my arm…” You chuckled, raising your wings and giving them a performative flutter. They changed their tune pretty quick after that.
In the middle distance, you heard Jimmy’s camera shutter as he snapped what you were sure were great photos. He had a real eye for it. Anytime you saw him credited for the photos in an article about you, you knew they’d be kind. A lot of photographers weren’t, just based on your status as a Metahuman alone. It was the one silent, blameless way they could detest your kind, an unflattering photo.
But here, in the Olsens’ yard, that wasn’t a concern for you. You sat with the kids, excitedly discussing moths and their wingpatterns, theorizing what might be inside Cecelia’s birthday presents, and enthusing about the cupcakes that were chilling in the fridge.
Eventually, the kids were guided to other activities. You participated in some, but got some respite during others, the chance to eat a hotdog, get a can of soda from the cooler. Jimmy stood beside you, shuffling through his photos on the screen of his camera.
“Thank you so much for this, again. I can’t repay you for this. She’ll never forget it.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s a big deal for me, too. And I was promised there’d be cupcakes.”
He chuckled, smiled a genuine smile. “I made sure we got your favorites in addition to the birthday girl’s. Least I could do.”
“It will not go unnoticed. I hope she likes her toys. I only ever really shop for my little cousin and his thing is LEGOs and Fortnite.”
“Whatever it is, she’ll love it.” He promised. “She’s a good kid.”
“She is. And she’s got a good uncle.” You replied, nudging him.
The comment didn’t come out in a flirty way like every other woman that was ever in proximity to him. Instead it was just, genuine. Friendly, even. Like you were on the same playing field even though you were literally a superhero that could hold a car over your head on a good day and he was a photographer. Clark was right. You really were down to earth.
And not just because you’d come there from space, or so the story went…
***
The next Tuesday proved to be far less refreshing for the reporters of the Daily Planet. Perry White shouted orders as a large creature stomped through the city. And before he knew it, Jimmy was outside with his camera, dodging through whizzing attacks and running people. It was the reason he was allowed to wear running shoes to work.
Superman was out and about, red cape billowing in the wind. Jimmy lined up a shot, the shutter firing. Moved further down the street, got a few more. And then, lucky him, snapped one right as Luna flew into action, the momentum of her wings giving her the energy to punch the thing square in the chest. She used her energy to hit a frequency that shattered all the streetlights. Jimmy shielded himself from the falling glass. And then the thing collapsed, knocked out cold and snoring loudly.
Jimmy tucked himself in an alley, looking over the pictures he’d gotten, searching for good ones. He loved a good action shot, but if he hadn’t gotten any in-focus ones, he better get back out there to get Superman and Luna reveling in their victory. But nope, sure enough, a good handful to let Perry choose from, his favorite being the one of Luna swooping in, wings perfectly poised behind her, almost like an air glider, fist making impact.
Yep, that was the money shot.
Perry agreed once Jimmy got back inside, the damage to the building very minimal. Like clockwork, Clark stumbled out of the bathroom a few minutes later, hair wind-tousled, tie a little crooked until he fixed it with a practiced hand, trying to smooth his shirt back down.
“Woah, what happened out there?”
Jimmy ignored it, instead motioning him over behind his computer monitor. “Look at this sick shot I got.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Jimmy. Not even a scratch on you.” Lois said with a chuckle. “You’ve gotta be more careful out there.”
“Yeah, I know. Tell it to the front page splash and the bonus I’m gonna get. Hazard pay.” Jimmy chuckled, locking in on the photo as he played around with it in Lightroom.
Honestly, it was already really good, the way the light caught her wings, the way Superman was just out of focus behind her, holding one of the creature’s giant hands to prevent him from swinging at a building. He brightened Supes’ cape a little, but besides that, it looked good. He couldn’t help but smile, admiring it. Her wings filled out the frame so perfectly, the forewing (yes, he had looked up wing terminology) fell so meticulously into the lower right third, right where the axes met. He didn’t even have to shift it over at all.
His eyes raked down the translucent veins on its surface. He’d never captured those before, despite the quality of his camera. They were iridescent, almost. No wonder she cast rainbows everywhere.
Lois chuckled and glanced over to see what had her cracking up, but her eyes were squarely on him. “What?”
“Nothing, just…the interns are going to be devastated, Jimmy.” She said with a grin, snacking on a bagel as she outlined her article about the fight that had just happened.
“About what?”
“I’ve never seen you look at anyone like this before. But given the women I’ve seen you pull, maybe this isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.”
Clark perked up, looking up from his phone at Jimmy’s screen, pretended to squint through his glasses. “Who, Luna? No shot.”
Jimmy laughed. “No shot?”
“Yeah, no shot. She doesn’t date humans.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows furrowed, the humor chased from his face. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, man. She said so herself. Finds our lack of wings ‘uncanny and disgusting.’ That’s a direct quote from college. Could have had any guy on campus and stayed single all four years aside from a few flings here and there.”
Lois chuckled. “Huh. Seems his bottomless rizz isn’t going to come through this time after all.”
Jimmy spun his chair back around, looking over the picture. “The one time I actually need it to work…”
***
Some nights, Fridays, namely, the museum stayed open later than usual. It was a popular date night spot for college kids. It wasn’t as overdone as a dinner and movie date. They turned the regular lights down low, turned on some fun colored lights instead, and lowered the price of admission to half of what it usually was.
Jimmy walked through the aquarium portion of the museum, bathed in the vast blue light. Clark had said once that he liked the ocean because it made him feel so small. At the time, he hadn’t understood what he meant, but once Jimmy picked up on the Superman thing…yeah, it made sense.
Jimmy didn’t need to feel small. Being a human guy in Metropolis did that well enough.
As he walked further, he couldn’t believe his eyes, but…you were there. Again. You were a little more undercover this time, wings hidden beneath an oversized hoodie. Well, mostly hidden. The apexes were peaking out from the hem, glowing faintly beneath the dim lights. You were staring up at a sea turtle as it coasted along near the surface of the water before diving down deeper.
He thought you hadn’t noticed him standing there, but a little smile tugged at your lips. “Listen, I figured you knew my schedule, but this is ridiculous.”
Jimmy laughed. “Hey, Luna.”
“Hey. Nice night.” You said with a grin as rain pounded on the skylight, thunder rumbling in the distance.
“Super nice.” He still had rain caught in his caramel hair. “You are…glowing.”
You glanced down at the tips of your wings, chuckling. “Yeah, they do that.”
“Makes night shots of you tricky, let me tell ya.” Jimmy huffed, scratching the back of his neck.
“Night shots?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I like to get photos of the city at night. Sometimes, I’ll climb up the observatory. Once in a while, I catch you in the distance. Not in like a creepy way or anything, just—”
“Right place, right time.”
“Yeah, that.” He nodded, letting the moment settle to see if he’d messed it up. But you didn’t seem to be disgusted or anything, so that was a good sign.
“So, can I see them?”
He nodded immediately, fumbling for the tablet tucked into his camera bag. “Yeah, one sec.” He scrolled through his portfolio until he found them.
Sure enough, there you were, floating beside a skyscraper, hand on the glass, wings pointed down, but glowing their mint green hue, making you look ethereal, even in your alienness. Pink and purple was reflected from some signs on the other buildings, filling out a beautiful palette pretty effortlessly.
“This was a few months ago. Saw you floating out there and…couldn’t help myself.”
“Wow.” You murmured, staring at it. “This is insane.”
“I thought so too. How do you, uh…I mean, your wings weren’t moving, so…”
“The wings don’t make me fly.”
He perked up at that, interested in the science. “What?”
“I’m only half Motharian. My wings are about two thirds the size of a full Motharian’s. They’re like fancy landing gear, basically. They help me steer and cushion my landings, but that’s about it. The flying stuff comes from inside. Like literally, I have a gland that produces an antigravity enzyme and—” You chuckled, stopped talking. “I don’t need to bore you to sleep with the technical stuff, but yeah. Two separate things.”
“Wouldn’t have come to the museum if I didn’t wanna learn.” Jimmy shrugged, still holding his tablet aloft, illuminated by the photo on the screen. It really was something.
“True. Can you send that to me? I’ll post it on my Insta. With credit, of course.”
“Oh! Uh, yeah, I can, absolutely. I’ll send you the hi-res version later. Check your DM slush pile.” Jimmy was practically vibrating at the prospect. You had seven million followers. Compared to his 3k…Yeah, it was a nobrainer.
“Oh, I won’t need to. I’ve been following your account for about a year now. The photography one, anyway. On my burner.” You said with a shrug. “But obviously I’d post that one on my main.”
He blinked a few times. “You are?”
“Well, yeah, dude, you’re the only photographer that doesn’t like…make me look like a freak.”
“There are a lot of words I could use to describe you. Freak is not one of them.”
You scoffed. “Thanks. You’re sweet, Olsen.”
“I’m a journalist. We’re honest. We’re supposed to be, anyway. Those other guys are assholes. I get cool shots of you because you’re cool. They get lame ones because they’re lame. That’s no reflection on you.”
You gave a soft little smile, a nod. “I think I’ll just continue to believe you’re ridiculously talented, if it’s all the same to you.”
He laughed at that, his smile breathtaking in the soft blue light of the aquarium as the sea turtle coasted by the glass. “Yeah. Yeah, that works, too.”
***
Every once in a while, your superhero work let you contribute even more directly to causes you cared about. In this case, the construction of a new children’s hospital in Metropolis. It was set to be state of the art, with a revolutionary cancer research center. And if you, Superman, and the Justice Gang had anything to do with it.
You worked your way through the room, talking up billionaires and millionaires with something to prove and more money than anyone reasonably should. It was fairly easy enough, batting your eyelashes a little, fluttering your wings, and mentioning how nice their names would look on the signs outside the building. You were rarely all dolled up like this, face fully done, wearing nice eveningwear instead of your uniform. It got a very different reaction out of people.
“Doesn’t the Fitzgibbons Center for Neurology have a nice ring to it? So…intelligent. So sophisticated. What do you say?”
In the distance somewhere, you heard a camera shutter going off.
“I think…you’re right, Ms. Moth.”
Hook, line, and sinker. “I often am. The funds coordinator is right over there, with the clipboard and the cool earrings.”
Sure enough, not too far from the bar, was a familiar head of red hair, face obscured behind his camera as he snapped a picture of Superman mid-handshake with some oceanside tycoon.
You didn’t have time to go over and talk to Jimmy, the way you were immediately swept up with another potential sponsor, but eventually, you did find the opportunity to slip away for a moment while he was at the bar, getting some water.
You put a gentle hand on the sleeve of his cornflower blue suit, ordering a water as well. “I thought I recognized those camera shutters.”
“Oh, hey! You…look great.” He murmured, eyes scanning down your figure, dressed in a lovely evening outfit.
“Thanks.” You said, proud. “You clean up nice, too. These heels are killing my feet. Gonna get into my slippers ASAP when I get home.”
He glanced down, chuckled and then let them slide back up to yours. Jimmy wasn’t a particularly tall guy, so the shoes on your feet gave you a few extra inches on him. You kind of liked him looking up to you like this. And the little gulp he did up close like this suggested he did, too. “Well they, I mean, they sell the look. Seems like you’re doing really well out there.”
“I’d say so. Got most of the cancer wing funded, I think. Picking up some of Guy’s slack. He’s not exactly great at the whole people thing.”
Jimmy nodded, grinning knowingly. “Yeah, I figured as much.”
Your eyes wandered down to his lapel, where he was sporting a little moth pin.Well, that sealed it, then. No chickening out now. “I, uh…I don’t suppose you have any plans after this?”
He thought for a long moment, the wheels whirring behind those vibrant blues a mile a minute. He let out a disappointed breath. “Ahhh, well, I’ve gotta edit these photos. I’m on deadline. Otherwise, I…I’d love to do…well, anything you had in mind.”
“Actually, uh, Lois and Clark are coming over to my place. I live up the street. She’s gonna finish her article, Clark is gonna proofread, I’m going to play Animal Crossing on my Switch. But if you want to edit photos there, you’re welcome to. We’re gonna order some food, put on some movies.”
Jimmy blinked a few times and found himself nodding. “Yeah, that sounds great, actually. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll have Clark send you the address.” You said, giving his arm one last touch before turning back towards the waiting hoard of heirs and heiresses ready to performatively throw their inherited fortunes at you. Performative or not, it was going towards a good cause, and you were more than prepared to harness it. “See you later, Jimmy.”
He took a breath and almost asked you for your number then and there, but stopped himself, letting things remain professional with so many eyes on you. “Keep fanning those wings for me. I got some really good ones earlier.”
You winked, sending a jolt down his spine. “You got it.”
***
You and Superman stayed after the event ended to help clean up a bit and then made your exit, reaching your apartment long before the other two. Jimmy had to stop at the Daily Planet to get his laptop.
As soon as you got into the apartment, you kicked your high heels off, Clark chuckling as you did. You hovered across the floor to get the weight off of your sore feet. Clark got to ordering the food while you took your ensemble apart in your bedroom. It was a new record for how fast you got out of that dress and into your Daily Planet sweatpants and a baggy tee, wiping the makeup off your face.
You hovered back into the kitchen, where Jimmy and Lois were just coming in. Jimmy shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of one of your barstools. He froze when he saw you, dressed all the way down, hovering through your apartment, wings drooping down low. His eyes darted away. There was something so…unexpectedly intimate about it. Domestic, really. He’d seen you in street clothes, sure, but this was different.
“When’s the food getting here?” You asked, floating over towards your Switch and grabbing it, settling down on the couch with a groan.
“Twenty minutes.” Clark said.
“Sick.” You looked up at your guests. Lois had been there a few times before for girls’ night with some of your lady friends, but Jimmy was still studying your decor like he’d be tested on it later. “Come on in, get comfortable. I already did.”
Jimmy unpacked his camera bag, getting his laptop out, unfurling the charger. He surveyed the seating options before setting the computer on the coffee table, pointing to the other side of the couch from where you were settled. “This seat taken?”
“Not at all.” You said, the opening notes of the Animal Crossing theme drifting from the device in your hands. You were almost horizontal, legs up on the end of the sectional, wings folded beneath you somewhere. “Three’s a powerstrip on the side of the coffee table there.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Lois came over with a glass of wine, handing one to you. She settled into her usual chair, laptop on hand. She got to work quickly, tapping out the article with incredible speed. You could tell she’d already had it mostly outlined in her mind. Something like this was hardly the hardcutting journalism she was so good at, just an overview of an evening event. But seeing as there had been some very famous Metas there, Perry had sent the Daily Planet’s best. And speaking of…
Jimmy had plugged his SD card into the adapter connected to his computer and was already looking at pictures. You tried to focus on the fish you were supposed to be catching on the tiny screen in front of you, but it was hard not to let your eyes be drawn to the—seemingly hundreds of—photos of you he’d gotten that night, looking like a goddess with your wings perfectly poised as you charmed the fancy socks off those billionaires.
There were some silly pictures of Clark, too, making faces directly into Jimmy’s camera, some more serious ones of him taking the responsibility that had been handed to you as vow, but it was clear that his photos were a little you-heavy. Not that you minded.
Lois noticed you looking, but didn’t say anything.
The food arrived not long after and Clark got it plated up for the rest of you. He didn’t really need to eat. It was a weird Kryptonian thing. He ate for pleasure, but that was it. The rest of you, however, were starving. There hadn’t been much in the way of refreshments at the gala, despite the sponsors that had put it on.
“Thaaank you.” You sat up a little straighter, setting your Switch down.
“Of course.” He took a seat in the chair next to Lois’. He looked at Jimmy. “You get my good side?”
He rolled his eyes, grinning. “Dude. Shut up. You know they’re all good sides.”
It struck you a little, how open Clark’s secret was. He’d told you in college, of course, the alien thing, but you’d assumed that was because you had something in common and Clark didn’t want you to feel alone. He was just like that. Putting others before himself, always. It made sense to you that he’d told Lois, since they were dating, but you were a little surprised Jimmy knew. But you could tell he’d keep it secret. And that applied to anything else you told him, you were sure.
Jimmy readied a selection of photos for the article in record time, doing some basic edits and getting captions written up for them. Lois finished up her article not long after, and Clark proofread it, taking the laptop from her with a kiss to the temple. It was sweet, what they had. A journalist and a superhero.
“This one good?” Jimmy asked softly, turning his laptop screen towards you. On it, a picture of you shaking a CEO's hand, smiling, wings on display. They were glowing ever so slightly under the dim lights, but he had captured them perfectly anyway, framed up nice.
“Does every subject of yours get direct approval?” You asked, leaning a little closer to see better.
“Only the really special ones.”
“Offense taken.” Clark piped up with a smirk, earning chuckles from the rest of you.
“It looks great, Jimmy. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I just let my camera do the talking.” He replied, sending the files to Lois.
They were done with their work not long after that, the article and related photos submitted for approval. Once Perry looked them over, he emailed them to let them know that they were all set for the night. But the four of you stayed up a little longer, chatting and joking around, putting away the leftovers before Lois and Clark retreated to the guest room for the night.
It was approaching three in the morning. Far too late for Jimmy to go back home. But it seemed he wasn’t in too much of a rush to get to sleep, instead helping you pack up the kitchen. You snapped the lid down on a tupperware container, tucking it in the fridge while Jimmy ran the silverware under the faucet before tucking them in the dishwasher.
Your phone was sitting on the counter and buzzed with a notification for a dating app. Jimmy chuckled. “That must be hard. Finding aliens on Bumble.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“Clark said you don’t date humans.”
A slow, confused smile spread on your face. “He said what?”
Jimmy looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Well, he…It came up at work, I guess. That you…don’t date humans. Find them…uncanny or something because we don’t have wings.”
That rang a bell. You laughed. “Oh my God.”
“Not that I blame you, I mean…I find us pretty disgusting, too. If I had other options, I probably wouldn’t choose us either, so—”
“Jimmy.”
“Yeah?”
You closed the fridge, looking at him. “I date humans. I date humans all the time. I…used to say that when I was in college to get guys off my back. That humans were disgusting or whatever. When you’re different, you become a different kind of passport stamp, you know? The guys at school were all super gross about my wings, so I wanted to get them to leave me alone and stop trying. That’s all. Clark must have thought I was serious. We haven’t really talked about my dating life since then.”
That made sense. “Oh.”
You studied him, halfway dressed down after the event, his shirt unbuttoned a little, bowtie tucked away in the pocket of his blazer that was hanging on the barstool. It gave you just the tiniest glimpse of the hair on his chest. “Yeah, oh. But yeah, I hate the online stuff. It’s hard to meet anyone real that way.”
“On that, we can agree.” He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, nerves cresting now that this was…real. A possibility.
You gave a soft smile. The moment felt right, and you were never one to beat around the bush when it came to stuff like this, so you said softly, “Jimmy, you know I like you, right?”
He blinked a few times. “And…you know I’m just a guy, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You…you’re Luna Moth. You punch monsters and fund cancer departments for children’s hospitals and…you have these literal, actual, beautiful wings and…I’m a guy with a camera.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still looking at me like that?” He asked, drying his hands on your kitchen towel.
“Because I happen to like the guy with the camera.” You shrugged. “I think he’s funny and smart. Makes me look like a goddess when everyone else makes me look like a freak.”
He shook his head, more serious now than the last time it had come up. “You’re not a freak.”
“I know.” You said, taking a few steps closer. “But you’re the only guy with a camera in this city that seems to know that.”
“There are plenty of camera-less guys in this city that would die for a chance, you know. Guys with your poster on their wall and…you know…the action figures and Funko pops and whatever…other merch there is of you.”
“Those are the guys I was trying to chase away in college.” You chuckled.
He gave a little scoff, amused. “Yeah, well…still.”
“If you don’t feel the same, I get it. You’ve got girls crawling all over you, from my understanding. I just thought you should know.”
“They’re not you.” He said simply, as though that explained all of it. “But I do. Like you, I mean. I’d be an idiot not to. You’re…” He shook his head, letting out a sigh, a pathetic little chuckle. “God, I’m not used to being on this side of it.”
You laughed a little at that, crossing the distance to him. He was at eye level again, but he was still looking at you as though you were towering above him. You guided one of his hands to your waist, but the other wandered up to your cheek of their own accord, brushing the hair out of your eyes.
“(Y/N)...” He murmured, his real name rolling off his tongue like it was meant to be there.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna kiss you.”
He smirked. “Promise?”
“Listen. I…can’t promise you anything normal. I float. I have a fucked up schedule. I keep weird hours. And then there’s these…things.” You gave one of your wings a little wave.
“My hours aren’t exactly normal either. And my work is about you a lot anyway, so…” He shrugged, letting a very gentle hand drift down one wing, like it was made of glass. “Besides, you already know I love these things.”
“So does your camera.”
He chuckled. “And my paycheck.”
“Right, can’t forget that.” You murmured, searching those impossibly blue eyes of his. You supposed you’d never realized how many freckles he had until now.
“I mean it. I’m all in.”
“Okay.” You nodded, leaning closer. You pressed your lips to his, slow and sure, an arm winding up around his shoulders.
His hand steadied on your waist, curling around your back to pull you closer, fingers careful at the base of your wings as his lips melted against yours, nose nudging against yours as he slotted closer. He tilted his head, pulling away for just a moment to look at you. “Okay meaning like…we’re going to keep doing this? Or okay as in this is a tonight type thing and you’re letting me down gently?”
You giggled, kissing his lips again, soft and chaste. “Not just tonight.”
“Cool. Yeah, I thought so too.”
“Great. Glad we’re on the same page.” You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips as his arms slotted further around your waist, pulling you closer. One hand smoothed across the space between your shoulders as he let out a long breath.
“I’ll still sleep on the couch, though.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do that.”
He pulled away to press another long kiss to your lips, then your forehead, blue, blue eyes scanning across your face, memorizing every detail.
“A picture might last you longer.”
“I know.” Jimmy grinned. “But I’ve already got enough of those to last me a lifetime. Not that I won’t…you know, take more tomorrow, but still.”
You remembered mid-kiss that Clark had superhearing. That he had probably heard all of this and relayed it to Lois. That he could see through the walls with his X-Ray vision, could see the two of you tangled up in each other.
Tomorrow, this would be news to a very small subset of people. But tonight, it was you and him, sharing this small moment in your kitchen, just before sunrise. Swallowing up each other’s smiles and laughs and warmth. This was your little corner of the universe now, and you were very glad to be living in it.
will die on the hill of “dead dove: do not eat” DOES NOT MEAN “there are various unspecified things in here that might disturb you, so be warned”
it means “i know the contents of this bag (a dead dove) may be upsetting, so i have labeled the outside very clearly with what is inside (a dead dove), and if you look inside, you should not be surprised to find a dead dove, because that’s what the label very explicitly says is inside the bag”
i realize this is a losing battle because enough people have made it mean the other thing as to make the tag totally useless, but seeing people argue over what it should mean gives me a headache because it literally could not be clearer
Fingertips dance over his bare back, and Kankuro shudders awake.
He’s never been one to doze, learned to stay on high alert even half-asleep, so this is new, and frightening and-
He’s alone. He’s alone, and he’s losing it, his mind making up a touch so soft it could never be real. Not in Suna, at least. Or to him, of all people.
This is how it starts. Soft, velvet dreams in the hours before the sun rises.
-
There is a certain kind of thrill to being an uncle, Kankuro learns.
He’s not yet grown tired of lugging Shikadai around, his chubby cheeks and bright eyes, how he balls his hands into fists and manages to create stains on every imaginable surface.
Shikadai is not a crier. He’s got that from their side of the family, Kankuro’s sure. But he can create an absolutely horrifying smell, and that’s usually the point where he hands the kid over, glad to be “just an uncle”.
That is, until he starts dreaming.
It’s always a little girl, his heart wrapped around her little finger. Sometimes, he wakes up yearning for her. It makes his claims sound hollow to himself.
-
If he wanted to, he could have someone in Suna.
He’s the Kazekage’s brother, one of the strongest Shinobi of the village, a master of the puppets.
But he’s far more than that. And no girl he’s met has ever been able to see beyond that.
- - -
“Wake up,” you whisper into his ear, laughing brightly when he snaps to attention. “It’s your turn, Kankuro,” you remind him, slipping into the spot he’s just vacated. “Nice, still warm.”
He grimaces, the thick purple paint on his face not budging. In the morning, you’ll have to ask him what material he uses. You could make bank with that kind of make-up.
Sleep, however, will not come.
You keep pretending, watching Kankuro’s face in the faint moonlight.
He’s pretty. You wonder if he knows. If he’s as full of himself as he has the right to be.
You’ve been dreaming of him for the last few months, ever since you learned of his existence.
“You’re shit at pretending,” he mumbles, kicking a stone in your direction. “You’re awake. I can hear it in your breathing.”
“Maybe I wanted you to hear it?”
“For what? So I wouldn’t murder you?”
“You’d murder your own teammate? Wow.”
Kankuro snorts. “We’re not teammates.”
“We’re not? Well, shit, you should have told me earlier, I would have gotten a head start.”
“A head start on what?”
“Killing you , of course.”
There’s a heavy pause, both of your breaths coming out in short, heavy pants. And then you’re at each other's throats, laughter ringing through the night as you fight.
Kankuro uses Chakra strings to play you like a fool, but you’ve got some tricks up your sleeves as well, and you’re not afraid to play dirty either.
It ends in a tie, the two of you grinning, eyes locked in a whole different match.
“I’d love to wipe that smug grin off your face,” you admit, and he lowers his blade, winking. “Try it.”
So you do. You kiss him. He responds in kind.
-
Your mission isn’t a success, but not a failure either.
It will take longer than one mission to build trust between villages, even longer to get to the level that Suna and Konoha already have.
But you feel that something’s there, not just between you and Kankuro, but between Suna and your village as well.
You wonder if you’ll see him again. If he will think of you, of those memorable nights, just you and him and the stars above.
At least you have some hickeys to remind you, though they are fading fast.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you as he bids you goodbye, and you reach out to smear the paint across his cheekbone, or you try to, but it won’t budge. Not even in this way you’re able to leave a mark on him.
- - -
How it continues
Fingertips dance over his bare back, and Kankuro lies awake, trying not to forget.
How do people know when to stay and when to go?
Three times has he started on a letter, but he’s never been able to get past the third sentence, every word feeling like it doesn’t deserve to be said.
He’s had you, and he lost you, and that’s how life will always be for him.
Besides, he couldn’t leave Gaara behind. And he doubts you’d be willing to leave the village that raised you, that you’ve sworn to protect.
But Temari did it. Doesn’t that mean others can do it too? Maybe him? Or maybe you?
-
“What’s gotten into you?” Gaara asks him on a sunny afternoon in Konoha, as Shikadai tries his darndest to get his hands on Kankuro’s painted cheeks.
“What do you mean?” He asks, lifting Shikadai a little higher until he feels sticky palms take hold of his skin. It hurts a little; the boys' fingernails a little too long, but Kankuro doesn’t mind.
“You’ve been… different.”
“Mellow,” Temari offers from the kitchen.
“Quiet,” Shikamaru supplies, barely staying awake at the kitchen table. Kankuro sends him a glare, though it’s thwarted by Shikadai stuffing his pointer finger up his nose.
“I’m not quiet,” Kankuro claims. “I’m the same as always.”
But he knows he’s not. He’s been thinking more lately. Waiting for another mission, another call.
“Maybe you’re getting sick,” Temari leans in to press her hand against his temple, laughing when he tries to swipe her. “Or you’re just getting old.”
“I’m younger than you.”
-
Their fight gets them nowhere. Kankuro’s learned to keep secrets, even from his siblings.
But it’s Shikamaru who figures it out, tells him in the late hours of the night, Gaara at a meeting, Temari nursing Shikadai in the kitchen.
“So, love, huh?” His brother-in-law mentions, settling a cup of tea next to him. “Complicated like hell.”
Kankuro rolls his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bet.” Shikamaru sighs, slumping over with his face turned the other way, always watching Temari, even when he’s half asleep, like she could leave him just like that.
She wouldn’t, Kankuro knows. But he knows how feeble life is. And he likes that Shikamaru knows too. That he appreciates the one’s still living.
“What a drag,” Shikamaru mutters, one eye already closed. He folds his arms behind his head and breathes in slowly, as if falling asleep. “Any new missions in the land of Earth?”
He doesn’t smile when Kankuro glares at him, doesn’t ask for a bribe.
If he’d been anyone else, Kankuro would have thought him making idle conversation, but he knows Shikamaru, the genius of Konohagakure.
“So what?” He gnarls low in his throat. “You got Temari.”
“Right.” Shikamaru nods slowly. “A relationship between Kage-families could greatly stabilize the bond between Iwagakure and Sunagakure.”
Kankuro scoffs. “Sure. If it doesn’t start a war first.”
“You think so?” Shikamaru cocks his head to the side. “No. Not a war. At least if you were the one migrating.”
Kankuro grimaces, and Shikamaru nods.
“But you wouldn’t be the one migrating. God knows no man will ever leave his country for a woman.”
“It’s not that,” Kankuro claims hotly. “I can’t leave Gaara.”
“Why not?” Shikamaru asks, but Kankuro doesn’t answer.
He gets up instead, spilling the tea Shikamaru had offered him. Temari berates him for it, but Kankuro couldn't care less. This way, at least, he knows everything is still the same it always was.
- - -
You lead him through the village like it’s just any other day, but it isn’t, and you both know it.
Everyone knows.
Your grandfather has tried to hide it. But he’s never been as good a liar as he thinks he is.
Not to mention that his age has caught up to him, that it’s becoming obvious there’s something to be done about it.
“So the Kage meeting-” Kankuro starts the moment you’re finally seated, the sun burning down on your backs as you wait for the tea to be served.
You glare at him. He smirks.
“I take you to the lousiest tea house in all of Iwagakure so I don’t have to think about the Kage meeting for five minutes, and you start talking about it?” You ask and he laughs, breaking a splinter of wood out of the table top to play with it.
He’s got nice hands. You like watching them move, quick and assertive, as if the battle never ceases.
“Shouldn’t we visit the best tea house for your five-minute break?” He asks when you won’t speak up again, too lost in the chance to watch him again.
You’ve missed him. More than you should.
“You can’t talk there,” you tell him off. “Even the walls have ears.”
“Training grounds then?” He offers, turning his back to the tea. He offers you his hand, a simple gesture that means so much more.
You take it.
-
It’s only later, when you’re both sweat-soaked and exhausted, resting much too close for two people who shouldn’t know each other all that well, that you tell him.
“Grandfather is planning to retire,” you watch his face for any sign of surprise. There is none.
“He wants me to take his place.”
There. Surprise washes over his face. Dread follows.
“You don’t think I could do it?” You ask, your voice now a whisper. It would hurt to know he didn’t think you worthy.
“I know you can,” he admits quietly, not quite looking at you. “But it would mean the end of us. This, I mean.” He rushes to add, gesturing around the training grounds, the quiet space that only the two of you fill out. “No sparring just for fun with a random Shinobi for Sunagakure. That’s not a thing the Tsuchikage does.”
“It could be.”
“It wouldn’t.”
And he’s right. You know it.
You get up, look him over once more. “You’re not a random Shinobi from Sunagakure.”
“I know, I know,” he waves his hands. “I’m the brother of the Fifth Kazekage and the son of the Fourth Kazekage.”
“You would be my lover,” you correct him, and watch as he pales underneath the purple paint. “Too much?” You ask, hiding your pain underneath a short laugh.
“No, I-” Kankuro hesitates. “I can’t leave my village.”
“You’re here now.”
“Yes. As a guard. Who’s not exactly doing his job.”
You hesitate as well. “You’re saying-”
“I can’t leave my village,” he repeats, unable to look at you.
“But you’d let me leave mine?”
He shrugs, quiet, his lips set in a firm line.
You pull away, craving space. He’s too close.
“I thought I was pregnant,” you admit to the floor, your arms circled around your knees. “After our… mission. Didn’t tell anyone, of course, because how would I explain that?”
“But you weren’t?” His voice is rough, like the sand that always seems to get everywhere.
“No,” you swallow tightly. “But if I had been-”
“I can’t leave my village,” Kankuro repeats once more, and you can see the pain in his eyes, not unlike the pain in your heart. “I can’t leave Gaara.”
“I guess that settles that,” you manage to get out after a few minutes, getting up. “I think we should get back to the group.”
-
Two days later, at the end of the Kage summit, your grandfather announces you as his successor.
Kankuro won’t look you in the eye as the Kazekage bids his goodbye, but it doesn’t matter. He stopped looking at you two days ago.
- - -
How it ends
Fingertips dance over his bare back, and Kankuro lies awake, trying to forget.
It’s been years now, but he still can’t quite let go.
Three times, he’s been close to leaving everything behind.
Gaara’s fine, he’s told himself, sealing away his puppets. Gaara’s old enough to be happy on his own.
But he didn’t go through with it, and now he can’t even try.
Not with Shinki sleeping just a few doors down, eyes guarded, heart locked away to protect it.
The boy needs him just as much as Kankuro needs him, too.
Somewhere in his dreams lives a little girl who haunts him, night after night.
-
The bond between Suna and Iwa has strengthened over time, no doubt due to Konoha’s help.
But Kankuro hasn’t been asked to attend any more missions with you, and the few times he’s seen you on Kage summits, your face had been like a mask, hiding away the real you.
You’re not married, and neither is he.
He’s not tried to replace you. How could he? He had what he’d longed for, and he lost it. Nothing else is going to compare.
-
“When is Uncle Kankuro going to have a baby?” Shikadai asks one day, all of them gathered at the dinner table.
“Why would I have a baby?” He asks the little boy, grinning even as something shatters inside him. There’s a little girl who will never be born, and he must bear the knowledge and the guilt till the day he dies. “I have you.”
Shikadai pulls a face. “I’m not a baby anymore, Uncle Kankuro!”
“What?” Kankuro pretends to be surprised. “Since when?”
Even Shinki laughs a little about the ensuing squabble, but he doesn’t miss the knowing look Shikamaru throws him after dinner.
It’s small, but there is still comfort in having a soul to share his burden with.
- - -
Iwagakure stretches out around you, a village built from stone, a legacy carved from dirt and ashes.
It’s an honor to be serving these men and women, but you’re heart has never really been in it.
Your heart is in the mountains, the rough terrain, the terrifying power one person can wield, the unshakable loyalty everyone here shows.
Your heart is in Sunagakure.
-
“Kurotsuchi,” you call your little sister forward. “Will you go for a walk with me?”
“A walk?” She seems surprised. You don’t blame her. There’s much to be done in a day, no time for idle walks.
“A walk. Just the two of us.”
She narrows her eyes at you but agrees. She’s grown these last years, in more ways than one. You wonder if you’d be right to leave Iwagakure to her. If you could even dare to think about such a thing.
-
“In love?” Kurotsuchi echoes hours later, the wind ripping the words from her lips and carrying them away.
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.” You repeat. “Is that so surprising?”
“Kinda,” she admits. “I thought you hated men.”
You laugh loudly. “Not all of them. Just most.”
“Still,” she wrinkles her nose. “You’d pick one over Iwagakure? Over your position.”
“I could do a lot of good for Iwagakura over there,” you point out, not yet allowing yourself to tell her where “over there” is. She might have figured it out on her own already, but she’s still hung up on the fact that you fell in love in the first place.
“I’d never pick a guy over Iwagakure.”
“You might,” you allow with a smile. “But knowing you, you’d probably fall in love with someone from Iwa anyway.”
Kurotsuchi rolls her eyes. “Why can’t he come here? If he’s so lovable.”
“He has other commitments.”
“A child.”
You cringe. God, you hope not. But it’s been years. He could have moved on, and you wouldn’t have known.
“I want this,” you admit to her, sincere in your attempt to be as open as you can be. “Let me try one last time. If he still feels the same for me as I do for him, I would-”
“Leave the village?” Kurotsuchi ends your sentence, and you swallow. Hard.
“Leave it in your hands,” you try, and she snorts, looking away.
For a painful minute, you think you’ve lost her and with that, your only confidant.
But when she talks again, you realize you’ve never had more of her.
“If he doesn't feel the same, I’ll kill him for you.” Her eyes are glinting with a well-known fire. “It will look like an accident. Or we could wage war on his village. I miss having a good fight.”
-
It’s a perfect mission.
Kankuro wonders how long it took to plan it.
“Well,” Gaara adds after a minute of considering it. “It’s practically asking for a puppeteer, but I know you’re busy training-”
“I’ll do it.”
Gaara smiles, a rare show of emotion that tells Kankuro more than he wants to know.
Maybe he hasn’t been as subtle as he thought he was.
-
You meet him halfway, unoccupied for the first time since he’s broken your heart.
He’s not sure how to greet you, even now that it’s only him and you, and no one to watch him put his foot in his mouth.
“You’ve grown prettier,” he admits finally, and you send him a smile that’s gone as fast as it came.
“You’ve changed your markings.”
He shrugs. “It was time for a change.”
“Ah.”
Quiet settles. He forces himself not to shuffle his feet.
“Did I tell you?” He finally breaks the silence. “I’ve become an Uncle once more.”
“Temari?”
“Gaara.”
Your smile lasts longer this time. “Really? Boy or girl?”
“Boy. His name is Shinki. Gaara literally picked him from the streets.”
You move first, and he follows your lead, conversation flowing like a river between you, pulling with it all the years of longing, of unspoken conversations and unshed tears.
At some point, he stretches out his arm and offers you his hand, a risky move in more ways than one. A shinobi needs his hands to fight, and a puppeteer needs them twice as much.
You take it.
Kankuro realizes the spaces between his fingers were only meant for you to fill.
- - -
How it starts anew
Fingertips dance over his bare back, and Kankuro shudders awake.
He’s never been one to doze, learned to stay on high alert even half-asleep, but parenthood is a foreign country and he’s only just crossed the border.
“Wake up,” you whisper into his ear, laughing brightly when he snaps to attention. “It’s your turn, Kankuro,” you remind him, slipping into the spot he vacates. “Nice, still warm.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he grouses, shuffling toward the door. “I’m coming back.”
And he keeps his promise, Sana’s warm body pressed against his chest, his little girl drooling onto his shoulder. “Tell Mama to be nice to me.”
“Tell your Father he’s annoying,” you tease, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It’s a good thing he’s cute.”
“And married to you.”
“And married to me,” you agree.
Outside, the sun rises over Sunagakure, painting the sand golden.
He used to treasure the early hours, but he’s got people more valuable to treasure now.
⤿ JIMMY OLSEN is a charming man who is absolutely gorgeous, and it seems like everyone who interacts with him agrees. You loved Jimmy, but you needed him to stop complaining to you about all of the people who flirted with him, and you could only think of one way to do it.
!! fluff. silly things. assumed unrequited crush (ITS MUTUAL DW). mutual crush. coworker reader. fem reader. i loved this request his was so fun to write. based on this req! ENJOY.
You were halfway through editing the third paragraph of your article when Jimmy dropped into the chair beside you with a dramatic sigh, the kind that suggested he’d just survived a war zone. You didn’t look up, because you didn’t need to. You could feel the chaos radiating off him like static, but, admittedly, his energy always arrived before his words did. He slumped forward until his forehead hit the edge of your desk, groaning like the weight of the world had finally crushed him. You kept typing, eyes fixed on your screen, trying to ignore the theatrical collapse happening inches from your elbow.
“They did it again,” he groaned, voice muffled against the wood. “Three girls. In the lobby. One of them asked if I was the guy who took that photo of Superman mid-flight and then winked at me like I was the one flying.”
You didn’t even blink, you had heard this many times while working with Jimmy, and every time you just raised an eyebrow. “You are very photogenic.”
Jimmy lifted his head just enough to squint at you, his expression somewhere between flattered and betrayed. “That’s not the point. I’m being hunted.”
You sighed, finally turning to face him. His hair was tousled from the wind, his camera bag still slung across his shoulder, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled from whatever rooftop stakeout he’d just escaped. “You’re being admired,” you corrected, "Plenty of guys would love to have women throwing themselves at their feet."
“Not just women, didn't I tell you about that guy who paid for my snack and told me that I "owe him" now.. with a wink.” he muttered, flopping back in his chair. “I can’t walk ten feet without someone asking me if I’m single or if I want to ‘grab coffee sometime.’ I don’t even like coffee. I like tea. I’m a tea guy. Why don’t people ask me out for tea?”
You stared at him, still unimpressed. “You could say no. Or tell people you're not looking for a relationship.”
“I do!” he said, throwing his hands up like he was under interrogation. “But then they pout. Or they linger. Or they pretend they have a story tip just to talk to me. I’m starting to feel like a golden retriever at a dog park, like everyone wants to pet me, but no one wants to read my exposee on Metropolis zoning corruption.”
"First, you're not that charming. Second, dogs don't write exposees.." You teased with an eyebrow raised.
Jimmy gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. “Rude.”
You turned back to your screen, fingers flying over the keys. “You’re the one who keeps bringing it up. Every day. Like clockwork. ‘Oh no, another person thinks I’m cute and talented and wants to talk to me.’ It’s exhausting.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, you think I’m cute?”
You didn’t answer, you just glanced at him out of the corner of your narrowed eyes before nudging his head away and continuing to type. The nudge and the silence that followed was enough to make him grin like he’d just won the lottery. And admittedly, made a small smile tug at your lips despite trying to keep a serious expression.
You and Jimmy had been working together for months — he took the photos, chased down sources, charmed his way into places you couldn’t, while you did the research, wrote the copy, and made sure everything was airtight. You were a team, a good one at that, and somewhere along the way, you’d become inseparable. You shared deadlines, coffee (or tea) runs, inside jokes, and the kind of shorthand that only came from long hours and mutual respect. It was easy and natural. Until he started to get attention, it was fine... mostly.
Except for the part where Jimmy Olsen was apparently irresistible to half the building and wouldn’t shut up about it. Every day was a new story. A new flirtation. A new dramatic retelling of how someone had cornered him by the vending machine and asked if he was “the guy with the camera and the cheekbones.” You’d laughed the first few times. Then you’d rolled your eyes. Now you were just tired.
Unfortunately, you were also part half of the building that found him irresistible, but there was too much risk in admitting that. He was incredibly dense, first off, you figured that out very quickly considering some of the stories he had told you and his severe misunderstanding of what the girls were trying to imply. Second, he was your partner in crime, you couldn't risk creating issues at work.
You were in the bullpen when it happened again. Jimmy had just returned from a coffee run — tea for him, iced coffee for you — and was in the middle of yet another rant about being flirted with in the elevator. His voice carried, animated and loud, drawing glances from nearby desks.
“She asked if I wanted to see her ‘source material,’” he complained, air-quoting with one hand while balancing your drink on top of his cup in the other. “I don’t even know what that means. Is that code? Was I supposed to say yes?”
You took the cup, sipping slowly, your patience thinning. “You should just wear a sign that says ‘Not Interested.’”
“I tried that once,” he grumbled. “It turned into a conversation starter.”
You set your drink down, stood up, and faced him fully. The office was buzzing around you — phones ringing, printers humming, reporters shouting across desks — but you barely registered it. You were done, and you were going to fix this for both of you.
“Jimmy,” you said, voice calm and deliberate.
He blinked, caught off guard by your tone. “Yeah?”
You stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and kissed him.
Right there. In the middle of the Daily Planet bullpen.
It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. It wasn’t dipped-in-the-rain cinematic. It was firm, deliberate, and just long enough to make him forget how words worked. When you pulled back, Jimmy was frozen, eyes wide, lips parted like he’d just been rebooted. Around you, the office had gone quiet — just for a second. Just long enough for everyone to register what had happened.
You let go of his shirt and turned back to your desk. “There. Now they’ll stop.”
Jimmy blinked. “Wait-.. what just-.. did you-.. was that..”
You didn’t look at him, mainly to keep your own dignity intact and to keep the fire creeping up your cheeks hidden. “You talk too much, Olsen.”
He stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “You kissed me.”
“I did.”
“In front of everyone.”
“Yup.”
He leaned on your desk, eyes still wide, voice softer now. “Does this mean I’m your boyfriend now? Or was that just a tactical maneuver?”
You finally looked up, meeting his gaze with a small grin appearing on your lips. No matter how much you tried to deny it, he was beyond charming and you were such a sucker for him. “Depends. Are you going to keep complaining?”
Jimmy straightened, mock-serious. “Depends. Are you going to kiss me if I do?”
You smirked, an eyebrow raised as you leaned forward a bit, “I might have to.”
"Then I guess I'll have to keep complaining." You swatted at him when he said that, rolling your eyes as you spun back to your desktop with a smile hidden behind a sip of your coffee.
And just like that, the office buzzed on, the phones kept ringing, and Jimmy Olsen — cute, talented, and finally quiet — sat beside you with a smile that didn’t fade for the rest of the day.
Jimmy Olsen is irrevocably in love with you, only, you don't even realize.
1.1k+ words, Superman (2025), fluff!
A/N: Am I a raging lesbian? Yes! Am I also in love with Jimmy Olsen? Absolutely! I finally realized I can write whatever *I* want on here and I’m getting tired of writing toxic smut so here’s a nice, fluffy fic- I hope you guys enjoy! :3
˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚
It always starts with the coffee, a chai latte to be exact.
Always on her desk, every morning, before the office lights even began to flicker on and Perry starts yelling about deadlines; always from that niche café down the street with the weird chalkboard menu written in cursive using pastel chalk blocks and always the same thing everytime: Almond milk, not oat. Extra strawberry coldfoam. Three pumps of vanilla, not two, not four. And no lid- she hates the ring of condensation it leaves on her pristine desk.
It took him about a minute to memorize it, hearing it from her only once.
She’s always there to receive it, always.
And when he sets it down on her desk, all the way across the room from his own, she doesn’t even look up from her laptop, continuing to click away at her keyboard- creamy not clacky, she hates the sound of clacky keys, he knows that, she didn’t have to tell him.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” she says, voice calm and half-focused, fingers flying across the keyboard. She’s probably writing about some city hall scandal or crime ring no one else even realized was happening. “You’re a lifesaver. Again.”
She takes a sip. No smile, no flutter of lashes, no lingering gaze. Just a satisfied hum and more typing.
Jimmy stands there like an idiot, eyes lingering for slightly too long to be considered just friendly.
“She’s not even looking at you, dude” Lois laughs quietly as she passes him, slapping a Manila folder into his chest, he nearly melts from embarrassment, she’s too focused on her work to even notice he’s still there.
There’s just something about her that makes him short circuit- maybe it’s the way her gaze goes distant when she’s focused, or how she always has a pen tucked behind her ear like it’s part of her work uniform, or maybe it’s just the way she’s the ONLY girl in the Daily Planet that doesn’t try to flirt with him.
Not that he’d care if she’d ever flirt back with him. Okay, maybe he was lying, maybe he promised to become religious if that ever happened. But mostly, he just wanted her to see him.
Not the guy who (somehow) always gets Superman’s good side, not as the guy who always has women, even the interns, biting their lips at him and asking flirtatious questions about everything from the new story he’s working on to the objects on his desk. But as Jimmy.
AKA the guy who knows she always keeps allergy pills and bandaids in her desk drawer “just in case,” and that her cat, President John F. Kitty, only eats the fancy salmon pâté from that bodega three blocks over from the coffee shop.
She never tells him these things, he just knows how to pay attention and listen.
Clark finds him at his desk later, picking apart one of those cardboard-tasting granola bars as his eyes follow her, watching as she power-walks past with a stack of printouts, that same pen resting behind her ear, and her hair in that not-quite-messy-not-quite-put-together style she does when she’s too busy chasing a deadline to doll herself up.
“Still lying to yourself about being in love with her?” Clark finally cuts through his focused silence as he asks lightly, chair slightly turned and leaned back to meet Jimmy’s gaze.
He scowls in response, immediately going on the defense by saying “I’m not pretending anything, she’s just…”
“She’s just what?” Clark gives him a knowing smile.
Jimmy shrugs helplessly as he speaks, “I don’t know, she’s just, I don’t know”
But he does know.
She’s her.
The problem today, is not her oblivious nature, but rather, the intern.
He’s tall, new, and smug as hell- the kind of guy that probably the kind of guy who probably calls himself a “media disruptor” on LinkedIn.
He ALSO just tried to flirt with her.
Jimmy watches from across the bullpen as the intern tries it — tries to flirt with her. She’s mid-edit, pencil clenched between her teeth, eyes scanning a printout like it owes her money.
The intern steps into her path like he’s got something important to offer and says, with all the charm of a soggy business card:
“You’ve gotta be the writer. I could tell from the laser-focus. Kinda hot, honestly.”
She doesn’t blink.
She pulls the pencil out of her mouth, hands him a stack of pages, and says flatly,
“Check every name in this. If you guess on anything, I’ll know.”
Then she’s gone, back to her desk, back to her notes, back to her chai latte with surgical calm.
Jimmy lets out a sound like a balloon deflating sideways. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
Lois glances up from her phone. “Well. That was brave.”
“That was reckless,” Jimmy mutters. “She was in full editor mode. Pencil-in-mouth, shoulder tension at 80%. He might as well have flirted with a minefield.”
“Maybe he thought she’d find it flattering,” Clark says mildly.
Jimmy scoffs. “She doesn’t even register that kind of thing when she’s working." He pauses to pout before mumbling out, “he probably thinks she drinks pumpkin spice.”
Lois perks up, casually sipping her coffee. “Oh yeah?”
“She hates it,” Jimmy says without missing a beat. “Texture thing. Too sweet. She drinks chai...almond milk, cold foam, strawberry to be exact, three pumps vanilla, no lid. Always no lid.”
Lois stares at him over the rim of her cup. “Huh.”
Jimmy shifts. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says. “You just… know a lot about her beverage preferences.”
“I just pay attention,” he mumbles.
“Mmhmm.” Lois leans back against Clark’s desk, eyes twinkling. “You always memorize everyone’s coffee orders and their opinions on seasonal flavor profiles?”
Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “I mean… if they matter.”
Clark coughs into his mug, poorly disguising a laugh. Lois smiles. Not mean, not smug (of course not), just amused, and maybe a little fond.
“She’s lucky,” she says lightly.
Jimmy blinks. “Why?”
“To have someone who pays that much attention, even if she doesn’t even register it.”
He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, the words getting lost somewhere between his chest and throat.
Lois watches him flounder for a beat, then pushes off the desk, brushing past him with a parting murmur.
“Careful, Olsen. You’re starting to sound like poetry.”
Jimmy stays frozen in place, still staring after her.
In the distance, she hums contentedly at her desk, pencil back between her teeth, chai in hand, all as per usual, completely unaware that she’s just become Jimmy’s unfinished sentence.
not school, not church, not some normal kid place. no—toontown. the two of you were ten, maybe eleven, sitting at the family computers, and for whatever reason he chose to add you after you both annihilated cogs together.
you didn’t know he’d actually stick around. kids were flaky like that. one day you’re “besties forever” and the next they’ve abandoned you for neopets. but alex didn’t go anywhere. every afternoon he’d be there, his little toon waddling around with yours, screaming in all caps through the in-game chat as you sat three feet away from your mom in the kitchen.
and then, somehow, he followed you outside of toontown. skype calls. hours of them. your mom yelling for you to go to bed while you whispered into your mic, alex cracking jokes about how “bro, she’s gonna murder you."
he saw you through everything. middle school braces, your horrible haircut phase, that time you cried over failing a math test and he awkwardly played a corrido over the call to “cheer you up.” you teased him about his voice cracking at 13, and he threatened to never talk to you again (lasted about six hours).
by high school, it was normal. alex and you. a package deal, even if you had never really met. your friends assumed you’d eventually date. you rolled your eyes, because—hello? that’s alex. the same alex who made fart jokes at 12.
but it shifted. slowly. stupidly. the summer before you turned eighteen, the first time you visited him. you noticed the way his laugh had changed—deeper, easier. you noticed how he smelled like fabric softener and gum. you noticed how he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
it wasn’t a movie moment. there was no fireworks, no dramatic kiss in the rain. just the two of you, sitting on his bed one night, youtube videos playing in the background, and you realizing that your chest hurt a little every time he leaned too close.
he nudged your shoulder. “what?”
“nothing.”
“nah, you’re looking at me weird. stop, you’re creeping me out.”
and you laughed, but it came out too shaky.
the thing is—you’d grown up together. every awkward stage, every dumb online phase, every secret whispered through the screen at 2 a.m. you knew him, better than anyone else.
and maybe that was exactly why your stomach flipped every time his hand brushed yours.
summary - you get stuck in a shed with your quidditch captain
warnings - gryffindor!reader, quidditch player!reader, kinda grumpy x sunshine vibes
a/n - week one of hogmarch! using the dialogue prompt "if we're stuck here, we might as well make the best of it"
wordcount - 2.3k
The last thing you wanted was to be stuck alone with James bloody Potter.
And yet, here you were.
It had been a long, grueling practice, made worse by the fact that you were forced to take orders from James—James of all people—because he was Captain now, and you weren’t. You were still bitter about it, still fuming over the decision McGonagall had made at the start of the season.
Not that you had wanted to be Captain, necessarily. But if anyone deserved it, it was you. You had been on the team since second year, worked your ass off every season, knew how to run drills better than anyone. And yet, somehow, James—show-off, golden boy, bloody Potter—had been the one to get the title.
And of course, he was obnoxiously good at it.
You huffed under your breath, gripping the heavy crate of practice Bludgers tighter as you trudged toward the equipment shed.
James was beside you, carrying the other half, his usual, infuriating grin still plastered across his face despite having spent the last two hours barking orders at the team.
“Y’know,” he said, effortlessly adjusting his grip like the crate weighed nothing, “if you weren’t so busy glaring at me during practice, maybe you’d actually manage to listen to the strategy I was explaining.”
You shot him a glare that could have set his broom on fire. “Oh, sorry, Captain. Next time I’ll be sure to hang onto every brilliant word that comes out of your mouth.”
James just laughed, completely unaffected, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. “That’s all I ask.”
You groaned, shaking your head as you reached the shed. He had this way of getting under your skin—like an annoying little itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a talented player or a natural leader or that he made Quidditch look so damn easy.
No. It was the fact that he knew all of this, and he enjoyed pushing your buttons about it.
The two of you set the crate down inside the shed, the worn wood creaking under the weight. You turned to grab the last few Quaffles, and James, ever the show-off, tossed his into the storage bin without even looking.
“That was luck,” you muttered.
James smirked. “That was skill, darling.”
You rolled your eyes, about to retort, when—
Click.
The sound was so quiet that it almost didn’t register. It wasn’t until you turned back toward the door, reaching to grab another broom, that you realized it had swung shut behind you.
You frowned.
James frowned too, as if the same realization was dawning on him at the exact same moment.
Slowly, you reached for the handle and twisted it.
It didn’t budge.
You twisted harder.
Still nothing.
There was a beat of silence.
James blinked. “Did you just—?”
“It’s locked,” you said flatly.
James let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s funny.”
You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”
Another pause.
Then—like the absolute idiot that he was—James reached for the door handle himself, as if that would make a difference. He twisted. Pushed. Pulled.
Nothing.
He let out a sheepish cough. “Okay. So it’s… properly locked.”
You stared at him, unamused. “Brilliant deduction, Potter.”
“Well, no need to panic. Just grab your wand and—”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
James stopped.
You saw it—the exact second he realized.
“No,” he said, his voice dropping into something close to horror. “No, no, no—tell me you have your wand.”
You didn’t answer.
“Tell me one of us brought their wand.”
Silence.
His face fell.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair.
You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We left them in the locker room.”
“Because Quidditch robes don’t have pockets,” he finished, nodding grimly.
More silence.
Then, James turned to you, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I mean… at least we have each other?”
You deadpanned. “I’m going to kill you.”
His grin widened. “That would be counterproductive.”
You groaned, slumping against the wall of the shed. “This is your fault.”
James raised his eyebrows. “My fault?”
“You’re the Captain. That makes everything automatically your fault.”
He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, because I’m not Captain.”
James let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still salty about that?”
You glared at him. “I hope someone finds us in here tomorrow.”
James just laughed.
And, Merlin help you, you hated how much you liked the sound of it.
Because for all your irritation, for all your sharp words and glares and gritted teeth… you didn’t actually hate James Potter. Not even a little.
And that was the real problem.
James stretched his arms behind his head, utterly unconcerned about the fact that you were well and truly stuck. You, on the other hand, were pacing a tight line along the cramped space of the shed, trying to think of a way out.
“Maybe if we both threw our weight against the door at the same time, we could—”
“Shatter the entire thing?” James cut in, amused. “Brilliant idea. McGonagall would love that one.”
You whirled on him, scowling. “You got a better plan, Captain?”
James, to his credit, pretended to think about it. “Not really. But if we are stuck here, we might as well make the most of it.”
You gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”
James smirked, leaning lazily against the wall like this was all just a minor inconvenience, like you weren’t actually trapped inside a tiny wooden shed with only old broomsticks and deflated Quaffles for company. “Well,” he said, voice infuriatingly casual, “we could always sit and have a nice chat.”
You let out an exaggerated groan. “I’d rather take my chances with the door.”
“Come on,” James said, tilting his head at you. “I’m trying to be civil.”
You shot him a glare but begrudgingly slumped against the opposite wall, arms crossed.
“Alright, since you’re so interested in chatting,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm, “why don’t you enlighten me? What is it, exactly, that makes you so insufferable?”
James laughed, bright and easy. “Dunno. It’s a talent, I suppose.”
You rolled your eyes. “You would think that.”
He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. But then, to your surprise, the amusement in his expression softened just a fraction.
“Alright,” he said, a little more serious now. “Your turn. What is it, exactly, that makes you so mad at me?”
You scoffed. “Oh, where to begin?”
James just raised his eyebrows, waiting.
You hesitated.
Because, really—what was it?
What was it that made your blood boil every time he smirked at you? What was it that made you grind your teeth when he swooped past you on his broom, looking like some Quidditch poster boy? What was it that made you so incredibly bitter about him being Captain, when, deep down, you knew he was actually pretty damn good at it?
You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re just… you,” you said finally, though even you knew it was a weak answer.
James hummed. “Right. And that means…?”
“You’re arrogant. You’re annoying. You think you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”
He grinned. “I am the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”
You gave him a look. “See? That. That right there.”
James laughed, but his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, sharp and searching, like he was seeing something beyond your words. Like he knew there was more to it.
And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
James leaned in slightly, his grin never faltering. “You know, I think you secretly like it.”
You snorted. “Like what?”
“The way I get under your skin.” He tilted his head, watching you closely, like he was trying to read you. “The way I push your buttons.”
Your stomach did an annoying little flip. You ignored it. “Oh, please.”
James smirked. “You wouldn’t glare at me so much if you didn’t care.”
A silence stretched between you, not quite tense but not entirely comfortable either. The shed was small—too small—and now that you weren’t moving around, you were painfully aware of how close the two of you were.
James must have noticed it too, because his smirk softened, something flickering in his hazel eyes. “Listen,” he said, a little quieter, “if this is about Quidditch—about me being Captain—I didn’t take it to spite you.”
You frowned. “I never said you did.”
James gave you a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”
You looked away. Because, maybe he had a point.
Maybe it wasn’t just about the title. Maybe it was the fact that when McGonagall had announced James as Captain, your heart had twisted in a way you hadn’t expected. Because you had worked so hard, and yet—James had gotten it without even breaking a sweat. Like everything else.
And maybe it stung because James—golden, charming, ridiculously talented James—had always been just one step ahead of you.
You exhaled, crossing your arms tightly. “I know you didn’t take it to spite me,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “It’s just… frustrating.”
James watched you, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved into a slow, lopsided smile.
“Y’know,” he said, voice teasing but warm, “for what it’s worth? You’d make a bloody brilliant Captain.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it with a scoff. “Yeah, yeah. Flattery’s not gonna get us out of here, Potter.”
James grinned. “No, but it might make you like me a little more.”
You rolled your eyes. But this time, it was harder to fight the smile tugging at your lips.
James must have noticed the way your mouth twitched because his grin widened. “Was that a smile?”
You scowled on instinct. “No.”
His eyes sparkled. “It was.”
“It was not.”
James hummed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “It’s alright, you know. You can admit it. You like me.”
You scoffed, leaning your head back against the wooden wall with a dramatic sigh. “Being trapped in a storage shed with you has made me delirious, that’s all.”
James chuckled, and for once, it wasn’t the teasing, self-satisfied kind of laugh that usually made you want to throw a Bludger at his head. It was softer. Warmer.
And that was almost worse.
Because James Potter was supposed to be arrogant and annoying and completely, utterly insufferable. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that—like he actually wanted to understand you. Like he wasn’t just playing a game.
You exhaled, shifting slightly where you sat. “I do take Quidditch seriously, you know.”
James tilted his head. “I know you do.”
“I don’t just get annoyed at you for the sake of it.”
“Well,” James said, smirking, “maybe a little.”
You rolled your eyes. “I just—Quidditch is the one thing I’ve always been really good at. And then you come along, and you’re just… better.” You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.
James blinked. “Wait—do you actually think that?”
Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—shut up.”
James stared at you like you had just told him the sky was green. “You think I’m better than you?”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I said anything.”
“Not a chance,” James said, still looking mildly offended. “You’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, skeptical. “Even better than you?”
James grinned. “Obviously not.”
You let out a strangled laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Git.”
James just laughed, but then his expression softened. “You know I admire you, right?”
You blinked. “What?”
James shrugged, like he hadn’t just casually thrown that out there. “You work harder than anyone. You make plays even I wouldn’t think of. And you never back down from a challenge. It’s kind of impressive.”
Your throat felt oddly tight. “Oh.”
James smiled. “And a little terrifying.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “Good.”
A comfortable silence settled between you. The shed was still small, still cold, still locked. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore.
James shifted, bumping his knee against yours. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think McGonagall gave me Captain because I’m better. I think she gave it to me because I’m loud and she wanted me to yell at people so she wouldn’t have to.”
You laughed. “That does sound like her.”
James grinned. “And you would’ve been a nightmare. Can you imagine? You’d have us all doing drills in our sleep.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”
“Fair point.”
Another pause. Then James nudged you again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey.”
You glanced at him.
His hazel eyes were even softer now, searching. “I really don’t want you to hate me.”
You swallowed. “I don’t.”
He held your gaze, like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t.
And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned your head against his shoulder. Just for a second.
James stilled. You could hear his breath catch, just slightly, before he let it out. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he leaned his head against yours.
You sighed, closing your eyes. “If you tell anyone about this, I will deny it.”
James chuckled, quiet and warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
And for some odd reason, you almost didn’t mind being stuck with him.
Summary: You and Jimmy are friends with benefits. He was very insistent that there wouldn't be anything romantic between you. Of course, that doesn't stop him from falling for you.
Warnings: It’s probably bad idk, nsfw, smut, unprotected piv (don't do that), oral (f! receiving), jimmy is so horny for you all the time, also he's lowkey a recovering fuckboy, some Heavy yearning, NOT proofread we die like henry cavill superman, i switch tenses a lot bc i just don't care, a lot of swearing, i feel like i'm forgetting something but this is all I can think of
Story Notes: Reader is Perry's assistant but it's super vague what that actually entails lol. Jimmy knows that Clark is Superman for reasons that are not addressed.
A/N: I can't decide if I think this is good, but whether it's good or not I do like it. The pacing isn't my favorite but I think all the individual parts are at least decent. Idk, hopefully other people like it, but at least it makes me smile, and I am adding to the pool of Jimmy Olsen fanfic. If that's all I can contribute to the world, it's enough. As always, comments (even just in the tags) are always ultra appreciated!!!!! Thanks for reading <3
Tag List (lmk if you'd like to be added! <3): @dilfza-discourse
At work, you and Jimmy are just friends. Jimmy feels weird thinking the word "just" about anything relating to you, because everything about you means so much to him. Your friendship is one of the things he values most in the world. But he also values having sex with you quite a lot, and despite his best efforts, you won't do that at work.
To be fair, you are one of the busiest people he thinks he's ever known. You're Perry's assistant, and while there has definitely been a marked decrease in Perry yelling at them since you came on staff, you have something going on pretty much every minute that you're working. Of course, Jimmy thinks that's exactly why a good romp in the copy room would probably fix your head, but you always insist that there needs to be a separation there.
Last time you two had talked about it, you'd been riding him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your hips rocked steadily, hands gripping his biceps, moaning out the frustrations of a long day.
"Now think how much better you would feel if you'd been able to relax during the day," He'd said, cupping your ass in his hands as he helped you grind yourself against him.
When you laughed, your walls fluttered around him, "This again? Jimmy, it's church and state. We should not be putting these things together."
He'd groaned, rolled his pelvis up to meet yours, "Isn't that kind of what we're doing already?"
"No!" Your nails dug into his arms, the speed of your movements increasing just a little, "It's two totally different relationships. At work, you are my coworker. One I like a lot, don't get me wrong, but still my coworker. Outside of work, you happen to be my fuckbuddy. Those two things have no reason to overlap."
Jimmy thinks he would've phrased it a little more delicately than "fuckbuddy", but on further reflection, he might've actually been the one who used that term first.
“I bet you’d like it more than you think,” He’d brought his hands back to rest behind his head, watching you on his cock, something that never failed to entertain and delight him.
You laughed again, and your walls clenched around him again, “Oh, I know I’d like it. Probably too much. That’s the problem, I’d never get any more work done.”
That answer had actually satisfied something in him. He watched you, contentedly, for a while, and when you’d started to lose some of your rhythm, clearly getting a little tired, he had brought his hands back to grip your hips. He bounced you on his dick, not bothering to hide his smug smile as your moans got louder, and half shrugged, “I guess I’ll just have to do an extra good job on keeping you sane when we're not at work, then."
You'd opened your mouth to retort, but all that came out was a kind of whining groan that made Jimmy bite his lip so he wouldn't just come at the sound. Instead of speaking, you threw your head back and let Jimmy do the work until he'd brought you to a trembling orgasm.
Later that night, when y'all were finally done, you had curled next to him, head on his chest. You'd run your finger in lazy circles on his skin for a while before you told him, "You really do relax me, you know. I think this job would've driven me crazy if I didn't have someone who could get all my tension out. Thank you for that, really."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy had felt high from the ego rush that gave him ever since.
In many ways, he understood why you didn't want to do anything at work. You loved your job, and you would never do anything to risk it, and that made sense. And the thing you two had going on was supposed to be a secret from the people at work, which had been his idea, not yours.
"They know we're friends, it's not like we're dating. If there was anything romantic between us, that would be different, but I don't see why anyone needs to know that we're fucking."
Jimmy cringed a little when he thought back on his phrasing. He knew he had been too blunt, too crass. It was just that one of the things he'd liked about you in the beginning was that you were one of the only women he knew who didn't like him romantically, who didn't dissolve into pieces around him, and that was so good and he didn't want that to change. But now...well now he at least wished that he would've said it a little more delicately.
So yes, concern for your job made sense. He could also take some credit for the fact that you wanted to be subtle about it at work, so that people didn't get the wrong idea. He really understood why this was important to you. It was just that on days like this, when news was slow and you were hanging around the bullpen more, when you looked so good, he couldn't have cared less about subtlety. He could barely keep his hands off of you.
You were perched on the edge of Lois's desk, laughing with her about something that he hadn't actually paid enough attention to hear. Your ankles were crossed, and you leaned back on your hands, and there was something so casually sexy about it that he couldn't stop staring, and it was honestly pissing him off. You weren't doing anything. Sure, you were hot, but he shouldn't have been as captivated by you as he was.
"You're grinding your teeth," Clark's voice was suddenly in his ear.
Jimmy jumped, gave Clark a reproachful look, and pretended he was busy on his computer as he said, "Dude. Not cool."
"Your dentist will thank me," Clark smiled, dropped his voice to a whisper, "Your heartbeat is going crazy, too."
When Jimmy found at that his best friend was Superman, he had imagined a lot of exciting adventures. It turned out to be mostly Clark calling him out about things, which was decidedly less exciting.
Jimmy opened a random file on his computer and stared like he was focused. He shrugged, "I guess I'm pretty amped about work today."
Clark laughed like he had just made a hilarious joke. Jimmy could feel your and Lois's eyes glancing over to them, and it took a lot of willpower not to look back, to keep his eyes locked on his screen.
Clark sounded apologetic, "You know you could just ask her out."
Jimmy clicked randomly around the screen, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh come on, you're always looking like a lovesick puppy lately," Clark nudged his arm, a smile on his face, "What's the worst that could happen?"
Jimmy doesn't bother telling Clark the full truth, that you guys have been sleeping together for months and that you seem perfectly content with this arrangement. If Jimmy had any romantic feelings for you (which he doesn't), it still wouldn't be worth it to risk messing up what you did have. Being your friend, sharing your bed, those were enough. He didn't need anything else from you.
Instead, he sighs, "I really don't know what you mean, man. Besides, I have a date tonight."
"You have a date every night," Clark's voice is a little louder now, more casual, "And it's almost always with a different woman."
So focused on looking like he's busy, Jimmy doesn't notice Lois approaching until she speaks, "I think he might be a sex addict."
He snaps his head over to look at her, feeling his face burn, "I am not a sex addict. I don't even sleep with most of them."
Your laugh rings through the air, but you're still at Lois's desk. Jimmy still doesn't look over at you, but he can feel that his blush has crept up to his ears.
Lois hums, "I actually think that might be sadder. All those dates, all this time, money, and you're not even getting laid? What's the point?"
"Maybe he's a gambling addict," Clark sounds half serious and half joking.
"Oh, you two be nice," You finally leave Lois's desk and walk over to Jimmy's, "I think it's kind of sweet."
Jimmy turns in his chair to find himself looking up at you. You, in your stupid sexy office clothes, with your perfect lips curled into a stupid sweet little smile, and your eyes sparkling with a teasing light. He can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he finds that he's actually annoyed about how turned on he is looking at you. He blinks, hard, and then asks you, "Sweet?"
"I think you're a secret romantic. You're just trying so hard to find the right person," There was something genuine in your expression, although your tone stayed playful, "I think it's really just that you love, love. I'm kind of the same way. Looking for love is a noble pursuit, even if there are some missteps. Can't be afraid to swing and miss, or to end up heartbroken, or to lose out for a while. It's about finding the right person. It's sweet."
He could feel his smile widening, the blush on his face not leaving but mellowing, "Thanks. That’s a nicer theory, at least.”
Lois whistled, low and slow, "Not a bad analysis. But that just means he's a love addict. Is that really that much better?"
“I just think addict is too strong a word. If we’re deciding I’m a closet romantic, then can’t we just let it be romantic?” Jimmy pleaded.
Clark pat his shoulder, heavy but gentle, “Sorry bud, but I think this one stands. You’re definitely addicted to love.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy cornered you by the printer later that day, unable to stop his eyes from trailing over your body. You’d clearly been working for a while, your sleeves rolled up past your elbows and your hair mussed, probably from raking your fingers through it. But you had a satisfied smile on your face and you seemed like you were finishing up, so Jimmy didn’t feel too bad about openly ogling you.
His voice ended up coming out somewhat low, “Hey. Thanks for sticking up for me earlier.”
“Anytime,” You didn’t look up from the papers you were organizing.
His voice stayed casual, but he knew he was standing too close to you, arms caging around you as he rested his hands on the desk you were using, murmuring just above your ear, "Do you really think I'm a romantic?"
You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, and turned around in his arms. Your chests and hips pressed together, and that sparkle was back in your eyes even as you rolled them at him, "I do, actually. But I don't think romance is what's on your mind right now."
"You look incredible," He refrains from rolling his hips against yours, but it might be the last semblance of self control he has before he gets on his knees and starts begging.
"I'm just wearing my office clothes, Jimmy. I look like I'm at work," You scoff.
He shrugs, lip twitching with a smile, "There's nothing sexier than dedication.
You bring a finger up, poke him in the chest, "You are incorrigible, Jimmy Olsen."
"I'm only a man. If you want some metahuman self-control, go find Superman," He licks his lips, "Although I'm not sure he'd be able to resist you either."
There’s a grin that you’re holding back, he can tell. You shake your head at him, pretending to be exasperated, “You’re getting better at the smooth talking, I’ll give you that.”
That was true. When you’d first started hooking up, Jimmy had been quite a bit less eloquent. He’d never really had to try, and when he did it came out clumsy, awkward. You’d teased him about it, but you never held it against him, and as time went on, he found himself growing more comfortable with it, improving at it. He figured it just added to the list of things he had to thank you for.
"Come on. It'll only take a minute," His eyes were wide, pleading.
This time you did grin at him, "Ah, yes, what every girl wants to hear before she has sex."
Jimmy laughed, bowed his head to touch his forehead to yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, yours were closed too. He remembers Clark saying he looks lovesick lately, which obviously isn't true, but nevertheless he's glad you're not looking at him right now, glad he can just take in the peaceful expression on your face and share this moment with you. Then, in the interest of ruining the moment on purpose before he could ruin it on accident, he said, "I just think you'd have a better day if you let me bend you over the printer. I'm doing this for you, y'know."
You slap his chest, eyes open now and eyebrow arched, "I commend your willingness to make that sacrifice, but I think I'll be okay, thanks."
Jimmy tried not to pout, then pouted anyway, "Could I at least have a kiss?"
"We can't kiss at work," You protested, but there was a gleam of consideration in your eye.
"I'll leave you alone about it for the rest of the day," He offered, "Hell, rest of the week. Just for one little kiss? Isn't that a fair trade?"
You hummed in thought, "Just one? And you'll stop badgering me about getting your dick wet while we're at work?"
He raised a hand up, "Scout's honor. Unless you want more, that is, in which case I may be willing to oblige."
"Absolutely incorrigible," You tsked, but you brought your hands up to gently cup his face.
His fingers itch to grab your hips, and he makes himself grip the desk you're up against tighter instead, lets you have control over what happens.
The kiss is shorter than he would've liked, but sweet, your soft lips melding perfectly against his. When you pull away, you cock your brow, not releasing his face yet as you ask, "Are we good?"
He beamed at you, “We’re fantastic.”
“Great,” You released his face and gently pushed him away, turning to pick up your papers, “Can’t wait to be normal coworkers for the rest of this week.”
Jimmy steps back to give you enough space to gather your things, but he places a hand on your elbow to pause you, “We can still…hangout outside of work, right?”
Snorting, you looked at him like he was stupid, “Of course.
“I might come over tonight?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question, but his voice went up at the end anyway.
“You know you’re welcome any time,” You smirk, “Although if you come too late you’re just gonna be sitting there while I sleep.”
“Terrible hosting,” He teased.
You shrugged, “Only for terrible guests.”
He thought about acting offended, but he had already gotten more than he’d really expected out of this interaction and decided not to push his luck too far. Instead, he just laughed, “I’ll give you a heads up before I come over. And I’ll try not to be too late.”
“Thank you,” Flashing him a toothy smile, you touched his arm gently before starting to make your way out of the room again.
“Hey,” He spoke suddenly, pausing you again for a moment, “You should leave your work clothes on until I come over.
A giggle bubbled out of you like an overfull pot, and you kept walking, calling over your shoulder, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy likes to think that he's better in the written word than he is out loud. Still, every time he wants to come over to your place the first thing that flashes into his mind is just sending the classic "u up?" text. Sometimes he does do that, because it makes you laugh and tease him when he gets there, but tonight he doesn't have it in him to be silly. He's tired, feels on edge all the time lately in a way that's left him completely worn out. He sends you a "see you soon" before he's even finished rejecting his date's offer to come up to her apartment.
Some of that tired wears off when you open your door and peek your head out at him, squinting critically for a moment before you say, "I'm sorry, no soliciting."
"In a sex work way, or in a Girl Scout cookie way?" He chuckles, feeling a bit of weight that he hadn't realized was settled in his chest suddenly lift off.
"I'd let just about anyone inside if they had Girl Scout cookies," You spoke seriously, but after a moment you smiled and opened the door the rest of the way to let him in.
His eyes trail over you, a grin coming to his lips, "I thought you weren't going to keep your office clothes on."
You are still wearing your outfit from work, although your shoes are kicked off and he thinks you've taken off your bra too. You half shrug, smiling playfully, "I didn't say I wouldn't, I said you shouldn't get your hopes up. I assume you'll make it worth my while."
"Oh, I will," He slips his fingers into your belt loops, (feeling thankful that your skirt actually has belt loops because he's embarrassed himself before by trying to do that when there were none), and tugs you closer to him. When you tilt your head towards him ever so slightly, he takes the opportunity to kiss you.
You let him guide you to the couch, lips barely parting, let him sit and pull you down to straddle him. His hands move, trail over your body, caressing and squeezing but never staying in one place too long, like he can't miss a single part of you. Your lips move off of his, brushing along his jaw and up to his temple, then back down to murmur in his ear, "I really didn't think you'd be this excited about it."
"You look incredible," He repeats from earlier, but his voice is less lustful than before, genuine in a way you hadn’t expected. Then he almost imperceptibly shakes his head like that’ll clear it, asking you as casually as he’d ask for a water, "Can I eat you out while you're wearing this?"
"What, like I'm gonna say no to that?"
You assume he wants to go to the bed, but he just tips you off his lap and positions you on the couch, pulls you so your ass is on the arm and your legs are dangling off. Your skirt rucks up your hips, and he grabs your thighs tightly as he kneels, looking just a step down from truly reverent.
Jimmy delights in the sounds you make. He always does. He told you once that no one boosted his ego in bed like you do, which you're pretty certain is not true, but you can't deny that he makes you noisy in a way that you're not used to, draws sighs and moans and squeals from you with skilled touches that leave you trembling, and he keeps his dumb, dopey smile on his face the whole time.
He doesn't eat you out until you're satisfied, but until he is. You're not certain exactly what metric he uses to determine when he's ready to move on, but usually he wants you to come at least once, if not a few times, and no matter what he never stops until your legs are trembling and his face is drenched with your juices. He keeps that same smile on his face as he wipes it with the back of his hand, and you sometimes want to tell him that it's a dumb smile, but really it just makes your heart clench in a way that you try desperately to ignore.
When he is done, a little after your second orgasm, he stands up and holds his hand out to you. You take it, breathless, and ask him, “You need me to return the favor?”
“Just wanna get you in bed,” Jimmy sounds earnest, almost desperate, although you’re sure he’s playing it up. You allowed yourself to be led to your own bedroom, and then to be guided to the middle of your bed. Jimmy doesn’t bother peeling off any of his clothes, just climbs on top of you and starts kissing you again as he undoes his pants and pulls his cock out.
“Good?” His voice is soft as he slides the head of his dick against your sensitive folds, just above where you want him.
“Good,” You tell him, then keen upwards just a little, “Please, Jimmy.”
He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t make you wait. In fact you don’t even have your words all the way out when he starts sliding into you, a long groan sounding from deep in his throat as he bottoms out.
He’s right on top of you, pressed all the way against you. He calls this “belly to belly missionary” sometimes, and he’s barely holding himself up, his face buried between your shoulder and your pillow, thrusting steadily, if without great force.
Jimmy wants to tell you how massively his stress has been reduced just by being inside you, but he can’t think of a way to say it that won’t sound weird. Instead, he tries to focus on making you giving you everything you want. Squeezing your hip the way he knows you like, pressing kisses to your neck, letting out little noises while he’s breathing heavy in your ear. He came here with an urge to be selfish, to relax by taking care of himself first, but the only way he can think of to make himself feel good is making you feel good.
It’s been like this a while, him rutting into you, movement never stopping even if he’s not particularly fast. It takes him by surprise when you orgasm, grabbing the back of his head with one hand and pulling him close to you, the other scratching down his back. It seems like it takes you by surprise too, your body trembling as a wrecked moan escapes your lips. When you stop shaking, you pat his head gently and then move your hands, taking deep breaths as if to steady yourself. Jimmy thinks about offering to change positions, although he likes this a lot.
Then suddenly, casual as ever, you ask him, “So how did the date go?”
He pauses, just for a second but it’s long enough to make you whine, and the sound kickstarts his movement again. Thrusting mindlessly, he leans up on one arm so that he can look at you quizzically, “Why?”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Your hips rocked in time with his, “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
Jimmy tried to think of a good answer to that, but he didn’t have one. He shrugged, or at least tried to (it was difficult in his position), “Not great, obviously. She was…I don’t know, annoying? Maybe not really annoying, just really dumb. I don’t feel like we held a real conversation the whole time. She wouldn’t answer any questions I asked her about herself.”
He had sped up a little without realizing, frustrated, and you made a noise halfway between a squeak and a moan that he liked more than he would’ve expected. You cleared your throat, looking a little embarrassed for a moment, and then asked, “What, was she not into you?”
“No, she made an extremely unsubtle comment about seeing ‘the rest’ of me when I walked her home, and she wouldn’t stop touching me. I’m pretty sure she’s just like that.”
There was obvious surprise on your face, “So she wanted to sleep with you?”
Jimmy scoffed, “I know, right? Who would want to do that?”
He bucked his hips a little harder now, and you bit your lip, clearly keeping some kind of noise in. That bothered him, and he was going to say something about it, but then you smacked his shoulder lightly, “It’s not that, idiot. I mean I saw that girl, she was hot.”
He slowed his movements a little, did his awkward half shrug again, “She was conventionally attractive, yeah.”
“So why didn’t you go with her?” You sounded genuinely baffled.
The silence that hung for a moment was heavy with something that neither of you could exactly name. Or at least, Jimmy told himself that it was something he couldn’t name. He reminds himself that you don’t have romantic feelings for each other, that that’s the whole point of how you interact with each other, and then he feels very stupid for having to remind himself of that.
“I had somewhere else I would rather be,” He tried to keep his tone as light as he could.
“Yeah?” You gave him a careful look, but tried to keep your own tone playful, teasing, “And where is that?”
Jimmy decides he doesn't really care about sounding weird, and tries his best to make his voice sound sexy, which he normally doesn’t bother to do, “Inside of you.”
Your pussy clamped down on him as you laughed, “That’s such a creepy thing to say to someone.”
He forced himself to laugh too, but it came out strangled from trying to suppress a moan. You continued to giggle, seemingly oblivious to the way your warm, wet pussy was squeezing his cock every time you did so.
The tension that had filled the room (not that there was any tension between you, of course) had dissipated, and he grinned at you, “Are you sure? It wasn’t hot?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t hot,” You were still laughing, still unknowingly fluttering around him, “I just said that it was creepy. It can be both.”
Jimmy can feel himself starting to lose control. His movements got faster, more erratic, and your laughter shifted easily into moans as you shoved your head further into the pillow, crying out, “Fuck, Jimmy, I’m-”
You clenched around him once again as you came, and that feeling mixed with the sight of the sudden switch from you laughing to your eyes rolling back was what pushed Jimmy over the edge, unable to hold in a guttural groan as he said, “Me too.”
When he's done, he doesn't really bother to hold himself up anymore. He collapses onto you, and your arms wrap around him, holding him there. When he rolls off of you, looks at your face, you're smiling at him, "Yeah, it was worth it to keep the stupid clothes on. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Jimmy grins, tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at the sight of your smile, “You’ve drastically improved my day.”
“I’m sorry your date didn’t work out, but you’ve improved my day too,” There’s a look in your eye that’s almost defiant, like you’re challenging him, but then you blink and it’s gone, “I do think it’s sweet that you’re a secret romantic, but I’ll be a little bummed when you finally do find your one true love and I’m alone with a vibrator again.”
Jimmy laughs, but only after you do first, and then he shakes his head, “I don’t think you’ve gotta worry about that. The romance theory is nice, but I don’t know, I don’t really think I’m the kind of guy who falls in love.”
You roll your eyes, sit up, “Everyone says that until they do. Wanna take a shower?”
“Absolutely,” He stands up, already heading for the bathroom.
You hold up a finger to pause him, “Not to have sex. I’m scared of slipping. I just need a shower, and you’re a little sweaty. Conserve water, y’know?”
“I mean, you’ll still be naked, right?”
“Yes, Jimmy, I will be naked in the shower.”
He starts walking again, “Then I’m in.”
“You were the one who made me keep my clothes on to have sex,” You called after him.
“Just because you’re hot with clothes on doesn’t mean you’re not hot with clothes off. It can be both, remember?”
Chuckling, you trail behind him, stripping your clothes off as you go. When you get the the bathroom he’s already naked too, eyes wide with an absurd amount of excitement at the sight of you.
“Why do you act like you’ve never seen me naked before? We had sex like two seconds ago,” You nudged him out of your way so you could get him a spare towel.
"Why go to an art museum twice?" His tone is musing, like he's trying to sound deep, "You've already seen all the paintings."
"You are ridiculous," You have to shift past him again to turn the water on, skin brushing against his.
He takes the step that it takes to be right behind you, pressed against you as you lean down to turn the water on, listening to the drum of it spraying onto the back wall of the shower. His cock is half hard against the swell of your ass, one hand resting lightly on your hip, and you can almost hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice, "I'm a student of the arts. I'm sorry you can't appreciate beauty the way I can."
You laugh, a little derisive but still soft, "Yeah, you're getting really good at the smooth talk."
Jimmy laughs too, lets you lead him into the shower with you, but something in your tone makes his chest tighten. Like he could only ever be joking or flirting, like he couldn't mean it, even though he did.
He doesn't mean for his mind to wander, but the steady lull of the water hitting him and the soft sound of you humming made his mind feel a little out of his control, like this was just something he was supposed to be feeling, even though the idea of looking in on himself and his emotions was usually pretty far from his mind.
But he thinks, unintentionally, of your first time together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You'd been at the Daily Planet for a little while at that point, and you and Jimmy had been friends for about the same amount of time. You always smiled when you saw him, which was nice, but it was the same smile that you gave all your other friends, and that was even nicer somehow. You treated him like just another friend, just Jimmy, and there was something about that that was just so relieving to him.
The two of you always talked at work. You sent each other shitposts. You hung out as a group with other people. You grew closer than he had expected far faster than he had expected, but you weren't usually alone together. Most of your deepest and longest conversations were had over text, usually at odd hours of the night.
But that night, you'd both had to work late. Just you two. He had a massive backlog of photos he'd needed to go through after a crazy week, and you...well to be honest Jimmy didn't even remember what Perry had you doing. He remembered being vaguely annoyed about it on your behalf, but you had just smiled and said it was part of the job, and he remembered how beautiful you had looked as you worked, the lights dimmed and the air mostly quiet for once. You had everything sprawled out on the floor, had kicked off your shoes and folded yourself into a neat little pretzel to work. He told you that you could probably borrow a desk, but you'd shaken your head, cracked an energy drink, and seemed perfectly content with the work you were doing.
"You're so weird," He had told you, "And those drinks are gonna give you a heart attack."
You laughed, dismissive, but you looked up at him with your eyes glittering, "I'm tougher than I look."
He didn't doubt that, but how tough you were wasn't exactly the main thing on his mind. There was something about the way that you sat there, the way you chewed on the tip of your pen and gazed contentedly through your lashes at him whenever he laughed at one of your jokes. Something in the sharpness of your quips but the softness of your smile. Jimmy doesn't know exactly what it is, can't name the exact moment that it happens, but it suddenly dawns on him that you're hot. He files the thought into the back of his mind, tries to ignore it, but it keeps surfacing. He'd always thought you were pretty, but it had never really factored into his thoughts about you. But that night, suddenly, it's all he can think about.
He finished editing before you were done with your work, but he stayed anyway, and when you finally finished he walked you home. When he offered, there was no ulterior motive. He cared about you, you were his friend, of course he would walk you home.
Then, at your door, you'd offered for him to come in for a drink. And then, tone light, you had added, "You'd be the first guy in a while, so if there's a sense of yearning in the air don't let it go to your head, it's just like that in there now."
You had both laughed heartily, and he'd joined you inside, and it had been good. Great, even. And then you had talked a little more about the dry spell you were having. Explained to him to him that it wasn't that there was no one out there you could get with, but you didn't want to hook up with someone who you didn't even like, and you didn't like most of the guys who talked to you. He had complained about how it seemed like girls never left him alone, but he just never connected to them enough to want anything more. It had ruined a lot of friendships too, he explained, because girls who he did really connect with and like as friends would end up drifting away when they realized it would never be more.
“And why is it more?” He’d asked, cheeks flushed a little with tipsiness but eyes clear and focused like he was presenting his manifesto, “Who got to decide that romance is something more than friendship? Why do we say it like that? What if I dated someone first, and then we decided that we needed something more, and that something more is being friends? I love my friends! I love Clark and Lois and…and you more than I’ve ever loved any woman I’ve dated."
You had been quiet for a little bit, letting him ramble, but he looked over to see you smiling at him. Your voice was thick, clearly getting sleepy and a little tipsy yourself, but he couldn't stop himself from staring at the way your mouth moved as you spoke, "I understand exactly what you mean. I don't disagree, either. I love you, and you're a great friend, and I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, but anyone who can't see that is the one missing out."
"I'm sorry too," He told you, and he was staring at you now but it was because he didn't want to miss any of your reactions, "I understand why guys would just want to get with you. You're fucking hot. But you're also a great friend. Like, one of the smartest, funniest, most passionate people I know. You deserve a lot more than just a hookup. Even if it's not romance, you deserve someone who sees how great you are. Frankly, they don't deserve to be in your bed if they don't."
He hadn't realized he'd leaned in until you said something, "Jimmy. What're you doing?"
Blinking hard for a moment, he realized that he was right up against you know, face just a few inches from yours. He shrugged, but he didn't lean away, "I don't know. Thinking about how great you are?"
And then you had kissed him, and everything had changed.
His heart roared in his ears, his whole body becoming tense in one second and then releasing, relaxing more than he's felt himself relax in quite a while.
It wasn't a long kiss, not even a particularly lustful one, but it was what had gotten him hooked on you. That one kiss was all he needed to know that he wasn’t going to get you out of his mind for a long time.
You'd pulled away, looking suddenly shy, opening your mouth for an apology that he really didn't care to hear. He cut you off before you got past "Sor-"
His hands came up to cradle your face, and he leaned in again, closing the small gap that you had reopened. Part of it was to see if the first one was a fluke, if kissing you was really as great as that had made it seem. The other part was because he knew it would be even better, and he was right. Soon it had grown lustful, frenzied, the two of you slotting together perfectly. Your teeth had clacked together when he guided you to straddle his lap, but somehow even that was hot, and you on top of him with your arms around his neck and your tits pressed against his chest would’ve made up for it anyway.
When you broke apart again, both of you breathing heavy, you giggled like you’d just stolen from a cookie jar. Then, suddenly serious, you asked him, “Are you drunk?”
“No,” He answered immediately, maybe too quickly, but it was true. Then he raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”
Your smile was nervous, but still coy, “No. I just realized I never gave you a proper tour of my place…would you like to see my bedroom?”
Jimmy almost knocked you off his lap to stand up faster, but he managed to restrain himself, nodded like a bobblehead, "I would love to."
The night had escalated quickly from there. You were both half naked by the time you fell into the bed, kissing again. Your hands grew bolder, pawing at each other, feeling unexplored territory. You had discussed what exactly this was, a little, when you managed to tear your lips apart.
"No romance," Jimmy had to keep himself from gasping as you kissed along his neck, scraping your teeth against the sensitive flesh, "No worries about being exclusive."
"Just two incredibly sexy friends helping each other out," You had nodded, laughed, then bit his earlobe.
There was no real foreplay that first time. All hot skin and frantic groping at one another, ripping clothes off of each other. He stood up next to your bed, and wordlessly you moved so that he could stand between your legs, grabbing your pillow from the head of the bed so he could push you down onto it.
"You're sure?" He had asked, already lined up with your entrance and using his last bit of self control to keep from burying himself inside you.
"Positive," You grinned up at him, and he kissed you again as he sunk into you.
You were tight, so tight that he worried he hadn't done enough to get you ready, but you were also dripping wet, and you let out a long, quiet moan at the feeling of him filling you.
"Is it okay?" He couldn't keep himself from moving even though he thought he should wait and see how you felt. Your pussy was so soft and warm, so perfect, he just didn't have it in him to resist, his hips thrusting mostly of their own volition.
"No, it's awful," Your face was entirely deadpan for a moment before you laughed, "It's better than okay, dummy. How about you?"
You'd wrapped an ankle around his thigh, pulling him a little closer, and then canted your hips up a little more, letting out a half-choked noise when he hit a new spot inside you. Jimmy felt himself spurred on, the slam of his pelvis meeting yours getting louder as his speed and force increased.
His hands tightened on your hips, "Fucking amazing."
You let out a whine at the way his fingers were burying themselves into your skin, feverish and hot, and then you nodded, "Me too."
"Keep making noises like that, and I'm not gonna last," Jimmy warned, movements never slowing.
There was a blissed out look on your face. Jimmy had seen it a lot of times since that night, and they were always good, but when he was alone sometimes it was that first one that he found himself thinking about.
"I'm not exactly doing a marathon here either," You panted, shooting him a grin, "I'm pretty close, if we're honest here."
He had paused, just long enough that you'd opened your mouth to complain, and then he shifted your legs, straightening them out and hooking one arm around them, pulling them so they stretched up over that shoulder. His previous pace resumed with no warning, and as he listened to the shrieks and moans you let out he'd felt his blood rush in a sense of accomplishment that he had only ever really gotten from work.
If everything else hadn't been good enough, the first time he saw you come, felt you come, he would swear his life changed. He had leaned down, bending you practically in half, so that he could kiss you as you fell apart, letting you moan into his mouth.
It didn't take him long to follow after you, and he came harder than he ever had in his life up to that point.
And after, when you had both fallen into each others arms, sweaty and sticky and satisfied, he had known that this was a perfect arrangement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Jimmy," Your voice suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts, "You good, dude?"
"Hm?" He blinked, scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, "Yeah, no, I'm good."
You laughed, holding up a bottle of shampoo, "You kind of zoned out there. Here, turn around, I’ll wash your hair."
"What? Why?" He was still getting his bearings, trying to get over the hypnotic crash of the water and be back in the present. He liked the present, liked being with you, didn't want to miss out on it even if he was just in his own head, even if you were what he was thinking about.
You raised an eyebrow at him, “I’m sorry, do you usually wash your hair somewhere other than in the shower?”
“You want to wash my hair?” He stared like you had just said something a lot more ridiculous than you actually had.
“I mean, I don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice.”
“No,” Jimmy smiled gently, “It does sound nice. It’s just…no one’s ever done that.”
Now you gaped at him like that was crazy, which he really didn’t think that it was, “What, you’ve never showered with someone else?”
“No, I have,” He wet his hair and then turned around, tipping his head back a little to give you easier access, “Plenty of times. It’s just that the shower has never really been the point.”
“Sad,” You tell him, “Hopefully you don’t hate it.”
He hears the click of the shampoo bottle lid, and then your hands are in his hair. You’re close behind him, close enough that your skin keeps brushing his back. Jimmy almost unleashes a full-body shiver as you work your fingers over his scalp, digging in firmly but not too hard. The familiar, floral (lavender?) scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils, calms him in a way that only being close to you seems to do. His breath catches when you give a little affectionate scratch behind his ear, and then he holds it to give himself something to concentrate on, to distract him from how badly he wants to disintegrate under your gentle touch. You’re using the very tips of your fingers, rubbing little circles, not speaking but humming to yourself again. Jimmy is fairly certain that this is the best feeling he’s ever experienced, better than the best sex of his life, better than getting high or drunk, better than the first time one of his photos made the front page.
He reminds himself again that you don’t have romantic feelings for each other, that he certainly doesn’t have romantic feelings for you. You’re his best friend, you’re his favorite lay, but Jimmy Olsen is not the kind of guy who falls in love. He feels stupid, again, for having to remind himself of that.
You move your hand down, graze over his back. If you notice the taut pull of his muscles you don’t mention it, but the tension melts away wherever you touch him anyway. You have him take a half step back to rinse his hair, and the rush of water lets him breathe again, sobering from the fog that you had put him in. But then your hands were back in his hair, repeating all the same motions, and once again all of his mental effort went into standing still, into not letting out a moan like your hands were working a different part of his body, holding his breath again. Jimmy tries to think of another time someone has touched him so tenderly, treated him with so much care, but he can’t. He wonders to himself if he has defined intimacy incorrectly his whole life, because he can’t think of any other moments more intimate than this.
When you’re done, you twirl the hair at the nape of his neck around your fingers playfully, and he has to hold in another shudder. You step away and he mourns your touch.
“All done,” You announce, and it’s jarring to him how normal your voice is. A reminder that this is all just business as usual to you, that there is nothing for him to read into here, nothing but his own absurdity.
He clears his throat before he speaks, but it still comes out a little shaky, “Thanks.”
Smiling, you hand him a towel. He dries his hair, probably too roughly, trying to get rid of the tingling that he still feels all over. When you speak, he can tell that you’re trying to sound casual, but he can hear something (hope? horniness? something else?) behind your voice, “Will you stay over?”
He wants to say yes, badly. You spend the night with each other sometimes, although usually not on work nights. But he does have a couple spare work outfits here because your place is closer to the Planet than his, and he does miss falling asleep in the same bed as you. All he wants in the world is to say yes, to stay with you. But he also knows that it would be best to get some distance, clear his head a little more so that he doesn’t do anything he might regret.
So he wavers, voice unconvincing even to himself, “I don’t know, I should probably get home.”
“But it’s getting late,” You have a playful pout on your lips, and he’s alarmed by how hard his heart hammers at the sight of you.
Jimmy wonders if Lois and Clark were right, if he is an addict. As much as he knows that he should go, should quarantine himself from your allure in the safety of his own apartment, he already knows that he can’t tear himself away from you now. Whatever resolve he’d managed to muster, it crumbled instantly at the thought of you being upset that he left. Addicted to your smile, maybe. Addicted to you being happy, you feeling good.
“Alright,” He relents, “But I get to pick which coffee shop we go to in the morning.”
There are four on the walk from your place to the office, and Jimmy knows even as he says it that he’ll probably pick your favorite.
You beam, lean to peck him quickly on the lips, “Yay. Whatever you want.”
“And you have to give me a real kiss before bed,” He adds quickly, relishing in the way you laugh and smack his arm.
You get two glasses of water, not asking before you put one on the bedside table on his side.
Not the one on his side, he has to remind himself, just the one that’s opposite to the nightstand that most of your stuff is on, the side he’s on when he happens to sleep over.
He turns the fan on without you having to ask and then crawls into bed beside you, sinking into the softness and warmth that reminds him so much of you.
You throw one of your legs over his hip, wrap your arm around him, settle in close. Then you grin, “You need a goodnight kiss?”
“I don’t know how I normally sleep without one,” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t help but worry that his tone isn’t as light and teasing as it ought to be.
But it doesn’t matter because then your lips are on his, and the world is perfectly simple again. All that matters is feeling you, sharing the moment with you. Your fingers find the hair on the nape of his neck again, still damp but curling slightly as it dries. He presses one hand to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer, and the other comes up to thumb softly at your jaw. He hopes, somehow, that his touch conveys the words that he can’t say, not even to himself.
Addicted to kissing you, maybe. Addicted to touching you.
When you break apart, your eyes are soft with the sheen of sleepy contentment, a gentle lilt of teasing still in your voice, “Was that real enough for you?”
“Yeah,” He says (No is the true answer. Not unless it was real for you).
“Good,” You smile, then nuzzle up against him. Then, voice totally casual like what you’re about to say won’t punch him in the gut (Not that you have any reason to think it will. It shouldn’t, really), you add, “I’m glad we’ll have a little extra time in the morning. I’ve got a date tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to hang out.”
His mouth is suddenly filled with sandpaper, too dry and prickly to let him speak. He nods, and even though you can’t see him you must feel the movement because you nod too.
It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, and when your breath slows and evens, he tightens his grip around you. Pulls you a little closer, so that your head is on his chest. He’s soothed somewhat by the soft lull of your breathing pressed right against him, but he also worries that his erratic heartbeat will mess up your sleep. The worry isn’t enough to move away from you, though, not when all he wants is to have you close.
He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t even doze off until the first fingers of the dawning sun start poking through the curtains.
He lays there, and he holds you, and he thinks.
Thinks about how ridiculous this is, how unfair it is for him to be so upset by it. Thinks how annoyed he is at Clark for being right when he had called him lovesick. Thinks how desperate he always is to touch you. Thinks how perfect it is to kiss you. Thinks how relaxed he is the moment he’s with you. Thinks how there’s pretty much nothing that he wouldn’t do for you.
And he thinks, with a kind of surprised resignation, that if the love is coming from you, then yeah, he really might be addicted to love.
summary: lois asks jimmy to accompany her summer intern on her first day in the field. he is totally capable of being normal about it.
a/n: sorry this is lowkey just me manifesting because a paper like the daily planet is my dream and im a journalism student about to graduate into a nightmare job market for journos. superman lore? i dont know her. journalism antics based off my own life? of course (not the bombing part but the rest is pretty accurate lol) thank you to @emiliehornby for being my co-leader of jimmy nation
wc: 4.2k
warning(s): this is all fluff baby!!! there's a bombing at the end but no one dies so still all fluff
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“Lois!” He rapidly switches tabs from his game of sudoku to the photos he’s meant to be editing and smiles up at her. “Hey— uh, hey. What’s up?”
She shares a knowing smile of her own as she leans against his desk. “Do you have any assignments yet?”
Jimmy shakes his head. “Nah, I haven’t pitched anything today. Figured I’d go where the wind takes me, y’know?”
“Well, the wind has arrived.” Lois looks across the bullpen to a young woman talking excitedly with Perry. Well, you look excited, but he doesn’t. “Have you met my intern yet?”
“Yeah,” he says, a more genuine smile forming as he watches you. “We met when she came in for orientation last week. She— she’s great.”
“You think so?”
Jimmy nods. “I’m surprised you took her on, honestly. She’s a lot nicer than you.” Lois tries to swat his shoulder but he rolls back in his chair with a laugh. “Point proven!”
“Oh, whatever,” she huffs. She calls your name and your head shoots up, and she gestures for you to come over. You say some kind of apology to Perry, who looks relieved once you walk off.
“Miss Lane!” you say brightly. “What can I do for you?”
“I told you to call me Lois,” she says.
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “All of you are so nice here. I’m still getting used to it.”
Jimmy frowns. “Were the people at your last job mean?”
“My last internship kind of sucked,” you say. “I mean, I did some great reporting, don’t get me wrong! But everyone there was way more cutthroat than I thought they would be. And,” you tip your head, “I didn’t get paid. So this is already way better.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lois says. “What was Perry talking to you about?”
“Oh, I was just asking him a lot of questions,” you say with a slight laugh. “This is the biggest paper I’ve ever worked at, so I’m trying to get to know all the editors. My college paper has like… fifteen people total, and it feels like I’m at least half of them some days.”
“What a coincidence,” Lois says, and she pats Jimmy on the shoulder. “My friend Jimmy here was just talking about how he’d love to show you the ropes.”
“You would?” you ask, your eyes brightening as you break out that perfect smile once again. It’s deadly, he swears—blinding, if nothing else.
“I would?” he stumbles, and then he blinks. Jimmy’s been wanting to spend time with you since the second you walked through the doors, and Lois is just handing it to him on a silver platter. He can show someone the ropes, can’t he? “I— I would, yeah! Definitely!”
“Great.” Lois stands up and looks between both of you. “Senator Cia Strong is running for reelection, and she’s having a press conference today in Byrd Park for her stop in Metropolis. I think it would be a good, quick story for you to cover together.”
“Oh, I heard about that!” you exclaim. “Her opponent’s Bill Macron, and he looks surprisingly strong for a newcomer— do you think she’ll win?”
Lois smiles. “That’s for the two of you to find out.”
“When is it?” Jimmy asks.
She looks down at her watch. “Twenty-seven minutes.”
“Twenty-sev—?” he blurts out, and he jumps up from his seat. “Lois, that’s a twenty minute subway ride on its own!”
“You can make it if you hurry,” she says nonchalantly, but he barely hears her as he starts gathering his things at top speed. You’re moving at a similar pace, already booking it back to the intern desk they keep shoved in the corner of the office to get your stuff.
You make it back ten seconds later—your backpack hangs off one shoulder, your camera is looped around your neck, and you’ve got your press pass and water bottle and jacket and probably five other things in your arms.
“Are you good?” he asks.
“Yeah!” you nod, “I’ll meet you outside!” And then you’re already jogging out the door.
Jimmy shoots Lois a dirty look as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and starts backpedaling. “You’re the worst!” he calls.
She smiles. “Have fun!”
Jimmy runs after you, narrowly avoiding a direct collision with Cat, and Lois walks back over to her desk and sits down.
“I saw that, Miss Lane,” Clark says.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says airily.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“This is work!” she defends. “She’s my intern—I’m helping her get situated.”
“Uh-huh,” he nods. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Jimmy’s been making eyes at her since her first day, would it?”
Lois shrugs as she opens her inbox. “I told you, I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s sweet,” Clark says. “I didn’t think you of all people would be a matchmaker.”
She frowns and looks over at him. “What does that mean?”
This time, he shrugs with a wry smile. “I don’t know.”
Lois scoffs and clicks on an unread press release. She gets two lines in before she deletes it. PR folks love sending her releases for things that, one, aren’t newsworthy, and two, aren’t on her beat.
“They’re both good kids,” she finally says. “Cub reporters usually stick together anyway. I’m just giving them a headstart on it.”
“Of course,” Clark nods. “And if sparks happen to fly, you can’t really be blamed, can you?”
“You’ve got a one track mind,” she remarks, but she can’t fully bite back her smile, especially as she meets his warm eyes.
The Daily Planet has a way of bringing people together, after all.
-
You and Jimmy end up barely making it to the subway, the doors closing mere seconds after you get into the car. You collapse onto the bench beside each other, both very much out of breath from your multi-block sprint.
“Do all of your stories start off like this?” you gasp out.
“No.” Jimmy shakes his head, but it takes him another few seconds to respond as he tries to catch his breath. He hasn’t had to run that many blocks in… forever, he thinks. “But the reporters here like to go ‘trial by fire’ for their interns. Especially Lois.”
“I’ve always admired her work,” you say. “Now I think she might be a little crazy.”
A laugh tumbles out of him as he leans his head against the back of the seat. “To make it in this field, you’ve gotta be.”
“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I’ve gathered that.”
The two of you sit there for another stop in silence, still gathering your thoughts and breath. Jimmy can’t help but pass a few glances at you, glowing from exertion. You shrug your backpack onto the floor and start organizing everything you grabbed off your desk in your haste.
He’s only been in your presence for a collective five minutes, between your orientation last week and your real first day today, but he doesn’t want to leave it. He feels like a meteor stuck in your orbit, especially when you give him that superstar smile.
“So,” he starts, now that his heart has finally returned to a normal rate, “how’d you get this gig?”
“Some networking and a lot of luck,” you admit. “My favorite professor went to college with Mis— with Lois. She told me to apply, so I did, and she put in a good word for me. Two interviews and a few on-the-spot articles later, and voila! I’m here.”
Jimmy nods. “Nothing wrong with a bit of networking. Kinda feels like it’s the only way to get anything done these days.”
“Tell me about it,” you sigh. “I swear, half my friends are going on dates, and I’m over here with a contact list full of small-town bureaucrats.”
He laughs some. He kinda feels bad for wondering if that means you’re single. “If it makes you feel better, you’re probably getting left on read about the same amount.”
You laugh too, and it makes him smile. Something about you draws him in and he can’t even help it. Could Lois tell, or did she just throw him into this without even knowing?
Who is he kidding? Lois notices everything. This is probably her version of paying him back for handling her dailies last week so she could chase a Superman scoop.
(He will never admit it to her, but it does kinda make up for it.)
“How long have you worked at the Daily Planet?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Only about a year and a half,” he says. “I got hired in the mailroom originally, but Perry brought me up to staff after a couple months. I had a ‘Humans of Metropolis’ photoblog that really impressed him.” He laughs. “And the Superman action shots that ended up front page, above the fold."
Your eyes widen. “You’ve met Superman?”
“Yeah!” Jimmy nods after a moment of hesitation. “Yeah, so many times. We’re basically best buds.”
“Oh my god.” You grab his arm and lean in and he stares at you with equally-wide eyes. “That— that is so cool! I— I’ve read a bunch of Superman stuff, but I never thought I might get to meet him!”
He grins. “Reporting in Metropolis isn’t like any other city. I think you’ll realize that pretty quickly.”
“I can’t imagine getting pictures like that, of a superhero.” You sigh and pick up the camera around your neck. “I’ve also never been the best photographer. Not very MMJ of me.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he assures. “One nice thing about working at such a big paper is that you usually don’t have to go out as a one man band.”
“God, yes,” you mumble. “I struggled through all of my media production classes. I’m definitely meant to be behind a laptop, not in front of a camera.”
“I don’t know,” Jimmy says, tilting his head, “I think you’d make a killing on broadcast.”
You smile at him, more genuine than anything he’s ever received before, and he feels better just at the sight. It doesn’t make sense. He barely knows you—he can’t be thinking like this. He can’t be this obvious. You don’t make it easy.
“Thanks,” you say. “But I’m happy where I am.”
You and Jimmy continue to chat until you get to your stop—mostly idle conversation to pass the time, but he does learn a few things. You’re from a small town in Vermont, your preferred beat is politics, and if you could bring three things to a deserted island you’d bring a notebook, a knife, and your reusable water bottle.
Oh, yeah—he also learns that he’s a complete goner. Jimmy falls deeper into your orbit during a twenty minute subway ride, pulling out every joke he can think of to try and make you laugh and see that smile again. How is he going to work with you every day and still stay a normal, self-respecting person?
You’re magnetic. It’s no wonder you’re going into journalism, because he thinks you can get anyone to tell you anything if you just ask nicely and give them that smile.
It’s certainly worked on him.
But Jimmy doesn’t have to think too much about that right now, because the two of you have another five minute sprint to make it to Byrd Park on time. You show your press passes to get to the front, then you separate as Jimmy finds a spot.
You take out a pen, notepad, and a mini recorder while Jimmy rushes to fix his white balance. He always forgets to reset it. You give him a smile and a little wave from your front row seat. He smiles back and feels dizzy.
The press conference goes a lot smoother than the rush over did. The senator delivers pretty much exactly what Jimmy expects—improved education, protected healthcare, lowered crime, the same old. Strong isn’t the worst senator, but Jimmy thinks half the state doesn’t know anything about her policies. She’s average, and most politicians seem to be that or worse these days.
It’s just like any other press conference—with exceptionally good lighting, Jimmy might add—until the explosions start.
He barely even registers it. One moment he’s on one knee zooming in for a better view of Strong, the next he’s been thrown against a tree so hard he thinks it breaks in half. He hopes, at least, because otherwise that crack came from his ribs.
It takes Jimmy a second to come back into himself. He’s protected his camera above all else, wrapped in his jacket and his arms, and he snaps a round of quick photos of all the chaos before he struggles to his feet.
Everything has devolved into hysteria—screaming and running and batting out flames. Jimmy has to find you. You’re a small town girl and now you’re caught up in a bombing in one of the biggest cities in the world. What a great first day.
He’s trying to search for you, but it’s hard when half the park is enveloped in smoke and flames and he can’t stop hacking up a lung. How is he meant to find you or get any good pictures in this?
“Help!”
A voice pierces through the disorder and Jimmy knows it’s you. His heart speeds up and he starts shoving his way through the crowd. He yells out your name and you call his in response—you keep Marco Poloing until Jimmy finds you, and his eyes widen.
You’re face down in the dirt, your leg pinned down by a fallen tree. You spot Jimmy and yell for him again, and he runs up to you.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, dropping to his knees beside you. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, and you grunt as you push at the tree trunk. “I just can’t— get this— off!
“Just stay calm!” Jimmy says. “It— it’s gonna be okay!”
Jimmy tries to push the tree off you and quickly realizes he is not anywhere near strong enough.
“Does this happen on everyone’s first day?” you ask.
“Not everyone’s,” he grunts. “But welcome to your crash course on reporting in Metropolis. Metahumans can throw a superpowered wrench in your plans for the day.”
“How do you know this is a metahuman?” you ask breathlessly.
Jimmy thinks about the car he no longer has because of some villain of the week that tried to bash Superman over the head with it. If only he had been able to afford the next level up of metahuman insurance.
“Because it usually is,” he decides on. “You, uh, kinda get used to it.”
You huff an incredulous laugh. Jimmy attempts to lift it up even an inch, just enough for you to get your leg out, but no dice. He tries one more time—he has to save you, of course, but come on how cool would it be for him to do this in front of you?—and to his shock, the tree lifts up.
You crawl out from under it and shift to your back, your chest heaving with effort. The crushed remains of your camera are scattered all around you. Your eyes only widen, but you’re not looking at Jimmy.
“Superman!” you marvel, your voice a mixture of shock and awe.
He looks over and sees that Superman is, in fact, beside him holding up the tree.
“Are you okay, miss?” he asks as he sets it back down. Jimmy glances down at his hands, a little disappointed. “Your leg isn’t injured?”
“You’re Superman,” you repeat. Jimmy thinks you’re starstruck.
“I am,” he smiles. His gaze goes down to the press pass still hanging around your neck, and his eyes light up. “You’re from the Daily Planet?”
You nod, once, twice, three times. Definitely starstruck. “I’m one of their summer interns.”
Superman grins. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you, then. Welcome to Metropolis.” He looks over at Jimmy and nods. “Good to see you again, Jimmy.”
He nods as well. “Yeah, uh— good to see you too, Supes. Thanks for the assist.”
Superman flies off to help more people before Jimmy manages to say anything else stupid—Supes?—and you look like you’re about to pass out.
Jimmy says your name as he moves closer to you, his eyes still wide. He puts his hands on your shoulders to bring you back to the real world. “Are you still with me?”
“We just met Superman!” you exclaim, grinning at Jimmy. It might just be all the smoke he’s inhaled, but he feels a little lightheaded. “My first day on the job and we met Superman—”
There’s a sudden buzzing in the air, and you pull your phone out of your pocket. “It’s Lois,” you tell him, and then you answer it. “Lois, hey!”
Jimmy can hear her frantically saying your name even from here. She’s not exactly quiet. You move the phone away from your ear some and he chuckles. “Are you and Jimmy okay? I saw the news— the bombs—”
“We’re fine!” you assure, and you motion for Jimmy to come over. “Jimmy too, here—”
“Hey, Lois,” he says, loud enough to be heard through the receiver. “We’re good.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “If I had known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have—”
“Are you kidding?” you interrupt. “This was incredible, Lois! We’ve got a way bigger story to uncover— no one just bombs normal senators. There’s gotta be dirt we can uncover. And— oh my god, we met Superman!”
“...You did?” she asks, and she sounds less than enthused.
“Yes!” you exclaim. “Oh my god, it was amazing. He saved my life!”
“Sounds like him,” she says.
“This is incredible,” you say. “Jimmy and I are gonna get a bunch of man on the street interviews from people that are here— can you call the Strong campaign PR person and see if you can get a statement?”
“Don’t you think you should go to the hospital?” Lois asks. “You were just in a bombing, you have no idea who could be behind it—”
“This is my chance to get my first Metropolis-sized scoop!” you insist. “Would you go to the hospital right now?”
“...I’ll give them a call,” she says. “The two of you, stay safe. Jimmy has Clark’s number, call him if anything happens!”
“Make sure you ask about her donors!” you insist.
You hang up and you look over at Jimmy. Your clothes are singed and covered in tree bark and ashes, and you have a bleeding cut on your forehead, but you look happier than any normal person should be right now.
“Did you get any pictures of all that?”
“Uh, not of that,” he says. “I was kind of busy trying to save you.”
“What about the explosion?”
He nods and starts clicking through his photos. “I took what I could. I think I might have a concussion?”
“That one!” you exclaim, and he stops. “That is perfect, Jimmy!”
He got one right as the explosion went off, with Senator Strong speaking on a backdrop of blinding light. He goes to the next photo and it’s nothing but that light. He goes back to the photo that is definitely a front pager and shakes his head. He can’t believe his lens didn’t crack, but he’s very thankful.
“Geez,” he mutters. “How lucky am I?”
“Do you still have your laptop?”
“As long as it’s not broken in my backpack, yeah.”
“Change of plans, then. You get those photos uploaded to your drive so we’re ready once we get back to the office.” You take your mini recorder out, somehow not crushed like your camera, and smile. “I’m gonna interview anyone that’s stuck around. We’ll meet up in thirty minutes by the fountain, okay?”
Jimmy nods. He looks down at your leg and sees that you’ve lost a third of your pant leg—not to mention the swelling and killer bruises starting to form. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I don’t even feel it,” you assure. “Which means we’ve gotta get this done before my adrenaline fades.”
“You’re a little crazy,” Jimmy says. “I think you’ll fit in perfectly here.”
You grin and Jimmy smiles. “Fountain in thirty,” you repeat.
“Aye, aye, captain.”
You laugh, and then you run off to get your interviews. Jimmy watches you for a good, long second before he goes off to find a still-intact park bench. Police officers and EMTs are already starting to show up—he makes a mental note to get a quote from an officer before the two of you leave.
He might be a little crazy, too. Because Jimmy is pretty sure he would go through a couple more bombings just to spend more time with you.
-
You and Jimmy stumble through the doors of the Daily Planet. You limped your way back from the subway station, Jimmy is now sure he has a concussion, and you both look like you’ve been through Hell and back together.
You don’t think you’ve ever been happier.
“We need to start making phone calls right now,” you say to Jimmy as he speeds to keep up with you. “Like, search through Strong’s donor list and bother every single one of them.”
“I’m already on it.” Jimmy’s been scrolling through his phone for half your scramble over here, sending texts to sources and answering ones from friends who saw he was at the bombing. “The news editor at the Metropolis Examiner has been looking into her shifty financial history since her first term—she just shared her master doc with me.”
“Great!” you exclaim. “We can bust this wide open, Jimmy!”
You pull up a chair at Jimmy’s desk and take your laptop out of your bag. You’re already typing at the speed of light. “I’ll start a write-up on the press conference so we can get it out as soon as possible. Do you edit your photos yourself or does someone else do it?”
“I do my own,” he says. “No one else understands my vision.”
“Then start editing your best shots, ones you think will make us a shoe-in for the front page,” you say, and you almost squeal in excitement. “This has got to get us above the fold, right?”
“I think so,” Jimmy says. “Perry would definitely give it to us if we got an interview with Superman. That’s why Clark is always on the front page.”
“Well, it sounds like you two really are best friends,” you tease. “You’re on a nickname basis with him?”
He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s no big deal. We’re cool with each other.”
“Maybe you can get us that interview with him next time,” you say. “Then I’ll really have something to brag about to my roommates.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says.
You grin. “Great. Now, get on those photos.”
Jimmy nods. Technically, he’s higher up on the totem pole than you, but technically, he doesn’t think he’d get anywhere trying to pull rank when he’s only a step above you. You’re in the zone—he respects it, and he’s a little scared of it.
“Once you’re done, you can keep looking into the Strong angle,” you say. “We move fast enough, we’ll have two articles to pitch to Perry before lunch!”
“Yes ma’am,” Jimmy jokes. Lightroom has finally booted up, so he starts to transfer his favorite shots over. He passes a glance over at you while they’re loading. “You move fast, don’t you?”
You laugh, high on life, journalism, and the adrenaline that comes with surviving a bombing. “Trial by fire, right?”
“Are you two okay?” a voice asks, and you turn your head to see it’s Clark Kent with slightly wide eyes. He has a mug of coffee in each hand and he places them down in front of you both. “It’s all over every station; you even ended up in some shots.”
“We were on TV?” Jimmy asks. He might be working at one of the most acclaimed newspapers in the world, but it is still so cool to him every time he makes it onto the news for something other than his photos.
“More than,” you assure. Your fingers are still flying over the keys, and you laugh again. “What a way to get my first byline here!”
“I’m glad,” Clark says, and he looks at you. “Lois is off chasing that lead you gave her. I think you might be the perfect intern for her.”
“I’m glad,” you echo. “If this is what the whole summer’s gonna be like, I cannot wait!”
“Woah, new girl!” Steve is walking past them but he stops and backpedals, eyes wide as he looks you and Jimmy up and down. You do both kind of look like complete messes—him, at least. Somehow, you still look good. “Rough first day?”
You and Jimmy share glances at each other and you grin. He thinks he might pass out.
how the hp boys would react when they find out you have a crush on them
pair: Harry Potter x reader | Ron Weasley x reader | Draco Malfoy x reader | Neville Longbottom x reader | Cedric Diggory x reader | Fred Weasley x reader | George Weasley x reader | Oliver Wood x reader
masterlist | navigation
❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿
Harry Potter
Harry's day takes an unexpected turn when Seamus casually mentions that the younger student, who's always been kind and friendly to him, might have a crush on him. At first, he laughs it off, thinking it's just a rumor, but when Ron confirms that he's heard the same thing, Harry’s heart starts racing. He can’t help but replay every interaction with you in his head, realizing there might have been subtle hints he missed. Harry isn't sure what to do; part of him is flattered, and another part is nervous. He’s always admired your kindness and intelligence, and now, knowing how you feel, he becomes more aware of his own feelings. Over the next few days, Harry starts paying closer attention to you, growing more awkward but also more interested, trying to figure out his next move.
Ron Weasley
Ron overhears some third-years gossiping about how you, the girl from his study group, have a bit of a crush on him. He immediately goes red, both from embarrassment and the unfamiliarity of the situation. He's never been great at reading signals, so the thought that someone likes him catches him off guard. At first, he brushes it off, thinking it must be a joke, but when Hermione reassures him that it’s true, he can’t stop thinking about it. The next time he sees you in the common room, he’s noticeably flustered, fumbling his words and trying to act cool, which only makes him more endearing. Despite his awkwardness, Ron can’t help but feel a little pleased, and over time, he starts to warm up to the idea, maybe even considering how to approach you about it.
Draco Malfoy
Draco is lounging in the Slytherin common room when Pansy Parkinson, with a sly grin, tells him that a younger Gryffindor girl has a crush on him. At first, he scoffs, dismissing it as irrelevant, but later, when he realizes it’s you—a girl he’s actually noticed for your sharp wit and surprising bravery—he becomes intrigued. Draco isn't one to openly show interest, but now, every time he sees you in the corridors or during meals, he’s more aware of your presence. He might tease you more, dropping subtle hints to see how you react, trying to gauge your feelings. Though he maintains his cool exterior, Draco can’t help but feel a thrill at the idea of someone like you liking him, and he starts thinking about how to use this to his advantage, or perhaps, how he might actually feel about you.
Neville Longbottom
Neville is in the library when he overhears some girls from your year talking about how you have a crush on him. His immediate reaction is disbelief; he’s never considered himself someone people would have a crush on. Nervously adjusting his collar, Neville tries to focus on his Herbology notes, but he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s always liked you—how could he not? You’re kind, and your encouragement during classes has always meant a lot to him. But now, knowing you might feel the same way, Neville starts to become more confident around you. He’ll blush whenever you’re near but will also make more of an effort to talk to you, even inviting you to study sessions in the greenhouse. Though he’s shy, Neville is secretly thrilled, and the thought of you liking him makes him smile more than usual.
Cedric Diggory
Cedric is chatting with his Hufflepuff friends when one of them mentions that you, a sweet younger student from Ravenclaw, have a bit of a crush on him. He’s flattered, of course—he’s used to a bit of attention—but the thought of you, someone he’s always admired for your intelligence and grace, having feelings for him makes him pause. Cedric is the type to handle this situation with kindness and maturity. The next time he sees you, he’ll go out of his way to be friendly, making sure you feel comfortable around him. He might even drop a few hints that he’s aware of your feelings, just to see how you react. Cedric would be careful not to lead you on if he wasn’t interested, but in this case, he finds himself considering the possibility of getting to know you better, as your crush on him sparks something within himself.
Fred Weasley
Fred is busy planning a prank with George when Lee Jordan casually drops the bomb that you have a crush on him. Fred’s reaction is immediate—he grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He’s always liked you; after all, you’re fun to be around and have a sharp sense of humor. But now, knowing that you like him back, Fred is going to make the most of it. The next time he sees you, he’s teasing you more than ever, dropping playful hints and watching with delight as you blush. Fred isn’t one to be subtle, so you might find little jokes or pranks with double meanings aimed your way. But beneath the fun and games, Fred’s genuinely pleased and interested, and he starts looking for ways to spend more time with you, always with that signature Weasley charm.
George Weasley
George finds out from Angelina that you have a crush on him, and his reaction is a mix of surprise and amusement. He’s always thought you were a cool person, but now, knowing you like him, he can’t help but feel a bit shy—though he’ll never admit it. Unlike Fred, George is more low-key in his approach. He’ll still joke around with you, but his teasing becomes a bit more affectionate, and he might try to find moments where it’s just the two of you. George is more thoughtful than his twin, so he’ll start to notice the little things about you that he hadn’t before, and he might even drop by your common room to say hi more often. Though he keeps things lighthearted, George’s actions show he’s interested, and he’s thinking about how to take things a step further.
Oliver Wood
Oliver is coming off the Quidditch pitch when a teammate mentions that you’ve been seen watching the practices more often, and that you might have a crush on him. Oliver is immediately intrigued. He’s so focused on Quidditch that he hasn’t noticed much else, but now, he’s paying attention. He remembers how you’ve always been supportive, cheering for the team, and he’s flattered. The next time he sees you, he’s extra charming, asking if you’d like to join the team for a post-practice hangout. Oliver is confident and direct, so he might just ask you outright if the rumors are true, but he does it with a playful smile to keep things light. If he finds out you do like him, Oliver’s quick to make his interest known too, inviting you to more Quidditch-related activities and finding excuses to spend time with you outside of the game.
Your Honor I'm a Yearner @your-honor-im-a-yearner - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
