Da-Duck

🔞 the quiet side of thunder | @fawniswriting When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky is determined to take care of you.

🔞 You're the Glue | @barnes-babydoll After a mission goes horribly wrong, the team ends up stewing in their own anger on the car ride home. You try to lighten the mood, but instead it makes everyone angrier. When you're down, Bucky’s there to comfort you.

🔞 Don't Touch the Tech Girl | @aquaticmercy

Sam told Bucky that you, his new tech engineer, was off-limits. But that just makes Bucky want you more.

🔞 Wanna Be Yours | @daddyjackfrost Bucky’s been in love with you for longer than he’ll admit. But when a moment of clarity after a misunderstanding on his part cracks the tension between you wide open, he finally gets to show you just how much.

🔞 Juno | @shortnspidey Everyone’s drawn to you, it’s part of what makes you so special, and one of the first things Bucky fell in love with. He admires the way you light up every room, the way people naturally gravitate toward you. But it also means he's constantly sharing you with the world. So one weekend, he decides to take you away from it all, just you, him, and the time he's been craving.

🔞 in too deep | @buckysleftbicep you told bucky it was your ovulation week and he took that as a challenge. you really, really, should’ve kept your mouth shut.

🔞 Knowing you | @marvelwitchergilmore Bucky knows you better than you know yourself. So, what happened when he starts to notice something is wrong?

🔞 acquainted | @flowersforbucky (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky) 🔞 down bad | | @flowersforbucky couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born. 🔞 love language | @flowersforbucky snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages. 🔞 cowboys and angels | @flowersforbucky {kinktober prompt: thigh riding}

🔞 half-light | @cheekybarnes You and Bucky have been together long enough to know each other inside out, but one night in the shower you end up using your safeword for the first time.

Now, you’ve always felt an odd way about the tip screen. You didn’t like having to stand there like a jackass while a customer decided how much to tip you. Honestly, you wish your coffee shop hadn’t gone all tech-forward and had just stuck with the tried-and-true tip jar.

But now. Someone had deliberately overtipped you.

Your stomach twists in sudden discomfort. You’ve been a barista long enough to notice weird generosity when you see it, and this felt deliberate. The last time you’d gotten an oversized tip like this, it hadn’t been for nothing. It had been from an older man who asked if, in exchange for the tip he’d left you, you could come out to his car with him for a “private moment”. You’ve never given someone back their money so quickly in your entire life.

This didn’t feel like that, though. This was the third time this week that you’ve gotten a tip like this. And coincidentally, the third time this week that she had been here.

You look up, and the woman is still seated at the small table by the window. Her hair is short and bleach-blonde. Gorgeous earrings dangle from both ears. She’s dressed head to toe in white clothes that you’d never be able to keep that clean. She wears bold makeup—a smoky eye and a plum lip—that counterbalances the pristine nature of her clothing.

She’s scrolling through her phone with her right hand, unhurried, like she has nowhere else to be. Her left hand taps absentmindedly on the styrofoam cup in front of her, and you notice that her nails are the same plum shade as her lips. You have the sudden, startling thought that she probably smells divine.

The woman happens to glance up then, catching you staring. She lifts one brow, amused, and your cheeks burn scarlet as you look away first.

She essentially becomes a regular after that. So much so that you get to know her order very well (of course, it helps that she always orders the same thing) one medium latte macchiato, two creams, no sugar, and occasionally, a croissant. And of course, there’s always the exorbitant tip—thirty dollars here, fifty dollars there.

You tell yourself not to question it too hard. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. Plus, the extra money does help. Grad school doesn’t pay for itself. And neither does rent. Or textbooks. Plus, you’d been eyeing a new laptop since your current one was on its last leg (the bracket and parenthesis keys straight up didn’t work anymore, and half of the other keys didn’t work unless you jammed them down hard, which pretty much guaranteed that it took you twice as long to write class essays)

By the end of the third consecutive week of the enchanting woman coming in, the knot in your chest wouldn’t go away. So one afternoon, when the cafè is quieter, and you haven’t seen any foot traffic in the last half hour, you do something terrifying.

You walk over to her.

“Hey, excuse me,” you say when you approach her table, your voice much steadier than you feel. “Can I ask you something?”

She looks up at you slowly over the rim of her mug. Her hazel eyes are sharp and curious. “Of course.”

You certainly hadn’t been expecting the accent. It melts like honey in your veins and sends an unsolicited shiver down your spine before you can stop it.

You swallow. “You’ve…you’ve been the one leaving me those big tips, right?”

“Yes.” The blonde woman smiles. “Is this a problem?”

“No, no, I…I appreciate it, truly. It’s just—“ You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I just hope you don’t feel like you have to do that. Like you’re expected to. Trust me. A $1 tip for a $5 macchiato is more than okay.”

The woman’s smile widens. “So then…if one dollar is okay, then fifty dollars is…amazing. No?”

“W-well, yes, but…uh…” You feel yourself floundering, and it doesn’t help that this woman hasn’t taken her eyes off you once since you walked over. You’d always been a fan of brown eyes. But good god, all that hazel. You were seconds from drowning in it.

The woman gestures to the vacant chair across from her. “Sit.”

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

“Sit,” she repeats gently, nodding toward the chair. “Please.”

You glance around the cafè, then back at her. Your manager was in the back. And the only other customers were a cute elderly couple who were currently feeding each other soup, so what was the harm? Against your better judgment, you sit.

The woman folds her hands on the table, and you find yourself zeroing in on her gorgeous nails again. She’d gotten them done since the last time you saw them. Now, the plum shade has been replaced with a pretty emerald green that matched the turtleneck she wore, and also brought out the green tints in her eyes.

“Y/n, right?” The woman asks, her gaze flickering to your name tag.

“Yes, that’s right,” you nod. “And you are…”

“I’m Yelena,” the woman smiles. “Nice to finally meet you officially, y/n,”

“You too,” you smile, feeling something glow in your chest.

“Now, you’re curious about the tips, I assume?” Yelena goes on.

“A little, yeah,”

“Well,” Yelena searches your eyes. “I tip you like this because I want to. Not because I feel obligated.”

“But why?” You ask quietly. “Why do you want to?”

Yelena’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Because you work very hard, y/n. I’ve seen it. You’re tired, and you’re trying your best. And you remind me of myself, once.”

Your chest tightens. So. She really was doing this out of the kindness of her heart? No ulterior motive? No creepy favor expected?

“Actually,” Yelena goes on. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Your heart stutters. “Okay,”

“I could support you,” she says. “More directly.”

Your breath catches. Yelena must see the alarm in your eyes, because she hurries to clear things up. “This is not sexual. And it is not an ultimatum. You are free to say no. All I mean is that I could offer you financial stability. And help where you need it.” Her gaze softens then. “You deserve to breathe easy, y/n. All I ask is that you think about it. Okay?”

You study Yelena’s face every which way, hunting for even a hint of deception. But there is none. Nothing but sincerity in those deep eyes. Deep eyes that you knew you’d dream about tonight, whether you wanted to or not.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

***

You thought about Yelena for days, just like you knew you would. And not just her offer either. You find yourself dwelling on her eyes and the way they stayed trained on you. Her intoxicating fragrance and the way it wrapped around you, and how you’d just wanted to breathe it in. And you definitely couldn’t get that Russian accent out of your head.

You tell your best friend Kate Bishop first. You’re sprawled out with her on the couch in her living room, textbooks abandoned, half-finished cans of Cola on the coffee table, fingers knotted in your hoodie sleeves.

“So,” you finish, staring up at the living room ceiling. “Am I so insane that I kinda wanna go for this?”

Kate snorts. “Well, I mean, I’m currently being financed by my mom, so who am I to judge?”

You laugh despite yourself. Then sigh. “She said it herself that it wasn’t an ultimatum. I can say no to her offer, and there’d be no hard feelings. She’d, I dunno, probably find some other girl even less well off than me to help instead.”

“Sounds like best case scenario to me,” Kate says. “A gorgeous woman who doesn’t expect anything in return, and just wants to provide some liquidity? I’ll take two,” Her gaze turns serious as she looks at you. “But, do you want to do it?”

You take your time answering, thinking of the stress of student loans, your meager paycheck every two weeks that, once you’ve paid all your bills, is barely enough to afford more than a week’s worth of TV dinners. And then you think of Yelena and her effortless confidence. The way her stare held you when you sat across from her in the cafè. The way she’d said, “You deserve to breathe easy,” and you have your answer.

You meet up with Yelena again the following week. You chose a day when you were completely free, no shift at the cafè and no classes. Yelena had offered to buy you brunch, and you’d had to practically tear apart your closet to find something suitable to wear to the quaint little bistro. You’d finally settled on a soft cardigan over a floral halter sundress.

Yelena is waiting for you outside the bistro. She’s dressed in a gorgeous teal pantsuit with chic sunglasses tucked on top of her head. Her makeup is nothing short of flawless, as always. As you approach her, you suddenly feel entirely out of place. Here you are, looking like you’re ready for a casual picnic, and she looks like she’s fashionably late to a business meeting.

“You look beautiful,” Yelena says once you’re close enough.

Your cheeks blush at the compliment. “Oh. Thank you. You are as well,”

Yelena smiles. “Shall we?” She gestures toward the door, and you nod. Then, she holds it open for you, allowing you to walk in first.

The inside of the bistro is cozy, yet refined. All polished wood floors and exposed stone pillars. Yelena speaks with the chipper hostess at the stand, and then the two of you are being led up a set of stairs to a nice booth tucked away in the corner.

“Do you like wine, y/n?” Yelena asks once the two of you are seated.

“I don’t really know,” you answer honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually had it.” And because the alcohol you were the most familiar with was booze, because it was Kate’s favorite, and you’d spent many a night at her place getting wasted on it.

“Would you like to try some today?” Yelena asks next. “They have a great selection here. Do you prefer sweet, tart, or somewhere in the middle?”

“Oh, uh…maybe in the middle?” You hated how flustered you felt already. You’ve never had a gorgeous woman offering to order you wine before.

But before long, Yelena is watching you as you try a sip from the wine of her choice. And you end up liking the taste a lot more than you thought you would. An hour later, you have a soft buzz, and you feel like you know so much more about Yelena.

“I um…” You clear your throat. “…I thought about…what you mentioned in the café,”

“You have?” Yelena sets her wineglass down carefully on the table. “And…what do you think?”

“I think…” You inhale, then exhale deeply. Your heart is in your throat. “…I think if it’s a serious offer, then I accept.”

Yelena’s smile widens. “I’m so glad to hear. And remember. None of this is set in stone. You can say no at any time, and this all ends the moment you want it to. But until you do…” she picks up her wineglass again and raises it in the air. “…I will help in any way I can.”

Your heart gives a jolt as you lift your own wineglass, clinking it against Yelena’s. “I…thank you, Yelena. This is all very kind of you.”

“Yes,” Yelena beams, holding your gaze as she takes a long sip of her wine. “And the first way I plan to support you is by ordering you the lava cake. It is delectable, trust me.”

You giggle. “Sounds delicious. I’m in.”

***

The allowance is overwhelming at first, of course it is. You’ve gone from pinching pennies to actually having more than you need for food and bills. At first, it’s all practical. Rent. Groceries. A new laptop when your old one finally shits out on you mid-semester.

And Yelena never announces these things; they just simply happen. Food is sent to your apartment when you tell Yelena that you haven’t had a chance to eat yet. Appointments are scheduled when you’re too busy to make them yourself. Once, when you’ve fallen sick, Yelena quietly puts you on her insurance and pays the bill without comment.

“No, Yelena,” you’d said when you found out, weak and sleepy from the medicine the doctor gave you. You were also sleeping over at Yelena’s townhouse that night, cocooned in the incredibly soft sheets in her guest bed. “You didn’t have to give me your insurance. I can’t ask that of you. I’m not—“

“Shhh, milaya,” Yelena whispers. “Don’t worry yourself with this. You’re sick. And you needed a check-up. Just focus on resting, okay?” It’s the first time Yelena’s used a pet name on you. And you’re not sure if the lightheadedness that you feel is from the medicine or the name. Or maybe a combination of both, but either way, it made you feel floaty.

You reach blindly for Yelena’s hand, which she doesn’t hesitate to give you. Her hand is warm as her fingers intertwine with yours.

“You really don’t mind doing this for me?” You ask her.

“I really don’t,” Yelena says earnestly.

You search Yelena’s eyes, even as yours begin to grow heavy. “God, you’re too good to be true,” you whisper. Then you yawn.

Yelena chuckles softly at your yawn. Then, she lifts your hand to her lips, kissing yours. “Get some sleep,” she whispers. And as if on cue, your eyes flutter shut.

Yelena watches your sleeping form for a long time, until the warmth blooms in her chest and her head starts to feel light. She stands from the bed as carefully as possible and walks to the door, thumbing out the light and closing the guest bedroom door behind her with a soft click.

Yelena doesn’t get much sleep that night. She tells herself that it’s because she just wants to listen out for you. For the sound of a coughing fit or you calling out for her in need of more supplies. But when the color of dawn just barely breaks through her windows, and she still hasn’t gotten much sleep, she knows that’s not the entire story.

When the sunlight begins to bleed through the curtains, and it’s glaringly obvious Yelena isn’t getting back to sleep, she slips from her bed and pads quietly down the upstairs hall until she stops in front of the guest room. She lays her palm flat against the wood, hesitating, and then she gives it a soft knock.

“Y/n?” She calls out softly.

There’s a rustle from inside, followed by your sleepy voice. “Yelena?”

“Yes, it’s me. May I come in?”

There’s another pause, and Yelena can’t help but imagine you fighting to keep your eyes open. That medicine she’d given you last night had been strong, after all. Then, “Yeah, of course.”

Yelena turns the knob slowly and opens the door. She finds you propped up against the pillows, your hair mussed and your cheeks warm with sleep. You’re wearing one of the oversized t-shirts she’d offered you the night before, the hem sliding dangerously high on your thighs. The sight makes something warm settle in her stomach, but she schools her features.

“How are you feeling?” She asks as she approaches the bed.

You shrug, smiling faintly. “A little better. Still kind of dizzy, but I slept really well in this bed.”

Yelena smiles as she lowers herself onto the bed. “I’m glad,” she says. Then, seemingly without thinking, she reaches out and places the back of her hand against your forehead, feeling for a temperature. Then, she moves that same hand to feel the right and left sides of your neck, too. You lean into her touch, closing your eyes.

“You are still very warm,” she says when she pulls her hand back, a wrinkle of concern forming between her brows. “Would you like a cold compress? I can also make you tea. Or soup. I know soup is not a very tasty breakfast, but…you are sick.”

You chuckle softly. “Well, I don’t have much of an appetite yet. But I’ll take the cold compress. And the tea,”

A smile teases Yelena’s lips, and she raises her hand again to cup your cheek, brushing a thumb beneath your eye. “Then, I am at your service,” she says.

Your breath stutters, but you place your hand over hers, returning her smile. For a moment, neither of you moves. Yelena’s hand remains where it is, and yours remains on top of hers. You also don’t drop her gaze, and she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to drop yours either. You think it’s your imagination when her eyes dart to your lips. You tell yourself it’s the fever playing tricks on you.

Finally, Yelena’s hand drops back to her lap. “I’ll let you rest,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while with your tea and compress,”

You nod, though you don’t look away from her. “Okay,”

Yelena stands, then hesitates. “And if there’s anything else you need, you know you can ask, right?”

“I know,” you say gently.

“Feel better, milaya,” Yelena replies softly, and then she leaves, shutting the door softly behind her.

You stare at the door long after she’s gone, your heart beating a little too fast, warmth curling low in your stomach that has nothing to do with the cough medicine.

***

It takes a few more days for you to shake the flu bug, but soon, you’re back in your own apartment. Your body feels much steadier with the fever long gone and the fog lifted, but your brain still has moments where it refuses to cooperate.

You’re currently sitting at your tiny kitchen table with your new laptop open in front of you, a mug of coffee cooling beside it. The cursor blinks patiently at the top of a half-written term paper. You rub your temples and sigh.

You should be grateful. You are grateful. The laptop alone is a miracle. Light, fast, and exactly what you mentioned needing offhand weeks ago. You hadn’t even been able to figure out which model you wanted or needed, but somehow, Yelena had gotten you exactly the right one.

You flex your fingers over the keyboard and try to focus. Post-war economic restructuring…

Your mind drifts again. To the way Yelena had taken care of you last week when you were sick. The way she fed you soup when you got your appetite back, blowing on each spoonful before feeding it to you. The warmth of her hand when she cupped your cheek. And that petname she’d given you that felt and sounded so natural. Milaya…

You shake your head and force your eyes back to the screen. As millions of soldiers returned home, the demand for military equipment became…blah, blah, blah.

“Focus,” you mutter to yourself.

You type a sentence. Then another. Then delete them both. Your apartment feels way too quiet with just you. You glance at your phone without thinking, and suddenly, a certain gorgeous Russian woman is at the front of your mind. You consider texting or calling her, but you don’t want to bug her. She’d already checked in with you once and sent you some money since today was your grocery errand day. But she also told you she had a couple of business meetings to attend to, and you didn’t want to throw her off her game.

After a few more nothing sentences that all get deleted, you lean back in your chair and stare up at the ceiling. The a/c unit hums softly above you. Somewhere outside, there’s the distant sound of a car honking and soft raindrops hitting pavement.

You tell yourself that you’re just adjusting. That it’s normal to feel a little unmoored after being taken care of so thoroughly. The fact that your thoughts keep circling back to Yelena has nothing to do with wanting.

Except…

Your gaze drifts back to your laptop. The screen had gone black due to lack of use, and your own tired face stares back at you from the dark screen.

She hasn’t asked for a single thing in return. And it’s been nearly two months since this arrangement started. It should feel too good to be true. It should feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it doesn’t feel like that at all. In fact, around Yelena, you’ve never felt safer.

Your phone buzzes suddenly on the table, making you jump. And then when you see that it’s Yelena, your heart gives an unwelcome flutter.

Yelena: Men were a mistake. Anyway, I hope your afternoon is going well, milaya. Have you gotten your groceries yet?

You chuckle at the message. You can only imagine what could’ve happened that prompted Yelena to open her text like that. Probably some know-it-all douche in a board meeting. You type out a response.

You: My afternoon is going okay, but I can’t seem to break the ice between me and this damn term paper though. I was gonna hit the store after I finished.

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Yelena: Do not let it stress you, milaya. If you are stumped, leave it and come back later. Eating is more important.

You huff a quiet laugh as you glance at your laptop again.

You: You’re right. I’ll take a break and go to the store, I promise.

Yelena: Good girl. I have another meeting. I will give you a call later once I no longer feel murderous intent toward my incompetent colleagues.

You set your phone back down, feeling your stomach already starting to do that annoying fluttery thing. Did Yelena just call you ‘good girl ’? You decide to push the thought out of your head. You also decide to keep your promise to her because your pantry and fridge are bare, and your stomach is empty.

You’ve only been back from the store for a total of ten minutes when Kate shows up unannounced. You’re not even sure why she even bothers knocking, because a moment later, you hear keys jangling (you’ve had keys to each other’s places since basically the beginning of time) and then the door opens, and your best friend comes bustling inside.

“I brought snacks!” Kate chirps, already headed toward your kitchen island with her arms full of bags.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Don’t you have an afternoon class?”

“Class got cancelled,” Kate explains as she sets the bags down. “And I know you don’t have classes on Tuesdays, so I decided to come bother you.”

“How noble of you,” you deadpan.

You watch as Kate grabs a box of pizza rolls out of one of the grocery bags and then crosses your kitchen to preheat the oven.

“You realize I just went shopping, right? I don’t need all this junk food,” you laugh as you peer into one of the bags to discover at least three different kinds of chips and a bag of golden Oreos.

“So then, you’ll just have extra to go around,” Kate navigates your kitchen with the grace of someone who’s been there a few dozen times (which she has), pulling a cooking tray out of one of the cabinets and placing it on the stove. She keeps glancing at you over her shoulder as she rips open the bag of pizza rolls.

“You good over there?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, glancing down at your phone, once again reading Yelena’s last text. Primarily, the part where she called you good girl.

“You just seem a little spacey,” Kate says. “Waiting for that woman to text you?”

You blush and hastily pocket your phone. “No, of course not. She’s working today. She’s busy,”

Kate studies you for a moment, and you absolutely don’t appreciate the smirk that’s so obviously playing on her lips right now.

“Are you two, like…hooking up?” She asks.

“What? No! God, Kate, you know it’s not like that!”

“Are you sure? I’m getting a down bad vibe from you right now,” Kate continues to tease.

Heat floods your cheeks. “No, you’re not. It’s not like that. We’re—all of this—“ you gesture vaguely between yourself and the empty space around you. “—all of this is platonic.”

Kate raises a brow. “All of it?”

You open your mouth to retort, but then your phone chimes in your pocket. Your heart leaps in your throat, and you turn away from Kate’s shit-eating grin as you lift your phone out to see a new text from Yelena.

Yelena: Will you be free tomorrow, milaya? I want to take you somewhere.

Your breath catches, and you stare at the screen until the words blur together. You hadn’t even noticed Kate creeping up behind you and peering at the text over your shoulder.

“All of it?” Kate repeats, raising a brow knowingly.

“Shut up.”

***

Yelena picks you up the next afternoon. You’re waiting for her outside your apartment building when you hear the low purr of her engine, and then watch her sleek black car pull up, looking completely out of place in the apartment building’s humble parking lot. She steps out of her car looking elegant as always—chic red-tinted glasses tucked into her hair, a maroon coat over her shoulders, and an even deeper shade of red on her lips that pulls back to reveal flawless teeth as she smiles at you.

In a word, she looks unfair. Her eyes flick over you in a way that makes your stomach dip. You’re not really sure why, seeing as you didn’t look half as dressy as Yelena, in your university’s hoodie and a pair of jeans.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“Hello, milaya,” Yelena’s smile turns fond. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Unless you think I should change?” You start to shrink beneath Yelena’s gaze, but she merely shakes her head.

“No, no, you look perfect. So cozy and cute.” She holds her hand out for you, and you take it, your much colder hand meeting the warmth of hers. “After you, beautiful,” she purrs as she opens the passenger door for you.

The boutique Yelena brings you to is softly lit and elegant. And simultaneously, the kind of place that you never would’ve set foot in otherwise. On the drive over, Yelena had filled you in on a gala she was planning on attending and asked you if you’d like to tag along. You don’t know what possessed you to agree to it without thinking because you had absolutely nothing to wear to a fancy gala. But that’s where Yelena came in clutch, suggesting this very boutique for a shopping spree.

Everything smells like expensive perfume, and you hover near the entrance, feeling like you could break something if you breathed a little too hard.

“Yelena,” you speak up after a while. “I know I said I’d come with you to the gala, but…you already do so much for me. And nothing in this store looks like it’s anywhere within spitting distance of my budget.”

“Well, I didn’t bring you here expecting you to pay for anything. This is something that I want to do for you,” Yelena squeezes your hand as she speaks.

“Are you sure? Because if it’s too much trouble, I’m sure there’s an old dress somewhere in the back of my closet that I can wear instead.”

She stops walking and turns to face you fully. “If that would make you more comfortable, then of course. This is not an obligation, detka. Just an invitation. If you don’t like it, then we can leave. But…” she suddenly gives you the most lethal puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “…it would be a lie to say that I don’t want to at least see you try something on. Just one dress? Pretty please?”

You search Yelena’s eyes and, god damn it, there’s no way you could say no to that face. Even if you wanted to.

“…okay,” you say finally. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try a couple of things on.”

Yelena’s eyes light up, and she claps her hands in excitement. Then, as if by magic, a friendly sales associate appears at her side, and Yelena murmurs something to her in a low voice. You catch fragments—evening attire, gala, simple yet striking. Then, the next half hour is a blur of pretty colors and fabrics.

You’ve gone through two dresses already, both beautiful, but not exactly something you’d like to spend an entire evening wearing. But the third dress you try on steals the air from your lungs. It’s a deep-blue satin maxi dress with a strapless neckline, long lace sleeves, and a slit in the left leg.

You barely recognize yourself in the mirror. You’ve never looked this regal before in your life, even if it is technically cosplay.

Your hands hover uselessly at your sides. After a couple of minutes, Yelena’s voice drifts in from outside the curtain. “Are you still okay in there?”

You open your mouth to answer, and nothing comes out. A beat passes, then another.

“Milaya?” She speaks again. “Are you okay?”

Your heart pounds. “Can you…come in, Yelena?”

“Of course. Are you okay? Is the dress…” The curtain draws back, Yelena steps inside, and her sentence trails off as she gets a look at you.

Her breath catches audibly as she pulls the curtain shut behind her, sealing you both in the small space. Her eyes sweep over you, and she mutters something under her breath in Russian.

Your heartbeat flutters wildly now, and you swallow hard. “Is…is this one okay?” You ask, gesturing vaguely to your reflection.

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, almost as if she’s afraid to say it too loudly: “It’s perfect.”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror. “You’re perfect,”

A zing goes all the way down your spine. You turn to face her, and she steps closer without seeming to realize she’s doing it. Her hands lift, pause, then settle at your hips. Your skin warms with her touch.

You bring your own hands up on instinct, fingers curling around Yelena’s forearms. She’s solid yet soft beneath your touch. Real in a way that makes your head spin.

Yelena murmurs again in Russian, even lower this time, and you huff a shy, breathless laugh. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Her eyes don’t leave yours. “I said you are a vision,” she translates softly. “You look like a dream.”

Your heart lifts clean out of your chest.

Your gaze drops to Yelena’s lips, just for a second, and when you look back up, her eyes have followed the same path. The space between you feels suddenly charged, electric. Yelena steps closer. Her perfume surrounds you. For one dangerous second, you think she might—

Yelena clears her throat abruptly and steps back, hands dropping from your waist as if she’s burned herself. “Anyway,” she says, a little too briskly. “If you like this dress, I will go pay for it now?”

You blink, disoriented, your pulse still racing. “Uh…yeah,” you breathe. “I…yeah. I like this one.”

Yelena nods once decisively and slips back through the curtain. You’re left alone in the dressing room again, staring at the space where Yelena was just standing. She’d left her fragrance behind, the floral scent still surrounding you. Your cheeks are flushed, and your heartbeat is erratic, and you’re left with these dangerous feelings you don’t know what to do with.

***

You weren’t sure what to expect for your first gala, but you were definitely more than a little overstimulated by the glitz and glamour that surrounded you. Just like in the boutique, you were afraid to do more than just simply stand stock-still out of fear of breaking or ruining something. But at least you looked the part in your dress.

You stay glued to Yelena’s side throughout the night, her hand warm and steady at the small of your back the entire time. She introduces you with reverence to everyone, making sure everyone knows your name and that you’re her plus-one for the night. Occasionally, she’ll squeeze your hand and give you that fond smile when you’re too shy to speak.

People smile at you. Compliment your dress. Ask about your degree when you mention you’re in grad school. One woman squeezes your arm and tells you how refreshing it is to see someone so grounded here. And throughout every interaction, Yelena watches you with a fondness in her eyes that makes you melt.

But then, there are also the strange looks you get. People who, even with your gorgeous dress on, seem to sniff out that you don’t really belong in a place like this. That there’s no way your salary matched theirs (which is true), and that they can’t seem to figure out what a gorgeous and wealthy woman like Yelena would be doing with a lowly grad student like yourself.

And you wish you could ignore those looks and whispers. You really, really wanted to. You even had a glass of champagne, hoping it would mellow you out. But the judgment still stung.

You excuse yourself from Yelena under the guise of having to go to the bathroom, when really, you just need some air. You stand in front of the mirror, gazing at your reflection, trying your best to steady your breathing. Then, you make the mistake of opening the clutch that Yelena had also bought you, forgetting that you’d left the receipt for the dress in there. Yelena had let you keep it, just in case you wanted to return anything.

It’s pure curiosity that makes you pluck out the receipt and read it. And you really, really wish you hadn’t. Your stomach drops. The price feels obscene. Almost an entire month’s rent, and more than you’ve ever spent on anything that wasn’t your tuition.

You drop the receipt, and it flutters back into the clutch. You straighten up, hugging your arms around yourself as you start to feel that familiar burn behind your eyes. You barely notice when the door to the ladies’ room opens and Yelena steps inside.

“I came to check on you,” she says, approaching you slowly like you’re an animal she doesn’t want to startle. “Is everything alright?”

You hesitate, the words sitting heavy in your chest. All you have to do is figure out what order they should go in. “I just…” You trail off, then force yourself to continue. “…I don’t think this feels right.”

Yelena tilts her head, brows furrowing. “What doesn’t feel right, milaya?”

You swallow. “This. Tonight. The gala. I don’t think I belong here. It…feels like I’m just here to be a pretty accessory for you to show off.”

Yelena looks horrified at the accusation. “No,” she says quickly, voice soft. “No, milaya, it’s not like that at all.” She takes a careful step closer. “You are so much more than a pretty accessory to me. I wanted you here with me tonight because I enjoy having you around. Because I would have more fun spending the night with you than trying to schmooze business associates that I really do not care one way or another about. I just…thought you might like getting swept up in it. Was I wrong?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “I just don’t know, Yelena. This…this has all just—“ your voice wobbles despite your efforts. “—it’s really starting to feel like a lot. I thought I could handle all the attention, all the money, but maybe I can’t.”

Now it’s Yelena’s turn to swallow hard. “Y/n—“

“You said I could say no at any time, right?” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, but with no less conviction. “Well…this is me saying no. I-I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do. But I just don’t think I can do this anymore. This life isn’t for me.”

The look on Yelena’s face is devastating, and you wish you could go back in time to before you saw that expression, eat your words before you say them. But a part of you knows this needs to be said. Your feelings were getting too messy, and you needed to cut the cord.

Yelena searches your eyes, as if hoping you’ll take it back. And you know you will if you keep looking into those eyes, so you drop her gaze.

“Can I…” her voice is rough now, as if she’s on the brink of tears herself. “Can I at least take you home?”

You shake your head. “I think it’s best if I call a cab.”

Yelena nods. “Right. Of course.”

“I’m so sorry, Yelena.” You don’t trust yourself to look at her again, so you gather your things and walk out of the bathroom. Your heart is in your throat, and your expensive heels click noisily against the marble floor.

The cab ride home is a blur of city lights and silent tears. You press your forehead to the cool window and weep the whole way back to your apartment. Your chest aches with the weight of what you just walked away from, and the sad Sam Smith song playing on the radio absolutely does not help your case.

That night, you don’t even make it to your bedroom. You kick off your heels somewhere near the door and sink onto the couch, still in your evening attire. A part of you knows you should get up and change. To wipe off your makeup at the very least, since you know it’ll be bad for your skin if you leave it on. But you’re too sad to move.

Instead, you curl up on the couch in the dress that Yelena bought you, and fall into a shallow, exhausted sleep with your cheek pressed into a throw pillow.

***

The next few days pass you by in a depressing daze.

You don’t have work to distract you anymore. You quit the cafè shortly after Yelena began supporting you. Not because you wanted to stop working, but because it quietly became unnecessary, and your manager was an asshole anyway.

You told yourself that you’d look for something else, but that had been the week that you caught the flu, and there was no way you could go out for job interviews weak and sickly. And with the money Yelena had been giving you? What was the harm in going without a paycheck for a week or two? Of course, you’d absolutely have to look for a new job now, all things considered.

School becomes an afterthought, too. You’ve already emailed your professors a small, neat lie about having gotten sick again, that something must be going around. They all understand, because of course they are. And you spend most of your time on the couch, switching between staring at the ceiling and doomscrolling.

Your heart hopes that you’ll hear that familiar ping, and it’ll be Yelena texting you, reminding you to eat or asking you if you need anything. But you know that’s wishful thinking, especially when you’d essentially told her that you don’t want to see her anymore.

By the fourth day, you feel like you’re going crazy. And like an ex machina, that’s when Kate shows up. She lets herself into your place with her key, arms full of chocolates, romcom DVDs, and even a bottle of sparkling wine.

“Okay,” she announces once she’s inside. “Time to fix this.”

You don’t argue.

Later, you’re halfway through The Devil Wears Prada, half your body hidden under an emerald green throw blanket, when Kate speaks.

“So…you broke up with her, I guess?”

You sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. “We weren’t together, Kate. It wasn’t a breakup.”

“But you broke off your arrangement?” Kate presses.

You trace a finger around the rim of your wineglass. “…yeah,”

“Why?” Kate asks gently. “Didn’t you like spending time with her?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. But…I dunno. It was easier when she was just helping me pay for textbooks. Replacing my laptop. Stuff I needed.” You swallow. “And then, she was letting me stay at her townhouse when I was sick and dropping three thousand dollars on a dress and a clutch, and heels for me, and taking me to a gala.”

Your mind betrays you then, flashing you back to that dressing room. The warmth of Yelena’s hands on your hips, the way she’d told you that you looked like a dream, the way you thought she was even maybe going to kiss you. Your stomach flutters traitorously.

Kate watches you closely. “Was it really the money that bothered you, though?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She takes a moment before answering. “Do you think that maybe it’s possible you caught feelings? And that freaked you out?” She tilts her head. “And maybe that’s why you pushed her away?” Kate reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. “I know how you get when you like a girl, y/n,” she adds gently.

You open your mouth to deny it, then stop. Your chest tightens. Yelena’s face crops up in your mind. Every smile, every laugh, every fond look. Her pride when she showed you off at the gala. And then—with a pang in your chest—her crestfallen expression when you called everything off.

“…maybe you’re right,” you admit quietly. “…I think I liked her. A lot.” You stare straight ahead at your laptop screen, watching Andy try to plead her case to Emily in the hospital room. “I didn’t want to be someone Yelena felt obligated to take care of, you know? Or someone she got bored with once the novelty wore off? I mean, all this started because I was some barista in a coffee shop who she saw as down on her luck…”

Kate nudges your knee. “Did she ever make you feel like that, though? Like she only saw you as a charity case?”

You shake your head immediately. “No, never. She always just…had my best interest in mind. She just wanted to take care of me. Even when I thought I had a handle on things, which I don’t think I ever really did.”

“Well,” Kate starts slowly. “Then I don’t think this split is what was good for you. Maybe Yelena was.”

Those words land like a rock in your chest. Maybe Yelena was. They continue to echo in your head for the remainder of the movie, your thoughts continuously circling back to Yelena. Yelena, Yelena, Yelena. Her voice, her hands, the way she looked at you like you were something precious. Treated you like you were something precious.

You had to see her again.

***

The next evening, Yelena is alone in her townhouse. The rain is coming down hard outside, which perfectly syncs up with the stormy way Yelena feels inside. She’s crafted at least five different text messages to you, typing them out, then chickening out and deleting them.

You clearly wanted your space. And though it hurt so much not to speak to you, to not get to check in and ask if you needed anything, Yelena had to respect your wishes.

“This is me saying no…I just don’t think I can do this anymore…”

Those words reverberate in Yelena’s head as she goes over every single exchange she’s had with you in the last two months. Had she come on too strong? Despite every time she told you that you could reject her help, had she pushed that boundary at some point?

It was safe to say Yelena was close to tearing her hair out from all the overanalyzing. She’d already gone through half a bottle of wine and wasn’t feeling any less high-strung yet.

That’s when she gets a knock at her door that makes her freeze.

After a beat, the knock comes again, hesitant, like whoever is behind the knock isn’t entirely sure they should be here.

Yelena sets her wineglass down slowly, heart already pounding. No one ever drops by unannounced. Everyone she knows texts first. Her mind betrays her immediately, supplying a name she’s told herself not to hope for. But when she opens the door, there you are. And Yelena’s breath catches before she can stop it.

You’re soaked to the skin from the rain. Your eyes flick up to meet hers, wide and uncertain, and something in Yelena’s chest cracks clean open.

For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. It’s just the sound of the rain hammering against the townhouse’s foundation behind you.

“Hi,” you say softly, barely over the sound of the rain.

“Hi,” Yelena replies, just as quietly. “How’d you get here?”

“Uber,” you answer. You notice Yelena’s assessing look and add. “I forgot my umbrella. And you have a long driveway.”

This earns you a smile.

“Well, come in. Get out of the rain,” Yelena says.

“Thanks,” she ushers you inside, shutting the door behind you, and you sigh immediately as her central heating envelops you. You try not to dwell on the fact that you’re now dripping rainwater all over her expensive foyer floors.

“I-“ you stop, exhale, then try again. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I know I said—“ your voice wobbles and you clear your throat. “I know I said I couldn’t do this anymore and I blew you off and—“

Yelena’s expression softens immediately. “Y/n,” she cuts you off gently. “You do not have to apologize for coming here. Or for what you told me at the gala. I realize that I may have come on too strong, so…I understand why you needed to flee. I think I probably would have too.”

“But I didn’t want to flee, that’s the thing. I was just…scared,” you say.

“Of me?” Yelena asks.

You shake your head. “Not of you. Of…how much all this meant to me. Of how easy it felt to fall into you and let you take care of me. And…I guess…” You fidget with your hands. Yelena watches you do it, wanting so desperately to reach out and still them, but she refrains. “…when I realized that the way I felt for you wasn’t platonic, it scared the shit out of me.”

Yelena smiles softly then. “That’s understandable. It can be scary, realizing that you have feelings for someone.”

You step closer, taking a deep breath to gather your courage. “I realized that the reason I ran is because…I wanted you. And…I didn’t know what to do about wanting you.”

Yelena’s eyes lock onto yours. “Wanted…past tense?”

You don’t drop her gaze. “Still want,” you breathe.

“Even now?” Yelena has been steadily moving closer throughout your conversation, and now you could feel her body heat where you were almost touching.

“Especially now,” you admit, your heart hammering.

Silence stretches between you. No more than five seconds, but it feels like five hours. And then, Yelena’s hands find your waist as yours drift to her shoulders. She’s the first one to close the gap.

Your lips meet in a fierce, aching kiss. It’s hungry and messy and urgent, tempered by weeks of restrained longing. Rain thrums against the windows behind you, but all you feel is the heat of Yelena, the steady press of her body against yours, and the ache that’s melting into something unbearably, wonderfully consuming.

Your damp clothes press against Yelena’s shirt, soaking through to her skin, but she doesn’t seem to care. Instead, she pulls you closer, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips as she wraps one of your thighs around her hip to hold you against her.

Her hands roam with purpose, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, grounding you even as your breath comes in ragged bursts.

Yelena tilts her head, catching your gasp in her mouth, and her tongue slips past your lips in a heated kiss that leaves you trembling. An electric current travels through you, one that has your fingers clutching at her shoulders, her arms, anywhere to anchor yourself to her.

You're already way too far gone by the time Yelena pulls back from the kiss. But only enough so that she can murmur against your lips, "You probably want to get out of these wet clothes. Am I correct to assume that?"

You breathe a laugh. "Yeah. Definitely a correct assumption." After all, you were shivering. Though that wasn't entirely due to your damp clothing, and both of you knew that.

"And would you like a hand with that?" Yelena adds, a teasing glint in her eyes. Your pulse spikes at the implication. "My shower is quite spacious," Yelena goes on with a sexy smirk as she lets you read her meaning. "Definitely big enough for two."

Every nerve in your body is alight, and when you give her a nod, Yelena takes your hand and leads you toward the stairs.

Yelena's ensuite bathroom alone could very well be the size of your entire apartment, featuring polished tile floors, large mirrors, a massive walk-in shower with rain-style showerheads, and a freestanding tub that looks like it could fit two people comfortably.

You venture further inside, barely breathing through your awe. Yelena steps behind you, brushing a damp strand off the back of your neck before kissing your nape. "Okay?" she asks. You nod.

You watch as Yelena steps up to her massive shower and turns on the water. It's not long before the space starts to steam up. She turns back to you, her hands gentle as she helps you shrug out of your clothes. Your chest rises and falls quickly as layer by layer is peeled away until you're bare.

Yelena drinks in the sight unapologetically. "You're gorgeous," she breathes. "You're so gorgeous,"

"I wanna see you too," you say, your hands going to the hem of Yelena's shirt. She raises her arms as you slide it over her head, cooperating as you undress her just as reverently as she undressed you. And finally, the two of you slip under the cascading water together.

Yelena's body presses against yours from behind, hands gliding over your wet, slick skin, and her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Better?” she murmurs, her voice low in your ear.

“Yes…” You breathe, unable to form more words, letting the heat of her presence, the water, and the tension that’s been building for weeks wash over you.

The water streams around you both as Yelena gently guides you to face her. You blink, and her mouth is on yours again. And when she presses you against the shower wall, you groan into the kiss when the two of you are chest to chest.

She tilts her head, lips brushing along your neck, teasing, tasting, and sending another shiver through you. “You feel incredible,” she murmurs, voice husky, each word vibrating against your skin.

"So do you," you say, pressing back instinctively and wrapping your arms around Yelena's shoulders. Her hands slide lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

Yelena pulls back from the kiss far before you're ready, causing you to whine and chase her lips. But it's not long before you notice the mischievous grin she's giving you as she reaches for the showerhead. Plucking the showerhead from its holder, Yelena uses it to let the warm water stream over your body. The water splashes over your skin, and you barely have time to react to that sensation before Yelena's mouth is on you again, trailing soft kisses along your neck, your collarbones, and your shoulders. Each one draws a pleasured sigh from you.

Your moans grow louder, breath coming in ragged bursts as the water runs down your chest, your stomach, following the line of your curves. Yelena's fingers press into your hips, guiding you closer, her body pressing against yours, every inch of her warmth igniting you from within.

She drags the showerhead lower, the water tracing over your thighs now, and you can't help but arch into her, letting your head fall back against the shower wall. Yelena's lips find the sensitive spot just behind your ear, and her teeth graze lightly everywhere her tongue teases.

“God, Yelena…” you breathe, voice quivering, hands clutching at her back, desperate to feel more, to hold onto her.

"I knew you'd be good for me, milaya," Yelena murmurs against your neck. "So perfect and responsive for me. Such a good girl."

God, there it was again. Good girl. Your stomach burns, heat coiling tighter in your gut.

"Call me that again," you say.

You feel Yelena smirk against your neck. "Call you what? My good girl?"

You shiver. "Yes, please,"

"You want me to call you my good, perfect girl?" Yelena's fingers slowly slot into you then, teasing your folds, and you practically cry out, your hands tightening against her shoulders.

"Fuck, yes!" you gasp.

"Yes, what? Yes, about me touching you, or yes about you being my perfect girl?" Yelena teases, and you can't even begin to put together a coherent answer, not with her fingers scissoring inside of you, her thumb teasing your clit, and your eyes rolling back without your say so.

"You'll have to use your words, krasivaya devushka, or else how will I know what you mean?" Yelena says, even as her thumb flicks unfairly right over your sweet spot.

"Yes, yes!" you cry out. "Yes to everything, Yelena. You feel so good. I can barely breathe,"

Yelena tilts the showerhead, letting the warm water cascade lower, until it hits right against your center. Your head falls back again, your breath hitching. Her hands grip your hips firmly, holding you in place as she leans in to press her mouth against your neck again. Every single sensation is beyond overwhelming, yet you still can't seem to get enough.

"Yelena..." you moan, your voice shaky. Your chest has begun to rise and fall so much faster. Your fingers clutch at Yelena's shoulders, then drift down her back, pulling her even closer.

Yelena's fingers curl inside you then, and you're done for. Heat and pleasure explode through you, leaving you practically screaming for her. Yelena holds you through it as you ride out every shiver and gasp. When your breathing finally starts to steady, she tilts your face toward hers, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

Yelena returns the showerhead to its holder, her eyes never leaving yours. You reach out, fingertips tracing the smooth lines of her arms, feeling her warmth, her strength. She’s breathtaking, and the sight of her here, like this, makes your heart race.

“Can I touch you too?” you ask, voice soft but full of need.

Something in Yelena’s gaze darkens, a low hum of anticipation in her throat. “Of course,” she murmurs.

She presses one palm against the shower wall behind you, her body so close that every inch of her warmth presses against you. Your fingers slide down her stomach, brushing the curve of her hips before gingerly cupping her between the legs. Her breath hitches, and a low groan escapes her lips, vibrating against your shoulder. She leans closer, tilting her head to capture your lips again, and it's enough to throw you off your game, but you try your best to focus on bringing her the pleasure she deserves, too.

Her hands roam freely now, guiding, teasing, and holding, while your own explore with growing boldness, learning the feel of her, the weight of her, the response she elicits from just a touch. She rocks into your hand as you finger her, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. She’s so wet and warm for you, and you can’t think straight.

When Yelena finally comes against your hand, it’s with a low, ragged moan pressed into your neck. Her body trembles against yours, warm and slick from the water, and you instinctively hold her closer, pressing your lips to her temple, feeling every shudder, every pulse.

Her breath comes in uneven gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly, and she clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded. “Malyshka…” she murmurs, voice husky and raw, and the sound sends another thrill straight through you.

You can feel her body relaxing slowly against yours. Her hands linger on your waist, fingers lightly tracing circles as if committing the feel of you to memory.

For a few heartbeats, you both just stand there under the warm rain of the shower, bodies pressed together, catching your breath.

But soon, the two of you are stepping out of the shower, not even bothering with clothes, before collapsing into Yelena’s bed. All you’re aware of is Yelena: her mouth, her hands, the intoxicating fragrance that seems to surround her like a second skin. And when she disappears beneath the covers, teasing and worshipping you with a devotion that makes your toes curl and your chest ache, you’re taken to ecstasy all over again, melting into every flick of her tongue, every press of her fingers, every low, husky whisper of your name.

Later, when you’re both completely sated, the intensity fades into a comforting warmth. You lie on your side, head resting against Yelena's chest, the steady thrum of her heartbeat grounding you. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close, fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as if to reassure you that she’s still here, still yours.

“You okay?” she murmurs softly, lips brushing the top of your head.

You nod against her chest, letting out a contented sigh. “Yeah…better than okay,”

You let yourself bask in the comfortable silence with Yelena for a moment before asking, “Are you…really okay with all of this? With me? With...everything?”

“Milaya…look at me,” Yelena murmurs.

You lift your head, meeting her sincere gaze. “I want this. I want you. Not because of what I can give you, but because of who you are. You, entirely. You make me feel alive, and I don’t ever want that to stop.”

Your chest tightens, heart fluttering in a mix of relief and longing. “I…feel the same,” you admit. “I was scared before, but I'm not anymore. I trust you, Yelena. And I don't want to lose what we have.”

Yelena’s arms tighten around you, holding you as though she could shield you from the world. “You won’t,” she whispers, voice low and certain. “I’ll always be here, milaya. No expectations, no pressure—just us.”

You sigh contentedly, letting her words and her heartbeat lull you. “Just us,” you echo softly.

And even a year later, you still hadn’t quite found your footing.

Grief made it hard to get up some mornings, while other mornings felt totally normal. You knew logically that a loss that significant would make you feel deeply, but it was still so suffocating to not know when something or someone would trigger you. Especially since every-day life was tied into your father like air.

Even at home, you kept his TV on and his door closed like he was still in there resting. Sometimes pretending made things easier, but not always. 

Most days were mundane at this record job for you, but definitely more interesting than the office. You actually liked your coworkers and manager for the most part. And you got to meet all kinds of interesting people that walked through. It made for great distraction most days.

You saw just about everyone there was to see come through the store; business execs, mothers and fathers, fitness gurus, influencers. Everyone came through to look for their music they loved.

And just being in Metropolis itself was bound for some chaos too. 

It made things even more interesting having the newly formed Justice Gang around. Trouble did seem to find the city at some inconvenient times, bringing the craziest things like giant monsters and mutants. But the Justice Gang did a pretty good job of keeping the city safe.

Most of the thanks went to Metropolis’ hero, Superman. 

You admired Superman a lot after your Dad’s passing. Or at least the way he was portrayed on TV - resilient and indestructible. You envied that, wishing you could be just as strong.

The chime above the door sounded, causing you to snap out of your deep thoughts. 

It hadn’t been a busy day, and in your downtime, you had let yourself get caught up in your memories. It was one of the parts of the job you disliked the most - having so much time alone - but there wasn’t much the customers could do about your own wandering thoughts.

Putting on your best customer service face, you approached the man who’d walked through the door.

The first thing you noticed was how tall the man was. Even slightly hunched, he towered over the gondolas that held the records. 

Next, you noticed how ill-fitted his suit was. It looked like the heavy tweed of his suit jacket just fell over his shoulders, as well as the pants. For someone his size, he was being swallowed by his clothes, which felt… off.

And lastly, when he spotted you approaching him, he locked his eyes with yours. You couldn’t help but notice that they were bright blue, brighter than you think you’d ever seen. Even with just a glance, his eyes held something so deep and sincere. It almost felt otherworldly. 

This man’s gaze made you stop in your tracks, your heart starting like a motor. 

He was handsome. 

It had been a long time since you’d found attraction in anyone, and even then, it still took a while for you to see features that felt striking to you. But with this stranger, you were nearly dumbstruck.

“Can I help you find anything?” 

The words finally left your mouth without your volition as more of muscle memory. Months of asking the same dull question helped you here, as your brain felt as though it were turning to mush.

“Yes ma’am.” The man’s voice was velvety and rich with the smallest country twang in it. He was starting to smile wide at you, “I was looking for any old Johnny Cash records.” 

It was like his voice encompassed you, surrounding you with warmth. Just like his eyes, it wasn’t like anything you’d herald before, and it took you more by surprise than you’d anticipated. It took a moment before his question fully registered in your mind.

“Oh,” you breathed, shaking your head to try and put you back into customer service mode, “Yes. You can follow me. Everything is alphabetized by last name.” 

He gave you a grateful smile before you led him the short walk to the country section. Once there, you awkwardly stood off to the side, allowing the handsome stranger to look for himself. There were a lot of “C” names, so both of you started to sift through the records after a few moments.

“So, you’re a country fan?” you asked, albeit quietly.

You tried not to cringe at yourself as you chanced a look his way. He was still smiling, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. As if he couldn’t get even more handsome.

“Kinda. I like it just fine, but not as much as my Pa. I’m grabbing these records for his birthday coming up.” 

You nodded, “That’s kind of you.” 

“Sort of…” The tall stranger shrugged once, but his smile didn’t waver, “I kinda messed up and his records got damaged a while back, so I’ve been slowly rebuilding his collection for him. It’s been slow going though. I’ve been busy, and he doesn’t live around here, so I’ll have to fly these out to him.” 

A sad sort of longing crossed his features as he spoke about his Pa. It didn’t dim his eyes, but it made them look weary. It made you think of your own father and how you would’ve done the same for him.

Shaking the thoughts away before you could get sad, you plucked out a sleeve of an old Johnny Cash album with a small, triumphant smile, handing it to the stranger. 

“Hey, well, at least you’re trying for him,” You said gently, “Even if it was a mistake on your part, your Pa must really appreciate the effort you’re putting in to rebuild it.” 

Once again, the blue eyes met yours and another smile graced his face, taking the record from your hands, 

“Thank you…” Just barely, you could see his cheeks growing a dark crimson, “Now you’re the one being kind.” 

You felt your face doing much of the same and you shrugged back at him, “I’m just trying my best.” 

He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the album, his large fingers fiddling with the paper cover. It was like he was thinking of more things to say, but couldn’t quite get them out. It would’ve been comical had you not been in much of the same boat.

Finally, he murmured, “I never got your name.”

Just above a murmur, you gave him your name and he hummed aloud with a larger smile than before. The small sound to him nearly reverberated the entire store, but no one else but you seemed to notice that.

“Clark.” He outstretched his hand immediately, and an air of confidence suddenly surrounded him. Your hands met and it was much more firm than you’d expected. It was even more surprising just how warm his skin was, “Clark Kent.” 

The name was instantly familiar to you, “Like the Daily Planet reporter?”

Ever so slightly, his eyes lit up.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” He said with a short nod and an awkward laugh, “So you read the news.” 

A laugh escaped you too, “I do. My Dad kept the news on all the time, so I kinda just gravitate towards keeping up with everything, plus there’s a lot going on here. You kinda gotta know the news in order to not get eaten by something alien… even if a newspaper is expensive these days.” 

Clark let out a small chuckle, more sure this time as he held up his hands in defense, “Listen, I just work there.” 

The two of you gave a smile to each other once again. The two of you stood there for a long few moments just looking and staring until you realized neither of you had made another move. You motioned for him to follow you again, starting to head toward the register when he stepped to your side. 

“If you don’t mind helping me find one more thing,” He said quickly, nearly stumbling over his words, “Do you have The Mighty Crabjoys?” 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked him up and down. He was more the nerdy type than anything with the big glasses and swallowing suit. You didn’t think he seemed the type to like pop punk bands. 

You smirked, deciding to tease him, “Don’t tell me that’s for your Pa too.”

“No, it’s for me,” Clark shook his head, biting back a laugh, “But there seems to be some judgement coming from you about my taste in music. Not so nice now, huh?” 

Laughing again, you also held up your hands in surrender, 

“No judgement, Mr. Reporter, but I wouldn’t have pinned you as a Crabjoys fan.” 

“I enjoy them a lot,” he said with a small huff, “I need something to pump me up when I’m working on an article.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded your head toward the pop-punk section, “Follow me then, Mr. Kent.” 

As you turned, he let out another hum. His voice, even with small sounds, made you feel warm inside. You could still feel that same buzzing energy from him, like a beam of light bursting through a pitch black room. All of your thoughts went to how you wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by whatever he was giving off. 

You led him to the pop-punk area and began searching through the “M”s until you found exactly what you were looking for fairly quickly. You pulled the sleeve from its place and handed it to the much taller man standing beside you.

Clark bit his lip for just a second to try and hide the small smile that formed.

You on the other hand weren’t hiding your grin anymore, “Anything else I can help you find?” 

He let out a small sigh and held out his collection of records for you, “I guess this will be it, thank you, ma’am.” 

You both smiled at each other a little longer than necessary before you walked him to the register. Albeit, your pace slowed, feeling abnormally sad that your time together was coming to an end. Your limbs felt like they were moving at their own pace; becoming noodles as you got to the counter and started to ring up the incredibly handsome man’s items. 

Adjusting his glasses, Clark cleared his throat, “Are you new?” 

You nodded, “Kinda. I’ve only been working here for a couple of months. Why?” 

“Just curious. I haven’t seen you before,” He shook his head quickly, “It’s not that I come in here that often, but it’s been the same people here for so long. The other guy that works here, B-Dog, is a really fun guy. Met him a couple of times.” 

Laughing, you nodded, “He’s certainly a character.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here today instead.” 

His murmur was almost too quiet for you to hear, but when it hit your ears, you began to reel. You could feel your cheeks heating up again. You tried to hide your growing flush from him by ducking below the counter to grab him a bag for his purchase. 

You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that a little flirt was nothing serious. You popped back up quickly, giving him a genuine smile.

“I’m glad you’re here today too. It’s been really nice talking with you.” 

Clark smiled wide at that as he reached into his pocket. A confused look took over his face, and after tapping his suit pockets for a few seconds, he let out a defeated sigh.

“Shoot…” He whispered, “Silly me. I think I left my wallet at home. Would you be able to keep these for me?” 

Those piercing blue eyes gave you an almost pleading look, and you couldn’t help but nod in response almost automatically. 

“I can put them on hold for two days.”

There wasn’t actually a policy for that.  

“Perfect,” he smiled wide, biting his lip, “And will you be working in those two days?” 

The prospect of possibly getting to see him again was more than exciting. With your heart hammering hard against your chest, you felt like you could barely breathe enough to answer him. Eventually, you managed to speak again, “I’ll be here tomorrow… Nine to six.” 

“Good, Thank you,” your name rolled off his tongue, “It was a pleasure meeting you today.” 

 This time, you were the one to hum in response “The pleasure’s all mine.” 

With a small, final smile, he rushed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!” 

No one else seemed to hear the boom of his voice; it was like it shook the entire earth. But as you looked around to see if anyone else was stunned, it was like you were the only one encapsulated by him. 

So, you chalked it up to just having a small, tiny crush.

***

The next morning, grief had other plans for you. 

It struck you hard especially after good days, making it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Some days felt real and normal, while others felt fake. And now everything felt just a little too fake for you. 

Waking up in the apartment was always the hardest part. As you got ready for your day, you felt yourself going through all of the motions, but almost as if your head were underwater the entire time. 

It took so long for your brain to catch up sometimes, and you wished desperately that you could just bounce back and put on a brave face. You allowed yourself to cry to try and relieve some of the pressure in your mind, but it only proved to make your head even more foggy than before.

Some solace came from the news. Trying to distract yourself, you turned the TV on and tried to look for the good in life.

Superman, the protector of your city, had done it once again from a comet-like entity. And again, you found yourself wishing you could’ve been more like him. He seemed to do it all, and he did it with a smile on his face. Obviously you didn’t have the powers he had, but you figured he must’ve been so strong mentally just as much as physically. 

Once you got to the store later in the morning, you helped open slowly and did everything that was asked of you. It was a decent distraction for you as well, but sometimes the feelings were just a little too heavy. 

As the day progressed, busier than the day before, you successfully had gotten your mind off of some of your sadness, but had nearly forgotten about the tall man and his records from the day before. 

You had made yourself too busy to greet Clark when he walked in sometime after five. One of your other coworkers had greeted him and retrieved his records from the back. Feeling slightly defeated, you tried to stay out of their way, letting your coworker have the sale. 

However, nearly moments after you’d thought that, you felt his warm presence before you saw him approach you. When you saw him, it was like your entire demeanor changed.

“Hey there!” He greeted you with a chipper voice, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here today.” 

You chortled, but it didn’t feel as genuine as the day before, “Yeah. Barely made it.” 

Clark’s voice dropped almost immediately, “Barely, huh?” 

The sudden mood change shocked you a little. You hadn’t expected him to take you so seriously. 

Not wanting to sour the mood between the two of you, a small tug happened at the corner of your lip as you nodded, “Guess I’m not feeling the greatest today.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

His voice cut deep; inviting and enveloping just like the day before. It was welcome, but the warmth made you want to cry again. There was something about Clark that felt so familiar; nostalgic even, that it reminded you of spending your days in the sun as a kid. 

He frowned when you didn’t answer right away, “Anything I can do to help?” 

Gently, you shook your head, “That’s very sweet of you, but… no, I’ll be okay.” 

“I’ve got tylenol in my bag.” 

That made you laugh the tiniest bit, much more authentically, “It’s okay, Clark. Thank you. I’m just… a little sad. Nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“I have no doubt.” A soft smile graced his lips, “I’m sorry you’re sad. I wish I had some magic pill to cure that.” 

“Talking to you has been really helpful,” You murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear you, “It’s made this day a little brighter.”

Before Clark could respond, your coworker B-Dog came back around, looking for Clark, but saw that he was talking with you. Luckily, Clark let him know that you’d been the one to initially help him, so your coworker relinquished the records to you to ring him up. You began leading him to the register again, feeling a small air of confidence arise in you.

When you turned at the counter to ring up his items again, you noticed a small dusting of pink overcoming Clark’s cheeks. Just your luck, he’d obviously heard you before, but he thanked you anyway. Quickly, he swiped his card to pay, keeping his eyes to the floor. 

After taking his purchase from you, he still made no move to exit. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly, staring at you with a sort of battle going on behind his eyes.

“S-Sorry.” Clark stammered, “I know this is very forward, so forgive me, but you’re very pretty.” 

This time, you knew your cheeks were burning too as soon as the words left his lips. Your mind went haywire as you were now the one to stare right back at him. You mumbled something of a thank you as you felt it leave your throat, but it was incredibly incoherent.

Clark was the one to laugh this time, breathlessly, like he was trying to catch up with himself as well. 

“I-I’m sorry. I know that was brash.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t get compliments very often,” You said quickly, trying to regain your composure, “Thank you… you’re handsome yourself.” 

He smiled wide as the nervous energy expelled off of him, “Would you like to get lunch sometime with me? I know it can’t cure sadness, but maybe being near you would help a little. You know… like you said.” 

Biting your lip, you nodded, “I’d love that.” 

“Great!” Clark had said it a little too enthusiastically; too loud for the space. He cleared his throat again, speaking at a much more normal volume, “What day are you free next?” 

“Friday,” You said, slightly winded, “I’m off Friday.” 

“I could take you out on my lunch break. Guess it’ll even it out for disrupting your work time here.”

“This is far from disrupting me,” you said with a short laugh.

“How does noon sound?”

“Sounds like a date.”

You gave Clark a smile, the blush never leaving your cheeks.

“Yeah, sure does,” His voice cracked, “Um… how will I get in contact with you?”

Smirking, you thought of teasing him again, if only to make him blush more.

“I guess you can have my number.”

He smirked, shaking his head, presumably at himself, “I’ve forgotten how to talk to people.”

You were already writing your phone number on a post it note. You quickly tore it off and put the sticky side just below his pocket protector on his ill-fitted suit jacket. You weren’t normally this forward either, but it felt fun - exhilarating - to be so free with someone.

Clark’s smile got wider as he took off the sticky note and peeked at it before stuffing it in the pocket. He adjusted his glasses before looking back at you.

“Thank you again,” it was like velvet as he said your name, “See you Friday?”

“See you Friday.” You nodded. 

Leaving it at that, he walked out the door, but not before turning back to look at you once again. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you watching him trying to balance all of the things in his hands as he gave you a small wave. 

The light of the day sort of shifted after that, and you were left back to work and your own thoughts. The grief had still been there, quieting for a while as you spoke to Clark, just waiting to rear its ugly head back out. It seemed to come crashing back down as soon as he was out of sight. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, just to give yourself a few extra moments alone and to allow some tears to escape. 

It was strange always feeling this whiplash of emotions especially after something so good. 

However, not even a minute after the tears had sprung, your phone dinged in your pocket. You dug it out, managing a smile as you read the message:

This is Clark! I look forward to helping you cure some sadness Friday!

Wiping away your tears with your palm, you felt as though he was already trying.

***

Friday came around much quicker now that you had something to look forward to. Most weeks, mundane as they were, tended to drag on. So, this was certainly a welcome change.

You woke up feeling a lot better than you had in a long time; you felt giddy and excited for what felt like the first time in forever. 

Admittedly, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and none of them had gone very well, so you were hopeful this would change too.

The two of you had been texting back and forth since you’d given him your number. Most of your messages were about the date and other details, like where to meet. But sometimes, you’d both delve off into other things, like talking about your days or tiny flirty messages back and forth. 

This felt different.

As you got ready, you made sure to wear some of your best clothes and put on the best smelling scent you had before walking out the door. You wanted to put in effort for yourself since it’d been so long, and in leaving the house, you felt fresh and confident.

The walk to the little cafe you decided to meet at felt excruciating long, like trudging through a dream. It felt like no matter how long you walked, you weren’t getting anywhere. You kept forward though, pure determination keeping you going. 

You felt your phone ding in your hand and you lifted it to see the message:

Just made it. I’m in the third booth from the back. 

Beside the text was a little winky face. Again, you smiled, luckily right around the corner. 

Trying to be as confident as you felt, you strode into the little cafe. You scanned the room for only a second before your eyes landed on the tall figure - already seated at a booth - waving you over. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you made your way over to him. Awkwardly tall against the booth, he still clambered out of the seat to greet you, giving you the utmost respect.

“It’s nice to see you again.” He said as you approached, motioning for you to take the seat across from him, “I haven’t ordered yet. I thought I would wait for you.” 

“Thank you Clark,” You said as you sat, “It’s nice to see you again too. And it’s even nicer of you to sacrifice your lunch break for me, no less.” 

Clark gave you a wide, toothy grin, letting his dimples show and his accent pop out.

“It was nothin’. I usually take my time for lunch most days, anyway.” 

Surrounded by his warmth, especially being in the booth with him, you felt a lot closer than you were; more intimate than talking in the record store. 

You had some time to scour the menu before the waitress came by to take your orders. It was all mostly breakfast, so you settled for a small fruit salad and toast. Clark on the other hand got the works: a large breakfast, complete with eggs, toast, hashbrowns, bacon, and a small stack of pancakes. 

As the waitress walked away to put in your orders, Clark sat back in the booth, giving you a funny look, “Fruit salad and toast?” 

Again, you felt your cheeks burning, “There seems to be some judgement coming from you about my food choices.”

He shrugged, smirking, “A little. Doesn’t seem like much of a breakfast.”

“Well, it’s lunch,” you chided, “And it’s not much of a meal, but it’s better than the greasy breakfast food.”

Clark’s mouth fell open like you’d just said the most shocking thing in the world. You bit your lip, trying your best not to laugh as his hands started to frenzy around him.

“What?!” he guffawed, though a grin still evident on his face, “What’s wrong with greasy breakfast food? You can’t tell me you don’t like pancakes or waffles. Everyone likes one or the other! There’s, like, a whole stupid song about it…” 

Another laugh escaped, “There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just not my preferred food choice.” 

“But fruit salad and toast?” 

“What’s to say I just wanted something small? This is my first date in a long time, after all, I’m a little nervous.” 

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, only letting his smile widen slowly. He cleared his throat, “I haven’t been on a date in a long time either. I suppose I’m a bit nervous too.” 

“I’m relieved to know I’m not alone,” you murmured. 

The conversation flowed easily for a while until your food was sat down in front of you a few minutes later. The country twang in his rich voice came and went as you’d spoken, sparking your next question. 

“Where are you from, Clark?” You asked, beginning to prepare your toast the way you liked it, “Pa doesn’t sound like a Metropolis term.” 

“Because it’s not.” 

You glanced over at him to see that almost all of his eggs were already gone. Holding in a laugh, you let him continue. 

Swallowing his food, he took in a deep breath like he was about to reveal a secret, “I’m from Kansas. My Ma and Pa raised me on their farm and I moved here a few years ago for work.” 

The answer still felt vague, like there was more to be said, but you didn’t press him further. 

Instead, you hummed back with a small smile, “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Being from Kansas?” 

Clark shed his suit jacket off to the side, leaving him in just a light blue button down shirt. You watched as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and you came to realize you were getting a little lost. 

His arms were… huge. As he crossed them to get his other sleeves, it was like all of his muscles pulled at the thin fabric of his shirt, barely able to move and mold with him. The ill-fitted suit suddenly made even less sense as it obviously did him no justice. 

The man in front of you looked at you, clearing his throat when he noticed you watching him without any words. 

Speaking without volition, you blurted out, “Well, you definitely have a farm-boy physique. But... no, it's your southern hospitality.” 

Clark laughed aloud, the room booming again. 

He shrugged, trying to be modest, “I threw hay barrels around for a long time.” 

“Do you miss Kansas?” 

“Every day.” He admitted softly, "Sometimes, I wish I had stayed. But… most days I’m really proud of my work that I do here in Metropolis.” 

“Then you must really like writing for the Daily Planet. You’ve gotten to interview some pretty cool people.”

A smirk graced his face as he cut into his pancakes. He hiked his glasses up his face with his finger, shielding himself for a second before speaking, “You’ve read my work?”

“I have. I like your articles about Superman.” 

“Superman, huh?”

 It was like his pace slowed significantly; taking slower and more deliberate bites of his food as his eyes perked up to you. He seemed to watch you and study your reaction.

You took a small bite of fruit, “You make him sound really… human. I like the thought of that; being able to do anything, but still having the capacity to be kind and compassionate.”

Clark nodded, speaking softly, “I think it’s important for people to see that too. He’s just like everyone else.”

It gave you pause again as you locked eyes, a charming smile gracing his lips. You couldn’t help but let yourself smile too. It was almost making your cheeks sting with how much he made your lips curl up, but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. 

“So,” he started as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, half of his food devoured, “You got a long round of questions. Mine starts now: Where are you from?” 

And again, your mouth curved up, “I’ve lived in Metropolis all my life. I am a born and raised metropolitan.” 

“We just call you folk city slickers back home.” He chuckled, “You must be close to your family then.” 

Biting your lip, you knew something like this would eventually come up. There wasn’t a use in being so vague, so you came out with it, trying to mask the grief that started to travel through your body.

“I was. I don’t have any immediate family here. It was just me and my dad, but he passed away last year.” 

Another look overtook Clark that you couldn’t place. You hadn’t told many people about your father, expecting a lot of pity looks, but this wasn’t that. He was looking at you like he understood very well. It had been difficult to talk about your father without getting emotional, but with Clark, you were able to keep calm. 

“Gosh,” he murmured, “My condolences.” 

You tried to smile through your growing sadness again, trying not to let the mood drop too far, “It’s still a little fresh, but I’ve been okay. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Picking up that you didn’t want to speak on the subject anymore, Clark gave you a polite nod before pivoting completely with his next question. “Have any pets?”

His bright eyes trailed you as he took in another big bite of his food, now blatantly gauging your reaction. You were grateful he didn’t press further about your past with your dad. 

“Do fish count?” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, “Do you like your job?” 

“Are you investigating me?” you asked with a small chuckle. Clark didn’t answer, simply motioning for you to continue through his mouthful of food. “I like my job most days. I like it better than the office job I had before.” 

He swallowed, “What do you like and dislike most about your job now?” 

“You are investigating me,” you mused, “I love music and people who also love music. I don’t like sales tactics.”

"Is that what was wrong with the office job?"

"Kinda" you sighed, "Just needed a change of pace."

“So you take pride in sharing your passion with people.” 

Your brows furrowed at him curiously as you nodded slowly, “I guess so.” 

Another smile graced his face, making his dimples show. 

The two of you ate and talked for a little longer with more basic getting-to-know-you questions. He asked things like what your favorite color was, or your favorite movie. Even with the most mundane questions, however, he looked as if he were filing every bit of information away for later.

His raven hair fell in a curl over his forehead as he moved, and all you could think of was reaching forward and putting it back in place. As much as it pained you, you kept your hands to yourself.

Towards the end of the date, Clark happily paid for the both of you, waving you off with a short, “You can pay for me next time.”

As you stood together from the small booth, you took a deep breath and asked him, “Can I walk you to work?” 

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I’d love that.” 

The short walk to the Daily Planet was filled with extra questions, but mainly it served as an excuse to be around him more. The feeling of warmth he radiated was addicting, making you wonder why herds of people weren’t following him around for it.

And all too soon, your walk came to an end. 

Both of you stood in front of the massive building, making no moves to go further. Neither of you said anything for a long while as exchanged short, shy glances. You didn’t want the date to end, and you were silently cursing yourself for it being such a short meeting.

“When can I see you again?” 

Clark was the first to break the ice, asking in a fast, hushed voice. Pushing his glasses up on his face nearly covered the blush that was forming on his cheeks. 

“That is, if you want to see me…” 

Your face was doing much of the same as you nodded back at him, “I do. What about Sunday?”

“We could have dinner?”

“It’s a date.” 

Smiling sheepishly, Clark’s hummed, low and deep, just like the day you met him. Slowly, he upturned his hand to you, silently asking for you to take it. Once you did, he brought it up to his lips slowly, leaving a light kiss along your knuckles. You were already reeling from that, but as he pulled his hand away - in one swift movement - he leaned forward to leave a kiss on your cheek. 

“This has been the best lunch I’ve had by far.”

“I’m glad. Very glad.” you stammered.

“See you Sunday?”

“Yeah," you breathed out, "See you Sunday.” 

With another big smile, he backed away toward the entrance of the building, nearly stumbling when his eyes wouldn’t leave you. His large, clumsy limbs flailed as he waved at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You waited until he was inside before making your way back to your apartment. 

At that moment, you felt like the luckiest person in Metropolis. 

You’d been on dates with others - plenty, actually - but had never felt the way you did on that one. Not even by a mile. Even in just that short time, he made you feel seen and listened to without having to blurt out every aspect of your life. 

Even being near him made you feel giddy, like a child with a crush. 

What left you even more dumbfounded is that Clark seemed to like you back, like he felt just as happy and carefree with you. And that was refreshing.

Almost as if to solidify your thoughts, you got a text almost as soon as you closed your apartment door. 

Hope you made it home safe. I can’t stop thinking about our date. I’m very excited for Sunday!

A bunch of emojis flooded in after: smiley faces, sunshine, and little hearts. 

You held the phone close to your chest and let out a small squeal of joy. Clark really did have a way of curing sadness. 

***

Sunday came before you knew it. In those near 48 hours, you were glued to your phone, responding and waiting on messages from Clark about when and where your Sunday date would be. You’d been texting even more since your date, and every text was like a breath of fresh air. 

The two of you decided - well, Clark decided - on a nicer, more upskaled restaurant in the heart of downtown. He made reservations for the two of you and everything.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning leading up to your date that something started to feel… off. 

Leading up to your date in the evening the both of you still had to work. To you, it was a nice distraction from the nerves pooling in your stomach. Your heart beat wildly against your chest the entire day any time you thought of the nerdy, dark-haired man.

Throughout the day, you and Clark continued to talk intermittently, but you notice he’d pulled back somewhat pretty early in the day. The messages he sent were still sincere and enthusiastic, but shorter and less frequent than they had been. 

You thought that maybe he was just having a busy day. And very desperately, you tried not to think about what else it could be.

Once work was done, you had some time to go home and get ready for your date. However, that weird feeling that something was wrong kept popping up. So when you entered your apartment, you stood in the living room, typing out a message to Clark.

We’re still on for tonight?

You decided to take a shower as you waited for his answer. 

Despite the strange feeling, you were beyond excited to go on another date with Clark. It had been a long time since you’d looked forward to something like this. You found yourself even wanting to put effort into how you looked; making yourself look as good as you felt. It wasn’t something you’d felt in such a long time. 

After your shower, you could feel anxiety building as you checked your phone. Luckily, there was a text waiting for you from Clark: 

Of course! I’m still at work, but I’ll get off soon!

A sigh of relief left you as you shot back another text, confirming that you’ll see him at the restaurant. 

Before long, you were checking yourself out in the mirror, putting on your last touches of jewelry and accessories. Another weird feeling washed over you, despite Clark’s confirmation, but you thought of it just being your nerves.

As you locked up your apartment, you took in a large breath, looking at the time and making sure that you were still on time for the reservation. You glanced at your messages, but the screen remained blank after the last message you sent. 

Although you didn’t know him that well, it didn’t seem normal.

Still, you sent another quick text, telling him you were on your way to the restaurant, hoping he would respond to you when he could.

Throughout the train ride downtown, the feeling that something wasn’t right was growing deeper in your abdomen. Especially with the radio silence from Clark. It had already been almost an hour since you’d last heard from him and normally he wouldn’t have gone that long without sending you something back already.

Still, you persisted. 

At the restaurant, you kept a brave face as you approached the counter. Part of you thought that maybe your date was already there, waiting for you at the table he reserved. But it was no such luck as you looked around the mostly vacant restaurant. 

You smiled at the hostess, giving her the name “Kent” and the reservation time. You felt a small rush of relief as she nodded to you, leading you back to a booth. She placed down two menus before giving you a polite smile back.

“Still waiting for your guest?” 

You tried to sound confident, “Yes, he’ll be here soon.” 

She gave you a solemn look before nodding and taking your drink order. Still hopeful, you decided to order a glass of red wine. As she walked away, you looked around at the few couples that littered the place before pulling out your phone.

You sent another message, telling him you were there. But there was nothing in return.

Feeling your heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t want to give up just yet. Although something felt wrong, you knew Clark wouldn’t put in effort to make reservations just to stand you up. He’d been so sweet to you that this didn’t seem like his character. 

But then again, you didn’t know him like that.

Against your better judgement, you still waited. And waited. And waited. 

After an hour, you felt more embarrassed than anything. The waitress had come up and asked you if you were waiting still, and each time you would nod, asking for another glass of red wine. Three glasses later, the waitress set a small appetizer down in front of you for free. 

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Just as you were gathering your things, ready to go to the front to pay, your phone dinged. Reaching for it, you finally got some form of an answer by text. 

I’m so sorry. I got so caught up at work, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you–

Without reading the rest of the message, you stuffed your phone in your purse, not wanting to read any excuses. You finally asked for the check and paid for your wine, keeping your head low as you slowly made your way out of the restaurant. 

The waitress, and you were sure any of the patrons, were giving you sad looks, only making you feel worse. You took a mental note that you would never go there again out of pure embarrassment. 

You held your tears in until you were fully out of view of any prying eyes, but as soon as you were out the door, the dam broke and it was like a waterfall fell over your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away to no avail, only for more to continuously fall. 

As you walked home, you tried to cover your face with your hands, trying to focus on simply getting to the apartment. The subway had too many eyes, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you. With your eyes casted to the ground, the walk felt like an eternity. 

Halfway home, you passed by some men sitting on some apartment steps. You kept your head low, hoping no one could see your tear stained cheeks. Still, a low whistle sounded from one of the men who stood up, trying to get your attention. Typical of a lot of men in Metropolis, but you never budged, you simply ignored them, continuing on your walk.

But a little ways away, you could hear footsteps behind you and low murmuring as the men talked to each other. You tried to quicken your pace, feeling that they were trailing behind you fairly quickly. 

Your heart started to thud fast against your chest as you lengthened your stride. Easily, however, they were able to keep up, some of them being much faster. 

“Hey!” One of the men chimed behind you, “Where you going?”

You kept walking, ignoring him again. With just your luck most of the shops you passed were closed and no one else seemed to notice or care that these men were following you. Taking in a large breath, you remained forward, using all of your strength to speed up.

“This is a nice view back here. I would love to see the front.” 

Another man said, or maybe the same one. It didn’t matter though, and you didn’t dare to look behind you.

You were almost at a job, but judging by their footsteps, you knew they were still gaining on you. The tears that you’d been trying to keep in were freely flowing down your cheeks, creating a harsh sting against the cool night air. 

As a hand caught your shoulder, you let out a yelp, and in an instant, he showed up.

Superman.

You heard the commotion before you even had the chance to turn around. There was a smack and a groan as some of the bystanders around you finally started to turn their heads. As you finally looked behind you, there was Superman with his hand around the neck of who you could only assume was the man that grabbed your shoulder. 

From where you stood, you couldn’t see the strong man’s face, but you knew it was Superman just by everything else. You could obviously see how big and tall he was, but you could also feel the presence and power he had. 

The three other men were watching in horror as the large meta-human stood incredibly still, his cape flapping lightly in the wind as if he were waiting for them to speak first. 

“Fellas.” His voice was loud and pointed. He let the man by the neck go, shoving him towards his friends, “Why don’t you run home?” 

As the men scampered off, Superman watched for a moment, crossing his arms in front of him before turning to face you. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

Words and thoughts weren’t coming easily as you stared possibly for too long. The super hero in front of you started to smile wide, dimples poking out of the corners of his lips. 

A soft buzzing noise began in the back of your brain, low and soft, like it was trying to grab your attention. Maybe it was the combination of everything that had happened that day; the shoddy communication with Clark, him standing you up, the men, and now Superman, but you couldn’t hold your tears in any longer. The dam broke once again as tears spilled from your eyes. 

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. 

Superman’s eyes softened as he uncrossed his arms, making himself just a bit smaller for you. 

“It’s okay to not know.” The large meta-human motioned to a bench along the sidewalk about a block away, “Want to talk?” 

Nodding at him, he gave you a kind smile before leading you over to sit. As he sat beside you, you could immediately feel the inhuman warmth radiating off of him. It felt almost familiar but not enough to come to mind. 

Instead, you thought of your father. 

Superman didn’t say anything or make you feel like you needed to talk back at him. He simply sat with you and waited until you were ready. 

When you did finally speak, you tried to deflect off of your sad feelings, “Aren’t you supposed to be out saving the world?” 

The question came out more accusatory than you’d wanted, but it didn’t seem phased as he answered. 

“The world starts with the people in it.”

Without pressing, he waited again for you to continue talking. You took a deep breath, shaking your head at how ridiculous it was to be telling Superman of all people your mundane problems.

“This sounds so stupid saying this to you,” your laugh was wet as you tried to gain composure again, continuing, “I got stood up by a guy I really liked. And then this happened. But… this guy felt really different. Now, I’m not so sure.” 

“That’s not stupid.” His voice became quieter like it was just for you, “The only thing that’s stupid is the guy that stood you up.” 

You sighed, nodding, “Guess so. I got so frustrated and embarrassed. I think he tried to apologize, but I didn’t read his messages.”

“You have a right to be angry,” Superman caught your gaze and you weren’t sure if you ever noticed that his eyes were blue, “Regardless of if he apologizes, you don’t have to accept anything else from someone that wronged you.”

You thought for a moment. 

“I don’t want to feel angry though, and maybe that’s naive. But everything was going really well until a few hours ago.”

Superman sighed, cautiously placing a hand on your shoulder. That same warm familiar feeling washed over you once again as you leaned in to him. 

“I can’t offer you much, but I can offer you my opinion.” Nodding lamely, you urged him to continue, “It sounds cliche, but trust yourself. He miscommunicated and made you upset, rightfully so. If you feel like this bond you’ve made with him has severed beyond repair, don’t read the message, and don’t waste anymore energy on just some guy. But on the other hand, maybe he had a valid excuse and now he’s trying his best to apologize. It’s ultimately up to you to decide whether you give him the benefit of the doubt or not.”

For a long moment, you stared at the super human before you in complete awe. You’d looked up to him for a while, and here he was in the flesh giving you advice. 

“What would you do?” 

Superman laughed, his voice echoing through the city. 

“I have a bad habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. It’s hard not to want to see the good in people. And who knows, maybe now he knows that he should’ve made time for you.”

You didn’t say anything to that, studying him again. The low buzzing in your head was getting slightly stronger; his blue eyes and dark hair were setting off sparks of something that you couldn’t place. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t grasp what was so familiar. 

After a few moments, your head started to ache. You shut your eyes for a second to recalibrate, giving up on trying to figure anything else out for the night. 

Certainly, he noticed you taking the moment, “You should rest.” 

He stood up from the bench and outstretched his hand to you. Gently, you took his offered hand, standing to face him. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle as he helped you up. He gave you a wide smile, standing tall once you were on your feet.

“Thank you, Superman.” You sighed, “You’ve done so much for me tonight. Not only saving me, but taking the time to talk to me too. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’am, but you don’t need to thank me. I’m just a guy trying to do what’s right.” He nodded to you once, beaming at you, “If you ever need to talk again, I’m just a shout away.” 

You nodded back and before you knew it, Superman was flying off into the evening sky.

Swiftly walking the rest of the way to your apartment, you felt more at ease than you had before. Once you got inside, you felt like you could breathe again finally. 

Still feeling utterly conflicted, you cleaned yourself off and threw your outfit in the hamper before finally crashing onto your couch. You didn’t let the tears well in your eyes this time as you pulled out your phone. 

Thinking over your conversation with Superman, you mulled over what you wanted to do with Clark. 

On one hand, he had stood you up. Plain and simple, that was a really awful thing to do. You’d felt so embarrassed and stupid at such a nice restaurant that it would make sense to cut him off much like he did for you. 

But Clark felt… different. That feeling you got while you were with him was unlike anything else you’d felt with someone before. He’d been so sweet before that there must’ve been something wrong for him to not show up.

You thought of what Superman said about giving people the benefit of the doubt. And you came to the conclusion that if the most powerful man on earth could give people a chance, you could too.

Finally, you opened up your phone to your unopened message from Clark. 

I’m so incredibly sorry. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, but I’m still caught at work. I hate to think you’re waiting for me, and I understand if this is inexcusable. It’s not my intention to leave you hanging. I’d love to try again.

You sighed heavily before typing out a reply: Can we talk?

Mere seconds after you hit send, your phone was ringing. It almost would’ve been funny had the situation been a little lighter. 

“Hello?” Clark sounded first, your name slipping quietly from his lips.

“Hey.” You said timidly. 

“Listen, before you say anything, I’m really sorry. I-I know I messed up really big. I get caught up with work like that sometimes, and I should’ve warned you instead of making you think I was leaving you high and dry. It’s not an excuse for being a jerk, but I thought I should at least offer you an apology.” 

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes again, but none fell. You were too tired to let anything else out, “I waited over an hour for you, Clark.”

“Gosh,” He sighed, “I… I understand if that was too much.”

“I really like you… but right now, after this, I-I really don’t know.” 

“It’s okay to not know.” He murmured.

Lightning zapped at your brain again and you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to shake it away as you didn’t want to think too hard. Clark waited silently on the other end of the line for you to speak. Hesitantly, you took in another deep breath. 

“Clark?” 

“Yes?” 

He answered like you took his breath away

“Can we try again… like you said?” 

He let out an audible sigh - like he was finally releasing the air he’d been holding, “Of course. Yes, we can try again. Thank you. Wherever you’d like and whenever you want, I’m all yours. I’ll even take off work for the day.”

You let out the smallest laugh, “You don’t have to do that much.”

Clark let out a hum of thought over the phone like music to your ears, “What about now?” 

Your eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling.

“Now?” 

Over the receiver, a low chuckle sounded, “I can pick up some wine and a midnight snack?”

Your heart began to speed and stutter, your head already beginning to whirl. In your silence, Clark’s voice dropped even lower to a murmur, speaking again before you had the chance to overthink it.

“You can say no to tonight and we’d still make time for another date. I just want to make things up to you.”

“Okay…” you bit your lip, beginning to feel that giddy feeling again as before, “But you better bring a red.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Once you hung up, it only took about fifteen minutes before there was a knock at your door. You ran out of your bathroom to answer the door, having thrown on a more casual outfit than your pajamas.

At the door stood a very disheveled Clark, like he’d been running around. His curly dark hair was in disarray and he was still in his ill-fitted work suit. He held out a bottle of red wine, a bag of snacks, and a large bouquet of flowers. You looked at him incredulously as he beamed a large smile back at you. 

“Can I come in?” He said breathlessly.

A giggle escaped you as you stepped aside, letting the tall man walk through your door. He placed the items he brought on the nearest surface except for the flowers, which he held back out to you. 

Clark said your name quietly, catching your gaze, “I can’t express to you how genuinely sorry I am. Any excuse I give is not enough. I wanted to be there, but I wasn’t.”

Carefully, you took the flowers from him, but before you could pull away, he enveloped your hands with his. His strong fingers squeezed yours with a soft pressure, gazing into your eyes with his deep ones. 

“You’re here now,” you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. Your heart started to dance in your chest as he placed one of his hands along your cheek. He was hesitant, like he was testing the waters with you. Although he wasn't fully forgiven yet, you couldn't find yourself to pull away.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was just above a whisper.

You nodded once, but he didn’t move immediately. 

Ever so slowly, you pressed your lips together, like you were savoring every second. It was a quick, small beck before you pulled away to look at each other. 

And for a moment, things felt blissful again. 

No words needed to be spoken as you leaned in again, pulling him to you. The second kiss was longer, more intimate and slower… hungrier. But he didn’t make any moves to go any further. He was content with your lips, keeping you grounded as he molded to yours. He began to smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The two of you kissed for a few moments longer, only pulling away when you needed to get air. 

Soon, the two of you were sitting on your couch with two glasses of wine in hand, eating your snacks as you slowly fell into a comfortable rhythm of talking and getting to know each other again. It felt like you could talk about everything and nothing with him all at once. 

And after a while, it was like the forgotten dinner never happened. 

Sometime in the night, Clark stood up from your couch to inspect the bookshelf of records you owned. 

“Golly, you have quite the collection,” He mused aloud. 

Clark walked over to the record player and carefully opened it up. The last record you’d been playing - The Righteous Brothers - was queued already and Clark simply pressed the play button.

“It was both me and my father’s collection.” you said as music started flowing through your speakers. 

“Unchained Melody.” Clark hummed, “My Pa loves this one.”

“Mine did too.”

Clark outreached his hand to you and for a moment, you had a flash of deja-vu back to your conversation with Superman. That moment with the super human felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality it had only been a few short hours. That low buzzing started in your head again, but this time, you could feel something poking and prodding as you looked at the man in glasses before you.

But the thought that crossed your mind was impossible.

Instead of thinking too hard, you took Clark’s hand, letting him help you off the couch. Ever patient, he waited for you to get closer before wrapping his arms securely around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder as you swayed to the song.

“If you'll let me fix things,” He whispered, “I want to be yours if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled wide, nodding.

“I’d love that.”