#this should be considered a crack post to the au

[sea-owl]

What happens the next time Penelope, michael and Phillip drink?

Do they buy a boat?

The next shenanigans don't happen for a few years, but they do end up buying a zoo with Simon, Kate, and Sophie.

It was that time of year again when the Bridgertons gathered up all their children and went to visit Edmund's grave. The spouses give their Bridgertons the space needed for this time, and they all like each other. They're all friends. So they use this time to just hang out with one another.

Well, some drinks were made, tongues were loosened, and brains became foggy. At some point, Phillip got started talking passionately about conservation efforts for plants and animals. Michael and Penelope nod along. They know this speech by heart, sober or drunk.

Well, guess who happens to work at a conservation zoo as a vet that needs new owners. Kate comes up with the idea then Sophie runs the numbers each of the six of them need to provide. Simon works out the legalities and permits they would need. Penelope and Michael starts thinking of a marketing campaign they would need for it. Phillip, being the most knowledgeable along with Kate, about conservation helps there.

The next afternoon they wake up with an email congratulating them on their new zoo.

Well fuck. They certainly can't tell their Bridgertons, not right now. They'll wait until they get back or maybe a little bit longer so they can heal from the tiring trip.

In the meantime, they might as well go see their new zoo.

[residenthughes]

persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory! 

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going. 

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy. 

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart. 

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks. 

-

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing. 

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms. 

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment. 

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens. 

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop. 

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you. 

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort. 

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.” 

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin. 

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars. 

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you. 

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own. 

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.” 

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?” 

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.” 

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.” 

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back. 

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face. 

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too. 

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?” 

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever. 

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass. 

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.  

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you. 

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” 

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” 

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words. 

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words. 

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.” 

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later. 

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.” 

[eetherealgoddess]

Before you continue, this ends dark as hell so I’m gonna warn you rn!!! Hope you like it anyway! ♡︎♡︎

ꨄEscaping Bonten is for Scrapsꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten/Assassin Au

❦You are an assassin that’s after a target Bonten already has their paws on❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Escaping Bonten is for Scraps

You eye around the busy nightclub, pushing through the crowd as you search for your assigned target. Eyebrows furrowed as your nose scrunches at the thick tobacco smell mixed with alcohol and a variety of cologne and perfume.

“Where is this guy?” You hiss, shoving a drunk person to the side as you head to the back of the building. Once you push the doors open, you see the tall staircase, sighing before stepping on.

Why did I have to get assigned to a club?

It’s not that you were against the party scene, it’s just not ideal for a mission to find someone you need to kill. Your boss chose you for the assignment created by a bitter divorcee. You roll your eyes as you remember the file stating, “Please murder my cheating ex husband.” Of course, your company is underground and perfect for not being caught, though why risk going to prison over a cheating spouse?

Fortunately, this should be fairly quick. The soon to be deceased spouse is known for his drinking habit, speaking belligerently as he drunkenly walks from bar to bar which makes him an easy target. You followed him here, his third club of the night. You couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him considering he is just minding his business and drinking on his lonesome. Sure, he’s bitter as well and is a slob but it’s probably just a down point in his life.

At least I’ll put him out of his misery.

Once you reach the top of the staircase, noticing that the whole floor is empty, you pull your gun out, readying it to use. You hold it down to your side as you walk from room to room, searching for your victim. When you see that the whole upper stairs is empty, you hide your gun, and walk towards the exit of the room you just entered. Your eyes widened when you heard a scream coming from behind you.

You turn around and quickly move to the window, squatting, hiding yourself behind the wall so the people outside couldn’t see you. Easing your head up, you peeked to the outside. Standing at the back of the building, a group of men in suits hover around a kneeling man who’s covering his head as one of the men slams his foot against his side, causing him to fall over. You notice a smaller man who stood in the middle of the suited men walk closer to the male on the ground.

Your eyebrows raise when the man is forced to put his arms down as the shorter man crouches in front of him, realizing the guy is your target.

“What did this guy get himself into?” You whisper to yourself before moving quickly to crack the window so you can decipher what’s occurring.

“You owe us a lot of money, Nakamura.” A man with two blonde strands says, his wide eyes staring deeply at the victim.

“I-I know! I’m going th-through a divorce. I j-just need more time!” He coughs out blood in between his words. The short man in front of him leans in.

“You’ve wasted my time.” He stands up before moving back, motioning for the purple haired man holding the baton to walk forward.

He swings his arms back before slamming them down with a smirk on his face. He repeatedly hits the man over and over again with so much force that blood splatters on his own suit. The man cries out in pain as he becomes light headed.

You wince as you watch this painful sight.

Damn, now I’m feeling even more bad for this guy. I think I’m just going to go ahead and shoot him. Help him out, forreal.

Standing up completely, you aim at the man’s head perfectly with the gun. Without needing the other guy to stop beating him, you pull the trigger, a shot ringing out loudly. The bullet penetrates his head, killing him on the spot. The men, startled, looked around their surroundings as the pink haired man turned to the window, his blue eyes catching yours before you turned on your heel and ran.

“Fuck, he saw me!” You hiss as you run down the stairs, gun hidden as you push through the crowd.

Fortunately, it looks as though you all are into some shady business, though that doesn’t mean you want to catch their attention. You run out of the exit and rush to your car parked at the side of the building.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You rush to unlock the car before hopping in. Before you could close the door, a hand blocks the door. Your wide eyes meet purple orbs before you're pulled out of the car by your shirt. Before you could grab your gun, your front is forced against the car as your gun is grabbed and aimed at your head. The man with the purple mullet holds your arms behind your back with one hand. Before you could say anything, the butt of the gun meets your head, darkness engulfing your vision.

When you first wake up, your eyes meet a dimly lit warehouse, a throbbing pain at the side of your head causes you to pull against the restraints you didn’t know were there to touch your head. Groaning your eyes, the rope strategically tied around your ankles strapping you to the chair.

“Damn.” You breathe out. The click of a gun sounded next to your head causing you to make eye contact with the blue-eyed man you saw before.

“You’re an assassin working for an underground company, right Y/n?” You look up to see the short man sitting on a chair in front of you at a distance. The men stood around him, eyeing you.

“Who am I answering to?” You question, resulting in the gun being pushed against your head harder causing you to wince, the spot where you were once hit feeling raw under the barrel of the weapon.

“I don’t repeat myself.” The sunken eyed man states, his white hair hovering over his face.

“Yes.” You spit out, frustration being the only emotion to decipher at the moment.

“You work for Bonten.” You gasp at the familiar name.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The gun smacks against your face, forcing your head to lean to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

“Watch your mouth.” The pink haired man growls, using one hand to force your head back in place before replacing the barrel in the same spot.

“You will keep your assassin title and you will work under the executives.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Or what?” You hiss. The pale man signals for the taller short haired man to walk towards you holding his baton. He smiles before pulling it back and slamming it against your stomach. You lean forward before coughing out blood.

“You die.” Your new boss states.

A few months pass before you’re completely used to the yakuza scene. There are times when you wonder what exactly did they see in you to ‘hire’ you as an assassin working under the executives. It wasn’t a hard job, basically like the one you were used to besides the power dynamic. Although you worked under an old boss, he treated everyone equally and you had normal coworkers who you’d go out to the bars with occasionally. You were free to live your own life as long as you didn’t get caught.

Working under Bonten, you weren’t allowed the same freedom as your executives. Your job title was assassin but considering their low respect for you, sometimes you were a maid, assistant, butler, etc. At least that’s what it felt like when you had to run errands for them that didn’t involve shooting a bullet in someone’s head. Sure it’s nicer than killing but who wants to work to serve a bunch of disrespectful men?

Not to mention, you weren’t allowed outside without being accompanied by one of the executives. Of course, the executives you wouldn’t mind being around such as Mochi, Kakucho, Koko, and Takeomi weren’t the ones who accompanied you. It was always the Haitani brothers, Kazutora, or Sanzu. Even when you’re supposed to be off the clock you were always around at least one of them. You no longer have your own apartment and have to stay in a designated room in a penthouse that holds all of your rooms, though everyone else owns their own homes.

Currently, you are sitting in the vip section of one of the Haitani brother’s clubs, arms crossed along with your leg as you lean back on the couch. Kazutora plops next to you with a drink in hand along with one of the strippers in the other, her bare breasts out as she holds onto him.

“You don’t look so happy, Y/n. Should we have taken you to a male strip club?” He taunts, finding amusement in her pouty face.

“I’m glad you find humor in my suffering. I just want to go to bed.” You respond.

A dip on your other side causes you to turn your head to meet Sanzu who has a speck of white dust under his nose. He wipes using his sleeve before handing you a cup of alcohol.

“Live a little, yeah?” You raise a brow as you push the drink away. You had to admit how interesting it was to see the different contrasts between the infamous mad dog. One minute he’s all serious for ‘his king’ and the next he’s sniffing angel’s dust off of a stripper's ass. Interesting indeed.

“I don’t know what you put in that.” You state before turning away from him.

“Then take this. It’s just champagne.” Rin smirks as he hands you another glass from a separate chair, man spreading as he smokes a blunt.

“And I should trust you, why?” You roll your eyes before standing up.

“Where are you off to?” Ran asks as his hand grips the butt cheek of the stripper sucking his neck.

“Bathroom.” You state before walking out. You eye the guards before heading to the restroom.

You walk to the sink and lean over, staring at yourself in the mirror as you think your life over and what brought you to this point. You swiftly turn your head when someone walks into the bathroom. You notice the woman is wearing a poorly done wig with a coat on. You contemplate whether or not you should knock her out and disguise yourself so you can make a run for it.

My morals have always been skewed anyway. I’m sorry lady.

Before she could walk into the stall, you grab her and press her pressure point, catching her before she falls. You undo her coat and set the purse on the ground, lying her head on it gently before pulling her wig off. Setting the wig on as well as the coat, you walk out of the bathroom.

You walk at a steady pace to look anything but suspicious while keeping your head down. When you successfully pass the guards you make a run for it, rushing out of the club and finding a taxi to pick you up, throwing your phone out of the window for safety from a tracking device.

Your adrenaline pumps as the hairs on your body stand. You breathe heavily as you give the taxi man the direction to your old company’s headquarters. When you got there, you ran into the building in search of your boss. When you find his office, you push the doors open and run towards the man who looks at you with shock.

A year passes and he helps you back on your feet. Staying as an assassin would have been dangerous considering the first place Bonten searched for you was the headquarters. Fortunately, he has a family who owns different businesses so you currently work at a bakery on the farthest side of a city hours away from where you used to reside.

One night, you were cleaning up the floors, closing the store. You had already locked the door so you were confused when you heard someone entering the building. Looking up, you dropped the broom when you recognized Mikey standing in front of the door with a gun pointed at you. Before you could move, a hand wrapped around your mouth as someone grabbed your arms, pulling you against a chest. You struggle in their hold.

Your eyes widen when you see your boss and his family consisting of his wife, two of their adult children, and one child being dragged in wrapped in rope and bags over their heads. You scream against the hand.

“Relax and everything will go smoother.” The voice she recognized as Kazutora states behind her.

Once the other men force everyone on their knees in front of her, they pull the bags off their heads.

She screams once more when she makes eye contact with all of them, tears running down her face for the first time at the face of death.

No they can’t do this! This can’t be happening!

Complying to Mikey’s order, Kazutora removes his hand from her mouth as he locks arms with hers. She pulls against him as she tries to release herself, to no avail. The Haitani brothers watch in amusement as they stand behind the two adult kids. Sanzu stands behind the child as Mikey moves to stand behind the boss.

“This is your fault.” He says to you, glaring before he sets his gun to the man’s head. The child cries along with the mother and the children. The man’s eyes are wide as he looks to the side in the direction of his family. They were prevented from talking, mouths bound shut as they squeal and groan.

“Mikey! M-Mikey please don’t do this! I-I’ll stay this time I swear to god! Please… just kill me or something d-don’t take it out on them!” You cry out, devastated by the display as the guilt takes over.

“Sanzu.” He states. Everyone watches as he sets the barrel of the gun on the child’s head, pulling the trigger before anyone could think. There was a pause as the shot rang out, the blood and brains splattering against his siblings, the wall, and the floor.

“STOP! NO MORE!” You let out a blood curdling scream. You pull and pull against Kazutora as he grips you tighter.

Your boss wails against his restraints angrily, falling over when he attempts to stand up, lying pitifully on his side as he kicks his feet and pulls against the rope. The wife and their children cry out, tears dropping fast as they squeeze their eyes shut.

“Haitanis.”

“NO! NO MIKE-!” The shots rang out, more blood and brains splattering as their limp bodies fall to the ground, one sibling with half of their head gone as well as the other along with an eyeball, their blood reaching their mother as she completely bends over and cries.

Mikey aims at the wife shooting her twice before her limp body falls, the husband still as he weeps for his deceased family. Kazutora allows you to drop to your knees. Hands placed on the ground as you become light headed. Finally, vomit shoots up your throat as you release the contents on the ground. Gagging and belching as your body shakes, wet with sweat.

This must be my karma for all of the wrong doings. This must be how people feel when they see their loved ones die.

“I-I’m so sorry, Akihiko. I’m so fucking sorry.” You whine out, tears and snot falling as you become a wreck. He looks at you with despair.

“Please, escape the-!” Before he could finish his sentence, Mikey had already blown his brains out.

You gaze at the messy floor with a blurry vision and wide eyes. Footsteps stop in front of you, missing the vomit. Mikey crouches down and pulls you by the chin to look up at him, gun still in the other hand.

“If you try to leave again, I’ll blow your legs off.”

[ddejavvu]

mv Monday!!!!

Do you think you could write a mall!au where reader works at like a women’s store (think Victoria’s Secret or aerie type) but mall employee!sirius/remus come in all the time to flirt with her? I don’t have a pref for either boy, whatever you feel like!!! 🫶🫶🫶

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

this post is 18+, minors dni.

It's 1 PM on a Thursday, so you're not surprised that the only people in your store are Lupin and Black. They come more often than you do, you're fairly certain, and they don't work with you.

"Boys," You drawl, watching their pathetic attempt to seem casual wandering amongst, "If you're not here to buy something, you know I have to ask you to leave."

Both men turn, once more feigning coy. Remus reaches for a pair of panties beside him without looking, and Sirius brings up the rear as he approaches your counter.

"Just these," Sirius grins, and Remus sets the lacy underwear in front of you, price tag facing up and ready to be scanned.

You chew the inside of your cheek; you should challenge them. You should stop them in their tracks, refuse to sell them the underwear, because you know they're only buying it to stay in the store. They're relentless, and although their persistence pleases you, you're determined to get them to crack. They won't admit that they're pursuing you, but you're tired of the game they're playing; you want to win.

Unfortunately, you can't just deny them the sale. You don't have good reason, not reason enough for corporate, and their rules are that you're allowed to refuse service only on pre-approved grounds.

Horniness is not one of them, so you scan the panties with a tinny beep.

"$18.39." You wait for them to blanch, to back down because they hadn't expected to get this far, and $20 is more than they're willing to pay to flirt.

Instead, "Can we have that gift-wrapped, dove?"

You try to tamp down the burning of your cheeks at Remus's words, watching as he swipes his card when prompted. The payment goes through, and you snag tissue paper from under the counter, carefully folding the panties in on themselves until you can package them in a neat square. You set them gently into a pink striped bag, one that holds its stiff shape as you tug at the black strings, and pass it over the counter, letting Lupin take it from your outstretched fingers.

"Thanks." Sirius grins, and Remus pawns the bag off onto him. You wait for them to leave, to take their daily dose of teasing and head back to their record store, but instead Sirius reaches out, setting the bag back onto the counter.

"Gotta present for you, angel." Sirius grins, "Wanna try 'em on? Just to make sure they fit, and all."

Your stomach tries migrating to your feet. You're surprised by their bold moves, they're usually more lazily flirtatious. Now they're outright brazen, and you're at a loss for words.

Remus sees your brain malfunctioning, and he considers that it might be for the wrong reasons. He grabs hold of Sirius's elbow, "If you're uncomfortable-"

But you don't let him finish, quickly shaking off your momentary shock.

"Come on, you two," You hop the counter, landing tantalizingly close to them before they have the chance to stumble backwards. You take a hold of each of their hands, motioning for Sirius to grab the gift bag with a tilt of your chin towards the pink plastic.

"Dressing rooms are vacant. I can manage a fifteen minute break," You start towards the stalls on the opposite wall of the store, "That's seven minutes for each of you, and one for cleanup. Don't be loud." You round on them just before you reach the dressing rooms, narrowing your eyes at their pleasantly surprised expressions, "If you get me fired we can't ever do this again."

[twogyuu]

Head in the Clouds (Landing Among Stars)

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're busy. He's busy. Doctors are busy. Pilots are busy. But somehow, he always found time for you - including pretending to be your boyfriend for your cousin's wedding.

Genre: Fluff, crack, minor angst(?), pilot!Wonwoo 😭💔, resident doctor!reader, mentions of an unspecifed ex, implications of dj!Johnny Suh, fake dating, friends-to-???

Warnings: Profanity, alcohol use, food, photo is not my own (screenshotted it from the RWY Special Behind SVT YT video. LMAO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE BEHINDS PLEDIS🙏🏻)

WC: ~4.5K

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @sadkidwarexpert @rockwidthyou @woozarts @wonuziex @bibinnieposts @nanamioo @joonsytip

A/N: Remember when I said it's not my fault if you see this in the next 24h? This is 50% the fault of @wisteria-woo 😭💔 and 50% Wonwoo's fault. It's Friday past midnight - I should be out with friends, maybe studying more, maybe working on fixing Reel Love, finishing that Seungkwan drabble, maybe starting the first few paragraphs of that Hao crazy rich asians!au fic, or maybe writing about Jeonghan and Wonwoo fighting over cereal - but NO - I'm sitting here with Wonwoo fever 🥲

Anyways- IT'S WONWOO'S ANATOMICAL LEFT eyebrow, not his right 😭 Though I re-watched the video and he depresses his anatomical right eyebrow so it just looks like he lifted his left one whyamievenlookingthathard

This is purely self-indulgent and unedited (per usual). I am so ill rn and in DISTRESS - tumblr made this so much harder to post than it needed to be 😭. I am sorry for blowing up your notifications . . . I also sincerely apologize if none of this makes sense.

GOOD NIGHT 😭

Feel free to make fun of me swinging in a direction that isn't even one of my usual biases @aceofvernons.

“Maybe he’s right, Wonwoo.”

Your voice grew small until it fell silent, finally pausing in your rambling. He gave you a minute to collect your thoughts, busying himself with adjusting his navy blue double breasted suit jacket on the white plastic hanger. His fingers grazed against the uneven surface of the gold metallic buttons with delicate engravings as he slipped them through the slits. Though seemingly engrossed in straightening his jacket, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you sulking on the edge of his full-sized bed in the other room. Your camel-colored peacoat would still be shrouding your shoulders that were rounded in a slump, your purse still slung across your body. Your index finger was probably hooked loosely around the silver keychain he bought you for your birthday last year. Maybe your eyes were bleary, gaze falling on his cream colored carpet. A sharp inhale, followed by a heavy exhale.

Stepping back, eyes scanning his jacket for a speck of dust, he called to you, “He really said that?” Wonwoo reached to adjust the shoulder pads, “That you never have time for him? You spent all your days off with him the last time I checked – this is the first time I’ve seen you in-person . . . three months?”

“I know,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. Your hands must be covering your face.

“You’d think he’d know what he’d be getting into, dating a resident doctor, huh?” Wonwoo asked rhetorically.

The only response he got was a small ‘puff’ that echoed into his walk-in closet – the sound of your back meeting his comforter. Wonwoo chortled softly to himself. Satisfied by the look of his suit jacket, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way out. The right corner of his lips curled into a small smile as you came into view just as he expected: Flopped onto his bed with your legs dangling over the edge, still dressed in your outerwear, hands covering your face.

“I’m gonna end up lonely as fuck because of my job, god,” you groaned, “Why did I think it’d be a good idea to be a doctor all things considered? I’ve been fucking up my left and rights since second year of medical school, I work six out of seven days of the week, I’m probably vitamin D deficient with how little I see the sun – there are no windows in that closet of an office they give residents in the hospital, it’s dark when I arrive, the sun is already setting when I leave. The only good thing out of this is that I don’t have to dress up for work and can live in scrubs – for now.”

“Aaaww,” he cooed teasingly, “You won’t be lonely.” Leaning against the white painted door frame, Wonwoo unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling them up his arms. “You got me.”

“That’s different,” you deadpanned. “You’re missing the point, Wonwoo.”

“And you’re being dramatic,” he berated, running his hand through his jet black locks to loosen the tight and groomed style he was sporting earlier. “Who needs a man when you’re going to be a six-figure-making physician in a year or two? You can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine in two years maybe, but not in two months,” you sighed, pushing yourself up from his bed.

“You’re gonna let a mere man ruin your next two months?”

“No – I mean, yes, I’m gonna mope because I’m a little heartbroken and I really thought he was . . . it.”

“Oh god,” Wonwoo scoffed. You weren’t looking, but he pointed at you anyway. “For the record, I told you from the beginning I never liked him.”

“I told my mom about him,” you blurted.

Wonwoo fell silent, his lips pursing into a small o-shape. This was no laughing matter now. You lived several miles away from home and have been doing so since starting medical school when he met you through a mutual friend. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to your family, but because of your busy schedule, there were only select parts of your life you ever told your mom. You were a listener more than you were a talker – opting to listen to your mom’s anecdotes of what’s been going on at home rather than sharing your day-to-day at the hospital over your weekly phone calls. Not to mention, Wonwoo recalled you told him that your parents were rather invested in your love life, stuck in a traditional mindset, terrified that you’d become a spinster unless you brought home a promising candidate before you hit your early thirties. Though Wonwoo could respect it, he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand your parents’ urge to get you married so quickly, let alone if it was with the wrong person.

“My cousin’s getting married in two months and I’m flying back home for the wedding,” you explained, “He . . . was supposed to be my plus one . . . meet my cousin, my brothers . . . meet my parents.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly, eyes falling to the side and gazing out his bedroom window. The two of you were getting that serious. He was surprised you hadn’t burst into tears already – perhaps you already did or you were just a tougher cookie than he thought.

“Have you told your parents about your break up?” Wonwoo inquired.

You shook your head slowly. “I . . . I-I’m scared,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “They seemed so . . . ecstatic to meet him? And they told all my aunts and uncles I’m dating some hot shot . . . I’d hate to take that away from them – or worse,” your eyes widened at your sudden epiphany, “I get scolded for being dumb and letting a boy play me.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brows together, the last comment catching him off-guard. “He didn’t and it wasn’t your fault though?”

“It takes two tango, so maybe it was,” you noted, “And my parents don’t see it that way.”

“It wasn’t and they won't.”

“Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighed seemingly hopelessly, pushing himself off the doorframe. His footsteps shifted side to side as if he was contemplating something – uncomfortable even. The space between your brows dipped slightly as you narrowed your eyes, continuing to observe him. As if the room was suddenly feeling stuffy, he let out a long and heavy breath – not out of fatigue or relief, but rather . . . nerves? His hand came up to tug at the black knot at his throat. It must've been tight because his (anatomical) right eyebrow quirked in distress, his fingers flexed harshly as he pulled it loose – you were able to make out almost each tendon running along his metacarpals.

“Date me instead,” Wonwoo stated firmly.

You blinked at him owlishly. “W-what?”

Pulling the shorter end out from behind the black piece of silk came undone, falling limp in his hand. His thumb and index finger came up to unclasp the opaque plastic button below his Adam’s Apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped down the invisible lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes flickering from the tie in his hand and back to you. “As your plus one.”

“D-don’t you have work?” you stammered, still processing his offer, “Planes to fly? Places to go?”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, turning back around to re-enter his closet. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to ask for vacation time off – fly as a passenger for once.”

“But –”

“When’s the date?”

. . . .

And so that was how you found yourself here, dressed to the nines in a flowy lavender silk evening gown with Wonwoo’s warm (and surprisingly smooth) hand wrapped around your own sweaty fingers. His grip wasn’t too tight, but not too loose – comfortable, if you will. Visible and connected enough to show that you weren’t single, but also not squeezing the life out of you to make it obvious that the two of you were trying to hide a bigger secret. Your cheeks ached from grinning so widely in front of your parents, hoping they’d buy your fake love story with your handsome friend.

On the contrary, Wonwoo was seemingly a natural at this. He looked almost no different from his daily uniform: Sans the heavy navy blue jacket, he wore a crisp white collared shirt with black detailing on his (anatomical) right shoulder paired with a pair of black slacks. The shirt fit him nicely, slightly loose around the shoulders and tucked in tightly at his waist, highlighting his broad shape. Shoulders rounded back, his usually messy bangs slicked back neatly to the side exposing his forehead and better highlighting his sharp alluring eyes, he stood tall and confident. Despite how simply he dressed relative to other guests and against the extravagant gold and blue decorations, he stood out. A genuine and warm smile played on his lips as he greeted your parents.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he bellowed, pulling away his hand from your father and bowing his head slightly at them both.

You could tell from the way your mother’s mouth was held agape and her eyes were lit up like fairy lights lining the walls, she was an absolute goner for him Wonwoo.

“So, uh,” your father grunted, eyes zeroing in on your intertwined hands. He waved a finger between the two of you, “How long have the two of you been together?”

Wonwoo turned to look at you and because you felt obligated to in order to simulate chemistry between the two of you, you did too. He took you by surprise though – his gaze a little too loving, the small curve of his lips into a shy smile a little too affectionate.

Your breath hitched; the story the two of you rehearsed on the airplane ride here got trapped in the back of your throat. His stare was hypnotizing as if he turned your brain into mush.

“Gonna tell them or should I?” Wonwoo whispered.

The saccharine in his voice was heart fluttering – you weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit or laugh right there. Frankly, you were growing concerned if you were going to be able to pull this off. You still had half of the cocktail hour and the rest of the reception to go.

“I-I, um, w-we,” you fumbled, tearing your gaze from him. You let out a breathless chuckle, racking your brain for the timeline of your fake relationship.

Tugging you close to his side, Wonwoo turned back to your parents, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now – met through a mutual friend, but have been seeing each other for the last year and a half.”

“Oh,” your mother hummed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was one of your friends? If I had known you had someone so handsome in your life–”

“Mom!” you protested.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” she replied.

Wonwoo gave your hand a tight squeeze, a deep, breathy chuckle bellowing from his chest. “Y/N’s . . . a little shy when it comes to how we got together. No one really expected it – not even us.”

“And what is it that you do for a living then, son?” your father jumped to the next question.

“Dad,” you deadpanned. Of course, he’d ask about Wonwoo’s occupation.

“A pilot, sir,” Wonwoo replied without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows, nodding fervently with an impressed look crossing his face. “You must have great eyesight.”

“I can see a thing or two,” Wonwoo joked in return.

“Well,” your mother finally intervened. You saw her waving at one of your aunts from afar. She wrapped a hand around your father’s arm, gently ushering him to move. “It was lovely meeting you finally Wonwoo – can’t believe she kept you hidden from us for so long, but Y/N’s father and I have a few more guests to greet. We’ll see you both around, and please, do enjoy yourself!”

Wonwoo and you bid your parents goodbye, waving at them mostly to watch until they were out of earshot and you could finally stop fake smiling.

As your lips flattened, Wonwoo took you by surprise. As if it was second nature, his hand slipped from your own, snaking past the small of your back and settling on your hip. Heat crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you close into his side. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear – you could feel him smiling, his warm breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck. From afar, anyone would think of it as two lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. However, a stern warning came instead.

“If you keep grinning like you shit your pants, someone’s gonna catch onto us tonight,” Wonwoo whispered. He pulled away and glanced back at you. It terrified you how easily it was for him to smile so . . . warmly at you, like you were the apple of his eye – the love of his life. “Relax, hm?”

You swallowed harshly, your throat growing dry. You nodded – your face still straight nonetheless. He rested against the granite bar, spinning you to face him, his hand never leaving your waist once. Teasingly, he brushed the tip of your nose with his finger before letting both hands now rest on your hips.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered.

He tilted his head coyly at you. “Just doing my job as your,” he paused, his voice dropping an octave, leaning towards you, “fake,” he leaned back, his voice returning to its normal volume, “boyfriend.”

“This isn’t your first time being recruited as a fake date, is it?” you folded your arms across your chest. “Bet – Younghee invited you out when she needed a plus one back in January to her aunt’s renewal of vows.”

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his nose ridge crinkling, eyes disappeared into crescents as his smile widened. Your heart pumped erratically, the memory of that one drunken night where you told him you liked this particular smile. He had claimed it manifested this way because his eye muscles were attached to his nose muscles.

“Seungkwan went with her if you don’t remember,” he explained. One of your relatives must’ve breezed by behind you, watching because Wonwoo’s eyes tracked after someone. He continued, indifference in his tone, “I just . . . really like you.”

With a heavy sigh, you patted his shoulder, slipping your hand back into his – ignoring the way your chest tightened at just how well your hands slotted into one another. “Uh-huh, yeah,” you did your best to hide the squeak in your voice, turning to face forward towards the tall linen-draped tables, “We have a long night ahead of us, so keep it up, buddy.”

. . . .

The evening flew by surprisingly fast without an issue – well pertaining to your fake relationship that is. Cocktail hour ended smoothly, Wonwoo meeting a few more of your cousins. No one batted an eye when you accidentally spilled some champagne down the skirt of your dress – their attention was locked on your handsome date as he indulged in their questions about his job as a pilot and where in the world he’s visited. You rejoined your parents and your younger brothers during dinner. Surprisingly, Wonwoo bonded really well with them, finding common interest in FPS video games and anime shows (you didn’t even know Wonwoo was into anime). A few of your aunts came by during cake cutting and desserts to meet him as well. You chuckled at the way he didn’t have to do much to charm them, merely nodding and smiling as they rattled off about how much they’ve already heard about him from their kids, themselves, and their own families, wishing their own kids brought back someone as dashing as him. There was a hint of jealousy and jab in their words, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

First dances were danced, bouquets and garters were tossed, and the lights of the reception hall were finally dimmed for a lively evening. Guests flooded the dance floor as the DJ, a lanky young man dressed in a snapback and a heavy black jacket with zipper detailing on the pockets, turned on a heavy dance beat and colorful flashing lights. A set of large headphones around his ears, the DJ (one of your other cousin’s boyfriend you’d later learn), bopped on his own as he twisted the various knobs on his beat board. Neither of you quite the dancer, Wonwoo and you stayed in your seat, watching your cousins, sober and drunk, shimmy on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you announced after a little while. You peered at him through your lashes. “You want something?”

Wonwoo leaned forward by your ear. “Just water,” he shouted over the beat.

You nodded, gathering the skirt of your dress as you got out of your chair. On your way over, someone caught your elbow. You spun around, pleasantly surprised to see Rina, one of your childhood friends you grew up with, greeting you with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she squealed while linking your arms.

“Hi!” you replied. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I don’t blame you,” she chirped as the two of you reached the bar counter. She was quick to hail down the bartender, requesting a green tea shot. You asked for Wonwoo’s glass of water and your lemonade.

Rina’s eyes flickered behind you. “Been busy introducing everyone to tall and handsome,” she walked her index and middle finger up your forearm playfully, smirking when she noticed the sheepish smile gracing your face. “Heard he was a friend turned lover? A pilot too – caught yourself a good one finally.”

“He’s alright,” you muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Rina scoffed, “If a man that handsome looked at me like the way he looks at you, I’d melt right here and now – I wouldn’t give a damn it’s my cousin’s wedding they’re cleaning me up at.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by her comment. Your mind was already flitting through the memories of the day with Wonwoo – how did he look at you exactly?

“What?” you shook your head, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she held her fist to her mouth to mimic an announcer with their mic – she used to do this all the time in high school to tease you. “This is why they say love is blind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that phrase,” you chuckled.

The bartender made his way over with your drinks. You both offered him a small thank you and tip, before parting from the counter and continuing your conversation.

“It’s not,” Rina lifted the opaque mint green liquid to her lips, “But you must be really blind not to see how his eyes go all soft and heart-shaped whenever he looks at you.”

He’s just naturally a good actor.

She tilted her head back, downing the drink in one ago. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to you, a silly grin on her face. “Seriously though, I’m really happy for you – he seems to really like you.”

But it’s fake.

“Thanks,” was all you could say. You gave her a tight smile – though, Rina could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The two of you slowed to a stop a few tables away from your date.

She narrowed her eyes coyly at you. “Just . . .” she clamped down on your shoulder and gave you a firm squeeze, “Think twice before you let him go.” Rina turned, her body perpendicular to your own, her eyes set on Wonwoo who was peering over curiously. She waved at him, offering him a warm smile. He returned the gesture, eyes then flickering to you.

“That,” she formed a rectangle with her fingers, “is a man in love, sweetheart.” Rina turned to you, giving your arm one last firm squeeze. “It was good to see you,” she winked, “With him.”

Not a single drop of alcohol in you that night, your mind started to spin as you watched her frolic between the tables like a happy little girl in a field of daisies, joining her friends back to the dance floor. Your legs suddenly felt wobbly – you worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wonwoo in time without spilling your drinks.

There was no way in hell Wonwoo could, let alone would, love you by choice. Yes, he loved you as a friend, but no more, no less. He’s been by your side since your second year of medical school. He’s wiped your tears (and your snot) when you feared you would fail your board exams. He’s seen you at your wildest, handing out your number to strangers like gum when you were tipsy at the bar. He’s picked you up from the hospital when you could hardly open your eyes, the stress of an overnight shift hanging heavy on your limp body. Not in a single one of those moments, did anything he did ever suggest he could possibly be in love with you.

Rina was just drunk.

She wasn’t thinking rationally – just seeing things because her vision was going blurry.

Even if Wonwoo liked you . . . what did that mean for you?

“Everything okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly as you settled into your seat. His hand settled into the small of your back and for once that evening, it wasn’t soothing – it was burning hot. You jumped at his touch. “Whoa.”

“I’m fine,” you quipped, swiping at the invisible hair in your face. You shoved his glass of water into his hand. However, rather than drinking it, he placed it to the side; that same hand coming to caress your own.

“Uh . . . did your friend say something?” he asked. “Something you didn’t like?”

Yes – but you might have liked it.

“No,” you lied.

“You’re lying,” he squinted at you.

Fuck – were you just that easy to read or did he just . . . know you that well?

“It’s . . . umm . . . getting hot in here,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You moved out of your seat, breathless suddenly. “J-just stay here – please.”

Wonwoo frowned, watching you back up towards the grand doors. Normally, he’d respect your boundaries and let you be. You were the type to need space when you were distressed – you knew to come to him when you needed to. However, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do as he watched you spin around, bundling up your dress in your fists so you wouldn’t trip as you dashed into the red carpeted halls. He stood up taking the widest strides he could to reach you without drawing attention.

Standing in the wide doorway, his head whipped left and right, frantically searching for you. He caught sight of your dress rounding a corner and took off jogging after you. It was fortunate you weren’t the best at walking in heels – in combination with his long legs, he caught up with you quickly, reaching for your elbow. Breathlessly, Wonwoo pulled his weight back to slow you down, causing you to stumble into his chest (rather un-elegantly might you add). He was quick to catch you, setting you against the wall. When you tried to duck and escape, Wonwoo was a beat faster, bringing his left arm up to cage you in.

“Can we not be cliche and do this here?” you complained.

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, ducking his head to try and catch your downcasted eyes. “Mind telling me what’s going on then?”

Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. With how quiet the surroundings were, you wondered if he could hear the erratic beat of your heart like you could. It boomed in your ears, drowning out the bass of the party a couple doors down.

“Hey,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Wonwoo was good to you – too good now that you think about it.

Patient.

Caring – even if he teased you a lot.

He listened.

He laughed when your jokes weren’t that funny.

And the scariest part?

He made time for you – pilots were busy.

They flew everywhere: Hong Kong, Paris, LA, Osaka, Milan, Dodoma.

But when you needed him, he was there – hell, even changed his work schedule to accompany you to a wedding in a small city with no attractions (except for the fountain that mimicked the one in Rome) and voluntarily subject himself to the scrutiny of your family.

Even now when you were tearing down the hall, he was tender in drawing the answers out of you.

In the one in a thousand chances Rina was right, how could you confront him now? You weren’t even sure of your own feelings. Had enough time passed since your break up? Did you want him in that way? Or were you too just caught up in the moment?

Slowly, but fearfully, you willed yourself to look up at him. Eyes wide boring into his own, you noted the concern that was etched into the space between his brows, the slightest frown downturning the corner of his lips.

“Would it be insane to think,” you started softly, pressing your back flat against the wall. The plaster felt cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling your fingers into fists. “That you might . . . like me?” you gulped, “More than a friend?”

Wonwoo’s face was stoic at first, his eyes studying your face. They traced your features from your hairline to your black mascara coated lashes to the cute tip of your nose that he touched earlier that day, finally falling on your lips – the remnants of your lip gloss probably stained on the lip of the cup of lemonade you were sipping on earlier. He wondered if your lips tasted like the drink – sweet with a hint of bitterness from the lemons they were made of.

Gradually, his features softened. The dip between his brows rising again, a tender glint flashing in his brown irises. The corner of his lips finally curving up – his nose following suit. Like he’d always explain - the muscles of his face were all connected.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

Wonwoo leaned in close, his bangs that fell out of the slick tickling your lashes.

His voice low with a hint of rasp, he whispered, “Took you long enough.”

. . . .

Read the epilogue here :)

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : (College AU)non!idol!Kim Seungmin x F!Reader TW : established relationship ; bullying ; depression ; attempted su*c*de ; major angst ; is it considered fluffy at the end or more yandere the way that Seungmin acts at the end??? ; let me know!!! Word Count : 4.6k Request : Anon : depressed reader gets actively bullied and bruised which leads to a suicide attempt. seungmin never thought it was that serious once she brought it up to him. but after her failed attempt he is now extra careful with her and maybe a bit mad at himself for not taking it seriously. A/N : PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS BEFORE CLICKING READ MORE!! To the anon that requested this, I hope you're still here and you remember sending this in! I'm finally posting it!! I hope you enjoy it! The gif came from this blog!!

It rained again today… It seemed like everyone on campus knew that the storm was coming, everyone but you. Umbrellas were pushed open all around you as you quickly put your hood up, the downpour was torrential and you were soaked within the first minute of your walk back to your dorms. It didn’t help that people seemed to be purposely angling their umbrellas so that whenever you walked by, the rain from the top would pour onto your head. 

You’re overthinking it… There’s no reason anyone would purposely do something like that to you. You don’t deserve that. Is what everyone else would say, even your boyfriend… And you would have believed them if not for the insults that were constantly hurled in your direction and the scrapes and bruises that littered your knees and elbows from being pushed around and laughed at when you fell to the ground. You didn’t believe them… And they didn’t believe you. 

By the time you got to your building you were dripping wet, but the attacks wouldn’t stop until you were behind closed doors, in the safety of your room, at least for the next couple hours until the next day started and you got to go through it all over again. That was your life, a constant repeat of the day before, and you weren’t sure how much more of it you could take. 

As soon as you walked through the front door of your building you heard it, the laughter of the girls who seemed to make it their job to make sure your life was hell. You weren’t sure what you had done to make them hate you so much, you had never even talked to them, but they still decided to target you. 

“God, look at the shit they let live in the building with us.” One of them said, although you sure it was the main girl talking. Every clique had a leader, and it was obvious that she was the leader of the group. Everyone else just decided to follow along, and maybe it was because they were scared of being on the receiving end of the girls shit. You were done being scared though, you had simply become numb to it. “What should we do? She looks like a fucking sewer rat, dripping shit all over the entrance. Disgusting.” 

You couldn’t walk fast enough, and even if you tried to, you were sure that she’d catch up. She was following right behind you, and before you could even get your foot on the first step, you were being pushed, your knee cracking loudly as it hit the edge of the stair. You didn’t make a sound, you didn’t wince, you didn’t cry, you just got back up, trying your best to focus on anything but the pain that shot through your leg as you continued walking up the stairs. 

“Now she’s an injured rat, maybe she should just put herself out of her misery. It’s not like anyone wants her here anyway.” They all laughed, like your pain and your suffering was entertainment for all of them. Maybe they were just bored… It’s not like you could do anything about it. If you said anything, it would only make things worse and no one would ever believe you… You were nobody… There wasn’t a single person who would notice if you were gone. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning if you want to go out and get breakfast together before class.” Seungmins voice came through the speaker of your phone as it sat on the bed. You hummed softly, not in agreement, not in disagreement either though. It was a sound only to let him know that you were there, that you were still listening. “Did you bring your umbrella with you today? It was raining really bad.” 

You hummed again, once again becoming aware of just how wet you were, your clothes soaking through to the mattress that you were sitting on. “Yeah… I’m gonna take a shower and then a nap… I’ve got a lot of studying to do… Want to be well rested.” You muttered, your voice almost robotic, but he didn’t pick up on it, or maybe he did and he just decided to ignore it. 

“Alright. Don’t study too hard. I’ll see you in the morning, I’ll pick you up.” His voice was as cheerful as usual, not a care in the world… and why would he have one? He didn’t go through what you did. He didn’t know what it was like, and he refused to believe that it happened to you… In his eyes, everything was perfect. Nothing was ever wrong because it didn’t hurt him… not personally at least. 

That’s how it always was… He either didn’t want to believe that such horrible people existed, or he just blew it off, assuming that you were making it seem worse than it actually was. That’s why you didn’t even tell him anymore. You were tired of wasting your breath, trying to call out for help, trying to get him to listen to you and be there for you. It was all pointless. Nothing would ever change… Not for you, not unless you did something… You were the only person who could help yourself. 

Your roommate wasn’t back yet, she was always out late studying. It was the perfect opportunity, the perfect time. No one would ever know, and by the time they did, it would be too late. You weren’t going to continue being tortured, you shouldn’t have to continue suffering just to make other people's lives easier, to give them their daily dose of entertainment. You shouldn’t have to go through hell just so someone’s perfect view of the world wasn’t soiled. 

Your phone was left on the bed as you went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and taking a deep breath. It would be over soon, it would all be over soon. It’s not like anyone wants you here anyway… Those words repeated over and over in your mind as you dug through the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the razors that you had bought a couple months before. They were purchased right before your talk with Seungmin. You had wanted so badly for him to listen to you, to tell you that everything would be okay, that he’d help you… You were wrong in wanting those things, you hadn’t gotten any of them. You weren’t sure why you had even held out this long after the talk, it’s not like anything was getting better, and you knew then that nothing would ever be better. 

The hoodie that you had been wearing was pulled off, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud, the soaking fabric creating a puddle where it landed. The shower was turned on, the spicket turned all the way to hot. If this would be your final moment, you at least wanted to be comfortable for as long as it lasted. 

Hesitating was something you did often. You hesitated when having to pick a multiple choice answer on a test. You had hesitated a little too long when you were called to the front of the class to answer a question on the board. You even hesitated when Seungmin had asked you to be his girlfriend. Hesitation was just… your thing. Not now though, you didn’t hesitate at all as you climbed into the tub, lowering yourself down into the tub. There was no reason to take pause, your decision would affect no one, no one but yourself, and the only effect it would have on you was positive. You would finally be free, and you saw nothing wrong in wanting that. 

It was much easier to sleep, to let yourself drift off knowing that you’d have no worries left, knowing that once your eyes were shut, they would be shut for good. You let your wrists fall into the water that filled up around you, focusing only on the sound of the shower, the way it felt like rain as it poured down around you. You’d be okay soon, and while you didn’t know where you’d go or what would happen next… At least you wouldn’t be in hell, at least not this one. 

“I really have to go to the bathroom, stupid rain. Just wait here, I’ll be out soon.” Your roommate said as she burst through the door, the rest of her study group drenched as they filed in behind her. She knocked once on the door to the bathroom, then once more, rocking back and forth impatiently as she waited for you to give her the okay to come in. “Fuck it!” She called out as she pushed open the door, coming to a full stop when she saw you, the bath water a dark red as it inched closer and closer to spilling over the sides. “Help! Come help me! Oh my god! Call an ambulance! Fuck! What the fuck!?” She shouted, running over to the tub and grabbing your arms, holding them above your head to try to stop the bleeding. 

The rest of them rushed in, some of them screamed when they saw you, your color almost completely drained. Others were pulling out their phones, trying to make the same call at the same time. The ones who screamed were ordered to come over and help, their hands shaking as they tried to help your roommate pull you out of the tub. The others who were on the phone were all trying to tell your roommate and the few others what to do to try to help, at least until the paramedics arrived. 

It was strange how even with all the commotion, your mind was happy. You could hear all of it, but you refused to focus on it, scared that if you did it would bring you back to the hell that you called life, the hell that you were trying to escape. “Why would she do that? Why? Are her grades bad? She could have come to study group with us!” Someone had shouted, and if you weren’t feeling so tired, you might have actually laughed. Your grades were the least of your problems, they weren’t even on your list of problems. Of course, your roommate had never believed you either, so she had probably never brought it up to the rest of her group. 

“Check… Check to see if her heart is still beating!” One of the guys shakily ordered, and your roommate pressed her fingers against your neck, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to focus on the feeling of the faint beat that came a little too slow. Time was running out, and you felt it too, it was a good feeling, to know that soon you’d gone. There would be no more suffering, no more nights spent lying in your bed crying as you wished that someone, anyone, would understand you, that they’d just listen. 

Sirens sang outside the building and you wished that you had done it earlier, that you hadn’t even answered the call from Seungmin. Maybe if you had cut a little deeper… maybe you had been hesitating, a little bit of hope left that maybe now someone would help. Did you really want to die or did you just want things to get better? Would things even get better? At least you were feeling tired, no matter what happened now, you’d be so out of it you wouldn’t remember. Maybe you wouldn’t wake up, maybe it would still work. Maybe… 

“Dude, have you seen on twitter?” Jisung asked, leaning back in his chair as he scrolled through his phone. Seungmin was sitting across from him, more focused on his meal. “There was a freaking suicide attempt back on campus… there’s literally live updates right now.” Seungmin rolled his eyes, not nearly as impressed as Jisung for some reason was. “That looks a lot like Y/Ns building! You should call her! See if she knows what’s going on!” 

The last thing Seungmin wanted to do was bother you when you had told him you were studying, but by the way Jisung was looking at him, Seungmin knew he wouldn’t let up. “Fine… But I’m not gonna force her to look at that. She can’t handle that kind of stuff.” He mumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It’s not just that you couldn’t handle it, you absolutely hated stuff like that. You couldn’t even watch horror movies without hiding in Seungmins shoulder for the better half of the movie. 

Jisung watched as Seungmin dialed your number, his knee bouncing so much under the table that Seungmin could feel it in the floor. “S-Seungmin!” A male voice came over the phone, it wasn’t you at all, and the man sounded breathless and his voice was shaky. Now, Seungmin wasn’t the type of person to jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t help but get a little worked up when he heard anyone but you on the other end of the line. 

“Who are you? Where’s Y/N?” Seungmin hissed through the phone, his fist already balled up on the table as he awaited an explanation. Knowing you it would probably be a good one, one that would have Seungmin feeling foolish while laughing about it later with you. You probably just left your phone at the cafe that you always went to… But that wouldn’t explain the urgency in the person's voice… This was someone who knew something or had done something and it wasn’t good. “Where is she?” Seungmin asked again, and he could feel Jisungs eyes on him, eating up the drama without a word, enjoying it far too much since he wasn’t the one personally involved in it. 

“Hospital… Ambulance… Lia found her… Come fast…” The man said, and then the line went silent, leaving Seungmin to put the pieces together. He reached across the table to grab Jisungs phone, still open to the twitter feed about the attempted suicide, and as he scrolled through the pictures it became quite clear to him. Your room, with the yellow tape making a big X across the door, your bed that was still made just as it had been this morning. Your bag sat on the floor next to your nightstand where you always left it… And on the nightstand table was a picture of you and him together. 

“H-Hey! Where are you going?!” Jisung shouted as Seungmin pushed away from the table, his chair falling back and crashing against the floor as he ran to the front door and pulled on his shoes. The trip that he and the guys in his club had gone on had him miles away from you, of course that’s how it would work out, why wouldn’t it be like that? He needed to be with you the most right now and it would take him hours just to get there. “What is going on?! Come on, dude! Tell me!” 

“It was her!” Seungmin shouted to Jisung, although nothing would stop him from moving forward right now. He was on a steady track and it led only to you. He wasn’t crying, not yet, for now he kept the tears at bay with nothing but anger. Anger towards himself for not being there to stop it, anger with you for doing something so stupid. Did you even know what that would have done to him? He loves you, and you were going to just take yourself away from him like that without a word? Why didn’t you talk to him? Why didn’t you tell him? What was going on that would make you think to do something like that? He didn’t get it, and that was only pissing him off more. Right now he just needed to get to you, make sure that you’d be okay. 

~~~

“She lost a lot of blood, so we had to do a transfusion. She’ll be okay, we just need to keep watch over her, make sure everything stays good.” 

“Can I see her? Why aren’t you letting me in her room? What’s going on? Let me see her!” 

“They would like to talk to you first… Before you see her…” 

He sat in the lounge room, his hands folded on the table as he looked at the officer across from him. He didn’t know what it was about, but he tried his best to keep calm even though all he wanted to do was get to your room and sit beside you. “Kim Seungmin… You were her boyfriend, right?” The officer questioned and Seungmin narrowed his eyes as it set in that he was about to be interrogated for this shit. 

“I am her boyfriend… Present tense…” He responded, quite snarkily, but this felt like a complete waste of time to him. “Is there a reason why you’re doing this? Do you guys think someone else did this to her and set it up?” 

The cop shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he looked over Seungmin. “Where were you tonight? How did you know to come here? Seems like you came pretty fast too… Like you knew this was going to happen…” 

Seungmins eyes went wide and his jaw was slack as he stared at the officer. How could someone even insinuate that this was somehow his fault? “I was three hours away with my club. I’ve been out for almost a week going to different high schools trying to get people to apply to the university. I called her because my friend saw a bunch of posts on twitter about something happening… I didn’t know it was her until some random guy answered and told me.” He ran his hand through his hair, his teeth gritted as he closed his eyes, his composure slowly wearing thin. “I came fast because she’s my girlfriend… I’d like to think that anyone else would do the same thing. I broke a lot of traffic laws to get here as fast as I did.” 

“Do you two ever fight? Does it ever get physically violent?” The officer rapidly tapped his pen against his notebook, the sound going straight to Seungmins head, driving him absolutely crazy. The assumptions were absolutely preposterous, only fueling his anger towards the entire situation. 

“Look man, I don’t know what kind of information you’re fishing for, but I didn’t do anything. I’ve never laid my hands on her. I love her… And I really want to be with her right now. Can we be done with this?” 

“So you love your girlfriend so much, you never laid a hand on her… Yet she’s covered in bruises? If we didn’t know any better, it looks as though someone might have mistook her for a punching bag.” Seungmins stomach dropped as he listened to the officer, and while he knew that he himself hadn’t been the one to cause those marks on you, a certain rage built inside of him as he tried to think about who would hurt you like that. “Do you know of any accidents she might have been in to cause her kneecap to be entirely shattered? Do you know anything at all?” 

His head shook as his tears finally began to fall. You had never told him anything… What had happened to you while he was away? “I… I don’t know… I’d just really like to see her… Please…” His head dropped into his hands as he sobbed quietly, his body shaking with ragged breaths. 

Seungmin was no help to the investigation, and the officer quickly realized that, helping him out of his chair and then leading him out of the room, motioning towards the closed door that would soon open and reveal you to him. Were you awake yet? He had so many questions that he wanted to ask you, but the biggest question of all was why… Why would you do something like that? If you answered that one question, he’d have the answer to a lot of his other questions too. 

The nurse let him into the room, and seeing you, it had his heart breaking. You looked so weak, so fragile, your arms were completely wrapped up in gauze, your leg had been casted and hooked to a strap in the ceiling to keep it elevated. “Are you sleeping?” Seungmin whispered as he got closer to your bed, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stood beside you. The IV for the blood that was being pumped into you had to be inserted in one of the veins in your neck, the sight of it causing a cold chill to run up his spine. “I’m here now…” 

“Do you… believe me… now?” Your voice was so quiet, and your eyes were still shut, if there had been other people in the room he would have sworn it was someone else talking, but you were the only one there, and now he was trying to think of what you could possibly mean. “Was this… enough?” 

His hands held onto yours a little tighter as the reels in his mind turned, trying to understand what you were talking about, but nothing was coming up. “What are you talking about? I always believe you… What happened? Tell me, please… I want to help you… I don’t want this to happen again… Talk to me…” 

Your fingers twitched against his own, yet your eyes seemed to be glued shut, and even as he was watching your face, it didn’t even look like your mouth was moving even though words were coming out. “People are bad… Seungmin…” People are bad…. What does that even mean? What do you mean? Your answers were only creating more questions for him. 

“Visiting hours are over now, sir.” The nurse said from the door. He hadn’t been given enough time though, he needed to know, he needed to know what you were talking about. His head shook rapidly as he kept watching over you. He didn’t want to leave you, even if you didn’t answer any more of his questions, he wanted to stay beside you. “She needs to rest, sir… You can come back in the morning to see her. Okay?” 

It’s not like he had a choice, and he didn’t want to have to be escorted out by the officer who interrogated him, so he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before walking backwards to the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow as early as I can… I promise. I’ll be back.” 

People are bad… He mulled over the words in his head as he walked through the parking lot and climbed into his car. What the hell did it mean? He couldn’t ask you now… And the only place he could go for any sort of answer was your dorm. Was it still taped off? It’s not like it was a crime scene… It should be open. 

The building wasn’t too far from the hospital, he was there within ten minutes, and when he pulled up he could see a group of people sitting on the bench outside smoking a cigarette. You always told him how you hated that, having to walk through the cloud of smoke just to get to the front doors, and it seemed like they would purposely blow it in your direction… People are bad… He’d always tell you that it was just the wind blowing it towards you, that people wouldn’t purposely do something like that. 

“I can’t believe she actually did that. What a fucking drama queen.” “She didn’t even write a note. It’s like she was looking for attention.” “How embarrassing for her boyfriend. He’ll probably dump her. Nobody wants to date the campus suicide risk.” “Oh please, it was embarrassing for him to date her in general. I’m sure he only did it out of pity.” “Whatever, the bitch should have cut deeper.” 

How could they talk so harshly about you? Were these the ones… the ones that you had told him about before? “Do you believe me now?” He hadn’t believed you then… If he had, would you have done this? He could have stopped them… He would have stopped them. They were still talking, loud enough for everyone to hear… And no one cared. No one cared enough to tell them to shut up, no one… You could be dead… And they talked about you like you were shit. 

“Hey, at least we’ll have a couple days out of class… You know… For like… Guidance or whatever.” “Oh yeah… We’re super torn up about it…” “If she would have done it right we’d probably have a week or two. Ugh… I swear, she’s fucking useless.” 

Red. All he saw was red as he got out of his car, slamming the door shut and going straight over to where they sat. “Shut up!” He shouted, and for a second, he thought they would keep quiet, but as soon as the initial shock wore off, they were all laughing. Their heads were thrown back as the boisterous laughter bounced off the walls of the building and rang in his ears. “I said shut up!” He screamed, and before he even realized what he was doing, his fist was cocked back and being thrown straight at the face of the girl who sat in front. 

Now, Seungmin wasn’t a violent person, not usually, but you were his girlfriend, he almost lost you, and while some might say that a college relationship means nothing, his relationship with you meant everything to him. “Hey man! What the fuck!?” One of the other girls shouted, her hand quickly moving to the main girl's face to catch the blood that trickled down her nose. “You can’t just fucking hit people like that! You’re a psycho!” 

Now it was his turn to laugh, his fists still balled up at his sides as he glared at every single person in front of him. “Really? I can’t just hit people like that but you can?!” The girl who had been hit scoffed loudly, her head rolling forward causing the blood to drip down her mouth and hang at her chin. 

“Don’t worry, he’s just the bitches boyfriend. She’s too much of a loser to fight back herself, I guess she got her boyfriend to do it for her. Or maybe she’s just not alive to do it.” She stood up from the bench, a cocky smirk on her face as she looked at him. “I guess she’s getting all the attention she wanted now. I did your bitch a favor. You’re welcome.” 

He completely lost it, he snapped, his hand flying back just to shoot forward, the smack that landed across the girl's face sounding much louder in the silence that surrounded them. “I find out any of you even so much as look at her… I’ll slit all your fucking wrists and break both your fucking knee caps. I’ll make you suffer, I’ll make you wish you were dead. I can and I will ruin you… Remember that.” 

He wasn’t this kind of person… Not before he had met you, but seeing you in the hospital bed, knowing that he had almost lost you forever, it had sparked something inside of him. He wants to protect you, he wants to keep you safe, and if that meant having to be like this… Then he’d do it without hesitation. People are bad… You weren’t wrong, people are awful… But he’d do everything and anything to keep those people away from you, to protect you from them. He’d stop at nothing to make sure that this never happens again. 

[carrotkicks]

i'm sleepy right now but

here's part of the school au timeline bc i'm gonna make a silly video game inspired miniseries based on that Player: START drawing i just posted in order to talk abt some parts of the au that i find making comics and lore posts tedious for

Dazai transfers in, she runs into Chuuya, and she notices her crazy strong ability. the first arc is Dazai just making friends, particularly the Detective Club, which is the og ADA trio, and Chuuya, who she is needlessly annoying to.

Chuuya's infamous in their class because she's "mysterious" and "kinda scary." Dazai forces friendship onto her with but here's the abridged version of the pitch: "I can nullify your powers, meaning i'm a threat, so you should keep me close. Keep any potential enemies where you can see them." (This will end up being a decent lesson for Chuuya later)

Okay [here] is just a cutesy slow paced section of Dazai and Chuuya becoming friends. There's some secrets coming to surface though. I think in this section we get a paced out series of flashbacks describing Dazai's backstory, and some hints about Chuuya's "home" life with N, and the abuse, but nothing in Chuuya's perspective yet

Dazai's pre-Mori life in this AU is vaguely like Batman's origin story and that's all you need to know for now i think.

Considering that Dazai is Mori the Mafia Boss's ward and recently participated in a coup,, there might be SOME risk of her attending the Academy, right?

School gets raided by some belligerent gang looking to fuck around with the Port Mafia, *a miniature school-contained zombie infection bc of an ability user storyline ensues (don't ask why. i've been thinking about it a lot* Skk saves the day, but it puts the two of them on the Map. Namely, a couple of assassins take notice (cough Rimbaud cough Verlaine... cough they aren't working together btw we need multiple quests obvs)

Adam Frankenstein new substitute gym teacher gets sent to the Academy to keep an eye on and protect Chuuya in particular. Why's she still in this school if there's shifty evil government bureaucracy nonsense happening? plot reasons. but she's got a bodyguard now :)

Random but EXTREMELY important fact is that Chuuya is not as good a fighter as he is in canon. She's skilled with her ability, but without that she's more or less on par with Dazai. She's considerably worse at offense than everyone else but decent with defensive moves. Either way if Chuuya's ability isn't at her disposal, she oughtta back out of the battle... Will she though? nah.

Rimbaud crawls out of his burrow when he realizes that his target from 7 years ago has resurfaced in a more vulnerable position. Obviously he's gotta take a crack at capturing it, right?

ok sleepy again. i leave you on this cliffhanger. I'll reveal some "stats" in the art posts later. BYEEEEEEE

[snoopymins]

we're all reaching out to find another hand | na jaemin

summary: Na Jaemin is an up-and-coming investigative journalist, relentlessly exposing corruption and cover-ups at every corner, and you are but the exasperated superhero charged with ensuring he doesn't get killed in the process.

pairing: journalist!na jaemin/f!superhero!reader

wc: 26k

genre: non-idol, superheroes, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending/romance

warnings: violence and injuries, typical stuff for superhero media ig? brief mentions of natural disasters, gun violence, etc

note: had to mush things together and cut things out to get this to fit. i hope that whatever staff member decided there should be content blocks on posts has a wretched day. anyways, this is a superhero au, specifically inspired by superman/clark kent and lois lane, in that reader is a kryptonian/supergirl and jaemin is, essentially, her lois lane. those characters (clark/lois etc) are not here, however, kun is placed into what is essentially clark kent/superman's role, as well as an oc for lois lane. no in-depth knowledge is necessary—all my research is based on google, wiki, and popular media surrounding superman. i do my best to explain everything as well, promise!

playlist: tomorrow is closed—nothing but thieves • do you realize??—the flaming lips • who we are—hozier • drowning—woodz

masterlist

“This is happening too often.” 

“I don’t agree.” 

“Of course you don’t. You never do.” 

Your cousin has always tried to impart careful advice on professionalism and respect when it comes to your job. For the most part, you agree, and treat it like your own personal Hippocratic Oath. 

You figure if Kun saw you now, bickering with Na ‘Persistent Pain In Your Ass’ Jaemin, he’d be a little disappointed in you. 

“I wasn’t in danger,” Jaemin counters stubbornly, crossing his arms. 

“I think falling off a ladder and cracking your head open on the sidewalk counts as danger.”

“It’s not being held at gunpoint, though.”

What does he want, a congratulations that the one time you save him he isn’t seconds away from being shot or otherwise maimed?  

“It’s still dangerous.”

But—you figure that there must be something in the water at the Daily Planet. One journalist acting recklessly for the sake of the greater good—and consequently roping in her own personal Kryptonian-on-call—is a fluke. A second one is too much of a coincidence. Especially considering the Kryptonian that Lina Dhar-Qian had was your cousin, Qian Kun, the one and only Superman. 

Leaving you, Supergirl, to save the persistent Na Jaemin from certain death when he pokes too many sleeping dogs. You, however, lack the patience Kun had. Has. Then again, Kun and Lina are married. Have been for ages. That probably changes things. 

Na Jaemin may be the prettiest person you’ve ever laid eyes on in the entire universe—and you’ve seen a lot—but that doesn’t quite cancel out his penchant for trouble that, at times, seriously concerns you. 

A cough pulls you from studying the streak of white paint on Jaemin’s cheek—flushed red from the unforgiving summer heat and humidity. 

A dark-haired guy looking close to Jaemin’s age gazes up at you two, bewildered.  

“What happened?”

You decide now is a good time to set him down, having gotten distracted with your argument after you’d caught him, and remaining several feet in the air. Even so—Jaemin is one of the few men who are more or less okay with you carrying him. Once your feet are settled on the ground, he slides out of your arms with ease. An old song and dance for you two. Which is, again, concerning if you think about it. 

“What’d you do?” his friend asks next, frowning at him. 

“I fell off the ladder. What’d I do? Clearly suffered from the negligence of my friend, Renjun. I could’ve cracked my head open right here and died.”

“I see,” Renjun says, uninterested. He turns to you next. “Well, I suppose we should say thank you for making sure he sees tomorrow.”

I’m used to it, you want to say. 

Supergirl, however, must reply, “No thanks needed. Please be more careful next time. Both of you. Using a ladder is more dangerous than you think, you know.” 

“It’s not my fault,” Jaemin mutters. “He left.”

“For thirty seconds—”

“Thirty seconds is all it takes!”

“I swear to god, Jaemin…”

You gently interject, “What’s this for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

They stop their bickering. Renjun blinks a few times at you, then the wall, coughing. 

“Oh, it’s—it’s supposed to be a mural I’m doing. Me and some other local artists are putting up murals around the city,” he explains, then hastily adds, “With permission, of course.”

You chuckle quietly. As if you’d do anything if it wasn’t done with permission. But back to what Renjun is saying…

“Did you do the one on the corner of Flanagan and 30th? The one of me?” 

You know he did—you can recall the loopy signature on the corner reading, simply, Renjun. Unless this is another Renjun, but you don’t think so. 

“I did.”

“It’s really nice,” you say truthfully. “Very… warm.” 

His face lights up. “Thank you! That was my intention—part of it, anyway. A lot of depictions of you guys always seem so… cold. Great art, don’t get me wrong, but… too impartial for my personal tastes. Like you guys are bigger than life. Which you are, technically, but not like that… not in my opinion, anyway…”

Renjun is flushed and a tad sheepish by the end of his mini tirade. Jaemin stares at him like he can’t believe his eyes. 

You smile at him. “Thank you, Renjun. That’s very kind of you to say. And for this—you just need the wall to be white to start?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“I can do it.”

That catches him off guard. Jaemin, on the other hand, says nothing and simply looks at you. You blame the jump in your pulse on the distant thundering crack of a tectonic plate moving on the west coast at that very moment. 

“Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that. Jaemin and I—well, it should probably be me—”

“Hey.”

Renjun ignores him. “—can finish it. I’m sure you have more important—”

In the time that it takes for him to say the word important, you scoop up the can of paint and the brush and finish painting the wall white. The breeze hits in the next moment as you settle yourself back in front of them, smiling. 

“—work…” he trails off, blinking a few times as he gazes at the now-white wall. Jaemin crosses his arms and turns a critical eye over it, as if searching for mistakes. 

“Hope I didn’t miss anything,” you joke.

Renjun stares at you, looking a little starstruck all of a sudden. “Can I get a picture with you?”

You grin. “Sure.”

The shutter of the camera on his phone is loud as he takes a selfie of you two. 

“Thank you so much… I really appreciate it…”

“Of course.” 

Ten miles away, a fire alarm goes off. If you try hard enough, muddle through enough of the scents in the air, you can smell the building smoke. 

You lift off the ground. “I should go. You two be safe.”

“Thanks,” Renjun says earnestly. “You, too.”

You wink and rap your knuckles against your chest. “Bulletproof. But thanks.”

You’re off in the next second. Despite the distance between you in the next handful of seconds, the thump of Jaemin’s heart lingers in your ears. 

He has a steady heart. 

You arrive at the burning apartment building just as he speaks. 

“Really?”

You clear the first floor. 

“She’s Supergirl,” comes Renjun’s grumbling response. “She’s cool. You aren’t going to make me feel bad for geeking out a little.”

Second floor. 

“Hmm.”

“Don’t Hmm me. What about you, huh?”

Third floor. 

“What about me?” Jaemin asks coolly. 

Fourth floor. A teenager studying, a babysitter and a toddler, an elderly couple, a sleeping man. A fire truck and ambulance draw near, sirens piercing in your ears. You focus on the heartbeats leftover and underneath that, the conversation happening ten miles away. 

“You know, I thought Hyuck was exaggerating when he was talking about your sleuthing.”

One more room left. The fire originates from here. You feel the heat of the flames but you’ve also felt the heat of the sun, so you dive in without fear. In the corner of the kitchen, a little girl and a Malinois puppy huddle together. A beam crumples and part of the ceiling caves. You catch it before it can crush them. The little girl, teary-eyed and helpless, gazes up at you with nothing short of relief. 

Finally taking a breath, you hold it for one second as you toss the ceiling to the side, then release it as you take the girl and her puppy into your arms. Little hands and claws cling to you. 

You get them out. 

There are no casualties. A few burns, smoke inhalation, but no casualties. Katie, the nine-year-old girl you saved, inadvertently started the fire trying to cook for her mother, a janitor at Metropolis General pulling fifteen-hour workdays to pay the bills. She only wanted to do something nice for her. You text Kun and Lina about it, to make sure nothing bad happens to either of them because of it. Unlike them, there is only so much you can do as a civilian. Same with Supergirl, as officials deem you an outsider when it comes to these kinds of issues—useful only to pull people from burning buildings and to stop alien invasions. 

During this, Renjun and Jaemin’s conversation has gone on unimpeded.

“Sleuthing,” Jaemin is saying, “sounds incredibly unprofessional. I’m a journalist. And Donghyuck is always exaggerating. I don’t even talk to him and Mark, you know that, right? Where are they getting their sources from?”

“Your headlines,” Renjun deadpans. “And the fact that every major story you’ve published in the last four months have featured Supergirl in some way or another, usually with a footnote—a footnote, Jaemin—about how you had your ass saved from certain death by her.”

“I have a word limit, alright?”

“You’re insane. Totally insane.”

“I love you, too, Renjunnie.”

“Where’s that ladder at? Get on it. I’m going to push you off.”

Jaemin’s laugh is warm in your ears. 

You ignore the weight that forms in your chest and head home for the day.

You first met Jaemin when he was about to be shot. Specifically, shot by the Russian mafia for getting caught poking into their drug trades. The mobster had pulled the trigger. Bullet released from its chamber, aimed to kill, to ensure the things Jaemin had learned would never see the light of day. 

If it were anywhere else, they’d likely succeed. But this is Metropolis. You can push your limits. Bullets can fire and you can still save someone. 

It was close, though. Fired in an instant, Na Jaemin had not flinched but had instead braced, refusing to show fear to them. Very noble. Very impressive. Nonetheless—unnecessary. You pulled him out of the way and didn’t hesitate to take down the mobsters, either, tying them up and leaving them outside the dingy warehouse—because it’s always a warehouse these guys use to kill people—for the police to grab. 

Then you went back to Jaemin and let time resume. Off-balance and disoriented, he stumbled right into your arms. Some initial pushback. But the fight left him just as quickly when he realized who you were, wide eyes taking in the symbol on your chest. 

“It’s okay,” you had said to him gently, your hands on his arms. “You’re safe now.”

The adrenaline was quickly leaving him, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your ears, blood pumping, fear still tangible. 

He had put up a good front in front of those mobsters. He really had. But it wasn’t good enough to fool you. But—that was perhaps the point. You were you. Supergirl. You weren’t just anyone else witnessing a vulnerable moment. That’s why, you think, for a few minutes, he was willing to let his guard down. You remember the way he shivered, one of his hands balling up the material of your cape. 

“You’re safe now,” you had repeated and finally, it seemed to sink in. Or rather, what had kept him going finally gave out. 

You helped him sit on the floor, kneeling beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. 

“What’s your name?” you remember asking him gently, regaining his attention. 

You remember him looking at you, really looking at you, the emotions in his dark eyes, revealed to you, reeling from the situation he had just been in. He had, in that moment, reminded you sharply of yourself. It was a discomforting thought, but no less true. 

“Jaemin,” he had told you quietly, an accent curling his words faintly. “Na Jaemin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jaemin. I’m Supergirl.”

“I know.” 

You had smiled, because you got that a lot when you said it, but there was something else that was… charming about the way he’d said that, so knowingly. And after that, after the police arrived and he was seen to and the story broke in the papers, his name underneath it, the moment had stuck with you. It usually doesn’t. You have an excellent memory and nine out of ten times you can recognize someone you’ve rescued but they don’t… linger with you. 

Not in the way Na Jaemin did. 

Then, one month later, you got a tip about an illegal arms deal involving two heavy-hitter players in Metropolis. When you arrived at the hotel it was taking place at, you bumped straight into Jaemin. 

“Oh, you’re here,” he said when he saw you. 

“Jaemin?”

He had only pointed at the men with machine guns advancing on you, said, “They’re trying to kill me,” then ran the other direction. 

“The exit is the other way—!”

“I’m not done here yet!”

“Now, wait a second—” Your response was drowned out by gunfire. Bullets pelted you and clinked to the ground. By the time you handled them, delayed by your confusion over Jaemin’s decision, he was gone. 

Well, he was in the stairwell, going down, and you could hear his heart, thumping quickly, less fear this time and more determination. But since he wasn’t in more danger, you decided to handle the gunmen first. 

By the time you were finished with that, a few sounds from the basement gained your attention. When you ventured down, you found a stash of weapons far larger than expected, a knocked-out mobster, and Jaemin, with an abandoned crowbar near him and a split lip, snapping pictures. 

“I’m not helpless,” was the only thing he had told you. 

That set the tone for the rest of your relationship. 

For the better and for the worse. 

Blue-and-red lights flash rhythmically in the night. Coming up on three days of no sleep, it’s just about a siren’s call to close your eyes and drift off right there. 

You do get energy from the sun—yellow suns specifically, and in this case, Sol, the star which makes you what you are—and can go longer stretches without having to eat or sleep than if you were under a red sun or if you were a regular old human, but at one point, you do need it and you are rapidly approaching that threshold. 

It’s why you just about miss Jaemin. 

“What happened here?”

Your head whips to the side, to where he now stands, gazing out at the scene, eyes tired, button-up and slacks rumpled, like he was sleeping at the office when he got the tip. He probably was. He shouldn’t, you’ve told him too many times to go home and rest. It’s not good for his health… though when he asks why you care, you say something lame about him getting slow because of it. Which is true and just as concerning but emptier without a pretext. But if you included one, you think he’d be even likelier to ignore you. He’s like that. You don’t know why. You wish you did. 

Something cold slides into the loosely curled fingers of your hand. Your fingers close around it reflexively. 

SNAP. 

You blink, dropping your eyes from his face—now facing you—to your hand. Ink pools in your palm, staining your skin and the shattered bits of the pen, too. On the ground lies the other half of the pen. 

“That,” Jaemin says, “is a terrible reflex.”

“I zoned out.”

“You were looking straight at me.”

“I zone out while looking at things and people sometimes,” you say defensively. “It happens.”

“Right,” he says doubtfully.

You wipe the ink on your hand on your cape, then reach up to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. Colors starburst in the darkness of your eyelids. When you reopen your eyes, they feel ten times heavier. 

“I’m just tired,” you mutter. “It is and isn’t a reflex. I’m just very good at subconsciously categorizing whether the thing in my hand is fine to be crushed or if it’s soft and fragile.”

“Soft and fragile.” His tone leaves much to be desired. 

“Humans are. So are puppies. And cats. And other animals. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Hm.”

“Can’t tell you, either, by the way.” Referring to his initial question. What happened? An amateur bank break-in. Boring. 

“Yes,” he says. “I figured.”

He always does this—if you’re the first on the scene and he’s second to follow, he’ll ask what happened and you’ll tell him the same thing: Can’t tell you. 

“Why come out here knowing the answer is always going to be the same?”

A shrug. “Why not?”

You chuckle tiredly. “Touché.”

“You should go home and sleep if you’re tired.”

It’s childish, but you can’t help but reply, “You should go home and sleep.”

It’s dark, but you can see everything. Nothing is hidden from your sharp eyes. Neither is the way his lips twitch into a small, amused smile that he turns away to the police car parked near you. 

“I will. Eventually. But between the two of us, I think you’re the biggest liability. Only one of us can destroy ten city blocks if we lose focus mid-flight.”

“I saw the mural,” you say instead of responding to that. “It turned out great.”

“Renjun is a great artist,” he agrees, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him express that kind of admiration for someone. 

A jaw-cracking yawn forces itself out of you at that moment. 

“Seriously,” Jaemin says, exasperated now. “Go home.”

“Only if you do.”

“Only if I do?”

“What I do isn’t limited to just danger, you know. Although one could argue a sleep deprived human is dangerous—you know, the statistics—”

“No statistics.”

“Fine. But being moderately invested in your health and wellbeing, which does admittedly center around making sure you don’t die—”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s never that serious.”

“It’s always that serious, Jaemin. Anyway, as I was saying, it also includes ensuring you get an adequate amount of sleep.”

“Alright,” he says with a big sigh, like you’ve asked the world of him. And knowing him and his sometimes workaholic tendencies, it likely is. But nonetheless, you’re pleased that you’ve gotten him to agree to this much. 

“Alright,” you agree, lifting from the ground. A warm summer breeze ruffles your cape. “Get home safe, Jaemin.”

He gives a lazy wave of his hand. You chuckle quietly and then, you’re off. 

As previously mentioned, you consider Jaemin—and Kun and Lina and any other person involved in investigative journalism, or really any kind of journalism—to be much stronger than you. Not quite in the physical sense but more in that… doing what you do, you learn to focus on the silver linings, on the hope, on the possibility of a better future. 

Now, obviously, is not quite that time. Not with the legislature that comes out every six months talking about whether to make superhumans register with the government—a bad decision, if it isn’t obvious—and then the other bills that come out about every three months about whether ‘Kryptonians are really necessary on earth.’ This typically involves something similar to a superhuman registry, though with a little more hostility and an open threat of death by Kryptonite or, if you’re lucky, a nuke (since that won’t kill you—not permanently anyway, it might scatter your particles a bit but you’d come back together eventually). 

This is in addition to the many other issues this country and this world has. But you cannot give up that easily. And the truth of the matter is, being Supergirl already exposes you to the countless injustices of the world. Doing investigative journalism on top of that, you think, would ruin you completely.

This realization has caused its fair share of guilt, though Kun and Lina agree that it takes a different brand of strength to do what they do and that you shouldn’t force yourself to do something that will only make you suffer in the long run.

You’ve suffered enough, Kun once told you quietly.

So have you.

Yes, he had agreed. But I wasn’t alone.

Yes, you had thought. That did make quite a difference. 

What do you do, then?

You bake. Specifically, you bake and do deliveries. Sleepless Bites specializes in late-night cookie deliveries. Its main demographic is college students, stoners, stoned college students, insomniacs, and the occasional sleep-deprived parent. It works well with your hectic schedule but can also provide some much-needed structure when you feel more Supergirl than you.  

Most often, you work the night shift, baking the cookies and then delivering them. There used to be someone else with you, specifically the delivery driver (while you did the baking), but Jisung, the kid you’d worked with, wasn’t totally happy about working these shifts since they, obviously, messed with his sleep schedule. He’d fallen asleep one night and you felt bad about waking him up since he was also a student at Metropolis University. So you decided to take care of the delivery on your own. Only to end up nearly mugged at gunpoint.

You didn’t let it happen. Obviously. You came back safe and sound with the money and your tip, but the whole incident put management in a tizzy, mostly over concerns that you’d, you don’t know, sue them or something. And poor Jisung felt so bad about it, too. You were able to use it to your advantage, though, insisting you can take care of yourself and their profit—as evidenced by you coming back unscathed and that mugger getting arrested—and thus, they should return Jisung to the day shift and leave you on your own. 

It sounds a bit crazy, you know, but they were greedy enough that they agreed easily, which means you have much more room to work with in terms of potential incidents during your shift where Supergirl is needed. Sleepless Bites is also only half a mile from the Daily Planet, so you occasionally get orders from Kun, who has an insatiable sweet tooth when he’s pulling all-nighters. 

So, one warm summer evening, when an order pops up on the computer screen, delivery address listing the Daily Planet, you assume it’s Kun again. A smaller order than usual this time; he usually gets two sugar cookies, two chocolate chip cookies, and two peanut butter cookies. This one only asks for two oatmeal raisin cookies and one snickerdoodle cookie, as well as an order for a large coffee—also a first. But you assume he’s branching out, so you think nothing more of it.

You get the coffee made, the cookies warmed and tucked into the box, then reach for the order sticker. 

Then you see the name. 

Na Jaemin.

Identity is a tricky thing. For all beings of the universe, for all humans, and for you. You are you but you are also Supergirl. Or better put—Kryptonian. To those who do not know the truth about you, you are a human. Like to Mark and Donghyuck. You are a simple delivery girl. Human. Not extraordinary. 

To those who only know you as Supergirl, you are just that—Supergirl. An alien. An ally, but also potentially an enemy. Someone to politely work with but also someone to fear. You smile and shake the mayor’s hand while knowing he has an under-the-table deal with the federal government for a stash of Kryptonite, to be used in the scenario in which you decided world domination better suited your interests than saving people. 

The pool of people who really know you is a small one. Kun. Lina. Their son and your nephew, Jay. Kun’s adoptive mother, Maria Qian. And… that’s it. Most of the time, you can cope normally with this. You don’t have a lot of friends—any at all, actually—which means there is not much risk for exposing yourself. And Supergirl isn’t in the business of making friends, either. Well, she was, until…

This is what happens when those worlds get too close to each other. You’re standing outside of the Daily Planet, a fifteen-story glass building in the heart of downtown Metropolis, feeling like you’re about to throw down with Darkseid (this bad alien guy who tried to colonize earth a few years ago). When in all actuality, it’s just Jaemin. Normal and relatively harmless Jaemin. 

You have your ball cap on, a simple black one with Sleepless Bites in white stitching, then your glasses, a pair of black unremarkable frames. You know it seems like a flimsy disguise. But according to Kun, half of the disguise banks on the fact that most people don’t want to accept that a Kryptonian, much less Superman himself, is standing in front of them. That Superman is the quiet and polite journalist Qian Kun, who is sometimes easy to miss, especially since Superman is a figure that is impossible to miss. 

It is something of the same with you. But Jaemin isn’t just anybody on the street, he’s…

Well. It doesn’t matter. 

Not many people are left in the building. The janitorial staff is finishing up their nightly cleaning duties. A few journalists burning the midnight oil. Or perhaps the poor interns enlisted to proofread for them. And Jaemin. His heart is easy to pick out in the onslaught of noise all around you. You resist the urge to use your X-ray vision and look through the layers of wall and plaster in front of you to spot him.

You take a deep breath that you, biologically speaking, don’t technically need but helps soothe a bit of your nerves anyway. Your heart, though, pounds erratically in your chest. It feels impossibly loud to your ears, nearly drowning out everything else. You’re never usually this nervous around him but—being around him as Supergirl is easier because the roles are known and played. He is the persistent journalist that gets himself into trouble. You are the superhero tasked with getting him out of it. 

But you as you are right now? Nothing for it. This is… no man’s land.

The glass door swings open. A sleepy-eyed Jaemin emerges, ushering a familiar burst of warmth in your chest. Oddly assured at the final sight of him in front of your eyes, you step out of the delivery car, meeting him halfway. 

Clearing your throat and praying he’s tired enough not to focus too much on your voice, you ask, “For Jaemin?”

You meet his gaze for a moment, then avert your eyes to the sticker on the box of cookies, listing his order.  

“Yeah.” 

You trade him the box of cookies for the twenty-dollar bill, ducking your head as you start to thumb out his change. 

“Uh, that’s…” 

“Keep the change,” he says. “Your tip.”

“Thank you.” You flash him a quick customer service smile, then as you start to turn away, you add, “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” 

“Thanks.”

You’re turned away before he is, striding for the delivery car. It takes him exactly two seconds before he himself turns around and starts heading for the doors again. Two seconds in which you clearly feel his gaze on your back. Two seconds is only an eternity to you, though; to him, a human, it’s fleeting—nothing.

It’s nothing at all. 

In your six years operating in Metropolis—having started at the age of eighteen—you’ve had a number of journalists attempt to unveil your identity to the masses. Many of them used the defense that that’s what the point of their job is. Lina Dhar-Qian, the first and only journalist to ever figure out a superhero’s identity (not that anyone else knows but, you know), disagrees. 

It’s not that they don’t have an obligation to do those things, it’s more that, well, most of them wanted to do it for the inevitable acclaim that would come with revealing such a fact about a… controversial figure within the world. Though Maria Qian, Kun’s adoptive mother, always believed public opinion would be split in half. There would inevitably be those who see it as a good thing, mostly those who are suspicious of Kryptonians and would rather see them leashed much tighter to the US government rather than the UN (both for the sake of potential uprisings but also—and this is the part they hate to admit—so that they’d have such a powerful backing against whoever they deemed the enemy that day). 

But then, she would insist to you, Kun, and Lina, the other half would see it in a negative light—a breach of privacy, a wrongdoing against you and Kun, who have worked so tirelessly for this city and this world, swooping in during natural disasters, minimizing the time and effort for search and rescue. So, maybe someone like Huang Renjun, whose mural depicted you so warmly, seeing you as you are, for as potentially harmful as that may be. 

It is… nice to have someone see you for the thinking and feelings being that you are, rather than an untouchable, larger-than-life alien deigning to help out a lower life form. You won’t try and say that it isn’t. But again—whether it’s good, is another question.

Nonetheless. 

Attempts to reveal your identity are old hat. You are used to them. You know how to deal with them. There’s a habit, you’ve noticed, for new additions or transfers to the Daily Planet; quite a few of them take it upon themselves to try and reveal your identity and prove themselves to the newsroom at the same time. They never succeed, of course—laying low like you do with your job at Sleepless Bites gives you a significant advantage in comparison to Kun, who oftentimes relies on coincidence to cover himself. But it happens. The editors never quite dissuade them, either. You imagine, to them, the chances are low but never quite zero. So, why not? They’re happy to watch these guys run in circles chasing their own tails. 

It’s a bit cruel, in your opinion, but what do you know? 

This is all to say, shortly after Jaemin’s arrival in Metropolis and after your first and second meeting, he gets, not a gentle nudge, but a full push into chasing down your identity. Admittedly, it also comes on the tail of him exposing a few drug rings in the city and the officials caught up with them, so you figure it is equal parts wanting to watch a newbie spin his wheels but also maybe he could figure it out. 

And this all happens right in front of you, one day. You took lunch with Kun, who had subtly complained about not seeing you recently and not knowing what was going on with you.

“There’s never anything going on with me,” you mumble to him, spearing a piece of chicken into your mouth. The two of you are crammed into his cubicle, which, as always, looks like a tornado just came through, papers strewn over his desk, PC tower wheezing and working overtime with an unfinished Word document running behind fifty-something tabs on Chrome. 

“What about that guy you work with? Didn’t you hang out with him recently?” he asks, eating a sad-looking salad but not seeming to notice that fact as he hones his focus on you. 

“Jisung. I was going to. A basketball game at Met U, his friend plays for them. But the night of we got called out for those wildfires in California, remember?”

“Ah,” he says, grimacing. “I remember. It took days to get the smell of smoke out of my suit. And hair.”

Movement to your left. Crinkling brown eyes peer over the cubicle wall. “Taeyong kept complaining it smelled like burnt popcorn in here.”

You laugh. Kun chuckles, too.

Grinning, Lina comes around to lean against the opening, arms crossed. 

“Jay’s been asking about you,” she says. “Let us know when you’re off. He’s dying for a sleepover and we’re dying for a date night.”

“Don’t tell him it’s a date night. He’ll insist I need to patrol so that nothing bothers you two, and that he also needs to come with me because leaving him alone otherwise would be child neglect and in that case, having him help out would be ‘convenient, but also educational.’” You give them both a flat look. You figure most nine-year-olds are generally a little bit conniving, but you’re also very certain his parents play a role in that. 

Kun jabs a thumb at his wife. “He gets that from her.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, that’s technically all you.”

You pretend to throw up. Kun smacks you with a bound stack of papers and Lina laughs.

“Oh, Lina, there you are! You know Jaemin, right? One of our newest? He did that piece on the comptroller.”

You can’t see them from your corner in the cubicle—Joey, the editor always getting on Lina’s nerves, or Jaemin—but you can tell the former is strong-arming the latter next to him, who keeps shifting on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. 

“Right. That was a good one.” She doesn’t hold back the respect in her tone. 

“Thank you,” comes Jaemin’s quiet reply. 

“I was just telling him—if he could use those investigative skills for Supergirl, that would be great, wouldn’t it? Although Superman’s invulnerable—heh—” Kun makes a face, and you smile down at the stack of papers in your lap “—to any and all attempts at his identity, including yours, and you’ve been working his beat for a long time, I figure Supergirl’s free game, isn’t she?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lina says passively. 

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Joey. I’ve been working the, as you say, Superman beat, for over a decade. If I haven’t figured out his identity yet, then I think Jaemin’s chances with Supergirl are just as low.” 

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Joey is looking at Jaemin now. “Give it a shot, rookie, and see where it gets you. She’s rescued you twice now, hasn’t she?”

“Really?” Lina asks. 

You feel Kun’s eyes on you for a moment before he averts them to his sad salad. Jaemin reluctantly—so very reluctantly—affirms this. 

“Does that change anything?” Joey asks her hopefully.

“No,” she says mercilessly. “Supergirl saves hundreds of people every day. Statistically, there are bound to be some journalists she saves and there are also bound to be repeats. No offense, Jaemin, but I wouldn’t consider you overly remarkable in her eyes.”

“None taken,” he quickly says. “I completely agree.”

“He needs to stand out,” Joey says, taking her words as some kind of suggestion of action rather than the clear dismissal that it is. “Of course. That’s it. Thank you, Lina.” 

Joey, once again physically strong-arming Jaemin, turns them around. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she mutters under her breath. 

You don’t say anything and neither does Kun. You’re both still listening.

“What I think you need to do now is most likely try to get within her proximity. You know what I mean? Show up where she is. Establish a rapport like Lina has with Superman. You know, I get where Lina was coming from, if she can’t figure out his identity, then who can? But it’ll be different with you and Supergirl.”

“And by that you mean…”

The sound of a hand meeting clothing. Joey must’ve finally let him go and clapped him on his shoulder just now.

“You don’t need me to say it, do you? Our female interns haven’t been able to keep their eyes off you since you came here. And Supergirl is, well, a girl. You get me?”

Crunch. Kun bites roughly onto a piece of lettuce. 

“Maybe,” Jaemin says at last. His voice is tight, obviously discomforted. “Excuse me, I should go… Taeyong wanted to see me about something…”

“Think about it!”

Jaemin grunts and you can hear him striding away quickly, mumbling something in Korean under his breath. 

You pull your focus back to the cubicle, shaking your head. “Well, that was fucked up.”

“Maybe Superman should give him a visit…”

You kick him. He curses lowly, pain flashing across his face. 

“Don’t do that. That’ll gain too much attention. And I can take care of myself…”

“Of that, I am aware. Wouldn’t be entirely selfless, either. A few weeks ago, he said my writing was too bland. Jerk.”

“Droning,” Lina says. “Not bland.”

“Is there even a difference?”

She shrugs, then turns to you. “Anyway, I didn’t realize that, hm, Supergirl had saved Jaemin.”

“He mentions that in his article…”

“You read what he wrote?”

Your eyes dart between your pseudo-cousin’s shocked face and the eyebrow raise Lina is giving you. 

“Wh—yes? Why is that so surprising?”

Kun and Lina look at each other, then back at you.

“I did read it,” she says next. “Well, skimmed it. Still. He’s got a lot of potential.”

“He does,” Kun agrees, setting aside his salad. “He reminds me a bit of Lina, actually. Cape chasing and all.”

She looks at you. “Kick him again, would you?”

You kick him again.

“Ow…”

“He’s not cape chasing, I think,” you murmur. “In fact, the second time we met, he seemed more than happy to prove that he didn’t need me.”

“He’s got something to prove,” Lina says. “I don’t exactly blame him.”

“Not at the expense of his life, though,” Kun disagrees. 

You make a sound of agreement.

She wiggles her fingers at you. “You two. The exact same. In any case. Is this a foreseeable problem for Supergirl?”

Considering how persistent he seems, how he, as Lina says, seems to have something to prove… maybe so. You’ll simply have to be more careful and try to avoid him. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t think it will.”

They give you lingering looks but don’t bring it up any longer.

But the thing about Jaemin is that, once he’s got an idea in his head, he won’t let it go, come hell or high water. And the thing about you is that you’re prepared to handle people trying to dig into your past. From journalists to amateur sleuths to the government sending satellites to try and track your flight paths and pinpoint your home (or as they’d call it, ‘base of operation’ or some really dramatic shit like that). 

So, for the next couple weeks, you do your job as you normally do, with perhaps a little more vigilance than usual for spotting journalists. With, of course, the caveat that if you do end up getting tailed or cornered or something like that, you know precisely what to do to throw Jaemin off your tail. 

This all comes to a head when a LexCorp research and development lab explodes. Messing, as usual, with things that are best left alone. You and Kun are both first on the scene, ushering out scientists and immediately clocking the radiation; not high enough to evacuate the entire block, but high enough to have the labs sealed and a perimeter set up, with only those with the proper protection allowed in and out. 

You’re already not looking forward to having to rinse off at the end of the day when Kun puts you in charge of the back entrance while he does a little more digging. You’re a potential guard against any errant employees or otherwise people sent to do LexCorp’s dirty work and clean up the mess before the authorities can get their hands on it, but also against those who might be interested in poaching whatever goods they’ve got. 

At some point in the evening, you floated up from the ground, crossing your legs beneath you as you watched the back entrance. It gives you the perfect vantage point to spot a very familiar Na Jaemin creeping around rubble and taking pictures. It’s only when he gets too close to the entrance do you say something.

“I really wouldn’t.”

You partially expect for him to be surprised at your entrance—he is not. A small flinch initially, but he recovers quickly, like he was expecting you. 

“I knew it,” he says.

You lower yourself to the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just not allowed—it’s dangerous in there if you don’t have the proper equipment and the mask helps but—”

“I’m not talking about that,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to go in. I really don’t want to, either. Lina’s got this story handled and I’ll be honest, I’m not interested in subjecting myself to that, even for the sake of justice.”

You cock your head. It is perhaps safe to say this is your first at length conversation with him and right off the bat, what an interesting thing to say. For the sake of justice, huh? Maybe you two have more in common than you think… Plus that stunning show of self-preservation, after Lina’s initial insistence, is a nice change of pace.

If you don’t consider the fact that he might be planning to figure out your identity and expose you to the rest of the world, you’d soften a lot on him.

As it currently is…

“Then what are you interested in, Jaemin?“

He looks at you for a moment. It is a moonless night and back here, there is minimal lighting, the power having been blown out from the explosion. You know you must be hard to make out but for you, you can make him out easily. 

His dark hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all night, and there are deep bags beneath his eyes—deeper than before, than the previous times you have seen him. Like he’s been toiling about something. 

But when your eyes meet his, you see nothing but determination there.

It makes you falter for just a second, wondering, perhaps, if he’s already pulled the rug out underneath you, if he’s figured it out. It shouldn’t be possible, he’s never seen your civilian identity—been in proximity, yes, but he didn’t see you, did he? 

“Who are you?”

Huh.

“No one’s ever asked me so bluntly,” you say. “Kind of a nice change of pace. But you know I can’t answer that, don’t you?”

“I know. I don’t really care, either, to be honest.”

And the crazy thing is, he’s telling the truth. That, or Na Jaemin is a professional liar and knows how to control his pulse. But you don’t think this is that. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s a waste. A waste of time, of effort. There is no use in chasing a mystery like that.”

“No?”

“No. The only thing I want to know,” he says, gazing steadily at you, “is what that means.”

Jaemin points at your chest—specifically, the symbol on your chest.

“It’s not a letter,” he adds. “I know that much. You’re aliens, why would you use the English alphabet? So, I figure, it’s a symbol. It means something to you.”

“To Superman,” you add gently, because the symbol is on his chest, too. 

“I don’t care about him.”

You pause, not quite sure what to say. Everyone cares about Superman. They love him. They revere him. Or they hate him completely. Either way, sometimes, a lot of the time, it becomes your problem. Which is not to say you have a problem with Kun. You don’t. But what he does reflects on you. 

But this is…

You smile. “Na Jaemin, you are the strangest being I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you say, and you mean it, too.

A pause, a moment of understanding passing between you two, like before now, you’ve been working on two different wavelengths. You suspect, that though you now seem to be on the same one, you’ll still be on opposite ends, but nonetheless…

“It means hope,” you tell him softly. “This symbol that we wear, that I wear, it means hope.”

“Hope,” he repeats, more to himself than anything else, gaze clinging to the symbol for another minute before he looks back at you. “I understand. Thank you.”

It’s earnest. Genuine. And you can also understand that he does not intend to make this knowledge public. He can and it likely wouldn’t hurt but he won’t. 

Jaemin takes a step back, his objective now completed. 

One last glance, then he turns and leaves. You watch him until he disappears around a corner, no longer in your immediate field of vision. 

And the next day and over the days after that, nothing happens. Nothing comes out in the papers about you or Kun. Jaemin keeps his unspoken word, just as you thought he would.

“But… how do you really know there’s nothing there?”

“Jay, kiddo, I told you. Jupiter is a gas planet. Beneath the surface is just—wait for it, gasp—more gas.”

Jay Dhar-Qian, your nephew, purses his lips, brown eyes focused on the Jenga piece he’s pulling out of the tower of them. 

“But have you ever gone in?”

“Well, no, but again—”

“So, you don’t know. Mom says firsthand experiences are important in the field—”

You laugh. “Of journalism! And, yeah, some of science, too, but humans have come up with plenty of solid theories about space without going out there and exploring because they don’t have the means to. The one about Jupiter being a gas planet? Unfortunately, very true.”

“I think you need to go in there and see,” he says decisively, setting the piece he pulled on top of the tower. “Then get back to NASA.”

“Oh, they’ll love that, I’m sure. Your dad and I regularly break multiple laws of physics, you know, which bothers them enough. They won’t be happy to hear their theories about gas planets being disproven.”

“Facts don’t care about feelings,” he mumbles, folding his arms on your coffee table and watching you pull out a block at the bottom.

Though, you have to pause that way you can laugh. He smiles faintly at the table, which isn’t quite the reaction you expected from that; you don’t let him know that, however, resuming your task of pulling out the Jenga piece from the middle section. You set it on the top. 

“I guess,” he goes on, finger tracing a scratch in the wood, “I’ll only really believe it if I see it. So… when I get my powers, let’s go see it, okay?”

Ah.

Jay Dhar-Qian, the first of his kind, Kryptonian and human—your nephew for all intents and purposes, even if you aren’t technically biologically related to Kun. 

This can, as anyone might imagine, come with baggage. 

But you don’t touch on that yet. “There are spacesuits, you know. We could just get you one of those. If we ask NASA very nicely, they’ll probably give us one.”

“That’s not as fun,” he mumbles.

You don’t say anything, watching him reach for a piece from the second row from the bottom. He pokes it out oh-so-carefully but the tower wobbles precariously, then falls in a crash. A few Jenga pieces tumble off the edge of the coffee table.

He slumps back against the couch. “I lose.”

“Jay…”

“I know what you’re going to say. It’ll take time, no one like me has ever existed before, we don’t know anything about how I’m growing or how my powers will develop since I’m Kryptonian and human. I have invulnerability but it doesn’t even stay on all the time. I scraped my knee the other day, you know? It was embarrassing. I just want to be like you and Dad…” He ends his tirade of frustration by knocking his head against the edge of the couch, glaring sullenly at your popcorn ceiling. 

You purse your lips, thinking for a moment. This has been a growing concern for him—and for Kun and Lina as well. Less so that they wanted Jay to even have powers in the first place and more so that Jay seemed to be vying for his powers for some misguided wish of belonging. You know that sounds harsh, especially since belonging might be even more critical for him, with one foot in the world you live in and another one in a dead one, but despite that, or perhaps in spite of it, you—and Kun and Lina and Maria—fully believe that Jay will be able to feel at home here, powers or not. 

He wants to prove himself, you think, and considering the shadow that his father does cast—consciously and subconsciously, because the world needs it, but his son doesn’t—as well as your reach, though you’d hardly consider yourself as weighty as Kun is, well, it is a lot of pressure. Pressure you and Kun have never subscribed to him, to be clear, but some that he feels, nonetheless. 

It’s a lot for a kid. You know very well what that feels like.

“Jay… you are the best of us. But that doesn’t mean you need to go out there and carry the weight of the world. You don’t need powers. You don’t need anything.”

He leans his head on your arm, and you are suddenly aware of how small he is next to you, little scamp that he is. 

“I wanna be like you guys, though. I wanna help people.”

You curl an arm around him. “There are plenty of other ways to do that. I promise. And we’ll help you find them. Alright?”

He mumbles his assent, curling further into your side; you’ll coax him out eventually with the promise of ice cream and his favorite movie but for now, you let him hide from the rest of the world. And because when you do that, he does respond, and after a bit of time, he’s back to his old self again, you don’t linger too long on the issue. It remains in the back of your mind, poised to be brought up again next time you see Kun and Lina, but in the present moment, you decide that for now, Jay is okay. 

For now, as you will find out, is not good enough. Because the next day, when you wake up—he’s gone.

Chronologically speaking, you are older than Kun. By a solid ten years, in fact. 

His parents were friends with yours. And so, you vividly remember the day he was born. At ten-years-old, you were not too interested in this red, wrinkly-faced baby, who could only cry, sleep, and eat. And when you were sent off, with the instructions, among other things, to look out for who was essentially your cousin, Kun, you were very much older than him. 

But then there were issues with the ship itself, and space is unfathomably harsh, and time and gravity are even worse, so, when you landed on earth at the age of sixteen, you did find your cousin—coming up on more than a decade of Superman, married, with a kid.

Those first few years were, as one can imagine, difficult. But you really would not trade it for anything in the world. And with Jay, in many ways, it feels a lot like finally fulfilling the wish of your mother. You couldn’t take care of Kun, not in the ways she had envisioned, because his adoptive parents, the ones who found him in a cornfield in Smallville, Kansas, Yuzhe and Maria Qian, had already done so. But you could—can—take care of Jay. So, you do. 

People don’t know about him—they don’t know that there is another Kryptonian on earth, much less the son of Superman. And if they did? You are certain the thought of Superman—a Kryptonian—reproducing in any way would make the government implode on itself. 

So. When you wake up the next morning to find Jay missing from your sofa bed, you panic. 

It’s not like him, to do things like this, especially when you don’t find a note or anything. He may be invulnerable (occasionally) and raised with the optimistic kindness of Kun and the eagle-eyed shrewdness of Lina, but he’s still a kid. 

You inform Kun as soon as you realize it, already forming a list of spots to hit—places familiar to him, like their apartment, his school, that fro-yo spot on Elderberry—and your cousin affirms your plan and promises to head over, since he and Lina are on the west coast for a convention. He’s mostly calm, too, which helps your panic but not quite the bundle of guilt in your chest. Still, you figure that can be addressed after you find your escapee nephew. 

Then—you hit the streets. You get more than one complaint from pedestrians as you fly through the city a little faster than usual, wind whipping behind you and glass windows rattling in your wake, jostling coffee cups and papers and whatever else is light enough and unlucky enough to be caught in your path. 

But as you continue to fail to find Jay and Kun does, too, having gotten in ten minutes after you set off, your initial panic returns and you care more about finding Jay than your speed. 

Nightmare scenarios keep running in your mind, varying from him being abducted by any number of entities, government and not, for experimentation, to his flight suddenly developing and him panicking and leaving the city and landing in another continent, or hell, off planet entirely. You keep them to yourself, though, refusing to burden Kun even more as you can see his patience start to wear thin. 

So, while he pauses to regroup with Lina—also worried out of her mind—you run through the city again. 

Their apartment. His school. The Daily Planet. The fro-yo place. The—

“Supergirl!”

Your body stops before your mind processes it. Mostly because, instinctively, you recognize the voice.

“Jaemin, I’m sorry, I really don’t have time—”

“Are you looking for a kid?”

Jaemin is unbothered by the whip of wind as you flash over to him. He does, however, seem curious. 

“Where?”

“Here.” He looks to the side, and you do, too. A new apartment building still under construction looks back at you, a hole in the fence right in front of you. 

You duck through without a word. And like always, Jaemin follows you. 

 Heartbeats are hard to use on their own as locators, there is simply too much feedback, but they are familiar, nonetheless. In the present state that you are, you couldn’t make an effort to even try picking it out. But Jay’s heart pounds quick. You can hear his breathing, faster than normal, small whimpers impossibly loud to your sharp ears. You’re on the fourth floor before you know it. You hear Jaemin curse under his breath, left behind on the first flight of stairs, shoes thumping on the steps faster now. 

You tune it out as soon as you spot Jay. Using your X-ray vision, you peel back the only layer between you, the door of a maintenance closet, where he’s curled up in the corner, face buried in his arms. Jaemin is on the second flight now. Still far enough for you to kneel in front of the closed door, flattening your palm on lacquered wood and whispering Jay’s name. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, kiddo.”

“There’s—too much,” he says, voice strangled. “There’s too much.”

“Too much?”

He curls further into himself. “The world is too big.” 

Looks like you were right. His powers—his senses only, maybe X-ray vision, too—developed overnight or just a few minutes ago. 

“Make it smaller,” you say softly. 

“How?”

“Focus on my voice. Pretend… it’s an island. Out in the ocean. Can you see it? Look hard, Jay. I know you can find it.”

As you speak, you can sense the shift in his focus as he tries to do as you say. His breathing is still quick but lesser than before, same with his heart. 

Finally, in a trembling whisper, “I can see it.”

You reach for the doorknob, speaking as you turn it, as the gears turn and move, “Then swim toward it, kiddo.”

He sucks in a breath when you open the door, but you can see the tension starting to seep out of his body. Slowly, he lifts his head from his arms, but his eyes are still screwed shut. You open your mouth to tell him to open his eyes. 

Then, Jaemin comes in. Your body moves before you can process it, shielding Jay’s face from him, because Kun and Lina have brought him to work countless times and you don’t know if Jaemin’s ever seen him. The tension returns to Jay in an instant. It sets you on edge for a reason you can’t quite articulate, your hand shooting out behind you. Jaemin stops in his tracks at your signal. 

“Who is that?! Who’s—”

“It’s okay,” you quickly soothe. “It’s alright. He’s just a—a friend. It’s okay.”

“No… no…”His pulse picks up. So does his breathing. 

You utter his name under your breath, unheard to Jaemin’s human ears but easily audible to Jay’s newly sensitive ears. 

“It’s okay, I promise, nothing bad is going to happen—”

“No, no,” he cries. “There’s too much—it’s too hot—I don’t know what—”

Red begins to glow beneath his eyes. Then they open. 

His heat vision is new and unlearned. Because of that, it burns the hottest it can go. 

Your suit is built to mostly withstand what you can withstand. The freezing cold of space, nearly absolute zero, and the burning heat of the sun. But a Kryptonian’s heat vision can be as hot as the surface of the sun. Hotter, if anything. Concentrated as it is, it shreds through the fabric at your arm, thrown over your face as you moved to intercept its path, which had been aimed right over your shoulder.  

So, Jay’s heat vision burns like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

You feel it tear through your skin, blood pooling, dripping onto the floor. If you keep letting it hit you, it’ll do worse, split your forearm open like a sieve. But Jay is past the point of coherency. Nerve strikes don’t work on you—Kryptonian physiology is very different from a human’s under the surface—but you bank on the very human part of Jay’s DNA to work in your favor, and as you rush forward, gritting your teeth at the white-hot pain of his heat vision burning into your skin, you find it works well on him. 

He slumps in your arms in the next second, heat vision flickering out, eyes fluttering closed. For a moment, you just breathe, cradling him to your body. Your left arm trembles from the pain. 

As you watch your blood drip onto the concrete floor, crimson on dusty grey, all you can think is this is the first time in a long time that you’ve seen your own blood. The slow intake of breath behind you reminds you of Jaemin’s presence. His pulse is a little unsteady, breathing the same. At that moment, it sinks in for you—what he’s seen. 

He knows this is another Kryptonian. 

Shit. 

You reach up to unclasp your cape and wrap it around Jay, using it to keep his face hidden. 

“Kun,” you whisper. “Kun, I have Jay.”

You know he hears you because in the next second, you hear the unmistakable boom of the sound barrier breaking from his path. And in the second after that, with a sharp gust of wind that makes your wounded arm throb, he’s behind you, a hand on your shoulder. You stand. He shields you and Jay from Jaemin. 

“Your arm—”

“I’m fine. I’ll… be fine. His powers—I don’t know what he has entirely, but his senses and his heat vision are definitely there.”

He takes Jay from your arms. “Alright. And…” The way he trails off in combination with the way his gaze slides left leaves an open and urgent question about Jaemin’s presence. 

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Be careful,” he says quietly, and you know he also realizes the weight of the situation. How quickly south this can go depending… Depending on Jaemin. One last lingering look, then Kun is gone. 

And Jaemin is still there. Looking at you, eyebrows knitted together. The absence of your cape is noticeable. A missing weight on your shoulders. You feel like a turtle without its shell. 

“Jaemin, listen…” Your heart thunders in your own ears. In that moment, you feel a little like Jay must’ve, overstimulated and knee-deep in panic because of it. “You just—you have to understand, I… we…”

How do you say this? How do you tell him? Should you even tell him? Can you spin this in a way that doesn’t reveal Jay’s parentage? You’ve never really… lied to Jaemin. You don’t lie. You just… don’t tell him things. He once asked if you had a job and you said yes. He asked what and you said, Nothing interesting. And that was—is—true and he left it at that. 

You clench and unclench your hands. The movement sends pain rippling through your forearm, still bleeding onto the floor. You make an absent note to clean up the blood before you leave. 

It’s like you said. The world would lose its mind if they found out Superman had a child. That he had a child with a human. That there was another Kryptonian here—one with powers, no less, one who, if the rest of his powers develop, will come across as more Kryptonian than human. 

People don’t think of Superman and Supergirl as people. As your average everyday Joe. That is the point of this persona. That you aren’t and you help people because of it. But that’s as far as people’s patience will extend. Most think you and Kun don’t even live in Metropolis proper, that you two hide away and only come out during crises. No one wants to consider the fact that Superman—an alien—might be walking among them. 

You don’t want to think badly of Jaemin, but you know well that this changes things drastically, maybe enough to have him reconsidering his position in relation to you. 

“He’s… Don’t… He’s just a kid,” you say weakly. “He’s just—a kid. Just a kid.”

Realization flashes across his face. “I’m not going to say anything,” he says. “I never was.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you.”

He shifts on his feet, frowning, teeth digging into his bottom lip for a moment before releasing it. “Why—I would never… I mean. He’s just a kid.”

“I had to be sure,” you whisper. “Because it’s—it’s different. With the kid. He’s… People would do a lot to kill him or experiment on him.”

He nods along slowly, understanding. An odd silence unfolds between you two; this is new territory entirely and the newness of it leaves you both uncertain of your places. 

Jaemin blows out a breath. “You don’t have to tell me anything but… is he… yours?”

“No! No, no, he’s…” You stop, swallowing. “You have to swear not to tell anyone, Jaemin.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“He’s Superman’s,” you reveal quietly. “And I’m—Superman and I are like family. The kid is like a nephew to me.”

“And his mom…”

“She’s human,” you admit. 

His eyes widen. It’s not entirely surprising that that is the thing that surprises him the most and less so that Superman had a kid. Humans have such a hard time compartmentalizing the thought of Superman walking among them, much less a Kryptonian being involved with a human in that way. But, to you, even in the beginning, it wasn’t anything to scrutinize. Interspecies relationships are alive and thriving outside of earth and your time in space gave you great insight into that. More than that—well, the Kryptonian dating pool is kind of… small, for obvious reasons. 

“So… his powers…”

“He’s the first of his kind,” you murmur. “We had no idea how he would develop. We still really don’t. Today… they developed. We weren’t prepared. But he’s not dangerous. I mean—he needs to learn control. But that’s it. Control for us is easy.”

He nods slowly, gaze dropping to the floor thoughtfully as he mulls over your words. You figure you two are out of dangerous territory, but it still makes you nervous. 

Eventually, his gaze returns to yours. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

You close your eyes, sighing. “Thank you.”

“You’re hurt.”

Reopening your eyes, you glance down at your arm; the wound runs lengthways of your forearm, still weeping, though it’s slowed significantly, blood starting to congeal. 

“I just need sun. That’s all.”

Although, because it’s from heat vision, it’ll take longer to heal, which won’t do. You might need to go off-planet and get closer to the sun. A sun. NASA doesn’t like when you and Kun get too close to Sol. 

Movement from Jaemin regains your attention. You watch as he shuffles closer, digging through his messenger bag for something. You aren’t sure what until he pulls out a small first aid kit. 

“No, Jaemin. Keep that for yourself—”

“You’re bleeding everywhere,” he scolds. “It’s a biohazard.”

“I promise I’m not carrying any extraterrestrial or inter-dimensional diseases.”

“Even so. It should be covered up.” He pulls out a roll of gauze, closing the distance between you. You find yourself raising your arm to him without prompt. You can never really say no to him.

Gently, he winds the gauze around your arm. You grit your teeth at the pain that throbs through your arm. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

He nods, putting the roll away. You glance at your arm, gauze neatly wrapped around your arm. Blood is already starting to dot through the fabric. You really need to head out and get this fixed. 

“I should go,” you sigh. “Thank you again. Really. For everything.”

He rubs the back of his neck, almost bashful. “You’re welcome…”

“Get home safe, please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you, too.”

You’ll be just fine. Eventually. All that’s left now is the aftermath. 

In the summer, Smallville, Kansas is hot and dry. But at night, the heat is less blistering and more soothing. After spending the last few hours in the freezing cold of space, it’s nice against your skin, warm air blowing through your hair as you fly for the Qian farm on the outside of town. 

Your arm is fully healed, thanks to the time hanging out halfway between Sol and Mercury—as far as you think you could go without making the NASA people twitchy. You stopped by your place in Metropolis to pull out a replacement suit—flying without your cape makes you uncomfortable—and a set of clothes. Clothes that you change into as soon as you get close to the farm. 

The house comes into view. An invisible weight peels from your shoulders. You sigh.  There is only one place on earth where you get to be yourself—get to feel like yourself. That is the Qian farm. 

Kun meets you at the porch steps. 

“How is he?” you ask immediately. 

“Shaken but alright.” 

His eyes flicker to your arm in the next second, a clear question in the action—an action that must go unspoken, since Jay’s superhearing has obviously kicked in and neither of you want to make him feel bad if he’s listening in—which he most likely is. You would. 

You raise your arm for him to look at—the skin is healed, unmarred, as if nothing ever happened. Nodding, he clasps a hand over your forearm, squeezing gently. You pat his hand. 

Kun tilts his head. “He’s in his room. Have at it.”

The screen door slams shut behind you. In the kitchen, freshly washed dishes sit on a drying mat beside the sink; you can smell the remnants of whatever they had for dinner. In the living room, the TV is on, playing reruns of soaps that Maria and Kun are fond of watching together. You greet Maria, then head further in, finding Jay’s bedroom.

You knock gently on the closed door. “Kiddo? Can I come in?”

Waiting a moment, you get no response, though you know he’s in there. You can hear him breathing, hear his heartbeat, which has picked up its pace out of nervousness. 

“I’m coming in.”

His bedroom is full of everything that makes Jay, well, Jay. Dark blue walls, a solar system hanging in one corner, Star Wars and Star Trek posters decorating the walls, LEGO sets decorating his desk and dresser. Your shoe nudges a baseball. It rolls underneath the desk. 

On the twin bed, Jay is nothing more than a lump of planet-themed blankets and sheets. Dusty, a black and white Border Collie, lifts his head from where he lays at the foot of the bed, curled over Jay’s feet underneath the blankets.

You sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out a tentative hand to what should be his head. “Jay?”

Quiet for yet another moment. But then, he shifts, covers tugging down slightly for his hair and eyes to be revealed. He still doesn’t look at you, though.

“‘M sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you are, kiddo. There’s nothing to forgive.” He was forgiven even before it happened. You know what it’s like to deal with the onslaught of the powers, of the ways in which the yellow sun fuels you differently than a red sun does. Especially to have them develop here on earth, where there is so much noise.

A small shake of his head as he stares determinedly at the footboard, away from you. “I could’ve—could’ve killed you.”

Sighing quietly, you kick off your sneakers and bring your legs up onto the bed, turning onto your side and pulling Jay closer to you.

Leaning your head on his, you murmur, “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“You don’t—” 

“Maybe, if it had been anyone else. That… is the truth of our powers. We can really hurt someone—each other, but also, more importantly, humans. That’s the truth, Jay. There’s no sense in denying it. You can hurt someone if you aren’t careful. But what happened today was an accident. And no, that’s not really an excuse, but that’s for us, for your dad and I, because we know our limits. You don’t. Your powers just developed, there is no possible way you could know the ins and outs about controlling them. I don’t want you to be hard on yourself because of this. I’m fine. I’m completely okay. All you need to do now is learn to control them and your dad and I are going to be there every step of the way, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice is small. He curls into you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You squeeze him for emphasis. 

After that, he relaxes bit by bit. At your feet, Dusty rearranges himself to lay his snout over your ankle, now splayed over both you and Jay, snoring lowly as he snoozes. Downstairs, Lina is humming to herself as she digs through the freezer for ice cream. Kun is pulling down bowls from the cabinets and Maria is flicking through the channels on the TV. Outside, crickets chirp and the cicadas sing in the summer night. 

That’s what you like most about Smallville—aside from being able to feel the most like yourself, it’s quiet in a way Metropolis rarely is. But you would miss it eventually, the noise, the sound of thriving life. 

You wonder where Jaemin in. What he’s doing. Hopefully staying out of trouble. 

The sound of your name brings you out of your reverie. 

“Hm?”

The initial melancholy that saturated the room and atmosphere has mostly disappeared; what has replaced it is still calm and a little solemn, but now tinged with a new curiosity. 

“I know,” he starts haltingly, clearly a little bit nervous, “that I still have a lot to do with controlling my powers… and they haven’t even all developed… if they develop…”

“It seems likely that they will,” you muse. “But what you have now is still nothing to scoff at.”

“Right… so… when I do learn to control it… can I go out there with you and Dad?”

“That you’ll have to bring up with your parents, kiddo. But…”

“Yeah?”

You chuckle at the thinly-veiled excitement in his voice at the prospect of bringing you into this to convince his parents. To him, you are the fun aunt who lets him stay up and watch TV on school nights, and his parents are the ones who are happy to put their foot down and kill his fun. Jay idolizes you enough to never really consider that you would wholeheartedly agree with his parents if they decided that this wasn’t an appropriate avenue for him to explore. And technically speaking, it isn’t, not right now, not at this age. Things could, however, change as he gets older. But you’ll leave that up to Kun and Lina. 

This, however, is not about that. 

“Don’t get too excited. I’m leaving this in your parents’ hands and if they say no, kiddo, you’re gonna have to listen to them.”

He wriggles a little impatiently in your hold. “I know, I know.”

“But… if they say yes, I need you to remember something.”

“What?”

Sighing, you lean your head against his. “It’s okay to quit.”

He stills next to you. “…Huh?”

“It’s okay to quit. If you change your mind… it’s okay to quit. It’s okay to run away. You know that, right?”

He’s quiet. Confused. Mostly about where this is coming from or because the thought of giving up is inconceivable to him. He doesn’t know what it’s like. But to be honest, there is a part of you that knows that if Kun and Lina agree and he, at one point, emerges as another figure alongside Superman and Supergirl, he won’t give up. No matter what. Jay is so good. So kind. And not that either of those things cancel out if he quit, but even if it is hard—and it will be, is your point—he wouldn’t give up, he’d force himself to see it through—like you do sometimes. Like his dad does sometimes, too. 

A hero’s temperament, Maria once called it. Nonetheless. The way you see it, you and Kun have something of an obligation to help earth. But Jay, the next generation, the best of humanity and Kryptonians, does not need to bear the weight of this burden if he doesn’t want to. 

“Okay,” he says at last. “I understand.”

You squeeze him tighter and say nothing more during your time with him. It’s only when he dozes off a few hours later do you slip out of his room. Lina and Maria are in the living room, the former working on something on her laptop, the latter doing a crossword puzzle and watching TV. Outside, the night sky is clear of clouds and full of stars. You join Kun on the porch, leaning against the railing. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admits after a long moment of silence. 

“It had to be said.”

“It did,” he agrees. “But it… never really crossed my mind—our minds—to say something like that to him.” Guilt lingers in his voice.

You watch the corn stalks sway in the breeze. “Most wouldn’t.”

“We’re not most.”

“No,” you say quietly. “But that gives you leeway. It’s fine that you didn’t say it because I did and truthfully, I think if you say something like that, too, it’ll make him wonder if we doubt him. In that case, either he doubles down or gives up entirely.”

He plants both hands on the railing, blowing out a breath. 

“I sort of want him to give it up,” he admits very quietly in Kryptonian. “He doesn’t need that burden.”

“No… he doesn’t.”

Falling back into silence, together, the two of you watch the corn stalks sway in the breeze, stars twinkling at you. 

“Supergirl!”

You don’t always stop for people calling your name. Sometimes, it’s a clout grab. Sometimes, someone is trying to throw acid on you. But if you recognize the person’s voice and if you have the time, you’ll stop. So, when Huang Renjun calls out to you when you’re passing by the community center where you first met him, you stop. 

“Oh,” he says, blinking when you go down to him. “I didn’t think you’d stop.”

You smile kindly. “I recognized your voice. How have you been?”

“Good, good. And, um, you?”

“I’m alright, thanks. So, what’d you need?”

He gets hesitant here and you aren’t sure why. Biting his lip uncertainly, he scratches his head, clearly thinking something over. In his chest, his heart beats at an unsteady pace, one that’s enough to concern you. 

“Is something wrong, Renjun?” you ask, concerned, mostly for his wellbeing—is he in trouble? 

“No, no, no,” he says, waving his hands. “I’m sorry—I’m fine, I promise. It’s just… ah, I called you because… an artist in the circle I run in put up this mural and he knew I’d met you and he wanted me to tell you about it… but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea now…”

You cock your head. “Why not?”

“The mural is—well. It’s… good. Just not…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not naked, am I?”

“No! God, no, I wouldn’t—” 

You laugh. “I’m kidding!”

He closes his eyes, exhaling a laugh. “Seriously?”

“So long as I���m not naked or otherwise depicted in a weird sexual manner, Renjun, I don’t care. Where’s the mural?”

“The bar’s in hell, you know that, right?”

“I’m well aware. But I take what I can get. Tell me.”

“Right…” 

He tells you the address—still very reluctant to do so, for reasons you aren’t sure of. Outside of being sexual in nature—which he vehemently denied—you can’t imagine why he is hesitating so much. But before you get to grill him for more details, you get pulled away by something on the other side of the city. Kun ends up beating you to it, though, as when you arrive, the robbery at the jewelry store has already been taken care of, gunmen disposed of, hostages rushing out. You do a bit of damage control, then get ready to leave when the police and ambulance arrive. Then you spot a familiar face in the crowd. 

“Jaemin.”

He turns. His eyes flicker to your face, then to your arm—your left forearm, where you’d taken the hit from Jay a few days ago. 

“Good as new,” you say when his gaze meets your again. 

He nods, fingers fiddling with the camera hanging around his neck. He inhales, opening his mouth to say something, then stops, glancing around. Ah. Too many ears. 

“Renjun told me about a new mural of me,” you tell him. “It’s a few blocks from here.”

Jaemin nods and in the chaos of the scene, the two of you slip away unnoticed. 

This is a more residential area, so the further from the scene you get, the quieter and emptier the streets get. You know no one is following you, either, so you feel free to say: “My nephew is okay, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“It was.”

“He’s alright. He’s got a steep learning curve ahead of him, but I know he’ll do fine.”

“And… Superman… is he okay with me knowing?”

“He trusts me, and I trust you. So, yes.” There’s a small stutter in Jaemin’s pace, one that goes unnoticed by you as you realize the mural is just around the corner. You step around it, curious to see what had Renjun so nervous and reluctant. 

When you see it, you understand. 

Jaemin stops as soon as he realizes what it is, disbelief palpable, while you slowly walk to the center of it, gazing up at the painted bricks.

Jaemin’s scoff is harsh. “Why the hell would Renjun tell you to check this out?”

“To my understanding, his friend—or, well, he never said they were friends, just that they ran in the same art circles, but anyway, he said the painter was bothering him to tell me about it. I can see why. This is… really nice.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Why? Because you think it’s untrue?”

You look back at the mural. Muted dark shades of blue flow into darkness, with you in the center, on one knee, a sphere of midnight blue, swirling white, green, and brown on your shoulders, braced by your hands. Despite the gravity and the weight of your task, the look on your face, eyes closed, is serene. 

The message is clear.

“Are you that dramatic?”

“Jaemin,” you say softly. “You and I both know this isn’t about dramatics. This is what I am. This is what we are. Me and Superman.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues, with a stunning amount of gall as usual, but you’re used to it by now, no longer surprised by the things Jaemin is willing to do or argue for if he feels strongly enough about them. The fact that you’re the topic of it is what surprises you, however. Why should it matter to him?

“You’re… you. And that—” he points at your chest, at the symbol there “—you said it means hope. How is this hopeful? It’s just… miserable. Inevitable.”

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” Despite the tease, your words are gentle. 

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s what humans need. You know that.”

The way he purses his lips tells you he knows that very well. Yet it still seems… almost upsetting to him. You can’t imagine why. This is—well, perhaps a bit dramatic, but no less true. This is what you were saying. You and Kun have a responsibility to earth, to humans, on behalf of Krypton, on the behalf of your people. To help them. They will stumble and they will fall but one day, they will stand in the sun with you. You know this with everything inside of you. 

And yet… Jaemin looks so…

Something takes over you. You’re closing the distance between you two before you realize it.

To tell the truth, outside of saving him, you try to keep your distance from him. Out of all the planets you’ve visited and the people—beings—you’ve seen, Jaemin is by far the prettiest in the entire universe. Up close, this fact is made a thousand times more debilitating for you. But even as your pulse skyrockets, warmth flooding your chest and face, you hold steady like you always do. 

Your hand lands on his shoulder before you can stop it. The heat of him seeps through the fabric of his button-up, searing into the palm of your hand. Humans are much warmer in comparison to you and thanks to your senses that are heightened with the power of Sol, everything feels that much more intense to you, including this. This is the first time you’ve ever touched him outside of pulling him out of the way of a bullet or something. It’s not physically possible for you to get dizzy, and yet…

“This is presumptuous on my end,” you say quietly, lips quirked. “And truthfully, I would rather not know that fact and pretend that you do actually care about this—me (like I said, presumptuous)—but this is how things are. This is how they have to be. Humans can’t handle us in any other capacity than this one—solemn figures with a… responsibility to the sanctity of earth and humanity. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Jaemin looks at you, brows still knitted together. His eyes are such a dark shade of brown—darker on the edges of his irises before lightening a bit further in. Still dark. Still endless—easy to get lost in. And you’re very good at getting lost. 

You step back. Hand falling from his shoulder, your skin tingles from the imprint of his body warmth; it leaves you quickly, leaving the palm of your hand oddly cold. You flex your hand idly and look away. 

“I should go. Don’t give Renjun a hard time about this, please?”

His quiet, “Fine,” shouldn’t surprise you but it does. He’s not usually so mellow like that with you. But you aren’t complaining about it now. 

“Thank you. I’ll… see you around.”

He doesn’t say anything. You turn, meandering a few steps away from him so your take off won’t jar him too much. His gaze remains on you, burning into you. Until you’re thousands of feet in the air, you feel his gaze on you and wonder when you became so attuned to it. 

There are a few things you don’t like about earth. Nothing big, mind you. Not, like, humanity itself or something. If anything, you’re quite fond of them. Much fonder than you used to be. But earth has its quirks. You’re not overly fond of thunder. It’s too loud—and you’re not exaggerating. It leaves your ears ringing sometimes. The constant shift of the tectonic plates isn’t something you like that much, either. Krypton didn’t have tectonic plates. It’s part of the reason you had so many issues with the core, towards the end. 

But you digress. 

On that end, earthquakes aren’t your favorite things in the world, either. They happen a lot, constantly, little ones that are unnoticeable to anyone but you and geographers with the equipment to sense them. And even then, you experience them on a different level. 

But you have another reason. They make you feel so… useless. All you can do is wait them out. Intervene in the moment, but you can’t stop them. 

The earthquake that happens in California the next day is a prime example of that. 

You heard it, of course. Loud and thunderous beneath the surface of the earth. Seconds after it hit, you and Kun were pinged about it for search and rescue. This is where you try to do everything you can to help.

You and Kun beat the search and rescue aid being sent in from the rest of the world, but you run point with the local aid. You work through the night, shifting through pieces of rubble and glass, pulling out people. You always breathe a sigh of relief when they emerge okay. You can hear their heartbeats, of course, hear when a destroyed building has no survivors, no life, and must quietly redirect the locals to other buildings that do for aid, while others will work on finding the bodies. 

It’s hard, though. It’s so hard. You would think that after doing this for six years, after everything you have seen, even before you came to earth, it wouldn’t be hard. You are no stranger to suffering, to pain, to death. You watched Krypton die. You watched your people die. Your father, then your mother. 

Earth was, is, a second chance. This is your home, too. And for these people, they’ve lost virtually everything. They’ll get back up, Kun reminds you. They always do. If there is anything that they are, they are resilient. You know that. And you do. But it’s still hard. The tight, brimming hug a woman gives you after you rescue her from a building on fire nearly brings you to tears, holding her to you as she sobs her thanks. 

You work hard for the next two days. From dawn to dusk. You and Kun have worked on the scene of enough natural disasters like this that aid knows to rotate their workers, but it’s still a lot on them. By the third day, you and Kun are working late into the night, late enough that dawn is already approaching. Your next mission is a partially destroyed skyscraper, the other half still standing with people still trapped inside. It’s tricky because the building is too unstable. At that point, they call on you and Kun directly, right before it’s set to give out so they can make a last-ditch effort to get the people out.

You work in tandem, diving in to hold it up yourselves while workers rush in and pull people out. A boy cries and refuses to move from his friend’s body, curled up in a ball in the corner. 

“Go!” you yell at the worker. “I got him—go, get out of here now!”

Kun utters your name in a question.

Metal groans and rumbles, the infrastructure seconds away from giving out—not enough support, even with you and Kun there. You strain against the weight of it, glass, and concrete, and metal bearing down on you.

“Go when I say,” you order.

One second, an eternity, then, “Okay.”

You meet the boy’s gaze. He looks no older than ten. Like Jay. Like you, when Krypton died. 

“Go.”

You move exactly when Kun does, diving for the boy, wrapping your arms around him as the building finally collapses on itself. Knowing that if you stay here, you will be buried, and it will be that much harder to get out, to get him out safely, you go up. Curling yourself around him, making sure to cover his ears, you rip through metal and glass and concrete as it falls on you. It bounces off harmlessly on your skin, but you know it is very much not the same for the boy in your arms, so you keep him shielded as best as you can. 

You keep rising up and up and up until—air. Debris and dust swirls around you. Beneath you, the building gives its last breath, crumbling to the ground. You can hear the wind whistle as Kun moves people out of the way. The clamoring of others further down the street as they watch with bated breath. In your arms, the boy’s trembles. But his heart thumps soundly in your ears, lungs expanding with each breath he takes. You smell no blood in the air and when you ease your grip on him, using your X-ray vision, you find no broken bones, either. 

“Where are they?” someone calls. 

Wind whips against you, Kun pushing out a current to dissipate the debris and dust swirling around you and blocking their and your vision. You lift your head. You finally glimpse the people on the ground, and they see you, too. Their cheers are thunderous. The boy jolts at the sound, sniffling, and finally lifting his head and looking at you. 

“Are you okay?”

Sniffling again, he looks at you for a moment, then, slowly he nods. 

No one was able to save Krypton. You. Your parents. Your friends. Your people. Earth was always, first and foremost, a safe haven. 

You’ll go to earth, your mother had told you when there was no hope left, when she had no choice but to send you away. They’ll take care of you. Your parents hadn’t ever left Krypton. What they did have of earth were mere snapshots. But they had faith—implicit faith in the possibility of a kinder life with a people who would accept you. 

On some days, it feels like this wish is nothing more than a fantasy. On others, you know with everything inside you, it is true. 

But your parents had believed in them, in humanity, in earth, their final hope for you. A safe haven. 

Your powers, the mantle of Supergirl, the legacy of Superman, were an afterthought. But still remnants of that faith. You will always believe in humanity, in the fact that goodness is intrinsic to all beings, and this includes them. They will fight and they will hurt but you could never possibly lose faith in them, in the prospect of a better tomorrow, and when they needed help, when they needed saving, you will always be there for them.

But… as you touch down, passing the boy to the arms of his sobbing—grateful, so grateful it hurts your heart and makes your throat tight—father, people clapping you on the back, thanking you, cameras on you, pictures being taken, Kun’s face in your peripheral, a little sad but mostly proud, happy, you find yourself thinking of Jaemin. 

Even as Kun tells you to go home for a few hours and rest, since you’ve mitigated most of the serious damage from the quake. Even as you leave, the sun rising on San Francisco, which moves higher and higher in the sky as you fly east. It’s mid-morning, with clear skies and a hot day ahead in Metropolis when you arrive.

You find yourself landing on a rooftop of a building directly in front of the mural Renjun painted. The one you complimented him on all those weeks ago. You still stand by what you said—it is… warm, in a way that many depictions of you are not. It shows you mid-flight, a clear blue sky behind you, smiling down at something or someone, hand raised in a wave. It is seemingly so mundane but the warmth in your gaze is real and tangible. Enough so that, you imagine this truly must be what you look like when you wave at people while flying. 

The door to the rooftop creaks open. Jaemin’s heart is steady in your ears. Something inside you unwinds at the sound. You continue to gaze at the mural as he walks over to you. The air shifts when he’s close to you, body heat tangible only to you, vestiges of vanilla and vetiver shampoo tickling your nose.  

You look at him. If hearing his heartbeat soothed the bundle of emotions in your chest, then seeing his face finally, for the first time since the quake hit, makes you relax. It’s only been four days and his face is ingrained in your memory but it’s nothing like seeing the real thing in person—the messy strands of his dark hair, the dark brown of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the swell of his cheeks, the pink of his lips. 

In your chest, your heart skips a beat. 

He drops his gaze, flipping open the flap of his bag and digging for something. Plastic crinkles. Something white peeks out from his bag. He pulls out a single wipe and lifts it to you. You step closer. An unspoken answer or perhaps an unspoken wish, one he seems to have no quarrel fulfilling for you in this moment. 

The wipe is cool against your cheek, clean smelling. Jaemin’s touch is heart-achingly gentle. 

“You’re dusty,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you.”

A minute shake of his head. He gently drags the wipe over the swell of your cheek, underneath your eye. His heart is beating faster now. Still a sweet song to your ears. 

After a minute, after moving the wipe to your other cheek, he says, quietly, “You are right. We need you. We need Supergirl. It’s just…”

“It seems bleak. But it isn’t. Not really.”

“Isn’t it?”

You smile. “Atlas… his duty was a punishment. This is a responsibility that can fall to no one else but my cousin and me. But it is one I accept gladly.” You reach for his hand, cradling it in your own; your thumb grazes the back of his slowly, savoring the feeling. “And more than that… I am not alone. I have a family, Jaemin. I have people who I love and who love me. I have kind strangers and even reckless but passionate and good-hearted journalists,” and you dare to squeeze his hand here, watching as the furrow between his brow softens and his gaze does the same thing, “I believe in the goodness of humans. This is not a punishment. Not to me.”

The wipe in his hand flutters to the ground. He turns his hand, until your palms are pressed together. A moment, then he tugs. In the next second, his arms are around you and yours are around him. 

You’ve felt the burning heat of stars and supernovas. It’s an out-of-control kind of heat, a wild kind; the reality of the harshness of space, but one you can survive, albeit with mild discomfort. Humans, in spite of this and in spite of their tripled vulnerability, seek out such things—wish to explore interstellar space on a mission of curiosity and exploration, even if it might hurt them. 

Jaemin’s embrace is nothing like that. Searing, yes, because of the differences in your temperatures, the sensitivity of your skin, but this is the kind of heat you sink into, that soothes you, that comforts you; the kind you could slip away peacefully in. Your heart is pounding now. You hope he can’t feel it but since you can feel his—hear it, too—pounding away in his chest, you know he can feel yours, too, pounding in wild tandem. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You know. He understands.  

“No, no, I got it, Kun. The mom seemed a little surprised to see me, but it wasn’t an issue.”

“Great. Thanks for doing this, by the way. I would’ve picked it up but it’s my turn to cook dinner tonight and I got a late start…”

Setting Jay’s Spider-Man themed backpack to the side, you quickly change into your suit, having flown that way to Jay’s friend’s house to grab his backpack for him. 

You hear Jay’s voice from the receiver next, your name in a question. 

Kun hums an affirmative. 

“You can play with my Jenga if you want!”

You chuckle, setting off, coasting higher than you usually do to avoid people seeing you and your cargo. 

“Thanks, kiddo. Appreciate it.”

“Dinner’s almost done,” Kun says to him. “Go wash up, please.”

A soft huff. “If you want to talk to her alone, you could just ask, Dad…”

A snort escapes you unbidden. 

Kun sighs but it’s fond. “Okay, I need to speak to your aunt alone and you need to go wash your hands.”

“Okie dokie!”

Never mind that ‘alone’ no longer existed for the three of you anymore, but according to Jay, it was quite easy to phase out the extra noise and just focus on whatever he’s doing so as to not overwhelm himself or encroach on anyone else’s privacy. It’s a very Kun thing of him to do—and say. Not that you don’t try to do that, but you also lack a social life, so, you admit to being a bit nosier than he is and sometimes shamelessly listening to people’s conversations.

“What’s up?”

“Have you… seen Jaemin since yesterday?”

You frown. “No? What happened yesterday?”

Yesterday, you weren’t even on earth—you were up in space, fixing something on the International Space Station at the request of NASA. Too treacherous of a job for the astronauts on board and too big of a problem to be left alone for the time being. So, they’d asked you. You actually had a quite pleasant conversation with the astronauts on board. You had to decontaminate afterward—deadly rays from the sun and space and all that—so you only got back to Metropolis late into the evening, showering, eating dinner, then promptly crashing. 

“You hear about Congressman Wilkins?”

You did in fact hear about Congressman Wilkins—the US House Rep for Metropolis. Newly elected. Apparently, he’d spent almost a million of the campaign funds he received on personal expenses like private jet flights, vacations, and a new house. When the story broke, he tried to leave the city and the police chased him down. He ended up in a nasty accident with a fuel truck and died. The truck driver barely made it out, too. 

“Well,” Kun goes on, “Jaemin was the one to break the story that morning, after tipping off the police. He was there on the scene, too.”

Your flight slams to an abrupt halt. “Is he okay? Did—”

“He’s fine. Physically. It’s just… I don’t know. I just have a feeling…” Kun sighs. “With this stuff, sometimes, well, a lot of the time, you feel a sense of responsibility. Even if it’s not really your fault.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Okay. I’ll… see him.”

“No pressure, really, I’m thinking I’m gonna talk to him on Monday, anyway, but—”

“No,” you say. “I should. He’s… I should.”

“Alright. Take your time with Jay’s backpack, then. He doesn’t need it until Monday.”

“Right, yeah.”

The call ends with a click. You tuck your phone away, grip tightening absently on the backpack, one strap slung over your shoulder. Downtown Metropolis glimmers ahead of you in the late afternoon sunlight; the sun will be setting soon. 

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus. In a city of five million, on a planet of seven billion, Jaemin’s heart is easy to pick out. You let it guide you to the roof of the Daily Planet. 

“Mind some company?”

The distant look on his face melts away when he looks at you. Slowly, he shakes his head.  You close in. The wind that ruffles your cape ruffles his dark hair, loose over his forehead today; you’ve never quite seen him this relaxed, in jeans and a t-shirt. Something about it makes your heart pick up. You swallow down the feeling and let your feet touch the concrete of the roof. 

Dark eyes slide to the backpack slung over your shoulder, eyebrow raising in a silent question. 

“Nephew’s,” you answer, only a little bit embarrassed. “He forgot it at a friend’s house.” Setting the backpack down between you, you sit beside him; the nearest buildings are not tall enough for anyone else to see and Kun has long since looped the feeds of the cameras up here that way he has a place to change in and out.  

He hums, then returns his gaze to the yellowing horizon. The silence that falls between you is not an awkward one, exactly, but something is there that unsettles you. Since your… moment on the roof in front of Renjun’s mural, things have been better, if not a little odd, between you two. New footing, you figure. Not that you were ever really annoyed or exasperated with Jaemin’s penchant for trouble (though you’re sure you can’t quite say the same for him with you), but your dynamic had, more or less, always been set in stone. Things are different now. 

You’re still trying to figure out if it’s a good different or a bad different. For now, he seems so melancholic that you stow away those thoughts and reach for Jay’s backpack.

“Wanna play Jenga?”

Jaemin blinks at you. You don’t waver in the face of his bewilderment, suddenly quite sure this is the way to go for this. 

A second passes, then he nods slowly. You waste no time in pulling out the container of Jenna, pushing Jay’s backpack behind you and dumping the Jenga blocks in the space between you. You start fixing the tower of Jenga blocks one by one.

When it’s halfway finished, Jaemin asks, “Why don’t you use your speed to do it?”

“Less fun.”

“Really?”

Pursing your lips thoughtfully, you keep your eyes on the slowly growing Jenga tower. “There’s something to be said about taking your time and enjoying it. Even for the boring stuff. I mean, when it comes to washing dishes, water doesn’t do that great with super speed, so that’s kind of null, and sometimes, I don’t want to deal with folding my laundry that slowly, but most of the time…” you shrug. “I take my time.”

“Sounds mind-numbing.”

You laugh softly. “It’s… really not. Life already passes me by so quickly—I have to take my time.”

“Isn’t it the opposite?”

You finish the tower and look up at him with a smile. “You go first.”

Mouth flattening into a line of displeasure at you not answering his question—you would, but it’s not about you right now and that topic… well, you don’t sense it would help him right now—he moves anyway, letting out a big breath, then reaching for a block in the middle. He pulls it out cleanly and sets it on the top of the stack.

You go next, taking your time as you pick one out from a little bit towards the top end and set it beside his. For a few minutes, that’s what you do, going back and forth, pulling out blocks from the body of the tower and stacking the top. It’s your turn, aiming for a block in the third row from the bottom—the most treacherous move thus far—when he next speaks. 

“I’m fine, you know. If that’s why you’re here.”

“It is,” you say. “And it’s fine if you aren’t, too. What Wilkins did was terrible, but he didn’t deserve to die. But that he died at all, that everything happened yesterday, wasn’t your fault, either. He’d have panicked regardless of whether the story was broken or not because I’m quite sure any other journalist would shake it out of some cop while it was going down. Maybe it would’ve been you, maybe it would’ve been Lina Dhar-Qian. Who knows? But I have a feeling the outcome would’ve been the same, anyway.”

You successfully pull out the block. But you have an advantage with your powers. You can sense the slightest of movements and adjust accordingly; stop if it trembles, keep going if it’s stable. Jaemin, terribly human, for the better and for the worse, does not have such an advantage. He aims for a block from the second to bottom. You sense the tremble before it happens; he only gets it halfway out before it tumbles. 

Sighing, his fingers curl around the block still in his palm. “He had a family.”

“Yes, he did.”

“This isn’t what I wanted to do when I decided to work here.”

“Why did you?”

Jaemin looks out at the Metropolis skyline, wind ruffling his hair, looking startlingly, heartbreakingly, lost. 

“I was in med school, before I came here. In Korea. One of the best—and the most expensive—programs in the country. My friend was in the program, too. The first two years were for the basics, for the textbook stuff. Then, in our third, we started clinical training. I had expectations for what it would be like, what the students in the years above us would say to us, what the advisors said, and the professors said. But it was nothing like that. It was… it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

You stay quiet, watching him. 

“The way they did things,” he says quietly. “It was just what was on paper—the disease or the problem that brought them here. Find a solution and fix it. Or don’t, and let them know. Then your job is done. It wasn’t… kind. It was brutal. It was ‘reality,’ they said. People started to drop the program. My friend held on. But I could see… he and everyone else was fine with letting go of whoever they’d been before we started in order to become the best of the class. I wasn’t.” 

He finally turns to look at you. “I thought I could do it differently. But it wasn’t what they wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to help people. I wanted to be there for them. They told me it was impossible to do that, that I’d end up killing myself by caring too much. I still don’t know if that’s true, but I did know that I couldn’t keep going like that.”

He lets out a sigh. “You have no idea how hard my mom worked to put me into school. And just like that, when it got too hard, I wasted it. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face anyone. I took the first flight out of the country and ended up in San Francisco.” The snort he lets out is derisive. “Didn’t know any English but I knew my way around a camera and started doing photojournalism for a local newspaper. I still wanted to help people, you know. It wasn’t until I started seeing what the journalists did—what Lina Dhar-Qian did—that I realized that was another way I could do it.

“So, to answer your question—I want to help people. I have to. What happened yesterday wasn’t that. It was the furthest thing from it. He may have been an idiot with his campaign funds, and the people he scammed deserved to know what he was doing, but he also didn’t deserve to die.”

No. He didn’t. Jaemin lets out a shaky exhale. You wonder if he’s told anyone about this since it happened. You have the strongest, heartbreaking feeling that this is the first time ever. The sun is starting to set now, washing everything in gold. 

“Do you know how old I am, Jaemin?”

Confusion seems to bring Jaemin back down to earth as he frowns at you, clearly thrown off by the abrupt topic change but willing enough to go along with it. “I… No. I always assumed you were around my age.”

“I am, technically. But I’m also technically around thirty-five.”

His eyes widen. You can’t help it—you laugh.

“Just listen. Technically, I am around that age. But physically, biologically, mentally, I’m your age. During my… travels to earth, I ended up too close to a black hole. The gravity around black holes is so strong, it stretches the fabric of time and space—slows it down. What was an hour near the black hole—a terribly long and boring story, I assure you—was… ten years on earth. The rest of my trip here took even longer on top of that. When I left Krypton,” you swallow past the burst of pain in your throat; you rarely ever say its name out loud, there is no good reason to; reminiscing about it makes Kun feel bad and that makes you feel even worse, “my cousin, Superman, was just a baby. But he had left before me. And when I got here, he was a grown adult.”

Jaemin takes in your words quietly, eyebrows furrowed. 

You push past the emotions, trying for a small smile. “So, going back to your earlier question—it’s not the opposite.”

“What is?”

“Life does pass me by quickly. I wish it didn’t. Rao, I really do. But…” you lift a hand, sun rays painting your skin warmly, “as long as Sol fuels me, I’ll have no choice but to sit back and watch my life and the life of my family pass me by. Same with the rest of the world. Time will touch them. But it’ll leave me alone.” 

You drop your hand, shaking your head slightly. “I won’t be alone. But in some ways, that’s worse. And who even knows what’ll happen to my nephew? For now, he ages like a human boy, but… I don’t know if he’ll live long enough to see his family—his mom—die. And I don’t know if I’ll have to watch him die, either. If his father will have to watch him die.” You sigh. “And no parent… deserves to watch their child die.”

Jaemin is still beside you. You look at him. 

“Time is cruel. But there is nowhere else I’d rather be than here. I watched my planet and my people die. I watched my father die. I know it’ll kill me when my friends and family pass away. But at least I had the time with them—an entire lifetime, hopefully. That’s why I like to take my time.”

He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

You take his hand. “I’m sorry, too. For yesterday. And everything before that.”

He looks at your adjoined hands, frowning. “I made my choices. I need to live with them.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve already wasted one opportunity. I can’t waste this one.”

“It sounds like this is a punishment for you, then.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to your mom?”

“You don’t know that I haven’t.”

You squeeze his hand.

Jaemin sighs. “And disappoint her more? I don’t think so.”

“Is she the reason why you want to help people?”

A slow nod.

“Then I think you might be doing a disservice to her by thinking that,” you say gently. “By all means, take what I say with a grain of salt—I know nothing about her and it’s definitely not my place but… oh, I don’t know. I’m—I watched my father die. I know my mother died after she sent me off to earth. It’s not fair to you to use my life as a comparison but really, Jaemin, I would…” You swallow, throat painfully tight, eyes stinging. “I would kill just to have a few more minutes with them. Anything. I miss so much about Krypton. But I miss them the most.” 

His hand loosens from yours. Then his thumb swipes over your cheek, catching a tear. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You sigh, composing yourself, then start to pick up the fallen Jenga blocks, putting them away. You figure you’ve reached your quota of meddling in his business tonight. Putting the container away and zipping the bag up, you stand. Jaemin follows.

“It’s not presumptuous.”

His words stop you short and you look at him, eyebrows furrowing. “What isn’t, Jaemin?”

“What you said before,” he says, looking at you. “When we saw that mural. Not Renjun’s. The other one.”

The memories of that day and your talk with Jaemin slingshots to the forefront of your mind.

“This is presumptuous on my end. And truthfully, I would rather not know that fact and pretend that you do actually care about this—me (like I said, presumptuous)—but this is how things are.”

“You should know that,” he says. “It’s not presumptuous. It’s really not.”

“I’m starting to see that,” you admit with a soft laugh. “But thank you for telling me directly anyway. It’s nice to hear. While we’re on the topic of saying things that need to be said, there’s something else I want you to know.”

Jaemin looks troubled for a moment before the expression is put away and he nods for you to go on.

“It’s pretty implicit that I’m there for you, even if you aren’t in physical danger, but, inside that and out of it… if you need anything, you can call me. I will come.”

“Call… you?”

“I’ll hear you,” you say and it’s then that he understands.

The weight of his gaze now is too much. You look away, coughing. “I… just need you to know that, too. If you call me… I’ll come.”

Saying it out loud changes things. A tension that wasn’t there before lingers in the air. But you had to say it. He cares. He felt the need to emphasize that. He should know you care, too.

(Not just care, either. There’s a lot more behind it. You know that. It’s been a slow growing thing but—from the start, Na Jaemin did not leave you alone. He lingered with you, even when he seemed to not want anything to do with you. In that space, he’s grown on you—or rather, you’ve started to see him for who he is. 

It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. But it’s not bad. Not bad at all.)

“Get home safe, alright?”

You don’t wait around for his response, lifting off the ground, breeze catching your cape. Again, as you leave, you feel his gaze on you until you’re out of his field of vision, swallowing down the longing in your chest.  

“You didn’t have to do it tonight, you know,” Kun says when he steps onto the balcony of his and Lina’ apartment.

“Maybe I just wanted to steal your ice cream.” 

You pass him Jay’s backpack, following him inside, closing the balcony door behind you. Water runs in the pipes, Lina humming in the shower, Jay sleeping soundly in his room. Kun leaves the backpack near the front door, then beelines for the refrigerator, opening the freezer. Too lazy to change out of your suit and knowing Lina’s rules about suits on the couch, you slump in a chair at the small table in the kitchen. 

He sets down a carton of your favorite ice cream in front of you, along with a spoon, then sits down across from you, with a carton of vanilla for himself. You pop off the lid of the carton and dig in. You didn’t have ice cream on Krypton. No cows of any kind at all, actually. Great what humans have invented with dairy products. Really.

“So… Jaemin.”

“Mm, he’s alright. Sort of what you thought he’d be feeling like, but we had a nice talk about it, so I think he’ll be okay.”

Kun chuckles quietly. “I didn’t doubt that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then?”

He just looks at you with a small, knowing smile.

“Kun.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You sigh. You know what he’s getting at and truthfully, you see no point in denying it, either. But the consequences of it are something else entirely. You can’t just think about yourself here. Not for this.

Kun leans back. “What’s stopping you?”

“This.” You gesture a hand to the apartment. Lina’s laptop open on the coffee table, drafts stacked next to it marked up with red pen. A book with a bookmark sticking out the top. Jay’s drawings pinned on the walls. “It’s not just about me.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not, Kun. If—if I tell Jaemin who I am, it’s going to be so much easier for him to realize who you are, too. Not even just easier—it’s inevitable, that he finds out.”

“I know,” he says. “And that’s fine. But it is just about you because I trust you and if you trust Jaemin, I know you’re trusting him with everything. So, there’s no reason to worry.”

The worst part is—you know he’s right. You shovel more ice cream into your mouth to avoid answering right away. Because, if there is that, then… what next? Do you even know if Jaemin really truly likes you? Enough to consider seeing you that way? You aren’t under any impressions about the way some people view you—you do good things but you’re not like everyone else at the end of the day. Not human. Not normal. Not to mention the danger he’d be in if he associated with you. 

“I have experience with this,” he says next, tone thoughtful. “Saying I’m the precedent sounds a little conceited, but I think in this regard, it is, well… true. I went through what you’re going through. Like realizing that I’d have to give everything up to her. But, it was more than that. It was wanting to. It’s not impossible to date as simply you and avoid telling whoever they are about what you are and what you do.”

A soft look crosses his face. “But I didn’t want to settle for that. Maybe, for some time, but then it would come down to whether I would be okay with, essentially, living a lie or breaking things off. With Lina… the thought had crossed my mind, especially because I knew her just as well as Qian Kun as I did Superman, but the thing was… I wanted her to know. Does that make sense?”

You nod.

“But,” he goes on, “your case is a little bit different in that you know him better as Supergirl than you do as yourself.”

“It doesn’t change it,” you say quietly. “I do want to. Tell him, I mean. I think I’d want it even if I knew him as myself and not as Supergirl. I guess now, it’s a little more imperative that I do, because it’s not even remotely sustainable to date him as Supergirl. And even if it was, I wouldn’t—I don’t want to do him that disservice.”

Kun has a soft, proud look on his face that makes you look away.

“You don’t need my help,” he says. “You don’t need my permission. This is yours. All of it. You’ve got it. If you want it, that is.”

Warmth floods your face. You don’t answer that.

Want it? You want it with everything inside of you. Every cell and every atom. It is selfish, though, even despite what Kun says, because he may be okay with revealing himself, but the danger Jaemin would be in shouldn’t be understated. 

But… it’s like Kun said. He is the precedent. And if you look at him and Lina now… It would be more than worth it.

For you, that is. For Jaemin? That… well, that’s the question, isn’t it?

It’s so much easier to think about these things in theory than it is practice. You know this, because the next day, you see Jaemin during one of your patrols and when he waves at you, you sort of… panic.

You wave back, of course, it would be impolite not to, but there is this one painful second where you hesitate and you know that he definitely probably noticed and when that knowledge finally sinks in, you cannot get out of there fast enough, making a frantic mime about something going on to him (nothing is going on, obviously), then booking it out of there.

It is, truthfully, humiliating. It’s not how you wanted it to go. What is it, one may ask? Well, you aren’t sure of it yourself. But just because you had that conversation with Kun, just because the possibility is suddenly on the table—it shouldn’t change anything in the meantime. If anything, it is imperative that nothing changes until you try and parse out what he might potentially feel for you.

The thing is—Jaemin is so… impervious. It’s hard to figure out what might go on in that pretty head of his. Feelings of this nature are even more so. The solution is obvious, then, that you should ask him—but that’s… not easy, either. Feelings are not easy.

Regardless of that issue, though, you do want to try and be… well. Normal around him. And about him. It’s hard but surely not impossible. You can be normal around a guy you like. You can!

So, a few days later, when you see him again, that’s your main objective. Well, actually, it’s in the middle of a search for some guy with a gun, street filled with mild panic, officers trying to get people inside, you and Kun trying to find this guy before something happens—because something always happens—and Jaemin is not really cooperating.

“Jaem, you really have to get inside—”

“I will,” he says, yet he has a hand latched belligerently to your cape, quite literally on your heels as you scan the buildings surrounding you. “But I just have one question—”

“It really can’t wait?”

He’s downright petulant when he says, “No.”

“Jaemin—”

He presses on. “What you said—when I said it wasn’t presumptuous for you to think I care, and you said I’m starting to see that—did you think I didn’t like you?”

Nothing, you’re getting nothing, is this a false alarm or is the guy gone? On the other end of the street, you hear Kun say, “I’m getting nothing.”

You mutter the same, then redirect your attention to Jaemin. “It’s not like you’ve ever been very forthcoming with me—which is fine. I know there’s the issue of your own capability, which, I know you can take care of yourself, believe me—”

“That’s not—”

This is a terrible time and place to have this conversation but—so be it.

“It’s alright, lots of humans have that issue, they don’t want to be seen as weak—which, there’s nothing wrong with, but nonetheless, I wouldn’t ever call you weak, or better yet, believe you need to be taken care of like that. Obviously I have to step in sometimes but in most others, you can take care of yourself. It’s just for my own peace of mind that I like to ensure that. And then there’s the, well, what I am and how others perceive me—”

“I am not others—”

Any other day and you would laugh at the indignant tone. “Well, no, not anymore, but in the beginning, you know, I get it—”

He’s tugging on your cape; you think it’s more out of indignation than wanting your attention, but you stop and turn anyway. The hot August sun beams down on you. Sweat beads at his hairline, hair slightly mussed from it and from what you can assume was him running his hands through it. His eyes are dark and unhappy. Not unhappy with you, though, you don’t think.

“No, I don’t like that—I’ve never not liked you because of what you are, I don’t care that you’re not human, why would I care about that?”

“A lot of people do,” you remind him semi-patiently. 

“I get that, but that’s not me. I don’t care, I’ve never cared.” He’s quite impassioned about this. More than you thought he would be. You still aren’t sure what the purpose of this conversation is, either. You suppose, in some ways, it matters, but you’d hardly hold it against him. Most people would be leery. That’s fine. That’s just the way of the world. This world. 

“I was… gruff with you, not necessarily because I didn’t like you. It’s just that—” the steam he had before is finally running out; he runs a rough hand through his hair, eyes looking anywhere but you.

“What?” you ask softly. The sudden smallness of this moment is out of place, standing on the sidewalk of the street, police cars crowding it, Kun and the officers still searching, still coming up empty. He really needs to get inside—you need to him inside. But right after this. You need to hear this first and you think… he has to say it. 

“I was like that with you… because you reminded me of myself.”

You go very still. Jaemin’s gaze meets yours. Though slightly pained and more than a little embarrassed, his eyes are softer than before.

“The way you were… what we’ve gone through is in no way comparable. You lost everything. But—despite that…”

You don’t know what to say. No, wait, you do—you want to say he’s like that, too, despite what he thinks of himself, and you have the strongest sense that he thinks he’s some kind of… failure, for the decisions he’s made, and you don’t think this is true at all. Despite stumbling so much, he still believed.  

You open your mouth to say this—knowing inside you that this is a terrible place and time to have this conversation, yet all the more important, especially considering his apparent sense of urgency to make it clear that he never disliked you, a thought that makes your chest fill with warmth. 

But you don’t get to. You hear the bullet before you see it.  Time slows down, but not as fast as it needs to. Whoever shot it is close. All you can do is move Jaemin out of the way and deflect it yourself. 

Your hands are still on his shoulders when everything comes back into play, when the shot finally registers with the humans, officers unholstering their guns, ducking for cover. He flinches, shuddering, but not jarred since you only moved him a few inches to the left. 

“What—”

Any kind of response to him gets stuck in your throat. Your vision blurs around the edges. Heat spreads through your shoulder. You touch it instinctively. Something slick and warm coats your fingers. You look at it.  

The sight of blood on your fingers shocks you. No, you’d—you moved Jaemin out of way, didn’t you?

He’s looking, too, eyes wide. “Hey…”

Oh. It’s your blood. The bullet is made of Kryptonite.

Your vision swims. Your legs buckle but Jaemin catches you, lowering you both to the ground. A bullet whizzes past you. He curses up a storm. 

Your senses go haywire, sounds blurring in and out of your ears. You can hear everything in the city in one second and in the next, all you can hear is your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears. You feel weak, washed-out; you’re shaking, chest stuttering with each breathe you take, as if your lungs are fighting the air you breathe. 

“Hey, hey! Bring her in here!”

The sun is too bright. You close your eyes. The swaying motion makes you nauseous, like your heart is trying to crawl up your throat. Everything starts to fade in and out. Something presses against the bullet wound hard. A tiny thrum of pain that had started in your shoulder, kryptonite poisoning your cells and atoms, amplifies from the pressure—the actual hole in your shoulder combined with the effects of kryptonite against you. 

Voices overlap, panicked, harsh.  

Bile threatens to rise up. You swallow it down.

“—doctors or nurses here?”

“I need—”

A stuffy heat envelops you. Fingers brush against your cheek. You can’t hear Jaemin’s heartbeat. Why can’t you hear his heartbeat? All you can hear is what’s happening around you. This is what you used to be like—on Krypton, underneath the warmth of a red sun, rendering you effectively human.

“Okay, I’m going to—”

A hand—Jaemin’s, you know this intuitively—touches yours for a brief moment and a squeeze is all the warning you get before the tweezers go digging into your flesh. 

A fire eats at your shoulder, in your skin, in your bones, in the tendons and muscles. The flames spread, into your chest, into your belly. All you can hear is the pound of your heart, beating so hard it feels like it’ll shred itself to pieces. It’s killing you, poisoning you. It hurts.

“—not breathing—”

“—hospital—”

Darkness creeps in on you, an alluring embrace that you sink into. 

And you’ll do anything to take the pain away. 

You wake feeling empty. 

The feeling of the pain, the kryptonite, eating away at you from the inside out is imprinted in your memory. When you sit up and move your arm, you expect pain—but get nothing instead. It’s fine. You’re fine. 

“I know,” comes your cousin’s quiet words. “It’s jarring, isn’t it?”

He shuts the book he was reading, setting it on the side table. You’re in your apartment, in your bedroom, out of your suit and into a t-shirt and pajama pants. 

“Weird,” you mutter, hand sliding beneath the collar of your shirt. Your fingers find the spot where the bullet was, ghosting at first, some odd part of your brain fearing pain, but then you press down and feel nothing but the fleshy give of your skin, muscles and tendons beneath. It’s fine. Not even a scar left behind, skin still smooth and unmarred.

You drop your hand back into your lap, turning to look at Kun. “Jaemin?”

“He’s fine. Safe.”

You relax at that, allowing yourself to ask the big question. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms, jaw clenching for a moment before saying, “Merc. Refused to say who hired him, though we can probably make an educated guess. Not happy that we—I—couldn’t get a solid answer out of him, although the police were able to get half a million from him—the incentive he was given, with the other half delivered presumably after he did his job, which, luckily, he didn’t.”

“Only halfway,” you muse. “Fair to call it a lose-lose, I think. Guy’s in jail, no more money. And whoever hired him is half a million out. Though I guess if you’ve got a million laying around, ready to be spent on a poor attempt to kill us, then maybe that part doesn’t matter so much…”

Kun says your name, exasperated.

“Sorry. Too soon?”

“You passed out and lost a lot of blood,” he says. “Yes, it’s too soon.”

“Speaking of,” you turn, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed. “How long have I been out for?”

“Five or so hours. Had to get that kryptonite out of your system even after they removed the bullet.”

“They?”

“Doctor at the cafe you were in. She was the one to do it. I got you out of there.”

You frown. “The bullet—”

“It was with Jaemin. I… had a feeling he’d defend it with his life, so I left it.”

You wrinkle your nose, not quite on board with the prospect of him defending anything with his life, even for that kryptonite bullet.

“He’s fine,” Kun says, watching your face intently. “Handed it off to Lina, who will dispose of it through the proper channels.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, reacclimatizing yourself further. A lot happened, but you feel… okay. Thanks to Sol, anyway. And if you’re okay… well. You have something to do next, don’t you?

“You’re gonna go to him, aren’t you?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“No,” Kun says. “I think it’s about time.”

You chuckle softly. “I don’t disagree with you.”

Especially because—you remember vividly what you and Jaemin had been talking about before you got shot. You can’t imagine how he must feel now. Rao knows if you had to watch him get hurt… You cut the thought short and stand. The wood floorboards of your apartment are cool underneath your bare feet. Kun stands, too. 

“Be careful, please.”

You get the sense he isn’t just talking about your physical well-being here. But… you don’t know. You don’t think Jaemin is going to be the one to break your heart tonight. 

“I will be.”

He kisses your head, squeezing your arm. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Tell Jay and Lina I say hi.”

“I will.”

Kun sends you a smile, then he’s gone. You really don’t want to get suited up tonight—not to mention your main suit, which is folded neatly on your dresser, courtesy of Kun, you’re certain, has a bullet hole in it and is still stained with blood. You have a backup, an older version, but—you don’t want to come to him as Supergirl. You want to go to him as you. Yourself. So, you leave it there and grab one of your hoodies, slipping it over your head. 

Then—you’re gone, too.

Metropolis is quiet at midnight. Skyscrapers shine in the night, clouds hanging low, turning lights into blurred smudges. You rise above the clouds, finding a pocket of space. The clear midnight blue sky stretches out ahead of you, full moon beaming down upon you. Ahead of you, a plane that just took off parts through the clouds, lights blinking on the wings. You follow it east until you come upon a familiar neighborhood, diving through another open space between the moving clouds. The moon and the clear sky disappear as the ground appears. 

A familiar heartbeat echoes in your ears. Calm and steady. You swallow down a burst of emotion, pinpointing where it is, picking out which apartment is his when you come upon a five-story brick building.

You land quietly on his balcony. The curtains over the sliding door are drawn, leaving you to hesitate—no one likes hearing a knock on their balcony doors and it would be just your luck that you might scare Jaemin into an early grave by doing that—

A sudden sound. 

“Holy shit—”

A dark grey cat with yellow eyes jumps onto the balcony, slipping through the metal fencing. Without pause and without fear, it hisses at you, back hair standing sharply on end.

You hold up your hands. “Woah…”

The balcony door slides open quickly. Jaemin pokes his head out, doing a double take at the sight of you.

“Hi. Your cat doesn’t like me.”

“He’s not mine,” he says, stepping out, can of Fancy Feast held in hand. “Dali’s a stray. I have no idea how he keeps getting all the way up here, but I figured I might as well feed him while he’s here.”

He sets the can of food on the ground. The cat—Dali—hisses at you, ignoring Jaemin’s quiet scold in Korean (then English), and dives in, eating for a moment, looking up to hiss at you again, and then going back to eating. You watch him warily.

“Out of everything,” Jaemin says, bemused, “a cat is what scares you?”

“I have great respect for cats as creatures, that’s all. Also—I’m invulnerable but my clothes aren’t.”

He shakes his head. “He won’t do anything. He’s… all hiss, no bite.”

“Ah.”

Jaemin glances around, then reaches for you; you suppress a full-body shudder as his hand, so very warm, wraps around your wrist, tugging lightly. “You should come inside.”

Rendered speechless by the sudden contact—and him initiating that contact—you have no choice but to nod and let him pull you inside. The curtain flutters back into place when he closes the sliding door again. You kick off your sneakers, leaving them by the door. 

“So,” you start, ignoring the racket that your heart is making in your chest right now, “you’re okay, right?”

Jaemin gives you such an incredulous look that you have to suppress a laugh. “I’m okay? You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“Yes? I mean, in fairness to myself, it was a… very stressful situation that we were in earlier—”

“You were the one that got shot.”

“…It doesn’t happen often, is the thing. At all, actually. That was my… first ever brush with kryptonite, if you can believe it. Superman tries very hard not to let me get exposed to it. Not really for the reasons you would think, either—I mean, yes, because kryptonite bad but that’s not really fair when you consider that he gets just as affected as I do but, um, it’s because—Krypton.”

“Krypton?”

Jaemin’s wearing cat socks. Space-themed. Space cats. 

You chew on your bottom lip. “The core was unstable. Too much energy, nowhere to go. Argo City was the only one to survive, protected by its own atmosphere that my parents had helped create years before simply as an environmental measure. It helped shield us from the full force of the blast, but… not enough. People still died in the initial blast. But then afterward… the parts of Krypton that were left, what we stood on, was… poisoning us. It was kryptonite. It killed my father first. Then the rest of the people in droves. I managed to escape it; I don’t know why. Didn’t matter anyway. It was going to kill us. It did.”

Jaemin’s apartment looks lived in, you think. He’s struggled with so much and yet, he seems to have made a home here despite that. You two really are the same, aren’t you?

“My mother didn’t want me to die,” you say quietly. “Even though she was starting to get sick from the radiation, she managed to pull together a ship for me, one last final shot for me to survive. I didn’t want to leave but I had to. So… my memories of Krypton in its final days aren’t great, you know? The sickness, the death. I’d gotten lucky and I’d never felt the effects of the kryptonite, there, and even here, at least up until now because… I think because he didn’t want me to know what it was like for them. For my parents. For everyone else.”

“I’d do the same,” Jaemin murmurs. “You shouldn’t have to know that kind of suffering.”

You shrug. “That’s life.”

“But not all of it.” 

His hand is on yours now, palm sitting against your knuckles, thumb rubbing idly over your wrist. 

Your lips twitch. “See?”

“What?”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, wondering when he got so close. “You’re like me, too.”

“You think so?”

“I do. You still believe—you still have hope, despite everything. Just like me.” 

Begrudgingly, reluctantly, you know he does. You get the sense that it would go against everything in him to lose that hope. 

“Your influence, probably.”

You reach up to push lightly at his chest. “Own it, Jaemin.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Sorry.” 

You shake your head. 

“So…” You glance back at him, tilting your head as his previous smile falters a bit, a more serious look coming onto his face. “You’re… okay.”

Reluctantly, you let go of his hand, reaching for the hem of your hoodie to pull it over your head. He takes it from you, tossing it over the back of the couch a few feet from you. You push up the sleeve of your t-shirt, pushing it as far back as you can to reveal the skin of your shoulder, the area where the bullet hit, where a scar should be but is not, skin fully healed.

“Good as new.”

He stares and you get the feeling he’s remembering what it looked like more than anything else. 

You don’t move when he lifts a hand, staying perfectly still as his fingers hover over the spot where, a few hours ago, you were shot and bleeding from. You can feel the heat of his hand even with that, swallowing. The action itself is fine. So is the area. But you don’t quite anticipate what it would feel like to have his hands anywhere else other than your own hands. At the first brush of his fingers, your arm twitches. 

He pulls back, looking guilty. “Sorry—are you still—?”

“No,” you quickly say, warmth flooding your face. “No, it’s—it’s completely healed, promise. Doesn’t hurt. I’m just. Um. Super senses… heightened touch… sort of… sensitive to that… in general… Not really used to anyone other than my immediate family touching me just ‘cause no one really… as Supergirl, you know, the perception of me and my… alien-ness. Doesn’t make a lot of people desperate to get close to me.”

A strange emotion flits over Jaemin’s face. It’s gone too quickly for you to really decipher it. His touch returns, hand fully settling on your arm, thumb brushing over the area where the bullet was. You have to fight a full-body shiver at the touch. His hand is warm, soft, with a few callouses. 

(You wonder where he got them from. Did he play any sports when he was younger?)

He still appears faintly troubled. You can’t say you don’t feel the same. 

The distinction between you and Supergirl is a clear one—one that must exist, a necessity. Not just for your own safety, but because you (and Kun) also believe that most humans, especially the ones that don’t like you, wouldn’t like the thought of knowing you lived like they did, that at the end of the day, even with the power that the Sol gave you, you were just another person, another being like them trying to get through life. Some might be okay with it, like Renjun, who probably doesn’t consciously realize it, but sees you like anyone else. But others wouldn’t—they need something different. For some, Superman and Supergirl as mere protectors of earth, solemn guardians overseeing humanity. For others, like those in Metropolis, that, too, but also someone kind, someone who would help them save a cat stuck in a tree or help them find a lost dog. 

But with Jaemin… maybe in the beginning, you tried to keep to that, to the polite and responsible hero, but he got under your skin far too quickly, and by now, by this point, after everything that happened, the lines are blurred. You feel more you than Supergirl. The only thing missing is your name. 

All that’s left is to wonder how he sees it. 

“But that’s fine,” you say in the next second. Jaemin’s hand leaves your arm, dropping to the side. A few streaks of blue ink stain his index and middle finger from the pen he must’ve been using earlier.  “It’s what they need. To see us as… larger than life. If being disgusted at the thought of touching us goes with that, then… so be it.”

He purses his lips. You try not to linger on how pink they are, soft and plush. 

“I don’t see you that way,” he mumbles. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears. “I had wondered,” you admit.

Jaemin frowns. “After what I said—?”

You push gently at his chest. The heat of him is palpable even through his t-shirt and it lingers on your fingertips. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you remind him. “If you didn’t, you would have no reason to try and see me that way.”

“I had. From… pretty much the very beginning. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t weird at first but that was more my own issues than anything about you and you being Kryptonian. I just…”

“Have—had?—a chip on your shoulder. One that is valid, don’t get me wrong, but, you know.” You smile up at him.

“I wasn’t always like that—like this.”

You’ve seen it, rare bouts of playfulness that come out, usually taking your breath away. But the way he is now isn’t so bad, either. At least—as long as it’s without the pain and burden of what he left behind and what still hangs over him. 

“But regardless of that,” he goes on. “It might be presumptuous to say this but… I think I’ve always seen you as you are.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “It’s—nice to be seen.”

“It is, isn’t it?” 

The look on his face is soft, softer than you’ve ever seen it before—softer than when you’ve seen him pet stray cats and dogs during your patrols or talk to the neighborhood kids who play soccer in the street. 

You’re effectively stripped bare now, knowing he sees you for you, but he’s still missing the final piece, the thing that’ll expose you for everything you are, the name you have, the name you were given. But what’s so bad about it? Maybe there is some part of you that fears being seen like that to the greater public, that needs a veneer of responsibility and duty preventing you from appearing too human. Too… feeling and thinking. It’s so much easier to get hurt like that. Here, now, you’re baring all the soft and fragile bits of you now—intentionally, purposefully. He saw it before, but you hadn’t known that. Now you do and you give him permission to carve out your heart if he wants it. 

It’s like you said. It’s nice to be seen. 

Your heart is thundering now but—so is his. He’s nervous. Just like you. The tips of his ears are red, a visible flush starting to creep into his cheeks. If he gets any closer to you, he’ll feel the warmth in your face, too. 

“I don’t know how much you know,” you admit in a whisper. “If you’ve looked into it.”

“I meant what I said when I said I didn’t care about that.”

“Maybe it’s because you see everything you need to see and that’s enough… but it’s not enough for me. You have to know. I want you to know.” 

He nods. You step closer, taking a deep breath. You’re almost dizzy with nerves, which is a real feat, since you physically can’t get dizzy. 

Jaemin’s hands take yours, then slide up your arms. You breathe shallowly, overwhelmed at the simplest and gentlest of movements, but no one’s ever touched you like that before, no one that wasn’t your family. It’s a reassuring movement, you can tell, since your eyes aren’t on his face but on his shirt instead. 

He squeezes your arms, whispering, “It’s okay.”

When he pulls you in, you go without resistance. His heart pounds beneath your ear. Warmth surrounds you, a nonsensical feeling of security found in his embrace because by all accounts, you are the one who can stand against nature and fight battles that humans cannot fight on their own. You are the one protecting. And yet…

A tension that never quite seems to leave your shoulders no matter what finally escapes you. One of his arms braces over your shoulder blades, the other diagonal across your back, hand finding a home at your waist. It’s almost terrifying how right it feels. 

But the rightness of it, like this is what you’ve been searching the universe for, is what tips you over the edge. 

You lean your cheek against his chest, his heart thrumming beneath your ear, and tell him your name. His arms tighten around you. He murmurs it back. At the sound of your name from his lips, you shiver, inhaling sharply, fingers balling the material of his t-shirt. The arm around your shoulder drops, moving, until his hand cups your cheek. Lightning sparks down your spine at the sensation. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Can I—?”

Strands of his hair tickles your forehead. You nod. 

Jaemin’s lips are soft against yours. You’re trembling faintly, you realize, his arm tightening around you, pulling you closer, flush against him, both to keep you close and you think maybe also to keep you grounded. You move your lips tentatively. He doesn’t overwhelm you. Maybe keenly aware of how much this is for you. An onslaught on your senses. The scent of his shampoo, the warmth of his body, the heat of his mouth, the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, breathing shallow and unsteady as he tilts his head and your lips slot together even more perfectly. 

Jaemin kisses you so gently, so tenderly, your heart aches. 

You break for air—mostly for him. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing unsteady. 

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a goodbye.”

“Not a goodbye. I’m not leaving. I’m not running away again. I’m here.”

You hug him. Bury your face in his neck and mold your body to his. He holds you back just as tightly. 

And you know, neither of you is going anywhere.  

Two months later “Where’s your shadow?” “Sorry?” Who is this one? You can’t remember his name. He’s been at the Daily Planet for a while, you know that much. You’ve seen him in the vicinity of Kun and Lina’s cubicles. He’s older, with rumpled clothes and elbow patches, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and an odd amount of antagonism.  “Your shadow. Na.” “I wouldn’t know.” You do know. He’s at his apartment, washing dishes and grumbling to himself about you eating the last of his ice cream. He had wanted to come out, when news broke about some incident at City Hall, but you convinced him to leave this one. He only agreed if you bought more ice cream on the way back.  “Can’t complain, I guess. Kid snatches up all the good stories, doesn’t leave anything for us.” Lina would disagree with that. You could just hear her saying, If you were good at your job, you’d find a good story. Jaemin would probably agree. You don’t say that. You don’t say anything, watching the gunmen get driven off in the back of the police cars.  The reporter whose name you don’t remember eventually walks off, muttering to himself about favoritism.  Your lips twitch.  You should head back soon. It’s late and you’re tired, having assisted with a few wildfires in Australia. You just want to shower and eat ice cream and cuddle with Jaemin and watch soap operas.  Before you go, though, the sound of your name stops you.  Not your name, rather, but— “Supergirl?” An accent. Familiar. Stronger than Jaemin’s, that curls some of his intonations on certain words he speaks. He’s always complaining about your near photographic memory that is letting you pick up Korean faster than he picked up English.  You turn. Then do a double take.  You’ve seen pictures of Ms. Na. Jaemin has pictures of the two of them from his high school graduation, then a few outings together after that. You always get the sense he feels guilty that they never got one at his graduation from med school. The tall guy with her is familiar, too. Lee Jeno. Jaemin’s childhood best friend and the one who went to med school with him.  Ms. Na is older, but not frail. Still, she looks a bit like a ghost standing there, Jeno hovering closely by her side. An air of desperation hangs over them, the kind that sobers you.  You approach them. “How can I help you?” “You know my son,” she says simply, gazing at you with the same dark eyes that Jaemin has.  “I do,” you say softly.  His mother is still a sensitive topic these days. But you know he’s trying to muster up the courage to call her. To see her. Hell, maybe even fly back to Korea. Explain in person. He wants to. But it’s hard, isn’t it, going back, knowing you hurt the person you loved and who loved you back so much.  “Can you… can we see him?” You look at them, Ms. Na, dressed in finely-pressed button-up and slacks, but slightly disheveled all the same, weary with the circles under her eyes. Jeno hovering close, unmistakably protective of her, but still clearly not untouched by the pain of Jaemin’s departure. Finally, you give them a small smile. “I think he would like that.”

Grocery bags dangle from your fingers as you fish out the key to Jaemin’s apartment. The TV is on, playing a sitcom. Three heartbeats—and another on the balcony, Dali having his dinner—ring out. Looks like Ms. Na and Jeno found their way here. Good. You’d texted Jaemin in warning and had heard his pulse skyrocket as soon as he read it. You had already shot into the sky when he texted you saying he was okay—that he would be okay. With great reluctance, you held back on going home and instead ran out to pick up the ice cream as promised. 

Considering they’re all still here, Jeno and Jaemin talking in Korean, the former laughing at something and the latter joining, too, you assume it went as well as it could. 

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose, then step inside. Your boyfriend is on his feet before you’re even fully inside, taking the grocery bags from you. Instead of the usual kiss in greeting, he takes your hand, squeezing, brown eyes shining with a newfound energy and warmth. You pretend to use him for balance as you pull off your shoes, just to keep holding his hand. 

He introduces you to Jeno, an embarrassing amount of affection dripping from his voice when he says your name and introduces you as his girlfriend. Jeno doesn’t seem to be aware or suspicious of anything, thankfully, and kindly greets you back. Ms. Na is another story entirely. Emerging from the guest bathroom evidently refreshed, though her eyes are still red, she appraises you carefully. 

According to Jaemin, though he never tried to purposefully dig into your identity, because he ‘paid an embarrassing amount of attention to you prior to getting together’ he had noticed you, both when you’d pop into the office for lunch with Kun and Lina, and that one time when he ordered from Sleepless Bites. It’s not like he made any hard conclusions but—there was a sense of familiarity, even if you carried yourself very differently in each identity. 

With the timing and the fact that Supergirl spent enough time around Na Jaemin to be noticeable by them, truthfully, you probably should’ve spent the night with Kun and Lina. Just to let their memory—her memory—of you weaken a little bit. But you can’t leave Jaemin alone for this. Even if they’ve apparently reconciled, at the end of the day… you have to be here for him. 

Even if Ms. Na is looking at you intently, dark eyes gleaming with familiarity. But she says nothing about it, simply shaking your hand, hers warm in your grip.  

“How long have you known each other?” 

Jaemin glances at you. “For a while now. Almost a year, right?”

“Eight months,” you confirm. 

She squeezes your hand, giving you a look you aren’t quite sure how to decipher but one that doesn’t alarm you, anyway. “I’m glad you were here for him.”

You smile faintly as Jaemin looks away, embarrassed. “Glad to be here.”

She lets you go. Jaemin waves for her to sit down, then heads for the kitchen. You follow him. 

“So…?”

He sets the bag on the counter, then pulls out the cartons of ice cream. You take them, opening the freezer and finding places for them. 

“Well, three years of radio silence isn’t going to be fixed in one good night.”

“But…?” Because there very much is a but here. Even if you’d been able to smell the salt of tears shed when you came in, there is a visible weight that has been lifted from his shoulder’s—from Ms. Na and Jeno, too. Not quite as desperate as they appeared earlier. They’d perhaps prepared for the worst—that Jaemin might turn them away for one final time. He had done the same—that neither his mother nor Jeno would take him back. 

“But,” he goes on slowly, smile forming on his lips, “it’s a start.”

You are unable to stop a stupid grin from forming on your lips. 

“It’s a start—a great start—you’re exactly right—I’m so proud of you, you know—mmpf!”

He crushes you to him, kissing you long and hard, like he’s trying to steal the breath from your lungs. Which is, unfortunately, not physically possible for you as a Kryptonian. Actually—as nice as this is, his hands on your hips, lips warm against yours—

You gently push at his chest, a reminder about air. One that he needs because you swear, it’s like he’s trying to beat you at holding your breath, but again—human who needs air to breathe and live, Kryptonian who technically doesn’t (but admittedly breathing has become a habit for you, one that’s uncomfortable to shed). 

Jaemin doesn’t budge until you push a little more and he finally pulls away. 

“Your lungs are going to shrivel up and die if you keep doing that.”

He smiles and kisses you again. “That’s not medically possible.”

“Well, that’s where you’re headed if you keep that up.” 

Forehead against yours, eyes shut with a content smile, his shoulders shake with laughter. You lean into him, enjoying the warmth of him, the feeling of his arms around you, heart beating in his chest. 

Things are going to get better. They already were, even without this impromptu visit from his mother and being able to reconcile with her—and Jeno. It’s like you said—he’s making friends at work, getting along well with Kun, Lina, and Jay, even Maria loved him to bits when she met him for the first time last week. You’re making friends, too, going to games with Jisung and then going out to eat afterward with him and Chenle. It's not like you were some kind of ghost before this—you enjoyed yourself, you were content, you didn’t have much yearning for anything else, but now that you do, you’re happier. You feel more grounded. Present. There’s more to hope for, to look forward to. You know Jaemin feels the same way. No longer just going through the motions but actually planning for the future. 

You’ve even had a few late-night conversations about whether he wants to go back to school. He’s surmised that med school simply isn’t for him but—that’s not the only healthcare position that exists. As it happens, Metropolis University’s nursing program is one of the best in the country and there are scholarships he can apply to to help with tuition. As for you, you still quite enjoy your work at Sleepless Bites but there are still a lot of things you want to try and that Jaemin happily encourages you to do so. 

Like you said. There is so much more to hope for and look forward to now. 

It is this, you think, that your parents wanted for you. 

Exactly this.  

[anna-scribbles]

hey anna! the wait for kwami’s choice part 2 truly is abysmal and it’s so hard to navigate through the tag with all the leaks about, do you have any fic recs to tide us over until gloob puts us out of our misery?

not only do I have fic recs, I also have way too much to do rn and therefore will spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a detailed rec list for you 😘 (we can also just consider this my 2022 ao3 wrapped lol)

goes without saying perhaps, but ANYTHING by @peachcitt is gold and also uniquely devastating, some of my particular favorites being:

metamorphosis - 97k, enemies, sleepovers, you get it. i'm normal

those benevolent stars - 23k, ladrien thief/prince/soulmates au. what more do I even need to say

chat noir's white french man hit list for feminist purposes - 7k, hilarious and devastating, this fic is a child to me

double dare - 32k, ladrien, absolutely everything. cemented my friendship w/ peach bc I had to scream at her everyday abt it

I thought the plane was going down - 11k, attuned to my tastes specifically, adrinette having a History while on airplanes

@carpisuns also puts out banger after banger like it's her dayjob, specializing in understanding the ridiculous nature of the lovesquare to such a degree and also being the funniest person alive. some of my faves from her are:

tell me something I don't know - 120k, the marichat fic EVER, mar's dissertation on lovesquare and guess what she's right

pink - 14k wip, adrien loves marinette, SOFT

two idiots and a hamster (collab with @botherkupo) - 24k, adrinette roommates, makes me cry laugh

@picayunearts is a goddess on earth. she bends word and image flawlessly to her will. recently she has enraptured me with

final girl - 41k, marichat, au where marinette succeeds in giving up her miraculous to alya in origins. INCREDIBLE marinette character study

@rosekasa invented ladynoir and i'm not afraid to say it. check out everything on her ao3 but just note the following

when things were good - 15k wip, breakup fic/post hawkmoth takedown, has been ruining me in a SPECIAL way

new marinette 12k, post-guardianship memory loss marinette, a classic

like poles of a magnet - 12k, enemies au, hurts my feelings

ya'aburnee - 13k, ladynoir, HURTS ME VERY MUCH. I'VE NOT RECOVERED

@buggachat's fics always feel like i'm attending a course on adrien and marinette's true characterizations explained to me by someone with a PhD in lovesquare and I walk away enlightened. she has an incredible gift for storytelling and just Getting It. anyway read

maintaining a professional distance - 43k, ladynoir hotel room shenanigans, god-tier characterization

when you're near 10k, ladynoir dating but adrinette have never met, a classic

@sha-nwa should honestly quit her career and write lovesquare fanfiction for me full time. proof:

the way I loved you - 68k, marichat break up fic, will be cemented into my mind forever

photograph - 1k, sweet adrinette, abby loves making me cry

things WOULD be amiss if I did not mention @officialratprince (carolinaa on ao3) bc their fics derailed my homework schedule on several occasions last semester, though I'll be honest that their fics are not for the faint of heart or those who wish adrien agreste to have a good time. my faves are

I will take it / it can't go wrong series - 3 fics at 16k, 25k, and 39k, adrien's journey through experiencing child abuse and his friends being there for him, culminating in gabriel's court trial

home sick - 14k wip, adrien gets pneumonia and Everything Is Really Bad

other various fics I love for various reasons:

how hawkmoth got his groove back series by @agrestenoir - 2 fics at 3k and 1k, one of my favorite crack fics i read last year. had me crying laughing

1 step forward, 3 steps back by agnes writes - 10k, breaks my heart every time I read it. also makes me legitimately angry at adrien while still keeping him in character which is a feat in and of itself

the last day on earth by reiaji - 10k, chat blanc keeps happening as marinette gets older, I am incapable of not recommending this fic

okay now go forth and don't do your work<3

[skz-streamer]

Newest Member of Cultracha

<- Back to article

<- BACK TO MASTERLIST

Pairing: ot8 (skz) x fem!reader (9th member)

Genre: Fluff, Crack? Idol Au

Warnings: cult members, slight mention of religion, being in a van? idk?

Notes: Ok at first I was like let me wait until I post the full master list of everything...but I kinda feel bad that I'm not feeding y'all anything so here you go.... Basically Y/n is part of Cultracha w Hyunjin and Jeongin, this is the backstory of it. YAYYYY FIRST FIC PART OF THE Y/N MASTERLIST!!!

Summary: Stopping on a road trip to take a bathroom break becomes a little more memorable than you thought it would be.

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately face claims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count ~700 ;)

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The van hums along the scenic coastal road, and the atmosphere inside is electric with excitement. You're nestled between Felix and Changbin, enjoying the animated chatter and laughter of your fellow members.

Bang Chan, your designated driver, glances over his shoulder and grins, "Alright, who's ready for some awesome tunes?" He cranks up the music, and the van erupts with cheers and claps.

Seungmin, riding shotgun, adds with a mischievous grin, "As long as you don't play any of those old-school songs, Chan."

Chan rolls his eyes, pretending to be offended. "Hey, my playlist is diverse!"

A chorus of playful laughter fills the air, and you join in. Seungmin leans toward you, teasing, "Don't worry, Y/n, I'm sure he's got at least one song from this decade on there."

You giggle, feeling the friendly vibes flowing through the van. The snacks you packed are making the rounds, and there's an ongoing competition between Hyunjin and Jeongin to see who can finish their bag of chips first.

As you navigate through the twists and turns, the conversation shifts to jokes. Han clears his throat dramatically. "Alright, guys, get ready for the funniest joke you'll ever hear."

"Let's hear it," Minho urges, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Han smirks, "Why did the scarecrow win an award?"

The van falls into a brief silence before Jeongin's deadpan response, "Because he was outstanding in his field?"

Han bursts into laughter, clapping his hands. "Yes! You got it!"

The rest of you burst into laughter as well, teasing Han for his choice of joke. "Wow, Han, you're really raising the bar for comedy," Seungmin jokes, earning more laughter.

Felix chimes in with his Australian accent, "Alright, I've got one. Why don't scientists trust atoms?"

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in. "Why?"

"Because they make up everything!" Felix delivers the punchline with a grin, and the van erupts into laughter once again.

Hyunjin claps him on the shoulder. "Guys I might actually jump out of the van if I hear one more joke."

As the jokes and laughter continue, Bang Chan suggests a bathroom break. You spot a small convenience store and point it out. The van comes to a stop, and you all pile out, stretching your legs and enjoying the fresh air.

The restrooms are a bit off the beaten path, nestled between tall trees. The small store looks like something straight out of a movie. After using the restroom, you exit and notice two individuals standing near the entrance. You hear snippets of their conversation about spirituality as you pass by.

"Excuse me, miss," one of them begins, stepping toward you. "Have you ever considered the path to true enlightenment?"

Caught off guard, you stutter, "Well, I..."

Before you can finish, the other person joins in, their eyes intense. "Our journey has led us to discover profound answers. Are you on a journey of your own?"

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, you mumble, "I'm sorry, I have to go," and quicken your pace to the van.

Once inside, the memory of the encounter lingers, and your wide eyes don't go unnoticed by your members. As they return, laughter and smiles in tow, Hyunjin notices your demeanor.

"Hey, Y/n, everything okay?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You take a deep breath and share the bizarre encounter with the strangers. The van goes quiet as everyone absorbs the story, but soon enough, a burst of laughter fills the space.

Jeongin chuckles, "Cult members? Seriously?"

Minho grins, "Only you could attract that kind of attention, Y/n."

You let out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, tell me about it."

Changbin shakes his head with a smirk, "Well, you're back with us now, safe and sound."

Felix pats your shoulder, "Don't worry, Y/n, we won't let any cults recruit you."

As the van continues down the coastal road, you feel the warmth of your friends' comfort. Bang Chan offers a reassuring smile through the rearview mirror. "We've got your back, always."

Minho adds with a chuckle, "Yeah, and if they ever ask you to join, just tell them you're already part of the most exclusive cult – Stray Kids."

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Permanent tag list: @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @ot8skz-wifey @ren0325 @felixvsp

Click here to be added❤️

[zablife]

Hello, Lee! ❤️

Ok, John. No request but imagine/headcanon/something.

John climbing through the window to meet his girlfriend or s/o in the middle of the night? And the next day he returns to Small Heath with leaves on his clothes or perhaps a thorn in his hands, but it was certainly worth it 😂. Probably Arthur finds that very funny, and Tommy "not again" but if his brother is happy...

Flor, I took inspo from your lovely ask and included it here, but perhaps not quite the way you meant. I hope you still like it! In this one Y/n is healed from her wound and is ready for trouble which is good bc she finds it with John right before Tommy's wedding! This is prob the closest thing I will ever write to crack fic so enjoy this bit of utter nonsense!

Read previous parts here.

Plus One (Partners in Crime AU)

John Shelby x Y/n Solomons

“Who’s your man, Ada?” Polly asked, eager to know everyone attending Tommy’s upcoming wedding. “He’s not from one of your political meetings is he?”

“Tommy would hate that, wouldn’t he?” she asked with a smirk. “But no, he’s not. I’m bringing a man from the library.”

“John that only leaves you, love,” Polly noted. “Grace doesn’t want uneven numbers so you’ll have to find someone.”

“Why don’t you ask Y/n?” Ada asked, trying to be helpful.

John pulled a face at her remark before exclaiming, “Are you daft? I can’t ask her!”

“Why not? You’re always together,” Polly pointed out.

“We work together, Pol. Thought this was supposed to be a night off. Besides, she’s a pain in my arse,” John replied, twisting the toothpick in his mouth with great agitation.

“I think you fancy her! Are you afraid she’ll say no and break your heart?” Ada teased, shoving her elbow into his ribs playfully.

“Fuck off!” John said, stomping away. The family had noticed he was spending more time with you recently even when you weren’t on the job and he was tired of the insinuations that there was anything more than friendship between you.

As he took a stroll outside the Garrison, he made a mental list of everyone he could possibly ask, but the only girls he could think of were whores. A few of the girls had serviced Tommy after the war so that definitely wouldn’t do. After careful deliberation, he hated to admit that you were looking like the best option after all. He just didn't know how to ask you, knowing you'd hold this over him for months.

————————————

Despite his predicament, there was work to be done. Tonight your brothers wanted you to report back on the Russian royals living in Hampton Court Palace and their jewels, an interesting task considering the orgy of epic proportions going on in the parlor.

John stole a glance at you from his position at the door, gun in hand in case a partygoer or member of staff should wander in unannounced. “Three minutes,” he reminded you of the time you had left before the guards would check the rooms again.

“Four! Get a watch that fucking works!” you hissed in return.

John tapped at the glass above the ticking hands, then held the time piece to his ear as you continued to pry at the case holding the jewelry Alfie instructed you to find. There would be no robbery tonight, only reconnaissance so you knew you had time for a bit of fun. 

After taking a quick inventory of what was kept in the duchess’ bedroom, you took up one of the rings, admiring the biggest diamond you’d ever seen against your fingers in the dim light. “Look at this beauty,” you cooed at the gem.

“Stop playing dress up, Y/n! Do you want to get shot?” John warned you harshly as he moved away from his post.

“By the cossacks or you?” you asked cooly. Standing to your full height, you paced toward him so he could see the irritation in your eyes as you pushed his arm away from you carefully. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing! You know I don’t like it when you bring that one.”

“And what’s wrong with me Webley?” he asked, looking down at the gun.

“Jumps on the hammer, don’t it? Nearly shot your bollocks off last week,” you said at full volume.

“Stop talking so loud about my balls, alright?” Glancing down the hall, his eyes grew wide as he whispered, “Someone’s comin’” and began dragging you away from the door.  

You tried to shake him off reasoning. “I been practicing my Russian accent. We’ll be fine. Let me do the talking,” you said, attempting to jerk your arm from his grasp.

John whipped you around to face him arguing, “What are you going to say? You brought me up here for a shag?” Looking at you doubtfully, he added, “No one here is going to believe you’re Russian.”

“Yeah? Well, no one’s going to believe I’d fuck a bellend like you either! Not for all the money in—” but John cut you off, shoving you out an open window. He came barreling out after you with a grunt, rolling toward you into the flower bushes.

Just as he did, two men went rushing past, unaware of your presence on the well-manicured lawn. You didn’t understand what they were saying, but the sounds echoing inside of their rough curses and heavy boots were enough to make you grateful you hadn’t attempted your plan.

————————————

As you drove home John stole a glance at you, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “That’s two for me,” he commented.

“Two what?” you said, picking leaves from your hair.

“I’ve saved your life twice, alley cat. Three if you count the lie I’m going to have to tell to keep anyone from finding out you stole that ring tonight,” he chuckled, gesturing toward your left hand. 

You gasped as you realized that in the chaos of your escape, you absconded with the jewel you’d been admiring earlier. “Fucking hell!” you exclaimed, trying to wiggle it free. However, it wouldn’t budge and John watched you claw at your hand helplessly as he shook with laughter.

“That’ll teach you to impersonate a bloody duchess!” he roared.

In desperation to remove the ring, you began sucking on your finger to use your saliva as a lubricant, but John quickly pulled your hand away.

“Stop it! You don’t know where that thing’s been,” he said, disgustedly. “You wouldn’t believe the things Tommy’s told me about what they do with their gems.”

“Like what?” you asked in a distracted, far off voice, too busy watching your finger turn from red to purple as you squeezed at the metal band painfully.

John snickered as he replied, “Tatiana said that’s been inside her aunt’s dusty old cunt!”

“Get it off me!” you cried, thrusting your hand in his face and slapping at his shoulders as though the ring was burning your skin.

The car swerved as John batted you away, scolding you in his deep fatherly voice he reserved for his errant children. “Behave yourself, Y/n. I’m fucking driving!” 

You slumped back in your seat with a frown, feeling the gem snag your dress as you crossed your arms over your chest. Thinking of Alfie’s explicit instructions not to take anything from the house, you lit a cigarette and began to ponder a way to hide your accidental theft. 

It wasn’t long before John’s taunts drew you from your sulking. “So what’s Russian pussy taste like, Y/n?”

Exhaling smoke in his direction you retorted, “Probably the same as the cock you had to suck to get in the front door, you fuck wit. Now help me figure out what I’m going to do about this!” you cried.

“I’ll sort this for you,” John said confidently, eyes trained on the road once more. He knew Tommy would do anything to keep Grace happy, even concealing this massive fuck up from Alfie.

“Yeah, how?” you challenged him, exhausted and definitely not in the mood for his scheming.

“Let’s go see Tommy,” he announced.

“Now?” you shrieked. John just nodded. “Is he even awake?” 

“You’re asking the wrong questions, sweetheart,” John said with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes at him, letting your head drop back against the bench seat in frustration.

“So do you like weddings?” he asked nervously clutching at the steering wheel, though he had no reason to be. You’d have to say yes after a favor like this.

—————————————-

The light of the pre dawn hours had not yet breached the Shelby household when an ominous scratching noise woke Tommy and Polly. Giving up any hope he had of resting the day before his wedding, Tommy rose cautiously with his pistol in hand. Creeping toward the steps in the darkness, he held his breath as he heard the thud of a body tripping over the low windowsill. 

“On your fucking feet before I put a bullet in your head,” he warned in a low growl. He readied his weapon, fearing the worst before seeing a lighter flicker to life before him and John’s face appear in an orange halo of light.

“For fucks sake, it’s me Tommy!” he called out, brushing off his jacket which was still coated in dirt and grass, a few leaves sticking out from his back pockets.

Tommy came forward to light a lamp and took in the sight of his younger brother helping you through the window, a large diamond ring shining brightly on your left hand. He blinked several times at the sight, rubbing his eyes to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

“We need your help, brother,” John said cryptically.

Tommy stood still for a moment, running a hand down his face before exhaling a weary reply. “What have you two done now?”

--------------------------

Read next part Birthday Gift

[hauntedpearl]

pyromaniac dean au always on my damn mind bc i saw this post by @autisticandroids and my brain went hmmm what if Lisa and Ben were in the pyromaniac au. and like yes okay technically i thought we were doing like a s1 thing but also this is an au so who cares no rules.

anyway. what if in between John dying and Jess murder there was like this small period of time when dean did kind of stop setting people and things on fire, but like it didn't stick and also Lisa and Ben were involved probably possibly. like v close to canon parallel. i am still thinking about why he would stop the arson, even temporarily. but I think he should. I think cas should also have started stalking him at this point!!! this is p much fully reassembling the fic events but also MMM IT'S GETTING MORE FUN I THINK!

thinking out loud again. and like with Ben it was a) dean going insane about protecting ben from hunting to the point that he is john-like with him for the opposite reasons — normal parental overcorrection in people I think tbh w you. and b) he did inadvertently cause whatever harm befell those two and then he had to, like, functionally murder them and then he just kept going like that.

w my arsonist dean, it really is just all about control and trying to ground yourself in some version of reality when you're coming unmoored. he has an obsession with fire from a young age and sets controlled fires bc he's fucked up about fire and what not having control over it can do. he becomes a firefighter bc in his head that is also a way to control it. he starts committing crimes when his father dies bc that is a trauma that kind of sends him reeling ala empty spaces dean and like doing this thing where he's orchestrating the lives of these people is doing sth to him I think. he's projecting on everyone and he's saving himself but it's like never enough.

so the only reason he would have to stop arson would be if he was able to, like, exercise that control over his life in some way. a stable relationship dynamic is good, a ritual is good, a kind of mindless droning on of life where everything is exactly as he expects it to be is good, it's grounding. I think ultimately it doesn't work bc it's not good for the other people in the situation. like!!! obviously!!! also it's just not sustainable. it's impossible to truly control every aspect of your life and dean cannot handle the slightest bit of deviation from his Plan™. like so I think the break can be slow bc he starts freaking out over small things like someone not turning off a light or not locking a door or something like that. but it's all a v mild reaction all things considered and within the realm of acceptable. but also I think Lisa is On Edge bc she's not an idiot.

thinking about what would push dean over the edge when he's in this domestic farce of a situation. like I thought about maybe ben getting into his office or something — places, things, he's designated as Personal and like Don't Fucking Touch It. and it's like bc he's in such a precarious state of mind, he's like twigs and duct tape yk? so perhaps he blows up at the kid. and it's like literally nothing. it could just be a really cool looking zeppo or whatever that's on his desk and Ben takes it bc he just wants to show off to his friends or sneak out and smoke a cigarette like a normal 12 y/o. anyway he blows up at the kid and maybe Lisa is like nope. get out. that's it. line crossed.

or maybe he does have a come to Jesus moment almost immediately and they Talk About It as a family and he's like trying to make amends or whatever. either way. glass is cracked now.

idk how but I think it would be fun if there was another fire now in this house (lolololol IM SORRY i just think everything dean touches should be on fire bc of him I think the universe can affirm that to him over and over let him hurt everyone he loves and then go crazy like!!!) and like smoke inhalation CAN cause a coma!! (well like it's cyanide and/or CO poisoning technically but yk.) so maybe ben does go into a coma. maybe dean and lisa look at each other and Lisa like lowkey knows he's doing fucked up shit but she's also like I am not killing myself and my son over this get out like i don't wanna see you I don't wanna hear from you go get your head on straight somewhere and if you think you can handle being normal then maybe we can talk but no get out.

and dean leaves bc he also senses that she senses that sth is v wrong with him and about him, and he realises that he's really just gotta find some way to fix his fucking life and he tries to change so he tries to go find sam and then he kills Jess (still not sure if the fire is on purpose or an accident!) and becomes full crazy i think.

ps: just like as a random possible addition to this already convoluted au, cas being the one to somehow laterally be involved in causing the fire and also the rescue w lisa ben (for canon parallels also bc i just think he's so funny in this fic like why isnhe doing this??? no reason he's just a freak and he's obsessed.)

pps: honestly in the state that he is!!! jess' fire can fully not be his fault, but he still is around and Fails To Save Her and sam could just end up putting the pieces together for other stuff and he connects the right dots but like his main dot is not connected to all that!! but bc he's also obsessive and crazy he's like IM GONNA KILL YOUUU

anyway. ANYWAYY.

[dontbooatme]

DPXBNHA

Aizawa uses Erasure on Danny but he just splits in two, Fenton and Phantom, like in the Identity Crisis episode. Sorry, plot vomit again

Once they're split, Aizawa's quirk works normally on both of them, but Phantom doesn't have a second form to change into. So it doesn't effect his appearance/give away his identity. And he's more ghost-like post-split. He doesn't eat, sleep, breath. (No pulse, just justice)

Queue confusion cause now everyone thinks they're supposed to be two separate people.

They think Danny was being possessed by Phantom.

I kind of think it would be fun if their powerset was more connected than it was in the show. Like: Phantom's using intangibility, so Fenton can't. And goddamnit, Phantom, that's the only power Danny registered for a quirk. He can't use anything else in front of the teachers.

Fenton is taken into protective custody by Aizawa, and ultimately enrolled in UA's hero track

With only Intangibilty registered as his quirk.

Aizawa takes Fenton in pretty quickly after the split. Phantom is considered a villain. And the pros think Danny needs protection from him. But fresh from the split, he notices a lot of things wrong with the teenager in his care. His reactions to everything seem pretty strange. Some things he should react to, don't make him upset.

So there's still a personality split.

Phantom is considered a villain

(Unfortunately, Fenton got his love of astronomy, but he knows nothing about space. Phantom's the one with all the facts and could care less. Danny didn't know he could be this annoying. In UA, after Danny admits how much he loves space. Izuku tries to bond with him about it. It doesn't go well. He thought he'd just bring it up and let Danny rant at him like he wishes people would let him do. But Izuku ends up info dumping more. Some of the facts he dumps about end up being inaccurate, cause he's a hero nerd, not a space nerd. But Danny can't explain it right to correct him. He just knows it's wrong.)

The personality split should be a little more subtle in this au than in the show. So, kinda crack taken seriously, I guess. When bnha characters finally meet both halves, it's like there's a sense of deja vu. The two are similar, but different at the same time.

Like Danny's need to protect, for example. Phantom's still the more heroic between the two of them. But both halves feel a sense of duty and responsibility.

Fenton is the one who embodies Danny's self-preservation. He gets separated from Phantom, and makes every decision he can to keep them both safe and not arrested until they can fix the disconnect caused by Aizawa's quirk.

Phantom on the other hand, has no sense (of self-preservation.) He throws himself into vigilantism without a care to the consequences he could face. And this leaves Fenton scrambling to pull some string somewhere in the background that'll get Phantom away from the heroes, or keep the heroes distracted until he can trap Phantom in the thermos.

Fenton doesn't feel the same duty to protect other people that he did before. Meaning he will pull some reckless stunts to lure heroes away, or to lure Phantom somewhere so he can trap him. And actually fix this.

So Phantom's assumed to be the villain, but Fenton is the morally ambiguous one between the two of them.

Fenton protects himself (and by extension, Phantom) while Phantom protects everyone, except himself (including Fenton. Fenton is the one person Phantom won't go out of his way to protect. He's the loophole in Phantom's obsession. Which doesn't help the misconception that he's a villain who's targeting Fenton)

Aizawa is proud of Fenton's self-preservation skills. The student who's most likely to survive and potentially retire from hero work. Or at least, that's the starting point of his view of Daniel James Fenton. He gets around to the idea that Fenton, like some students he could mention, might be pursuing hero work for the wrong reasons.

No one in UA knew what to make of the new exchange student.

On the surface level, he seemed like a perfectly average, normal kid with a lucky quirk. Bakugou fumed when he heard the new guy had a quirk that mimicked one of UA's Big 3. Intangibility.

Danny's skills with it weren't as finely polished as Mirio's...

But at the same time, Danny's intangibility didn't have the same drawbacks as Mirio's did. Whether or not that was a good thing was still up in the air. Mirio did find ways to turn his weaknesses into strengths in his time at UA. And he would make a first-class hero when he graduated.

Maybe it wasn't completely fair. But most people couldn't help but think this kid would show up and show out in ways that were just as impressive.

No one knew exactly what kind of trouble the new kid was in. But the idea that he was in some kind of trouble was obvious in how closely he was watched by the teachers.

Izuku, fresh out of the Hosu Incident, just wants to help the transfer student being hunted down by a villain. He knows he's not supposed to get involved. He's not even supposed to know how seriously this guy was in trouble. But how is he supposed to just stand aside? The guy absolutely refuses to so much as acknowledge he's being targeted. And he refuses to follow any of the safety measures their teachers put in place. He sneaks away constantly. Izuku doesn't think he's spent so much as one full night in his dorm room.

He has a sick feeling in his stomach that Fenton's rejecting any help from heroes to solve his problem alone. As a vigilante.

Just like Iida.

Fenton and Phantom still merge back into one person at the end, but before they do, Phantom will be tempted when the League shows up. Particularly when the offer to make Phantom a body, his own body (a Nomu, unbeknownst to him) is set in front of him.

This is especially tempting considering how reckless Fenton is with other people. Phantom starts getting the idea that Fenton is his dark side, and he's a better hero when they're separated. (This would contrast Aizawa, who's goal is to raise up good heroes with good self-preservation instincts. So self-preservation being a necessary skillset for young heroes would be a big theme here)

(Though, I'm kinda split on the idea of them merging back together, or saying they grow into their own people and Aizawa adopts twins. On the other hand, I like the idea of using the Phantom/Fenton split as a device to explore Danny's character, aka trauma boy. Danny has a whole host of self-esteem issues. And post-split that presents as a deep dislike of his counterpart. On both sides of the split. So, kind of a journey of self-love/learning to love the parts of himself he hates kind of thing)

Maybe Fenton even gets a little bit involved with the GIW in this au. So, they'd exist in bnha. Whether they followed Danny there or ghosts do actually exist in bnha, I'm not sure yet.

He doesn't join them. But in the same way that Phantom doesn't join the League. Danny doesn't set off the GIW's sensors unless he uses their powers. And after failing to catch Phantom for so long, he gets the idea that he needs better ghost hunting equipment.

So, his actions kind of mirror Phantom's in a way.

Phantom wants his own body to make his separation from Fenton permanent. And he's tempted with help from the League. Danny's primary goal is to find Phantom so they can merge back into one person. And he needs access to equipment the GIW has.

So I guess that would make this another "stranded in the bnha verse" kind of au. Starting to feel a little one track minded about that 😬 oops.

I like the drama of Phantom pursuing his humanity in any way but merging with his human half again. While Fenton just wants to go back to being one person.

There would probably be a scene where Danny uses cryonkineses against Endeavor in a way that leaves the man hospitalized. It's the first time Fenton does something to protect someone else. And he does it because he knows Todoroki, and knows all the trauma Todoroki has because of his father.

Phantom's never met Todoroki though. All he sees is Fenton going overboard against a pro-hero. And this would probably be the scene that cements Fenton as Phantom's darkside, in Phantom's mind. And out Fenton as someone with multiple quirks, to Aizawa and class 1-A.

If we go with the idea that Fenton and Phantom remain separated in the end, that would probably also mark the point where they start growing apart/into distinct individuals.

[kitschysandglass]

Justice Lords AU Jon/Damian Drabble

Lord! Jon / The Demon’s Head! Damian

Prompt: Faked Relationships + Arranged Marriage

So a friend give me this prompt and urged me to write this. Started as a drabble then some how ends in a short fic. 

Might post the whole thing on AO3 once finished. It’s a pure fluff crack fic. If I can write romance comedy in Superlords AU I can do anything.

+Based on JLU animation setting. I refuse to acknowledge the comic sequel in JL beyond

Enjoy!

 +++

 “I need you to marry me.”

By this, the Kryptonian nearly toppled and fell from where he was floating in midair, if that was something could be done.

“What?!” he squeaked, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Well, not marry me, to be exact,” the Demon’s Head waved a hand in a very much dismissive way, as if they were just talking about weather, “An engagement, more like it.”

Gawking, the young lord Jon-El, son of the supreme Lord Superman, watched his best friend, former mentor and the current leader of League of Assassins, Damian al Ghul, with sheer amount of disbelief.

He had known there was something in Damian’s mind the second he dropped by in the courtyard of Narda Parbat base, as his friend had not even complained when being pulled into a suffocatingly tight embrace, rather been eyeing him with a wistful silence - which was why Jon had offered a short flight, and ended it by stopping at their favorite spot on the mountainside, for a sparring session or whatever Damian felt like.

He had not expect that ‘something’ to be this, however.

“Where did that even come from?” Jon furrowed incredulously, hovering closer to the older male.

Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line, the corners of his mouth slightly tilted down in dismay. Jon noticed that he was putting on his I-have-a-favor-to-ask-but-I’m-the-Demon’s-Head-so-I-only-order-people-around face.“Mother has been pestering me with the topic of marriage and suitable consorts, again, lately.”

Jon blinked. Sometimes he really couldn’t understand what was with Talia’s temporary obsession about her son’s non-exist marital status, considering herself had never married, at least not formally, but - “Oh, okay, it’s not something hard to solve though. I can just —”

“You’re not going to kill another daughter or son of some significant political figure just because I said ‘they annoyed me so’, or lobotomize them,” Damian cut off curtly, voice cold and harsh, “Mother was quite upset the last time you’ve done this. We’ve spent months to neutralize the consequences, and I don’t think your father appreciated it very much either.”

“Dad doesn’t appreciate a lot of things.”

Damian sighed, ignoring his quip. “And you’re not going to kill mother,” he paused, before adding another warning, “As well as your father. We’ve been over this before.”

Jon deflated, then pouted like spoiled child. “Fine. It’s not like I hate aunt Tal, you know, just the option’s open at anytime.”

“Yes, Jon, I have no doubts that you’d do anything for me,” said Damian dryly, arm crossed, with barely a nick of sarcasm, “Which is why pretending to be my betrothal should at least be one of them.”

It was true, and they both knew it by hearts. The young Kryptonian would do literally everything and anything in his power, or die tried beyond his power to fulfill what Damian al Ghul had wished for; whether it was a country, the world, or stars and moon – he would bring them all down and offered before the Demon’s Head’s throne, with simply a word rolling off the other man’s tongue.

But it did not mean he would waste a chance to haggle.

“Um, yep. I just can’t figure out how and when did I come into the scheme.”

Damian’s shoulder tensed, yet eased down within seconds once more, and begrudgingly he started, “Well, in hope of ending this kind of conversations once and for all, I’ve may or may not told mother that I’m already betrothed to someone on my own behalf.”

Dead silence suddenly hanged down between the two of them, until Jon spoke softly, in the end.

“Dami, it hurt me to say this, but sometimes you’re really stupid,” he said in the most earnest and genuine voice.

The Demon’s Head resumed talking without a comment, only tapped one finger on the hilt of the Kryptonite dagger, sheathed at the side of his belt, displaying a clear attitude. “And I would like to make sure we’re both aware of the... detailed information about this relationship, since we’ll finally inform mother our engagement at dinner tonight, and she might have the curiosity for further inquiries.”

“Right. Sure, even though I still haven’t agreed on a single part here, but go on.” Jon chirped in a deliberately sickening sweet tone.

This earned him a threatening glare, which Jon blew out a raspberry in return, then floated even higher. Damian could not actually be angry with him when nothing had happened, moreover, when he was the one who had a favor to ask. True to the belief, his sole response was a familiar tutting sound, and the emerald eyes moved away to gaze at the mountains afar. After another minute of peaceful quietness, Damian eventually spoke and dropping the bombshell. “For your reference, we’ve been secretly engaged for several years by now.”

“Whoa, we have?”

Without batting an eye, Damian continued in an uncannily even and nonchalant tone. “To be more specific, we had confessed and exchanged our vows when you were nineteen. The year you paid a visit when I was in Europe, and we spent the summer together.”

“Oh Rao I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Jon muttered under his breath. Just then he stilled, eyes widened, head perked up, and a dawning realization struck like a lighting, “Wait, is that one time you almost fell off from the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes, that one time you almost dropped me off from the Eiffel Tower,” Damian spat, “But also no, it should be later, in Greece.”

“Parthenon?”

“Parthenon.”

“Was it before or after the accident that we nearly set it on fire? You know, together, by mistake, and somehow my fault was not in the larger proportion there.”

At last, the unwavering mask of indifference was cracked by the recollection of that particular incident. Damian winced. He opened his mouth while in search of a comeback, or any evidence for correction in details. There was none, and the only option he left was grunting like an ill-tempered cat.

“After that, possibly,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Must be quite romantic then, I can imagine,” said the young lord in a sing-song voice, beaming with satisfaction.

Damian huffed with a sneer inside. “Indeed, everything seems extremely romantic after being at each other’s throat in a literal manner for the past thirty minutes.”

“I didn’t start that. I was just messing around with you.”

“If by ‘messing around’ you mean as ‘practicing homicide’.”

“Well it’s not me who thought it was a great idea to—” he feigned a surprised yelp when being suddenly dragged down by his cape. Did Jon see that coming? Of course. Could he dodge it? No problem. He could even stay still like a solid concrete and start a tug-of-war in air, but then Damian’s embarrassment might turn into true enragement. Thus he chose to offer the cheekiest smile to those blazing green eyes, now on horizontal level with and an inch too close, “’right, sorry, please do continue.”

Those eyes scrutinized his face for a while longer, before Damian’s own expression softened. He loosened the grip, yet refrained from completely let go of the silky white fabric, still holding it gently between his fingers. Following the subtle cue, Jon set feet to the ground and straightened up a little, as though being anchored by the hand that pulled him down.

“That makes the anniversary of our engagement on the 23rd of July,” and so Damian returned to the previous topic while thoroughly disregarding the small interlude, “Which is why we generally spent summer together since then.”

“Is it? Wait, we’re not actually engaged in the past few years, right? Are we?” Damian just stared at him, unimpressed by the display of idiocy.

“I assure you, we aren’t,” he then released the cape, “However, half a truth often makes up a great lie, and it works perfectly in this case.”

“And I thought we pretty much spent every summer together.”

“We didn’t. Not since you went back with your father when you were twelve,” Jon grimaced at that reminder, “Truthfully, I never know what’s your excuse whenever you disappeared for at least a whole month.”

The Kryptonian snorted.

“Dad doesn’t really care about what I’m doing as long as I’m not wrecking havoc to worsen his migranine. That is, since the whole Elite incident years ago,” he then paused for a few hesitant seconds. Jon-El slightly tilted head to met with the other’s eyes, as he was levitating on tip-toes in subconscious once again, “I have no quarrel with pretending to be your ‘betrothal’ or whatever, D, though clearly it’s one of your dumbest idea. But hey! Sounds fun! And the story totally sells, on some levels. Just you know nothing’s gonna be merely ‘fake boyfriend’ trope when it comes to our families, right?”

“Might as well,” Damian hummed, and he dared to start the explanation shamelessly under his friend’s now confused gaze, “It’s obvious that the Justice Lords are reconsidering their current partnership with the League and Leviathan. I doubt mother is too happy about some ‘trivial disagreements’ in recent as well, and I don’t always see eye to eye with people on either side.”

Jon stared at him. Damian stared back. The pregnant silence stretched longer this time, until Jon gasped loudly, eyes wide with disbelief. He dashed so high up into the air before dived down again in an instant.

Damian cursed in Arabic while busily trying to dust off the snow now covering his hair and robe, caused by the rapid gush of wind. Jon paid him no mind.

“Wow. Okay. Hold on. I can’t believe you’ve just talked me into a political marriage,” he half-shrieked, half-spluttered into the other’s ears, “Is this actually your mom’s idea? Am I in the ‘suitable consorts’ list?! Didn’t aunt Tal remark on how I’m never going to be a ‘passable husband material’ last month when I told that story about Beacon?”

“I’m pretty sure she still holds the same opinion,” Damian grumbled with a wince on his face. He pushed him away for a little, in sake of the eardrums, “Look, it’s not like the wedding will happen anytime soon. We’re just going to make the contract part official.”

“Ugh,” Jon pulled a face, “Why? Why’re you doing this to me? You know how much I hate those political stuff and formal occasions, and I hate to start anything that’s closer to a serious conversation with dad or the other lords. Why? Did I do something wrong? Are you still mad about that research station I had accidentally blown off? Or is it because I refused to help you sneak into the Fortress last time? You know you’ve already been there plenty of times!”

A muscle jumped on the Demon’s jaw when a certain event was mentioned, yet the only reaction he let out in the end was a sigh. “I’m still mad about that research station you had accidentally blown off, but that’s not the reason.”

“And it’s not mother’s idea, either. To be honest, I don’t think she’ll be rejoiced to hear this arrangement. Doubtlessly she has other plans in mind,” reluctant as he was, seeing Jon was still watching him skeptically, Damian could only supplied with another confession, “If that makes you feel better, I didn’t consider much when the ‘secretly bethrothed’ thing blurted out. I’m merely turning an impulsive mistake into a tactical strategy.”

“And you think your mom’s gonna agree with this? Since now it’s clear that I’m not an optional son-in-law in her ‘mother’s choice’ edition.”

“That is, exactly the cause behind our romantic backstory. I know this sounds unreal, but given the past record of herself, mother actually has a soft spot when it comes to the heart’s cause,” for a second, Damian looked like he wanted to avert his gaze to elsewhere and took aback everything had happened. He continued nonetheless, “I have to admit, considering the talk of marriage will eventually come up sooner or later, it’s much better to know that we’re in this together.”

The young lord did not respond. He remained completely still, the tip of his shoes left shallow grazes on the snow since he was hovering a few inches apart from the ground. The only sound he made was the sound of the pale white cape billowing in wind.

Jon-El snapped out from whatever outer body experience he was going through when Damian gently laid a hand on to his shoulder. He looked down at the hand, then back to Damian’s face, back upon at the hand on his shoulder again, and abruptly retreated a huge step back. The sky blue eyes flared a tint of red for a fleeting moment, as he sent Damian a menacing look right before he took lift with a sonic boom. It was a “just-watch-me-leave-you-here-and-try-to find-a-way-down-on-your-own” look, which the al Ghul was entirely capable of, since he was nine. However, Damian knew better than wasting energy unnessarily on a self-solved problem.

He yawned, counting seconds in mind while watching the shadowcasts of cloud flowing through the rugged silhouette of the mountains.

It took around two minutes and fourty-seven seconds for that monotone and crimson blur to reappear in the edge of his sight. Jon soared back and landed in front of him, raven black hair in a wind-blown state, with a light frown on his face, and the rest was unreadable. He puffed, finally, shoulder slumped in compromise.

“Alright. Fine. But you better give me a very nice ring.”

“That can be arranged.” Damian smiled smugly, which replied by another eye-rolling.

“Dad’s gonna be so pissed, and aunt Kara too. Kon’ll probably find this overly hilarious,” Jon murmured. Unsurprisingly, that grumpy pout gradually dissipated through the muttering, instead a wicked grin starting to spread on his face, “Oh such delight, I can’t wait for this month’s family dinner. If I’m going to suffer, I’d better turn this into everyone else’s problem.”

“You’re a menace.” Damian scoffed, yet the fondness overweighted mockery in it.

Without a warning, Jon lunged forward, two steel-strong arms choked the other in a too tight hug. Damian’s hands almost instinctly flied to the hilt of the sword, only Jon had slackened the clutch too quick. He twirled his position to spoon Damian from behind, still floating aloft, and rest his chin on the center of the hair whorl. Damian growled, but did not try any effort to push him off.

“Still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Jon complained aloud, “You owed me an Apokolips-scaled favor now, which means you’re forbid to get mad at me from now on.”

“I think that’s still in need for further negotiation,” Damian commented in a deadpan tone.

“Have you already prepared a prenuptial agreement?”

“Hmm.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Jon pinched his friend and soon-to-be betrothal on cheek (without really using any strength, of course). Damian grunted and let it be, but caught his wrist at the second attempt.

“I’m afraid your halcyon days are over, Lord Jon-El. Welcome to my life and put responsibility into your dictionary,” mocked by the Demon’s Head.

To this, Jon sighed exasperately and tightened his hold before Damian’s chest, then nuzzled even closer. Both of them were well past the point to be bothered by this cold, but warmth was always welcomed.

“Hate you,” said Jon, voice a little too cheerul.

“Hate you more,” replied Damian, a barely contained laugh in tone.

-END/TBC-

Other background settings on this AU:

So Superman and Lois are still Jon’s biological parents in this setting, but only on genetic level. Lord! Superman had tried everything in hope to make Lois stay with him back then, so he used Kryptonian technology to create a child from his lab, using his and modified Lois’ gene (probably from blood samples or sth.) and take the baby to meet Lois.

My impression to Lois is that she would likely to wait for a chanse to strike back rather than commit suicide when there’s no way out. She then took care of Jon in those imprisoned years, until Jon fell gravely ill due to his unstable DNA and Lord Superman took him to somewhere else for treatment, and Lois had finally escaped in that period of time.

After Lois’ escapement, among other situations, Kal-El was busy with his work and didn’t have the will to raise the child, therefore send him to LoA through Lord Batman’s introduction. Jon was 5-6 yro back then, he and Damian were still 3 yrs apart in this AU.

Talia had informed Batman about their child a lot ealier in this setting, and Damian was basically always raised in the League. Jon went back with his father reluctantly when he was 12. Their relationship was strange and distant rather than tensed. Kal-El sort of viewed this child as the final reminiscence of Lois, while Jon just, honestly didn’t care(...) On the other hand, although Lord Superman might have not too many moral compass, he valued his rules, but Jon’s just pure chaotic, didn’t really care abt anything whatsoever unless it involved Damian.

Lois was now in an anti-Lords organisation. Jon called her Ms. Lane and paid visit to chat occassionally, and constantly mocking his father’s pathetic love life.

Ra’s died or couldn’t use pit to regenerate anymore at somepoint, then Damian became the Demon’s Head.

[leechanpremacy]

People You Know

After the death of his wife, he starts a whole new life in a whole new city with his three year old twins only to meet someone from his past. What a way to start something new, right?

pairings: psychiatrist!jeonghan, parent!jeonghan x doctor!reader petowner!reader fem!reader

tags: fluff, crack, slow burn, exes to lovers, romance, angst (if you think into it really deeply)

word count: 0.7k

notes: i’ve been dreading to write jeonghan as a parent of twins, now having the motivation and inspiration to write the plot, IM ON CLOUD NINE!!! lmao i’m also planning on posting this as an au on twitter if time, and motivation persists as my alter ego’s such a lazy ass bitch that takes at least half a month to find motivation to do updates on on-going twitter series’ THIS might also be turned in to a series (fuck, my mingyu series long forgotten 💀)

prologue | masterlist | one

Setting down the last batch of boxes, Jeonghan huffs a sigh of relief before watching his twins run around their new home. After three years, he finally had the guts to leave behind his work and old town that was filled with memories of her. His deceased wife. If it weren't for the twins, he wouldn't know how he'd survive those years. He loved her enough to grieve such a long time.

“Alright, who wants McDonald's?” He enthusiastically asked, erupting a squeal as they run towards their dad to cling on his legs, looking at him with their cheeky smiles.

Letting his children indulge in their food keeping them occupied with his phone playing some cartoons, he took the time to scroll through his tablet to see any emails from his patients and from the hospital that he recently applied with.

Clicking on one recent email, he checked to see if it was regarding of when he can start opening his clinic. “Fourth of October huh?” Smiling disappointedly before moving his eyes to his giggling daughter who had left her food unfinished. “Sweetie, no leftovers,” He softly says, “Dada!” Feeding her a couple of times, cooing her as she kept calling him every time he nears the food to her mouth.

“Dada?” His son then called, causing him hum and raise both his brows, before moving his gaze to his son, “Dada,” Reaching to his dad as he gestured grabbing hands, wanting to be lift by him.

Looks like cartoons aren't helping anymore. Immediately carrying his son to settle on his lap, he continued to feed his daughter who was fortunately two mouthfuls away from finishing.

You were having an afternoon walk with your dog after finishing a 12 hours shift. You were far from sleepy, reason to why you have opted to walk, just to tire yourself up.

“Am I that un-active?” Flabbergasted at how tired you are considering you just walked two blocks away from your home. You hear your dog barking for your attention, “No, I think I've had enough Manju, no more walks.” You tirelessly say to your dog, as if they could understand you. Seeing a nearby bench, you opted to sit and take a rest before going home.

“Should we just take the bus home?” You cooed your dog, letting out a bark as response. Giving your dog a pat on the head, you leaned back on the bench, letting your dog wonder off to the grass beside the bench.

You had your eyes closed when you heard giggles nearing you. Considering that your dog sometimes act out, you were afraid that the giggles you heard were children that may or may not be fond of dogs.

Jolting up from your seat, you watched to toddlers running towards your dog that had its back on them, with worried eyes, “Please don't touch her,” You said, softly enough not to scare the kids.

They seem too young to understand such words, but they halted and turned their heads to you. Wearing cheeky grins, now running to you instead of the dog.

Flustered at how they caged themselves in between your knees, as if using it shield against your dog, you brushed one of the two's head, “Who are you guys with?” Smiling at them warmly catching their attention that was on the dog earlier.

You watch her tilt her head cutely, making break in to a chuckle. Resting your hands on her head, you looked up trying to search for people who were looking frantic.

A bark erupted from you side, making you whip your head to your dog who was wagging her tail as it approached you. “Manju,” You warningly said, but the dog took no mind and continued to near you, causing you to pick both of the children up, settling them on the bench. Switching positions with the two children, you held your dog in your hands, weighing it's temperament.

“Do you want to touch?” You asked as you safely hold your dog's snout.

“Yuna! Yejun!” A frantic yell was heard behind, you were about to turn and apologize, not wanting to stir a misunderstanding but he beat you to it, “Thank God you found them, apologies. I hope they didn't bother you too much.” You could hear his quiet pants, probably from running around. “It's okay—” Finally taking notice of the man in front of you.

Shock filling you both as you locked eyes with him. A man from your grueling past that was bearable a long as you're with him. A man you loved so dearly. A man named Yoon Jeonghan.

[madfantasy]

Dear blogging

Wish you peace, always. Considering all, it been extra rough. My guardians were sick, and my fragile of a stability was about to break— but it okay now, and the pendulum of consciousness returned swaying in my head.

Somehow in the middle of everything, I was starting to feel okay and accept that this is the best it can get for this non verbal Mani. I honestly I stopped living as if there was tomorrow maybe the majority of 2023, zero drive or hopefulness, and lately started to accept that there's no denying that I'm not made to survive this life, and dropped all pretence that I'm able, set a 5 years counter. Because if mere looking at people's faces distress me so much that I blank out &/or go mute, since childhood, no amount of me forcing myself to watch videos/ pictures over and over can fix that. That's simply how I'm made and I know that now, and in a way it's bringing me peace.

Because I thought I'm bratting when I wore my headphones to cancel out noise that were literally going to drive me insane, or when I couldn't respond to messages knowing that I can articulate deeply in writing but ignoring all the endless times when I simply couldn't, and have forced myself to eat many things that set me days in nausea and abdominal pain while I only enjoy liquids more and get high off of fruits, I love them so much half my OCs are named after some.. and drew.. drew even before I spoke because it was my only outlit to express because how much I'm told I'm like a robot, I'm so expressionless and non reactive and disgustingly literal, even when they actively beat me black Nd blue to stop drawing, I couldn't.. where do you free those emotions when U can, i needed emotion displays and heartfelt trimmers, thrilling or killing, I needed to do them as if my life depended on it, and I haven't realised it back then, but my life was dependent on them, even when I had 'no talent ' , as I have always been told.

(commissioned by precious Julia ♥️🖤)

And besides drawing my needs, I actually, physically, started to feel better when I didn't do what my body said it literally can't do, all my life:

-Walked away from my guardians arguments, my chest stabbing pains became less frequent.

Stopped "practicing" my voice &/or facial expressions, I talk for 2 minutes, immediately my whole face muscles hurt, voice is cracking and gone, I don't feel like my eyebrows hurt as much. I'm okay being the monotone no expresso train c:

-stopped eating what I "don't like" (I mean it's not like I have much choice, but stopped feeling guilty over refusing it cuz food be tight) Nd now I can actually drink more water, and my tummy aches are on lower levels now

-i stopped dealing with Discord, or group chats in general cuz I don't expect accommodation over things I can't deal with. Stopped stressing over doing engaging material that no body seems to care about, cuz I'm not a good judge of demand, or stressing over either I should be thanking everyone who spams me with likes or not, (while I appreciate it to the moon) 90% of the time they don't respond Nd Im forced to think like I've done something wrong. I'm now at more ease with posting — (literally I have to fight the urges to delete my socials daily) just with interacting with who addresses me (I lov U guys sm) and I've been more relaxed from it.

I returned to "speaking in riddles" cuz if I don't use the words my brain spews no matter how weird they R, a tire will pop somewhere on the other side of an AU- idk lo'

-i rock, hum and laugh OUT my maniacal laugh, hard and strong, continued loving and talking to my plushies as I used to do, the easiest thing I could do to feel calmer again. As everyone should do

.. I stopped saying the word sorry. It's a naughty Mani era.

Accepting these facts and many, even with having no will to live had me saner than I ever been, at least I hope so.

I just know that I have a few to be grateful of: that I'm still here somehow, even with my dwindling income, Nd my internet not worth costing 120$± I'm always grateful for the sudden one or two commissions that keeps me here and buys me coffee and pumpkins seeds..

I still struggle horrindously with sleep. But I'm grateful at least I'm at pure ease playing games. Games been my go to media for knowing basically all based on books they were made about, like Severus and Tintin, I still play their ps1 games! Tho I got stuck on this game & their sleep has given me so much ease lo

I'm at my happy place rn, heh.

Bonus panel: ye they R hungry for that SHI- lo 🙈

And an honorary appearance of my OC with Tintin hehe

Stay safe, don't feed the overconsumption machine, don't give up on your heartstrings's stringers, don't worry— there are people who think and feel like you always between the crowds, and I'm thankful that I share the same timeline with you♥️🖤

Sweet dreams 🌃 19.2.2024