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#but hozier has always been my guy!!

meshlasolus · 13 days

Text

Too Sweet

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: hey guys so i may or may not take a writing break (i know i said i was gonna write more but like) the stress of all the nazi shits that keep plaguing my comment sections on every post i make, regardless if it’s political or not is making me wanna tear my head off… so I might just go away a while.

Warnings: fluff, awkward mentions of past relationships, dbf!joel, smut, piv (unprotected), so much teasing. It’s actually pretty cute guys.

Is anyone at all surprised by the song choice? Hozier has us all in a headlock rn… also this is dedicated to my favorite joel writer @macfrog bc she’s just amazing and you should read her work.

MASTERLIST

“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.” Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice.

“Dates are a bad idea,” you reminded him, handing over another nail from the box in your hands.

A last minute kitchen Island was added to the kitchen’s floor plan on the current house the team had been working on, so now it was up to yourself and Joel to make that happen. Well, it was up to Joel to make that happen, and it was up to you to stand by and watch him.

“I know, s’just,” he shook his head, hammering the nail down and holding his hand up for another. “I don’t get the whole thing these days where relationships are built on hookups.”

Your lips turned up in a smile. He was an old fashioned guy, with old fashioned ideals about love and dating and relationships. It was sweet, albeit a little obnoxious. You rather liked hooking up with him, however little it may be.

“Where would we even go?” you saw how on the first hit, the nail went crooked, so you handed him another before he even reached.

“I don’t know, hadn’t thought that far.”

You had to laugh at that.

“You wanna take me on a date but you don’t know where we would go?”

“Well,” he finished the last nail then stood up next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “This ain’t exactly an easy situation, we got your old man to avoid.”

Very reasonable, but sort of an obvious point by now. This entire thing started based on the fact that: you know each other because of your father, as in, they are each other’s closest friend. Pair that with one man hooking up with the other’s daughter, it becomes a disaster waiting to happen… except for he doesn’t see it that way, and neither do you.

You sighed, looking around to make sure everyone was still outside with the boss. Joel had just wiped his forehead on his arm to rid himself of the sweat, and you could see the tension in his muscles from the work he just finished. You stepped up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to peck his lips once.

“If you can find a place where we won't get caught, then I’d love to go on a date with you.”

He smiled, kissing you again. He had wanted to tell you he was too sweaty for hugs right now, but as soon as you wrapped yourself around him, those thoughts suddenly left his mind. You just fit so well against him, he wonders how he never realized.

He was even older than you thought. Not actually, but this man had decided on a date location, and as you were pulling in, the things packed into the backseat started to make sense.

“Drive In movies?” You shouldn’t be surprised, the guy is practically a fossil, he even texts like he's still got a flip phone.

“Your dad’s never taken you here?” He chuckled, pulling into the line at the front.

“No,” you laughed, leaning back in your seat as the cars ahead moved up.

“Good, then we won’t run into him.”

You reached and grabbed his hand over the center console. He always gave two little squeezes before readjusting his grip, rubbing his thumb on the center of your palm. It was sweet, comforting.

He rolled down his window and paid the attendant in the booth, just a kid, probably still in high-school… but he certainly had an attitude on him, given the nasty glare he served Joel after making eye-contact with you. Joel had never let go of your hand, the kid knew he wasn’t your dad.

“What’d you tell him, anyway?” He asked, driving off towards the lot on the opposite side of the land. The big screen was not even rolling the trailers yet.

“Hm?”

“Your dad,” he seemed almost shy about mentioning your dad in front of you, in this context. How did you lie to him this time? But he knew what he was doing, what he’d been doing and still plans on doing.

“Told ‘im I was gonna go shopping with a friend, that I may or may not sleep over.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, never taking his eyes off the road. He pulled into a spot in the very back corner, where it was likely to remain empty the entire duration of the movie.

“Oh did you, now?”

You turned a light shade of pink at admitting to him you wanted to sleep over… not like it was a new occurrence, but you hadn’t really asked him yet.

“I didn’t tell him for sure, I know Sarah-”

“Sarah’s with Tommy at a concert in Dallas,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt and turning off the engine. “Text your dad, let him know that friend of yours is keepin’ you till tomorrow.”

He got out of the truck, walking around the front to open your door, holding his hand out to help you down. Ever the gentleman.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, walking around the backseat door and helping him unload the piles of blankets he’d managed to stuff in. The man practically emptied the top shelf of his linen closet for this.

“Anything for you, M’lady.”

He ended up taking almost everything into his arms, letting you carry one pillow and a single blanket towards the back of the truck. Normally it was all dusty and gross, proof of the work it helped him do. You wouldn’t even have noticed, because you don’t often pay attention to the state of other people’s truck beds, but he had cleaned the whole thing out, making it look as if he’d just brought it home from the dealership… minus the odds and ends of dents from his toolbox and timber.

“What’s playin’?” You nodded up to the screen as he took the pillows and blankets, tossing them across the truck bed to make a cozy little area for the two of you.

“It’s uh…” he reached into his pocket, checking the nightly double stubs. “Jaws and E.T., it’s a Spielberg double feature.”

You don’t remember telling him that Spielberg was your favorite director, but maybe he was just already at that place where he could read your mind… or maybe it was just a coincidence and he thought that the throwback double feature at the drive in would be fun. Either way, he hit the nail right on the head.

“Sounds good to me.”

When everything was settled just the way he wanted, he turned to you, his hand out towards the blankets. “After you, darlin.”

You tried to step up on the tailgate, but your foot slipped for how high it was.

“Want me to give you a toss?” He joked, but you rolled your eyes at him. You would not be acquiring his help after that joke.

“I’ll be just fine, thank you.”

It may have been embarrassing, but like hell you were gonna give into him, his chuckles of amusement under his breath as you slowly and steadily climbed up by yourself. It was much harder to grab onto the dip in the bed when there were so many blankets spread out. Eventually you made it up, collapsing onto your back into the mound of bedding.

“First try,” you raised a fist in the air, looking back to him to see his amusement had not ended and he was smiling wide where he stood, arms crossed and brows raised when your eyes met. “You comin’?”

And as easily as he could walk, he used the ridge along the underside of the tailgate to climb up over on the side, sitting down next to you and giving you a light hearted side eye. “See how easy that was?”

“Oh yeah, sure. You must be so proud, you’re a pro at climbing into your own truck.”

He laughed, laying back beside you. “Baby, I think anyone looks like a pro compared to you.”

“Maybe I’m just more athletically inclined, wanted to take the long way,” you chided, sitting up onto your elbows and looking over at him. The trailers had started running, and the light was hitting his features so nicely. He looked so nice. You could argue that he always did. At work when he was a sweaty mess, he looked real good then, too.

“I’m sure that’s it.”

He settled against the pillows, nodding his head upwards for you to join him. He brought you near with open arms, one that settled under your shoulder and the other that settled on your waist. You’d tucked your head under his chin, feeling him rest his head on top of yours.

You both had fucked around, sure… but this was a little slice of heaven right here. No amount of sneaking around or giving each other temporary pleasure beat the simplicity of laying next to one another, breathing in each other’s air, and being on a date. A real one. It wasn't a hasty exchange built upon needing to get off, but a choice to spend genuine time together, in which you receive nothing but the pleasure of one's company.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date. Joel was right, hookup culture had become too strong in this day and age. It stands to reason that you haven’t actually slept with anyone in a while. You like being asked out, but guys your age don’t exactly want to give you that satisfaction. Joel asked you out. Sure, he fucked you silly on the stretch of his fingers only a week ago… but he still asked you out.

Jaws ended sooner than you thought it would. Back when you were a kid, and afraid of sharks, it seemed much longer of a movie. There was a lull between it and E.T., assuming the kid working in the projection tower had to change out the film roll himself. It made for a sweet and quiet conversation that sparked up as soon as the credits rolled.

“You bring a lot of girls here?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, even though it was meant as a teasing question.

“Nah,” he said anyway, turning a bit more to face you. “Usually, I don’t have to hide from my girlfriend’s dads. Not since highschool, anyway.”

You almost didn’t catch it. His use of the word girlfriend, which subtly implied that’s what you were… but you weren’t one to assume, or at least, not with Joel and the risky business of your relationship. You laced your hand with his between your bodies, looking down at his fingers while you did your best to recover the conversation without acting awkward.

“The more I think about it, I’m not so sure my dad would be angry.”

Joel wished he had the mindset to think that way.

“You kiddin’ me? If your dad found out I’d been messin with his only daughter, I’d get his shotgun to my head.”

A laugh escaped your lips, but you shook your head.

“You’re not just messin with me, though…”

At least, you hoped he wasn’t. Of all things that could be said about you and Joel, it was that you had already gotten attached. Already been to a place where you miss seeing him at work every day when you go home. Miss talking to him and learning more about his life, and having him listen about yours. There have been so many people in your life who told you that you talk too much, or that you never shut up. But Joel never has. He listens, and he’s happy to. You’d hate to lose that one day and never get it back.

“No,” he lifted your chin so you’d meet his eyes again. “I’m not just messin with ya.”

You held his stare for a moment, neither of you leaned in. It was just a nice moment, to look at one another, and to appreciate what you saw. A moment to see that hey, Joel has little flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes. A little moment for when you get sad that he isn’t around, that way you can remember how he looks at you when he is around. It’s something mixed with longing and contentment. Two opposites that somehow come together on his features and tell you more than his words could ever say.

“Good,” you finally replied. “In any case, my dad won’t shoot ya. I think he loves you too much.”

He laughed, the low rumble vibrated through his chest, and you felt it against your joined hands.

“You don’t suppose I could woo him over too, huh?”

“I don’t think your charm would sway him as easily.”

“Oh I got charm, now?”

“No, not really… nice ass, though,” you giggled, and he playfully shoved your arm back, causing you to fall into a fit of laughter on your back. “Just bein’ honest, mister.”

“I see how it is,” he pulled you back in with a swift move of his arm. “Only want me for my body.”

“What can I say? I’m a modern woman in a modern world.”

“S’all the same to me, whatever gets you to agree to a date with me. Still can’t believe you did…”

He says it half jokingly. You know he doesn’t see himself as desirable. Even though he’s in the prime of his life and is quite literally one of the finest men this town has to offer, he looks at the obstacles. He works too often, has a teenage daughter, he doesn’t look the way he used to, some people find him incredibly boring… but only the worst people.

“Joel, I'm lucky to be on a date with you.”

“Yeah, sure… s’not like you ain’t got a hundred guys your age lining up behind me to-”

You kissed him. He was not going to be permitted to speak if he was not going to say nice things about himself, a new rule you were establishing. He didn’t seem to care much for the rest of his sentence after you pulled away, the words slipping from his mind the second your lips touched his.

“I like you,” you told him, making your intentions very clear to him. You weren’t just messing around, either. “You treat me better than all those shitheads, anyway.”

You’d been passing in and out of consciousness on the drive home. You’d been up since the crack of dawn this morning, the neighbor’s dog barking incessantly. You’re sure Joel heard it too, unless of course he’d been laying on his good ear, the bad one would have canceled out all the noise.

The streetlights go by in waves over your eyes, lids closed lightly after each time they flutter. You were curled so sweetly into the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, finding such comfort in the place. You’d have thought it was where you spent most of your time. His hand was on the edge of your knee the whole drive, rubbing small circles over the area.

By the time you both had gotten home, you had to scan the yard for signs that your dad may be in the near vicinity. He was usually never home on a Friday night, unless there was a Rangers game or if he had company. It made sense that his car was gone when you both pulled up.

“You text him, yet?”

You shook your head, pulling your phone out of your back pocket and completing the task meant for three hours ago.

“It’s only ten, he might be at the bar, still.”

You didn’t over explain anything in your message, no need to make him question your thoroughness. Just something simple and quick.

Staying over at Amy’s, I’ll be back before lunch. Drive safe.

But then you immediately deleted the last part. Because how would you know he’s still out?

Joel had cut the engine, getting out and walking around to meet you at your door, except you’d already opened it and stepped out yourself.

He gave you an unserious look that feigned offense.

“Hey now,” he settled his hands on his hips, the sass evident in his voice. “We’re still on a date, miss. I’m supposed to get the door.”

You knew he wasn’t really upset, but you found it funny pretending as if he was.

“Modern woman in a modern world, remember?”

“Yeah,” he waved you off, shutting your door and taking your hand as you both walked up to the front door. “What all does that entail, anyhow? Bein’ a modern woman?”

You smiled, watching him take his damn time with the keys. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Well, since achieving the vote, we’ve made quite a bit of ground. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re allowed to work with you guys, now.”

“Ah… how did I miss that?”

“Weren’t looking hard enough. We also get to wear pants now, so I can see why you’re confused.”

And once the door was open, he lazily slung an arm around you to let you inside. Ladies first and all that. He didn’t actually respond to your last comment until you were both in the entry hall, door closed.

“Shame, I kinda like you without pants,” he hovered in close, partially teasing but otherwise just to get his body nearer to yours. The heat between you blossomed, and it could easily be sensed on both sides since leaving the truck.

“Mister Joel Miller, don't you know the best part of a modern woman?”

He raised his eyebrows, his head shaking once and eyes rolling over. Just say it already.

“We can ask any man we want to take our pants off.”

There was barely a second between your words and the speed of his lips meeting yours. It was different from the kisses at the drive in, now it was harsh and hungry. A stark contrast to the softness and the serenity. This was clouded by lust, by the human need to devour.

Joel was not gentle by nature. He was often brutish in his work and day to day. There were few people who genuinely saw him gentle. Sarah, Tommy, your dad, and you, his other side neighbors, and Carol, the lady who takes Sarah to school when he can’t. Maybe not in that exact order, but that was the list nonetheless.

You’d always seen him gentle, so the moment he backs you into the door, your back slamming on the painted wood, something stirs. You liked Joel how you knew him… but maybe there was other unexplored territory to delve into.

“Joel,” you whined out on the end of a breath. His name falling from your mouth was always how he preferred to hear it, but under this context had to be his favorite.

“Baby,” he trailed his kisses to your cheek, then jaw, then neck, resting in the crook of your shoulder and seemingly finding a home there. Your hands dove through his hair, tugging ever so gently and feeling the vibrations on your skin as a repercussion. His hands never found a resting place, running up and down your sides, every few seconds reaching down for a feel of your ass. He seemed to like yours, too.

When the arousal became too much, you tried your luck at rolling against him. The sound he made alone would have been enough for you to know how badly he wanted you, but the feel of him through his jeans was a physical show of it. He gets hard so fast for you.

“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.”

Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice.

He watched you from behind, taking the stairs two at a time until you reached the top. You nearly tripped over the last stair, but before you could go toppling over, his arm around your waist stopped you dead in your place.

“So damn clumsy,” he shook his head, the edge of a smirk forming. He tapped your hip with his free hand, getting you to move forward again until you got to his door. “Can’t get in a truck, can’t climb stairs…”

Now that he’d teased you first, you felt you had a small bit of free reign to mess with him. He was still gonna have you, but why make things so boring? You stared at the handle, gripping it, but making no move to twist it and open the door.

“Doorknob too much for you, too?”

You narrowed your eyes over your shoulder, where he was lingering closely. You could feel him pressed against your backside, the arousal evident in every breath he took, but he was still having fun with his little pokes of annoyance at you.

“I think I remember a rule about your room being off limits…” You trailed, cheekily smiling at him before he reached around you and opened the door himself. He held out his hand with a cocky raised brow, and waited for you to step in.

“Ladies don’t always have to go first, y’know. S’all part of-”

“Bein’ a modern woman, I know.”

But still you went in first, taking a few steps backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed and caused you to sit. You tilted your head at him, still leaning in the doorway, his hand on the frame above his head and his other hand still steadily on his hip. What’s he waiting for?”

“I ain’t gonna wait all night, cowboy…”

He chuckled, shaking his head and slowly coming forward. For someone so eager, he was taking his sweet time.

“You’re cute,” he gently pushed you back into the mattress, crawling one arm at a time over your form. “But something tells me that you would wait all night.”

He leaned down and met your lips with his, feeling your hands climb from the bed, to his shoulders, then to the sides of his face. He loved the feeling of your hands on him. Loved the way that with each pass of your skin against his, you began to learn the feeling of him as well. With one hand still supporting himself, his other raked down your side, then up over your middle, hugging the curves of your stomach, the stretch of your ribcage, and the gentle peaks of your breasts. He stopped there, paying mindful attention according to every sound you made, every groan of approval, or whimper of satisfaction. It was all he could hear, and became his instruction on how to touch you.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer between them, trying to spur on the friction that would give you relief. Joel knew the signs of your arousal clearly by now, but there was still ground for him to cover.

“Gettin’ so needy already, baby.”

His murmur against your mouth was interrupted. You whined at the loss of his lips, but were quieted in a moment when his hands trails downwards. He knelt one knee between your legs, the other still on the ground. He lifted behind your knees and gave a quick shove to drive you further up his mattress. His next move was to go for your shorts, given the fact they’d been causing him to mentally strain himself all evening.

“Gotta get these damn things off,” he said.

They went flying to the floor, and then he had to stop a minute. With your knees raised, either side of his hips, he had the most ethereal view of your soaked underwear, a dark and increasingly wet stain against the soft blue cotton. When you noticed how long he’d stopped to enjoy the scenery, you grabbed his hand on your knee.

“Joel, please-”

“I know, babygirl.”

And he didn’t make you beg for it. Not like the silly college boys would, and have in the past. He sunk down on the ground by his bed, leaning over on his elbows, hooking them under your legs again before pulling himself inward. He kissed over the wet fabric, hooking his fingers underneath it at your sides and slowly sliding them off.

Your hands found his hair and your mouth parted in a shaking breath. The slow contact he made was like sweet torture. Your skin arose goosebumps under his touch, agonizingly slow and increasingly annoying, given your absolute need for him.

“Need you… Joel I can’t- fuck.”

He kept it slow, but he licked upward, meeting your clit in devastating motions. You needed more, and as if he read your mind, his first finger was brought down and inserted to your seeping entrance. Your cries of approval met her ears like a happy melody, pushing him to go faster.

You’d already been pushing the edge, just from him touching you… but now that the contact was area specific, you weren’t sure if you could take much more. The hard feeling of him pressed against your earlier had seeded a thought that you would not be satisfied until he was inside you, heavy and full.

“Want more,” you tried to tell him, but he would not allow his feasting to be cut short. He’d made up his mind about the first time he would actually have sex with you. It wasn’t going to be rushed.

He shook his head, the sensation from the motion even more impacting. You took one hand away from his hair, fisting his sheets as tightly as you could.

“Gotta work you a little,” he pulled back to say, adding another finger to the mix, feeling you tightly around him. He climbed back up your body, hand never leaving its place between your legs. “Relax for me, yeah?”

You did your best, taking a breath and keeping your eyes trained on his, but they soon fell to his mouth, lips licked clean and the very corners covered with you. It somehow flipped a switch in you that you weren’t sure was good or not. Joel was the first man to go down on you. Joel was the first man to kiss you without immediately putting his tongue in your mouth. Joel was the first man to be so invested in your relationship, that he asked you out on a date… after you messed around. It stands to reason that Joel may be the first man you genuinely fall in love with. Not puppy love like in high school. Not conditional love based on what he can get out of it. Actual love.

You dawn on this realization quickly, still in the moment and feeling his every move, every grip of his hand or every curl of his fingers. It’s all so instant, and in your present state of mind. Like, every time he moves an inch, it somehow contributes to your relative thought.

“Joel?” you look up at him with glassed over eyes.

He pauses his movements below on account of how sincere you sound.

“Yeah?”

It’s not I love you… not yet. It’s I know you, it’s going to be you.

You reach down between your bodies, his fingers still sheathed in yours, and palm him generously. Without losing eye contact, you undo his jeans, doing your best with one hand to maneuver the waistband of his boxers and pull him from his confinement. You aren’t looking yet… but you know from the feel of his sheer size alone, you’re in for the pain of your life. It bothered you last time, the thought that he may break you on his girth, that you may feel differently or resent him from how he feels… except you don’t feel that way anymore. Because of your aforementioned realization, you now feel that though this may hurt, it would not change your desire for him. He’s not a boy who’s hurting you to get off. He cares about you.

Not just messin’ around…

“You’ve made me wait long enough,” you told him, the awestruck glaze in your eyes slowly fading as your smirk crawled over your face. You grabbed the hem of his shirt, allowing him to help you get it off. Seeing more of his skin, and feeling it against you when he settled back down was elating. It felt like the doorway to something, the hallway leading to reward.

“Baby, you’re still tight, I don’t wan-”

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

He sighed, trying to look anywhere but your eyes because dammit they were convincing.

“I hurt you, you tell me. Promise that,” he looked at you sternly, and you can’t say you’ve ever seen him so serious like this alone with you. He almost seemed, for lack of a better word, scared. Like you were a flower petal he was afraid to touch for the fear it would fall from the blossom.

“Promise.”

He nodded, smiling weakly, still unsure but willing to let you lead him blindly.

He picked you up and put you down on the proper region of the bed, your head meeting the pillows behind you. You giggled at his rapid motions to strip you of your shirt and bra next, his pent up anticipation now getting the better of him. He’d kicked off the last of his remaining clothing, looking back to you, sprawled out on his bed, waiting patiently for him.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ it right,” he joked, crawling back over you.

He nuzzled his nose against yours, then leaned down to collect a kiss. The kiss met your lips but then parted and moved to your neck, then shoulders, licking the sweet spot in the crook between them. He traveled down your chest, his kisses never stopping, although his hands paid special attention to each peak of raised flesh.

Your noises fell on grateful ears, the appreciation for them showing in every eager kiss, every soft grope of your skin. When he reached your lower region, he kissed both thighs apart, lifting one at a time and making sure they were set aside his hips comfortably. Once done, he kissed his way back up. Tentative, and slow. Joel is often strong and silent, and in this instance, it showed immensely. The way he can easily move parts of you around without hassle, and do so without uttering a word. It was dangerously addicting, how he already knew your body so intimately after only a few experiences.

Once his lips again found yours it lasted, and lasted. The feeling of him right against you was breathtaking. No barriers, no clothing, no promises of ‘another time’ between you.

“You let me know, alright?”

You nodded, his voice had become gentler from his first worrisome words minutes ago.

He kept his eyes on you, trying to gauge your reaction moment by moment. You wrapped an arm over his shoulder, holding the hairs at the back of his neck to ground yourself. He lined himself up to you and ever so slowly began to push in, holding himself after the first sharp intake of breath through your nose.

“M’okay,” you said assuringly, the sensation dulling slightly when you focused solely on him and not his actions.

He went further, and deeper, slower than sludge but making sure you could feel every inch comfortably before moving again. You twirled his hair between your fingers, the other hand digging nails into his side. His face, eyes still focused on your expression, was becoming the product of bliss. This entire exchange, the build up, the stretching pain, and the way your lungs couldn’t seem to exhale, was all worth it… just to see this look on his face. The way he was having to fight himself to stay in the moment and not get lost in the euphoria, it was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him. When he was dazed and confused just by feeling you around him.

“You gotta breathe, baby,” he let out, trying to keep your comfort in the forefront of his mind. He took a deep inhale of his own, and when he felt you following his steady pattern he was able to relax a little more, just like you did. “Atta girl, just like that… keep doin’ that.”

He started to move, a single thrust once he could be sure that there wasn’t any stiff pain. The only sting left over was fading, the slow and measured pace he set was becoming like a lifeline. Comparable to a heartbeat. In and out, in and out, the feeling becomes more pleasurable and addictive. You need a heartbeat to live, and in this moment, you need Joel to live, his easy and gentle pace.

“S’good,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed and his head dropping to your neck again. “Feels so deep.”

Joel bit down on your skin, tethering himself. The praise was something he wasn’t quite used to. He’s self deprecating to a fault, but hearing the opposite from your lips, which he adores, makes him feel stronger somehow. Keeping a tether is all he can do to keep from rutting against you. He wants so badly for you to be different, to not end up just a one night stand or a friend with benefits. He wants you to feel how much he cares about you, wants to take care of you.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, your neck absorbing most of the sound. “Taking me, so tight.”

Your muscles started contracting the moment he sped up his rhythm, only one thrust that was different from the rest. It hit you so fast, the coil in your stomach, building up and aching for relief.

“Joel… shit,” You could barely even get your words out, interrupted by a whimper of white hot euphoria. “I’m gonna…”

“I know,” he growled, his desire to rut into you slowly fading as he increased his pace to meet that carnal need. “I feel you, baby. Give it to me.”

It built only a little more, but then you couldn’t take it. It was too much, too full. The tightness in your stomach burst, letting go of every tense muscle in your body. It was so intense you practically screamed for him, his name a repetitive mantra on your tongue. Joel. Your hips jolted and writhed around, the feeling increasing with every hit against your cervix. Joel. Your walls tightened even more around him, the sting only slightly returning but in a way that made you crave it. Joel. He came right after you, unable to even try pulling out, just for how tightly you held him in. Joel…

He dropped half his weight, pulling away from your neck to kiss your lips. He needed to. It didn’t feel right to stay hidden in your neck when he had such gratification for you right now. The way you made him feel was no simple thing, and he felt you needed to be thanked for that. If a kiss was all he could give you in the moment, then so be it.

Joel…

“I’m sorry,” he let out, leaving his forehead against yours.

“For what?”

“I came in you… I didn’t ask,” he furrowed his brows, hoping you wouldn’t begrudge him too badly. He’d say he got lucky when you pulled him back down for another kiss.

“It’s okay… wanted you to,” you were still coming down from your high, possibly the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. He smiled and kissed you again, and again. He shifted the way you both laid, on his side, and brought you close to his chest.

When your breathing went back to normal, you spoke again.

“I was scared, y’know.”

He looked closely at you, unsure of what you meant and why.

“I thought you might hurt me. I didn’t care if you did, but I still thought you might,” you told him, running your fingers in circles over his skin. Though you seemed in bliss, perfectly happy, he couldn’t help but be frightened that maybe you weren’t telling him.

“Did I? Hurt you?”

“No.” you shook your head, holding a smile and making sure he saw it was genuine. “You didn’t hurt me, it was good. Really good. No other guy has ever…”

He again was confused by the trail of your voice… no guy has ever…? Oh, shit.

“No other guy’s made you come before?”

The embarrassed blush on your cheeks told him all he needed to know. You weren’t sure why it was so awkward to let him find that out, but you suddenly felt like you were more of a child, having not experienced things that he has for years before.

“No one before you… and you’ve already got four on the board,” you laughed, trying to make it feel like it wasn’t as big a deal. Like it was funny.

He narrowed his eyes, raising his head up to look at you closer.

“Ranger’s night, last week, tonight… that’s three,” he corrected, counting out on three fingers and holding them up.

“You technically weren’t there the other time,” you smirked, giggling once he looked at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“Should’ve called me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, your smile still prominent and growing. “I love hearing you.”

Over his shoulder you heard his phone buzzing, once, twice, then three times. He huffed, hoping it wasn’t from someone at the work site that wasn’t able to lock up the property after reviewing.

“Hold on,” he rolled his eyes, turning just far enough to reach his jeans on the ground, pulling his phone from the pocket. He squinted against the harsh light, swiping through the message notifications that appeared when he unlocked the screen. He laughed, turning to you. “S’ your dad.”

“It’s late, I would have thought he was either drunk or asleep by now.”

“Apparently neither,” he slid his phone back on the nightstand, regaining you in his arms. “Wants to know if I’m still awake for a drink.”

You laughed, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Not sure if you’ve heard but, you’re actually at a friend’s house till tomorrow.”

“How fun for me… so that means a guy’s night for you and my dad?” You played along with him, the sweet tone in your voice turning teasing.

“It would… too bad I’m already asleep.” He reasoned, which is probably what he would repeat to your dad tomorrow if asked.

“Damn, you old men go to bed early.”

“Hey now… let’s not go crazy.”

tags: @justanothersadperson93@moonchild-warrior@hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof@untamedheart81@just-someone-broken@joelalorian@xybil @yvonneeeee @anoverwhelmingdin@theatrelove3000

#joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller age gap #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #dbf! joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #pedro pascal joel miller #troy baker

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius.

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara.

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?”

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge.

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?”

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat.

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye.

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears.

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either).

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?”

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.”

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily.

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home.

Sirius nods.

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek.

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest.

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?”

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side.

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?”

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him.

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home.

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair.

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs.

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?”

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

“It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching.

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James’ free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.”

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.”

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently.

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers.

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.”

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.”

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow.

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.”

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.”

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?”

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing.

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?”

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.”

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.”

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

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archonsbane · 7 months

Text

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them. also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none.

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar.

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.”

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.”

“You’re a horrible teacher!”

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.”

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru.

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask.

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.”

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.”

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila.

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?”

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.”

“That seems like a horrible idea.”

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.”

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.”

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson.

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays.

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles.

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head.

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… "

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however.

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh.

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says.

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent.

You try again. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.”

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound.

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?”

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.”

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.”

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.”

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too.

You’re speaking Sumerian.

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion.

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with.

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take cautious, half-step backwards.

You look both amused and slightly abashed.

He grits his teeth. “For how long?”

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it."

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation."

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you.

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language.

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while.

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk.

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?"

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him.

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?"

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration.

He never does get around to doing that.

#— ficlets.#genshin imapct #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #fatui x reader #the cubitum eamus question is a reference to the secret history for those who don't know #reader is asking dottore to sleep with them lmfao #also the full lyric for the title is #'so I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i'm imaginin' you'#so that's something :))

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minaturefics · 10 months

Text

Though I Know My Heart Would Break

Request: For the poll that Legolas won! You guys sent in a few prompts, I've incorporated: sick (injured, rather) fic, hurt/comfort, everyone lives, and reader confesses first! Hope you guys like it! (Title is from Hozier's Francesca that has me in a chokehold)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Content warnings: Mild injury (no overly graphic descriptions)

3.7k words

---

You walked through the forest, ducking under the cedar branches, weaving between the cypresses. The air was rich with the scent of herbs — thyme and sage, marjoram and parsley. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the canopy, specking the forest floor with light. Legolas’ footsteps were silent on the soft ground, but the steady clopping of the horse he was leading reassured you of his presence.

With the coronation over, and Eowyn and Faramir wed, attention was turned to restoring Minas Tirith and setting up a settlement at Emyn Arnen. You and Legolas were tasked with surveying the land and forests around Emyn Arnen. Sam was curious about the plants, hearing how new and different they were to those back in The Shire, but Frodo’s reluctance to stray further than the Citadel kept him in Minas Tirith.

You paused by a cluster of pink rockfoils, thumbing the thin stems before plucking a few small flowers and tucking them into a waxed pouch.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, “Why do you pause and pluck? You have been doing so since we arrived. ”

“They’re for Sam. He might have agreed to stay in Minas Tirith, but I saw the shade of disappointment in his eyes. I thought perhaps I could bring the forest to him instead.”

His lips tugged up at the corners. “And what will you give the forest in return?”

“What do you mean?” You frowned and stood.

He smiled, soft and knowing, eyes wandering over the barks and branches. “These trees have been left at peace for many years, the bushes and shrubs untouched. They are not used to wandering fingers and restless feet.”

You glanced down at the patch of rockfoils, the decapitated stems looking more brutal in light of Legolas’ words. Your lips twisted and he chuckled, and your eyes drifted back to him.

He had always been so full of light and laughter, even during the endless days and dark nights, even after Gandalf fell, even after the hobbits were taken. Ethereal, that was what people said of the elves. Otherworldly.

But he looked so human, so normal, standing in a patch of sunlight, laughing at the concerned expression on your face. There were smudges of dirt on his boots, dew dotting the bottom hem of his cloak, and even a small leaf lodged in his hair.

Yes, Legolas has always just been Legolas to you.

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to lose your heart to him. How could you not? While the others regarded him with a deference, or awe in the hobbits’ case, or even confusion at his elf customs, he had never truly seemed so different to you. His eyes, brown and alive in the light, still crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice, low and melodious, still cracked when he spoke of sorrows. And his hands, delicate and strong, still bore soft calluses from his bow.

The last couple of days had been so indulgently wonderful. Without the threat of war or the constant need for secrecy and vigilance, being out in the wilds once more was soothing. It was a great secret joy, of course, that you had Legolas’ undivided attention.

He had been more loose limbed and free with touches. Hands grazing yours as you walked, his knee against yours while you sat. His eyes too, seemed to melt into an amber by the fire, a tenderness in his gaze. It felt as though the seed of friendship had slowly, slowly, started to grow into something more.

“Shall we continue on?” He said, and inclined his head towards the distant sound of water. “We can set up camp and leave our things while we walk the forest.”

You nodded and smiled before looking away, eyes scanning the forest floor before they landed on a patch of flowers. They were strange looking, three pronged with large paper-like petals. You knelt by them, carefully cutting the blooms with your knife, and idly said, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

He hummed in agreement. “I could envisage residing here for a time, should Faramir allow it.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and chuckled. “You should speak to Sam. Aragorn has already consulted him on some of the gardens in the Citadel, it would not surprise me if Faramir would ask him to Emyn Arnen to design something.”

“Those flowers,” he began, stepping closer and inspecting them, “they are… strange. I do not know what they are, and perhaps it would be better to leave them be.”

“Are they poisonous?”

He leaned in and sniffed them. “No, but as I said before, this forest is unaccustomed to such things. Gifts must be freely given, and what is not must be a fair exchange.”

You dropped them into the pouch and laughed, continuing through the forest. There was a strange note in his voice, something older, wiser, than the Legolas you knew. But what harm could there be in a few cuttings? The forest was vast; a few flowers and leaves here and there would not be any loss at all. “Come now, Legolas, you speak as though —”

A stone caught your toe, your knee buckled, and you fell to the ground. Sharp pain jolted up your wrists and knees, then a hot stinging spread across your palms and shins. You blinked, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the rotting leaves in the dirt, before warm hands rested between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Legolas said, crouching and easing you back into a sitting position. You stared at him, eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. Had he always had such beautiful lips? “Mellon nin, are you alright?”

“Yes… I —” The shock of tingling subsided from your hands and legs and only a dull throbbing remained. You looked down at your knee, the same knee that had been shot, and found your trousers ripped and the old wound reopened. It was not as bad as the initial wound, though still relatively deep, and was bleeding sluggishly through the matted dirt. “Oh, I’m… bleeding.”

His eyes darted from your knee to the divot in the ground where a leaf caught in your fall was stained with blood. His lips tightened before he let out a soft sigh. “It is as I said: a fair exchange.” An easy smile spread across his face, the hand on your shoulder loosened its grip, and his voice took on a merry lilt. “However, I do not believe we will have any more trouble on our little trip here.”

The shock of the fall had subsided and you looked at the pouch still clutched in your fist. “Well, I suppose I should make the most of it then, and collect what I can for Sam.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. “Never one to pass up an opportunity. Come, let us set up camp by the river and have a look at your wound. I do not wish for the matrons at the Houses of Healing tomorrow to claim I have neglected you.”

He pulled you to your feet, and looped an arm around your waist to help you hobble along. His arm was warm, his grip firm but gentle. Pressed up against him you could smell his scent, something fresh like grass or water, unsullied even by a couple of days in the forest. The both of you found a suitable spot under shelter by the trees, and after tying the horse up, he led you to the banks.

His nimble fingers pried apart the shredded remains of the fabric by your knee and started to wash the wound. He dressed it with some honey from his pack and untouched moss from the forest floor and some spare wrappings you had in your supplies for such an eventuality.

While he worked, you watched his hands. Long and lithe, they were precise and delicate with their motions. If only you could reach out, and lay your hand on top of his, to sweep your thumb over the back of his knuckles. But your hands were still muddied, and the new closeness you shared with him was too new and too tenuous for something like that.

Legolas set up camp with a practiced efficiency, and soon the both of you were sitting beside each other by the fire, eating your supplies of bread and cheese. The fire crackled and popped, and around you the forest became alive at night. Owls hooted in the trees, and critters rustled in the bushes, and then, very softly, Legolas began to sing.

The words were lost on you, but the melody was enough. The notes drifted in the air, curling around you, seeping into your skin. It sounded slow and adoring, leisurely and lazy, and the sensation of lying on sun-warmed grass, your lover’s touch skirting up your arm, filled your body. You leaned back on your arms, sinking into his voice, letting it carry and caress you.

When the last few words rang in the air, you opened your eyes. Legolas was looking at you with a fond expression, eyes half-lidded and lips in a soft smile.

“That song,” you whispered, “what is it about?”

His smile widened and he said, “I’ll tell you another time perhaps.”

Legolas stood on one of the parapets that overlooked the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Your wound was not healing as well as it should, most likely because of how bad the initial arrow wound was, and you were getting it redressed by the matrons. He sighed and let his eyes wander from the stone flagstones, to the rooftops, to the plains. In truth, the sight of your flesh, angry and inflamed, shook something in him. Even something as minor as your wound, was enough of a risk for infection, for fever.

Humans were so fragile, so… final.

He blinked at the thought. Yes, of course, how could he forget? Humans were mortal. Boromir was, Aragorn was. Even the merry little hobbits and Gimli were. How strange to think that such a thing slipped his mind when it came to you, but it was far too easy really.

There was a vitality that seemed to pour from your being, an almost stubborn resilience, especially in the grim shadow of misfortune. It was the way you would play with the hobbits, even after a long day of walking, or grit your teeth and carry on, even harrowing experience after harrowing experience. When you smiled, the day was better, brighter, and he always found himself trying to get another laugh from you.

And yet… such a light could be so easily snuffed out.

He shifted on his feet and watched as you limped from the Houses of Healing. He had intended to go with you, but Sam had wanted to discuss garden plans, and Boromir had gone with you instead. He was about to raise his arm and call out to you, when a figure emerged from behind the line of trees. Boromir walked towards you with outstretched arms and pulled you into his side and helped you along, vanishing from his sight beyond the trees.

Ever since the end of the war, it had felt as though things were shifting between him and you. It was only small, nearly imperceptible changes — softer smiles, more frequent dinners alone, hands that reached and fingers that brushed. And yet… Why did it feel as though you were on the other side of something he could not cross?

He thought of the cry of the gulls, the perpetual tugging at his heart for the sea. Oh, how he wished he had never heard them. Was this how Arwen felt all the time? Longing, aching. She was happy with Aragron, he knew, but sometimes he would catch her gazing out of a window, eyes forlorn and smile sad. Aragorn knew, understood even, and in those moments he left her to her quiet longing, never hurt or bothered, and welcomed her into his arms when she went back to him.

But would you understand? Could you accept that there would always be one part of him that belonged to the sea, to the distant shore he would never reach? Or would it be a burden to ask such a thing of you? Maybe you would be better off with someone… mortal. He sighed and wandered back towards the Citadel proper.

“Boromir, this is unnecessary. Put me down!” Your laughter rang out and you and Boromir emerged onto the courtyard. You were in his arms, limbs flailing as he wrangled to keep you held properly. “Boromir, I — oh, Legolas.”

“Ah, Legolas,” Boromir said as he gently replaced you back on the ground. “I return them to your care.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “How is your leg?”

“Mild infection but nothing to worry about,” you said, hobbling over to him.

He instinctively reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist. You were warm underneath his hand, warmer than usual, and you smelled strongly of herbal poultice. He could detect traces of burdock and comfrey, and underneath it all, the smell of you. He took a greedy breath, filling his lungs with proof of your life. “You should be resting. Let us go back inside.”

“I’ve been inside the past week. I’m bored to death,” you grumbled. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

He helped you to one of the stone benches and you collapsed onto it, hissing in pain. You gingerly stretched your leg out and sighed as you settled. He sat next to you, his eyes lingering on your knee.

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s quite minor, really.”

“I have seen men succumb to infection from unassuming cuts. I do not think I will rest easy until you are fully healed.”

He followed the line of your leg up to your waist, then shoulders, and along your jaw and lips, up to your nose and eyes. Such beauty, destined to fade, to vanish from the world forever. How could he bear it? How could anyone?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” You asked.

“I was just thinking about the fading nature of men. I do not know how your kind bear it.”

“Death?” You chuckled. “But elves can die too, can they not?”

“Yes, but… it is not in our nature. In peace times, it is very rare for our kind to die. For men… even now, where there is no suffering any longer, you still experience the sting of mortality.” His chest constricted. “How can one stand to behold love and light, knowing it will vanish?”

“It is because they do not last, that we relish in them.”

“Even if it will bring you pain later?”

You smiled, gentle and indulgent, and placed your hand on top of his. His shoulders relaxed at your touch, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He wanted to capture the moment, to bottle it somehow, keep the image of you with the sun on your eyelashes and the feeling of the softness of your skin forever preserved.

“Yes,” you whispered, “even then.”

Something shifted in his heart, just slightly, and a smile crept onto his face. Yes, he thought, especially then.

“Sam,” you said, surveying the small garden. He had done a good job with it — the shrubs were well trimmed and flowers burst in orange and yellow all around. “Are you certain it will look good?”

He nodded and grinned. “It’ll look real pretty with some candles about. I still remember what it looked like in Lothlorien. We don’t ‘ave the sort of fancy holders and the like, but I’ll do my best.”

You smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I would do it myself but my knee…”

“No thankin’ needed. If anything, I should be thanking you. You brinin’ me those plants and flowers, even when the forest didn’t like you doin’ so.” His eyes fell to your knee. “I’m real sorry it caused you such trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” You chuckled and patted him on the back. You looked around the garden again, trying to imagine the candles and cushions that Sam said he’d arrange for the night time picnic you had planned. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it. Mighty romantic, if I can say.”

You shifted on your feet, stomach suddenly lurching. “What if I’m mistaken, Sam? I’m not sure I could bear the embarrassment.”

The last week or so had been so lovely it had felt like a dream. Nearly every night, Legolas had invited you to sit with him at the top of some tower or parapet. He would point and tell you stories of the stars and of the elves that had come before. There were so many instances where he would lean in close, eyes half-lidded, and talk in a low, murmured tone. You would watch his lips, and watch as he watched yours. But then he would draw back and glance away.

“The elves are funny folk,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you what might be goin’ on in Legolas’ mind, but I doubt he would be spendin’ so much time with you if he didn’t have some… reason to do so. If you catch my meaning.”

“I hope so, Sam. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to go to the kitchens to see what cheese and fruit they might be able to spare me.”

He gave you an encouraging smile and with a little wave, you set off downstairs.

The sun was just setting when Sam called you back to the garden to assess what he had prepared. Candles were dotted all around the courtyard, separated on candelabras and clustered in small groups around the picnic blanket. Plush cushions were laid out and there were little white flowers scattered on the soft wool, perfuming the air with the faint smell of jasmine.

“Sam,” you gasped. “This is — I cannot —”

“I’ll be takin’ your speechlessness as a compliment?” He smiled shyly and ducked his head. He reached for the picnic basket in your hand and placed it on the blanket. “There, now it’s complete.”

“I’ll repay you for this Sam, I promise.”

He blushed. “Like I said before, there’s no need. Anyway, I best be hurryin’ along. Wouldn’t want Legolas to stumble upon me here and get any wrong ideas.”

You laughed and he vanished back inside. You limped over to the blanket, wincing a little as you lowered yourself, and tried to slow your breathing. Legolas would come, wouldn’t he? What if he took one look at the scene and fled? You shook your head. No, he wouldn’t do that. If you were truly mistaken about his feelings towards you, he would tell you gently and bear you no ill will.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said from behind you and you turned, heart thumping in your chest. His eyes were wide and a slow smile was spreading across his face. “I received your message. Why have you asked me here?”

You swallowed. Did he not know? “Is it… is it not obvious?”

“I have an inkling, perhaps.” He wandered over, his steps lazy and relaxed, and sank onto the cushions. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction. “But I do not wish to presume what may or may not be in your heart. Will you not give me the truth?”

“Legolas, I…” You cleared your throat. By the Valar, why was it so difficult to speak? He arched an eyebrow at you and you glanced away, speaking more to the picnic basket than to him. “I… care for you. A great deal.”

He took your hand, and you dared to lift your gaze. He beamed at you, and then a flash of mischief entered his eyes. “As a friend?”

You scowled at him. “Do you often plan candlelit picnics for your friends, Legolas?”

He laughed and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. They were soft and warm, his breath hot on your skin. “I am teasing, meleth nin.”

Heat crept up your neck and you tried to withdraw your hand. He held fast and planted a line of kisses up, up, up, from your wrist to your elbow to your shoulder. His eyes were almost sparking in the dim, the dots of candlelight flickering in his dark irises. He kissed your jaw and your nose and your temple before dipping his head to capture your lips.

He kissed slow and languid, as though savouring the feeling of you against him. He tasted tart and sweet, no doubt from the berry and honey biscuits you knew he liked to snack on. The strange tension in your stomach snapped and vanished, and you melted under his touch. His growing smile made you giggle and your teeth knocked against his, making him laugh.

“I am curious about what you have in that picnic basket of yours,” he murmured. “There will be time for such enjoyment later.”

A flush coloured your cheeks. “I suppose it would be a waste if we simply ignored all the food I prepared.”

“Though, before we continue, I must ask you a question first,” he said, growing grave and serious. His eyes drifted down to your joined hands, and he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Could you bear being with me, living with me, when part of my heart is forever owned by the sea?”

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “My love, could you bear to be with me? If you stay, you will fade.”

“It would be a worse fate to live eternity without you,” he whispered. “That I could not bear.”

“Legolas…” It seemed all the more tragic that he, of all people, should die. He was light and joy and the thought of him growing cold and dim wrenched at your heart. “You deserve to… I cannot…”

“I have made my choice, meleth nin. Let us be happy together.” He cupped your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were soft, but certain, his touch gentle but sure. He kissed the tip of your nose, chuckling, before he slanted his lips against yours. The kiss was chaste and quick, and all the more sweeter for its casualness.

“For however long we have,” he murmured, “let us be happy.”

“Alright,” you said. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent, breathing his breath. Yours, for now, for ever. “For however long we have.”

---

ok but what is it about the immortality of elves that has me appreciating/relishing/romanticising our mortal lives. i swear this is the second time ive done this with legolas.

Taglist: @sotwk

#legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #legolas x you #legolas #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic

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starrynightmovietheatre · 2 months

Text

Elise now presents:

We should just kiss like real people do

Starring: Jason Grace x daughter of Athena!reader

Soundtrack: Like real people do - Hozier, Sweet Creature - Harry Styles, All my love - Noah Kahan

Enjoy the movie! 🎬

You’ve heard of golden retriever and black cat how about owl x eagle??

This mf shocks you if you overwork yourself

Legit sits at your desk and pokes you every now and then until you get the hint

Watches you design/write/whatever your area of STEM is and asks questions every now and then

No but back to golden x black cat

You’re kinda both black cat but he’s def more golden when you get into the relationship

You need a new pencil? He has one right here

Your rubber is dead? He has one right here

You need a ruler/set square? He has on-

YOU GET THE POINT

He is Mary poppins just for your things

Doesn’t know how to feel about your mother cause you sometimes have good stories and sometimes have the most horrible stories about her

Loves staying in your cabin

(He thinks the Zeus cabin is haunted)

((He can hear voices in the walls))

(((I def didn’t steal the idea from @hopelesslyromanticshark no way)))

ANYWAY

Loves how quiet your cabin is as well

Is semi-willing to take care of spiders for you

Refuses to release them but def will smack it with a shoe

This definitely doesn’t cause almost all the Athena kids to find him when they see a spider

Definitely not

Who told you that

Anywho

Takes you flying for Funsies

If your scared he holds you all tight with his arms around your waist and-

Someone shut me up

You spar so much and while you plan your moves he’s just going for it

He’s been around Percy and Leo too much

All Roman training out the window the minute he goes into Bunker 9/Cabin 3

He’s just a kid

Also to be a disabled Jason truther for a minute

He always gets you to wrap his knee for him cause you just do it in the perfect way

You do it anyway cause you know he won’t do it himself

You constantly have a knee support/KT-Tape in a bag, pockets, bedside table, bathroom, anywhere.

Now that I’m done my small rant

If you’re injured this man will drop anything to make sure your ok

Paper cut? He’s checking your ok, pressing a kiss to it and letting go on with your life

You get hurt during capture the flag? He’s checking your ok, not leaving your side while your in the infirmary even if you insist your fine, pressing a kiss to it

GOOD GODS HES SOOOOO

Anyway, in summary he’s just perfect and you guys go together so well 🫶

Director’s note: FIRST POST OF THE NEW BLOG 🫶 I love writing for characters I have made basically me and pair them with me 🤭 ew that sounds weird anyway, the Athena reader will almost always be related to STEM I will not be stopped or shut up, it’s impossible.

#enjoy the movie ׂׂૢ: ̗̀➛✧.*#jason grace x reader #headcanons #jason grace #heroes of olympus #jason grace x you #Jason Grace headcanons

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aflame4goinghome · 6 months

Text

Talk

s.f.k. x f.reader

a/n: this was meant to be a short little one shot but it actually turned out to be pretty long... oops. it’s only lightly proofread and i’m posting this at 2:30 am so i hope it’s good. enjoy :)

word count: 5.3k

summary: You’ve known Sam practically your whole life, and your relationship has always been the same. He’s your best friend, and he’s never given you a reason to think he feels any other way. So why is he acting so different tonight? Your love for him has so far gone unspoken, but all secrets are about to be revealed.

warnings: fluff, angst (some fighting & yelling), swearing, smoking, kissing, shameless nicknames like always; SMUT (MINORS DNI): oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex (practice safe sex, folks!), dirty talk, some begging, slight praise kink if you squint, soft dom!sammy

“imagine being loved by me.

i won’t deny i’ve got in my mind now,

all things i would do.”

You’ve known Sam as long as you can remember. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. It was the first day of the seventh grade, you had just moved to Frankenmuth that summer from Detroit after your parents split up and your mom wanted to move out of the city. You’d only lived there for a month and your house was pretty secluded on a long road, so you didn’t have much ability to make any friends until you started school.

You were riding your bike to school and someone crossed the street right in front of you, forcing you to slam on your brakes to avoid hitting them and knocking them down. You came to a screeching stop and looked up at the scared boy in front of you, who hollered, “Are you trying to kill me? What the hell is wrong with you?” You got off your bike and the two of you walked the rest of the way to school together. And that’s how you met your first friend, Sam Kiszka.

The two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. You had a lot of classes together and he let you sit at his table at lunch, introducing you to his best friend, Danny. From that moment forward, the three of you did practically everything together. You guys would go to the movies, listen to records, and sometimes even jam together in the Kiszkas’ garage with his older brothers, Josh and Jake. You always felt that the rest of them were much more musically talented than you, especially Jake, but you enjoyed singing harmony with Josh every once in a while. You were like family.

Once you got older, you noticed your relationship with Sam began to change. Not in a way that was obvious or disruptive, but there was something that developed that would always be on the back of your mind- your feelings for Sam. You first discovered that you had feelings for him at your ninth-grade homecoming dance. You and Sam went together as friends, slightly organized by your mothers, and something in the air changed that night. There was a knock at the door after you had gotten ready and you opened it to see Sam, all dressed up in a suit and tie.

Your gaze softened as you saw him, and you felt a feeling that you’d never experienced before. When he saw you, in your dress and your hair done, you noticed an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place, like a deer in headlights. And then he entered the threshold, brushing off whatever it was, acting just like your normal Sam. You put it in the back of your mind and moved on with your night.

However, near the end of the night, something happened that you’d never be able to forget. They turned on the last slow dance of the evening and the two of you had avoided every other slow dance prior out of awkwardness. But something pushed you to ask him for this last song, so you did and he agreed. You both walked over to the dance floor and he placed his hands awkwardly on your waist as you put your arms around his neck. You both swayed there for a while to some random slow song from that year that you couldn’t remember now even if you tried, and there was a look in his eyes that would be burned into your memory forever. He looked at you so softly, like you might break. You looked up at him- his cute swoopy hair, his dimples, his dopey smile- and you knew right there and then: you were in love with Sam Kiszka.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Things are a lot different now than they were when you were 15, but your feelings for him are just as strong as ever. He’s never shown any hints of feeling the same way, however, and you’ve never made any effort to tell him. You’re much too afraid of it changing your relationship, especially if he didn’t feel the same way about you. You’re more than happy with what you have with him now, though, even if it’s only platonic. He’s your best friend and you love the time that you get to spend with him, considering it’s quite limited now.

When you guys were in high school, the band that the boys had formed ended up gaining popularity. Even before you, Sam and Danny graduated, they were going out on tour, opening for big bands. You were incredibly impressed and so proud of them, but you definitely missed your best friends. Once you graduated, they were away even more than before. So, when they all wanted to pick up everything and move to Nashville a few years ago, you decided that you would too.

You had delayed going to college for a couple of years because you couldn’t afford it at the time and neither could your mom, so you used this new opportunity to apply to Tennessee State University in the area and you were accepted. You’re in your third year there now and it’s been working out great. You got an apartment not far from where the guys were all living, and that’s how you met your roommate and now close friend, Lucy. She is attending graduate school at Vanderbilt for the same field of study and shares your immense love for music, so you got along almost immediately.

The guys’ band has become relatively famous now. They’ve recently released their third album and have gone on several tours, their current one being a world tour. You haven’t been able to see them as much lately because of it, but you try to catch as many local shows as you can. Despite being away so often, you and Sam are still as close as ever, spending basically every day together when he’s on break from the tour. Every once in a while, you’ll sometimes wonder about the ‘what-ifs,’ but your friendship with Sam is too important to risk by confessing your feelings for him.

Tomorrow is Lucy’s 24th birthday and the band is on a break from tour for a few more weeks, so the two of you are throwing a huge party tonight to celebrate. Your apartment is much too small to host that many people, so Josh offered to host the party as long as you both helped out with supplying the food and decorations. Of course, Josh was more than happy to supply the booze, being someone who would never turn down a party. It’s your last big get-together before the band leaves for the European leg of their tour, so you’re all really looking forward to it.

It's already 3 in the afternoon and you and Lucy have to go over to Josh’s soon to help decorate before all the guests arrive, so you start to get ready. You curl your hair and pull it half-up, then put on some simple makeup with some silver glittery eyeshadow. Lucy wanted to make the theme of the party “Starcatcher” to incorporate the guys’ newest album, so you wanted to throw in a subtle reference to the theme. You go to get dressed, finding the new dress that you had bought just for the party. It’s a short, tight dress adorned with silver glitter, matching your makeup.

It’s not as if you intended to catch anyone’s attention tonight with your outfit, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. You’ve tried dating since you moved to Nashville, but nothing has ever worked out. All of the guys are either shallow musicians who don’t want to ‘put a label on it’ or immature frat guys with no emotional intelligence. Besides, you still find it hard to completely forget about Sam. You know that he’s probably taking plenty of girls home while on tour; as a rockstar, why would he not? It didn’t bother you, it’s not like he knew how you felt anyway.

You grab your things, then slip on your heels and pop your head into Lucy’s bedroom. “Hey Luce, you ready to go?” you ask, stepping inside of her room. She turns around from looking into her vanity mirror to look at you. “Oh my god, Y/N! Look at you! Sam is gonna die over that dress,” she says, teasing you. She knows all about your little crush, of course, you tell her everything. She’s the only one in your friend group who knows since the rest of the guys wouldn’t possibly be able to keep that kind of secret.

“Luce, come on. You know he doesn’t look at me like that,” you answer, rolling your eyes, “Plus, maybe I’ll find another guy to appreciate me tonight. I don’t need it to be Sam, I don’t expect it to be.” She rolls her eyes back at you and turns her attention back to the mirror. “Okay, okay, whatever. I’m just finishing up my eyeliner, we can leave in a minute,” she says. She finishes up her makeup and you both head to the party.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Lucy drives you to Josh’s place and the two of you pull into his driveway, seeing that you’re not the first ones there. You knock on the front door and are greeted by Josh, whose face lights up at the sight of you. “Hello, darling!” he exclaims, pulling you in for a tight hug. He pulls away, smiling, and sees Lucy behind you. “Ah, Lucille, happiest of birthdays to you, my dear,” he says to her, hugging her tight as well. You both enter the house and find Jake in the kitchen, preparing some sort of dip recipe.

“I thought that we’d be the first to arrive,” you say to him, making him turn his attention away from the stove. He sees you both and smiles slightly, saying “Well, it wouldn’t be a party if I didn’t make a queso dip, would it?” You chuckle, walking over to get a whiff of it. “No, it wouldn’t. Smells delicious,” you say, patting him on the back then turning around to place all the snacks that you’ve brought on the kitchen island. You all start to set up, putting out the snacks and alcohol and hanging some decorations on the walls.

Around 6 o’clock, the front door flies open with Sam and Danny waltzing through. You all turn your heads to look at the sudden noise and your eyes find him. He’s wearing a short-sleeved button-up, half unbuttoned, some dark jeans, and sneakers. You watch as he removes his sunglasses and brushes his hands through his hair as he and Danny approach the kitchen, then try to direct your attention back to hanging the star decorations that you’d been attaching to the ceiling.

“Hey, Freckles,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen to greet you. He’s called you that ever since that first day, on your first walk to school. He looked down at you and saw your face, completely covered in freckles, and settled the nickname right then and there. It’s still managed to stick after all these years. "Hi, Y/N! Hi, Lucy, happy birthday," Danny says, walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table to help blow up some balloons.

“Here, let me help you,” Sam says, reaching his hand up to meet yours and finish hanging the star. “Thanks, Sammy,” you say, stepping down from the step ladder you were using. “No Rose tonight?” you ask, looking up at him. “Nah. Didn’t want her to get too drunk, she was absolutely belligerent last time,” he said, laughing as he jabbed your side with his elbow jokingly. You giggle and say, “Yeah, she’s out of control. You should probably look into that.” He smiles at you silently for a moment, looking down at what you’re wearing. It’s not long enough for you to notice, however, and you move on to helping Josh with the liquor table.

You finish decorating and the guests begin to arrive around 8. Most of them are Lucy’s friends from grad school, as well as some friends from work. You don’t really know a lot of them, so you’ve just stuck with the guys by the bar area of Josh’s dining room for most of the night so far. “Here you go, Frecks” Sam says, handing you another tequila soda that he’s made for you. You thank him and take a sip, then look out at the crowd that’s amassed in Josh’s living room.

It’s been over an hour now since the party started and you still feel slightly awkward since you don’t know any of the people here, but you don’t really want to just be a wallflower all night either. Suddenly, Lucy comes charging toward you. She’s gotten a bit intoxicated, having made some drinks while you all prepared for the party in addition to the ones she’s had since then.

“Babe, c’mere, I want you to meet my friends,” she says, pulling you away. You look at Sam and Danny with a ‘please save me’ face as she drags you into the crowd, hearing them laugh at you as you move further and further away from them. You end up in a small group over on the other side of the room, a few girls your age and a guy that you don’t recognize. “Y/N, these are some of my friends from my classes this semester- Tara, Emma, and Stephen. Everyone, this is my roommate and bestie, Y/N!” You wave shyly and say hello, catching eyes with her friend Stephen.

He’s pretty tall and has dark black hair that’s slicked back with a couple of pieces hanging out in the front. His eyes are dark and mysterious, and you can’t help but admit that he’s rather handsome. You doubt anything could ever come to it, but it might be nice to distract yourself from your one-sided feelings for Sam. Lucy goes back into whatever conversation she was having previously with the girls as Stephen steps closer to you.

“Hey,” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile. “Hey there,” he replies, checking you out quickly before meeting your eyes again. “Do you go to school around here?” he asks. “Oh, yeah, I’m in my undergrad at TSU. I’m a couple years behind but I’m starting to catch up,” you say, sitting down on the couch as he goes to sit next to you, rather close. He makes small talk about what you’re studying, where you’re from, what you want to do after graduation, and more. He’s definitely a nice guy, and he seems interested in you and learning more about you, so you don’t mind sitting and talking to him.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Stephen says, smiling at you and reaching over to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Stephen… you’re not too bad yourself,” you say, blushing slightly as he places his other hand on your thigh. The two of you sit there for some time talking closely, flirting a bit back and forth. You glance over to the dining room for a moment and see Sam, who’s looking at you. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed with his eyes glued to you and Stephen, piercing right through you. He looks almost angry, which you don’t completely understand. Maybe he’s upset that you ditched him since he doesn’t know many people at the party? But he has Danny right next to him, who’s talking away as Sam stares daggers into you.

“Excuse me just one moment, Stephen. I have to go check on something,” you say apologetically, getting up off the couch and heading into the other room. Sam’s eyes lock onto yours as you approach, still not faltering from their angry gaze. “Sam? A word, please?...,” you say, looking over at Danny, “…alone?” Sam looks down at you and uncrosses his arms, “Yeah, whatever.” You grab his wrist and drag him into the kitchen, then out the back door to Josh’s porch.

You drop his wrist and turn around to face him as he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. He takes a long pull, breathes it out, then scoffs. “What? What is it?” he says in an annoyed tone. “What is it? Sam, what’s wrong with you? I saw you looking at me in there, what the hell is your problem?” you say, throwing your hands up, exasperated. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You just met that guy and he was just all over you. It’s fucking gross,” he says, raising his voice at you slightly and rolling his eyes, taking another puff of his cigarette.

“So what if I just met the guy? Why does that matter? He was really nice, I wanted to talk to him! It’s not like I was gonna be over there all night, I was going to come back over to you guys.” you say defensively, crossing your arms and looking up at him, waiting for an answer. He runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly, “Frecks, he so clearly wanted to sleep with you! He probably doesn’t even actually care about you, he just wants to get laid! He’d never treat you right.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and then sighs.

“Why do you even care, Sam? Am I not allowed to talk to guys? Is that it? Am I supposed to just follow you around like a little lost puppy all night? It’s fucking pathetic!” you yell, your eyes starting to well up. “No, Frecks, God! That’s not what I’m saying! But I can’t just stand around and watch some guy flirt with you right in front of my face! It’s making me fucking crazy!” he says, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head. “Sam. Look at me,” you say, looking up at him, tears starting to fall down your cheeks slowly.

His gaze softens as he looks down at you, then he throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it to put it out as he steps closer to you. You look up at him, glossy-eyed, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he was acting like this. Sam never gets angry with you, you don’t understand what’s gotten into him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he gets closer to you and suddenly, he raises his hand to cup your cheek and pulls you in, kissing you. At first, it’s soft, his lips feel warm to the touch as you kiss him back, his thumb caressing your cheek affectionately. Then he deepens it, pulling you into him with his other hand on your waist and smiling against your lips.

It grows to become ravenous and uncontrollable, and you start to struggle to breathe. He turns you both around and backs you into the outer wall of Josh’s house as he teases his tongue into your mouth. You welcome it, moaning into his mouth as you deepen the kiss even more. Both of your hands are on the back of his neck, tangled in his long hair, pulling him closer to you. You suddenly feel very aware of where you are and remember all the people inside, so you pull your mouth off of him, still staying close. “Sam, the party,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Fuck the party. Let’s go, c’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you through the backyard gate, around the house to the driveway, avoiding the crowd inside. You giggle at the situation, feeling like a couple of teenagers, then ask “But what about Danny?” You both stop at his car and he looks down at you. “He’ll just stay at Josh’s tonight,” he says, smirking, “I’ll text him, don’t worry about him, honey…” He holds your waist and pulls you in for another kiss before opening the door for you, letting you into the passenger seat. He rounds the car and gets into the driver’s side, starts the car, and pulls out of the driveway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The drive to Sam’s place is short but also agonizingly long at the same time. He keeps a steady hold on your inner thigh as he drives, keeping his eyes on the road. Occasionally, he rubs his thumb lightly, sending shivers down your spine. Never in a million years did you think you would be here, with him. It was something you only imagined, but you never thought that Sam would want you like this. It warrants a conversation, but you can worry about that later.

Sam pulls into his driveway, puts the car in park, and then rushes to get out and open your door for you. You get out of the car and his lips are already attacking you, putting his hands on your hips as he backs you up toward his front door. He drops your lips for a moment to unlock the door, opens it, and then drags you in with him, closing it and shutting it behind you. You both kick off your shoes and then he swiftly brings you to his bedroom upstairs.

You’ve been to Sam’s house hundreds of times, but this time felt different. As you enter his room it almost feels like the first time, giving you butterflies as he pulls you into him, taking your lips in his. He lays you down on the bed as he continues to kiss you, making his way across your jaw and then down your neck. You lean upwards into his touch, wanting more. His lips feel electric on your neck, sending shockwaves through your entire body and creating friction between your legs.

He pulls back for a moment and slides his finger under the strap of your dress. “Can I…?” he asks, looking down at you for permission. You nod and you watch him as he slides the straps of your dress down your arms, leaving it bunched above your waist and freeing your uncovered breasts, as you couldn’t wear a bra underneath. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath before he leans back down, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he holds the other in his hand, squeezing it, making you whine. He moans against your skin and then leans back to unbutton his shirt, throws it to the side, and then slides your dress the rest of the way off, past your legs.

He kisses his way down your stomach, to your hip, and then your inner thigh. You writhe slightly under his touch, barely able to contain yourself from his teasing. You’re insanely aroused now after all of the kissing and feeling his hands on you, you don’t feel like you can wait anymore. “Sammy, please,” you whine, his eyes looking up at you deviously. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you,” he answers, his voice sounding so smooth that you feel closer to the edge just from hearing it. He slowly slides your panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor.

He kisses your inner thigh once again as he spreads your legs a bit more. “Y/N, you are so beautiful… You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about all of the things that I want to do to you…” he says before lowering his mouth onto your aching pussy. Your back arches at the feeling of his mouth on you. His movements are slow and gentle, his tongue circling your clit slowly as his hand rubs your thigh softly. He runs his tongue swiftly through your folds, making you moan quietly before returning to your sensitive bud. You’re already so close from all of the anticipation when you feel his fingers on you before he dips one of them inside of you. He uses steady movements, curling his finger into you as he brings you closer and closer to your release. “Fuck, Sammy, that feels so good,” you whine out to him and he moans against you.

His tongue starts to speed up as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you relentlessly. You clench around them and he removes his mouth from you for a moment and says “Come on, honey. I know you’re close, give it to me. Want it so bad,” then goes back to attacking your clit. His smooth voice combined with his movements inside of you bring you right into a crashing orgasm, arching your back as it washes over you. After you come down from it, he removes his fingers from you and climbs back on top of you.

He slips his hand behind your neck and kisses you passionately, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you taste yourself on it. You moan into his mouth and he pulls away, saying “You taste so sweet, baby. Did you taste it? Isn’t it sweet?” You nod and smile weakly at him, still in a bit of a trance. You lean forward to sit up and kiss him again, reaching your hand down to grasp at his hardened cock through his jeans. You start pulling the zipper down and he leans away from you to get off of the bed and remove them.

Sam gets off of the bed and slips his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and palming himself lightly over his briefs. He then tucks his fingers underneath the waistline and pulls his underwear down, revealing himself to you for the first time. Your jaw drops at the sight, he is much bigger than you had ever imagined. You’d thought that it might be big considering that he’s tall, but this is much more than you expected. He immediately sees your reaction, chuckling a bit and taking your hands to bring you off the bed to stand up with him.

“Surprised, Frecks?” he says, laughing a bit. “I don’t wanna hurt you, honey. You think you can take it?” he asks, looking down at you with a smirk. You just nod before lowering yourself to your knees and taking him in your hand. Given your small stature, your hand can barely even fit all the way around it. You look up at him as you lean up to lick the tip lightly. You watch as he leans his head back, groaning and mumbles some expletives under his breath. You slip the head into your mouth and work your way as far to the back of your throat as you can go.

You start to move, bobbing your head up and down his shaft as you hold it with one hand and grasp his thigh with the other. He reaches his hand down and places his hand in your hair, holding your head as you continue your movements. You swirl your tongue around him and begin to rub your thighs together to relieve some tension, but he’s had enough. “Uh-uh, nope. If you keep going like this, I’m gonna come right there in your mouth,” he utters, using his hand in your hair to take you off of him and bring your face up to his. “I want you, Sammy. So bad,” you say, looking up at him, begging him with your eyes. “Honey, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he answers, leaning you back down on the bed.

He kisses you slowly, holding your cheek in his right hand as he uses his left to line himself up with you. He pulls away, his face just a few inches from yours. “I’ll be gentle, okay baby? You tell me if it hurts at all, and I’ll stop,” he says softly. He leans his forehead against yours as he slides the tip in, eliciting a soft whine from your mouth. He pulls out slightly and then pushes back in, just a bit more, easing you into it. “Fuck, honey, you’re so tight. Relax for me, okay? I’ve got you.” He does this same thing a few more times, easing in a little further until you’ve adjusted enough for him to push in to the hilt. He lets out a deep groan, lighting your insides on fire as you pull him close to you, kissing his lips harshly.

He kisses you back hard, moving his hand from your cheek to grasp the hair at the back of your neck as he pulls you into him. His other hand is firmly planted on your hip, holding you still underneath him. He begins to pull out slowly, slamming back in once, making you whine into his mouth. He starts a steady pace, pulling out and slamming into you over and over again. Your hands are grasping at his back, surely scratching it up to the point where it will leave a mark. “Harder, Sammy, please,” you whine, feeling him smile against your lips. “Can you handle that, baby?” he says, smirking. You nod ferociously, “Yes, please, please.”

He pulls out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of the feeling of him inside you, then swiftly flips you over onto your stomach. His hand goes under you, pulling you up to your hands and knees, while the other lines himself up with you once again, slipping in with ease. You both moan as he places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you down slightly as the other grips your waist. He sets a faster pace, slamming into you so hard that your head starts to spin. “You like that, honey? That hard enough for you?” he asks, relentlessly pounding into you. You mutter a string of yeses, unable to focus on what comes out of your mouth.

The hand previously on your waist moves down to your clit, moving in tight circles as he continues to fuck into you repeatedly from behind. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Give me another one, all over my cock. I know it feels so good,” he grunts as he brings you to another climax. His pace inside you never slows as he fucks you through your second orgasm, uttering words of encouragement as you come down from it. You can tell he’s close now, his hips faltering a bit. “Mmm, fuck honey. I’m so close, where can I-?” he asks, as you interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. “Inside, Sammy. Please, I need it so bad, wanna feel you,” you whine, causing him to throw his head back and moan at the idea of it.

He pulls out and flips you back over, then quickly slides right back into you. “Wanna look at you when I come, baby. Wanna see your face as I fill you up. Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, unable to hold back anymore. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he reaches his own climax, pulling you in for a long, hard kiss. He whimpers against your lips as he finishes, coating your insides completely. His hands are holding your face affectionately as he pulls away from you, looking at you like you’re his whole world. He pulls himself out of you, still hovering over you, his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says. He rubs his thumb on your cheek, looking down at you. “I love you too, Sammy. So much. I always have,” you say, smiling up at him. He pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your lips and letting out a sigh. “You’re everything to me, Freckles. Everything.” He kisses your lips again lightly before taking your hand and helping you out of the bed, bringing you to the bathroom to clean up. You both take a shower, wash everything off, and then return to his bed.

You settle into bed, laying your head on top of his chest, breathing him in. His hands play with your hair as you wrap your arms around him, nestling in. “Goodnight, Sammy,” you say, sighing into him as you shut your eyes. “Goodnight, my love,” he answers, placing a kiss on the top of your head before drifting off to sleep, feeling the happiest he’s ever felt.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#greta van fleet #sam kiskza #samgvf #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka smut #greta van fleet fic #gvf #greta van smut #greta van fluff #greta van angst #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #Spotify

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rosewaterandivy · 8 months

Text

the workin’ of my hands— a whatever’s still to come oneshot

summary: a stretched summer night between you and steve.

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

word count: 2271

warnings: prosaic smut, too many metaphors, and an over abundance of chiaroscuro - the usual!

note: am I positively feral for unreal unearth? 100 percent yes, do you even know me at all?! like I’ve said, this series is a long way from seeing the light of day, but enjoy a lil’ taste in the meantime.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

It feels destined and star-crossed, the way his heart kicks up when your fingers brush against his.

Finally worked up the courage to ask you out, and it’s holding hands that does him in?

He shakes his head minutely, biting his lip and tearing his gaze from you. Not noticing your upturned face, thinks you’re looking at the stars when in reality, you can’t stop looking at him.

So familiar yet so different from what you imagined he’d be.

No matter.

Not when he squeezes your hand and he cuts the engine of the beemer.

It was a casual date, all things considered; dinner at the diner followed by a movie. During which Steve had been a perfect gentlemen, opening doors and keeping his hands to himself.

He doesn’t exactly want to and would rather propriety be damned, but the thing is he likes you. Really likes you. To the point that Robin is getting sick and tired of his moping and making cow-eyes at you whenever you’re in Family Video.

“Shit, or get off the pot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and continues to stock the new releases across the shop. “Such language,” he taunts, “And from a lady, at that.”

Robin rolls her eyes and Steve swears he can almost hear it. “‘M tryin’ to give you some advice, dingus.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, walking back to the counter for another stack of tapes. “No offense Robs, but I think between the two of us, I’m the dating expert.”

Now it’s her turn to snort. “Okay, big guy.” She taps the keys of the computer idly, “Then when is the last time you’ve used this so-called expertise?”

“Pfft.” He rolls his eyes, “I dunno, like last week? Crystal or Christine— whatever her name was.”

Robin smirks, “You think that was last week? Try a month ago. Poor Christine only stopped calling you last week.”

Steve stops, a tape nearly falling from his grasp. The door chimes, signaling a customer walking in, and he nearly falls over himself trying to assist them.

Only to see you standing by the door.

Robin lets out a low whistle and busies herself at the counter. And Steve would like nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

You look divine.

A bright summer dress, skirt skimming just above your knees to reveal sun-warmed skin. The faint aroma of sunblock and chlorine clings to you, invading his senses while he forces his eyes upward.

The bodice of the dress is damp, clinging to your rib cage and waist; it’s clear you’d just come from the pool and had thrown the garment on as a cover-up, a lone bikini strap slipping down one shoulder and chest heaving.

You’re clutching a tape in hand, something you’d rented last week, and that’s when it all slides into place.

“I—uh,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “I forgot to return this earlier, how much in late fees?”

It’s at this point that Robin has the sense to make herself scarce.

“Oh,” Steve replies, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not a huge deal since it was due this morning.”

His free hand comes to take the tape from you. Your fingers brush for the briefest of moments before Steve is turning to deposit the tape with the other returns.

He tries to stifle the shudder that runs through him, the sensation of your soft skin against his.

“Did you like it?”

“Hmm?”

Steve clears his throat, “The movie, did you like it?”

“Sure,” you say, fingers lingering on the tapes he’d just stocked. “It was fine.”

How Steve got from there to here, on a bona fide date with you, he’ll never know. Though Robin is insistent, it has something to do with “the Harrington charm offensive.”

Usually, somewhere between dates three to five, Steve maybe gets his dick wet. If he’s lucky.

But you flutter your lashes and look up with those big doe eyes and he finds himself defenseless.

“Wanna come up?”

He all but stumbles up the stairs to your apartment, tittering giggles spilling from your mouth as you unlock the door.

Steve’s eager, and you like it.

Is it such a bad thing, that he’s desperate for more of your time?

It’s like his mind finally rests in your presence, his soul is at peace. No longer constantly looking over his shoulder for the next big, bad thing.

You quiet the agonies inside him.

Replace them with warmth and light.

His mouth is on you as soon as the door is locked. Boozy and warm, with the faintest hint of tequila from your drink at dinner. You sigh into the kiss and Steve swears it’s a sound he’s heard only in his dreams.

Heat licks up the ridge of your spine, Steve’s hands everywhere, as if he can’t get enough of you. Leading him from the entryway, your hands land on his hips fingers hooking into belt loops.

A gentle tug brings you both into the dim light of the bedroom. Hands glide up his chest to settle along his shoulders as your lips part from his with a soft click. He takes slow breaths, mindful not to pull from your orbit.

Your arms drape languidly around his collar, fingers idly caressing the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Eyes blown wide with lust, starry and enchanting; if he’s not careful, Steve swears he could get lost in them.

A slow smile graces your lips as your hands drift to his chest— a soft push sends his back to the downy duvet while you nudge his legs apart.

“Honey,” he rasps, running a hand through his hair, watching your deft fingers pop the button on his jeans. “You don’t have to—“

A disapproving cluck from you as you unzip the fly. “But I want to, baby.”

Steve’s dick jumps.

Baby.

Sticky sweet falling like spun sugar from your ruddied lips. He groans, eyes screwing shut and head falling against the pillow. He’s as good as gone now; your intoxicating smile and the working of your dexterous hand, freeing him from the confines of his boxers and sealing his fate.

Because Steve isn’t used to this— being cared for. He plans the date, picks her up, pays for dinner, drives her home, and pretty much does all the heavy lifting in the bedroom. He’s a generous lover, or so he’s been told.

“If you’re down for a good time, call…”

So to say he’s unprepared when you get your mouth on him and sluice him up with lover’s spit, is an understatement.

Steve’s soul could leave his body at this moment and he would be none the wiser.

Not when your pretty little mouth is wrapped around his cock in a smile. It’s everything he can do not to blow his load right then and there.

You work him up easily. Not that it’s that difficult, because he really, really likes you. Your hand working in tandem with what your mouth can’t fit and Steve is losing his damn mind.

The sounds are obscene.

Wet sucks and licks from your mouth, moans as you sink him further down, crushing against your molars. Low whines pouring from his own mouth, begging,

“Oh, fuck. Jus’ like that— ohmygod your fucking mouth.”

His hands cradle your head tenderly, like he can’t bring himself to believe that this is happening. And as heavenly as your mouth is, Steve knows, deep in his bones, that he has to be inside of you.

Like, yesterday.

“Honey,” he says, fingers sweeping along your jaw, coaxing you to look up.

When your eyes meets his, Steve has to stave off an orgasm from a particularly harsh suck of your mouth.

“C’mere,” it comes out more desperate than he’d intended, but you don’t seem to mind.

Fingers wipe away the lover’s spit that had gathered on your mouth and chin, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What is it, baby?”

Your voice is a wrecked low rasp, and pulls at something primal in his guts. The weight of you settles against his lap, a wiggle of your hips stoking the heat trapped in his veins.

Steve takes a moment to study you: wild hair from the torment on his fingers, eyes warm and glassy, lips slick and revealing a bright flash of teeth. The strap of your dress falls from your shoulder and he wants nothing more than to wreck you.

As if you can read his mind, you wink and reach back to unzip the dress. You pull the fabric up and away inviting the moonlight to gleam against your skin.

It steals breath.

His hand reaches out to trace the curve of your breast, earning him a lustful sigh that falls from your open, panting mouth. You’re so soft under his fingertips, Steve wants to get his mouth back on you, he has to.

But then you pull your pantries to the side and, oh god, is that hotter than he thought it’d be— only to grip the hot, firm line of him against your petaled heat.

Steve goes to say something, anything to warn you, that he can’t possibly fit. That you’re not loosened up enough. He hasn’t even eaten you out or worked your open on his fingers.

But all that comes out is a groan as he disappears into the divine, wet heat between your thighs.

Jesus Christ in Heaven.

“S’okay, baby,” you coo. “I can take it.” You lean closer, hair tickling his neck and breath fanning against his skin, “I was made for you.”

Steve has no idea what comes out of his mouth at that. Just thrusts up uselessly, hands holding firm to the flare of your hips. You chuckle lowly and brace yourself against his chest, finger nails scraping along his skin.

You ride him like it’s your job, alternating slow, winding thrusts with quick, percussive ones. You’re so tight. And wet. And hot. Half-lidded eyes trained on him, changing your tempo to suit his pleasure.

Steve can feel himself growing warm, heat climbing up his neck and chest. A rag-doll beneath you, a sheen of sweat along his skin, mouth open in a wet gasp. The quirk of your lips sends a rush through his veins, a low keen falling from his lips.

“Slow down, gonna come if you keep that up.”

You settle into a slow, lazy roll of your hips, but just barely.

“Why, don’t you wanna come, baby?”

He’s in so deep that his skin blooms with a shudder when his cockhead kisses your cervix.

“Big and filling me up so well, Stevie.” A plaintive moan erupting from your lips, accompanied by a vicious clench of your walls. “God, you feel so good.”

Steve smiles delirious and completely captivated by you. Extricates a hand to drag you back down to him, rests your forehead against his, as if your souls could become intertwined, and kisses you like he’s a dying man.

And, hell, he might as well be.

“Fuck,” rushes out in a hoarse breath. “Fuck!”

The room spins out of control and he can feel you smiling against his collarbone. You wind your hips and flutter your walls against him, as Steve grinds deeply into you. Steadies himself by palming at your hips, thumbs tracing the jut of bone there, as if it would ground him.

His orgasm crashes on him like a tidal wave, bringing with it a sense of deja vu— you and him but in a different time and place. Your eyes and smile remain the same, as does the feeling— a bone-deep sense of home.

But the clothes are different, as are the words that fall from your lips. Dappled in light from the moon or sun, the images keep coming and so does Steve.

“Philtatos,” you gasp, reaching your peak with a full body shudder. Steve’s hands anchor you to him, points of heat flaring against your skin.

And it’s glorious— you are glorious. Moonlight cutting through the shade of night to illuminate your pleasure. The clench of your cunt is nearly enough to make him come all over again, and wrests a strained moan from the confines of his throat.

By the time Steve comes to his senses again, you’re sponging open-mouthed kisses and bites to his neck and chest, a hand laid over the steady beat of his heart. You wiggle against his hips and thighs, wet and sticky between your legs.

He clutches at your waist, breaths evening out once more. Fingers trace the curves of your ribcage while he revels in the comedown.

“What was that thing you said? Phil—“

The crescents of your nails drag delightfully against his skin. “Philtatos.”

“Yeah, that.” Steve’s hand settles at the nape of your neck, playing with your hair idly. “What does it mean?”

You hum contentedly, nearly melting at his touch and earning a raspy laugh form him.

“S’like a nickname,” you supply softly. “It’s Greek.”

He doesn’t press further. More interested in the working of his hands, wants you boneless and sated spread out before him. His cock kicks up at the thought.

“Baby,” you ask, syrupy sweet.

“Uh huh.” He’s woozy.

“What’s your refractory period like?”

A shiver courses up his spine. He laughs and shakes himself alive, pulling up to take you down to the mattress. You acquiesce easily, back arching and lips searching for him in the near dark.

“Okay honey,” he says with a knowing lilt and grin, “Now it’s my turn to fuck you.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #fic: wstc #Spotify

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i-smoke-chapstick · 2 months

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‘WILDFLOWER AND BARLEY,

-GOTHAM!EDWARD NYGMA X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Sometimes you don’t think you deserve him….other times, you think it’s for the best that you stay.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!riddler x female reader. SMUT AND ANGST!! reader is toxic, but eddie is too, so its ok. eddy being vanilla but also strangely dominant. guys this fic is FILTHY. also,, part 3 to gotham characters eating you out. takes place with like season 2 eddy, post kringle. Did i write a fic inspired by a Hozier song that isn’t even released yet? yes. readers taking advantage of eddy. but also, eddy is more than willing to give. kind of a character study. im so sorry if i made reader too mean ive had this idea for a week😭

fic requested by @clementine-writes-things <3

♫ “My coffee black in my bed at 3 / You’re too sweet for me. You’re too sweet for me.” Wildflower and Barley by Hozier

You’d fucked up, majorly.

God, what were you thinking?

Edward Nygma, the quirky forensics guy. The loon, as your fellow officers eloquently put it. And you didn’t necessarily disagree. He was certainly a peculiar fellow. He had always a thing for…what was her name? Kristen Kringle. That was it. You’d been working with him for years, watching him moon after her. You could…understand the appeal, you guessed. She had a sexy sixties librarian type of thing going for her. She kept to herself. Maybe you should’ve done the same. She’d dissapeared a few weeks ago.

You somehow landed yourself in the bed of Edward Nygma. You’d been hooking up…For the past two weeks in a row. No judgement, yeah?

It started as a joke. You and the other officers, chatting with beers and obnoxious comments towards the other tools in the GCPD. Jim Gordon…Harvey Bullock. The way the men couldn’t seem to keep their mouthes shut, especially Jim.

Well, you’d gotten plenty tipsy, staying after work. You pummled those beers back like it was your last night alive. And hell, living in gotham? As an officer? It very well could be.

They were all drunk and laughing out of their minds. Anything anyone said seemed overly funny. Especially when one of your fellow cops brought up the name, “Nygma” like the name was it’s own disease.

“You think Y/N could sleep with him?”

“Yeah, Y/N, go fuck the loon. I wonder what it’s like.”

“You think he says riddles when hes cumming?”

“Whats long, hard, and has ‘cum’ in the middle?”

The numerous voices of your “friends” rung out, and in the moment, drunk out if your mind, you too thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

“I could do it.” You affirmed, alcohol giving you the liquid courage you wouldn’t typically have. After the “oooooo”ing from some of your coworkers, you decided, fuck it. Edward was tall, had nice cheekbones, and was smart. You could do worse than a one night stand.

So you confidently marched into that forensics room, high on the dare the other cops had given you.

You found him, looking into one of the forensics mirrors. He was muttering to himself and you snorted. Weirdo. Oh well.

He pushed up his glasses when you two made eye contact. He was sweating, for some reason, in that lanky labcoat and rubber-gloved hands. He stood up straight and went rigid when he saw you.

“Ms. L/N-“ He was about to question, when you rammed your lips onto his. You remember it like yesterday- how hesitant he was. The way he parted for air, breathing wildly at you. He kept trying to ask questions the whole time you were eagerly undressing him. But he didn’t seem to mind your fowardness.

Well, just your luck, that one night stand was the best fuck of your life. The way his cock fitted perfectly into your body, like it was made for your cunt alone. You two fucked on the forensics cabinets, your coworkers in the next room over, and it was exhilarating. Especially when the usually reserved Ed got unusually rough, pulling your hair and smacking your ass just right.

By the time you two were done…you were fucked out of your mind. Pleasantly surprised.

Since then, you hadn’t been able to get away. You told the cops it was vanilla, and reveled in their dismay. But…you came back for seconds. And then thirds. And then fourths. And then you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up in your own bed.

And just as if you were Kristen…he started following you. Your coworkers snickered. You’d see homemade cupcakes left on your desk. You’d catch him staring at you from the other side of the precint. You writhed under his gaze. For a man with not much expirence, he was obnoxiously good at sex. And he was even more obnoxiously good at not understanding the meaning of coworkers with benefits, and not a relationship.

But…mornings like these? You can’t complain.

Taking yourself back to the present, you awoke in his bed. The sunlight of the open windows bled through your eyelids, and you felt yourself smack your lips. You blinked yourself awake, same as you always did. You shifted underneath the covers, which had been neatly adjusted over you. It was infuriatingly comfortable. You let a yawn escape your lips.

“Ah, good! You’re awake!” You heard his voice chime, far off in the kitchen. You looked up, seeing his tall frame. He stared at you adoringly, and you felt your heart pang.

He carried a tray of coffee and breakfast. You sat up. It was the usual morning routine. He made the most exquisite breakfasts for you.

“A necessity to some, a treasure to many. I’m best enjoyed among pleasant company. Some like me hot, some like me cold. Some prefer me mild, others prefer me bold. What am I?” He spoke the riddle quickly.

You blinked at him, tired. You shrugged nonchalantly.

He made his way over to you, swiftly and delicatley placing the tray in your lap.

“Coffee.” He looked a bit dissapointed at your lack of answer, but brightened back up instantly. “Almost black, not quite. 1 Sugar. No cream. Just how you like it.” He noted, and it was in this moment, you felt the weight of your actions. He’d memorized everything about you. Whatever records you liked, he’d play softly. He’d learned your favorite flavor cupcake, and how you took your coffee. Gods, he’d even bought the brand of toothpaste you had at your house, so it was familiar brushing your teeth in the morning.

You squinted, adjusting yourself to the sunlight of the room. Golden. You felt the weight of the tray, and met his gaze. God, it was intense. The way his big, puppy dog like eyes harrowed in on you. Like you were the world.

He was practically wagging his tail, watching you take a slow sip of coffee. He wanted praise, as though perfected it, finally.

He was too sweet for you. You didn’t deserve any of this. But selfishly…you couldn’t resist.

You gave him a small nod in approval, letting the liquid glide down your throat. Damn it, The coffee was perfect.

He positioned himself next to you on the bed, sitting, legs crossed. He looked at you almost creepily, eyes never leaving as you finished your breakfast and coffee. You didn’t say a word to him, but you did listen to him ramble quite a bit. Every now and then he’d ask a casual question, and you’d stay silent, or give him a one worded answer. You’d see his smile falter, but he’d continue.

When you were done, he’d grab the tray from your hands. You let him do the work for you. You liked his bed. He came back, eyes big and bright. He sat once more, looking at you expectantly. You furrowed your brows.

“…What?”

He shrugged, giving a slightly nervous, manic giggle. You cringed a bit, but faltered when you felt his fingertips glide across your thigh.

Oh. Thats what.

“…We have work in an hour.” You replied. The mantra played in your head. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him. You felt guilty.

“I’ll be quick.” He affirmed, peeling the covers back. Oh, fuck it. Who were you to deny him?

He didn’t lie, he was fast. The covers exposed your skin, still undressed from the previous night. You felt the cool air on your thighs and pussy, and couldn’t help it. You caved.

In an instant, he was worshipping your legs, working his way up. He kept eye contact with you, laying gentle bites and pecks into the plush of your skin.

He kissed his way up, tonguing the bite marks he left in his wake. You shivered when his lips hovered over your pussy. He wasted no time. No, he didn’t tease you, he needed to please you as quickly as he could. It was a need for him.

His tongue came into contact with your pussy lips, and you shivered. Instinctivley, you threaded your hands through his morning messy hair, and shoved his face into you. He reciprocated instantly, wanting nothing more than to make you feel good. He licked up and down, tongue flicking gently on your cute little pearl of a clit.

He circles it and taps it with his tongue, saliva dripping and mixing with your juices. His movements are quick and calculated, and he indulges you, body and soul. He hums in pleasure when you arch your back up into him uncontrollably. It’s almost uncharacteristic- the way he switches from being so soft and gentle, to practically making out with your pussy. You feel his fingers dig into your thighs, like he’s a whole different person when he’s mouth fucking you.

Your moaning and shaking, saying his name over and over. Somehow, your getting off to this. To the idea you don’t deserve him. That he’s such a nicer, better, smarter person than you. And although he doesn’t vocalize it, you wonder if he strangely shares the sentiment.

It’s almost like he knows. Like he’s self-aware- of all your selfish thoughts. Like this, him eating you out, him on his knees for you, making you breakfast in bed- is some sort of revenge.

He knows what he’s doing. He’s making you feel awful, guilty for your mistreatment of him- by giving you more and more of him. And you find yourself cumming in his mouth at the thought.

He greedily laps at your swollen clit, overstimulating you. You let out a loud yelp, and he keeps going, only for a few more seconds.

It’s weird. He’s weird. But as you sober up from your orgasm, shaking underneath him, you brush those strange thoughts from your head.

You look into his gentle eyes again, watching him ramble off apologies. You two will most definitely be late to work. You scold yourself. Why would you think such an odd thing? No, he’s a complete sweetheart. Not a degrading bone in his body. You think.

Yet…you still feel the bruises forming on your thighs. And the burning guilt of using him.

You left his aparment in a hurry, driving yourself insane. You seem to convice yourself it was a weird orgasm thought, maybe you’re more kinky than you thought; for some pseudo pyschological self degradtion.

You go to the precint, just as you do every other day. The work is effectively still just as boring and your peers are still just as insufferable.

You’re given a few files by some mysoginistic cop you haven’t aquainted yourself with, who obviously assumed you were the new record keeper. You snort, but decide to take it. You browse over the files, snooping. They are forensic files, and your heart drops. Ah. You’ll have to give these to him.

You enter the forensic room without knocking- at least, you’re about to. But you hear him mumbling to himself, and decide to listen in for a moment. Curiosity getting the best of you.

“You’re too good to her.” You hear him argue with…himself? “You need to show her whose in charge.”

“I am!” He retaliates to his own voice.

“By making her coffee?” He snarls, and your brows furrow. He smashes a file cabinet closed loudly. You jump.

“Yes!” Ed’s voice growls out, fed up. “If you were smart enough to understand-“ He begins, and you’ve heard enough. You enter the room.

Ed looks at you bewildered, and you look at the same. He’s sweating, and his hair is in dissaray. You two make eyecontact and you grimace. What the hell?

You hardly register what he was actually saying, and more that he was having a seemingly very heated conversation with himself. You watch him fumble with his glasses.

“…Ed?” You question, and he snaps.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is quick and sharp. Thats uncharacteristic. You wince.

“Uh, files.” You nod to the papers in your hands, and he blinks, standing up straight. He clears his throat.

“Right.” He recovers, quickly. You narrow your eyes at him, and hum, giving them to him. He’s about to speak, but you rush yourself out of the room, heart pounding.

He is weird. He is a freak. You chime. Your coworkers have been right.

Any shred of pity you had for him has dwindled significantly, and you mull it over in your mind.

Maybe you do deserve eachother, You think. You’re the best he’s going to get.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #gotham edward #gotham edward nygma #edward nygma gotham #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader smut #the riddler gotham #the riddler smut #the riddler #the riddler x reader

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zyonsay · 25 days

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Hey I wanted to ask if you could write a Yuki Tsunoda X male reader smut? :)

Maybe where the reader helps Yuki steam off after a bad race or something Yknow? I'm sorry I'm not that creative with ideas 😭

I hope you can make sense of it haha And if you don't want to write for him that's okay as well<3 (or if I didn't saw his name in the list for the people you don't write for, I apologise)

Pearl Necklace YT22

fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Maybe he needs to blow off some steam

Reader: Male

Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Biting, Blood (Everything is consensual)

Now playing: 'Take me to Church' by Hozier

AN: Hello guys! This took longer than expected haha, but im kinda happy with the outcome. idk its 1 in the morning so i might be wrong lol. But anyways, first Yuki content on my blog!! love that <3 This somehow has me thinking of vampire Yuki......

Gloves flew through the garage, one landed on a stack of tires the other fell to the ground and was left there. He ran a hand trough his black strands, muttering something while walking down the pit lane. Some worried looks were thrown his way, but that only made him angrier. He didn’t need any pity, who did they think he was? He could swear that he felt his blood blubber and boil in his veins.

While fidgeting with the baseball cap in your hands, you closely watch the screen, a camera was being shoved in Yuki’s face. God, this feels like watching some stupid drama show and not a sports program. His now ungloved hands were balled into fists and his expression looked sour, or at least the look in his eyes did, since he was still wearing his helmet. With a swift movement Yuki escaped the media and made a run for the team hospitality, where you had been waiting for him. You would’ve watched the race from the pit wall, but a terrible headache had come over you. The sun was cruelly shining, and your headache just got worse, so you retreated inside to take some meds.

The door was closed, not so gently though. You heard muffled steps and the low rumble of your boyfriend. He was easygoing and a fun guy for sure, but he was also very critical of himself. Whenever he didn’t place well, Yuki always thought that it was his fault alone. A few moments pass and a head of raven hair peeked trough the door. With little to no care he slid of his shoes and kicked them aside before taking a few quick steps towards you. Knowing how he must feel you rushed off your chair and immediately into his arms. “Hey there.” The whisper that fell from your lips was very quiet, only you two could hear it. Well, there weren’t many people around anyways, but you still kept your voice low. His shoulders were tense and maybe it was your imagination, but he seemed to be shaking with anger. “I don’t wanna think about this bullshit right now.” Yuki scoffed slightly, his silky black hair was messed up from the balaclava and his eyes darted around the room in a nervous manner. He slid one of his hands behind your neck, like a threatening snake, but you know that he’ll always be careful with you. With a swift motion, he had pulled you into a kiss. It was hungry, even starving. There was a longing sensation in the way his breath trickled down your cheek, he wasn’t begging. He was demanding.

A soft gasp fell from your lips, then a small hum of pleasure slipped out too. His eyes darted up to yours, it almost seemed as if his pupils were dilated like a cat who had just discovered it’s prey. His hand came up from underneath your shirt and gripped your throat. Yuki’s body was pressed against yours, squishing you in between his warmth and the door of his driver’s room. Your blood was stirring and swirling around your veins, a tingly feeling had sat itself in your stomach. Admittedly, you felt bad for Yuki but something about him being furious is so irresistible. The thoughts in your head were shushed away by the growing feeling of dizziness, his hand hadn’t left your neck yet and you were struggling to get any air. A smile tugged at his lips, before he loosened his grip and pressed a few kisses along your jaw. Heavy breaths made your chest heave and sink, you gently pushed your boyfriend backwards. Your gaze darted towards his dark eyes. They were almost completely black, only from very close up you could see a hint of brown in them.

The back of Yuki’s legs hit his chair, which was pulled out from underneath the desk. He reached back and scooched the chair closer to him, and then sat down. He tauntingly tilted his head, waiting for your next move. His eyes were trained on yours, it almost seemed as if he was testing you. But you weren’t gonna let him have this. You too tilted your head, keeping eye contact with him. The driver’s rooms are small, so only a few steps were enough for you to stand right in front of him. His dark lashes fluttered while his characteristic smile spread over his face. “Come here.”, he whispered while gesturing to his lap. You were about to swing your leg over his, as he quickly turned around you your back was pressed closely to his chest. He reached around your torso and began unbuckling your belt. His lips lingered over your neck; his breath felt awfully hot on your skin. Yuki’s soft kisses quickly turned into love bites and his hand was teasing you trough your underwear. This was too much and too little at once, you could’ve exploded right there. In a swift motion, he had pulled down your boxers. The cold air hit your member and a shiver ran down your back, this made Yuki smile, you could feel it on your neck. His left hand massaged your thigh while his other one gently took your cock and began stroking it slowly. Way too slowly. Out of desperation you bucked into his hand, earning you a chuckle and a light slap on your thigh. A sweet whine escaped your throat, and you leaned your head back against Yuki’s shoulder. Your boyfriend hummed in approval, “Does that feel good?” Yes, it did. God, it was fucking incredible. Caught in a haze, you could only stammer out what seemed to resemble a weak ‘yes’. Soon after he sped up his movement, tightening his grip around your dick slightly, shortly after being rewarded loud gasps from you. He was enjoying this scene, it put him at ease. You were melting like putty in his hands, in moments like these he could do anything with you. This sense of control pleased him tremendously, but this was a mutual game.

Yuki bit down on your shoulder, leaving deep teeth marks in your skin. One day you would have to get those trending bitemark tattoos for sure. But for now, the pulsing raspberry redness was more than enough. Once again, he sped up and kept kissing your now sensitive, irritated skin. A hot, sweet feeling was pooling in your stomach. A stinging sharp pain surged through your neck. And before you knew-

-it had stopped. Yuki’s teeth were sunken deep into your skin, when he let off small droplets of blood began pooling in the dents his teeth had left. They were crimson red and looked like beautiful red pearls. You whined and winded in his touch, from pain, frustration but mostly from want. He delicately hummed before gently licking a long stripe from your shoulder up to your jaw, savoring the iron-like taste of your blood. “Love you.”, he whispered before he began jerking you off again.

#zyonsmail=͟͟͞͞ ✉#welcome to zyons rubber room #yuki tsunoda #yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #male!reader #male x male #f1 x reader #f1 x male reader #f1 fanfic #reader insert #gay #f1 fic #x reader

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snoopymins · 1 month

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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.

#na jaemin #jaemin #nct dream #nct #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin fluff #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #na jaemin angst #jaemin x y/n #jaemin x you #na jaemin x you #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #na jaemin imagines #jaemin imagines #sun writes

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hessofather · 1 month

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Farmhand!Joel-Part 2-Too Sweet for Me

Summary: Almost getting caught by your dad is exciting. Having dinner with your parents and him is always awkward. And going to his place for the first time is just as fun as you’d hoped. Although Joel is seemingly catching feelings pretty hard, he’ll still put you in your place. You’re just too sweet. This may or may not be inspired by the new Hozier song coming out.

I’m open to requests!

Warnings: 18+ only!!!! PIV sex, almost getting caught, age gap, oral sex female receiving, oral sex male receiving, lots of talking you through it, Joel catching feelings he wasn’t expecting, fingering, unprotected sex

It’s only been a week since you and Joel fucked in his truck for the first time, yet you guys have fucked at least a dozen times since then.

Hiding in the barn, on your late night “thinking” drives, even out in the field a couple times. Pretty much anytime your dad wasn’t around, you’d find yourself bent over the hood of Joel’s truck taking his cock from behind or being pushed up against the backside of the chicken coop and having your insides rearranged.

That leads you to where you are right now.

“We gotta hurry, your dad’ll be back soon.” Joel says in a rushed, quiet voice.

“Don’t worry I know what I’m doing here.” You say slyly as you kneel in front of him, unzipping his pants and freeing his already hard cock.

“Mmm looks like someone was waiting for me.” You coo, looking up and smiling at him.

“Fuck yeah. You walkin round here in a fuckin bikini top and shorts makes my head spin and my cock hard.” He says, gripping the back of your head and shoving his hard length in your mouth.

“Such a dirty little whore. Tryna make me hard when you’re not supposed to.” He says through gritted teeth, “Think ya need punishment for that baby, now you’re gonna choke on me.”

He puts both hands on the back of your head and shoves himself all the way in your mouth. His balls smacking your chin. He’s practically going down your throat completely when he abruptly pulls all the way out and leans over the side of his truck.

“Hey Bill! How was town? You find what you needed to fix the fence?” Joel says, subtly trying to get you to put his still hard shaft back in his pants.

“Ah no, those young cashiers never know how to find stuff anymore.” Your dad huffs from what you can tell is the entrance to the barn. Luckily you’re hidden from his vision by the tire of the truck.

So instead of helping Joel by putting his cock away for him, you decide to have a little fun.

As your dad and Joel continue to chat about work, you begin to softly lick Joel’s balls. He rests one arm on the truck casually and lets the other one hang down by your face. Trying to swat you away.

Instead you take his hand and make him grip your hair as you lick up the seam of his balls, then up the shaft, then the tip.

He roughly grips your hair and continues talking with your dad. Casually clearing his throat when you take him back down your throat.

His hips pump ever so slightly, as to not give him away. You hear your dad clanking around, just on the other side of the barn door, obviously paying no attention.

You feel him twitch in your mouth and start to go a little deeper and bob your head faster. With his hand still gripping your hair, he pushes himself all the way down your throat as he coats you with his hot, salty cum. Which you gladly swallow and show him your empty mouth with pride.

“Alright I gotta go take a shit I’ll be back out in a little while. Go ahead and get the chickens fed.” Your dad says, exiting the barn.

“I’ll get right on that.” Joel says.

“Oh by the way, my wife asked if you want to stay for dinner tonight? It’s steak and baked potatoes.” Your dad asks.

“Ah, well how could I say no to that?” Joel laughs.

“Alright I’ll let her know. I’m sure my daughter will be happy. Between me and you, I think she has a little crush on ya.” Your dad says with a chuckle.

“Oh really? Never woulda guessed that.” Joel laughs, subtly patting your head.

“Yeah, just don’t play into it though. She gets attached too easily.” Your dad says, walking away “alright I’ll be back.”

“Fucking Christ woman, are you tryna get me killed?” Joel scolds, once your dad is fully in the house.

“Nah, just havin some fun.” You say, standing up. “See you at dinner tonight.”

“When were you going to tell me you had a little crush on me?” Joel asks, teasingly

“As soon as you took your cock out of my mouth. I was going to say ‘hey by the way I think you’re cute.’” You say sarcastically

—

“This looks delicious ma’am, thank you for inviting me for dinner.” Joel politely says to your mom.

“Well thank you for staying Joel. Lord knows we don’t ever have guests over for dinner so this is nice.” Your mom says, passing you the salad. “Once this one here goes back to school, it’ll be back to just me and Bill at home, so it’ll be nice if you’d come for dinner every now and then.”

Joel looks over at you curiously, “when do ya head back?” He asks.

“In about 6 weeks.” You say, suddenly becoming very interested in the little flowers painted on your plate.

You don’t want to think about leaving yet. You and Joel have had so much fun, that the thought of leaving in less than two months makes a pit form in your stomach.

“Yep, she’s our little genius.” Your mom declares proudly, “she’s majoring in biology and minoring in animal science.”

“Oh really? What do you want to do with those degrees?” Joel asks you.

“Well eventually I’d like to be a veterinarian.” You say, smiling at your mom.

“Growing up on a farm she was bound to love animals. I never got the chance to go to college, but if I had, I would have chosen the same path.” Your mom says, pouring your dad another glass of tea.

“Sounds like you really do have a genius on your hands” Joel says to your dad.

“I prefer the term smartass.” Your dad laughs.

—

“I’m heading out with some friends, don’t wait up.” You tell your parents, exiting the house before they have time for questions.

Your phone dings, it’s Joel. He sent you his address.

When you arrive, his place looks almost exactly how you’d imagined. He lives in a studio apartment. Minimal furniture, meaning a lawn chair in front of a 72 inch tv with a PlayStation hooked up in the living room. A stack of movies on a shelf next to the tv. And a bed in the corner of the room.

“Nice of you to clean up the place.” You laugh, looking at the empty beer bottles on the counter.

“Hey, I made the bed.” Joel defensively jokes.

“I’m just happy you have sheets.”

“I’m an old bachelor. Not a monster.” Joel says, holding his hand to his chest as if he were offended.

“Old? No, no, no, experienced.” You say, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

“I know I’m no genius like you, but I think these gray hairs in my beard suggest that I am old.” He says, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in.

“I think it makes you look sophisticated.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You’re too sweet for me.” He says, smiling almost sadly.

You can’t help but smile at how nice this feels. To just be together, holding each other, not hiding behind a barn or sitting in a cramped cab of a truck.

Joel puts his hand on the back of your head and kisses you softly. You let out a soft moan as he pulls you in just a little harder, slipping his tongue in your mouth and gently walking you back until you’re at the edge of his bed.

He travels his kisses to your neck, gently caressing your thigh before unbuttoning your shorts, pushing them down your hips. He lifts your t-shirt over your head, exposing your red lace bra and begins to kiss you again, this time more intensely.

“Lay back, baby.” He says, slipping his shirt over his head. This is your favorite look of his. Shirtless, with tight jeans, and a hunger in his eyes.

You gladly listen and lay back, stretching your arms out and feeling the sheets beneath you.

His hand comes to your mouth and he slips his index and middle finger in. “Get ‘em wet for me, sweetheart.”

You suck on his fingers until he’s satisfied. He takes those two fingers and slips them down to your already dripping cunt and slides them in.

“Oooh baby, already so wet for me, huh? Such a good girl, coming to my house already wet for daddy.” He says as he curls his fingers in you. You arch your back up, silently begging for him to give your tits attention.

“Use your words, baby.” He pulls your bra down and leans over to take your nipple in his mouth, “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, daddy. F-fuck I love when you suck on my tits.” You shakily say.

He speeds his fingers up in you, pumping them in and out, curling them, playing with your clit with his thumb. He continues sucking on your pebbled nipples, giving them equal attention, licking them with the tip of his tongue and lightly biting.

He knows how to push you over the edge so quickly it almost seems like magic. You can already feel your climax building and he can see it.

“Just like that baby. Fuck you look so pretty like this. I want you to look at me while you cum. Let me see your face”

His words send you spiraling. Eyes on him, your body spasms around his fingers as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

As you come down from your high, he ushers you to scoot farther up on the bed. As you rest your head down on the pillow, he crawls up between your legs and parts your knees.

“God you’re pretty cunt just absolutely dripping. I need a taste.” He says, dipping his face down and licking up your wet seam. “Fuck, you taste so sweet.”

He flattens his tongue and laps at your folds. Making you clench your thighs around his head.

“Fuck daddy, that feels so good.!” You cry out, digging your fingers into his hair as he digs his into your thighs.

He can sense that another climax is building in you. “Uh uh uh.” He tisks, “Not yet baby. I want to feel it on my cock this time. Hold off just a little while longer while I finish my dessert.” He says, continuing to dig his fingers in your thighs and suck at your clit.

You are so close, that you have to actively focus on not cumming, when he finally stops and comes up face to face with you. Kissing you hard this time. Biting at your lip, probably drawing blood but you don’t care.

He spits on his hand and gets his throbbing shaft positioned at your entrance, stopping at just the tip.

“Who’s hole is this, baby?” He says darkly.

“Fuck, it’s yours daddy. I’m all yours.”

“Good girl.” He says as he thrusts all the way in with one sharp snap of his hips. “This pussy is all mine.”

He’s rough, so rough it almost hurts. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re actually his and only his.

His cock is much bigger than anybody else’s you’ve ever been with. When he goes full force like this, it feels as if he’s going to break you.

You try to scoot yourself up a little so that his cock doesn’t go fully in you. But he wraps his arms under your shoulders and pulls you back down. “Don’t run from it baby, I’m not done, you can take it. A good little whore like you can take my cock.”

Slamming into your cunt, his tip hitting your cervix with each thrust. “This is what you wanted all day isn’t it? My cock splitting you open?”

You let out an exasperated moan, hoping that answers his question.

“No baby. Use. Your. Words.” He says, accentuating each word with another rough thrust of his cock.

“Yes, Daddy! I’ve wanted your cock in me all day.” You scream, “Fuck, can I cum again?”

“Go ahead baby, cum for daddy.”

You immediately cum on command. Practically seeing stars when he says “Fuck baby. You choke my cock so good. I’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up.”

A few more rough thrusts and he lays his full body weight on you and growls as he fills your cunt.

You both lie there for a few minutes with his cock twitching, still in you.

“We should make this using the bed a more regular thing.” He says, rolling over on his side.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You say as you lay back.

“Can you stay the night?” He asks hopefully

“Yeah, I told my parents not to wait up so I can stay.” You say, cuddling up to him.

You both lay there in comfortable silence until you both drift off to sleep.

Thank you to @bitchesuntitled for helping with editing and ideas!

#dom joel miller #new writers on tumblr #female reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #au #daddy's good girl #good slvt

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lanadelray-gurl · 3 months

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''My heart is, and always will be, yours''

Singer!Austin butler x Bandmate!fem!reader

Warning: Angst,fighting,cussing,hidden love,fluff,soft smut,p n v,fingering,biting,crying,falling in love(really a friends/enemies to lovers kind of thing)

Summary: you and Austin had started a band with a few other friends back in high school.You played bass and he play guitar,you both sang together. But what happens after you start to fall in love with him but his new found fame has gotten to his head?

You had always been interested in music,you grew up with it. Your mom played the piano and your father played the bass which he would go on to pass down to you,you didn’t have a club for music in your high school so you decided to make a post on your facebook(gosh you feel old looking back on this) you made a small post to your 20 friends on Facebook. It read;’Do you like music? Do you like making music? Can you play an instrument but simply can’t find anywhere to play? Well please send me a message if you’re interested in a music club after school at my house!’ You sounded desperate,,which was the case. See you always wanted to start a band,your dad did when he was your age and you decided fuck it why not! That’s when you met him. Him being Austin,at first you thought he was cute,he had nicely styled dirty blond hair,pretty blue eyes and he was tall. And did I mention he could sing AND play guitar. Yeah..he was perfect.

When you first talked or Austin he had messaged you on Facebook,you didn’t even know he went to your school! You barely paid attention to your surroundings in school,either writing stupid songs or drawing little things in your notebook. He told you he was very interested in your ‘club’ and even sent a video of him playing the acoustic guitar and singing an Elvis song! It was a bit old school but you sighed it,he told you he could pretty much play any song you wanted him to. He also added that he had a few friends who also went to your school who’d be interested. One being named Adam;he was your age and played drums. Then you had Johnny; he was a few years older and played rhythm guitar. It was perfect what could go wrong!

Apparently everything could go wrong—

Well not necessarily for the whole group,it seemed to just be you. It’s been a few years now,you and Austin had been posting your music (which was mostly covers of really popular songs) to any platform out there! And it gained a lot of traction,you both really enjoyed it,as time passed you guys went a recording studio,produced your own music,posted it and the next week you were approved by a big record label. You all of course said yes,you could see the vision,your name in lights. Well your bands name;Ecstasy (can you tell I got lazy) Your bands music was mostly sensual and meaningful. That’s how you saw it,but it started to look like all of the bands hard work was just a money grab for the rest of your band.

As the years went on you and Austin grew close,you were completely smitten by him. You tried to make all of his ideas for songs come true..even if they sucked. But he didn’t see you like that,you wrote the songs,play the bass and they get money. Which hurt you once you realized. As things progressed you noticed how at every show and on every tour he was with a girl or at least flirting with the girls in the crowd. If hurt you but you couldn’t say it,you had even thought about leaving the band or even going solo but you didn’t want to be selfish. You stayed quiet,Adam and Johnny took notice to your change in personality. Your once bubbly and excited personality had turned kind of dark and closed off,no one could tell what was wrong because you just kept to yourself if you weren’t making music. Sometimes you’d be pretty happy during rehearsals or before recording but somehow Austin brought your mood down.

He’d constantly bring a girl or two to everything the band went to. Didn’t matter if it was private or if it was just a casual hang out. It was to say the least embarrassing and you let it go on for years now. Why couldn’t you stick up for yourself?! God..it was pathetic. You just ignored it at this point,you were emotionally numbed at least that’s what you thought until your most recent show.

Your band was preparing for a show,you kept quiet the whole time. Austin noticed this,even thought it’s been going on for so long he finally noticed your change in personality. He grabbed your shoulder gently,you were grabbing your bass from its case you looked back at him and gently shrugged him off of your shoulder.

“Hey man what’s going on with you..?” He spoke with a bit of force. You looked back at him,you were wearing an amazing outfit,you were wearing a tight black dress with fishnets and combat boots and he took notice..when did you become so pretty? You had beautiful makeup but he could see your eye bags and just how tired you looked. You spoke,your once soft and sweet voice was now slightly rough and scratchy “nothing..just let’s get ready..” you walked towards the stage everything was ready for the show to start,Austin followed close behind you. Tonight was gonna be stressful..

You were nearing the end of the show,you played your heart out,so did the whole band. It was time for your biggest song. This is where you and Austin got really close and just made it seem like everything was sweet and beautiful but it was farm from it. As the song played you felt tears stinging your eyes.(listen to the song above now!!)

“Without shame..”

His voice was smooth and beautiful god why were you so in love with him? It hurt your very soul.

“Two outfits then to my name..”

It was almost time for you to join in,you didn’t know if you could do it. This song was about love but you knew he didn’t love you..and that was so painful.

“You’d end up in one when you’d stay..”

You felt your heart start to race,you walked towards the microphone,standing right next to him. His hands stringing the guitar skillfully. That both turned you on and made you sick. You wanted those hands around you but every other girl got what you wanted.

“We had no where to go..and every desire for going there..”

You began to sing with him,he glanced at you. Your voice was beautiful to him,and once the fans heard you sing they went crazy they loved your voice and something inside him suddenly felt connected to you. His heart began to race.

“I heard once..it’s the comforts that makes us feel numb” You both continued to sing together for the next few moments,your voice made him shiver and his made you wince from the pain from the heart break. “We’d go out with no way to get home..and we’d sleep on somebody’s floor..wake up feeling like a millionaire..” you both continued to sing your heart out,you both looked up and stared into each others eyes. You felt emotions take over you. Austin and the rest of the band could tell you were bubbling with emotion. About to burst whenever you were tipped over the edge and the intensity of the eye contact was what tipped you over. “Wish I’d known it was just our turn..(we just got by)..Being blamed for a world we had no power in..(but we tried)..” Johnny and Adam joined in for a few parts now,giving the song an angelic sound,but your voice seemed to over power them.

“You and I had nothing to show..(we didn’t know)..But the best of the world in the palm of our hands..(anything,darling)” You felt the tears fall down your cheeks,you were now staring to the floor trying not to let your emotions get the best do you,Austin noticed this. He felt a stinging in his heart why did he suddenly care so much..? “And,darling, I haven’t felt it since then..I don’t how the feeling ended..” Your voices cracked slightly,the crowd roared happily but your band knew it was a sign of you losing yourself to you emotions,Austin almost lost his breath. You had raw talent and hearing you putting your real emotions into this certain song made his chest almost cave.

“But I know being reckless and young..Is not how the damage gets done..” You continued to cry as you sang,it was heartbreaking to watch but the fans didn’t care they just wanted to hear you sing with Austin. But now that he kept thinking about you and your new persona he felt a connection of heartbreak with you but why? He maybe thought it was just heartbreaking to see you cry because he was perfectly fine..or at least that’s what he thought. “One time we would want for nothing..(one time we had it all,love).. We knew what our love was worth (when we had nothing)..” you looked up to the sky for a few seconds,your eyes locked with Austin’s once more. He was caught off guard for a moment,you noticed this and felt a since of pride but this.

“..Now we're always missing something (I miss when).. I miss when we did not need much..” Austin backed away from the microphone,he continued to play the guitar. You grabbed the microphone and stared to sing your solo part,you took a deep breath and closed your eyes tight as you put your heart into this part.

“Oh,if the car ran,the car was enough..If the sun shone on us,it’s a plus..and the tank was always filled up! Only enough for our getting there..” Tears streamed down your face as you kept your eyes closed tightly. You opened your eyes finally and looked around and watched as Austin came back to the microphone to end the song and then the show.

Finally once you finished that song you all waved to the fans and you rushed off stage,wiping your tears and sobbing as you put your bass back in its case. You wiped off your messed up makeup,Austin noticed this as he walked past you to get ready to leave on the bus back to the hotel you were all staying. You were all on the bus now,you sat far away from everyone,in the very front you were on your phone mindlessly scrolling socials. You felt eyes on you and you knew it was Austin,that made your heart squeeze itself.

Once you all arrived at the hotel all of you got onto the elevator,Austin was oddly close standing so close your shoulders pressed together. Once the elevator dinged you all went separate ways to your rooms..or at least that’s what you thought. You heard footsteps behind you,you walked towards your room and once you reached for the door you quickly turned around and saw Austin. “Hey..” he spoke breathlessly. You looked annoyed but mostly emotional he couldn’t read your expression. “Can I come in?..” you looked shocked by this,you quickly shook your head and tried to rush into your room “no Austin— No not just no,just fuck no—“ you scoffed and walked into your room and tried to slam the door but he stopped it and barged into your room. You turned to him and had tears streaming down your already redden and wet cheeks. “We’re talking..I don’t care how you feel (Y/N)..” he spoke with a bit of anger. Your eyes widened before you gave your speech,well that’s how would Austin described it.

“No! You don’t get to fucking decide when we talk..you don’t get to tell me how to feel! Now after what you did to me! Did you not see it?! Did you not see how I looked at you and hear how I spoke?! The way I made everything happen just for you?! I even put your shitty song lyrics in our song!” You screamed and continued to let the tears flow,using your hands to speak and put more emotions into it.

“Are you kidding me?! I’m trying to figure out why you’re so emotional and weird all of a sudden! I’m being nice to you! We’ve been friends for years and im showing I care. What are you going on ab—!” You scoffed and threw your hands up in the air before turning away just to look back at him and pointing a finger into his chest.

“I. Loved. You..ever since I met you I loved you. My heart was set on you and your stupid blue eyes and your perfect lips and perfect body..a-and and—“ you put your hands up into your hair and gripped onto it “you..you were just you and I fell in love with yo—“ you let your hands fall to your sides but before you could speak he grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you passionately but with a bit of aggression. It caught you off guard but you kissed back,you held onto his wrist gently as you both walked. You were walking backwards and he basically guided you to your room. He picked you up by the back of your thighs,her laid you down on the bed and continued to passionate kiss.

He pulled away from the kiss and lifted up your dress,pulling it off your beautiful body. Happy to see you were wearing no bra but a pretty pair of black lace panties,you crossed your arms over your breast and shuddered. You turned away from him and whimpered softly,Austin untied your combat boots and pulled them off your tired feet,he pulled off your socks and kiss up from your calves to your thighs. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. He fell to his knees and kissed your inner thigh from the right to the left side,gently biting down on your soft skins. You felt your pussy clinch around nothing as the wetness from you core drenched the cotton.

You moaned gently and covered your mouth,you felt him hook his fingers underneath the band of your panties. He tugged them off,you lifted your hips up and bit your bottom lip a little too hard, you pierced the skin making you flinch. He looked up and smirked up at you knowing he made you crazy,he put your thighs over his shoulders. He started licking up your arousal,it was sweet. The best things he’s ever tasted,he sucked your clit and watched as you squirmed and pressed your hips down onto his face the best you could. He pulled away and rubbed two fingers against your wet core,getting them wet with your slick. With the two wet digits he fingered your drenched and aching pussy slowly,pumping his fingers gently while curling them up to hit that spongey spot that made you arch your back.

He went back to licking and sucking your clit,he took you for granted and he was gonna make up for it. Your beautiful body and your sweet pussy was everything he was missing,all the girls meant nothing to him anymore. He realized he needed you,only you that all he could think of now. You started to feel a coil in your stomach tangle and begin to unwind and get close to snapping. Knowing you were about to cum you tried to push him away but he wouldn’t let you,he pressed your hips down and licked and sucked faster but still at a gentle pace. His fingers working and stretching you out. You rocked you hips wildly “Austin,Austin fuckfuckfuckfuck!—“ you moaned loudly and finally came into his fingers,he moaned against your clit. You gasped loudly and whimpered,he finally pulled away and pulled his fingers out slowly.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good honey..I’ve neglected you for so long baby..I’m so so sorry..”

He spoke softly,he stood up and took off his belt and unbuttoned and then unzipped his jeans before pulling them down along with his boxers. His cocked bounced up,your eyes widened. You’ve seen the outline of it before,you knew he was blessed but seeing it hard and up close made you shake. It was long and tick,leaking with pre-cum,you did this to him and you couldn’t believe it. You felt years well up in your eyes and he noticed,he gently kissed near your eyes and over your eyelids. “Don’t cry honey..I’m sorry baby I really am..” you finally cried tears of pure joy and laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck “nonono don’t worry I-I’m just so happy like..I’ve dreamed about this..” you hiccuped as you felt him pick you up and lay on down long ways in the bed with him towering over you.

He sat up while sitting in his knees,he grabbed your calves and put them on other sides of his hips. He pulled you closer,the shaft of his cock laid against your sensitive clit. It made you moan softly,he stared into your eyes as he slowly rubbed your stomach and smiled happily. It was a genuine smile,something you’ve always wanted to see for so long. “I should’ve found out sooner baby..I could’ve made you feel so so so good sooner..” he whispered,he held the shaft of his cock and slowly pressed the tip into your tight cunt. “Oh fuck aus—“ you let your eyes roll back as you felt him press every inch into you,he filled you up so nicely. His eyes were glued onto his cock sliding into you,his mouth hung open.

He had finally bottomed out,he was pressed into you so nicely you felt him grazing over your cervix. This made you cry out,he leaned down holding your little body close to him,you once again wrapped your arms around him and scratched his tan skin,leaving angry red marks. You heard him groan loudly into your ear,her was fully pressed against your cervix now in this position you couldn’t handle this for long. He slowly pulled out making you whimper before he slowly pushed all the way back it. You let out a loud gasp and you let out a choked moan,he raised up slightly and stared down at you and he observed your fucked our face.

“God your pussy is sucking me I-in I could cum right now..fill you up nice and g-good..”

He whispered softly and started to thrust,it was slow but it had a bit of speed and power but not too much. He didn’t want to hurt you not ever or ever again,he knew he hurt you so many times before and he didn’t want to hurt you in such an intimate moment. You hid your face in his shoulder and bit down leaving a dark red and purple mark,he moaned loudly. Now his thrust gained more speed and strength,he thrusted into you like his life depended on it.

He growled softly into your ear,he kissed up your neck,he left dark marks along your soft neck and up your jaw. He groaned loudly now. You knew he was holding back you wanted all of him. “P-please Aus..please fuck me..pleasepleaseplease..I need your cock deep inside of me..” You moaned into his ear and he gladly took your invitation. He thrusted into you wildly and roughly,she growled and grunted loudly and he looked wild. You stared as his face contorted and twisted as he thrusted in and out of your sopping cunt,you cried out and rocked you hips against him as you felt you second orgasm approaching,you clinched and sloppily grind against his thrust you couldn’t take much more.

“Is my baby gonna cum?Hah..—Hm? My pretty girl wanna cum on my cock?Fuck..—Come on a baby be a good girl..let me feel you cum all over my cock..god you’re so fucking right..” He grunted loudly and stared into your tired half lidded eyes. You nodded you head quickly as you felt your climax getting closer. With one last strong thrust you came all over his cock,squeezing down on his cock making him shutter and he gave you one more thrust before feeling up your warm cunt with his hot cum. He groaned and slammed into you. He stared up at the ceiling before dropping his head and staring down at you.

He slowly pulled out,watching as his cum spilled out of you. He smirked and let out a breathless laugh before plopping next to you and pulling you close. He wrapped the blanket over the both of you,as you both cuddled he lazily dragged his hand down your stomach and to your puffy and sore pussy,he gently pressed his fingers into you. Gently pumping into you,trying to keep his cum inside of you. You whimpered softly and snuggled your face into his shoulder.

“I love you..” he whispered down into your ear as he closed his eyes and spoke sleepily,he was getting close to passing out.

“I love you too..I always will.” You spoke softly and closed your eyes. You both finally fell asleep,you slept in until the late afternoon that next day and it was the best sleep of your life.

Hii! I hope you guys enjoy this little one shot,I finished this before my other stories so I’m posting it! More coming soon..

#Spotify #austin butler fanfic #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler x you #austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fluff

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chazzielynx · 2 months

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I'm entirely normal about Hozier dropping an acoustic version of 'Be', totally normal, so I'm assigning Hozier songs to redacted characters.

(characters in this post: Sam, Ivan, Geordi, Marcus, Damien, David, Elliott, Porter, Guy, Brachium, Hush)

Note: this has been done so many times before, I am aware. I'm not adding sth new to this discourse, lol, just my probably flawed opinions. (Also not a complete list, I just shuffled my Hozier playlist and started assigning lol, might do more parts)

Sam - Be (Acoustic Version) (I know Francesca is an obvious choice here but "Be as you've always been" in that specific soft tone? That's Sam. Telling Darlin that he doesn't intend to change them. Just wants to be with them. Whatever that may look like)

Ivan - Arsonist's lullaby (specifically if we think about Vega enhancing tendencies that are already there (I'm generalising here), then lines like "don't you ever tame your demons, always keep em on a leash" are very interesting to compare that to)

Marcus - unknown (HEAR ME OUT, I hate that he's on this list too, but this is Asset talking to Marcus: "If there were scarlet flags, they washed out in the mind of me". but also the "it's the being unknown" is Marcus to Asset about being lonely)

Geordi - Shrike (more specifically this song is Cutie. A song about not loving your partner right and being ready to when it's already too late....yeah. "ah but I'm singing like a bird about it now"... I miss geordi fluff content)

David - Nobody (This grrr sass wolf was not ready for the absolute chef's kiss that is Angel. "I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint, I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave" HELLO?!)

Damien - Jackboot Jump (god I love this song. Obviously Damien has more to him than just wanting to dismantle the system but this song is so him. "So you know good things are happening when the Jackboot needs to jump" our sassy social warrior <3)

Elliott - Talk (again, Sunlight seems the obvious choice here but this song is about Orpheus and Eurydice. Elliott tried and is trying everything to get Sunshine back. "The dreadful need in the devotee" And he'd look back.)

Porter - First Time (we don't know much yet about him and Treasure but this man is hooked, he just doesn't know it yet. I feel like he fits the 'i don't like my name but when you say it it sounds nice' vibe from the first few lines)

Guy - To Noise Making (he is that partner that absolutely drinks his partner's smile up. He encourages them to have fun and don't care about how they look while doing it. "Honey the look of it was as sweet as the sound" AHH)

Hush - De Selby Part 2 (he is learning more and more about humans and the earth, so confused about his own powers and his purpose and feelings. "I'd block the sun if you want it done" + "I wanna fade away with you" yes yes yes)

Brachium - First Light ("could this be how every day begins" this man is getting his memories back and I feel like this song describes what he was feeling when he saw Sunshine's life through the bond)

Anyway,

Amen, Forest Father.

#can you tell i have a problem #hozier on the brain #amen forest father #redactedaudio #redacted asmr #redacted #redacted audio #redactedverse

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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like real people do (anthony lockwood x reader)

a/n: anthony bloody lockwood is hozier coded you cannot convince me otherwise!! i considered making this a locklyle fic, but i wasn't too sure. let me know if you guys want me to write a locklyle version lol. this is shorter than my usual, but i was listening to hozier and got inspired lmao

warnings: mentions of panic attacks gn reader

In the darkness, you can feel his fingers wrapped around yours and the faint pulse beating within them, steady and assuring. His hand is warm, and the knowledge that he is simply next to you, holding your hand so tenderly, is enough to soothe the horrible beating of your heart and the tightness of your throat.

He doesn't need to say anything. He's never needed to, for he understands the tornado that tore through your mind and stole the air from your lungs. Many nights have been spent in the reverse of this, with you holding him as he gasps and cries. It's a horrible situation to be in for both of you, but you've adapted. What else could you do?

So, as he so gently brushes the hair from your face, you breathe in the familiar scent of too-bitter tea as if it is the very thing keeping you alive.

"You're safe," he murmurs. "I'm here."

He is. He always has been. Ever since you met, he's been there, pulling you from the bad memories that have always clung to you. He's the reason why the nightmares are less frequent now, why you feel safe enough to sleep at night. But never once has he pushed to know what causes it all. And neither have you.

It's astounding how little you can know about a person, and how little they know about you, and yet still be their biggest source of solace.

Anthony Lockwood has been that for you for years, now. Ever since you moved to London, running from a past you feared you'd never escape, he has kept you safe, has comforted you whenever you've needed it without a single question. He's let you keep your secrets, and you've let him keep his, but you're both always there, waiting with a net to catch the broken pieces, and glue to put them back together.

You had never expected to find such a person in London. In all honesty, you came here only to run and hide, but you found him in the process, led by some string of fate. Everything you did in your first few days here led you to him as if some part of your subconscious knew he was waiting for someone to catch, someone to fall on.

Gently, he guides your head to his chest, where you let it rest as you listen to his heartbeat. With each strong pulse, you breathe in the scent of him and the promise of recuperation.

Wordlessly, his free hand rubs your back softly, and you find it easier to breathe now. It's as if with each brush of his hand, he reopens a part of your lungs.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly.

Your throat hurts and your voice is weak, but you say, "Better."

Not good. Not even okay. Just better. The world doesn't feel as though it is crashing on top of you now, nor does it feel like your lungs are being squeezed of every last vestigial of air they hold. You feel a little lighter, but your throat aches. Your chest hurts. Your skin feels strange and like it's not even yours. But you're better than before. It's an improvement.

He presses a gentle kiss on the back of your head. "Want some tea?"

"It's three in the morning."

"It's never stopped us before."

You can practically hear his smile. "Okay."

You're grateful that he brings you with him, that he doesn't leave you alone in the dark. No, he takes your hand so delicately as if he's worried it'll crumble if he holds it too hard, and he leads you quietly from the floor of the library down, down, down, to the kitchen.

He doesn't turn on the light, instead opting to open the fridge door and use that for light. Every so often, he shuts it and reopens it to prevent the little warning alarm inside from going off, but you appreciate it nonetheless. The big light would be far too blinding and disorientating. In no time, he's made both of you a cup of tea and sets the steaming mugs down atop the cluttered thinking cloth. Now, he shuts the fridge and opens the blinds.

It's summer, and although it's still the early hours of the morning, the sky is no longer an all-consuming inky black, but rather a dark navy that you know will get lighter. Pathetic fallacy, if you've ever seen it.

As Lockwood sips his tea, one of his hands always stays wrapped around yours as a reminder. He's here. You're not alone. Breathe. He's here.

There is no person you could ever be more grateful for than him. Throughout it all - the fall-outs you've had, the worst of your breakdowns, the worst of his - he has never left your side. He has always taken your hand in his and led you from the endless dark and into the slowly-rising sun.

You may not have been looking for him when you moved, but you'll always be glad that you found him.

And, so, as he kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your smile slowly returns. You're not perfect, nor is he, and your pasts have left you with more than you can handle, but he is slowly guiding you away from it all, as you are him. Like real people do.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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flowerflowerflo · 21 days

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bee's record player: march edition. 🎀𓂃 ࣪˖

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 !! notice !! ♡

surpriseee <3 wanted to try and add a little of my personal influence to my girlblog since music is literally my entire life & thought it might be funny to show u all what makes up the chaotic glittery mess that is my brain (and because there are almost 1000 of you beautiful people following me whatt?? thank you😭). i've allllways wanted to do smth like this too so, here u go !! 🩷💗

(+ this is a way for me to rant about my interests without being annoying to my friends / moots 😭. to anybody who has listened to me rant or cry or scream or whatever over music ily guys mwa)

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 NEW ARRIVALS

goddess, laufey

♡ released march 6th, 2024

♡ single

♡ running time: 4 minutes 28 seconds

eternal sunshine, ariana grande

♡ released march 8th, 2024

♡ full album / LP

♡ best songs: supernatural, the boy is mine, we can't be friends (wait for your love), intro (end of the world)

♡ running time: 35 minutes 33 seconds

unheard, hozier

♡ released march 22nd, 2024

♡ extended play / EP

♡ best songs: too sweet (i adore this song.)

♡ running time: 13 minutes 59 seconds

super real me, illit

♡ released march 25th, 2024

♡ extended play / EP, debut! ♡

♡ best songs: magnetic, midnight fiction

♡ running time: 9 minutes 36 seconds

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 BEE'S TRACKS: TOP 10

♡ 10. my world, illit

girly girl song!! i've been obsessed with illit's whole super real me album, their debut is soo good oh my gosh. its criminally short but i seem to have listened to it a lot !! 😭

♡ 9. we can't be friends (wait for your love), ariana grande

i have SO MUCH to say about this song but it resonates with me so much in so many different ways and i just. oh my god. ariana i love u so much

♡ 8. we got so much, le sserafim

k so i initially didn't really like this song but... it's grown on me. a lot. since it first came out. um. it's pretty simple honestly and it's just really girly girl it makes me feel like a school girl i love it

♡ 7. this is what makes us girls, lana del rey

girlblogger anthem!! okay confession i did not get into this song until LAST MONTH. i know. it's terrible and i am ashamed i am so sorry. but i have formed such a strong emotional attachment to this song its crazy i adore it

♡ 6. imperfect for you, ariana grande

exposing myself pt.3 i was in a really big depressive slump for like one half or more of this month actually and this song helped me so much i can't 😭 i love you ari

♡ 5. the boy is mine, ariana grande

(are you noticing a pattern here yet) um another ariana grande song no lol um idk what ur talking about haha 🥰 this song is so twerkable im sorry i wasnt a fan at first but im obsessed i need to stop

♡ 4. smart, le sserafim

no words. once again wasn't a huge fan originally but oh my god im obsessed w it now. afrobeat type of songs are, will, and always be top tier and i will die on this hill. (i've been SO OBSESSED with le sserafim lately but i think thats fairly obvious here😭)

♡ 3. eternal sunshine, ariana grande

i adore this song oh my god. its become one of my favs of all time since it came out. this was on loop for HOURS when i first heard it and its such a comfort song for me. it shows her growth so beautifully and there's so much about it i just absolutely adore like i could write a whole essay on this song and still wouldnt be able to express how much i love it

♡ 2. magnetic, illit

illit was bound to pop up here again this month tbh ok so me and my bsf were listening to this on loop the entire time at school a little after it came out like we were sitting in the front row of our class and were still watching the magnetic mv under the desk on her phone. so in love with this song it makes me so happy n feel so cute i ahh <3

♡ 1. supernatural, ariana grande

SUPERNATURAL IS THE SONG EVER. first day it came out i listened to the album and this was on loop constantly for the next week or more. it's made it up to my top 10 fav songs of all time ever and i listen to A LOT of music. this song is my life<333

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 ALBUMS

♡ 1. eternal sunshine, ariana grande

fairly self explanatory. i love u ari. there was soo much ari this month bc ive been a diehard ari stan since i was 8 and have never looked back. since yes and released in january i have been ecstatic about ag7 releasing in march after 4 YEARS of no ari so this was MONUMENTAL for me 😭😭 THE DROUGHT IS OVER ARIANATORS RISE 🩷🩷🩷

♡ 2. super real me, illit

so basically the day this album came out my best friend was spamming me about them and i only listened to them like 2 days after cuz she was annoying me about it and OH MY GOD. i listened to them and then proceeded to loop the whole album for the next 72 hours 💗 and for a debut as well is amazing ily illit girlies

♡ 3. with you-th, twice

so i wasn't much of a fan at first bc they just sounded really similar and bland to me but its grown on me a lot since it came out and i've been listening to it so much throughout the entirety of march. its just so oddly comforting in a way and feels like a hug in music form (+ rush and bloom are the best songs argue with the wall)

♡ 4. easy, le sserafim

self explanatory. i'm obsessed with le sserafim at the moment and this album is everything to me. ass shaking album 10/10

♡ 5. k-12, melanie martinez

i have been revisiting one of my fav albums of all time this month and its as amazing as always. this has been my favourite album of all time since it came out and i will never ever get over k12 🩷 10000/10!!!! <3

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 ARTISTS

♡ TOMORROW X TOGETHER

♡ TWICE

♡ LANA DEL REY

♡ LE SSERAFIM

♡ ARIANA GRANDE

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 SPECIAL MENTIONS

♡ happy 1 year to portals by melanie martinez! oh my god this album helped me through all of 2023 and i went to see her on tour in london for my birthday last november and it was surreal. she's amazing. i adore her and this album (i have it on vinyl hehe) and love it SOO MUCH 💖

♡ expect ordinary things by ariana grande to be high high on my top 10 next month its been on loop for days now im obsessed

♡ there's going to be a LOT in next month's issue seeing as 2 of my all time favs are coming back next month, so prepare for that! so excited ahh <3 (one has already released at the time of writing this. prepare urselves.)

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 EDITOR'S NOTE

this was SO FUN oh my gosh. i am 100% making this a regular thing~ lmk if it was entertaining, improvements needed, artists / albums you'd like me to keep up with etc, or just general comments, ideas, reviews and so on. thank you so much for reading, this was so fun! look forward to next month 💗🫶💖

lots of love 💘

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