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@andnevertheless
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊
"When the glaciers are gone and the Earth starts to slow... Then I can let you go." -Maybe Happy Ending
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ J-Wan, 2010, Chinese-Filipino, They/Them ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ superman & kpop lover ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ artist and writer (masterlist)
"What if this is a past life as well, and we are already something else to each other in our next life? Who do you think we are then?" - PAST LIVES (2023)
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KPOP IDOLS AS UAAP STUDENTS
PART 3: BOYNEXTDOOR
this au has reached a point where i genuinely think i could bump into them on campus. if someone tells me they saw jaehyun filming a vlog around taft i'm believing it without question.
in this series: TOMORROW X TOGETHER ENH7PEN BOYNEXTDOOR &TEAM
➳ PARK SUNGHO
📘 university of the philippines diliman course: architecture orgs: - architecture society - photography club - design org bro disappears for three days then comes back with a model, a camera roll full of campus photos, and zero explanation. architecture students already live a different life pero this man took that as a challenge. everybody swears they've seen him sleeping sa arki building at least once. tapos pag lumabas siya, may iced coffee sa isang kamay at sketchbook sa kabila na parang wala lang. nakakainis pa kasi habang lahat kayo mukhang bangkay sa plates, siya mukhang nag-casual photoshoot lang sa sunken garden.
➳ LEE SANGHYUK (RIWOO)
📘 far eastern university course: multimedia arts orgs: - dance org - performance org - film org sumali lang para sumayaw tas uuwi na sana after practice. unfortunately everyone keeps dragging him into performances because obviously he eats every time. bro accidentally became every org's emergency performer. may kulang sa production number? tawagin si riwoo. may interschool competition? si riwoo ulit. gusto na niyang umuwi pero biglang may "quick favor" na naman. hindi na siya tinatanong kung available siya. assumed na agad.
➳ MYUNG JAEHYUN
📘 de la salle university course: communication arts + business management (double degree) orgs - student council - debate society - volunteer orgs - basketball varsity gago bakit bagay sa kanya maging campus golden boy. bro has that "everyone somehow knows him" energy. the type to join one org tas biglang officer na kasi apparently people trust him with everything. tapos oo nga pala, DOUBLE DEGREE DIN SI GAGO. as if student council, varsity, at volunteer work weren't enough. siyempre siya rin 'yung content creator na laging may "a day in the life of a dlsu student" vlog. nakakainis pa kasi kilala niya lahat—from professors to guards hanggang ate sa bloemen. this man talks to faculty like magtropa lang sila. bro has never seen an opportunity and thought, "pass."
➳ HAN DONGMIN (TAESAN)
📘 de la salle university course: information design orgs: - creatives org - film/photography club - marketing society THE TEXTBOOK ARTSY BISEXUAL EXPERIENCE. this man joined every org that had a good visual aesthetic. "for the portfolio" daw pero alam nating lahat why he stayed. bro cannot function around ugly branding. isang tingin pa lang sa pubmat sasabihin na agad, "medyo off 'yung spacing." hindi pa nagsisimula meeting, naka-open na agad ang figma. bro acts like he studied abroad for one semester. canvas tote bag, western punk rock playlists 24/7, at vocabulary na pang-Pinterest. akala mo o-order ng iced americano. yun pala large hot chocolate. poser amputa.
➳ KIM DONGHYUN (LEEHAN)
📘 ateneo de manila university course: environmental science orgs: - environmental org - aquarium/fishkeeping org - animal welfare org gago kung may org para sa isda sasalihan niya talaga. i genuinely think he'd spend more time caring for campus animals kaysa um-attend ng meetings. siya 'yung tipo ng tao na kilala ng lahat ng campus cats. kung may nawawalang pusa, aso, pagong, o kahit anong buhay na nilalang, automatic si leehan ang hahanapin. hindi ko alam kung paano niya nagawa, pero pati mga ibon parang comfortable sa kanya.
➳ KIM WOONHAK
📘 university of santo tomascourse: communication arts orgs: - theater guild - hosting/emcee org - welcoming committee freshman pa lang parang kilala na buong batch niya. bro was born to be the guy they call when an event needs an emcee. orientation? host. acquaintance party? host. pageant? host. random event sa plaza mayor? host pa rin. every org secretary has his number saved.
taglist: @beomtomie @andnevertheless
© mikqkr0smos 2026 — all rights reserved.
Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ
As Much As You Want, As Much As You'll Let Me [HUENING KAI] PLOT: It is the year 2060, and you are a retired robot. You figured you’d live a peaceful lonely life as you slowly broke down, until a broken HelperBot knocks on your door begging to use your charging pod. [WC: 13.5K]
Two Strangers (Carry A Cake Across Seattle) [JAY PARK] Plot: Your best friend is getting married, you are tasked with picking up the groom's son and the wedding cake, and the days leading up to the wedding change both of your lives forever. [WC: 7.2K]
Boy Toy [Clark Kent]
Plot: You and your best friend indulge in your inner child and buy some toys at the toy store, you caved and bought a Superman figurine. You never expected it to actually come to life. [WC: 8K]
Boy Toy | Clark Kent | One-Shot
Plot: You and your best friend indulge in your inner child and buy some toys at the toy store, you caved and bought a Superman figurine. You never expected it to actually come to life. [WC: 8K]
Warnings: Nothing much. Inaccurate portrayal of your parents. Reader is mid-20s and very inexperienced romantically. Jealous, logical, and cynical MC I’m sorry. Also holy cow this plot is so stupid.
Disclaimers: The only Superman media the author has consumed is the 2025 movie so important lore might be missing. This fic was written 1 year before Man of Tomorrow comes out, so if Man of Tomorrow is actually really bad I had no idea.
It’s 7:35, which means you’re officially unloveable.
Michael from Hinge was supposed to meet you at 7 PM for dinner, but he hasn’t sent a message since yesterday’s “See you tomorrow :)” .
You’ve called three extra times and sent a couple of ‘Are you comings' to no response. You sigh and grab your phone, fingers ready to type the dreaded words. You: I’m pretty sure he’s not coming.
A loud “THAT BASTARD!” can be heard from across the restaurant as your best friend, Elora, approaches from her secret hiding spot.
Because, of course your best friend wanted to make sure you were safe in the creepiest way possible.
She huffily sits down in the empty chair in front of you and silently hands you a tissue.
“It’s okay, babe, I thought he was ugly anyways.” She says, patting your hand with an extra cheerful tone.
You thank her for the tissue but shake your head. “Relax, Elora, I’m not gonna cry over a guy from Hinge… I just wish I could go on a normal date like a normal person for once.”
Elora senses the tremble in your voice and immediately calls over a waiter and orders two servings of ice cream, her treat.
You sulk until your order arrives, complaining about all the red flags you should’ve spotted, and previous pick-up lines you’ve received that you never responded to.
“Who needs guys like Michael anyways? Fictional men are where it’s at!” She declares, stuffing her mouth with vanilla ice cream. “We need to find you a man like Ryland Grace.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the girl. “Men who actually wanna save the world only exist in comic books, they’re not real.”
Elora gives you a sad smile, patting your hand mournfully.
Suddenly, her eyes widened, a thought popping into her head. “Speaking of men who wanna save the world, I know what will make you feel better.”
You immediately know what she’s talking about. You’d always liked Superman, but the spark that really ignited your passion for him was the movie that came out two years ago.
You haven’t had a fictional crush since you were a teenager watching Spider-man: Homecoming for the first time, but something about that movie really made me realise how great of a character he truly was.
It wasn’t just the laser eyes and flying powers that got to you (though admittedly they were pretty cool), you genuinely loved his personality and the way he was able to inspire people to be a little bit kinder. You always wished you could find a guy who had that sense of heroic justice that he had.
You even shook Elora every time he came on screen during Supergirl last year, which is how she realised just how bad the obsession had gotten.
You had scheduled your date with Michael on the first day Man of Tomorrow was supposed to come out. Maybe you were secretly hoping that he’d read your mind and ask if you wanted to watch the movie after you two ate dinner. You’re lost in thought when Elora pays the bill. She grabs your hand and runs to the cinema on the top floor of the mall with you.
You realised you didn’t need a man to see the movie with you, you needed a friend.
You felt a lot better. Seeing Superman really just lifts your spirits and makes you a bit happier. Okay, a lot happier.
“Let’s go to Toys ‘R Us!” Elora screams as she drags you to the store. She’s surprisingly strong for a 5’4 Filipino girl.
As you two enter the colourful room, she immediately spots a rack of cheap plastic toys. “OOO! Look at this!”
She points to a small man in a plastic case with a tiny glitter bottle next to him.
Grow-A-Boyfriend!
Leave him in water overnight, sprinkle the growing dust, and watch how he grows!
“Oh, so it’s like one of those cheap capsule dinosaurs?” You ask, mildly unimpressed.
Elora’s enthusiasm doesn’t waver. “He’s a pure soul, uncorrupted by the evils of the patriarchy, and he’s made to love me!” She nearly swoons as she holds the tiny toy, unaware of the judgy cashier behind her.
You nod slowly, not judging her at all, but you definitely wouldn’t say a tiny plastic man is your ideal type.
You wander towards the boys section of the store, looking for those cute ugly dolls your friends have gotten obsessed with. You aimlessly roam, stopping at every cute Funko-Pop or Spider-man Lego set, but you come to a halt when something catches your eye.
A Superman figurine. It’s the one based on David Corenswet, but his face is slightly different. His stance is confident, like he’s ready to fight some plastic Lex Luthor.
You feel instinctually drawn to it, gently grabbing the box and observing the price. It’s just short of $30, but for some reason you feel the urge to buy it.
You haven’t spent money on something that wasn’t necessary for a while, and your date bounced on you, which means you didn’t have to pay for dinner. You had a couple dollars to spend on yourself, why not spend it on something that makes you happy?
“Growing a boyfriend~!” Elora sings as she unpacks the tiny man from his plastic prison. You turn on the bathtub faucet and wait for the water to start filling the space. You and Elora got very emotional in the car and decided to have a sleepover in your tiny apartment. And yes, maybe you did try to kiss your action figure a couple of times, it was to make Elora laugh, you swear!
You childishly hug your action figure tightly with one hand, filming Elora with the other. Girly laughs echo throughout the tiny bathroom. “Why aren’t we just doing this in a bowl again?” You ask, rubbing your eyes, getting slightly tired. You place the Superman figure down on the side of the tub, and he watches as you and your best friend playing with toys.
She pouts at you. “Because we don’t know how big he’ll grow!”
“That’s what she said.” You laugh, groggily. You point at the Superman figure and in your sleepy daze, you swear he smiles back at you.
Elora smacks you lightly and drops the tiny man into the water. She opens the bottle of ‘magic glitter’ and spreads it into the water. You hope you don’t have to clean up all of that later.
“Alright, let’s sleeeeeeeep!!!” Elora drags you once again, this time out of the bathroom and into your bed, slamming the bathroom door hard.
You don’t even realise you left Superman in there, and you don’t even hear when he falls into the bathtub.
You wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon. You wipe the sleep from your eyes and inhale the scent. Your best friend never cooks, so this is an insanely pleasant surprise.
“Elora, you didn’t have too…” you laugh, tiredly, getting up from bed, pushing the blanket off you and putting on your house slippers.
“Have to what?” She mumbles.
Your heart fell to your feet when you realised Elora was right next to you, still mostly asleep in your bed. She tugs the blanket tighter and rolls away to face the window.
Who the fuck is in your kitchen?
You cautiously grab a baseball bat from under your bed, warning Elora to stay where she is as you crawl out of your room.
You hear the faint sound of somebody whistling as the kitchen comes into view. You hear your heartbeat in your head as you draw your bat, and the minute you see a man in blue and red, you swing the bat as hard as you can.
And it breaks.
“Hi, hone- OW!” A deep voice says. The man in your kitchen clutches his arm lightly as you stare at the broken wood in your hand.
“Shit!” You scream in panic, stumbling into the ground, trying to back away as you start to get a clear view of the man’s face.
He tries to calm you down, putting his hands up. “Woah, there, I know you’re scared-”
“Get out of my house!” You yell, throwing the end of your broken bat at him.
Why the hell is this intruder in a Superman costume? You look up as you back into your wall. Why does he look vaguely like David Corenswet?
The man turns back to the stove and turns off the fire. You take deep breaths when he places the cooking bacon onto a plate with eggs on it.
“Who are you?” You sigh out, voice trembling slightly.
You can see the side of his lips curl into a smile as he grabs a spoon and fork.
“I think you know.” He says, placing the utensils next to the eggs.
Elora slowly walks in, you see her in the corner of your eye and start to scoot near her while the intruder isn’t looking.
“Who is that?” She whispers. You shake your head in response.
The strange man places two plates on the table, both filled with eggs and bacon. He looks up at you two, with a look that feels oddly kind.
“Eat up, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
You look around, almost as if I’m searching for cameras when you notice the bathroom door is open, and there’s a wet glittery trail leading from the bathroom to the kitchen.
Actually, the man himself is covered in the same glitter Elora used last night. You immediately get up and sprint to the bathroom, the Superman cosplayer tilting his head as you do.
In the bathroom there’s the boyfriend toy, about ten times bigger than he was last night, but not at all big enough to fill the entire bathtub. You left your Superman figurine in here last night, but he’s missing.
You scratch your head at this, your mind trying to create theories that die in seconds. You peek out the bathroom door and see Elora sitting down on the table, somehow not looking scared at all, and sitting in front of the man.
You slowly enter the kitchen-dining room again, hands clenching. Elora’s eyes catch you and she mouths ‘What are you doing?’.
“I’m not gonna hurt him…” You mutter. You grab the end of his red cape and pull it up. It’s still slightly wet.
‘McFarlane Toys™
Made In China’
There it is, printed on the back of his suit.
You drop the cape and it hits the ground.
“Whad’ya see there?” He asks.
Your action figure asks.
You stare at him, frowning, your thoughts going wild.
“How did you get here?” You interrogate, taking a seat next to Elora.
He smiles again, it’s an encouraging smile. “I hate to say this again, but I think you know.”
Elora inhales her plate, eyes switching back and forth between you and the man in front of her.
You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re a… toy?”
Superman nods eagerly, crossing his arms. “I’m Superman. You bought me.”
You put your face in your hands, pure disbelief runs through you. “This is not real, this is not real, this is not real.”
“May I touch you?” He asks. It shocks you slightly, but you give a hesitant nod. “Uh… sure.”
Superman places a hand on yours, squeezing tightly. “I’m here.”
Elora jumps up. “Does that mean that my Grow-A-Boyfriend is real?!” She sprints to the bathroom. Superman and you watch as she enters, only to be quickly followed by a disappointed “Awww…”
Your eyes turn back to Superman. “What do you remember?”
He gave a short laugh and scratched the back of his neck. “Woof, that’s a hard one…”
He taps on the table with his fingers before he looks back at me. “My clearest memories… I remember waking up in the tub, wet and covered in glitter. I got out and opened the bathroom door to see the sun rising as you two were still fast asleep.”
“How do you know I was the one that bought you?” You ask, still confused.
He explains. “I have vaguer memories, more distant ones, and some that feel almost as if I was built with them. I have this blurry recollection of people walking around the store I was in, passing me by, and I remember the moment you saw me and picked me up for the first time.”
“What are the memories you feel built in with?” You ask again, Elora has now returned and sits back down with you, holding her boyfriend toy in her hands.
Superman looks into the distance. “Memories of Metropolis, the Daily Planet, Ma and Pa’s farm, Krypto, Lois, Kara, Jimmy… I remember them but the memories don’t feel the same as the memories I have of you. Not as real, like they were programmed into me.”
You nod, starting to process all of this. You look the man up and down, he looks like a real human. Well, not exactly. His skin has texture, but it’s still almost uncannily smooth, he doesn’t have a single hair out of place, and his suit looks nearly fused to his body. It’s almost scary.
You know magic isn’t real, but what else could explain what’s happening in front of you?
You dust off the glitter from his cape, to which he gives an appreciative “Thank you.”
Elora shakes you slightly, also suddenly processing all of this. “Did we just make Superman real?”
You tracked the time, it’s been more than 3 hours, and he hasn’t disappeared. You haven’t woken up, or died from carbon monoxide poisoning yet. He’s even gone to use the bathroom a couple of times.
He seems oddly attached to you as well, constantly trying to sit next to you and see what you’re doing. The only time he’s put space between you two was when noon hit and he decided to make you three some lunch. You never realised how cramped this apartment feels with 3 grown adults in it.
Elora is still around, trying to help you deal with the situation.
“We can’t just keep him locked up in here, it feels wrong… but we can’t really let him go out looking like that.” She gestures to his brightly coloured attire, and you nod in agreement.
You tap your feet against the carpeted floor nervously, picking at the skin on your fingers.
“I’d like some new clothes, if it isn’t too much trouble.” He politely inputs as he cooks up some luncheon meat.
You feel bad rejecting the ask, so you think about it for a few seconds before you sigh and agree, there’s a shopping mall connected to your apartment building anyways.
You can’t let what’s essentially a living breathing human being stay trapped in your apartment.
“It’s fine, people might just assume he’s cosplaying since Man of Tomorrow is still on its opening weekend.” You rationalise. “We go after lunch.”
“Dude, nice cosplay!”
“Dad, it’s Superman!”
“I’m sorry to bother, are you David Corenswet?”
“Oh no, he’s just our friend in a costume, sorry!” You quickly mutter, trying to escape the situation.
“Can I at least have a photo?” A woman asks.
Superman nods, you and Elora get handed three different phones, taking pictures of at least five different people.
Once everyone has dispersed, you and Elora push Superman into the first store you see, which luckily was the Mall’s department store. People still stare and whisper, but you try to pay no mind.
You hand Superman your credit card. “Elora and I will just be around, don’t spend more than $70.”
He happily accepts with a big thank you, as he grabs a basket and starts to fill it with pants, jackets, and flannels. He picks out outfits you swear you’ve seen him wear in Smallville, it’s comically fitting, the red and blue fabrics fit him perfectly.
A child approaches Superman, screaming “Mom, Mama, it’s Supaman!!!”
Superman greets the kid, looking at the two women for permission before carrying the child and spinning around.
He whispers something you can’t hear that makes the kid giggle, and you can’t help but smile despite the fact you want him to keep a low profile.
Elora catches you staring and nudges you. “Hey, you’re blushing.”
You glare at her. “What the hell? No, I’m not! That’s a walking action figure.”
Elora shrugs and rolls her eyes, playfully, at you. “Whatever you say…”
After a few minutes, you get distracted on your phone, but Superman finds you again at the entrance of the store, and he gently pokes your shoulder.
“Could you, uh, follow me to the changing room? I need some help… taking the suit off.” He whispers in your ear, with a slight blush on his face that reminds you he’s also Clark Kent.
You awkwardly nod, refusing to look at your best friend who you know is wiggling her eyebrows at you right now.
You guide him to the changing room and make sure no employees are watching as you enter with Superman.
The tiny room is cramped, with the big man in front of you taking most of the space. He turns around to face the mirror and you take a few seconds to examine his body, trying to figure out how to do this. You remember at breakfast his suit seemed attached to his skin, but now it looks like it’s just skin tight.
He notices you staring and chuckles lightly. “It’s behind my…”
“Got it.” You assure him as you slowly lift up his cape, finding a zipper.
“I’m kinda surprised the suit isn’t just fused into your body, it wasn’t removable when you were a toy.” You observe.
He shrugs, shivering slightly as you pull the zipper down and the air hits his back for the first time.
“Thanks, uh, I can-”
You understand what he’s trying to say and you exit the changing room, finding a seat to sit on. How fucking weird is this situation?
After a few minutes, he comes out, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, he apparently already has socks, but no shoes, you shake your head and hope that’s a problem for later.
You’re sort of in awe, he looks like he’s just come home from the office, the clothes look like they always belonged to him. You give him a thumbs up to which he smiles.
“That’s it?” He asks playfully.
You scoff. “It looks good, Superman.”
“Clark.” He corrects, with his index finger pointing up. “You can call me Clark.”
Your cheeks heat up slightly for no reason. “You look good, Clark. You look really… human.”
For some reason, this compliment gets him embarrassed, and he scratches the back of his neck. He nods and mutters a small ‘Thank you’, before getting back into the changing room.
After he undresses, his hand peeks out from behind the curtain, with all the clothes he tried on in a basket.
His head peeks out too and he sheepishly tries to talk to you. “Go pay for the items, then hand them to me here so I can change immediately.”
You smile at his thoughtfulness, realising he’s willing to sit there in the cold changing room just so you don’t have to deal with people asking for photos again.
You pay for the clothes, which ends up costing $65, and head back to the changing room to give Clark the black slacks and white dress shirt he had shown you along with some cheap-but-nice shoes they were selling.
He comes out of the room, and gives you a little spin.
“Feel a bit more like yourself?” You ask, unable to stop a smile from growing on your face.
Clark nods boyishly, interlocking your arms and getting ready to exit the department store.
As you get ready to meet Elora at the entrance, you hear a cashier from behind you gasp as he sees Clark’s face. You groan.
“That’s it.” You grab some aviator glasses off a rack and quickly head back to the shocked cashier to pay for it.
The cashier can’t even finish his “Have a great day-” before you’re speed walking back to Clark.
“Put these on, please.” You hand them to Clark, stopping yourself from practically shoving them onto his face. He carefully puts them on and blinks a few times.
“This feels familiar.” He giggles and you two finally exit the store with Elora.
Elora had to leave for a date halfway through the day, but not until you reassured her you could take care of a grown man-doll.
As much as you wanted Clark to keep hidden as much as he can, he couldn’t help but help everyone in sight. Picking up kids when they fell down, asking for money to buy someone an ice cream after they had dropped theirs, he even greets the people that pass him by and tells them they look great.
“What about me?” You tease, in response to him telling a woman her hair looked fantastic.
He loses eye contact with you and his face turns comically red. “Well, I mean- I always think you look good.’
You couldn’t help but wonder if the ‘magic’ glitter altered how Clark felt about you. You guide Clark into an Italian restaurant you and Elora frequented. Not too fancy or expensive, but still had a nice atmosphere.
You and Clark sit down at a candle-lit table opposite each other, to which he smiles at you.
“Is this a dinner date?” He asks politely. “Cause, I don’t really eat…”
You raise your eyebrows at him, before realising you didn’t explain to him you were just trying to take advantage of being at a mall for once.
“Oh! Well, I… it’s just supposed to be dinner for me.” You explain quickly. Why are you acting so nervous suddenly? You hand him a menu but you can’t help but notice he looks slightly disappointed.
“Why? Did you want it to be a date?” You ask carefully. His eyes move up from the menu to look at you. “It’s just… you haven’t really been acting the same since I turned human.”
When he refers to himself as human, it does feel like a bit of a shock. Well, he has preferences, he can talk, he has empathy it seems, but he’s not really made of flesh and bone? In your head he’s still a doll that turned big.
You shake those thoughts from your head and focus on the rest of what he said.
“What do you mean by acting differently?”
He blushes again, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, you were really… affectionate, the night you brought me home, but when I came to life you just… I-I just feel like it would make you more comfortable if I wasn’t here.”
You feel a pang in your heart. You didn’t realise your stress and confusion had been affecting him as well. It’s not like he asked to come to life, but he is, and he can’t help the emotions he’s feeling. You don’t want him to feel like you don’t want him there, because if you don’t want him, then who will? He’s got no one else but you right now.
And after the pang you suddenly feel a wave of embarrassment, realising the ‘affection’ he was talking about was you kissing a children’s toy. You shrink in your seat.
“Oh, Clark…” You hold both of his hands, causing him to drop the menu in shock. “Look, I may not have expected you here, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re not wanted. It’s just taking me some time to get used to having another person around, especially since that person is… you, and you’re different.”
He gives a sad smile at the word ‘different’, but he nods understandingly.
“What are we then? I feel this… natural urge to care for you and love you, but if you don’t want it, I won’t force anything.” He looks into your eyes, seeking some kind of answer.
You purse your lips, not knowing what to say. “That’s a complicated question, Clark… but I’m glad you’re asking it.”
“I thought I wanted a boyfriend, but I don’t know how I feel about literally creating one. I don’t even know if that’s even, like, ethical.” You give an awkward laugh. “I always said I wanted to date Superman, but I only said that because it wasn’t a real possibility for me at the time. I think it would be best for us both if we didn’t think about romance just yet, and just figured out how to make life comfortable for you and I right now.”
Clark takes in all your words, like he’s trying to fully understand your thought process, and he lets go of one of your hands to run it through his hair. “That makes perfect sense to me, I’ll refrain from acting like we’re a couple, I’ll get a job so I can afford my own things, and I’ll wait for you to figure out how you feel about me. But, I just want you to be aware that I do have feelings for you.”
You blush at that last sentence, covering your face with your free hand sheepishly. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”
Clark tilts his head and lifts your chin up. “That’s a shame.”
You open the door and Clark walks back into your apartment.
You open the pull out couch and place your unused blankets on it as Clark takes a shower. You laugh to yourself at the thought that he might turn back into a tiny figurine.
You change into your sleeping clothes, sitting on the couch with your legs resting on the extended area. You rest your head on the back rest and slowly fall asleep with your phone open on a voice note to Elora.
“Elora, he says he has feelings for me…” You mutter into the speaker. “Gee, that says a lot about me, huh? The first guy who ever liked me is a toy. I guess guys who want to save me really aren’t real...”
Your words turn to snores as you drift away to dreamland.
The bathroom door creaks open as Clark uses a spare towel to wipe his hair, droplets of shower water falling onto his new pajamas.
He spots you on the couch and smiles, imagining you two falling asleep side-by-side. But he knows you’d only freak out when you eventually woke up, so he gently carries you onto your bed by the windowsill, patting your head.
He tucks himself on the couch, embracing the smell of your apartment, and he dreams of Metropolis.
“Clark, you seriously don’t have to do all the cooking.” You almost feel guilty stuffing your face with the fresh and warm pancakes Clark’s made for you.
He shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Nonsense, you’re doing more than you need to to take care of me, this is the least I can do to pay you back.”
Clark sits down in front of you but you notice his gaze moves past you and stays on the window by your bed. You swallow a mouthful of toasted bread before you say “Clark, you can sit on my bed if you want.”
“Oh no, it’s…” He instinctually declines your politeness before looking back at the bright sky. “Can I open the window?”
You nod once again, and he gets up with his breakfast plate, placing a hand on your shoulder as he walks past you.
You get up as well and you two find your spots on your windowsill mattress. He looks beautiful with the morning sun shining on his face, you don’t even feel guilty staring, because anyone would.
The wind blows on his face, and his eyes shut, taking it all in. “Is there a rooftop on this building?” He asks.
You nod. “Can we go? Later?” He asks.
“Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”
Clark presses his hand on the edge of the window sill, a small sliver of sunshine hitting his fingers.
“I miss the yellow sun.”
“So, can you like… fly?” You ask, squinting your eyes at Clark. You haven’t been up here in so long.
Clark puts his fist up in flying position and jumps, only for his feet to quickly fall back onto the ground.
He shakes his head, cracking his knuckles. “I feel… I don’t feel my powers like I think I should. I don’t feel… extraordinary like I imagine I should.”
“You broke my bat, though. You can’t fly but you still have super strength?” You point out.
He chuckles and shrugs. “Might be the life-sized toy effect, I’m not exactly sure what you’d find if you cut me open right now, but I doubt it’d be organs.”
You wince at the graphic description but accept his explanation. He pats his chest and encourages you to throw a hit. You laugh and throw a lazy punch.
“C’mon you can do better, you can’t hurt me.” He encourages, his hands doing a ‘come on’ gesture.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now.” You warn with a grin, you hit him as hard as you can.
He didn’t move, but his eyebrows raised. “Oh, wait…”
“What happened?” Your smile slowly fades as you retract your hand. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s just… I felt it.”
“What?”
“It didn’t hurt, but I actually felt an impact, not just a touch, the feeling of contact, like when your bat hit me.” “Wow, way to call my swinging skills lame…” You tease, bumping his shoulder with your own.
“See! There, I felt it again!” He points at you eagerly. “I feel you.”
Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire as you turn away, sitting on the edge of the building, trying to soak in the sun. “Does that mean something is changing?”
Clark sits down next to you, breathing in the warmth of the sun.
“I love this. I wanna stay here forever.” He breathily admits.
He rests his hand on your waist, to make sure you don’t accidentally fall over.
You know he’s just a toy but he really looks like he’s warming up in the sun, like some deep part of him is being healed. You’d go up here with him anytime he asked.
“I insist you sit down.” You say sternly.
“I insist you relax.” Clark jokes and lifts you up without any effort.
You two are fighting over who gets to cook dinner tonight, Clark, being the angel that he is, insists that he do it.
You cross your arms and huff as Clark gets his way, he smirks and ruffles your hair, and you swear, he nearly kisses your cheek, but instead he pulls away and goes to make ‘breakfast for dinner’.
Knock, knock, knock
You and Clark’s heads immediately snap towards the door. You weren’t expecting any company, so you slowly got up and approached the door.
“Baby! How have you been?” Your mom hugged you as soon as you unlocked the door.
“Ah, how is my darling?” Your dad joins in, hugging you as soon as your mom lets go.
“Oh, uhm, I’m good, dad-” You try to make small talk but you hear your mom shriek from behind you.
You instantly turn around and see Clark waving at her slowly, with the silliest smile on as your mom’s hands are clasped on her face.
“Who is this?” Your mother demands. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Mama, it’s not what it looks like-” You try to settle the situation down, but your parents are immediately all over him.
Your father smacks him on the back, it’s supposed to be friendly, but even indestructible Clark has a reaction to it. “You’re a big guy, huh? How did you and my child meet?”
Clark straightens up his glasses. “Hello, sir! Uh, we met at the toy store-”
“Like a few months ago! He’s just sleeping over for the night.” You quickly interrupt, your brain running wild, trying to come up with a fake story to tell your parents.
“Sleeping over with your boyfriend…” Your mom says, scandalised. “Well, I suppose you’re grown up now…”
Clark blushes at the word boyfriend, going back to keep cooking dinner.
You guide your parents to the dining table so they can continue to interview you.
“What’s his work?” Your dad asks.
“He’s a journalist.” You respond quickly, a bead of sweat falling down. “But writes under a pseudonym and he’s currently looking for another job.”
“How long have you two been together?” Your mother queries.
“Maybe six months now, but we’ve known each other for years.”
“Why haven’t we heard about him?” They ask at the same time.
You nearly start shaking, but Clark turns around and gives you a nod of reassurance. You take a deep breath. “I’ve been posting about him on Instagram, mama. Don’t you follow me?”
Your mother and father take a sigh and shake their heads in disbelief. “Darling, you know we use facebook more.” Your father says.
“Oh, sorry, pa! I’ve just posted so much about him, I would’ve thought you’d heard about him by now.” You give a fake laugh, but you know your parents can’t tell the difference.
“Ah, I’m sorry I forgot to ask.” Your mother places a hand on yours. “What’s his name?”
You stutter as you stare at her, trying to come up with a fake name.
“Clark.” He says before you can. “Clark Kent.”
There's silence in the room.
Before your dad bellows out a laugh.
“Clark Kent? Your parents named you after Superman?” He stands up to give Clark another pat on the back. Clark gives a faux-guilty nod and an abashed smile. You know your dad doesn’t recognise faces, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t realise Clark’s striking resemblance to the super hero.
“It’s quite silly, I know, but I think it fits me.” Clark smiles, he’s suddenly carrying four bowls of mac n’ cheese. You get up from your seat to help him set the bowls and spoons down, to which he gives you a small ‘Thanks, honey’ and kisses your cheek.
You blush as you fall back into your seat and let Clark charm your parents.
“Now, you have to call us once a month and update us. I don’t want you getting engaged without telling us first.” Your mom scolds as you essentially push her and your father into their car.
“Yes, yes, mama, I love you!” Is the last thing your parents hear before the car doors shut and they drive away.
Clark places a hand on your shoulder, but you get the feeling he wishes he could do more, so you turn around and envelope him in a hug, right there, at night, in the parking lot of your apartment building.
“How are you?” You two say at the same time. Too tired for a big reaction, you two just let out an exhale and head back up the elevator.
“How are you?” You ask again, staring at him through the elevator mirror.
His eyes smile back. “I like your parents.”
“You don’t have to lie.” You nudge him, as the elevator dings and opens on your floor.
He follows you and places a hand on your shoulder to let you know he’s being serious. “No, no, I really like them. They care about you a lot.”
You roll your eyes, opening the apartment door. “They’re tired of me. I know they wish I was doing better at this point in life. They’re mad when I’m not married, they’re mad when I have a boyfriend. I can’t win with them. I’m never up to their standards of what a normal person my age should be doing.”
Clark makes a sad expression as he takes off his shoes. “I think they just worried for you, and they can’t help but be worried no matter what’s happening because they want the best for you.”
You groan, huffing as you sit on your couch like a kid. “Ugh, Clark, why do you have to be so perfect? I wish you’d just get irrationally mad with me sometimes.”
Clark carefully sits down with you, with one arm around your shoulder, and the other rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I just want you to see the world through someone else’s eyes.” He says as he rests his head on your shoulder. It’s a nice feeling, that you’re giving the nicest person, or, well, toy, on Earth some comfort.
“Do you feel bad that I have to keep you a secret?” You ask genuinely concerned.
He gives a sad smile. Clark Kent gives you a sad smile. “I’m used to keeping secrets.”
“Like a real-life Superman, this 6’3 man saves a kitten from a tree!” The semi-viral news clip on your Twitter feed replays for the 30th time. 20,000 people are obsessed with the kind and hot man who looks a lot like Superman.
You admit, you’ve watched it multiple times just to see that clip of Clark smiling with the cat in his arms. He just… he looks really good. But there’s this jealous part of you that doesn’t want this many people to be perceiving him. It’s a bit… a lot selfish, but you wish he was all yours.
It’s been around two weeks now, you and Clark have been growing closer, and Clark’s been loving the real world. Seriously, you don’t understand how he can just find something to love about every person. It makes you hate yourself a little bit, that you can’t be like him. Maybe this is why Lex Luthor is the way he is. But you try. Whenever you’re off to work, you try to spare change for the homeless, or compliment the person whose shoes you were staring at. It makes you feel a little better to see someone smile because of you. You tell Clark all about this at the end of the day, and he always smiles and tells you he’s proud of you.
Clark found a part-time office job that requires no experience. You don’t exactly understand what it is, but you support him nonetheless. The more Clark leaves the house, the more you miss him, and you’ve been missing him a lot recently. You two even slept on the couch together after you had a nightmare, and you may have caught some-
No, that’s ridiculous. He’s a toy at the end of the day. He’s a toy that magically came to life with magical grow-a-boyfriend glitter, can he even consent? You can’t seriously be so desperate that you go for a fucking plastic doll based on a fictional character.
Be a goddamn normal person for once.
You hear a muffled but enthusiastic “I’m home!” through the door, and shut your phone off immediately, running to meet him.
“Hi, Clark.” You greet.
Clark gives you a quick hug before taking off his shoes and entering the apartment.
“Do anything fun today?” You ask, wondering if he’d brag about the kitten he saved.
Of course he doesn’t. “I got another job today! It doesn’t pay too much, but the man running the shelter really needs a lot of help, so I volunteered and I also found a couple more people who are willing to help out. We’re doing it for free until we get more donations.” He rambles on, unpacking his bag (your highschool messenger bag) on the dinner table, and you just sit in disbelief of how a single living creature could be so kind.
As much as you want to bask in his incredibleness all day, the cynical part of your brain kicks in. “I saw you, uh, saved a cat today on the news.”
He turns around with a smile. “His name was Skimbleshanks, yeah. What about it?”
You rub at your elbows, not even understanding why you’re getting upset. Clark notices immediately and drops what he’s doing to grab ahold of your shoulders.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He asks. God, why do his eyes shine? Why is his skin so textured? Why does he breathe in and out like his body is trying to convince you he’s a real human being? It just hurts.
“I… I guess I’m just worried about people questioning you? Or maybe I’m worried about you running out of clothes for the office- Shit I… Fuck, Clark, I’m worried about everything and nothing, don’t mind me.” You hit your temple with the heel of your hand, like you’re physically trying to shake the thoughts out of your head.
Clark tuts, you know he wants to correct your language but he holds back as he pulls your wrist away from your head. “Hey, let’s talk about this. Let’s figure out what’s going on in your head.”
You look at him for a second and, fuck, your heart tugs, like it’s begging to get closer to him. You pull away, heading to your bedroom.
“Don’t you worry that if you keep getting yourself into dangerous situations that people will start investigating things about you?”
“Then I’ll dawn the Superman persona and I’ll do it in disguise.”
“That won’t work, life isn’t like cartoons, Clark, you don’t have hypno glasses or a population that isn’t crazy enough to dox you.”
“I doubt anyone would want to target you or I for random acts of kindness.”
“That’s not the problem, Clark.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I don’t know!” You finally assert, raising your voice in a way you never did in front of Clark. Or anyone for that matter.
Clark doesn’t flinch, but his face does fall. His fist clenches, not out of anger, but frustration.
“Do you need some space?” He asks, so gentle it hurts.
You look down at your feet, so ashamed of the fact you’re acting like an actual toddler right now. So confused by their feelings that they throw a tantrum and hurt the one person who’s trying to care for them. Clark takes your lack of an answer as a yes and puts on his shoes to exit the apartment.
“I’m not mad at you.” You whisper.
You’re lucky he heard it. “I know.” He turns the doorknob. “I’m not mad at you either.” Click.
Jesus fucking christ, what did you just do?
Why are you even acting this way, he’s just a fucking toy! You’ve never felt this way about a stupid plastic object before.
You do what you always do when you have a problem, and you call Elora.
The phone rings for barely a second before her face shows up on your phone screen.
“Oh my gosh, angel!!! You will not guess what happened. I got another one of those grow-a-boyfriend packets and one of those Ryan Gosling Ken dolls, and now I have my very own RYAN GOSLI-” her rant freezes when she finally looks at your face.
“Oh… honey, why did you call?” She wonders. “Where’s Clarkie?”
Your nose scrunches at the nickname. “Don’t call him that…”
“Wha- oh sweetie…” Elora smiles. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
You roll your eyes. “He’s a goddamn toy, Elora, can you actually be serious for once?”
Elora frowns at you, but she’s known you long enough to know you’re just being mean cause you’re upset.
“Honey, why did you call me?”
“I…” You pout. “Fuck, I actually like him. Am I a freak for that?”
Elora smiles. “No, honey! Why would you even say that?”
You scratch your head. “He’s not human.”
“How is he not human? What do you think a human is?”
“A living breathing creature with four limbs-”
“Bap, bap, bap! Watch it, not all humans have four limbs.”
“Oh… well a living breathing creature that speaks-”
“Not all humans speak.”
“That cries-”
“I’ve never cried.”
“Fine! A living breathing creature that can handle and practice the concept of empathy?”
She tilts her head with a smirk at that answer. “Clark does all that and more.”
“Fine, fine. But- I just… he’s different.”
“Everyone’s different, idiot! Some humans speak different languages, and some don’t speak at all. Some people look a little or a lot different. Some people were born from wombs, and others from test tubes. Clark was born from the mind of two men, and came alive in your bathtub.” She says, like it’s the most normal thing.
“Look, what matters is that Clark has a working brain and a moral compass that teaches him what’s right and wrong. He’s an adult, who breathes, who lives, who helps. It’s not wrong to love him just because he’s different.”
You pout, taking in Elora’s words. “Why do I feel so guilty about it then?”
Elora shrugs. “That’s for you to figure out, lovie. Anyways, I have to go, Ken is taking me out to the beach!”
You blow a kiss to Elora and she hangs up.
You look at the sunset, wondering about Clark’s whereabouts.
Then you realise you know where he is.
You close the door to the rooftop as quietly as possible, but of course, he hears you.
He sits on the tall edge of the building and pats the seat next to him, inviting you to join him.
You instead stay standing and place your arms where he patted.
“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” He asks, looking directly at you.
You nod, resting your head on your folded arms. “I know why I was mad now.”
“And what was it?” He cocks an eyebrow, but his tone is genuine.
“Myself. I was mad at myself for not being normal and I was projecting it onto you.”
Clark doesn’t try to reassure you that you’re normal, or explain that everyone is a bit abnormal, it’s like he knows you don’t need to be babied, so he just nods.
“I like you, Clark. And I guess I was telling myself you weren’t perfect enough for me, but the truth is you’re the only perfect person I know.” You admit, and it’s like poison falling off your tongue. It’s painful but necessary.
Clark smiles at you, and turns away from the sunset so his body faces you.
“I’m not perfect by any means, but I do want to be with you.”
“You make me a better person, Clark. I’ve never known I had the power to take care of anyone, I’ve never had someone to show me the other side of the story, or encourage me to be kinder. You do all that for me. I was so scared of feeling, but I realise now what I was feeling was for you.”
Clark takes a hold of both of your hands, and suddenly you notice it. They’re scraped, a tiny bit of blood seeps out.
“Clark, you’re bleeding!” You exclaim. Wait.
What?
“You’re… bleeding?” You question, you look up at him to see that stupid smile you love so much.
He laughs instead of nodding, wiping the blood away. “It just happened today, I guess I’m changing. Is it okay if I’m not the indestructible Superman you love?”
You shake your head. “You’re the only Superman I love.”
Clark bends down, cups the side of your face and leans in.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, with a genuinely nervous look on his face.
You smile and pull him in by the blue collar he keeps hidden under his work clothes.
And for once, you don’t need to feel normal, because you feel human.
A few months later you’d probably ask Clark what it means to be human.
He says it’s loving you. A/N: dedicated to @mykaneptune, thank you for birthing Elora
KPOP IDOLS AS UAAP STUDENTS
PART 2: ENHYPEN
my favorite seven!!! i'm LIVING for this au, and maybe it should stay that way because good lord these boys would've been my campus crushes had they studied anywhere here. up student ako pero catch me loitering around ateneo just for a glimpse of heejake… also, please don't start any ot7/ot6 discourse or arguments in my comments. my blog is meant to be a safe space for fun, headcanons, and entertainment only. any comments related to that will be deleted and/or result in an instant block. thank you! 🫶
in this series: TOMORROW X TOGETHER ENH7PEN BOYNEXTDOOR &TEAM
➳ LEE HEESEUNG (EVAN)
🎓 ateneo de manila university course: theater arts + management (double degree) orgs: - theater guild - music org - production org - basketball varsity lord kill me now this is so sexy of him. bro is either rehearsing, performing, or helping backstage. he literally lives in the theater building. tapos after nun may basketball training pa siya. DOUBLE DEGREE PA??? sino ka ba??? troy bolton??? PICK A STRUGGLE NAKIKIUSAP AKO. this is the exact cousin your titas compare you to. nakakainis kasi apat na oras lang tulog niyan pero dean's lister pa rin.
➳ PARK JONGSEONG (JAY)
🎓 de la salle university course: business management orgs: - band org - cooking club - car club business major pero hobbies niya pang tatay. bro saw guitar, food, and cars and said yeah that's my entire personality. NOT VARSITY BTW because the confidence is there, the athletic ability is somewhere else. tapos after all that? bagsak agad sa couch. priorities. this man is NEVER beating the stereotypical lasallian allegations. rich kid na business major pa? ew.
➳ SIM JAEYUN (JAKE)
🎓 ateneo de manila university course: applied physics orgs: - physics society - astronomy club - robotics/stem org gago pumunta lang sa org fair para makipagkaibigan tas umuwi na may physics seminar. this man genuinely would enjoy talking about space for three hours and somehow make you enjoy it too. akala mo cool campus crush lang, BIGLANG MAY TED TALK TUNGKOL SA BLACK HOLES. grammar police pa 'yan. hindi rin marunong mag-straight tagalog to save his life. pinaka-conyo na atenean na naka-bike papuntang campus araw-araw.
➳ PARK SUNGHOON
🎓 de la salle university course: communication arts orgs: - photography club - media org - sports org - figure skating varsity hindi na siya member at this point. asset na siya ng org. every event kailangan may picture niya kahit hindi siya involved. nakakainis kasi kahit candid mukhang editorial. akala mo tahimik na campus crush na never nagsasalita… tapos maririnig mo mag-"BROOOOO WHAT THE HELL" sa hallway. biggest catfish ng dlsu.
➳ KIM SUNOO
🎓 university of santo tomas course: communication arts orgs: - theater guild - hosting/emcee org - welcoming committee BRO WAS BORN TO YAP PROFESSIONALLY. freshman orientation pa lang kilala ka na niya by name. pumunta ka lang sa event tas somehow may bago ka nang kaibigan because of him. every org gusto siyang kuning host, pati mga guard at cafeteria staff kilala siya. GAGO PATI MGA ATE AT KUYA SA MGA KARINDERYA SA SAMPALOC FRIENDS NA RIN NIYA. hindi ko na alam kung communication arts student ba siya o unofficial welcoming committee ng buong UST.
➳ YANG JUNGWON
🎓 university of the philippines diliman course: public administration orgs: - student council - leadership orgs - volunteer orgs - taekwondo varsity bro did NOT plan on becoming student council president. it just happened. everyone somehow knows him. hindi ka makakalakad ng limang minuto nang walang sisigaw ng "UY, PRESI!" bro is literally running the campus at this point. estudyante pa ba 'to o part-time employee ng UP??
➳ NISHIMURA RIKI (NI-KI)
🎓 far eastern university course: multimedia arts orgs: - dance org - film org - creatives org - dance team sumali para sumayaw tas biglang siya na gumagawa ng lahat ng edits, concepts, at performances. bro accidentally became the creative department. hindi mo makikita sa classroom pero somehow nasa every org event siya. bro pays tuition just to lock in for extracurriculars.
taglist: @beomtomie @andnevertheless
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Two Strangers (Carry A Cake Across Seattle) | Jay Park | One-Shot
Plot: Your best friend is getting married, you are tasked with picking up the groom's son and the wedding cake, and the days leading up to the wedding change both of your lives forever. [WC: 7.2K]
Warnings: Author has never even been to America. The plot is loosely based on Two Strangers (Carry A Cake Across New York) which I have not actually seen!!! You are the reader, but there are little bits of information that you won’t know until I reveal it. Also pretend you have a December birthday.
It’s going to be the worst birthday ever.
You’re sitting in your favourite Korean restaurant because your best friend had something urgent to tell you about. You shovel beef into your mouth when Melissa gives you that smile, the ‘I’m excited and I’m smug about it’ smile. You raise an eyebrow at her until a tiny beam of light blinds you.
You squint until you realise it’s coming from her finger, to be more specific, it’s coming from a diamond.
It feels like a cartoon moment, but you don’t spit out your food all over her as your eyes bulge out. Instead you drop your fork and your mouth hangs open.
Melissa is wearing a diamond engagement ring, surely given to her by her millionaire boyfriend, James, of about 5… maybe 6 years.
Oh god, you have to call him her fiance now…
You can’t help but grow a pit in your stomach, you feel bad that your immediate reaction isn’t happiness for your long-time best friend, but depression.
You’re going to be the only adult you know who isn’t married.
You’re the last grandchild who’s still single, all your close and distant friends had weddings either this year or last.
You’ve been the only single one for a while, but your best friend getting married finally seals it.
This also means you’ll officially be losing your best friend. You haven’t hung out with any of your friends since they’ve been too busy with kids or their married life. Now you’ll be losing the only person who still made time to talk to you.
Maybe it’s not normal to lose your friends when they get married, but it’s normal for you. You wish you could just find someone already, so you wouldn’t feel like you were falling behind all the time.
You can’t even ask when it happened, or when the wedding will be, or why she did this to you. She gives a shameful smile as she admits. “It’ll be on your birthday…”
Melissa places a hand on yours and explains. “We really wanted a December wedding, and this was the only available date for the venue we booked so… you understand right?”
You stare at her, you feel your brows furrowing together, and your heart sinking deeper and deeper, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. “I want you to be my person of honour, we’ll give you a slice of cake to take home, and a little shout out in our thank-you speech.”
She really can’t comprehend that you’re in shock right now, and she continues. “You get to run bridal errands, and help me pick out my dress!”
You look away, a bead of sweat running down your head, you swallow your food, unable to stare at her, but unable to decline.
“Okay…” You whimper out, forcing a happy smile for the happy bride. “I love you.”
Jay cuts the kimchi into bite-sized pieces, preparing kimchi-jjigae for his family dinner. His mother is sitting at the dining table in the kitchen, using his computer while hers is being repaired.
Jay’s tired, he spends his 9-5 at work, and gets home to immediately cook for his mom and clean the house. He wishes there was someone else in the house to help around, or just someone to look after him, but alas, it’s just him and his mother now.
“Eomma, can you check my email?” He calmly asks, starting to boil some water. His mother doesn’t even need to respond as she opens the email tab. She puts on her glasses and scrolls, until she sees an email sent earlier in the day.
“Jongseong-a, who is Melissa?” The name is unfamiliar on her tongue, Jay lifts an eyebrow, not knowing anyone by that name, and momentarily abandons his cooking duties to hover over the computer.
From: [email protected]
Subject: James & Melissa’s Save The Date
Save The Date
Melissa & James
December 10th, 2026
Formal invitation to follow.
James. His father.
His mother, Ji-yoo, and his father, James, separated around 5 years ago. It was quick and painless, Jay was about 19 when it happened. He wasn’t too sad, part of him knew it was coming.
His dad moved out and immigrated to America quickly after. Jay hadn’t had much contact with his father since, not even the occasional post card like his father used to give him as a kid whenever he went on business trips. It was just complete radio silence. The only way Jay could keep up with his dad was through his Facebook posts, but Jay never lingered too long whenever he saw one.
He never held anything against his father, because he knew his mom would tell him if he did something horrible, and not a single bad word had ever been said. It was just a result of the two of them drifting apart.
Seeing an email from his dad’s new fiance… It's bittersweet, but it makes him really excited. Going back to America, meeting his new family, reuniting with his father, it would all be happening in 3 months.
“Eomma, I’m going to Seattle.”
“Okay, I’m holding a sign, just look for the paper with your name on it.”
Being the Person of Honour was everything Melissa described it as being: doing all the wedding errands.
Today, your task was to pick up James’s son from the airport. You held a sign that read “Park Jongseong” in English and Hangul. You had even been given Jay’s phone number so you could guide him through the airport.
“That man is hot…” You mumble into the phone, staring at a guy in full black business-casual attire. He looks just like one of those korean idols Melissa is obsessed with. As you stare, you notice the beautiful guy turn to face you, taking off his glasses and looking directly at you.
“Uh… is that you?” you hear distantly, and then quickly repeat through the phone. The mystery man is pointing directly at you and walking closer with a slightly confused look on his face. You tap the end call button about ten times before hiding your face behind the piece of paper you’re holding. “What is wrong with me…”
Jay takes the piece of paper from your hands and folds it, placing it into his pocket. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for picking me up.” Now that you fully listen to his voice, you can tell that he’s slowly trying to get used to the English language.
He’s got a good accent, you know he used to live in America, but he says all his words like he carefully thought about it multiple times.
You reach out a hand, offering to carry his luggage, but he shakes his head and walks toward the airport exit ahead of you. You speed walk to catch up with him, and you two quickly head toward the exit of the airport.
When you finally get inside the uber and have the chance to talk, Jay breaks the silence. “How do you know the couple?” You turn to look at him, pleasantly surprised at the question. “Oh! Well, Melissa and I have been friends since high school, and I was there when she met James.”
“Was she your teacher?” Jay asks.
You look at him curiously, very confused. “No, she was my classmate.”
Jay points at you, an eyebrow raised. “But you’re…”
“26. Tomorrow.” You answer quickly. “And your dad is-”
“49…” Jay says, his eyes dropping to the car floor.
You shrug, you honestly do find it gross, James met Melissa when she was freshly 20, but it’s not even the worst thing about their relationship, so you got used to it after a couple of years.
“Did you say, tomorrow? The wedding day is on your birthday?”
You smile awkwardly and nod. “Yeah, but they’re gonna give me a piece of the cake to take home and shout me out during their speech, so, all goodie!” You give a sad thumbs up that clearly isn’t real.
He nods sympathetically and stares outside the window.
You find your eyes glued to Jay as he starts to admire the city speeding past him.
“You like the place?” You ask.
“Everything looks so… different.” He responds. “My mom wants me to do all the tourist things here. I said the best I can do is get a magnet.”
You let out a tiny laugh at that. Suddenly your pocket starts vibrating.
You pull your phone out and see Melissa’s name in bold calling you. You give an apologetic look to Jay as you answer the call. “Meli, what do you need?”
“Oh my gosh! So, I’m soooo sorry but I have another errand for you to run!” Melissa always delivers her words dramatically like she’s a character in a play.
“What is it?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re still 30 minutes away from the hotel you and Jay will be staying at, which costs like a billion dollars, by the way, and now she needs something else from you.
You hear Melissa's blow dryer and the rest of the bridal party’s laughs in the background of her call. “Omg, Liv, stop! Anyways, you still have James’s American Express card I gave you? Just use it to pay and pick up the wedding cake at Verbena Crowe, I’ll send you the addy!”
You instantly get a location sent and you know there’s nothing you can do but say yes.
“Okay, Melissa.”
“Just bring it to my suite when ya get it! Thanks, my ange-” She hangs up before she can even do that thing where she makes kissing noises to say goodbye. You put your phone away, embarrassedly tapping the driver and showing him the new location.
“I’m really sorry, Jay, but I have a quick errand to run before we head to the hotel, is that okay?” You apologise, heart beating way faster than it should for some reason.
Jay looks at you and shakes his head. “Oh, no, I don’t mind. Carrying the cake is probably going to be a two-person job anyways.”
A few minutes go by, and you just need something to stimulate your brain that isn’t the grating AI generated music your driver is listening to, so you pull out your phone and start scrolling through Bumble.
“Dating app?” Jay asks, which makes you jump in your seat. “Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” You assure him, swiping past Dante, 29
Emil, 23
Jackson, 25
Kyle, 24
Nothing is objectively wrong with any of the men, but none of them feel right for you. You can see Jay’s reflection on your phone, and slowly you notice the more people you swipe past, the more judgemental his expression becomes.
You quickly turn your head towards him, and now it’s his turn to jump.
“You’re judging them.” You say, playfully accusatorily. Jay frowns and looks out the window again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
You move closer to him and hover the phone in between your legs. Jay can’t help but give in as he stares.
He automatically swipes on some guys who you actually found decently attractive.
“Hey! I liked that one-” You try to grab your phone back, but he keeps a hold of it. “No, he’s too boring for you.”
“For me?”
Jay waves a hand at you. “I just mean you seem very… loud, and interesting.”
You look confused but your cheeks heat up for some reason.
“Fake, fake, fake, probably looking for an affair, fake, ugly, is that a gun?” Jay narrates as he speedruns through all the options on your phone.
Rudy, 27
Cody, 27
Josh, 29
Justin, 26
Jay’s finger hesitates for a fraction of a second and you grab his wrist.
“Justin.” His name sounds interesting.
He’s a baker, a part time model, he’s got a golden retriever, and crap… he’s really handsome. You look at Jay in disbelief. “You think he’s hot too.”
Jay rolls his eyes, unwillingly admitting “He’s fine, compared to all the other douchebags… Oh look, you two matched.”
You stare at your phone, holding it up like it’s holy.
“Justin… Perfect Justin… I like his job… I’m near him… I… can’t message him.”
Jay looks at you with that bewildered and judgemental look of his. You must be really weird, it’s like the 3rd time he’s made that face and you’ve known each other for less than an hour. “And why not?”
“He’s perfect, he’s like a statue, meant to be observed and admired but the public isn’t allowed to touch.” You lament.
Jay stares at you like you’ve just said the most idiotic thing he’s ever heard. “If he didn’t want you touching, he wouldn’t be on Bumble.”
He grabs the phone from you and sends a message.
You: Is your dog single?
You gasp and immediately grab the phone back, staring at it in horror.
“What did you just do?”
“Helped you out.” Jay crosses his arms nonchalantly and rests back on his seat.
You turn off your phone and place a hand on your forehead, sulking.
Jay gives you an annoyed look. “Why are you even on Bumble? You don’t seem like the type.”
“I just… I like the feeling of someone seeing me and thinking ‘Yeah, I could see myself being with them’.” You fiddle with your hands and shrug. “It’s like the only time I feel somewhat valued. I mean, it doesn’t happen often, but when it does… I mean, it’s fine, I guess.”
You crave the feeling of someone looking at you and wanting to be around you, thinking you’re worth something. You don’t have many social media likes, or even friends really, so you download dating apps to cope.
“And… I guess I just lost faith in the ‘rom-com’ meet cute idea, guys like that don’t exist in real life.”
“Been burnt by love before?” He asks, like he knows he’s correct.
You nod. “The last guy who tried to ask me out was a long-time friend who was engaged.”
Jay makes a disgusted look. “That guy is a dickhead.”
You laugh. “I guess love isn’t really real.”
Jay frowns slightly, contemplating your words. “What about Melissa and my dad?”
You give a sad smile. “They’re different.”
Silence.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your dad?”
Jay grips the little holder on the car door, letting out an exhale. “5 years… I actually haven’t talked to him since he moved to America, so this will be us reuniting.”
You frown at that, you’ve met James, so it doesn’t fully surprise you that he’s the type of person to ghost his adult son, but it still frustrates you.
“Are you excited to see him again?”
“Yeah… I-I think so.”
The car slowly comes to a stop, and the driver points to the paypal QR code at the back of his seat. “We’re here, mamsir.”
You quickly pay, thank the driver, and exit the car with Jay. You smile as you exit the car, breathing in the cold winter air and taking in the buildings that surround you.
“You like this place?” Jay asks, with his hand still holding his luggage.
“I grew up here.” You explain. You point out the different buildings you recognise with a big smile on your face. Jay looks at you and can’t help but get infected with laughter.
He pulls on your arm and leads you into the bakery.
Four tiers, are you kidding me?
It really was a two-person job, with Jay carrying the smallest top tier, and you carrying the other three.
You get in another uber, and rest your head on the window.
Buzz!
You place the cakes in between you and Jay as you pick up your phone.
Bumble Notification
Justin: My dog isn’t single, but I am :)
You gasp and clasp your hand over your mouth. Jay’s head snaps to you but without that little judgemental essence he usually had.
You show him the notification right as another one pops up.
Bumble Notification
Justin: We’re pretty near each other, would you wanna meet up tonight?
You two look at the message and nearly faint.
“Oh my god, yes, yes!” You squeal. Jay smiles along with you before he comes to a realisation.
“Wait, isn’t the rehearsal dinner tonight?”
You stare at him, and honestly, you didn’t even forget, you just didn’t want to go.
“Uh, yeah, but-” You try to defend yourself. “I’m sure Meli won’t mind if I skip…”
“What? Aren’t you her person of honour? You can’t just blow her off for a first date.”
You grip your phone nervously. “Honestly, I wasn’t even planning on attending the rehearsal dinner anyways…”
Jay’s judgemental look is back, he shakes his head in disbelief. “American weddings, I don’t understand…”
You turn off your phone and place it back in your pocket. “Sorry, I’m just not as excited about the wedding as I should be.”
Jay looks at you and tilts his head. “You have… issues, I can tell. I gues if the date will make you happy, then you should go.”
You shake your head this time. “No, you’re right, I can’t blow Melissa off.”
Silence fills the car, well as silent as pop music can be.
“If I were you I’d run around Seattle and buy myself an expensive meal if I didn’t wanna go to the dinner.” Jay says, looking out the window.
You snort. “Really? Well of course, the millionaire’s son would say that. But that’s rich people stuff…”
Jay clicks his tongue with a smile. “What is Melissa like?”
Your heart stops at the question. It’s something you’ve never thought about but also know the answer to.
“She’s… well, when she loves someone, it’s like she goes blind to anything else. She’s determined, she gets what she wants, she’s really pretty, she has lots of secrets… my hair is full of her secrets…”
“Is she kind?” Jay asks, genuinely. You can hear a little worry in his voice, like he’s wondering if his step-mother will be a good person.
‘Well… she can be mean’ You think. God, why are you talking this way about your best friend?
“She’ll be nice.”
The car pulls over and you finally get out, carrying the cakes as the driver helps Jay get his luggage out of the trunk.
You wait a few minutes for Jay to check in and receive his key-card, before going to the elevator together.
“Can I come up with you to the suite? I wanna meet the bride.” Jay asks, slightly nervously.
You glance up at him, thinking for a few seconds before just deciding that he should. “Yeah, why not?”
The elevator doors open, and you two find your way to the bridal suite.
Girly laughter echoes from behind the door and you knock loudly, grabbing the last tier of cake from Jay.
Melissa opens the door and squeals. “Thank you, angel~!” She kisses your cheeks and gets one of the bridesmaids to take the cakes into the room.
“Who is this fellow?” She nudges you, winking at Jay.
Jay is immediately confused by this. Wasn’t she the one that invited him?
Wouldn’t his dad have mentioned him, showed her a photo? Maybe she just has a bad memory and doesn’t recognise him since she’s never seen him in person.
Yeah, that must be it.
You scratch your arm nervously. “Uh, Meli, this is Jay…”
She’s still confused.
“Park Jongseong… James’s-”
“Oh!” Melissa has a frozen look on her face, and she almost instinctively shuts the door, but she forces a straight smile across her face.
“Nice to meet you… honey. I have to talk with your father…”
You grab a hold of the door to prevent Melissa from shutting it on you. “Please, don’t kick him out. He’s travelled so far to be here.” You whisper. Melissa doesn’t seem to hear it, but Jay does.
“Well, I have to prepare for this evening so, see you!” Melissa shuts the door, and you’re left in the hallways with Jay. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head and turn around to look at him.
“Why wouldn’t she want me at the wedding? I’ve traveled six thousand miles to be here.” He demands, fist tightly holding the handle of his luggage. He knows you don’t have all the answers, but he’s pretty damn sure you know the answer to this question.
You shake your head. “I was just saying that, there’s no way she wouldn’t let you come to the wedding-”
Jay rolls his eyes and heads back to the elevator, your heart is pounding, running after him.
“Jay, please don’t think anything of that, I don’t want you to have a bad time at the wedding.” You say as the elevator dings, Jay walks in. There were a lot of things you couldn’t admit right now, but you didn’t want to be the person that ruined the wedding day.
“I’m not- I won’t… I can’t. I can’t have a bad time at the wedding.” Jay can’t seem to finish his sentences, rubbing his forehead frustratedly.
You pinch your fingers, trying to figure out how to calm the situation.
“Let’s get some dinner, I’ll explain everything.” You say quickly.
He looks at you as the elevator finally arrives at his floor.
“Don’t you have a date with Perfect Justin?” He scoffs.
You answer easily. “I could see him anytime, you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I thought that expensive dinner was ‘rich people stuff’?” He asks curiously.
You pull out his dad’s American Express card. “We are rich people, Jay.”
You and Jay skip around, carrying bags of the most expensive things you could buy at the mall, designer bags, perfumes, and some really nice shoes.
“This is the first time my dad’s ever technically bought me anything since he left.” Jay laughs, you turn to him.
“Really?” It causes a bit of a pain in your heart.
He shrugs and nods, pulling you into a store selling some expensive outfits.
You walk around for a bit, admiring dresses and suits until your eyes catch on an outfit that perfectly fits the bridal party colours. Jay grabs your shoulder from behind, this shopping spree sending a new high energy through him. “You like this?”
“I could wear this to the wedding.” You mumble, it’s literally exactly your taste, something you can’t take your eyes off of, but not too much that you’d outshine the bride or groom.
“Don’t you have a specific outfit that the bride chose for you?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Melissa just gave us a colour to use, we can wear whatever outfit we want as long as it’s formal.”
Jay puts an arm around you. “Then buy it.”
You shake your head. “We’ve spent a lot already, but I’d feel guilty putting this on your dad’s tab.”
Jay pulls out his own credit card. “Then I’ll pay.”
You look at him in shock. “Jay, you barely know me.”
Jay shrugs. “Let me take care of you tonight, you deserve it.”
You giggle. “Are you drunk?”
“On dad’s money.” He responds, kissing your cheek playfully. It doesn’t mean anything, just a little flirtation, but it makes your body heat up as he calls for an employee and asks about purchasing.
This probably illegal spending trip tells you a lot about Jay.
He likes being spent on and taken care of. He spent about an hour getting a massage that was clearly needed. He blushed every time you approved of a purchase and told him he didn’t have to worry about the price tag.
He loves spending on you. You may be strangers, but you’ve apparently made an impression on him. He would insist on paying for your smaller delights like adult Lego sets and jewelry.
He likes to play the guitar. You convinced him to spontaneously get a light blue electric guitar, and you swear he turned into a little kid with excitement.
He likes to cook. You nearly had to drag him out of the appliance aisle of the department store. The only time you told him he couldn’t buy something was when he started begging for a new pan to take home.
He’s just as forgetful as you, seeing as you two didn’t remember the rehearsal dinner until an hour after it started.
You arrive late to the rehearsal dinner in outfits you bought just hours ago. Melissa stares at you approvingly and gives you a hug.
“Y’know, you and that Jay actually seem to suit each other well.” She admits. “Who knows, if you two get married you could be my step-child-in-law!”
The idea of being related to Melissa horrifies you, but you blush at her acting like Jay is even in your league.
You sit next to Jay at the table and see him looking around for someone.
“Did you see my dad anywhere?” He asks, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.
“No, he left before we arrived for some business reason.” You respond.
Jay looks down, letting out a disappointed “Oh.”
You put your hand on his shoulder and rub your thumb across his suit.
“We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
He doesn’t look at you but he gives a sad smile. He grabs the glass of wine on his table and throws his head back as he drinks it.
Your eyes widen at the act, but he pulls you up from your seat and leads you out of the room.
“Let’s get drunk.”
“Do you think about how movie-like this is?” You ask.
“Movies aren’t real.”
“Yeah, but think about it. The magical spending spree, showing off outfits to each other, running away from where we should be to hang out with each other. It’s pretty romantic.”
“I guess so.”
… “You changed a lot tonight, do you know why?”
“I guess I’m not used to being the one taken care of.”
“I can tell.” you giggle. “It’s like I told you I crave being valued. Knowing that I’m worth my favourite outfit, or designer perfumes, it… makes me feel really good.”
You feel a hand touch yours, you’re too drunk to tell if it’s your own.
Jay whispers out, with beer stained breath. “Such a perfect romantic night, shame it was for you and me, huh?”
“It’s not a shame. I liked it, I liked spending time with you.”
“You’re too honest, y’know?”
“That’s not true. If I was honest I would’ve told you why Melissa didn’t invite you to the wedding.”
“I don't think I wanna know.”
“But I should still tell you.”
You feel a finger press to your mouth and a slurring shush in the darkness.
“Keep it. Keep your secrets, be the mysterious shadow. That’s how you’ll get a date.”
“What are we talking about?”
“I don’t know.”
… “Do you like me, Jay? Could you like me?”
“I like you.”
“I mean like, as a friend, of course, I don’t mean… like…”
“I like you.”
You think you feel a pair of lips on yours, but that might have just been your dreams mixing into the memory.
You wake up to blaring sunshine and messy sheets on the day of the wedding. Your head hurts. You’re clearly in your hotel room, but you can’t find your things anywhere. You place a hand on your pillow only for it to land on soft skin instead.
You jolt, only to realise that Jay Park is under you, you’re still in your rehearsal dinner outfit, but he’s in his bathrobe which leaves a lot of questions.
It’s 9 AM and your phone is ringing from under him. You gently roll the man over and see it’s Melissa calling you. You know it’s for the Bridal party to assemble and get their makeup done.
So you decline the call.
The man in bed slowly wakes up as you come to the realisation that you slept in his room.
“Who was that?”
“No one, are you alright?”
Jay shakes his head and bolts straight to the bathroom. You debate on if you should help him as you hear throw up sounds in the distance.
You get up the bed and walk towards him when you start to hear sobbing.
You rub his back as he hangs over the toilet.
“I’m a terrible son…” He says, a drunk declarative statement.
“Jay, you’re a great guy.”
“But I’m a terrible son! I didn’t bring a wedding gift, I spent my father’s money, I missed his rehearsal dinner, I haven’t taken ownership of the family business yet, and I’m hungover on his wedding day.”
You get the sense Jay has a lot of problems he hasn’t revealed yet, but it’s not like you’re any different. You sit down next to him, head leaning on the bathroom wall.
“Your dad is going to have a good day, and we’re going to have a good day as soon as we take some aspirin.”
Jay flushes the toilet and leans back on his palms, his eyes squinting at you. You can’t help but stare a bit.
“Windowshopping?” He asks, but his voice is too tired to even sound snarky.
“No, sorry, I just, you look…” You can’t help but smile, pulling up his robe to wipe his mouth.
“You into guys who have recently thrown up?” He tilts his head at you.
You exhale, looking away. “Apparently so.”
He gives an awkward smile and reaches out his hand, silently asking you to help him up. You two interlock hands and a warmth falls into your body.
You guide him back to his bed and you two sit next to each other.
You feel strangely happy, like you’re around someone who actually enjoys your presence for once. Whenever you hung around Melissa, you always got the feeling she’d rather be with James, but now you’re with someone who’s comfortable throwing up in front of you.
Jay rests his head on your shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m seeing my dad today.”
Your heart clenches at those words. “Are you sure you wanna see him?”
Jay stares at the wall in front of you. “Y-yeah, of course I do. I miss him” You look down at your lap as you bite your lip. “Y’know, I used to idolise my dad a lot. He was my hero, the man who brought me gifts, and let me get away with things my mom wouldn’t”
Jay doesn’t even need to ask ‘What happened’, for you to know he’s thinking it.
“He cheated on my mom. I caught him and his mistress in bed, and he told me not to tell mom. Of course, I did, and they ended up getting divorced.”
Jay lifts his head from your shoulder and gives you a sympathetic look. You hoped he forgave you for ruining the air of the moment, but you need him to understand something.
“I’m sorry.” He says, but it’s not fully sincere. “My dad isn’t like that.”
“Jay,” You interrupt, looking away nervously. “The dad in your head from 5 years ago doesn’t exist anymore. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about your parents.”
Jay has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you “What do you even-”
“Don’t go to the wedding, Jay. You’ll only be disappointed when you meet him.”
Jay is speechless as he stares at you.
“Look, we can spend the day running around Seattle, doing all the touristy things your mom wanted you to do.”
“Why do you think I came here? To see you? No, I came here for my dad!” Jay gets up from bed, he’s still holding his head, a bit dizzy, but he’s raising his voice at you.
“He doesn’t exist, Jay, the dad in your head, I’m telling you.”
He runs a hand through his hair and walks towards the window.
You stare at him through the reflection in the mirror. “Melissa didn’t invite you, your dad did.”
“How is that supposed to make me not want to see my dad?”
“Because he invited you to get back at her.”
Jay turns around immediately. “What?”
“Melissa… hated you. She hated your mom, never wanted him to be in contact with either of you, so you weren’t even on the guest list. But she cheated on James during wedding planning, and when he found out what she’d done, he invited you to get back at her.”
Jay’s eyes start to glitter with the light from the sun. He crosses his arms and scoffs at you. “You’re making this up. You’re jealous of Melissa, so now you’re trying to sabotage her wedding.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything.” “Do you seriously think that I’m jealous?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe you’re jealous she’s capable of finding love and you don’t want to let her be happy.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe you don’t even know me, Jay.”
“Maybe, I do.”
“God, maybe you’re just so in love with your father-”
“Say that again.”
“-Like this is some family sitcom where your dad comes back.”
“No, no, no, say that again, I want to be sure that I heard you correctly.”
“You care more about your dad than the truth”.
“No, you’re just trying to make me as angry and hateful as you.”
“I’m not angry or hateful, I’m just some irrelevant character right? Who takes you to dinner and cries at all of your drunk trauma bullshit.”
“I think you’ll find it was actually my dad who paid for the dinner-”
“Your father- I swear if you mention him again. You’re acting like the engaged dickhead who asked me out.”
“My father is-”
“If you mention him one more time, then I’m going insane.”
“You are insane.”
“How could you be so insensitive?”
“I’m not your therapist!”
“What the hell is even wrong with you?” You two scream at the same time.
A murderous silence falls over the room.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
“No, I’m sorry that you don’t understand-”
“Maybe just listen-”
“If you just let me finish, I don’t understand why you don’t want to go to the wedding.”
“Do you think this is easy for me?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you think this is easy for me?”
“Okay, so it’s all about you!”
“He’s been with Melissa for six years-”
“I couldn’t care less what you tell me I’m going-”
“He bought me a computer, I’ve been to his house and-”
“Honestly, I’m glad you won’t be there-”
“He came to my shop everyday for one summer-”
“I know him better than you do-”
“And never in all of that time-”
“It’s my day, my moment, and nothing you tell me can take that away-”
“-AND NEVER, NOT ONCE HAS HE MENTIONED YOU.” You cry out, hands covering your eyes and nails gripping your hair.
Jay stares at you, finally realising he isn’t going to win the argument. He’s still set on going to the wedding, but his brain is trying to comprehend the new information about his dad. Should be surprised that his dad had a reason for not messaging him? That his dad chose a new woman over his family? No, but here he is, in shock.
He sits back on the bed, his head in his hands, covering his face.
“Six years…? Are you sure? But my mom and dad have only been separated for 5 years.”
You nod. “I was there when Melissa met him in 2020.”
He shakes his head. “I just… but my mom didn’t…”
You sit next to him again, not ready to look at him or touch him, but needing to be near him.
“I just… no, I can’t believe that the first thing my father does after being cheated on is invite me to his wedding.”
Your eyes sting at that, remembering the moment James came to visit you at work.
“It wasn’t.”
Jay is about to ask you another question when he looks at you.
His eyes snap from confused, to sympathy… to betrayal.
“Get out.”
“Jay, please, let me explain.”
“Get out of my room.”
Jay stands in front of the Church where his father will be getting married. He’s not wearing the new tuxedo he bought with you, but the one he brought from home.
Every step he takes forward feels heavier and heavier, people he’s never met flood into the church, not knowing who he is.
Y’know, he always told himself that if he never found out his dad had cheated, he’d cut contact and lose all respect for him, but for some reason, even though his heart feels wounded, his feelings haven’t changed about his father.
Maybe it’s because he always somewhat knew what kind of person his dad was. Jay’s mother had always been the type to keep secrets to protect him. He doesn’t know how to deal with the fact his father isn’t the person he thought he was, and how he still loves him even knowing that fact.
He takes in a deep breath and finds a number on his phone.
He clicks the tiny microphone button and begins to send a voice message.
“Eomma, I’m here at the church. I’m about to go in but I’m feeling nervous and thought I should send you a message. You’re definitely just waking up right now, but it’s 3 PM here in Seattle. It’s really cold.”
Jay contemplates how much he wants to say, but he has nobody else to tell, so he spills it all to his mom.
“It’s been a really unexpected trip. Eomma, why didn’t you tell me dad cheated on you? I would have been there for you, I don’t need him. You didn’t need to let me love him, I love you more than a mom and a dad combined. I-”
Jay turns around and faces a plant so he can wipe away his tears without being noticed by any new guests.
“I… met a girl. The best friend of the bride. I know you’ll say I shouldn’t fall for an American girl but, oh well. I really thought that she might actually like me, but I think I ruined my chances.”
Jay turns back around to the car parking lot. He knows you’re the last person who would want to attend this wedding, but he wonders if you’d come pick him up and drive him away.
“It’s getting late, I’m sorry, I just wanna say… I love you, and you didn’t have to protect me from dad, but I understand why you did it. You’re enough for me, eomma, you were always enough. Thank you for taking care of me. I should probably go in now… I should…”
Jay stares at the door, he’s the only person who hasn’t gone in now.
Should I go in?
You headed back to your hotel room and locked the door.
You told Melissa that you had gotten sick and had to be rushed to the hospital, knowing she wouldn’t send anyone to check up on you.
You’re watching some iconic 2000s romcom you haven’t seen in your white bathrobe and white towel. You nearly shut your computer off when the main character runs to her best friends for dating advice.
You’d always assumed that friends in movies were just fictional, just like how happy families in movies didn’t exist in real life. But maybe you just had bad friends, just like how you had a bad dad.
You always told yourself you needed a guy if you wanted company, after all the teasing you received all these years for still being single, all the cancelled plans, spontaneous boyfriend appearances, and failed dates.
But maybe you just needed a friend, a real friend. You spent so long feeling like something was missing, and assumed it was the one thing everyone else seemed to have. But maybe it was a friend you needed.
Maybe friends don’t leave you alone in a bar without telling you so she can hookup with a guy from Korea, maybe friends don’t skip your college graduation to sleep with their boyfriend, maybe friends don’t make you feel like you’re a kid choosing between their mom and their dad again, maybe friends don’t have their wedding on your birthday.
Maybe friends spend their dad’s money on you so you can have the best day you’ve had in years. Maybe friends are supposed to make you feel like you’re worth something.
You realise you’ve been chasing a high you didn’t need for years, ignoring the rest of your life falling apart, and now you have to deal with the mess.
But now you know what the problem is, maybe it'll be easier to clean the dump your life has become.
You hear a knock on the hotel door. You remain silent, worried it’s one of the bridesmaids trying to confront you.
Screw it, they deserve to know the truth just as much as you deserve new friends.
You open the door to see Jay, with a box of cake and his luggage.
“What are you doing here?” You ask breathily, your heart slows down and beats faster somehow. “I’ve only got a few hours left in Seattle, and I thought… do I want to spend them with someone I’ve never really known… Or with someone I might never see again?”
“How did you even find me?”
“This is like the 7th room that I’ve tried.” He admits, and god, he’s still so cool.
You move aside so he can enter your room, not even realising your hair is messed up and you’re literally wearing a bathrobe.
He places his luggage by the bed and the cake on the couch, he sits on the floor, and you follow.
“I stole it from the wedding. I think 4 tiers is too much anyways.” He says casually, dipping a fork into the cake.
“If we’re eating a wedding cake, does that mean we’re married?” You tease.
“You’ve got the veil and gown already, it seems.” He points to your hotel bathroom attire and you cover your face in embarrassment.
“Yeah, well, I’ve clearly out dressed you.” You lie, pointing to Jay’s outfit that does actually make him look like a groom.
“Please read your vows.” He says in a fake deep voice, imitating a priest.
You take a bite of cake and lift your hand up like a boy scout. “Jay, I swear to never cheat on you with a woman half my age, I swear to always pay for your dinners and listen to you play guitar even if your songs are bad.”
He rolls his eyes and flicks you. “Oh wow, really great. Okay, well, I vow to always listen when you tell me hard truths, maybe I won’t listen at first, but I vow to always come to my senses after a couple of days. Y’know, I haven’t gotten to be myself in so long, I think our time together was worth more than any family company I could have ever inherited. And I’d give anything to spend just a few more hours with you.”
You two have a piece of cake on both forks, and you don’t need to say the final lines before you both smile and feed each other a piece of cake. You two lean in and pull the forks away at the same time.
God, of course you two kissed, are you even surprised? It’s slow and soft, and you keep your eyes and mouths closed. Jay places a hand on your cheek, and it makes your stomach flip. You’ve never felt this way before.
“I have a gift for you.” You announce.
Jay shuts his eyes, and when you give him the signal, he opens them to see a pile of Seattle magnets in your hand.
“For your fridge, and for your mom.”
Jay smiles, placing them in his coat pocket as he gives you a hug.
“I was worried I’d go home and wonder if you were real, but now I have some proof.” He whispers into your ear.
“You’ll call right?” You ask, a bit nervous.
“Of course, as long as it’s enough for you.”
“After years of having nothing, a call is enough.” You assure him.
You two look out at the snow, holding hands, not ready to let go just yet.
“Y’know, when I first saw you at the airport, I thought you were pretty hot too.”
You’re confused for a second until you curl up in embarrassment, realising he heard you call him hot under your breath.
“Ugh, you remember that…”
Jay laughs, pulling you back up and hugging you tighter, patting the back of your head.
“Relax, relax, you’re beautiful.”
You ponder your time with Jay.
It’s been about 36 hours, and his flight is at midnight. 36 hours, and you’ve lost your best friend, Jay’s lost his dad. You have no more friends, and Jay’s just lost his chances at earning the family company. And somehow, you couldn’t be happier. You two are gonna get your lives together, because suddenly, you don’t feel like a part of you is missing anymore.
You and Jay stare at the snow, wishing on every snowflake that his flight gets cancelled.
A/N: this one is dedicated to all the kids with cheating fathers :,)
KPOP IDOLS AS UAAP STUDENTS
PART 1: TOMORROW X TOGETHER
my first series of headcanons i'll be posting on here !! just silly little hcs ab kpop idols if by chance they ever studied in a uaap university. not meant to be 100% accurate to each university/course, i just assigned them based on vibes + what i think they'd actually thrive in. feel free to yell at me but i'm right btw.
oh also shoutout to my fellow filipino kpop stans <33
coming soon: ENH7PEN BOYNEXTDOOR &TEAM
➳ CHOI YEONJUN
📍 ateneo de manila university course: bfa information design orgs - design/creatives org - kpop dance org - fashion org - dance varsity bro was NOT beating the arts kid allegations. every event somehow may ambag siya kahit di siya organizer. lowkey the guy making everyone's pubmats look expensive. like excuse me??? can the rest of the campus breathe, hindi lahat kailangan maging pinterest board.
➳ CHOI SOOBIN
📍 de la salle university course: ba psychology orgs - psych society - mental health advocacy org - volunteer orgs lowkey joined for the advocacy tas biglang ginawang officer. bro did NOT ask for that. the type to listen to everyone's problems pero pag siya na yung tinanong biglang "okay lang ako." SIR BE SERIOUS FOR ONCE.
➳ CHOI BEOMGYU
📍 far eastern university course: multimedia arts orgs - film org - music org - dance org gago pumili ka ng hobby. this man saw "creative" and said yes to everything. joined one org tas somehow involved sa tatlo pang projects. bro are you a student or are you just permanently part of every creative department.
➳ KANG TAEHYUN
📍 university of the philippines diliman course: philosophy orgs - debate society - publications - academic discussion orgs this man attends forums for FUN. yung iba nagpapahinga after class tapos siya naghahanap ng bagong bagay na pag-isipan. the type to ask one question after a guest speaker tas biglang 30-minute discussion na. nakakainis kasi may point siya.
➳ HUENING KAI
📍 university of santo tomas course: bachelor of music orgs - orchestra/ensemble - choir - theater productions bro is booked and busy. wala siyang weekends. if hindi siya nasa rehearsal, nasa performance siya. at this point hindi na siya student ng UST, resident performer na siya.
taglist: @beomtomie @andnevertheless
© mikqkr0smos 2026 — all rights reserved.
Sorry :(
Supergirl x bartender!ex!reader
Warnings: drinking, fighting, punches, kicks, regular canon violent stuff.
Words Count: 2.4k
Masterlist
Summary: Kara needs info on how to help Krypto, unfortunately she knows exactly where to get it.
A/N: Double meaning on the title, heh. Sorry for disappearing, turns out college saps the life out of you. But this movie stirred a lot of emotions in me. So writing it is, requests are open, hopefully I can get my head into the game and write
Kara wanted to punch something, anything. No, that wasn’t enough. She needed to evaporate something with her bare fists, something big that she would not feel guilty about.
That asshole! What was his name? Krem? The kid had probably said it in her gigantic monologue but Kara was too busy with… With Krypto… Fuck, she needed to get him.
The healer the kid had brought Kara to said that she had three days before the poison stopped her dog’s heart.
That meant she needed info, fast, and she couldn’t even leave this planet because on top of everything else! That bitch had stolen Kara’s ship! How dare he?!
“Well, where are we going?” The kid… Ruthye, oh shit Kara was starting to sober up… Anyway, no time to climb into a bottle, Ruthye had asked her where they were going.
“We are not going anywhere kid, I have enough already and I don’t need some teen getting herself in trouble” She said, attempting to push her away. Clark was more the guy to take in strays… He took her and Krypto in, didn’t he? The thought made her remember someone here. Oh this was a bad idea.
“Excuse me! He killed my family, I will have my revenge.” She spoke with certainty, Kara closed her eyes and stopped walking, Ruthye was heading down a dark path. A path she once walked herself, and she did not like where she ended up. She could have used… Shit, she’s gonna regret saying this.
“Fine, you’re coming with.” Kara said with a defeated sigh, if she could at least keep the kids in her sight, she could make sure Ruthye didn’t end up where she was right now.
Ruthye let out a squeal. But Kara was quick to add, turning around and lowering herself to be eye to eye with her.
“But you do what I say, when I say it. Got it? We are going after a dangerous man, and that means this journey is going to be dangerous. We have three days to find him and very little leads, so you stick close.” She said, already feeling a bit protective over the girl.
Ruthye nodded “Yes, of course. And at the end you will have your reward.” Her tone was proper and Kara couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows, “reward…? Oh, the sword! Keep it, I just want my dog.” She replied before turning back to their path.
“I… Okay, where are we going?” Ruthye asked, falling into rhythm beside Kara. “Like I said, we have very few leads, so we start with someone who knows more about it than either of us…” she said to her companion before clicking her tongue and continuing “There is a tiny problem though…”
Ruthye raised an eyebrow “And that would be…?” She asked, much to Kara’s grimace.
“She might hate me…” she finished, her tone saying nothing more and her expression made Ruthye have second thoughts about asking more, but she was in this deep already…
“What did you do?” She prodded.
“You won’t let this go?” Kara replied exasperated, dodging the question.
“I just want to know if this person will try to kill us or betray us, that would be most unfortunate for my quest. Plus we seem to have a long walk ahead of us.”
Kara pursed her lips, before deciding that talking about it would help her come up with what to say to you, when you encountered her again.
“Well, it was quite a few moons ago, you see..”
Flashback wooooosh
Kara Zor-el, buzzed, wanting to get even more drunk at this weird alien pub
Kara could never remember the name of this pub, whenever she thought about coming here, her thoughts would naturally float to the pretty bartender that always said her name with a smile.
Kara had started tonight's pub crawl here, where she could flirt with you, sometimes you flirt back and even end your shift early if you both were feeling in the mood.
Tonight though, the pub was packed, some local holiday she didn’t bother learning the name of, it was just an excuse to drink more and party with strangers.
“So then I swooped in and crashed their little party, it was weird though, seeing ma and pa be taken over by that weird tentacle thing. But my X-Ray vision took care of them pretty handely.” She finished telling you another of her stories about being a superhero in a different planet, much to your disbelief.
“Kara, I still would like to see whatever you mean when you say you have powers, because I swear these stories get crazier with each visit” you grin, putting another drink in front of her. “It’s just hard to believe that the sun gives you powers.”
“I know it is, baby, but it’s the truth. And I never lie, especially to pretty women.” she winks, and is about to take a sip when a big guy bump into her, causing her to spill her beloved alien alcohol all over the floor.
“Hey asshole, what the hell?” Kara asks, picking up her glass off the floor. The man ignored her and turned to you. He asked for a drink in his native language, you nodded and gave Kara a glare that says “don’t start anything” before turning around.
“I said what the hell, did you lose your ears under all that muscle?” She scoffed, and the man didn’t even turn to look at her, saying something awfully erroneous for her low temper.
“What was that bulldog face?” She spat, looking for you and seeing you distracted by someone else, she felt braver to make some trouble. She usually left the fighting until the end of the night, when she was at her drunkest and barely felt the punches. But life is all about the spice.
The man turned to fully look at her, a Klatooinian, Kara’s brain was able to remember, they had muscles for days and temper for seconds, oh yeah this was going to be good.
He repeated the insult and nodded to some people seating at a table, all looking just as ugly as him, if not more so.
“Oh really?” She took the drink from him and downed it, Rao it was awful but that made sense. “And who is that by the table? Did your mommy come to supervise?” Instead of an answer, she received a punch to stomach that sent her flying across the pub. Crashing into a random table and falling on the ground.
“Okay… Let’s do this” she chuckled, turning her head to her dog and tossing her music player to him.
“Krypto, blast this, please.” She said before turning over to be on her stomach and gave her best attempt to get up.
As her dog managed to slot Kara’s music player into your, very accessible, sound system. Kara got shakily to her feet, and at the sound of Lyndsey Sterling’s violin, she managed to dodge the man at the first few strokes of the bow and sent a hay maker to his face.
“Ouch…” she pulled her fist back and shook it, right, red sun. She would have to be smarter… or weirder…
The man’s friends had all got up as well, it was five on one. The other patrons had either left or were staying on the sidelines, placing bets. You had realized the commotion far too late, and couldn’t stop what came next.
Kara chuckled, seeing the first Klatooinian get up and finish the circle of large people enclosing her. She put her fists up.
“funny quip”
She was drunk, not enough to lose control of her limbs, definitely not enough to lose her reflexes which is the reason she was able to dodge a fist coming from her left, her right, even dodge under one clawed hand coming from the front. But a kick connected to her back, sending her forward to a knee aimed at her nose.
When it connected, she could tell it was broken, but the adrenaline was what she needed to get her head into gear. Putting a foot back for support, she leaned on it and shot out a straight kick to the second Klatooinian in front of her, she hit his torso with all her might and managed to send him back into a newly vacant table, smashing it to bits.
She heard you gasp but the alcohol made her not care about consequences, she just wanted to punch someone.
The fourth Klatooinian, to her right, was a bit surprised by the force of her kick but shook it off as he brought out a large hand to grab Kara, she tried to duck under but all it did was give him an opening to grab her hair, using that he tossed her to the bartop, she crashed onto the wall of drinks and then the floor.
She licked her lips, tasting the drinks that were splashed across it and got up.
“Woo! I was hoping you all wouldn’t be a bunch of sissies!” Kara taunted and leaped over the bar top. Bringing her legs out she used her arms to propel herself to the Klatooinian that had thrown her, connecting with his nose.
The impact stopped Kara’s momentum, and she had to be fast to put her hands behind her head to be able to do a kip up.
She managed it, coming to her feet as her target was toppling over to the floor.
Kara barely had time to appreciate the falling alien when she felt the air displace from behind and ducked seconds before a punch connected with her skull. The man overcommitted, allowing Kara to come back up just as he was getting his balance.
She had taken out two, one with the kick to the table and the other with a well placed flying foot to the face. The three that were left were not going to let up, she had proven herself a fighter. They grouped, one in front of her, the other two flanked both her sides, behind her was the bar top with the smashed bottles.
Kara cleaned her nose with her thumb, feeling the blood lessen. Her healing factor was still good, since it was night.
“You guys might as well give up now, my playlist is at the end and I hate the randoms it picks” she grinned but shifted her feet for better balance for what came next.
The one to her left threw a punch that Kara was able to dodge by taking a step back and counter-attacking by holding his arm with her right hand and sending her left to strike his face before pushing his arm back.
The one to her right tried to strike her in the ribs, and was punished by Kara as she took ahold of his arm and spun him until he went over the bartop, crashing on top of the broken glass. Kara knew this would only buy her time.
The one in front of her waited for the recovered Klatooinian on her left to wind up his punch before sending a punch to her guts. At that split second, Kara made the choice to steel her stomach so she could tank the hit and focus on the hurt alien.
She took him by the forearm and used his momentum to lift him over her shoulders and launched him over the bar top onto the Klatooinian that was getting up, two down, one to go.
She went back and forth with him, this one was actually good. Every time she punched him, the Klatooinian either tanked it or diverted it with his arms. And her usual punishes were not going to work, she needed him to commit and lower his guard. Kara was in the process of thinking of a strategy when it found her.
Or, more like, it struck her, in the face, by way of a massive fist. The Klatooinian had gotten a good hit, making Kara topple to the floor, she realized now was her opportunity, waited for him to commit to kicking her while she was down and sprung to action.
She took his leg that was still on the floor, brought her waist up, legs interlocking between his torso and she pulled.
Kara’s efforts were rewarded immediately as the man toppled surprised, she used the leverage her move had brought her to end the fight by twisting the man’s ankle. The pain knocked him out, what a weird species
As the music came to an end. She could finally get up, her mind was spooning but she felt great, the other patrons started to leave for some reason, all she could think about was seeing you and… oh.
You were ushering people out, and the reason became clear enough. Kara had trashed your pub.
And when she caught your eyes, all she saw was your pissed off expression.
Flashforward wooooosh
Kara Zor-el, not that sober, else she would have gone somewhere else.
“And then she yelled at me and kicked me out, said I was banned from her pub.” She finishes telling Ruthye her story as your bar approaches. “All I did was defend myself…” She mutters. As she told the story, Kara found herself calming down enough to her normal anger level.
“You definitely started it.” Ruthye says and has the audacity to chuckle.
“You weren’t there, he was asking for it!” She rolls her eyes, starting to lighten up, her banter game had been lacking since her only company was her dog and he couldn’t hold a conversation for very long. But this kid was nice enough.
“Anyway, you believe she has information on the marauders?” Ruthye asks with that vengeful look that made Kara’s heart ache a bit.
“Yes.” Kara replies simply. “She knows a lot of people so even if she doesn’t know, she’ll know who knows. It’s a lead!” She tries a hopeful smile.
As they are walking, your pub becomes clearer and Kara starts to second guess herself, it has been a while, maybe you’ve relaxed.
It was weird to see your pub in daylight, she usually arrived at night, when the residents of this planet got off their jobs and she had company to drink with. Coming before happy hour made it feel… Too serious.
“Okay, Ruthye, you stay behind me and don’t say a word. And if she slaps me… Don’t worry about it.” She warned her young companion before knocking on the closed door, Kara knew you spent the afternoon cleaning everything up from the previous night… Because you told her, not because she memorized your schedule… Totally…
She waited, anxiety bubbling up. Just when she was about to give up, the door opened and there you were, rag over your shoulder, tired eyes that widened at the sight of her.
“Hi…” she said.
-----
A/N: references include, Star Wars and STAS plus my favorite violin artist. Tell me if you found them! <3
Sorry :(
Supergirl x bartender!ex!reader
Warnings: drinking, fighting, punches, kicks, regular canon violent stuff.
Words Count: 2.4k
Masterlist
Summary: Kara needs info on how to help Krypto, unfortunately she knows exactly where to get it.
A/N: Double meaning on the title, heh. Sorry for disappearing, turns out college saps the life out of you. But this movie stirred a lot of emotions in me. So writing it is, requests are open, hopefully I can get my head into the game and write
Kara wanted to punch something, anything. No, that wasn’t enough. She needed to evaporate something with her bare fists, something big that she would not feel guilty about.
That asshole! What was his name? Krem? The kid had probably said it in her gigantic monologue but Kara was too busy with… With Krypto… Fuck, she needed to get him.
The healer the kid had brought Kara to said that she had three days before the poison stopped her dog’s heart.
That meant she needed info, fast, and she couldn’t even leave this planet because on top of everything else! That bitch had stolen Kara’s ship! How dare he?!
“Well, where are we going?” The kid… Ruthye, oh shit Kara was starting to sober up… Anyway, no time to climb into a bottle, Ruthye had asked her where they were going.
“We are not going anywhere kid, I have enough already and I don’t need some teen getting herself in trouble” She said, attempting to push her away. Clark was more the guy to take in strays… He took her and Krypto in, didn’t he? The thought made her remember someone here. Oh this was a bad idea.
“Excuse me! He killed my family, I will have my revenge.” She spoke with certainty, Kara closed her eyes and stopped walking, Ruthye was heading down a dark path. A path she once walked herself, and she did not like where she ended up. She could have used… Shit, she’s gonna regret saying this.
“Fine, you’re coming with.” Kara said with a defeated sigh, if she could at least keep the kids in her sight, she could make sure Ruthye didn’t end up where she was right now.
Ruthye let out a squeal. But Kara was quick to add, turning around and lowering herself to be eye to eye with her.
“But you do what I say, when I say it. Got it? We are going after a dangerous man, and that means this journey is going to be dangerous. We have three days to find him and very little leads, so you stick close.” She said, already feeling a bit protective over the girl.
Ruthye nodded “Yes, of course. And at the end you will have your reward.” Her tone was proper and Kara couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows, “reward…? Oh, the sword! Keep it, I just want my dog.” She replied before turning back to their path.
“I… Okay, where are we going?” Ruthye asked, falling into rhythm beside Kara. “Like I said, we have very few leads, so we start with someone who knows more about it than either of us…” she said to her companion before clicking her tongue and continuing “There is a tiny problem though…”
Ruthye raised an eyebrow “And that would be…?” She asked, much to Kara’s grimace.
“She might hate me…” she finished, her tone saying nothing more and her expression made Ruthye have second thoughts about asking more, but she was in this deep already…
“What did you do?” She prodded.
“You won’t let this go?” Kara replied exasperated, dodging the question.
“I just want to know if this person will try to kill us or betray us, that would be most unfortunate for my quest. Plus we seem to have a long walk ahead of us.”
Kara pursed her lips, before deciding that talking about it would help her come up with what to say to you, when you encountered her again.
“Well, it was quite a few moons ago, you see..”
Flashback wooooosh
Kara Zor-el, buzzed, wanting to get even more drunk at this weird alien pub
Kara could never remember the name of this pub, whenever she thought about coming here, her thoughts would naturally float to the pretty bartender that always said her name with a smile.
Kara had started tonight's pub crawl here, where she could flirt with you, sometimes you flirt back and even end your shift early if you both were feeling in the mood.
Tonight though, the pub was packed, some local holiday she didn’t bother learning the name of, it was just an excuse to drink more and party with strangers.
“So then I swooped in and crashed their little party, it was weird though, seeing ma and pa be taken over by that weird tentacle thing. But my X-Ray vision took care of them pretty handely.” She finished telling you another of her stories about being a superhero in a different planet, much to your disbelief.
“Kara, I still would like to see whatever you mean when you say you have powers, because I swear these stories get crazier with each visit” you grin, putting another drink in front of her. “It’s just hard to believe that the sun gives you powers.”
“I know it is, baby, but it’s the truth. And I never lie, especially to pretty women.” she winks, and is about to take a sip when a big guy bump into her, causing her to spill her beloved alien alcohol all over the floor.
“Hey asshole, what the hell?” Kara asks, picking up her glass off the floor. The man ignored her and turned to you. He asked for a drink in his native language, you nodded and gave Kara a glare that says “don’t start anything” before turning around.
“I said what the hell, did you lose your ears under all that muscle?” She scoffed, and the man didn’t even turn to look at her, saying something awfully erroneous for her low temper.
“What was that bulldog face?” She spat, looking for you and seeing you distracted by someone else, she felt braver to make some trouble. She usually left the fighting until the end of the night, when she was at her drunkest and barely felt the punches. But life is all about the spice.
The man turned to fully look at her, a Klatooinian, Kara’s brain was able to remember, they had muscles for days and temper for seconds, oh yeah this was going to be good.
He repeated the insult and nodded to some people seating at a table, all looking just as ugly as him, if not more so.
“Oh really?” She took the drink from him and downed it, Rao it was awful but that made sense. “And who is that by the table? Did your mommy come to supervise?” Instead of an answer, she received a punch to stomach that sent her flying across the pub. Crashing into a random table and falling on the ground.
“Okay… Let’s do this” she chuckled, turning her head to her dog and tossing her music player to him.
“Krypto, blast this, please.” She said before turning over to be on her stomach and gave her best attempt to get up.
As her dog managed to slot Kara’s music player into your, very accessible, sound system. Kara got shakily to her feet, and at the sound of Lyndsey Sterling’s violin, she managed to dodge the man at the first few strokes of the bow and sent a hay maker to his face.
“Ouch…” she pulled her fist back and shook it, right, red sun. She would have to be smarter… or weirder…
The man’s friends had all got up as well, it was five on one. The other patrons had either left or were staying on the sidelines, placing bets. You had realized the commotion far too late, and couldn’t stop what came next.
Kara chuckled, seeing the first Klatooinian get up and finish the circle of large people enclosing her. She put her fists up.
“funny quip”
She was drunk, not enough to lose control of her limbs, definitely not enough to lose her reflexes which is the reason she was able to dodge a fist coming from her left, her right, even dodge under one clawed hand coming from the front. But a kick connected to her back, sending her forward to a knee aimed at her nose.
When it connected, she could tell it was broken, but the adrenaline was what she needed to get her head into gear. Putting a foot back for support, she leaned on it and shot out a straight kick to the second Klatooinian in front of her, she hit his torso with all her might and managed to send him back into a newly vacant table, smashing it to bits.
She heard you gasp but the alcohol made her not care about consequences, she just wanted to punch someone.
The fourth Klatooinian, to her right, was a bit surprised by the force of her kick but shook it off as he brought out a large hand to grab Kara, she tried to duck under but all it did was give him an opening to grab her hair, using that he tossed her to the bartop, she crashed onto the wall of drinks and then the floor.
She licked her lips, tasting the drinks that were splashed across it and got up.
“Woo! I was hoping you all wouldn’t be a bunch of sissies!” Kara taunted and leaped over the bar top. Bringing her legs out she used her arms to propel herself to the Klatooinian that had thrown her, connecting with his nose.
The impact stopped Kara’s momentum, and she had to be fast to put her hands behind her head to be able to do a kip up.
She managed it, coming to her feet as her target was toppling over to the floor.
Kara barely had time to appreciate the falling alien when she felt the air displace from behind and ducked seconds before a punch connected with her skull. The man overcommitted, allowing Kara to come back up just as he was getting his balance.
She had taken out two, one with the kick to the table and the other with a well placed flying foot to the face. The three that were left were not going to let up, she had proven herself a fighter. They grouped, one in front of her, the other two flanked both her sides, behind her was the bar top with the smashed bottles.
Kara cleaned her nose with her thumb, feeling the blood lessen. Her healing factor was still good, since it was night.
“You guys might as well give up now, my playlist is at the end and I hate the randoms it picks” she grinned but shifted her feet for better balance for what came next.
The one to her left threw a punch that Kara was able to dodge by taking a step back and counter-attacking by holding his arm with her right hand and sending her left to strike his face before pushing his arm back.
The one to her right tried to strike her in the ribs, and was punished by Kara as she took ahold of his arm and spun him until he went over the bartop, crashing on top of the broken glass. Kara knew this would only buy her time.
The one in front of her waited for the recovered Klatooinian on her left to wind up his punch before sending a punch to her guts. At that split second, Kara made the choice to steel her stomach so she could tank the hit and focus on the hurt alien.
She took him by the forearm and used his momentum to lift him over her shoulders and launched him over the bar top onto the Klatooinian that was getting up, two down, one to go.
She went back and forth with him, this one was actually good. Every time she punched him, the Klatooinian either tanked it or diverted it with his arms. And her usual punishes were not going to work, she needed him to commit and lower his guard. Kara was in the process of thinking of a strategy when it found her.
Or, more like, it struck her, in the face, by way of a massive fist. The Klatooinian had gotten a good hit, making Kara topple to the floor, she realized now was her opportunity, waited for him to commit to kicking her while she was down and sprung to action.
She took his leg that was still on the floor, brought her waist up, legs interlocking between his torso and she pulled.
Kara’s efforts were rewarded immediately as the man toppled surprised, she used the leverage her move had brought her to end the fight by twisting the man’s ankle. The pain knocked him out, what a weird species
As the music came to an end. She could finally get up, her mind was spooning but she felt great, the other patrons started to leave for some reason, all she could think about was seeing you and… oh.
You were ushering people out, and the reason became clear enough. Kara had trashed your pub.
And when she caught your eyes, all she saw was your pissed off expression.
Flashforward wooooosh
Kara Zor-el, not that sober, else she would have gone somewhere else.
“And then she yelled at me and kicked me out, said I was banned from her pub.” She finishes telling Ruthye her story as your bar approaches. “All I did was defend myself…” She mutters. As she told the story, Kara found herself calming down enough to her normal anger level.
“You definitely started it.” Ruthye says and has the audacity to chuckle.
“You weren’t there, he was asking for it!” She rolls her eyes, starting to lighten up, her banter game had been lacking since her only company was her dog and he couldn’t hold a conversation for very long. But this kid was nice enough.
“Anyway, you believe she has information on the marauders?” Ruthye asks with that vengeful look that made Kara’s heart ache a bit.
“Yes.” Kara replies simply. “She knows a lot of people so even if she doesn’t know, she’ll know who knows. It’s a lead!” She tries a hopeful smile.
As they are walking, your pub becomes clearer and Kara starts to second guess herself, it has been a while, maybe you’ve relaxed.
It was weird to see your pub in daylight, she usually arrived at night, when the residents of this planet got off their jobs and she had company to drink with. Coming before happy hour made it feel… Too serious.
“Okay, Ruthye, you stay behind me and don’t say a word. And if she slaps me… Don’t worry about it.” She warned her young companion before knocking on the closed door, Kara knew you spent the afternoon cleaning everything up from the previous night… Because you told her, not because she memorized your schedule… Totally…
She waited, anxiety bubbling up. Just when she was about to give up, the door opened and there you were, rag over your shoulder, tired eyes that widened at the sight of her.
“Hi…” she said.
-----
A/N: references include, Star Wars and STAS plus my favorite violin artist. Tell me if you found them! <3
KISS A KITTY !
— sungho as your e-kitten
pairing: e-kitten!sungho x reader genre: fluff (???), crack, smau oneshot warnings/tags: established relationship (bf/gf), sungho trying and FAILING to be an uwu catgirl ss count: 11
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WOULD ANYONE CRY, IF I NEVER CAME HOME?
🕸⋆.˚ — peter parker x reader
SUMMARY. after a long time of being forgotten, peter parker shockingly meets someone who remembers him: a girl he used to see in high school. but their relationship doesn't start off with sunshine and rainbows; they will have to learn to choose each other, even when it's the harder thing to do.
WORD COUNT. 17.4k CONTENT. post no way home. female reader. dual pov. hurt / comfort (emotional & physical). angst with hopeful ending (blame the trailer for having angsty vibes). both peter and reader are sad. peter needs a hug. peter carries reader while swinging. loneliness and finding the one person who understands. a lot of crying. canon-typical violence. reader gets a gunshot wound. blood. explosion. death (of no one named). crime organization. reader has to fight at some point (i tried). not beta read. home-related title yay.
NOTES. i really hope you like this. let me know your thoughts in the comments / reblogs / my inbox! also let me know if i'm missing any tags. english isn't my first language, and i've never been to new york. if there are any inaccuracies, consider it the mcu version of the city. the gif is by @manny-jacinto
it was a rainy morning, dark clouds had covered the sky, and the atmosphere was melancholic. you had just stepped out of the book cafe you usually went to study or read in, it was a hidden gem in the ever-crowded streets of new york city, usually quiet and peaceful. this time, you’d just paid a visit to buy a drink with some pastries.
today’s gloomy weather felt right to you, somehow, it spoke to your soul and fit your mood. you’d stuffed the pastries you’d bought into your bag, and you were going to walk around a little bit, holding your drink in one hand, your umbrella in the other. you thought you might sit somewhere, maybe go to a park after walking for twenty or so minutes, you enjoyed the smell of rain mixing with earth to bring life to the world.
and that’s when you saw him.
he was standing at the other side of the road, wearing a simple hoodie, getting wet from the rain. an expression on his face as gloomy as the weather. he’d grown, his face had taken a sharper shape, his hair had curled on the tips from meeting with water.
peter parker, the boy from your ap chemistry class, from days long forgotten, and much less destructive.
you froze, your gaze set on his face, which had been painted in subtle and few scars, and bent downward from either the rain getting into his eyes, or life. the regular noise of the city was reduced to background buzzing in your ears, all the pedestrians walking past you, and the people waiting to cross roads around peter had turned blurry and faceless, the cars passing by had become trails of colors. the boy, or perhaps now man, you had just noticed, was someone you’d never thought you’d see again.
peter parker had been the smartest student in the class you took together, you used to keep notes and read ahead before every lesson, and he’d come sleep-deprived, busy himself with unrelated trinkets, and answer every unexpected question coming his way correctly. later, when you learned that he was spiderman, you realised he must’ve been so tired and out-of-it every day for saving lives and fighting crime.
you had learned of his superhero activities, like everyone else in the world. you didn’t use to see him outside of your shared lecture hours, not because you were actively avoiding him, fate just hadn’t coincided a conversation between you two. after you’d passed the course and stopped seeing peter entirely, you hadn’t busied your mind with thoughts of him, until that incident with mysterio. learning that he’d been trying to help people every step of the way, back when you used to see him, had changed your view of him.
and then, suddenly, no one remembered anymore. you saw it all happen. you saw the sky shatter and shadows watch the earth through its cracks. you saw what you could only describe as hundreds of aliens preying on your planet. you knew spiderman fought to save the world from their clutches. yet when it was all over, no one remembered the hell-torn skies. or peter parker.
no one remembered he was spiderman. no one remembered he was peter parker. no one remembered peter parker was. no one from your old high school, not even his best friend, not even his girlfriend. they all looked at you as if you spoke of a ghost, he was a painted over memory, he’d escaped from the weak grasps of the growing brains of the youth and the ever-tired minds of the grown.
he’d even escaped from records and photos, like how short-lived cherry blossoms disappeared in a week, as if trees had never been pink. like how spring never lasted. you’d questioned whether you’d made him up, if something was wrong with you. but how could you make up a whole person, that you simply never had a relationship with? he wasn’t an imaginary friend, he had never been a friend.
trying to catch a glimpse of his existence had been like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. and yet, now, he was standing right in front of you, waiting to cross roads. waiting to come towards you.
the lights turned green for pedestrians, and peter snapped out of his stillness, he gained motion, he slowly came closer. people around you made noises indicating they were annoyed at your inaction, but you could barely hear any of them. you were focused completely on one person only.
he crossed the road, and started walking the opposite way from where you had been nailed to the ground, unable to take your eyes off him.
no, don’t go. i must know. i must talk.
you ran after him, forcefully making yourself a way amongst bodies covered in layers of clothing. you closed your umbrella, so it wouldn’t get tangled in others’. you caught up to peter, and grabbed his arm.
he turned instantly, gripping your arm in return, a shocked expression on his face, ready to take you down, had you posed a threat. he looked into your eyes; questioning, confused, hesitant… sorrowful? how had he grown so solemn? how had he lived forgotten?
“peter?” you asked, “peter parker? is that you?”
his eyes widened, grip loosened, lips parted. he looked completely dumbfounded, drops of water dripping down strands of his hair, and the tip of his nose. he searched for something in your eyes, just silently thinking. trying to process, you assumed.
he opened his mouth to talk, and his breath hitched.
“you…” he started, seemingly talking feeling like labor to him, “you know who i am?”
you couldn’t help giving him a sincere smile, he really was peter parker. the boy from your class who was remembered by no one. he was real.
“i was in the same ap chemistry class as you in high school,” you explained, he might not have remembered you, as you’d never interacted outside of topics regarding course materials, “if you don’t remember.”
“no, no,” said peter, his voice still laced with shock, and a tune that dropped a tiny piece of despair into your chest, “i remember. you were the smartest student in class.”
“that’s… debatable,” you said, your surprise clearly read from your face.
“it wasn’t,” he said, defensive, “everyone borrowed your notes, and you always had the correct answers.”
“so did you,” you said softly, the bitter taste of nostalgia repainted with a blue hue catching up to you, tightening your chest, placing a lump in your throat. “what happened, peter?” you asked, “why have you disappeared?”
peter closed his mouth, and his grip slightly hardened, he hadn’t let your arm go. you hadn’t let his go, either.
he lowered his head, and fixed his gaze on the grey stone ground. you couldn’t quite name the emotions you saw in his eyes, but they made you tear up. what must it have been like to suddenly cease existing? what must he have been through? what must he have thought, watching his chosen family from afar, like a vampire looking at a mirror, erased from his own reflection?
the cloudy weather truly felt fit for the day, maybe peter had been feeling it too, today. raindrops fell on earth like shattered glass pieces, you thought you might’ve been bleeding with your umbrella down, but peter wasn’t, was his skin thicker?
“would you like to sit down somewhere, peter?” the tale must have been long, how else could a person, and a rift in the atmosphere, be erased from the minds of billions? “like a bench at the park, or maybe my place?”
he looked deep into your eyes, thinking.
“okay,” he said at last, determination adorning his words now, “we can. we can,” he said while nodding.
“okay,” you repeated after him, and finally let his arm go.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter had been on his way to his small apartment, by himself, as always, after another long, sleepless night, that rainy morning. clouds had covered the sky, obscuring the sun, as if to match the weather inside his ribcage. the sun hadn’t shone on him since it had seen space ripped apart because of him, for his mistakes.
it was a day the same as any other; he was walking in the crowd, unseen without a mask, faceless. then, someone he hadn't sensed had touched him, must have been because no harm was intended, yet he'd felt alarmed.
a girl, he'd realized, a familiar face. that wasn't strange, he was used to seeing people he used to know, what was strange was... the look you had in your eyes, almost like you recognized him. a kind of tiny beam of light in your irises, aimed at him.
and then you called out his name.
the world tilted. he felt as if hit by a shockwave, rolling backwards, losing the tightness of his grip on reality, on you. he’d been completely dumbfounded, he could barely process what was happening. someone remembered him. you remembered him. you knew.
he looked you over again, he remembered, too. he remembered how you sat at the front seat, carefully trailing the teacher with your eyes, focus unbreakable. you didn’t use to look his way unless he was asking or answering a question related to the course, he wouldn’t think you would recognize him under normal circumstances, without happenings made foggy through magic, let alone when the whole world has left him behind. the whole multiverse.
he couldn’t get out of the shock he’d been thrown into, not even enough to wonder the why, the how, or think of the implications of the possibility that someone(s) might not have forgotten. he had been erased even from stone and paper, ink had evaporated, computers had lost their binary numbers. human memories couldn’t even be held, they must’ve been so easily broken apart and mended without wholeness again, didn’t people always forget things, anyway?
that had been hard to accept, of course. the fact that the feelings people reserved for him were fragile and unresistant, that they could be so fully erased, that they could be erased at all. but you remembered, was your mind stronger, or was it the impression he’d left on you? was it you, or him?
he hadn’t even been able to ponder if this was a good thing at all, if he should be worried, if he should accept this, how he should react. the past year had been so soul-crushing, so lonely, that after slightly getting over the initial shock that had hit him, holding back his tears had been all he could manage to do. you were wet from the rain, a drink forgotten and an umbrella folded in one of your hands, the other one holding him, looking at him expectantly, worried. you had come after him. you were holding onto him. he tightened his grip again.
you’d even wanted to talk more, to learn of his story, to listen. so he’d agreed, he suspected he would chase you on that road if you’d walked away. his chest had been closing in on his veins and heart, increasing the pressure and twisting his organs, breathing had become harder every day for the past year, he was suffocating. you’d held his arm like a tree branch offered to a drowning kid, an olive branch offered to a warring people, a willow… willows were hunched and weary, weren’t they? he was like a willow, layers of leaves covering his face, unseen.
he didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone waiting for him. he hadn’t wanted to let you go, now that someone had finally, truly seen the shape of his face. so he had just followed you, let you draw a destination for two.
you had brought him to a small apartment, similar to his own, in an austere street lined with buildings that were short compared to the signature buildings of new york city. you’d told him you were staying there for the time being. your place, as you’d put it. the inside was much nicer than his living space, expectedly, and it contrasted with the grey view of the street from your windows and the pipe-filled outer layer of your apartment building. the floor was covered in soft carpets, the living room was filled with books, its walls covered in bookshelves, academic books left open and stationary scattered about on a table, notebooks filled with your handwriting, it was lived in.
you had taken him to the kitchen, said you’d just bought pastries and had some leftovers to reheat for him, he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, but you’d shut him down. “how could i send my guest off on an empty stomach?” you’d asked, made him sit down at the kitchen table, and gotten to work on the countertop. the living room had smelled of a flowery incense he couldn’t name, the kitchen was now smelling of baked dough and vegetable soup, making him feel his hunger. he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, or during the night.
“i apologize for the mess,” you said, while putting two bowls of steamy soup on the table, “i wasn’t expecting a guest.”
“oh, no, no,” he quickly scrambled to apologize himself, “i don’t mind at all, i’m sorry for… for…” he gestured around himself, trying to find the right words. being a burden? interrupting?
“for accepting my invite? i’d say that was the polite response,” you said, finally sitting opposite to him, having brought the pastries you’d sliced and placed on plates nicely, and the fruit salad you’d quickly put together. “thank you for that, by the way.”
he didn’t know what to say, he looked down flustered, “i- of course- i mean, thank you for inviting me,” he said, gesturing towards you with his hand, a slight smile on his face. how long had it been since he last smiled? it sure didn’t feel like an every day occurrence.
you gave him back a smile that made him… feel warm. he was still on the verge of tears, he was barely holding it together, focusing on the moment, trying not to let all the overwhelming feelings leave his body.
“please, enjoy,” you said, as you slid the plates closer to him, and he nodded in gratitude. he was hungry, and looking at the warm vegetable bisque… he hadn’t eaten a homemade meal in a very, very long time, especially one that was delicious, one that was warm.
and it was delicious. it tasted like a hug, a hearthfire, a blanket. it tasted like something you would eat at your home, like something your mother would cook for you. “this is,” he started, in between spoonfuls, “this is great. you’re a good cook.”
“thank you,” you said, and then started explaining. “i roasted tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, potatoes, bell peppers, and an onion, and blended them with vegetable broth and cream, so probably the easiest way to make something like…” you trailed off as you realised peter was… crying. he was looking down on the bowl of soup in front of him, and tears were silently rolling down his cheeks, as he kept taking spoonfuls.
peter was mortified at his reaction, he quickly scrambled to wipe his face with the tissues you’d placed on the table, and apologize. you told him it was fine, and he could take however much time he needed or wanted. you let him eat and think in silence for as long as he needed, you gave him time and space as he filled his stomach with warm food and sweet fruits. he didn’t know why tears had won against his willpower this time around, considering how good he’d gotten at holding them in. he didn’t know why just eating in your kitchen, with you, had made him feel emotions overwhelming enough to rush out of him. he was embarassed, despite your reassurances. it was the first time he was meeting with you in years, the only person who still remembered him, and he had started crying over a soup. he wasn’t a teenage high schooler anymore, why was this happening?
after a silence long enough to make someone less patient uncomfortable, he finally felt he could talk, and decided to tell you everything that had happened. all of it. you were the only person who knew him now, was it wrong to want to be known fully? to be understood?
so he told you everything, from the start… from a time too early, one might’ve thought; from before he even became an avenger. there had been people in his life who knew of his journey, how he became a hero, how he became an avenger, who he fought against, who he fought with, what really happened with mysterio, and then… then aunt may’s death… then everyone else’s little deaths.
peter used to be talkative, he used to converse with even the people he was actively battling, yet telling you all he wanted made him realise it had been a long time since he’d spoken so much. so transparently, willingly. had life crushed him under a fallen bridge without him noticing? he had been feeling it, but couldn’t guess how dire his cuts and walls had been drawn.
you listened all of it, without looking away once, without looking at the time. and then, once he concluded his speech and drifted off to silence, you let it fester. it seemed as if you had a hard time proccessing everything peter had dumped on you, or maybe couldn’t find the right words to continue with. this time, peter left you in your own silence, his hands slightly shaking in nervousness. what was your reaction going to be? what were you thinking?
“i’m truly sorry,” you said at last, a rueful expression adorning your face, making you look older than you had when telling him of the soup recipe. you had grown older, peter had noticed, more beautiful. “i’m sorry about your aunt, too. i had no idea. i thought… i guess i assumed at least your family would remember you.”
“yeah,” said peter in defeat, “there is no one.”
you looked deep into his eyes, pain visible on your face, “i remember,” you said. “and now i know.”
peter sighed and put his face in between his hands, closing his eyes in despair. “there is nowhere i belong, now. i fight for this city, and… and no one cares.”
this was horrible. truly horrible. a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when you’d recognized him, listened to him, welcomed him into your home. but he also felt bothered by it, too. had being known always been so scary? he hadn’t meant to say the last bit, he hadn’t even thought that to himself before. he’d been on the verge of it, but hadn’t actually thought it. why did he say it out loud now? why did he tell you?
you took a deep breath, “a lot of people care, especially the ones you save. you’ve been making a huge difference, peter. yours can be a thankless job sometimes, but many are grateful.” you paused for a moment, “i’ve always been grateful. when i learned how you’d been fighting for people this whole time, my respect for you skyrocketed. i thought i would help you in any way i could if it ever came to that.”
peter pressed his hands harder on his eyes, he didn’t want to start crying again. he didn’t know if you realised how your words had fallen into the deepest part of his soul. it was strange, how only a few words could help people keep going, how humans could be built merely by caring, and how humans could be so worn-out that they could stop tasting without even realising.
his phone vibrated silently in his pocket, taking him out of spiraling. he sighed again, what was it now?
strong fire in a building, spreading speedily, authorities unable to protect the citizens despite doing their best. he stood up abruptly, “i should go,” he said.
“what is it? what happened?”
“fire in a tall building, i need to save those people,” he said while walking towards the door, you trailing behind him.
“okay- be careful, peter. and come back here after you’re done there, okay? even if it’s late, because i’ll wait for you, and if you don’t come back, i’ll wait until morning,” you said quickly as he was wearing his shoes, the door to your house open.
“okay,” he said, stuttering slightly, “thank you.” truly. you’ve made breathing possible for me again. thank you.
and he left you behind like that, because he never had a break. he didn’t know if he deserved a break. none of that mattered though, there were people suffering, and he couldn’t leave them behind, no matter what.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were leaning on the metal handrails of your small balcony, looking at the few people and cars that passed by the road in front of your apartment. it was desolate, compared to most of new york, but it was steadily never-ending, there never was a time when people stopped in this city. your view was made up of other grey apartments like yours, sharp corners and square shapes, nothing tasteful added to their designs. could this be good for the soul?
you looked up at the sky, to watch the stars, but as always, not many were visible. you counted four stars that could be clearly seen from your balcony. the same as yesterday. you sometimes wondered: if you could reach greater heights, would more of them shine on you? the city had offended the stars in an effort to be independent from them, brighten night time, they didn't show their faces anymore. even if they wanted to, they couldn't be seen.
peter had been shining since he was a kid; clever, kind, righteous, fair-faced in a way the cleanness of his heart had reflected on his features. how big of a loss was it for the world to be forsaken from his face? it was lucky that peter was good-hearted, for he kept showing up under a mask anyway, offering those who looked a glimpse into his light.
it was past midnight already, and peter was still nowhere to be seen. he'd left you a little past noon, the fire had been extinguished by now, and spiderman had left the premises after saving dozens of lives (that the firefighters would've been too late for, despite their best efforts), and yet, peter was nowhere to be seen. it worried you, you wished you had asked for his phone number; you'd considered asking, but decided against it, thinking he might be bothered by the request.
after you'd talked to michelle, his girlfriend, some time back, and she hadn't remembered the boy she’d been in love with, you'd been thinking of peter regularly. even if you had made him up in your mind, it had just flooded your chest with such profound sadness, that you had decided at least you would remember him, whether it would matter to him or not.
and, he was real, he was spiderman. and he’d been so lonely. graveyards had become his only sanctuary, teenage diaries and late night messages had been buried next to the corpses of anyone who'd ever taken care of him, and he did not know their hiding spots. he just wandered around graves, knowing they were somewhere under his feet, to stay there forever. if he tried to dig them out, he would be swallowed up by lava, dooming the rest of the world to a volcanic apocalypse.
it seemed like volcanos had already been erupting behind his eyes, in his lungs. the peter you remembered used to be a jolly kid.
your head perked up as you heard your doorbell ring, and quickly rushed to open the door. a smiling peter greeted you, clothing changed. he looked more put-together than he had in the morning; a clean shirt under a black jacket and denim pants, not the baggy sweats he had on before.
you welcomed him inside, and brought him to sit on your couch, in the living room.
“are you all right?” you asked, “does anywhere hurt? do you need anything?”
he hesitated for a moment, a little surprised. “no, no- it’s fine. i didn’t fight anyone, so didn’t really get injured… much. it’s fine. i took care of it.”
you looked at him in silence for a few seconds, thinking. “liar,” you said.
“what?” he said in low voice, sounding worried. did he think he’d messed up somehow?
“you gave me your word that you would come straight to me, instead you took your sweet time tending to your injuries and changing your outift? you showered too, didn’t you?”
“i… i-” he quickly started talking, and then stopped to think. that was fine, he didn’t need to rush a response, never with you. he would learn that you’d always wait for him patiently. with time, he’d become more comfortable. you assumed this must be… somewhat of an uncomfortable experience for him, after being alone for so long. “i thought-”
he didn’t know what to say, you supposed.
“did i sound mad? i’m sorry. i was just worried. i.. uh, i’d wanted to help you with your injuries and stuff, too,” you weren’t exactly used to these kinds of conversations either. “since you’re not alone anymore… and all.”
“oh…” was all he could say.
“i mean, i’m glad you’re okay, and you look great, and i don’t mind that you had some alone time before coming and all, but you could, uh, if you want to, just come straight to me as well. after a fight or whatever. and you can take care of… your stuff here,” you forced the words out, you had to take these kinds of initiatives, if you wanted to have a closer relationship with him. because he wouldn’t impose anything on you. “if you want to, of course,” you added.
“i… thank you, i would, uh, yeah,” he said. you supposed that was a positive answer.
“so, what happened?”
he recounted the fire and the struggles in detail, how he saved the people trapped, how he had to deal with the authorities after him, how he got injured (only a little, he emphasized), and then how he went home to wear something better to come back to you. he’d wanted to rid the smell of ash and soot off his skin.
“i got tired just listening to you,” you said.
he chuckled slightly, “ah, yeah, things like this happen sometimes.”
“would you like anything to eat or drink?”
“no, no. not necessary, thank you,” he said quickly, raising his hands.
“okay, just tell me if you need anything.”
“all right, thanks… again,” he had a beautiful smile, but it looked like guilt had mixed into his skin, stopping him from smiling fully, with his eyes, or eyebrows. you wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault, he wasn’t responsible for the cruelty of others, he wasn’t at fault for being a victim. his aunt hadn’t died because he’d shown mercy, he was just being humane, the fault lied solely with the… whichever supernatural freak had done that, it was getting harder to keep track of them now. and the spell hadn’t gone wrong because of him, couldn’t doctor strange tell that he obviously wouldn’t want his own family to forget him? why wouldn’t he automatically add that to the spell? and the second time? surely he could’ve just kept two people out of his spell. none of it was his fault.
but you couldn’t bring yourself to, you didn’t want to push too hard, or overstep your bounds. peter didn’t know you, not really. you assumed he must be happy that someone remembered him, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if he had forgotten you.
why had you remembered? you weren't magical, as far as you knew, so what had gone wrong? wasn't this... somewhat bad news? if you remembered, could it be possible that someone evil might, too? you didn't know, you supposed maybe you should try to ask doctor strange, somehow.
after a while of silence, you decided telling him how you feel, being straightforward, should be better than leaving thoughts to go back and forth in your head, bothering you. “peter,” you started, “i know what kind of a person you are for the most part. i know that you have a good heart, and you’re loyal, and honest. i… don’t doubt that you’ll be a good friend, that’s why i can be… this comfortable with you. i know, because i’ve been able observe you quite well until now.”
he was listening to you, eyes getting wider and smile dropping slowly, as you went on.
“i also know that you don’t really know me as well, so i’ll have to prove my character to you, in the way that you’ve already proven yours,” you quickly added, which was the point you’d wanted to make. “so, uh, i just wanted to say that… is the reason why i would like to be… good friends with you, even though we didn’t interact much back then. telling you just in case… you were wondering.”
he gave you a shy smile. "thank you," he said, occasionally glancing away.
then a small chuckle escaped his lip. “all i’ve been doing the whole day has been thanking you."
you giggled in return, "i thank you as well."
"for what? i haven't done anything."
"for saving this city and the world over and over again."
his expression turned serious, thoughtful. "i just do what i should. it’s my responsibility."
you leaned back on the couch, observing him. was it? did he really have to do what he did? he didn't have to, no one had to do anything. but it was right that he did. you supposed, being able to help people did mean you should, would it be wrong if he didn't interfere?
"what are you thinking?" he asked.
you hummed. "i think you are right, but then it's our responsibility to be grateful, and to help you in any way we can, even if that's just emotional support." you looked into his eyes carefully, "you've been doing your duty, but most others in the city haven't."
"that's all right," he said. "i don't expect anything. i don't do this to get anything in return."
"well," you started, "you can expect things from me, and feel free to let me know."
the shy smile returned to his face, "thank you again," he said. "you as well," he hastily added, raising his eyebrows while gesturing at you.
you were glad he seemed to be in a better mood now, compared to this morning. he was more put together, and somewhat more confident. you assumed having more time to process your situation must've helped.
the two of you talked for around another hour, peter got more talkative as you went on, and by the end, he was the only one talking. he'd started to tell you all about the various villains he'd been fighting, and you were very interested; you enjoyed listening to him.
but the time was getting closer to two in the morning, and you were having to fight your own eyelids to keep yourself from dropping to the floor right at that moment.
peter stopped abruptly mid-sentence, looking at you concerned. "oh," he started "i'm sorry, it's really late, i talked too much."
"no, no," you said, shaking your hand, "i really want to know about all of these things. let's continue tomorrow?"
"okay, sure," he said, smiling. "i'll get going now, and uh, see you tomorrow."
"get going? i could arrange my living room for you, if you'd like to stay the night? should you be alone when you're injured?"
"i don't want to bother you," he said as he stood up. “it’s fine, this isn't really all that bad, I've had much worse."
"okay, but call me if anything happens. i'll be more upset if you don't," you said as you followed him to the door.
"i will. you call me too," he said, having gotten out, wearing his shoes.
"deal."
“good night."
"good night."
and he was gone.
and you were so sleepy that you could fall asleep standing there. as you made your way to your bed, you decided to go over today's events tomorrow, when your braincells wouldn’t be forming a union to counter your abuse.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter opened his curtains to look outside, as soon as he managed to get out of his bed.
the sun was shining down on him, bathing his room and face in its light. he opened the window, and took a deep breath in. the air had the beautiful smell of rain, still lingering, left from yesterday.
he leaned on his window, and for the first time in forever, a smile graced his lips for the sun, for the day ahead of him.
he wanted to put on his spiderman suit and swing around in the city, not out of obligation or because he didn’t have anything else to do; he had an unfamiliar motivation in him to do something with his day.
so he did. he quickly got ready for the day, and all the steps felt less intimidating today. even brushing his teeth had become a tiring chore. he'd supposed it must've been because he was so tired all the time, but today, it had been easier, all of it. even breathing.
and it wasn't like he'd gotten more sleep than usual, either. sleeping was something out of routine for peter. sometimes he could only get a few hours at night, having to be spiderman. sometimes he would stare at the ceiling, unable to drift off to sleep. sometimes he would end up sleeping for more than ten hours, not wanting to get out of his bed, forcefully scraping his body off of it with a mental spatula, skin tearing apart from muscle, using every bit of his willpower. but, no matter which scenario happened to play out, peter would never feel rested.
he got mad at himself sometimes. for sleeping. or not sleeping. surely none of this was supposed to be this hard, everyone always did them just fine. so why was he like this? what was wrong with him?
he shook his head, getting out of his window as spiderman, and started wandering new york from the tops of buildings. not today, though. today he felt rested. and like something good could happen, strangely. and his chest could host the air he breathed in, unlike any day he could remember in months. he hadn't realised how air had been refusing to get into his lungs, until it finally did today.
he watched people walking towards their destinations without looking anywhere else. the streets of new york were always overfilled with motion and a million faces, and no one stopped to look at one another.
how had you seen him, yesterday? were you looking? were you always looking at people? were you searching for someone, something?
clouds had poured more rain on the city at night, and towards the morning. it was almost as if they had only stopped momentarily for the fire in the building to spread.
peter had gone to his apartment as soon as he was done rescuing civillians from the fire. he'd wanted to wear something nice, look cleaner for you. he was sort of embarrassed that your first meeting had been when he looked... less than ideal, let's say.
while showering, he'd spaced out, and ended up thinking for almost an hour. mostly about you.
he'd tried to remember everything about you, any kind of clue about your exceptional situation, but there was nothing. you used to mostly keep to yourself, peter hadn't even interacted with you all that much.
despite that, you'd been so accepting of him so quickly yesterday. he had wondered why, before you explained that you… knew him.
not only remembered, you knew him. not completely, but enough to trust. his heart fluttered in his chest, making a gentle movement for the first time since the last time he'd been called peter by anyone at all. thinking about your words excited him, energized him, made him move faster,
you wanted to get closer. you offered to patch up his wounds. you weren't afraid or displeased. you wanted to be close. his friend.
he would call you around noon, he'd decided. he'd kept you up quite late and didn't know when you would wake up. then maybe you could meet up this evening. outside, perhaps? he could take you to... he would come up with some ideas, by then.
he stopped and perched on top of a building, examining the back alleys. he knew the way to your house from where he was, he was really looking forward to seeing you again. was that why waking up had been easier today?
he shook his head and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day, and the task in front of him. he needed to focus, do his job. he would get to see you when the time came for it. you would respect him more for his service, anyway... or at least he hoped so.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
the the sun had just started setting, the orange hue of dusk hadn't settled in the sky yet. you were sitting on the stairs at the entrance of your apartment building. the ground was still wet, but the upper part of the stairs had been protected from yesterday's rain thanks to the architecture of the building. you would just need to dust off its filth once you stood up.
peter was supposed to come any minute now, he'd called you around noon and asked if you'd like to meet up this evening, and he could take you to see some places. you had started preparing some hours ago. you hadn't known what to wear, or what he had in mind, and had been too nervous to feel completely good about an outfit. you didn’t want to mess this up. at last, you'd just decided to get out of your house and wait. sitting on cold stairs. you were beginning to regret your choices slowly.
“hi,” appeared a head suddenly in front of your nose, making you yelp in surprise and slide backwards on the stairs. you put your hand on your mouth, wide-eyed, and finally processed what the dangling head in red was: peter. he was hanging from your building, held by his web, upside down, in his spiderman suit. he wouldn’t be as instantly recognizable from afar, as he was wearing a jacket, pants, and sneakers on his suit. it looked good.
“sorry,” he said, landing next to you, but not moving towards you. “sorry,” he repeated quickly. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”
“my goodness, peter,” you said, exhaling a deep breath. “no, sorry, spiderman.”
he chuckled lightly. “did i make you wait too much? sorry about that, too.”
“no, no, you are…” you looked at your watch, “right on time, actually.”
“uh,” he started, then hesitated for a moment before taking out a piece of cloth… no, a mask from the pocket of his jacket. “this should be really comfortable, i brought it in case you wanted to, you know, keep your identity hidden.”
“oh, you will stay in your spiderman costume?” you asked, taking the mask, and putting your hand in it so see what it looked like.
“yeah,” he said, “i can’t do what i want to do with you without my suit.”
you looked at him questioningly, “what is it that you want to do with me, peter?” you asked with mock seriousness.
he made a low-volume laughing sound. “i was planning on carrying you in the sky with me. if that’s okay.” he raised his hands in hurry, “it’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. just… i just thought you might like it, is all.”
you looked at the mask, and swiftly wore it. fixing it on your face, you looked at peter. “how do i look?” you asked.
“wait, let me help,” he said as he came closer to you, and fixed the back of the mask.
“thank you.”
so peter took you to the skies.
you held onto him like your life depended on it (it did), arms wrapped around his shoulders. his movements in the air were fast and sharp, the wind felt like a slap to the face at points. yet, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear, if anything, excitement and joy would be descriptive of your feelings. peter had a strong grip on you, somehow, you trusted that without doubt, he would never drop you.
──────
he had taken and placed you on top of a skyscraper, with a view of busy streets and the decorated balconies of shorter buildings. having ascended on the city as rain yesterday, clouds in the sky had thinned, and the atmosphere was clear. the sun was half gone by now, and all your gaze rested upon was dusk-touched; bathed in the burning scarlett of the sun’s farewell.
you smiled, looking over at the city. the wind was caressing your face gently, and breathing had become easier since seeing peter. being where you stood now, it felt freeing.
“this is amazing.” you glanced at peter briefly, and saw he’d been looking at you.
“i’m glad you like it,” he said, then joined you in gazing towards the horizon.
──────
you’d been sitting where peter had caried you to, on top of the skyscraper, for a while now. topics chased each other with ease, built onto each other, and you ended up talking about things you’d never told anyone before. but peter listened, contributed, he seemed truly interested, and then he outclassed your yapping, so words ended up spilling out of your mouth naturally.
“my favorite tree is willow, actually. i love willows, they are so pretty, they have leaves like drapes. they look magical," you said, adding onto the conversation that you’d ended up talking about because… the city layout, then parks, then trees, then if many people have favorite kinds of trees, then his being olive trees…
he looked into your eyes carefully, like you'd said something that struck a cord, something he'd considered before.
"really?" he asked, then turned his gaze towards the city again, eyebrows laying heavier, eyes looking below. "willows look hunched," he said, "they look weary."
was he hunched? had he grown tired? was he trying to tell you that was how he saw the world now? hunched, instead of magical?
"hmm, " you thought for a moment, "do you know why willows are hunched?"
he looked at you questioningly. "no?"
"i've been told a story from someone who'd been told a story; there once was a willow next to a lake. you know how willows like wetlands. and there once was a child sweet as a sugar beet, yet did not know how to swim. choose one day from the countless days the old willow had seen, the sweet child fell into the lake right next to its roots, he couldn't stay on the surface, so he asked the willow for help. the willow bowed its leaves as fast as it could, to offer a branch to hold onto, but it was too slow, and the leaves touched the water too late. after that day, the willow's leaves never rose again. word spread to every willow with time, and they lowered their branches one by one, so if a child were ever drowning, they would never be too late."
he was still looking down, but his expression had changed lightly. his brows were slightly tented, his eyes seemed watery. you studied him, it looked like the story had touched him; he was quietly in thought.
was he a willow? had he failed to save a drowning child? had he been hunched?
had he realized being hunched didn't have to be ugly?
"stories are great," you said, not to fill the silence, but because you now felt comfortable enough to share your thoughts with him. "they can verbalize things you keep in your head, and make you realize; oh, someone else thought the same thing back when who knows how many years ago, and i’m not the only one."
he nodded after another moment of silence. "that was a beautiful story," he said, looking at you, "do you know many like it?"
"short tales like these? not many. i generally read novels."
"maybe i should start too."
you perked up. "you could!" you said, voice coming out too excited for your liking, "i'll lend you some."
"okay," he said, smiling in his usual, reserved way, "thank you."
poor, innocent peter. he had no idea what he'd just signed up for, basically accepting to be subjected to a reader's propaganda of their favorite books.
"i should be thanking you," you responded, "for bringing me here."
the sun had fully gone down, no traces of orange left in the sky, although it hadn't gotten fully dark yet. the moon could be seen, finally getting out of the sun's shadow. or more so, light. too bright for anything else to stay visible near it, yet nothing on earth would be visible without its light, including the moon.
you looked down at the ant-sized citizens of new york, ever-moving, flowing like a river. the wind was caressing your face, chilly, up here was colder than down below, yet it didn't feel as hostile.
"i used to really like it," he said while nodding, a half-smile left on his face from your previous conversation, and perhaps memories of years gone.
"sitting atop buildings?"
"yeah. sitting or swinging or... just height."
"it is kind of freeing."
"and just... you know, a different kind of perspective."
"yeah, i get it," you said, looking at your ant subjects, "why don't you like it anymore?"
he seemed to search for words for a moment, looking around. and then shrugged. "i guess i just... don't really like things anymore."
you sighed, nodding. "well, it's a miracle that you liked my below-average vegetable soup, then."
"it was very much above average!"
"as i said, a miracle."
"why am i having to defend my tastes in the middle of a date right now?"
he stopped abruptly, his smile fading, eyes widening. "i mean!" he quickly scrambled to fix his mistake, "not like- not a date like a date date, you know, i was just saying... just-"
was this a time for you to interrupt? he didn't seem like he wanted to finish that sentence.
"i know," you said, chuckling, "don't worry. i'm also really glad we're doing this. take me soaring the skies more often."
"i wouldn't necessarily call it soaring."
"well, whatever it was."
and then, once again, hours chased one another, carrying your long-winded conversation back and forth, and the deep black of night had fallen on the two of you like a blanket.
peter was sweet, it was like honey dripped from his lips; you hadn't found a conversation so enjoyable in years. you were glad he'd opened up more, back in high school, you had no idea he was so talkative.
you had brought a homemade meal with yourself, considering how much he'd appreciated that yesterday. and you’d shared it over the hours you’d spent together.
peter seemed to relax more and more around you, smile actually coming naturally to his face now, dangling his feet with comfortable, quiet joy.
“ah,” he said at some point, “this is… somewhat hard.”
“what is?”
he thought on it for a moment. “no, nothing. forget i said anything.”
“nooo,” you grabbed his arm and slightly shook him, “i’m curious now!”
he chuckled, “no, it’s embarrassing.”
“peter, listen to me,” you started with mock seriousness, “whatever it is, it cannot be as embarrassing as my cringeworthy memories, so i won’t even register it as embarrassing.”
“okay,” he said after a short silence, “i guess… i guess i got used to being alone too much, now i find it kind of hard to… be known, i guess. it leaves me with a kind of anxiety.”
“it wasn’t like that before?”
“no,” he turned his gaze to the city, “i don’t remember it being like this.”
you hummed, nodding your head. you were going to tell him that you understood, that you felt similarly occasionally, that it was normal, but he kept going before you could.
“at least, the bad parts.”
“what bad parts?”
“you know, my mistakes and flaws and other such things,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “i told you everything but… i wish you didn’t know some of it, now.”
you studied his face; he definitely looked more youthful, like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him anymore. like he could put his burden down for a moment, take a break. peter didn’t seem like a person who would have a hard time being vulnarable, or being known, but pain did change people. was it just being alone, or being alone with what he thought were his mistakes, scenes repeating over and over in his head as he stared at empty walls, with no one to talk to?
“i like you as you are,” you said, “with your mistakes and flaws; that’s being human, and you’re not lesser for any of it. not objectively, and not in my eyes.”
he was looking into your eyes now, he’d become more comfortable resting his gaze upon yours; you found it comforting, you tried to make him feel the same.
“isn’t that the part of being known that matters?” you asked. “knowing the imperfect parts, the harder to accept parts, and accepting anyway, and loving anyway. doesn’t it make you feel better that i know you fully and like you even more for it?”
peter seemed truly lost for words, for the second time since you’d met. you’d wanted to make him feel welcome into your life, so you’d done your best to tell him things you’d wish to hear yourself, and they were the truth, but you really hoped it would come across right. he wasn’t the only one to overthink conversations.
he opened his mouth to give an answer, and then, suddenly, chaos erupted.
the thunder of a bomb going off shook the ground and the buildings around you. screams mixed into a deafening whistle of the wind that carried them as people ran away from the sound collectively, pushing each other.
peter stood up instinctively, looking towards the explosion. it had happened close enough that you’d felt the shockwave.
“what was that?” you yelled, trying to be heard over the sound, clumsily standing up next to peter, as you were quite high up. he held your arm to steady you.
“i’m not sure, but i think i know who’s responsible for it,” he said with a serious expression on his face, brows furrowed, thoughtful, voice lower than yours, but you could still hear him.
“are you going to go?”
“i have to, this is… these people are dangerous, you should go home.”
he grabbed you by your waist and brought you down to the ground in a hurry, gently placing you. “i’m sorry,” he said, “i’ll come back, uh, to your house, if that’s okay?”
“of course,” you responded, “i’ll be waiting. and don’t be sorry.”
and he dissapeared into the sky, swinging.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter hated villains, truly. criminals who committed heinous acts of terrorism, knew nothing but cruelty, unashamedly hurt people, kidnapped, wounded… there were so many of them, too. he kept defeating those hurting new york, and new ones kept popping up.
well, he thought he hated them, but he didn’t know how exactly he felt. he remembered a time when feelings so negative and irritating hadn’t ever been inside him, it was like they added onto each other. one would think it would get easier with time, that he would get used to repeated things. like losing… but not only had losing aunt may been harder than losing uncle ben, he was now more bitter, and more mournful over the past deaths he’d thought he’d gotten over, as well. or, how instead of growing numb to seeing horrible crimes unfold, every act of abuse and cruelty made him angrier, every time he hated… he hated more, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was hating.
when he tried to track the target his hatred was pointing at, he saw blurry pictures. villains were a part of it, surely, but he didn’t feel a burning rage while fighting them, it was more so weariness, or disgust, mostly, he just wanted all of it to be over. he didn’t want to… ponder more on it, after that point. he had tried once, and then felt an untangible pain. he couldn’t admit it to himself, but he was afraid of what else he could find in that blur. himself? tony? aunt may? mj? new york? the world?
so the picture stayed anonymous, and he couldn’t fully direct his fury at anything, and he disliked all the villains, but could hardly muster up the energy to truly hate them. and perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, either. anger and hatred, he’d never been very good at those. was that why his heart was withering? because he couldn’t feel well? because those were all there was to feel in his life now, and he failed at it?
he felt so done with everything, currently. was he not going to be able to spend time with you uninterrupted? the conversation was going well, too. or at least he thought it was. he hoped you would agree.
back in high school, he knew you were smart, and funny, and would be a good friend if anyone could approach you, but you’d prefered to stay away from him, and he hadn’t had the courage to initiate a relationship with you, he’d found you intimidating. now getting to know you better, he wished he’d just done it, back then. but maybe not. maybe then he would lose you too.
would he lose you now, as well? he’d lost everyone, hadn’t he?
or he’d break your heart, maybe. he’d left liz, he’d left mj, he’d left ned. thrice taken, something was wrong with him.
he arrived at the site of the explosion, looking from above. the thick, suffocating hotness, the pain-filled wails of the survivors, the rubbles of the building crumbled down, his eyes searched for certain signs in between the horrors. he would first save those who couldn’t save themselves, then he would stop whoever was responsible.
as he started carrying survivors out of flames and rubble, he also started scanning everything around him carefully. a sign, a clue, a mistake on the culprit’s part… he knew who it was, he was almost sure the organization he’d been tailing down for the past few months was responsible for this. they were onto him, too, they knew.
he’d found out the position of their base was last week, a site with several factories and buildings in it, towards the border of the city, in a mostly desolate area, as it used to just be an industrialized site, but had now turned into an unpreferred place for bussiness. he’d wondered if they had something to do with that as well, but he supposed that didn’t matter much, in the grand scheme of things.
he would go there, and… and confront them. fight them. end them. something. somehow. the police were rendered useless for the most part, when it came to these underground syndicates, some were bought puppets, some were too powerless, peter knew better than to give away his knowledge now. he’d been burned enough. he would have to do it himself, and do it quick, before any other disasters struck his city.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you hadn’t gone back home, you were waiting next to a shop near the place peter had left you, looking at the exploded building from afar. you were growing more worried by the second; peter had seemed serious, and talked about a criminal organization who would bomb a whole building like it was a normal thing. was he engaged in a fight, currently? how often did things of this magnitude happen to him?
your phone buzzed, you immediately looked at the screen, it could be important in these circumstances. peter. peter was calling. he’d gone to fight, said he’d come back to you, and now was calling-
“peter?” you answered before you made any assumptions.
quick gasps cut short responded to you, and peter’s voice had taken the shape of slow, low wailing, or wheezing, or… regardless, it was obvious he was in pain.
“i…” he started, clearly having a hard time speaking, “i’m stuck. it was a trap.” he was breathless, his voice kept cracking.
“you- where?” you asked, choosing your words carefully. he was stuck. trapped. time. time was important. ask only for the information that matters right now.
“the building- that- there were people, i wanted to save them,” he was crying, it was obvious. “but i couldn’t, they are stuck too, and unconscious, some are dead. i couldn’t-” he cut his sentence short, taking quick breaths, most likely trying to keep himself awake, or too pained to continue. you understood it anyway.
“where are you, peter?”
“the building crumbled down, and it’s all rubble- but, it’s a huge- a huge, i don’t know. i’m under a heavy part, big, i can’t move it. not safely. i can’t try anything too dangerous, or the- the others might get crushed,” he managed to say in between his gasps and pained groans.
your heart sank, an awful dread dropped into the pit of your stomach. what to do now?
“i’m sorry,” he said, “i just- i didn’t know what to do, and i’d told you i’d come back, i don’t know. there is no one else i could call, i’m not- i’m sorry.”
no one else.
“don’t apologize,” you said, voice firmer, having gotten slightly angry. you weren’t angry at peter, you were angry at… at the reason why peter was hurt. it had only been two days since you’d truly gotten to know him, and you wanted to scream into a void at the top of your lungs already.
you started walking towards the road, looking for a taxi, or you would call one. the initial chaos had subsided, but now people wanting to immediately go back home around you had taken its place, taxis were working, you just didn’t know how fast you could go to wherever peter was.
“send me your location or describe where you are,” you said.
you could only hear his gasps for a moment. “no,” he said, “no, no, i don’t want you to come, that’s not why i-” his breath hitched, he started coughing.
your eyes had gotten teary, you blinked harshly a few times to get rid of the blurriness. would a bicycle be faster? a… motorcycle, perhaps? you started looking around to see any unclaimed ones, you could maybe pay someone-
“i’ll come either way, i’ll help you,” you said, as you started walking towards the site of the explosion, you thought finding an abandoned vehicle might be easier there… maybe even one that no longer had an owner. maybe even a gun. “send your location or i will go into the flames and try to find a clue.”
another pause.
“okay,” he said, exhaling in pain, “but be careful, run away the moment you see anyone dangerous. okay?”
“all right.”
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
it had been a long while since peter had been in such peril, had he underestimated his opponents? had he been too rash, reckless? it was highly unlikely that his street-level work would be as dangerous as the avengers-level threats, and he’d survived those, hadn’t he? so why was he crying now?
when he’d arrived at the site, and looked around a little, he’d found people, kidnapping victims, being sent to somewhere. he’d thought he’d needed to act fast to save them, but he’d fallen into a trap. not a trap specifically set for him; it more so looked like a last resort to cover up their traces while killing anyone at their tail, just destroying the building with evidence and their enemies in it. peter was just one person though, was that enough for them, or had they not bothered to check?
he didn’t know where exactly he was wounded under the rubble, everything was hurting. somewhere on his abdomen, he assumed, and legs, they were stinging like a thousand needles were sinking into his flesh at the same time.
he sighed, putting his forehead on the fallen stone in front of him.
he hated himself. that was it, yeah. that was the true target of his hatred. more than anything else. he realised so when he admitted it to himself; hating had suddenly gotten much easier, much deeper.
he’d just killed the last person on earth who knew him. why had he called you, anyway? he should’ve just… done as he always did before meeting you, deal with it himself. or die. the world wouldn’t lose much if he did, there was no one to mourn him. well, maybe you could get a little sad, but it wasn’t like you were particularly close to him, you’d never really been friends before. and you had a life, other people around you, you had no reason to hold onto him like he did you. so why were you even coming? why would you do this to him?
he killed everyone around himself. he would kill you. he would kill you. he would lose you.
no, no, stop. you could survive this, right? sinking into despair had never been helpful. he would need to stay sharp for you. he would… you could survive this much, right? and then he would never see you again. he would block your number, and… good thing he hadn’t brought you to his apartment.
he’d been so selfish, thinking only of himself, the happiness he felt at being remembered. what was he thinking? he should’ve never talked to you. he should’ve told you to raise your umbrella and go home without getting wet. he’d been erased from existence for a reason, hadn’t he? had he forgotten why he hadn’t gone back to mj and ned? how could he do this? how could he keep doing this? why did he never learn from his mistakes?
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were breathless, having ridden a bicycle (that you really had managed to find abandoned next to the explosion) until a point where traffic wasn’t jammed, then taken a taxi to the point where the driver would be willing to drive to, then ran until you could see the eerie factory site peter had told you about. you’d stopped to catch your breath briefly, your throat was hurting, sweat was coming down on your face like rain had been on the morning you’d grabbed peter’s arm. you put your hand on the right of your abdomen, you had a bad case of side stitch pain. you were holding a metal pipe in your other hand, you hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble upon a gun lying around, unfortunately. you had wanted to find a shield of some sort, but the blown off car bits were mostly too heavy, and couldn’t be carried on a bicycle.
there it was, the area of a dangerous mafia organization. how many cameras were there? you wore the mask peter had given to you, even though you really didn’t want to when you needed so much air.
you could see the remnants of a big dust storm behind a few buildings, you would need to get closer to truly figure it out, but you assumed you could go towards that direction to find peter. your heart was drumming against your chest, your fingertips had suddenly gone cold. a tiny portion of it was because of your previous marathon, mostly your nervousness and… fear were the cause.
but you had to do this. there was simply no other choice. someone needed to save peter, and the authorities wouldn’t do it, and the heroes wouldn’t do it, and you were there already. so you got a move on.
you mostly walked behind walls and next to corners, nervous about being seen and shot dead on the spot before you could even get into the mafia’s base. you reached… a chain-link fence, surrounding the complex.
“NO TRESSPASSING” the sign on the fence read, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”.
well, you’d already stolen a bicycle.
you took a shaky breath, and put your foot into one of the chains. you’d never climbed over a chain-link fence before, but everything had a first time, right? so you gripped the chains for dear life, and although you probably looked ridiculous and unnatural doing it, managed to climb to the other side. you did scratch a few places on your legs and hands, but it was mostly a success.
now you needed to sneak deeper into the complex, somehow.
you walked half-crouched down, mostly next to walls, looking around yourself nervously, yet as fast as you could. as you got closer to the collapsed building, you started hearing screams, and gunshots. there was a commotion going on somewhere close to you, was it the kidnapped people? the ones peter had been able to save, the ones who’d gotten out? you stopped where you were and pressed your back to the building next to you, where did you go from here? where were the gun noises coming from? what did you need to do to avoid that, yet still reach peter?
your hands had started shaking, would it be possible to find an abandoned gun as you walked closer? it would be so easy for them to kill you.
you'd only managed to make a few turns from that point before you were caught. by a man with a gun in his hand.
"look at that," he said, as he pointed the gun at you. “it seems a little mouse sneaked in, in this chaos."
you stopped, completely frozen. your heart was beating in your throat, your hands were trembling, you'd forgotten how to breathe. you'd never been so fear-stricken in your life.
what could you do? one shot and you would be dead, what could you do with the metal pipe in your hand? you couldn't look away from the man to see what else you could use.
he started walking towards you slowly, saying things that would only distract you and make you more nervous if you focused on them, so you blocked them out.
he was clearly enjoying cornering you like a prey animal, that must have been why he was walking closer to you; to scare you. you fought against your urge to back away, to protect a distance between you two; you had a metal pipe. a gun was a long-range weapon, being closer might make it harder to run away, but would make it easier to fight back, and running away in this situation would do you no good. if he missed the first time, he would get you in the second. so you forcefully nailed your feet to the ground, ignored the alarms setting off in your mind, and tried to prepare yourself for a confrontation. your legs were trembling; you hoped the man would just think you'd frozen in fear.
he came close enough to put the gun to your head, just an arm's length of a distance between you. “you can't run even when the gun is in your face?” he asked mockingly.
would begging work? would it keep you alive long enough to catch an opening?
you would die. you would die.
you hadn't opened your mouth to form a single sentence since this man had found you, and you didn't think you could now. one wrong word and it would be over. you needed to act.
was there anyone else around? why was he alone? had you lucked out, somehow? they weren't going to take you into custody, you were a transgresser, they were going to kill you. you assumed this man had stumbled into you coincidentally in the ruckus, and hadn't felt the need to call for reinforcements. even if there were others in places you couldn't see, you had no choice but to act now.
the gun's tip was touching your forehead. seconds. i must act in seconds. by bending your knees, you ducked your head faster than he could process what happened and pull the trigger, and while ducking, swung the pipe in your hand as fast as you could, with as much force behind it as you could muster, and hit him in the groin.
you immediately made a move to get behind him while he buckled over; there was no running away from someone with a gun.
should you hold his hand with the gun, or hit it with your pipe? he was turning his face towards you, and would shoot you the moment he got a good view.
no, you’d taken too much time to think, and he’d already directed the gun at you, pulling the trigger. you immediately hit his hand with your pipe. the shot wasn't completely wasted, however, and grazed your leg.
you screamed in pain.
he reached for you with his other hand, grabbing your hair.
no time.
you gripped your pipe with all your strength, and hit his hand again while he was yanking your hair. and then kept hitting his hand, lest he direct the gun at you again. one, two, three, four, five— he kicked your leg. you buckled over in pain as he put your head to the ground, your hair still entangled in his hand. he was saying something, eyes bulging, looking very mad, but you weren’t proccessing any of it. your ears were still ringing because of the gunshot, and the pain in your leg was so powerful that you couldn't focus on anything. it was as if endless knives were constantly stabbing you. it was unbearable.
his hands were occupied with your head and the gun, you were nowhere near strong enough to set free from his grip, but he'd forgotten you were still holding onto the pipe. or maybe he'd just thought you'd be in too much pain to use it now. or maybe he just hadn't had the time to do something about that yet, everything was happering in seconds.
you swung it again in one last, reckless effort to fight back, and hit his head. the momentum tossed him to the side while taking you with him as he hadn't let go of your hair. before he could turn to face you back, you hit his head again, with all your might. he let go of your hair while balancing himself with his other hand, and hit you across the face before you could land your third hit, but you planted yourself to the ground, and landed another hit anyway. his head was bleeding, and he was clearly distraught.
what now? a few seconds. this had given you a few seconds of decision time. what now? should you keep hitting him? take the gun, somehow? how could you get rid of him?
you tried to move reflexively, to get away. but your leg was done for, you couldn’t get up. no. no. you couldn't move.
your heart was going to burst out of your chest, your nerves were completely wrecked; you couldn’t get up.
what, then? did you have to… kill? you were going to throw up. your hands started trembling even more violently. you couldn't. you just couldn't.
you wished you could yell for help. but you were supposed to be the help. it was as it had always been before, pick yourself up and dust yourself off.
no time to think.
you hit his head again, and when he flailed, this time you put his head to the ground, climbing on top of him, twisting his gun-holding arm under his body. now… now you could... how could you stop him? if you managed to take the gun, and told him to stay put until you could run away... you couldn't move, though. you couldn't even properly restrain him because you were having to drag one leg. the concussion he had was doing most of the heavy lifting.
an idea did come up in your mind. you supposed you had no other choice.
──────
you were lying on the floor, your back towards the sky. you’d left your unconscious attacker where he was lying, and managed to drag yourself for a few centimeters before you’d stopped, and leaned your forehead against the ground. you needed to get away, you knew. at least near a wall, somewhere you wouldn’t be seen so clearly, but your leg was hurting too much to use.
you couldn’t raise your head, and just started sobbing openly. you’d already been crying, but trying to hold back, keep quiet. you needed to sit up, and look at how bad the wound was, and how much blood you’d lost. the pain was all you could think about, your head was hurting from stress and forcing yourself to think through the pain, your eyes and throat were hurting from crying (and maybe also sleep-deprivation, as time was diving deeper into the night), your face was hurting from the hit you’d taken, and yet, nothing could be compared to the pain you felt in your leg. you wanted to take off your mask, it was suffocating enough even without it, but any cameras catching your face would be more of a disaster long term.
you took a deep breath, and put your hands on the ground. you pushed yourself up while shaking, and turned around. you looked at your leg, and immediately regretted it. it was bleeding a lot, and your flesh had been ripped apart. you didn’t know what to do, there was no one you could call.
you took out your phone from your pocket, and found peter’s number. you really didn’t want to, but you had no other choice.
peter answered by calling out your name questioningly, his voice came across better than last time; it still did sound like he was in pain, but he was calmer.
“peter,” you said, failing to sound like you weren’t crying. “a guy shot me. my leg is hurt.”
“a- what? where are you?”
“i’m near the collapsed building you should be in.”
“i- i-”
you took a second to breathe. “no, no, i… i just don’t know what to do,” you said, sniffling and gasping, “i can’t get up. i, uh, should i wrap something around my leg?”
“yeah,” he said, “a piece of cloth until you can get out, how close are you to the exit? you should call an ambulance or a taxi or—” he also had to stop to take a breath in pain, “i don’t know— i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”
“what are you sorry for? it’s the fault of this piece of— well, garbage. at least i have a gun now.”
“who was it? is he still there?”
“i don’t know, some random guy. he’s unconscious.”
“… how?”
“well, i… kind of strangled him? he was,” you huffed, “he fainted because he couldn’t breathe, he’s alive though. i did hit his head a few times, i don’t know how that bodes for him.”
“probably not well,” he said, now with a hint of surprise and amusement in his voice, “you, uh, you did well. very well.”
“huh, thank you.”
good, this was good, hearing peter’s voice had been good for you. you pushed yourself up somehow, and sat up straight.
“what happened?” he asked, “why is the pain worsening?” probably because of your increasing groans.
“i was trying to sit up. i need to find a piece of cloth.”
you looked around, and decided to take anything you could from the man who attacked you. you went through his pockets, and sure enough, found a knife. you cut a piece off of his shirt, and used it as bandage.
“how tight should it be?”
“you should be able to slide a finger under it.”
next, you needed to drag yourself away from the middle of the road, to somewhere you could hide—
no.
no, that wasn’t why you were here.
“how are you doing, peter?” you asked, but couldn’t add that you would be there soon.
“i’m…” he started, but drifted off. and then you heard silent sobbing. “i’m sorry,” he said.
“you have nothing to apologize for.”
“no, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve dragged you into this mess.”
“you didn’t drag me into anything, i stole a bike and ran a marathon to get to you,” you’d sounded firmer now, although still couldn’t stop your crying; the pain just wasn’t getting any better.
“i let you down along with everyone else,” he wasn’t listening to you, “and i don’t know what to do, i can’t come to you, i don’t know how to get you out,” his voice had gotten frantic again.
you sighed, trying to get your sobbing under control, and think of a reply. was it his fault? no, you were certain it wasn’t. had he let you down? no, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. should he stay away from you? were you afraid of pain or death? would you rather live a more stress-free life than stay with peter?
you closed your eyes to let the tears roll down your cheeks as the realisation that you couldn’t immediately say “no” set in, you felt betrayed by yourself. you’d thought about this, yesterday… or two days ago, you supposed, as it was past midnight. he’d told you everything, so you knew the risks, and you’d thought about it. you’d decided it would be fine; worrying for his safety or being at risk yourself. and if you got injured, then you could handle some pain. and if you died, well… there was no getting ahead of death. if you died, that would mean your time had come.
so where had your conviction gone to? had the pain been too much, after all? it was the pain, the stabbing sensation was making your brain foggy, demanding all the attention be on it. you hated it, you hated everything. you were mad at yourself; why couldn’t you just be better?
“peter,” you cut him off, “i know i can’t understand you fully, but i get it,” you’d decided to just ramble. you couldn’t come up with the perfect answer to make his worries disappear, so you would just… tell him whatever was going through your mind.
“i lay awake some nights, randomly afraid of the dark. then i curl up under my blanket, and try to comfort myself. because there is no one to lie next to me. i look out from my window and see grey walls. i look up at night and see no stars. i walk outside and hundreds of people just walk past me without even looking at my face, and i don’t remember any of theirs the next hour. all i hear all day are the honks of cars, and depressing news. abuse. crime. kid died. alone person went missing. don’t go out at night. don’t talk to anyone. there is no one anyway, who would i talk to?” you paused to sniffle again, and catch your breath.
“i come home and say ‘hello’ to emptiness and darkness, i turn on the lights myself, then think about what i’ll eat. and i don’t properly eat most days, because i just don’t want to prepare something only for myself. yesterday, i was so happy you liked the food i made, i wanted to cook something for the first time in months while waiting for you,” words were just coming out of your mouth without restraint now, was it the sleep deprivation?
“in high school, i used to watch you and your friends, and wish i could find someone who would be in sync with me too. i used to wish i had a reason or an excuse to join in when i saw you three laugh or talk. i go to university now, and i attend lectures, and i make small talk with a few people, and then i drown in my own thoughts the whole day. i tell myself that i’m fine by myself, but i feel like my soul is getting thinner by the day, looking at walls. is it just me, or is everyone just disconnected now, i don’t know.”
you finally stopped, and let silence stretch after your words. your crying had gotten worse as the suffocation of your life had built up enough to rush out of you; you didn’t cry much, not really. sure, you sometimes shed silent tears, sitting by yourself on your couch, but normally, you just kept going without thinking much about it. you had your exams, and job, and volunteer work, and projects to worry about, so pitying yourself was at the bottom of your to-do list. but now? you were crying waterfalls. was it because you’d finally found someone to tell what you were really thinking? no, it was probably because of the pain you were already in.
peter didn’t answer, for a long while, it was just silence.
“you were right,” you said, “being known with your negative sides sucks.”
“no,” he said, “you were right. i’m glad to know you as you are.”
he didn’t sound good. he didn’t sound good at all. you sighed in resignation, closing your eyes tightly shut to clear your view of tears. “i’m closing now, peter, wait for me,” you said, and closed the call before he could reply.
you looked at the ground, and furrowed your brows in concentration. you would get up. you had to. you had no choice. peter had called you for help. he had no one. no one else to call. no one else to save him from making a choice between death and killing innocent victims under rubble. no one else to save him from death.
you gritted your teeth, your leg hurt as the deep cut touched the bad guy’s shirt, and in some parts, the cold air of the night. the wound kept bleeding, and hurting more by the second. but you gritted your teeth anyway, through your tears and gasps for air that you had an abundance of, but your lungs refused to take in. you put your hands on the ground, and pushed yourself up, using all the strength you had.
you whimpered and groaned in many attempts to stifle your screams before they could come out, and alert whoever was close enough to hear, and managed to set your back straight. it was unbearable, the pain was holding you from the collar, trying to drag you down, making your vision red, exploding in your brain.
it’s just pain, you kept repeating to yourself, it was just a feeling, you could move through it. so you would walk now. towards peter. as quickly as possible. you needed to reach him, that was why you’d come this far, how could you let pain make you forget? it was simply unacceptable, the thought of peter dying under that rubble.
so you put one foot in front of the other, and made your way to peter through every force working against you.
──────
"peter?" you asked, trying to walk through the rubble, and then heard your name back.
"i'm here!"
you tried to reach him at least enough to see his face, as fast as you could, but it was still taking too long with your injured leg. too long for your impatience currently, anyway.
"i'll remove the victims so you can get out of there," you said as you stretched your head enough to see his face, not being able to get closer. he was... he'd taken off his mask, and he looked horrible; his eyes had become red from tears and most likely his injuries, his face was covered in dust and some drops of blood. looking at him stung your chest. "tell me where they are."
──────
peter was strong. he truly was. not only mentally; you were currently watching him lift what was essentially an entire ceiling with other pieces of rubble on it off himself, with most likely many crushing injuries. insane. he was insane. no wonder he couldn’t move with all with those unconscious people around.
you had somehow managed to move them out of his way, seven people in total, much more than you’d anticipated. how could you get them out of here now? you were injured, peter was probably in worse condition… although he did seem to be able to carry significant weight. maybe you could carry them until the exit and call an ambulance, for yourselves, too.
──────
peter walked towards you until he was a breath away, his face was covered in sweat on top of everything else, and he was gasping for air, as were you. he looked at your leg.
“i’ll carry you,” was all he said. he seemed so tired.
“we need to carry these people first.”
“no, i’ll carry you first. until you’re out of this complex.”
──────
you were sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance you had called. well, ambulances, as they’d be carrying nine people. you had, also, finally taken off the mask you’d come to despise at this point, associating it with very negative feelings.
you saw peter swing down with the last one of the survivors. he landed, placed the unconscious man on the sidewalk, and sat right next to you.
you sat together in silence for a while, until you took a deep breath, and chuckled lightly. it was over. you’d done it. everyone was alive.
peter looked at you questioningly, although it was hard to read his face; he’d turned mostly expressionless. because of how much effort it must have been taking to even stay awake for him, you assumed.
“it’s over,” you said, “we did it.”
he looked away again, to the desolate road in front of you. “you did it,” he said, “i messed up.”
“how so?”
“i acted rashly. i should’ve been more careful. now they’ll find a new base, and i have to start from nothing to track them down again. and they know i’m after them. and i couldn’t change anything in the end, i just made things worse. all of this was for nothing, it could have been completely avoided. it started with the collapse of one building and then it ended with the collapse of another for no reason.”
you were watching him carefully. lines of exhaustion had formed on his face, the sorrow and… and whatever it was that dropped a boulder of burning despair into the pit of your stomach from when you first met had come back; you’d thought the youth had somehow returned to his face this evening.
“so,” you started, taking another deep breath, “you came here after they exploded a building to stop them, like, end them in general, or at least weaken them, do something. that makes sense to me. then you acted rashly here? why?”
“i saw… the kidnapped victims, and they were suffering, so i wanted to save them.”
“then you didn’t mess up, right? you saved them.”
“not all of them, and i wouldn’t have without you.”
“well, a big majority of them, you did save. all of them would die without you. and what else could you have done but to directly interfere? you did the only thing you could.”
he just stayed silent, was he not convinced?
“i don’t think this was a failure, peter. i think you did well and saved many people, and i think it was worth it.”
his eyes were teary, but he didn’t look at you again, he turned his gaze to the ground, and just stayed silent.
──────
you had decided on what to tell the authorities before the paramedics had arrived, and then you’d been separated, put into different ambulances.
then… well, the rest was as you imagined it would go. still a lot of pain, and a lot of hasty doctors as they asked questions and barked orders. it was horrible, really, with the way your head had been aching, but at least they were numbing your leg. and you would most likely be allowed to drift off to sleep at some point, right?
──────
you lied on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. it was almost noon, and you’d waken up not so long ago. you just kept playing what happened again and again in your head, trying to make sense of every detail.
it was a miracle you were alive. you’d faced off a gun. an actual gun.
it was good that all you could do by yourself in this hospital bed was think; you’d been asking yourself the same questions for a while now. did you still want to be involved with peter? you’d known him only for two days, and you’d ended up in a hospital already.
you’d considered every outcome and every reason, every choice you could make. in the end, it boiled down to a few core options. would you rather live a less risky life by yourself, or risk getting hurt like this to be with someone? someone who can meet you as deeply as you crave?
not just that, human bonds were too important to be disregarded because of what external threats might arise. the reality now was that you loved peter, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned because of what evil people did. your choice didn’t come out of loneliness; even if you had a dozen bonds like this, you would still choose to stay with peter, because you’d formed a relationship with him now. and that was that.
out of every outcome you considered, the worst one was definitely living your life without peter, and then getting news that spiderman just died somewhere, by himself. even the thought of it was nausiating. then again, the thought of just him getting hurt like this, and having no one to go to was just as horrible. so you needed to choose the opposite of what would cause that outcome to happen.
it hadn’t been that hard a decision to make; staying involved with peter. you’d already been tangled, it wasn’t much of a possibility to untangle yourself now, a part of you would be left behind.
besides, you somehow remembered him, didn’t you? that had to mean something. there had to be a reason for it.
──────
after finally being discharged, the first thing you did was look for peter, but he’d somehow gotten out before you. not because his wounds were less severe, quite the opposite, the nurses had said he’d been restless to get out, and they couldn’t keep someone against their will.
the orange of dusk had faded away, although it wasn’t fully dark yet. you were on your way to your apartment while you kept ringing peter’s phone, he was stubbornly refusing to answer.
you huffed as another attempt turned out to be in vain. you looked at the taxi driver, who did not acknowledge your existence, and then turned back to your phone.
“peter, are you okay? is everything all right?”
you messaged him. then waited for him to see. aaand waited. still waiting.
you huffed again, three minutes of staring at your screen impatiently and he wasn’t responding.
although you’d asked him if he were okay, you knew the truth. it wasn’t that he couldn’t answer, it was that he’d decided to go through with his stupid “i’ll never see you again because i’m ruining your life” nonsense. in your heart of hearts, you knew. so you sent another message.
“if you’re thinking about cutting ties with me, then do it properly. come and talk to me about it.”
and then looked out the taxi’s window for the rest of your journey.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were right, peter knew. after everything that happened, opening up to you and accepting you into his life, if he wanted to step away now, he needed to respect you, and tell you about it properly. so he was standing in front of your door now, trying to gather up the courage to ring your bell, and tell you he’d never see you again. this door had seemed so inviting one night ago, and it had tricked peter. he was not supposed to be invited into any house, didn’t your house know that?
he took a deep breath, and rang the bell. when you opened the door, you looked tired. not your expression, but the lines on your face and the look in your eyes gave it away. that was his fault, wasn’t it?
you stepped aside to welcome him, and he followed you into the living room, the couch he’d sat on the night he’d told you everything.
bidding you farewell was going to be hard, he didn’t know if he could be brave enough, or selfless enough. he’d been so when he had been wiped from the memories of every living being, and that was much harder a task, wasn’t it? so couldn’t he do it a second time?
but he hated waking up every day, and hated… well, he couldn’t even properly hate. getting up, putting one foot in front of the other was becoming harder every day, he didn’t want to do anything, anymore. so circumstances had changed since then, but he still kept fighting every day, and he still kept doing what he thought was right. so he could do this too.
or you would die. he’d lost enough people. to love was to lose. to love was the possibility of loss eventually.
he shouldn’t even have sat on this couch, actually, why had he done so? he should’ve just told you he was leaving, and then leave. he made a move to get up again, you grabbed his arm to stop him.
“you should stay seated,” you said, “i’ll bring something to eat for dinner.”
“please don’t, i’ll be on my way shortly anyway.”
“no,” you said as a statement, firmly, and left him alone in the living room.
peter never should’ve come. you deserved to have one last conversation, but how could peter move on from you? he supposed it would’ve been impossible even if he hadn’t come to your place today, even if he’d told you to turn back without getting wet the day you first recognized him. he would just have to live missing you forever, and that wasn’t unrealistic. it’s what he was doing now, missing everybody he’d ever known. and he was living, wasn’t he? well, he was alive.
you brought pasta with chicken, obviously freshly made, and put down two plates on the couch.
“we could eat in the kitchen,” he said.
“couch is comfier.”
he sighed, looking at his plate. he really didn’t want to eat anything made by you again, he didn’t need more things to miss. you’d said you didn’t feel like preparing a meal just for yourself, that he made you want to cook something… he remembered everything you said, of course. that you’d apparently wanted to get closer to him in high school too, why had he been so nervous? afraid?
it was for the best, though. otherwise, you might’ve died years ago. no matter what you felt, he couldn’t be selfish enough to assume he could be there for you, or good for you.
“so,” you started, “you decided to go forward with your plan of ignoring my existence for the rest of your life?”
“it’s not ignoring,” he had a defensive tone, “i was wrong to even confirm i’m peter at the start, i’ll fix my mistake.”
“it wasn’t a mistake, how can you say that? would you prefer i believed i’d lost my mind?”
you had a hard time walking now, limping although you tried to hide it, and several wounds were visible on your face. you’d beat up a man with a metal pipe, what kind of damage did that leave on your psyche? peter didn’t know, he’d been warring since he was fifteen.
“you wouldn’t be in pain, at least.”
“you’re unbelievable,” you sounded exasparated, and seemed offended, but peter didn’t know what else to say. it was the truth. “i’d rather know the bitter truth, or suffer from its consequences than believe a lie any time. besides, you couldn’t have known this would happen, it’s not on you.”
“you can’t tell me you would still get a gunshot wound yesterday if we hadn’t met two days ago.”
“maybe not, but i don’t blame you for it and i don’t care.”
“you don’t care?!” peter was getting angry, was it because you were getting angry? he was angry at himself, was it dripping out of his chest into his tongue as poison?
“no,” you backtracked, “i mean, i’m fine with it. i can live with it. and i don’t hold it against you, i don’t have any resentment for you. i don’t know how else to explain this.”
he took a deep breath to hold back his tears. he couldn’t let your words get to him, make him feel better about what had occurred. he needed to protect you, he kept reminding himself.
“i can’t put you in harm’s way,” he said.
you paused for a moment.
“do you take care of your wounds by yourself? you did so after the fire the other day, and you basically ran away from the hospital this time around.”
peter was taken aback. “uh, yeah?” he answered.
you grabbed a bag that was positioned right next to the couch on the floor, and took a… first aid kit out of it. and then a salve, and bandages, and… what was going on?
“i bought these today after being discharged, figured you might need some.”
“i’m… fine?”
your expression was very unimpressed when you looked at him.
“so you think i don’t see your arm, or the way you have a hard time eating or breathing, or even just your hands?”
ah, right. his hands were bruised, not enough to warrant bandaging though, this happened regularly. and his arm did hurt, but the pain would go away in a few days or so. his abdomen… that was taken care of, too, the dressing they did at the hospital would be enough.
“it’s all taken care of,” he said.
“we need to put salve on your hands, and then wrap-”
“we don’t, this happens all the time.”
you looked at him in surprise for a moment. “this happens all the time and we don’t need to treat it?” you repeated with your eyes wide, tone something between offended and shocked.
he didn’t know what to say, so you just started doing whatever you’d set your mind to even before he came to your house. you gently held his hand, and started applying the salve. he sighed, and closed his eyes, leaning his head to rest on the couch. he shouldn’t have, but you didn’t give him much choice.
“i’ll learn how to suture,” you said, “and anything else that’s necessary.”
peter spoke your name, “i’m sorry,” he said, “i am so, so sorry. i don’t want to leave you either, but you saw what happened. mj and ned have forgotten me, and they are happier for it. this is what i need to do.”
“peter,” you said, as you started wrapping the bandage around his hand, “i haven’t forgotten you, and if you leave now, i still won’t forget. i don’t know how mj and ned are doing, having forgotten, but you can’t compare me to them. and even if i had forgotten, i still would want to know. how else can i put this?” you searched for the words, “i care about you more than i care about happiness. i’d choose you over happiness, i’d rather be in pain with you than be painless by myself.”
peter had straightened his back, his gaze fixated on your eyes, as you spoke. a lump in his throat, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks in his eyes, his hand in your hands… a warmth in his chest, how he hadn’t felt in so long. your words did soften his edges, but he couldn’t accept it. he still held back his tears, and still wanted to escape. run away. was that why he wanted to leave you? was his true reason to protect you, or his fear? he wanted to run, he wanted to run as fast as he could and hide, from anyone who could see him.
it was too much, but he couldn’t exactly tell what was too much. he was afraid of hurting you, but that wasn’t all he was afraid of, yet he couldn’t recognize what else scared him so.
“but,” you continued, “being with you will make me happy anyway, do you understand? i’ll be happier with you than alone, even if my life is at risk, and even if guns chase my back.”
you had teared up too, peter realised, but were wiping your tears away, to keep your vision clear while working on his now other hand, he assumed.
and that was it, the last drop of water to make his glass overflow. silent tears started finding their way to his chin, his gaze lowered in embarrassment. he’d already cried a dozen times in front of you, and he wished he hadn’t, he wished he could be stronger, firmer, he wished he could aspire confidence instead of silently crying. he hadn’t been able to cry for a while, before meeting you. even when it hurt deep inside his bones, his tears had dried up. were they all spilling out now?
he wanted you to stay, too, he was tired of being alone. he was tired of imagining “what if”s. he was tired of walking directionless with his hoodie covering his face, face a blur in crowds, never known by anyone. if you could bandage his hands every time after a fight, or have your textbooks scattered around in his room, then-
he didn’t want to imagine it. he just couldn’t accept it.
you were done with his hands, even though peter didn’t want you to let go. “how about this,” you started, “why don’t we give it some more time? i mean, how many times did mj or ned get wounded while knowing you?”
“… never, really.”
“yeah, so, either i’m also cursed, or this was a rare occurrence. either way, me staying with you won’t change anything. so, instead of making a rash decision like this, why don’t we try to be friends first? and if it doesn’t work out, then you can put some distance?”
that was… peter thought on it. and then his silent tears turned into straight-up sobbing. because that could work. he could accept that, it made sense to him.
he leaned down and buried his face in his hands. you started caressing his hair, which made it impossible for his tears to stop.
when everyone had forgotten, you'd remembered him. when faced with a gun, you'd survived. when injured, you'd walked. maybe he really was cursed, considering what had happened to you after you just met, but you seemed determined to break it.
and it might not be perfect, but it would be.
it must’ve been hard for you to make such a decision, you must’ve thought about it; staying with peter. you’d chosen him anyway. he could do the same, too. despite his fears, his horrible instinct to shrink and escape, he could stand his ground, and choose to stay, as you had. and maybe with time, it could get easier.
he stopped his sobbing, calmed down enough to face you, and raised his head.
“i don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“right,” you smiled, “exciting, isn’t it?”
ghost towns (youtube music) by radical face... as we part ways for now.
A Reason to Stay
Author's Note: This probably won't have a second part... or maybe it will. I haven't decided yet.
Clark Kent x female reader
Sinopsis: When Superman saves a stranger standing on the edge of a rooftop, he never expects to meet her again.
Warnings: Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, panic attacks, emotional distress, workplace harassment, workplace abuse, toxic work environment
WC: 4,500 words approx.
Strands of hair clung to your face, sticky with sweat and the tears that refused to stop falling. You stared straight ahead, into the void that stretched far beyond the edge of the building, but in truth, you saw nothing. Your eyes were wide open, yet your mind was elsewhere—trapped in that dark place you had reached after feeling utterly alone for so long. Your hands trembled uncontrollably, as though the night chill had seeped deep into your bones; however, it wasn’t cold, it was fear. But not the kind of fear that paralyzes you; rather, it was that other kind, the one that pushes you to do things you know can never be undone.
Your feet were barely on the ledge, sensing the wind rising from the street below—that wind that seemed to call your name, whispering that everything would be so much easier if you simply stopped fighting. Your eyes were swollen from crying, red and burning, but even so, amidst all that agony, you smiled. You smiled at your own predicament because it seemed almost laughable to have reached this point, so humorous and yet so profoundly tragic all at once.
And then you wondered how you had ended up here. You didn’t know for certain—or perhaps you did—but so many things had accumulated over time that you could no longer pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it was that time no one listened to you, or that other instance when you felt entirely invisible in a crowd of people. The truth was, you were accustomed to feeling this way, so used to it that you had stopped noticing. Until the day came when exhaustion reached its limit—that threshold you believed you would never cross. But it arrived, and when it did, you realized the weariness was no longer merely physical, the kind you can wash away with a good night's sleep. This was different; it had become mental, and that was the absolute worst kind. Physical exhaustion allows you to rest, but mental fatigue haunts you even in your dreams, refusing to grant you a single second of peace, always lingering there, whispering cruel things and reminding you of everything that went wrong.
That very same exhaustion had stripped away your appetite. You no longer felt hunger; food had lost its flavor, and you only ate because you knew you had to, though chewing felt like a grueling chore, like something unworthy of the effort. It had also robbed you of the desire to smile; those smiles that used to surface effortlessly were gone forever, replacing a vast portion of your day with tears that welled up without warning. It screamed at you that you were useless at everything, that you were good for nothing, and that everything you touched shattered.
And the worst part was that you began to believe it, because when you hear something enough times, you eventually internalize it as truth. It made you view life in shades of gray, colorless and devoid of purpose, as if someone had extinguished the sun and you were trapped in a cloudy day that would never end.
Is this the right thing to do? Could anyone even notice this? Could someone just see me for once?
These questions whirled around in your head like a broken record, yielding no answers, only breeding more questions. And then, just as you were ready to take that final step, a voice shattered the silence.
"Do you want to talk?"
The voice arrived softly, yet with enough resonance to pull your mind back to the present. You blinked several times, trying to focus your vision because the tears prevented you from seeing clearly.
Looking through a blur of tears, you caught sight of a figure you never expected to see. It was a tall man, with a red cape billowing in the wind, wearing a blue suit with a symbol emblazoned on his chest.
Superman stood before you, his head slightly tilted, gazing at you with a serenity that made you feel strange. There was no judgment in his eyes, no haste, only patience.
"I don't want you to stop me," you whispered, your voice emerging so faintly that you could barely hear yourself.
But he didn’t budge from his spot. He remained there, steadfast, as though he harbored no fear of what you might do.
"Whatever reason you have for doing this, it has a solution," Superman said, and his words carried such conviction that, for a fleeting moment, you almost believed him.
But then the exhaustion rushed back, and you looked at him with eyes brimming with tears.
"And what if I've already tried everything?" you asked, your voice breaking at the end.
You truly had tried everything; you had spoken up, you had wept, you had silently begged for help, but no one seemed to listen. Or perhaps you just didn’t know how to ask properly. He nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words.
"You can try again. Perhaps you think that dying is easy and that... you won't be afraid," he said, his voice so gentle it made your chest ache.
You shook your head, because as much as you wanted to be brave, the truth was that you were terrified.
"I am afraid, but I am just so... tired," you said, your voice trembling in tandem with your hands. You looked into his eyes, searching for something you couldn't quite define. "I just want... I want to rest," you stated, and that word, rest, sounded so sweet and yet so distant at the same time.
But he shook his head.
"I know you must be tired, and that the world surely hasn't been kind to you." You looked at him, and Superman smiled—a warm smile that illuminated his entire countenance. He continued speaking, his voice acting like a soothing hand caressing your soul. "But you must step out of the world that is drowning you in order to breathe. You cannot see it right now, but there is air out there waiting for you, colors you haven’t yet beheld, people you have yet to meet. You just need a little help to reach them."
And then, he extended his hand toward you, palm open, offering you something you never anticipated. "If you take it, I will dive into the depths with you, and we will surface together," he said, and those words were so wild and so beautiful that you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He, Superman, everyone's hero, was willing to descend with you to the very bottom of the pit just to pull you out.
"You're a hero, thousands of people depend on you. Why would you stop for a life that... a life that does little more than get in the way?" you inquired, your voice reduced to a mere thread. You genuinely could not comprehend why someone like him would dedicate his time to someone like you.
Superman sighed, and for a brief moment, his shoulders seemed to relax.
"Because I believe that every life is important, that it is worth living even when it seems bleak. Because as long as there is hope, even a shred of hope, then there is a willingness to live. And I can see that hope in you. It's there, even if you can't see it yourself. It's in your tears, in your fear, and in the fact that you are still here listening to me."
And when he said that, you could no longer contain it. You wept like you had never wept before, your entire body convulsing. You were about to step down, to take that pace you thought would end everything, but your foot faltered, slipping on the edge. Your body pitched forward, and you closed your eyes, accepting your fate. Even with Superman right there, you thought perhaps dying was your destiny, that there was no turning back.
But then, as you fell, your body collided with Superman's. He had flown to you in an instant, so swiftly that you didn't even see him move. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and you felt his warmth, his strength, and his scent of the sky and the wind. When you were back on the roof of your apartment building, you didn't let go. Your arms clung to him as if he were the sole piece of solid ground in a turbulent sea.
I would have let go if he hadn't asked, if he hadn't been so patient.
"Seriously, are you okay?" he murmured against your ear, his voice so soft it shattered you from within.
And then you cried like a small child who had never been embraced, like someone who had harbored all the agony of the world in their chest and had finally found a sanctuary to let it pour out. Your entire body shook, and you couldn't speak; you could only sob and sob.
"I don't want to die," you managed between sobs, those words wrenching from the deepest recesses of your being. "But everything... everything is so difficult," you whispered, pressing yourself against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong.
And he merely held you tighter, never releasing you, never rushing you, allowing you to weep for as long as you needed. Superman did not pull away. He didn't let go for a single second, not even when your tears soaked his suit and your hands gripped him as though he were the only life jacket in the middle of a dark ocean. He held you firmly, his arms enveloping you with a tranquility you hadn't felt in ages.
And within that embrace, you felt it. It was that hope you had heard so much about, the kind you always believed was reserved for others—for stronger, braver people. But there it was, in the warmth of his chest, in the rhythmic thud of his heart, and in the way his hand gently caressed your back without haste, never wishing for you to stop crying before your time. He didn't push you away, and that was precisely what you needed most in that moment: someone who wasn't afraid of your tears.
You cried until your eyes burned and your throat turned dry. You cried until there were no tears left inside you, leaving only a void that slowly began to fill with something entirely different. And then, when the tears finally ceased, he gently took you by the shoulders and guided you toward one of the benches on the building's rooftop—the ones used for events or when the neighbors gathered to watch the sunset. He seated you carefully, as if you were made of glass, and sat down beside you, leaving just enough space for you to feel accompanied without feeling crowded.
"Tell me, I will listen to everything," Superman said, his voice so peaceful it inspired confidence. There was no rush in his words, no judgment, only the promise to remain there for as long as necessary.
"Isn't there anyone else to save?" you asked without looking at him, staring down at your hands which were still trembling slightly. Your fingers intertwined, playing with the hem of your clothes, searching for something to do to avoid feeling so utterly exposed.
"Yes, I have to save you," he said, and when you looked up at him, you saw a smile on his face, as if he were entirely unacquainted with sorrow. He had deep dimples in his cheeks that appeared whenever he smiled, and that small expression of his caused an involuntary smile to grace your face amidst all the chaos. It was tiny, barely a twitch of the lips, but it was there.
"My job is overwhelming," you whispered, your voice sounding exhausted, as though you were carrying a weight that wouldn't allow you to breathe. "I work from Monday to Saturday, even Sundays, even though they don't pay overtime. But it's not just the work, it's the people. They are so... so cruel," you admitted, feeling the words pour out uncontrollably, as if you had unlocked a door that had been sealed shut for a very long time. "Adults behaving like teenagers. They've fabricated so many things about me—rumors, lies, things that aren't even true. And I just stayed quiet, I didn't say anything, thinking that if I ignored it all, it would go away. But it didn't. Everything became so monotonous, so heavy, and now I can't escape the very hell I chose to fall into."
Superman nodded slowly, processing every word that came out of your mouth. He didn't interrupt you, nor did he try to offer quick solutions. He simply listened, and that alone was more than most people ever did.
"Have you seen a psychologist or a psychiatrist to get treatment?" he asked carefully, as though every word was a delicate step, afraid of hurting you. His voice was gentle, but his eyes remained fixed on you, watching every change in your expression.
"I did," you said, your voice cracking slightly as the memory resurfaced. "But my mother scolded me. She thinks that's only for crazy people, that anyone who goes to therapy is mentally unstable. She won't let me take medication, even though I've already been diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. She thinks I just need to try harder, that my exhaustion is nothing but laziness, and that I'm just being dramatic."
Your hands tightened against your legs, and you felt anger and sadness collide inside your chest.
"And what is it that you want?" Superman whispered, his question so sincere that it made you look him straight in the eyes. There wasn't a trace of judgment in his gaze, only genuine curiosity, as if what you had to say truly mattered to him.
You looked back at him honestly, your heart completely laid bare.
"I want to be happy," you said, your voice breaking as those two words left your lips. They sounded so simple, yet they felt impossibly out of reach. "I just want to be happy. I want to feel like my life has meaning, like I'm not wasting my time, like I'm not a mistake."
He nodded with the kind of calmness that made it seem as though he understood everything.
"Then pursue happiness, even if it means leaving everything behind. Sometimes we have to let go of the things that weigh us down, even when it hurts, even when we're afraid. It's better to live alone than to die for everyone else. It's better to start over than to remain in a place that slowly extinguishes you."
His words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made you stop and think.
"What if I'm not good enough?" you asked, your voice small, like that of a little girl terrified of never being enough. "What if I only ruin myself even more? What if I try to change and end up worse than I already am?"
"The people who humiliate you are the ones hurting you, not yourself," Superman said, his voice so certain that you almost believed him instantly. "Your true light doesn't need anyone else to shine. I can see it. It's still there, beneath all that pain, beneath every layer that was forced onto you without your permission. If nothing changes, then make it change. Do it so you can be free. And I promise you, I'll be there listening to your heartbeat, and every time you want to return to the top floor of a building, I'll always be there to take your hand. I won't let you fall."
You nodded because his words felt like a soothing balm over an open wound. You didn't know if you could trust completely, but at that moment, with him sitting beside you and the warmth of his presence surrounding you, you wanted to try.
And that was exactly what happened.
Superman didn't leave.
He walked you all the way to the entrance of your apartment building and waited until you had gone inside. Even though you thought he would leave afterward, he didn't. He stayed for hours on the rooftop of the building across the street, watching your window because he was afraid his words had been nothing more than empty promises and that you might change your mind.
Then, after drinking the tea he had recommended, you walked over to the window to close it before going to bed. You looked outside and saw him. He was sitting on the rooftop across from your building, absentmindedly swinging his feet back and forth. The moment he noticed you, he looked directly at you and immediately started making gestures. He stretched his arms out before bringing them together, mimicking someone closing a curtain. Then he pointed at his head while shaking it from side to side, as though he were saying, "Don't think bad thoughts." After that, he rested both hands against his cheek and tilted his head, pretending to be asleep, and you smiled because you understood exactly what he meant. "Go to sleep."
"Thank you, Superman," you whispered, even though you knew he couldn't possibly hear you from that far away.
Yet somehow, he understood immediately. He nodded with a warm smile and lifted one hand in greeting. You closed the curtain, and for a brief moment, the world didn't feel quite so dark.
Behind the suit, Clark couldn't stop thinking about you. About the way you cried. About how your hands trembled. About how your eyes searched desperately for something they couldn't find. He had witnessed suffering like yours countless times. He had seen so many people standing on the edge of the abyss, yet human sadness always hurt him in a way he could never fully explain. He couldn't save everyone—that much he knew—but there was something different about you. Maybe it was the honesty with which you had spoken, or maybe it was the way you had clung to him as though you truly wanted to keep living. As the wind swept through his cape, Clark silently promised himself that he would stay, that he wouldn't leave you alone, that he would remind you there was still hope, even on the grayest days.
Clark believed he would never see you again. Of course, he continued watching over you from afar, always making sure you were okay, but you never returned to the top floor of the building where he had found you that night. Sometimes he would hear your heartbeat quicken, and his own heart would tighten in fear, convinced that something terrible had happened. But every time he checked, it wasn't danger. You must have been doing exactly what he'd told you to do: walking away from everything that had been hurting you and searching for the fresh start you so desperately needed. Even though he never approached you, he left behind little signs that he was still there, small things he knew you would find. They were Superman stamps he had bought from a souvenir shop. Whenever he flew past your apartment, he would leave one on your window. If he saw your car parked somewhere, he would tuck one beneath the windshield wiper. Sometimes he left one on your apartment railing, certain you would notice it. He simply wanted you to know that you weren't alone, even if he couldn't always be by your side.
Two months passed that way, and your heartbeat became steady and calm, like the heartbeat of someone who was finally beginning to find peace. Clark smiled to himself the first time he noticed. He didn't know exactly what had changed in your life, but hearing your heart beat without the anguish he had felt that night was enough to make him feel at ease.
That morning at the office, Clark was simply following his usual routine. He was reviewing articles, taking notes, and doing what he always did when suddenly he heard a familiar heartbeat. It was the very heartbeat he had quietly followed over the past two months, the one he had learned to recognize among millions of others. When he looked up, his eyes widened in surprise.
You were walking beside Perry, the editor-in-chief, clutching your bag against your side with a notebook in your hand while listening carefully as he showed you around.
A smile spread across Clark's face before he could stop it.
What are you doing here?
He wondered as he watched you walk confidently through the newsroom, your hands still slightly clenched. They were the same hands he remembered trembling that night. You were nervous—he could tell from the way your fingers tightened—but there was something undeniably different about you.
Your hair had grown longer, and you wore it in a style that made you look calmer, more comfortable with yourself. You looked around the newsroom with quiet curiosity, like someone discovering an entirely new world. There wasn't a trace of tears in your eyes anymore. None of that deep sadness he had seen the night you met.
Perry introduced you to Lois, the Planet's most renowned reporter, and to Jimmy, the photographer who was always running from one assignment to the next.
Finally, your eyes met Clark's.
He felt his heart skip a beat.
"This is Clark Kent," Perry said.
You nodded with a small smile.
"It's nice to meet you," you said nervously, your voice sounding lighter than it had that night.
"She'll be joining the photography team. Your desk will be next to Jimmy's, so go ahead and get settled," Perry said.
You nodded again before following him toward the work area.
Clark followed you with his eyes, unable to stop himself from watching you. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. Had you sunk beneath the surface and fought your way back up for air, just like he'd told you to? Had you found the courage to walk away from everything that had been hurting you? Were you happy now, even if only a little? But he held himself back, because those weren't questions he had the right to ask. That night, you hadn't met Clark Kent—you had met Superman. And even though he was both, he didn't know whether he had the right to bring any of it up.
"It's her," Lois whispered to Jimmy.
Clark glanced at them curiously. Lois showed Jimmy something on her phone, and he leaned in for a closer look. It was a photograph of two people, followed by another picture of you.
"The photographer who sued her former company, right?" Jimmy said, staring at the screen with wide eyes. "I heard they kept stealing her photo credits just because she'd only been working there for a short time."
"And she also won the lawsuit for workplace abuse and harassment," Lois added, genuine respect evident in her voice. "If Perry hired her, she must be incredibly talented. Not everyone has the courage to stand up to a company like that and actually win."
Then she looked at Clark with a teasing grin.
"So, what's the matter, Smallville?" Lois asked. "Do you already have a crush on the new girl?"
Jimmy immediately burst into laughter the moment he saw the blush spreading across Clark's face.
Clark didn't answer. He simply lowered his gaze and tried to focus on his work.
But his mind was already somewhere else.
During your first month, Clark approached you professionally, only when work required it. Perry even paired the two of you on a few assignments, and Clark treated you with the same kindness he showed everyone else, careful not to make you uncomfortable.
But he watched you.
Of course he did.
He couldn't help noticing the way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you smiled.
Were you really happy now?
It was a question he found himself asking often, and part of him feared you were pretending—that beneath that newfound calm, the very same storm was still raging.
It was at the beginning of the second month that something changed.
Clark was standing in the office kitchenette with a cup of coffee in his hands when he saw you walk in to pour yourself a glass of water. He looked at you and swallowed hard, feeling his words catch in his throat.
"The coffee here is really bitter," Clark said.
The moment you looked at him, he realized how ridiculous that sounded.
"I mean... I know you've started drinking coffee, but... just in case... you forgot," he added awkwardly, his cheeks growing warm.
"I don't drink coffee, Clark," you replied with a smile. As you pulled a tea bag from your pocket, you added, "My psychiatrist thinks it's unhealthy for me and that it could interfere with my sleep schedule."
Your voice was calm, carrying a sense of peace he had never heard from you before.
"So you did end up seeing a psychiatrist," Clark said aloud.
When you looked at him in confusion, he immediately realized his mistake.
He cleared his throat and hurried to recover.
"I mean... it's good that you're taking care of your mental health. Everyone here believes that's important," he said.
You smiled warmly.
"Yeah," you replied, your eyes settling on the tea as you prepared it.
"Do you like working here?" Clark asked carefully, never taking his eyes off you. "I mean... does it feel comfortable for you? Are you... happy?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it, and he felt his heartbeat quicken.
"It's much better than my previous job," you admitted before looking him straight in the eyes. "I try to be happy every day. My work is... I don't know... I think I finally found where I belong."
Then you let out a soft laugh.
"Sorry. I ended up talking too much."
"Not at all," Clark answered immediately, his words coming out with far more enthusiasm than he'd intended.
You nodded, picked up your tea, and walked away.
But just before leaving the kitchenette, you stopped.
"I know you interview Superman," you said, looking back at him.
Clark felt the air leave his lungs.
"You probably see him pretty often. If you ever see him again... please tell him thank you. He probably doesn't remember me or even know who I am, but... I never got the chance to thank him properly that night. He truly gave me the hope I needed."
Then you walked away with your tea in hand, leaving Clark standing alone in the middle of the kitchenette, his heart racing.
Clark felt his chest fill with something warm, something he couldn't put into words.
Maybe Superman hadn't just saved a life that day.
Maybe Superman had made it possible for Clark to meet the woman who would never leave his mind.
As he looked at the place where you had been standing only moments before, he realized that it didn't matter if you had no idea who he really was.
He knew exactly who you were.
And somehow that was enough.
General tags: @hecticspice @garci7 @luftmenzch @rubixgsworld @sullyosully @purple-soldier @bulkanim @mangowhim @tvgirllover7 @jarnesbames108 @iangelofmusic @thychuvaluswife @justnori @aileen1237@sullyosully@3-smi @thebumbqueen @oceansstone @patroclusindeath @lockedlongings @wuluhwuhmaster @clarks-honey @mayflwrz@lunaryoongie@hikari-michiko @sunlightkent
the love list
You’ve been in love before, okay? And it’s… alright, you guess.
You’re sensitive. And you miss jokes, and you’re stuck wondering if it’s you who’s just not getting it. Love.
Enter Clark Kent — mutual friend recently turned boyfriend, sweetheart, and small-town farm boy. Also the man who’s making you question everything you know about love. Which isn’t a lot.
Better make a list.
[10k, fem!reader, no spoilers, one steamy scene & no other way to put this but you’re a weird girl <3 ]
edit: now with a prequel, but read in either order <3
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It’s not that you haven’t had boyfriends before.
‘Cos you have. Well, kind of.
Technically, if you’re counting (and you are), there was Danny. He was your boyfriend from second grade, which lasted all of 2 days.
It was tough from the beginning. He hadn’t been appreciative of the myriad of bugs you tried to present him with over the 48 hours of your relationship. He also didn’t want to hold your hand.
The final straw came when he claimed that a pile of worms was gross, not romantic.
You still didn’t get that. But you figured if getting mud between your fingers wasn’t some notion of romance, then perhaps romance wasn’t for you.
And after that, it had been a long while.
Teenage years had slogged by. You got to watch as your friends got boyfriends—then got to wonder what bizarre magic it was that turned them into hopeless fools.
Lost to reason. Endeared by things you could never quite understand.
You had asked about it, just once. Your best friend at the time, Kelsey, had fixed you with a look and said, “You’re thinking about it too much. It’s just, like, love. You get it or you don’t.”
Kelsey and you hadn’t been friends for much longer. But you still remembered what she said for years to come.
It hadn’t been all that confidence inspiring, if you were being completely honest. Since then, you’ve been wondering if you’re just one of those people who are never going to ‘get it’.
There seems to be a lot of things that people get that you don’t.
It’s not been for lack of trying though. During your early twenties, there had been that awful three weeks where you had downloaded a dating app.
It had been tricky. It didn’t seem all that romantic either. How are you supposed to sum yourself up in a couple of photos? How are you supposed to read tone through a text?
Besides, no matter what you seemed to do, all the conversations led back to the discussion of sex. Which didn’t seem very fitting, considering it was called a dating app. Were hookups considered dates? A mystery to you.
But - and you remember this clearly - it had been the day you’d deleted the app, that you had run into Darren in the hall of your apartment complex.
By anyone else’s standards, Darren is the only boyfriend you’ve had.
Except for now — because now, you have Clark.
And yeah, like you said, it’s not like you haven’t had a boyfriend before. It’s just that somehow, with Clark now, you’re noticing things.
New things. Different things.
You and Darren had dated for the better part of a year. The break-up had been amicable — at least you think so.
Getting a read on Darren’s emotions was one of those things that never really clicked - though, ironically, you could tell that it was one of the things that annoyed him so.
It was one of quite a few things, apparently.
According to your friends, you and Darren had a ‘fairy-tale’ meeting. Bumping into each other in the elevator, his coffee spilling down your sleeve, his apology and insistence at making it up to you.
You’d agreed before you’d even really realised it was a date.
It was easy to get wrapped up in it, in him. Darren was certainly nice to look at. He had this swoopy blonde hair and nice green eyes that reminded you of seaweed. He didn’t seem to like it when you’d told him that though.
The first date had been at a dive-bar you’d never seen before, a grimey place called The Last Resort.
It flaunted crimson lighting and sticky vinyl seats. You’d been too overwhelmed and tried to stem it with a margarita - overshooting it a bit with the booze. You hadn’t expected it when Darren tried to kiss you.
It had been awkward, his lips not quite meeting yours, combined with the squeak of surprise you’d let out. But Darren insisted it was cute.
He’d walked you home (but then again, he did live in your building) and asked you at your door, tall and nearly intimidating in the space of your doorway, if you’d like to do it again. You’d barely had a second to think it over, to analyse any emotion of the night, before an answer stumbled out.
It’s, like, love. You get it or you don’t get it. The only haunt from your old best friend - the only reason you really wondered if you were missing something.
Something that made you want to get it, even if you weren’t entirely sure what it was.
You’d told Darren yes.
After a couple of weeks together, you were confident. Kelsey had been right. You got it now.
Darren was sweet. He took you out — though, those nights frequently ended up at The Last Resort. Eventually, you learned to like it with time.
He’d invite you over and cook you dinner — but sometimes he’d forget that he hadn’t been grocery shopping and would just order in.
He’d kiss you like no else had - because no one else really had - and you’d let him convince you to be late to work. He’s peel off your clothes in a rush of frenzied passion, as though he couldn’t make himself wait. Darren made you feel special.
Love. You had been in love.
Correction: you think you had been in love.
It must’ve been, you’ve since concluded. You can’t really think of any other reason that it lasted that long if it wasn’t love.
In fact, you hadn’t really questioned it until now. Hadn’t had any reason to.
Until Clark.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Clark’s apartment is fancier than yours.
It’s all high-rise and sleek surfaces, with big windows that stretch from the roof to the ground. You like how fast the elevator goes and how it makes your stomach swoop.
Clutching the strap of your bag, you watch the numbers climb as it reaches his level. The path to his apartment is memorised, even though, technically, you and Clark have only officially been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.
You have your prior friendship to thank for that. A friend of a friend, that’s how you two had met.
Lois Lane is a fantastic reporter and a good friend. She could ask the right questions, make you uncomfortable for the sake of finding out the truth, but she was never mean. You liked that. It was rare in people.
You two had been friends — though you hadn’t been sure if she would use that word — back in your college days.
It was an accidental reunion on the streets of Metropolis that had her dragging you along to some Daily Planet happy-hour drinks after work. There you’d met Ron, Steve, Cat, Jimmy, and Clark.
This is where people say the rest is history.
The elevator dings and rocks to a halt. You step out, counting the doors on the way to Clark’s apartment. His door, like all the others, is a lime-green you’re not fond of. Clark always smiles when he catches you wrinkling your nose at it.
It’s as you come to a pause before the familiar lime-green, do you realise you haven’t called ahead.
You hadn’t been thinking of that — just that you got off work early, had to run an errand on this side of town, and were right by Clark’s building entirely by accident. You’d only been thinking of seeing Clark.
Most people don’t like it when you show up unannounced, you’ve found.
You get it, you suppose. You get that way when someone comes into the kitchen when you’re cooking - or when you’re wearing your headphones and people won’t stop trying to talk to you. It makes you itch.
You don’t mind so much when people come by and visit you, mainly because it doesn’t happen all that often.
It might be your apartment; a quaint shoebox, especially compared to Clark’s.
But Clark insists that he likes your apartment more, calls it homier. Which is nice, because Darren only ever called it tiny.
And Darren really didn’t like it when you called by without telling him in advance.
The first time you had, after getting a surprise bonus at work, had been the first time he’d ever raised his voice at you.
You’d stood in the hallway the whole time, because Darren never even undid the chain to let you in, and felt slimy with guilt and confusion for days after.
Just as you’re envisioning all the ways this unexpected visit might result in a similar disaster, the door swings inward. There stands your boyfriend.
He’s smiling - a good sign for your predicament - and it’s a good-surprised kind of smile. Like finding something you’d thought you’d lost kind of surprise.
Clark opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
“Hi. I- I’m sorry, I— wait, how did you…? I didn’t knock.”
“Hi,” Clark says back, still so smiley. He has one hand still on the door, the other against the doorframe. He looks very pretty. “What are you sorry for? I thought I heard you come down the hall, so I thought I’d just check.”
You wonder if he’s done that when it hasn’t been you — the thought of his head poking out, searching the hall for you, makes your stomach feel like it does when the elevator goes too fast. In a good way.
You shrug your shoulders in explanation for your apology. “I didn’t call ahead.”
To that, Clark grins a little wider. He steps back and opens the door further, to invite you in. “I’m glad you didn’t. I love surprises.”
Something preens within you at the idea of being a nice surprise.
He’s clearly back from work early — or he’s working from home, but still decided to put on his work clothes. No glasses today either.
He’s wearing his usual slacks and smart dress shoes. His white button-up, though, has been replaced with a tight-fitting ringer t-shirt. It hugs his arms well, snug across his biceps, and it's tight across his chest.
If he asked you what you thought of it, you’d probably sputter something stupid. And sinful.
He doesn’t ask thankfully, he just ushers you inside politely. You step through the door you’ve been through countless times, toe off your shoes, and stop at the edge of the kitchen. Clark closes the door behind you and you wonder what protocol for this is.
This is a new part you’re still getting used to.
Normally, you’d take yourself to the couch, the usual corner seat you’ve unofficially reserved. But, now that you think about it, you haven’t actually been here since Clark dropped the g-word.
(He hadn’t actually asked to be his girlfriend in that manner of words. It had been much more poetic, flowers bought, a nervous and murmured ‘Please be mine?’ that you still thought about before bed.)
A hand touches your shoulder lightly and you turn towards it, to Clark, with a tentative smile.
This is where you’re unsure. Are you just allowed to kiss him? Whenever you want? Darren hadn’t been like that.
Kisses to say hello? It feels preposterous. You’ll never stop if given the chance.
“Hi,” Clark says again, and all thoughts of Darren evaporate. His hand shifts, tracing the line of your shoulder slowly up to your face.
Then, he answers your endless unvoiced questions for you, his hand cradling your jaw tenderly. You can feel the callouses on his fingers, feel the goosebumps you get in response.
Clark guides your chin up, you hold your breath, and he kisses you, soft.
You savour the moment by keeping your eyes closed a little longer, even when his lips have left yours.
Clark’s smiling again when your eyes flutter open, grinning enough to show teeth. You’re mirroring it without even realising, eyes creased and cheeks already aching.
You can’t believe it’s been a few weeks and it still feels like that when you kiss him.
It’s an effort not to get worried about when that will stop.
Clark removes his hand slowly, eyes still roaming your face, but eventually he relents. He takes a step further into the apartment.
You follow, wrapping one hand around your wrist to subtly feel for your pulse. It’s rocketing. No wonder you feel so lightheaded.
“How’d you end up on this side of town?” he asks, taking a seat on the couch.
You realise where his dress shirt is now, picked up between his fingers as he unwinds a spool of thread. There’s a button on the table, matching the others on the shirt.
You take a seat next to him. Close, but not so close to be clingy. Clingy isn’t good, you’ve learned.
You pull your legs up and rest your head on your knees, watching as he hunts for a needle on the table.
“Work let me leave early,” you say. Clark locates the needle with a quiet aha! “I had to return that book I got from the library. I don’t know if you remember, but they only had it at this particular branch.”
“I remember,” Clark says warmly, his eyes glancing up at you. “You finished that book already?”
He’s talking and trying to thread the needle at the same time. It’s not going well. The needle looks tiny in his hand. You take pity on him after the third try.
“Yeah, I — hey, let me have a go,” you cut yourself off, holding out your hand. Clark smiles guiltily, carefully passing over the needle and thread in your waiting hand.
In one quick motion, thread wet on your tongue, you push it through the needle. Instead of handing it back, you hold out your hand again - and Clark dutifully puts the button in your palm, handing over the shirt at the same time. You readjust, putting your knees to the side and folding your feet up beneath you.
“It was good, then?”
You hm, eyes fixed on the button as you prepare the thread, lining everything up. You glance up, meeting Clark’s eye, and realise he’s still asking about the book.
“Oh. It was okay, I guess,” you shrug a little.
You bite the needle between your teeth so you can align the button with both thumbs. “It had one of those three-day loans so, y’know, I had to read it in three days.”
It’s one of those little rules that make more sense to you than to anyone else. Darren hated them - and you hated that he called them senseless. It was the exact opposite!
“Well, of course,” is all Clark says. Another flash of your eyes up to his face tells you that, surprisingly, he’s not making fun of you. “I should get you to read some of my articles if you can read all that so quickly.”
For some reason, that makes your face burn. You focus on jabbing the needle through the fabric in precise motions to distract yourself.
“Why would you want me to do that?”
“Why not?” Clark responds. “I trust your opinion.”
The burn in your face gets worse. You pull the needle through for the final time and tug the thread taut til it snaps.
Just to check - and to give yourself a moment - you run your fingers over the button to check. Secure and neat.
“Here you go.” You pass it back. The needle and thread go back on the table.
Clark takes the shirt, but doesn’t move to do anything else. You lift your eyes to his face and realise he’s waiting for your answer.
“I don’t think I’d be very good at it.” You admit. He shrugs, as if to say maybe.
“We won’t know til you try,” he says. Then he kindly backs off, turning his attention to the shirt.
He does just as you had, running his fingers over the newly secured button, but with a much more enthusiastic reaction.
“Holy cow, this is—” He squints at it. “It’s so neat!”
Clark looks up at you, eyes somehow both wide and accusatory. “You didn’t tell me you could sew.”
Technically, you can’t. You can do little things like buttons and hems—but the way Clark’s smoothing his hands over the fabric, you’d think you’ve given him a brand new shirt, made from scratch.
You say sheepishly, “It’s just a button.”
Suddenly, the shirt is tossed to the side and Clark’s reaching for you - his large hands curl around your thighs, just above the knee, and he pulls you across the couch with a surprising strength. You slide forward, almost into his lap.
“Clark!” You laugh, hands on his collarbones to stop yourself from falling into his chest.
Your protest goes unnoticed - or ignored - as Clark’s hands move up, circling around your waist and pulling you even closer. You are in his lap now, with his big arms around you and his face so close. God, it’s a nice one, you can’t help but think.
He’s smiling at you and you have no idea what to do with your hands.
“Sorry,” Clark says, not sounding very apologetic at all. “It’s just, you’re so full of surprises. I love getting to learn new things about you.”
One hand on your back is tracing up and down lightly. You feel like you’ve accidentally swallowed a bag of pop rocks.
“A lot of people can sew.” You say. You shift a bit on his lap, hoping you aren’t making him uncomfortable and his hands loosen to let you do so - but the moment he realises you’re not moving off, he brings you in closer.
“I know,” he says, hand resuming its drift up and down your back. “A lot of people aren’t you though.”
His eyes roam your face, his mouth curled into a smile so sweet, it’s devastating.
Your hands at his collarbones finally unfurl as you let yourself relax a little more into him, pulse still racing. Your nerves never really leave around Clark.
“What are you thinking about?”
You’re not expecting the question - and answer more truthfully than usual. “How you still make me nervous.”
You expect Clark to laugh, but he doesn’t. His brows knit together, a sketch of concern on his face.
“In a good way?”
You weren’t before, but, abruptly, you’re concerned that Clark might think otherwise.
Darren certainly complained that all your annoyances came out of nowhere. History tells you you’re not the best communicator.
“Yes,” You nod severely. You’re clinging a little tighter to his neck now, worriedly. “It’s good. You’ve never made me bad-nervous.”
“Whew,” Clark says. “You’ve never made me bad-nervous either.”
You haven’t thought about that before. The idea of Clark being nervous is laughable.
Awkward? Yes. But he’s so sure in his ideas, in his motions. It’s why it surprised you that much more when he asked you on that first date.
Brow furrowed, you ask, “I don’t make you nervous, do I?”
In answer, Clark frees one of his hands and brings it between you. Gently, he places it atop one of your own, cradling it, and he drags it from his neck down to his chest.
He holds it over his heart.
“Feel that?”
You can, just lightly. There’s a thumping, but you can’t quite tell if it’s faster than usual - not unless you sit still for 15 seconds and count the beats.
“It would be much more efficient to feel the pulse on your neck.” You inform him.
Clark chuckles, smiling somewhat shyly. “That’s-well, uh, I mean, where’s the romance in that?”
Genuinely perplexed, your brow creases again. All of this is romantic to you - being in his lap, his hands on your back.
It certainly feels more intimate than any kind of cuddling you did with Darren—though, he self-proclaimed himself ‘not a cuddler’.
“Isn’t it?” You ask.
To test the theory, you slip your hand out from under Clark’s.
He lets you maneuver him, picking up his hand and moving his two front fingers together, up to your neck. You push them lightly against your jugular, knowing your rabbiting pulse must be thrumming against his fingers.
Clark looks at you, his eyes fixated on your hand still holding his, and swallows.
His ears have gotten redder. He lifts his gaze to your face, “I stand corrected.”
You release his hand with your own shy smile and before you can back out, you reach for his neck, two fingers out. He lets you, chin even shifting up to give you more space.
His skin is warm, with a little scratch from his shadow - he’ll be due for a shave soon. You haven’t gotten brave enough to tell him that you quite like stubble just yet.
Fingertips tracing, you find his pulse point.
Staring at the hollow of his throat, you don’t even need to count to 15 to feel his pulse is faster than normal. He’s not lying. You do make him nervous.
You’re not quite sure why it seemed so impossible until right this moment.
Flicking your gaze up to meet his, you find Clark already watching you. Like his ears, a lovely pink colour has dusted across the tops of his cheeks - it takes a second to realise it’s a blush. He’s blushing.
Clark clears his throat. His voice sounds raspier when he asks, “Believe me now?”
With his heartbeat against your fingers, you have no choice but to. Though the idea it’s just from two fingers is positivity delirious.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“No, you didn’t.” He agrees.
He straightens up on the couch, his hand on your lower back keeping you steady as his face dips closer to yours. You hold your breath instinctively - and swear you see the ghost of a smile cross his lips - then, he’s kissing you.
It’s short. He doesn’t linger, though the look in his eyes tells you he might want to.
Given you're on his lap, hand still pressed to his neck, you try to convince yourself it’s probably a good thing.
Just one kiss is enough to inspire more. There’s no other word than ravenous—which is highly concerning since you had never felt that way with Darren.
You shelve the thought of sinking your teeth into Clark’s shoulder far, far away.
And then mentally make a note to check and see if you’ve had any bites from rabid animals recently. That would at least explain the strange urges.
Clark breaks the silence, “Thank you for mending my shirt.”
He reaches for it, tugging it between your bodies. He thumbs over the newly fixed button, almost as if he’s marvelling at it.
His sincerity mystifies you. It’s like nothing you’re used to.
Having read a dozen articles on new relationships (your best attempt at research, inspired after your first date with Clark), you know definitively that bringing up an ex is the worst thing you can do.
It’s the first thing on the lists: THE TOP TEN THINGS WOMEN DO WRONG, as Cosmopolitan had titled it.
1: Bringing up their ex. Always bright red, meaning danger!
That’s how things work in nature at least, like poison dart-frogs. You know better than to lick a poison dart-frog and you apply the same knowledge here.
No bringing up exes. You don’t want to bring up your ex.
Worse, you don’t want Clark to bring up any exes.
But you can’t drop it - the thought caught in your mind like a fly that can’t find the open window, going round and round, louder and louder.
You got it. The love thing.
It had been an open and shut case with Darren, one that had left you mildly dissuaded from it in the future. Yeah, yeah, love, you’ve been in — but it had been like, sharing a sundae.
Except, you had a straw and Darren had a spoon - and the flavour was chocolate, which you didn’t like, and you only got some if it melted before Darren ate it all.
…Not your most astute metaphor, you’ll admit.
Point is, with Clark, you’re worried you were so focused on getting it, that you actually… didn’t.
Point is, if you were in love with Darren, then you have no idea what you’re doing with Clark.
Point is, that’s incredibly fucking scary.
You best start keeping notes.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
In your notebook, you write he thanked me for mending his shirt.
You’re not sure exactly what the list is yet.
Notes on the Clark Kent boyfriend experience? A step-by-step guide to the differences between boyfriends?
Neither of those seem right. You end up printing a ? at the top of the page and deem that sufficient. Then after a moment of consideration, you add the word love before it so it ends up reading: love ?
You read the first line you’ve written again. It’s the most concise way to sum up what had stuck out to you about that day — not the mending, but the sincerity in his thank you. The excitement over just a button.
If you didn’t know Clark to be so earnest, you’d think it might be one of those sarcastic jokes.
Sometimes, people play them on you — an exaggerated reaction that you’re supposed to know actually means the opposite.
But only sometimes. You’re not particularly good at cottoning on in the moment.
Luckily for you, Clark isn’t the sarcastic type. You like that he’s honest.
The first line in your notebook doesn’t stay lonely for long. The next time you add to your notebook, it’s your eighth official date together, just a few days after.
Clark had secured some swanky museum tickets, a perk offered from his job, as he told you over the phone. He’d called while still at work, the telephone lines ringing and an office murmur in the background.
It made you think he got the tickets and called you right away. Your stomach had done the elevator thing again, all swoopy and good-nervous.
The shelved thought of biting his shoulder made a fierce reappearance and you had to fight to focus on Clark’s words, not just his voice.
“They have a new butterfly exhibition, that’s what the tickets are for, and I thought of you. I thought we could, uh, go. My treat. I mean, obviously, I’ve already got the tickets…” He had trailed off awkwardly. It’s part of what makes you like him, his awkwardness. It’s so very Clark.
“What do you think?”
You answered candidly, “I love the museum.”
You hope the one he’s talking about has a mineral room.
“You do?” He’d sounded truly delighted to find that out. “That’s great, I—mean, me too. So we’ll go?”
You remember frowning at that, like he thought you might not want to - very much untrue. “Yes. I like going places with you.”
Following that had been a sharp inhale, then a stuttered cough, which made you pull the phone back with a cringe at the volume.
“Sorry, that was— something, my throat.” His voice had pitched up a bit. “So, tomorrow? Friday? It’ll be less busy, but we could do Saturday if you don’t want to go after work.”
“I like Friday.”
Then, far off, someone else’s voice had filtered through the phone. A coworker, jeering loudly enough for you to hear—“Clark, stop twirling the cord like you’re on the phone with your gir— oh my god, you are, aren’t you?”
“I have to go now.” Clark had said hastily, voice suddenly louder, like his mouth was closer to the receiver. “I’ll come by your place, Friday, 6pm. It’s an evening exhibit. Have a good day!”
Then the phone had hung up.
Then you were here, the next day, walking to the museum with Clark beside you.
This afternoon, you had been mulling over whether to call it a date or not.
Clark hadn’t actually said the words — it’s a date — not like how he had when he first asked you, over a month ago now. That had been clear.
This feels like murky ground. Do you still even call them dates after you start dating? Darren didn’t.
As you two walk, hand in hand, you decide to ask, “Is this a date?”
Clark jolts to a halt on the sidewalk and with your hands joined, you inadvertently come to a stop too. Perplexed, you look back at him, having to tilt your head up.
Fixed on you, his eyes are wide behind his glasses, something like concern pulling his brows together. It reminds you for all the world of a lost baby rabbit. His nose even twitches too.
You don’t like how upset he suddenly looks.
“What?” he says, sounding crushed. His fingers shift in yours. “I-I mean, I think so. I would- do you not think so?”
You also don’t like how his hand is loosening in yours, so you grip it tighter and shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know if you still call them dates once you start dating. You didn’t call it one. That’s why I asked.”
That makes Clark sigh loudly in relief. His shoulders, which have hiked up to his ears, sink down like a slowly deflating balloon.
He doesn’t look upset anymore, which is good. In fact, he’s looking at you much more intensely, a smile gracing his mouth.
He grips your hand back with the same fervor as before and starts you both walking again. “Yes, this is a date.”
You like that he answers your questions without poking fun at you for asking them.
You twist his hand over and start counting the freckles on the back absentmindedly.
“When is it a date and when is it just hanging out?”
You don’t look up, so you miss the affectionate glance Clark steals. He gives a hum in thought. He has 11 freckles on his left hand.
The museum peeks out, just up ahead. Something wilts in you. You wish you had another block to go, to keep walking with him. Then you could count the freckles on his other hand and see if they match.
“I think when you go out together, like this—” Clark finally answers, gesturing with your joined hands to the museum as you approach. “—it’s a date. Just you and I. I invited you out.”
“You invite me over,” you point out.
“True.” Clark smiles at you. “Maybe dates are the special occasions then.”
Your mouth twists. You don’t like that answer. Namely because it feels like a special occasion every time Clark calls, or invites you, or holds your hand, or kisses you.
“It’s always a special occasion,” you say pointedly, frowning a bit in your confusion. “You’re the special. Everything else is just an occasion.”
You’ve arrived at the doors to the museum. There’s a little line. Clark has the tickets in his pockets.
You pause slightly further back to let him retrieve them — you know you hate having to get things out in a rush — but he doesn’t reach for his pocket.
You glance up at him, concerned. He’s turned that brilliant shade of red again.
“Clark?”
“Hm?” He clears his throat, long lashes batting wildly as he blinks rapidly. You wonder if you should tell him you can’t blink away a blush - you know because you’ve tried.
“Tickets?” You ask a bit more weakly. Maybe he’s experienced a sudden change of heart about the museum - or you.
“Yes!” He exclaims, banishing that last thought swiftly. He shoves one hand in his pocket and pulls them out, brandishing them like a winning lottery ticket. “They’re here, I have them.”
The sign carved into stone, above the entrance way, reads METROPOLIS OBSERVATORY & SCIENCE CENTRE. It explains why it would be open for the evening - star-gazing is trickier during the daytime, you’d imagine.
Clark lets go of your hand to hand over the tickets, which get punched, handed back, and pocketed again. You make a note to ask for the keepsake later — you like things people often call junk.
He doesn’t reach for your hand again, instead resting his on the small of your back, ushering you through the doors.
The interior opens wide, with several paths splitting off from the entrance. There’s large, bright butterfly stickers on the ground leading to the right, accompanied by flourishing arrows. You can see into the beginning of the exhibit, people milling around already.
There’s also signs posted on a column, various arrows assigned to different paths. One reads Observatory, another Botanical Hall, and below it, Mineral Room, with a crystal decorated sign pointing to the left.
You perk up in interest and stop at the intersection of paths. “Can we see the mineral room, please?”
“The mineral…? You don’t want to see the butterflies?” Clark seems surprised.
That makes you pause, worried. You didn’t think about this — will he be upset if you say you want to look at rocks more than the butterflies?
You feel for your wrist, fingers pressing to your pulse. An old habit. You’re relieved to find your heartbeat steady.
Still, an old argument tickles at the back of your neck, Darren’s frustrated voice creeping in, and you force yourself not to physically bat the bad feeling away.
Biting your cheek, you realise you should’ve said something on the phone to begin with.
Now you’ve made Clark believe one thing, when you meant another. He invited you to see the butterflies. He didn’t mention going to the mineral room. You’re probably being demanding.
“If you want to,” you say as evenly as you can.
You’re not very believable. Clark sees straight through it, and even so, you’re not even aware that your body language gives you away, feet pointed to the left.
Never mind the fact you’re also a terrible liar - or the fact he can hear the skip in your heartbeat.
You wait for his sigh.
His hand on your back slips forward and he holds it out, palm up. You frown at it, then look up at him.
“I want to do what you want to do,” he says earnestly. “Let’s look at the minerals.”
He nudges his glasses up with his spare hand and his gaze holds such a softness that eye contact seems more unbearable than usual. The familiar burn in your face returns.
You look at your shoes—but not before you put your hand back in his.
You’re the only two in the mineral room, which is a treat all in itself. It’s quiet. You can keep Clark closer than usual.
He listens dutifully when you rattle off about pleochroism and birefringence — still keeping that intense warmth in his stare that you can’t handle for long. He doesn’t stop smiling the whole time. Neither do you, given the ache in your face.
By the carbonates, he kisses you, slow and sweet.
His glasses fog up and his blush makes an appearance. You feel like you’re having your own chemical reaction in your chest, fondness crystallising in the valves of your heart.
And when you ask if he minds that you didn’t get to see the butterflies at all, you believe him when he says not in the slightest.
You add, he asked me questions about rocks, to the list after he walks you home.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
After one particular morning, you add three lines in one go.
It had started the night before technically, when Clark had offered to come over to yours for the night. Tame enough overall, but… surprising.
Because, well, you were already at his apartment.
The thing is, you really like your own bed - though Clark’s is a close second.
And it’s just, you get finicky about these things —and last night, it had been the yoghurt you bought for tomorrow's breakfast, already in your fridge.
It makes you itch when you mess up the flow you have planned. But it didn’t mean you didn’t want to spend the night with Clark either.
Darren used to say you were punishing him when you went home like this. He’d never really believed you when you said there was nothing wrong — if there’s nothing wrong, then why are you going home?
Darren also didn’t like it when you were truthful. He said he did. Just be honest with me.
Yet, when you were — telling him his sheets were too scratchy, that his incense made your head too woozy, and his yoghurt brand was the one you hated — it always seemed to backfire. You told him anyway, because he asked.
One time, he’d called you a tease, spitting out the word. You didn’t get what you were teasing, but didn’t like how it felt either way.
To avoid this, you had made sure to set the precedent with Clark.
You stay over, but only with ample warning and a well-packed bag. You bring your own toothpaste, pillowcase, and a tiny Kermit that stays hidden in your bag - there for reassurance mainly. Clark never lights any smelly candles and his sheets are plenty soft enough for you.
Tonight, you find the precedent isn’t needed. Saturday night, a lazy afternoon spent together, and your boyfriend makes no protest beyond an adorable pout when you start to pack up to leave.
“I wish you could stay the night.” Clark murmurs.
It doesn’t sound like a guilt trip - it sounds like i miss you, before you’ve even gone.
He looks devastatingly comfy, relaxed beside you on the couch, lounging in his casual clothes. His hair is messier than usual.
You want to bury your hands in it, and let him kiss you over and over again, like he’s been prone to doing recently.
It’s becoming a serious hazard for your heart—so much, you’ve been thinking of informing your doctor. This much tachycardia can’t be healthy.
You remember it’s impolite to stare.
“I don’t have my things.” You remind him.
Clark twists his mouth, sighing a bit. “I know. I just like it when we sleep in the same bed.”
“I do too,” you say truthfully as you lace your shoes, moving slower than necessary. You glance back up.
Something in Clark’s open expression pulls the explanation off your tongue. “I just, it’s- I have my yoghurt. I got it for tomorrow.”
It sounds silly when you say it aloud. You try not to cringe so visibly.
“Wait, you’re going home just to go home?” Clark perks up, as if this is good news. “Not because you’re sick of me?”
Distress must show on your face because he hastily adds, “I’m kidding. I know you’re not.” Then, before you can worry about that too much, “Can I come with you? Spend the night?”
You haven’t even considered that he might want to.
“You’re already home, though.”
You realise that might sound like you don’t want him to and your hands clench up tightly.
Thankfully, Clark only shrugs and smiles, “Well, I was already going to walk you home.”
Relaxing, your hands unfurl. He’s being sincere. He wants to come over and spend the night - and he doesn’t mind if it’s at yours, instead of his.
Something in your chest aches tenderly and without thinking, you abandon your shoes and burst across the couch to Clark.
Surprised, he still catches you, arms cushioning your fall against him, but he isn’t prepared enough for your kiss. It catches him off guard and your teeth knock together from the force.
“Sorry,” you breathe, not that sorry at all. You’re gripping his shirt in your hands like you’re worried he might slip away — or worse, retract his offer to come over. “Yes, come over. I really want you to.”
Clark, still reeling from your kiss, looks a bit starry-eyed as he fixes his glasses that you’ve knocked askew.
But he’s smiling and he’s smiling at you. You can’t resist another kiss. You adore the little hum he makes in response.
It’s as though its set you off for the evening— Clark quickly packs a small bag, you kiss him; he grabs both your coats, you kiss him; he locks his door and you wrap yourself around his arm, pressing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.
He’s paying attention to locking the door and you can’t quite reach, so you kiss his jaw instead. Clark flushes hotly, but he’s still smiling. You still can’t believe he wants to come over.
It’s a highly uneffective way to travel, wrapped up in each other as you walk the blocks to your own apartment.
It’s a warmer night. The heat worsens when the doorman at your building clears his throat obnoxiously, making it clear your lovey dovey behaviour has an unwilling audience. It makes Clark fluster wildly, sputtering out a polite apology.
You drag him to the elevator in the midst of his, “My apologies, sir-!” so you can kiss him again, away from prying eyes.
Clark looks a little debauched against the elevator wall. You could probably roast marshmallows over his bright red face. His hands hover over your sides, flexing, but not touching.
“You—” He starts, a little out of breath. “What’s- I mean, I really don’t mind, but you’re, uh, well, eager tonight.”
“Bad?” Your voice dips into worry, fast.
“No!” Clark quickly amends. His hands finally find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you in before you even realise you’d been retracting. “It’s just a, uh, a bit of surprise.”
It’s true. To begin with, you were very shy with affection - your first kiss so sweet, Clark remembers your lips trembling.
Like how you hold your breath subconsciously every time he kisses you first. A tiny sharp inhale. Clark could write a full-length feature, worthy of the Daily Planet front page, on how much he adores it.
You remind him, “You like surprises.”
Clark softens at the memory you’re referring to, eyes shining in affection. “I do.”
“You like it when I surprise you?” You check.
“That I really like.” He’s grinning now, and he’s so handsome that you don’t know what to do with yourself. Kiss him? Bite him? Live in his dimples? He’s so nice to you in a way Darren never was.
The elevator dings, opening to your floor.
You tumble out together, with Clark still attempting to maintain a sense of manners. He straightens his rumpled coat with one hand, the other occupied by yours.
You lead him to your door, then through it.
Shoes toed off, you flip on the lights, then wince at their harshness. Clark slips off his shoes and gives your hand a squeeze before he drops it, moving past you. He knows the path to the myriad of lamps about your place.
As he turns them on, one by one, he has to duck to avoid the low-hanging living room light. It’s a relief to turn off the big overhead light.
“Let me put this in your room, alright?” he says, gesturing with his bag in hand, before disappearing into your bedroom.
Something compels you to follow and you watch as he turns on the lamp on your bedside too, coating the room in a soft amber. That now all-too familiar rabidness runs rampant beneath your skin.
“Clark?” Your soft voice catches his attention, and he turns, mid-way through shucking off his coat.
He told you once that you could ask him anything.
“Can you kiss me again?”
Something crosses his face, his eyes a little wider. He swallows, hard, and his motions falter momentarily. Finally, he wrangles his coat off and tosses it onto his bag and then he reaches for you.
“Y-Yeah, c’mere,” he says. In the same motion, you’re in his arms and he’s sat back on your sheets, pulling you both onto the bed. “Anything you want, honey.”
Still, he doesn’t move to kiss you just yet.
You’re adjusting yourself, getting comfortable in his lap, and you’re still wearing your coat. You move to shrug out of it and Clark helps, his hands guiding it off your shoulders.
It’s banished to sit with his coat. The whir of the air-conditioner unit permeates the air and you can feel the softness of your sheets where your knees meet the bed.
A hint of Clark’s cologne makes your nose twitch. It smells nice, musky and warm. It might be your new favourite scent.
You’re suddenly too nervous to look him in the eye, so you study the rest of his face. You’ve reddened his lips with your kisses, which you feel quite guilty about. Further up, you follow the line of his brow. You can’t resist tracing along one with your finger softly.
“You’ve got good eyebrows.” you say, closer to a whisper.
Clark’s grip on your waist tightens, so gentle that you’re not sure if he’s aware he’s done it. He swallows thickly and you remove your hand, moving it to rest over his throat.
“You think so?”
You can feel the timbre of his voice under your fingertips when he speaks and it makes you grin. You nod in response to his question too, finally brave enough to meet his gaze.
Blue eyes meet yours.
Then, sweeping your hair back from your face, he kisses you.
The first kiss is slow, easy. Like the kiss he gives you when saying hello. Your hands find their place around his neck, jittery and twitching in your excitement.
Clark’s hands on your waist shift, his arms wrapping around you like a hug. His next kiss, you sink into. You’re helpless to do anything but.
He dedicates himself to the curve of your mouth, memorising it with kiss after kiss after kiss.
It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch the collar of his shirt, a soft, sweet noise slipping out your throat.
It breaks the kiss. Clark exhales hard, his nose drawing a line down your cheek, along your jaw. He kisses as he goes, delicate little presses of affection.
He hovers at your neck, “May I?”
He sounds a bit wrecked, voice rougher and unlike himself. You nod, a minuscule motion, and clutch his collar tighter.
There's heat on your neck, a warning kiss bestowed. Then his lips begin to mouth softly at the warm skin of your neck, with what can only be described as a devoted reverence.
You melt in his lap.
Clark’s arms around you keep you close as your head tilts back, letting him in. His glasses nudge against your jaw as he teeth scrape your neck.
You’re so close to him—and yet not close enough. You want to crawl into his skin. You’re too worked up to know if that’s an appropriate thing to tell your boyfriend.
It’s no mind; with Clark’s lips on your neck, you’re not capable of any words.
You’re not capable of anything beyond these cute hiccuping gasps that will follow Clark for weeks. He feels insatiable, like a livewire. He’s attuned to everything you.
It’s why he pulls back, one hand stroking up your spine.
“You’re shaking,” he says, voice low.
You are—trembling slightly in his hold.
You hadn’t noticed, the same way you hadn’t clocked your own laboured breathing. It’s like you’re skipping a breath by accident, the way you do when you’re overwhelmed.
Unclenching your fingers from his crumpled collar, you put two fingers to your pulse point. It’s still warm from Clark’s mouth and beneath the skin, your pulse rabbits wildly.
“I-” Your mouth is unbearably dry. “I promise I’m enjoying it.”
Even your voice is shaky, though your assurance isn’t. You are, you are. You’re not shaking because you’re scared of this, of him. It's just a lot.
“I know.” Clark says calmly, though his eyes scour your face with a tinge of worry. His hand hasn’t ceased its soothing up and down your back. “I know, I—”
“It’s not you,” you say, desperate to steal the worry from him. “Well, it is you, but it’s not, like, you—that sounds stupid. It’s, uh, me, it’s a me thing. I— you haven’t done anything wrong, please.”
“Okay,” he says, which makes you feel better, because it means he believes you. “Neither have you. Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel like everything’s dialled to eleven.”
That is sort of what this feels like—like you’re a spring loaded too tightly.
The rich smell of his cologne, the taut feel of his firm shoulders, the heat of his beautiful mouth - all of it urges on that fervent feeling that skitters under your skin. You can’t process it all at once.
You close your eyes.
Despite how you really don’t want to, you draw back your hand from his neck, curling your nails so they bite into your palms. Clark’s hand against your spine pauses, pressed against your lower back. He holds it there, and waits, patient.
It doesn’t take long to ready yourself — only a few moments — and when you finger your pulse, it’s steadier. Eyes creasing open, you find Clark watching you closely.
The apology nearly falls off your tongue out of habit. Clark gets there first.
“Please don’t apologise,” He pleads.
His eyes scan across your face, looking for any other sign to worry, but it’s needless. He can hear your heartbeat, can follow the now steady rhythm of it.
He knows you - and more than that, he trusts you. He trusts you’ll tell him if something is wrong, even if sometimes you need a nudge. He doesn’t need any apologies for needing a moment.
Clark kisses the next apology out of your mouth and it dissolves on your tongue.
It’s chaste, this kiss. While he’s still close, breath fanning across your face, he murmurs, “Tell me if you need another one,” like this wasn’t even a hiccup to him.
You kiss him so fiercely, you bite his lip. Clark barely registers the twinge of pain, only the enthusiasm. He aches.
Without breaking the kiss, he leans back on your sheets, and tugs you down with him. His big hands slide to hold your hips, grip still gentle. The buzzing under your skin gets louder.
You pull back, hands still moving up, and you tentatively, carefully, slide his glasses from his face.
Clark lets you, hands unmoving from their place, his gaze still hopelessly fixed on you. His lashes are long, his eyes creased from his smile. He’s so handsome.
He looks in love, you think to yourself.
You bury the thought for later - and your hands in his hair, like you’ve been wanting to do all night.
You only need one other breather that night. One break from the sensations—when his long, careful fingers sink into you and have you whimpering into his neck, grasping his shoulders tightly. His breath shudders, but he talks you through it, patient and unwavering.
You fall asleep, sated, skin to skin, and dream of nothing.
In the morning, you’re roused by the smell of fresh coffee. The sheets beside you are empty and you follow suit.
Golden light paints the kitchen. Bathed in it, Clark looks sleep-rumpled and lovely.
You drink your coffee together, your ankles linked together beneath your table. It looks extra tiny with Clark’s large frame sitting at it.
He does the dishes, no asking or prompting from you, so perfectly midwestern of him. He only nearly drops one of your mugs when you kiss his shoulder blade in thank you.
You watch him, in between getting yourself dressed, and Clark blushes scarlet when you pass him with no pants on to retrieve something from your bag - which makes no sense, considering you were wearing much less the night before.
It’s almost like those days before he had asked you out—quick glances that make you both smile, eyes dancing away. You have to remind yourself you’re allowed to look now.
It’s easy. So easy, it’s scary.
The buried thought from last night rises to the surface. Whether you want it or not, Clark Kent is single-handedly rewriting every idea you ever had about love.
That old fear twinges in you— you get it or you don’t.
You decide you don’t mind if you were wrong with Darren, if it means you get it this time — get it and get to keep it.
When he’s gone, in your notebook, you write he came over to my place - which is almost too astute, but you know what it means.
It’s not about the yoghurt, or the bed, or anything else. It’s the complete simpleness of how it had panned out. You can’t stay the night and he wants to see you, so he makes the effort.
Below it, you write he likes doing the dishes.
Then, after a moment, you cross it out. Your brows knit together. No, it wasn’t that that was different to Darren. It takes another moment to put your finger on it.
You write he likes to help. With more thought, you tack on another word, so it reads he likes to help me.
The last one makes your face burn so much you nearly get too shy to put it down on paper. You write it all the same; he takes his time with me.
You really, really hope you get it this time.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The love list isn’t meant to be seen by anyone’s eyes but your own.
And to be clear, he didn’t mean to see it.
Clark is not a snoop. He believes strongly that privacy is a human right that everyone deserves to have respected. Even amongst relationships, not every thought needs to be shared. Not every secret.
He still has his big blue secret, after all.
You have… this list.
He hadn’t meant to see it, truly. But given how you’d left your notebook open on your kitchen table, and how you knew he was here, it hadn’t clocked as something you might want to hide.
You disappear after letting him into your apartment and Clark can trace you to your bedroom, his hearing tuned to your heartbeat. In the evening kitchen air, your perfume lingers. Your notebook is left on the table, open.
And Clark just… glances at it.
He doesn’t even know what it is.
He’s not so presumptuous to think it’s about him to begin with — there are no names on the paper. But, given its title, if it’s about love, he quietly hopes it’s about him.
Though, there is a question mark attached. That feels less good.
Especially as he reads the line about rocks and questions, which is as telling as it gets - Clark is pretty sure he’s the only one taking you to museums and kissing you in the mineral rooms. He really hopes he is.
It’s as he skims over the line he takes his time with me and realises what that means, he knows he should really stop reading.
Unable to help it, his cheeks bloom bright red. But beneath his slight embarrassment, something glows proudly.
These are good things. He’s making you happy.
But… then, why the list?
“—did I tell you about how when I was going by Fran’s the other day, there was this shirt in the window- you know the shop across from—”
You stop speaking and walking in the same second.
Clark’s head snaps up and he watches your eyes dart between him and the notebook in rapid succession, hears your pulse tick up in pace. The embarrassment from earlier flourishes up again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- it was out.” He wasn’t sure before, but now he knows this wasn’t meant for his eyes. Gosh, he’s such a jerk. “I only glanced, I promise.”
He pulls at his collar, which suddenly feels too tight. You won’t meet his eye and Clark can see the tell-tale sign of your nervousness—your fingers pressing to your wrist, taking your pulse.
Awfulness coats over him. But despite that, you only give a shrug and murmur, “It’s okay. It’s not, like, bad. I was just- it was just to help me.”
Clark swallows. “Help you?”
You haven’t made a move to close the notebook or to approach him. He can still read the lines if he glances over - and he can’t ignore the itch to understand it. Help you with what?
You shrug again, now picking at your fingertips. You still won’t look at him.
“Just,” You exhale through your nose, a stressed sigh, and Clark wants to close the space between you. “When you… did something I didn’t get—or, just- like I know you’re not supposed to bring up exes, or- or compare, but it was only— Darren didn’t—”
You make a frustrated noise, hands clenching up tight, your sentence abandoned. Clark’s heart aches, more at your frustration than the mention of your last boyfriend, Darren.
He doesn’t know a lot. Has never met the guy. What he does know is that Lois wasn’t a huge fan, which meant he probably wasn’t the most stellar of partners. He trusts her judgement a lot.
Clark tries not to judge people he’s never met — but as your words sink in, when you did something I didn’t get, and he looks at the list again, something clicks.
he thanked me for mending his shirt, he came over to my place, he asked me questions about rocks.
They’re hardly impressive acts of love.
Clark likes to think he’s done a good job at wooing you, but none of what he’d consider the most romantic is on the list. None of the carefully crafted date ideas, none of the meticulously picked gifts.
It’s the little things. The quiet acts of love, of patience.
It’s evening, the sunset bleeding into the horizon, but Clark suddenly feels like he’s doused in yellow sun. Relief twines with his endearment, almost feverish with how it stirs up in his chest.
The next thought bleeds into fact with ease; he’s in love with you. Irrevocably. Entirely.
And with one final glimpse at your notebook, Clark knows exactly how to tell you.
For right now though, you’re still staring at the ground. Still picking at your fingertips in frustration, one ankle rolling to the side in a fidget.
You’re not worried about the list, he realises, you’re worried about him.
That just won’t do.
He crosses the room in two quick strides. It forces your head up in surprise and it’s the perfect opportunity to cup your face. Clark cradles your jaw, hears the inhale and smiles, before he kisses you.
He kisses you sweet, short. Then kisses, again and again. He can only hope he’s kissing away the frustration, the doubt, the unease.
There’s a brief moment where he worries he’s overwhelming you, your breath still stuttering between kisses — but your hands rise to hold his wrists, keeping him in place. He knows you well enough to know that means more, please.
He indulges you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It is, to him.
You’re leaning into him and Clark takes the weight effortlessly. He’s messing up your lipstick undoubtedly, which he'll feel bad about later.
“We’ll be late if we stay much longer,” he says, reluctantly breaking the kiss.
You’re both breathing heavy. Clark studies the plush of your lip, while your eyes stay closed - which only makes you all that more endearing to him.
You’re a stickler for being on time though, so it’s so unlike you to respond with, “S’fine. It’s—”
You pivot mid-sentence, as if remembering what spurred his kisses on. “—the list. You didn’t think it was…?”
You don’t finish your sentence, trailing off stiltedly. Clark drops his next kiss to your hairline, his thumbs swatching along your cheeks with gentle ease.
“Think it’s what?” He hums, his next kiss on your nose. “I’m not thinking anything about it, because I wasn’t meant to see it and-” A kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Huh, what do you know? Its completely left my mind. What are we talking about?”
There’s a furrow in your brow for a moment before you catch on. Then your mouth curls into a shy smile and Clark knows he’s convinced you.
Your grip on his wrists tightens, an involuntary motion to get him closer. He complies, kissing you again. The pink of his cheeks might become permanent if he doesn’t calm down soon.
“C’mon,” He relents the closeness to step back, slipping his hands from your face. “We can still make it on time.”
Clark Kent, notoriously late for most things, except for your dates. He’s learning from you.
Fixing his glasses with a nudge, he gives you a moment to compose yourself, before he offers his hand. When you link it with his, he dotes you with a kiss upon it.
He figures that, to you, it’s the little things that really matter.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
When you return home and the notebook is where you left it, open to the love list, embarrassment wells within you.
You hadn’t meant for him to see it. It had been a mistake in your excitement, flustered just by him coming to meet you at your door.
He’d been a sweetheart about it all the same, but it doesn’t mean you can shake the fumble so easily.
Yet, at the same time, there had been something… different about Clark on the date that followed.
He’d seemed surer, more settled. Like something had been decided finally, and he could see the way forward.
Your coat finds a home on the peg by the door, your shoes slipped off.
Soft footsteps take you to the table and it’s as you go to fold your notebook closed, does it catch your eye.
There. Below the love list, there are two new lines, both in handwriting that isn’t your own. With a soft jolt, you recognise it as Clark’s.
Perplexed, you squint down at the paper.
He’s written, in his neat scrawl, he loves that you made this list.
Your heart pounds, that familiar fervor you associate with your boyfriend begins to coarse through your bloodstream. You bite your lip so hard it nearly bleeds—but you can hardly feel it. You’re goddamn untouchable right now.
Whether you got it with Darren didn’t matter. You realise now it never mattered. It’s you and Clark—and that is all you need.
Because, below his first line, Clark has written—he loves you.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
the notebook :’) bcos i love a lil graphic
want to read more about the lovelist!reader & clark? -> why a sequel right this way :)
tagging sum lovelies i think might be interested / replied to my snippet tehe <3 but no pressure! @spideystevie @sanguineterrain @brettsgoldstein @aarchimedes @strangerstilinski @djarinova @kissmxcheek @langaslefthairstrand
u + me = <3 | clark kent
୨ৎ masterlist
୨ৎ summary: you absolutely love your job at the daily planet without a question. you'll be the first to admit most of your friends are from work. especially clark. you just seem to click. you'd never really paid too much attention to your relationship with him, until a quip from jimmy olsen sends you spiraling.
୨ৎ pairing: clark kent x journalist!reader
୨ৎ warnings/tags: wingman!jimmy olsen AND wingwoman!lois, language, fluff, down bad clark and oblivious reader, and then reader is lwk avoidant :(
୨ৎ word count: 3.0k
୨ৎ a/n: ANNDDD another or3 inspired fic 😂😂😂😂 sorry guys I got busy building my daily bugle lego and forgot to write !! anyways first clark kent fic (so hyped for supergirl too) and enjoy! also if you are an actual journalist or educated in the field I deeply apologize because this is not accurate :( my only qualifications are two semesters of beginning journalism my bad 😞 don't mind any typos I finished this at 2 am and i'm tired
There simply never was (and probably never will be) a dull moment working at the Daily Planet. It seemed like every day, there was something new and novel to report on. In part, that’s why you loved your job. Stories cropped up all the time, and the city held endless treasures to investigate. As of late, the newest gem of Metropolis was their resident superhero, the affectionately named “Superman”. And even more recently, your dear friend Clark Kent had been getting quite a bit of recognition for his stories about Superman. After all, it was quite an impressive feat to score several interviews with the local superhero. Stories like that were headline-worthy, and you couldn’t be prouder of him.
Where exactly do you even begin with the character that is Clark Kent? To keep a long story short, he was one of your best friends. When you were first hired at the Daily Planet, Clark invited you to sit in the empty desk next to him. And with those kind eyes and even kinder smile, how could you refuse? He made easy conversation, shared bits of his lunch with you, and helped make the Daily Planet feel like home. From there, the two of you only grew closer. Quickly, there was nothing that the Daily Planet’s dynamic duo couldn’t handle. You and Clark were more or less joined at the hip. Jimmy even started referring to you as “Woodward and Bernstein” (a bit that Lois and some of the other writers picked up). It was a joke you’d smile and shrug off, and you’d never notice the pink flush that dusted Clark’s face as he awkwardly laughed.
Today, you came into the office and immediately noticed Clark’s dark curls peeking over the cubicle walls. He was engrossed in whatever article was pulled up on his screen, and then yanked out of his trance when you sat down at your desk.
“Morning!” Clark said, smiling. Like always, he seemed to be in good spirits. You were grateful for that, Clark was a breath of fresh air, somehow managing to make everyone’s day just a tad better.
“Good morning to you too! Congrats on your headliner Clark, I saw it this morning!” You said excitedly, swiveling in your chair to face him.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “How about your opinion piece that just got published? Now that was awesome,” he continued, finally meeting your gaze.
“Oh shut up and take the compliment, Clark,” You retorted, lightly smacking him on the arm as you got up to grab a coffee. You poured out two cups, one for you, and one for Clark. He took his coffee with three sugars, and a little bit of creamer. You kept that little tidbit of information tucked away in the back of your mind for whenever you needed it. Such as now. Turning back around, you almost slammed right into Jimmy Olsen.
“Woah! Hey, where’s my coffee?” Jimmy asked, peering down at the two cups in your hand, with that familiar sarcastic cadence shining through.
“I don’t even know how you like your coffee, Jimmy,” You shook your head, walking past him.
“My bad, I forgot you and Clark shared a brain,” Jimmy scoffed, glancing back at Clark. He was sitting at his desk, focused on whatever article he was looking through.
"Green's not your color Jimmy," you tease, "And besides, knowing how someone likes their coffee isn't really an impressive feat."
"Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses," Jimmy replied, shrugging before heading back to his desk. You didn't really mull over the implications of Jimmy's remark, it was Jimmy Olsen after all. He liked to joke. You walked over to Clark's desk and set down his coffee. The small thud of the cup onto the wood of the desk made his head crane towards you.
"Oh wow, thanks! You really didn't have to, I was going to grab a cup myself pretty soon actually-" Clark trailed off, as if he was rethinking his ramble, "Um, thank you, for the coffee." He smiled at you. For a second, you two stared at each other. You noticed the shimmer in his blue eyes, behind the frames of his glasses. Somewhere behind you guys, Jimmy coughed loudly. Clark's eyes widened, and he quickly swiveled back to his computer. For a split second, you could have sworn he was blushing. As the hours ticked by at work, you checked your emails, scheduled interviews, and were just about to continue working on another article when you heard the familiar noise of footsteps behind your chair.
"Hey! I, um, had a quick question about some of these sources I found. I just wasn't too sure if they were, well reliable?" Clark asked, a paper slip in hand.
"Yeah for sure! Here, let me see," You asked, taking the paper from Clark's hands. His fingers brushed up against yours, and Clark was eternally grateful you couldn't feel his heart jump. You scanned over the list of websites he had found. Behind you, Clark leaned closely over your shoulder. He smelled vaguely of coffee and wood, probably due to whatever cologne he was wearing. It was a comforting smell, one that you were plenty familiar with. After finishing reading through his list (a task that took way longer than you wanted to admit), you handed the paper back.
"Yeah, everything looks good!" You told Clark, running your hands over the fabric of your skirt. Something about him leaning over you with his hand on your chair, watching you so intently, made your pulse quicken.
"Perfect! Thanks a ton, uh, maybe I could repay the favor with a cup of coffee?" Clark asked, a nervous laugh escaping his throat.
"Oh it's ok, don't mention it Clark!" You replied, grabbing a stack of files off your desk, "I gotta go run these over upstairs but I'll see you soon!" You waved at Clark, a gesture that he returned with a smile on his face. Once you had disappeared into the elevator, he sat back down at his desk with a sigh.
"Damn, how many times has that gone over her head?" Jimmy's voice popped up behind him, making Clark jump, "You really suck at this, Clark."
"Jeez, I don't know what I'm doing wrong Jimmy. Y'know, maybe you were wrong, maybe she just doesn't like me?" Clark said dejectedly.
"Nah, I'm telling you, she likes you. You just gotta be more, up front about it," Jimmy reassured Clark, clapping him on the back.
"What does that mean?"
"Figure it out man," Jimmy waved his hand towards Clark, "Look, I can pick her brain about it later, alright? Have faith in me Clark."
"Yeah, I can do that…" Clark trailed off, like he barely believed what he was saying. Around a half-hour later—which felt closer to a couple of hours for Clark— you walked through the elevator doors and back into the Daily Planet. Quicker than you'd like to admit, your eyes sought out Clark's familiar face. From across the room, your eyes met his. You'd rather not think too hard about the fact that he was already looking your way. Maybe it was a coincidence? Lost in thought, you rounded the corner, where once again, you ran into Jimmy Olsen.
"Come on, we've got to stop running into each other like this," Jimmy said, falling into step next to you.
"What can I do for you now, Jimmy?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at whatever foolish remark was about to leave his mouth.
"Saw you and Clark earlier, you two looked pretty cozy. What's up with that?" Jimmy questioned innocently.
"What? I was helping him with some sources he found, it wasn't-"
"Oh please, you really think Clark needs help verifying sources? If you asked me, he just wanted to talk to you," Jimmy quipped. The smirk on his face could be classified as downright devilish.
"I mean seriously, he's like a lost dog until you come in the room-" Jimmy continued, unaware of the fact that your stomach twisted with every word.
"Jimmy! Shut up, please." You cut him off, stopping dead in your tracks, "Clark and I are friends, don't be dramatic."
"Tell him that. Just saying, you guys would be great together, maybe you should get on that-"
"Zip it Jimmy!"
You returned back to your seat, far more flustered and nervous than you should have been.
"How'd it go upstairs?" Clark asked. Your words caught in your throat when you remembered Jimmy's remark. Did he seriously like you?
"Uh, it went fine." You replied. It came out a bit more harsh than you intended, and you felt sick when Clark's face dropped slightly at your half-hearted answer.
"Oh, that's good!"
"Mhm…" The awkward silence that ensued spoke volumes. You pretended that it didn't bother you, that you were now seeing your best friend in a whole new light. Instead, you typed away at your computer, and tried your best to ignore that Clark's eyes were boring into the side of your head.
That night, you went home and couldn't sleep. Suddenly, your mind replayed every interaction with Clark, rethinking every casual touch, every totally-platonic conversation, and every last aspect of your relationship. Sometime into the night, you realized that nearly nothing about your friendship was normal. Staring at each other across rooms, always somehow sitting too close to each other, knowing each other like the backs of your hands, how could you have thought any of that was just friendly? It was actually laughable. The next morning, the only thing you could feel was a swirling pit of anxiety in your stomach at the thought of facing Clark. How could you face him?
When you walked into the Daily Planet, you made a beeline for your desk. The last thing you wanted was to have to deal with Jimmy's teasing, or worse, to have to make awkward small-talk with Clark. Ultimately, you decided it'd be easier to drown yourself in work rather than confront the unsettling reality; you were in love with Clark Kent.
Clark came in a couple minutes after you, greeting you with his bright smiles and kind words. It almost irritated you, how nice he was. It happened to be one of the reasons you liked him so much. Unfortunately, it made it way harder to stop liking him. He made every effort to be nothing but gracious towards you, and now, all you could do was respond with a frigid "mhm".
This routine dragged on through the week, and admittedly, it was the worst week of your life. One day, Clark had enough. He missed his best friend, and he felt ill at the idea that you might be upset with him.
"Are you ok?" Clark asked, concerned.
"I'm fine?" You replied, a hint of annoyance seeping through your voice.
"You sure? Because if you aren't, you can talk to me-"
"Jeez Clark I'm fine!" That time, the undertones of annoyance had become much more apparent. But the moment your words left your mouth, you regretted them. Clark hardly deserved your wrath, but here he was. You weren't, not in the slightest. However, explaining that your bad mood was a consequence of Jimmy Olsen’s dreadful commentary was absolutely not an option.
“Oh, well alright…” Clark said, almost seeming despondent. Seeing Clark so upset was rare, and there was a certain brand of guilt that crushed you, knowing that you were the one at fault. You needed air, quickly. The break-room door swung open as you ducked inside. It was empty, save for Lois drinking her coffee at the table.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lois remarked, raising an eyebrow. You could always trust Lois to be honest, it was one of her many admirable qualities.
“That bad huh?” You sighed, sitting down at the table, “Some stuff on my mind I guess.”
“Does it have anything to do with the fact that Clark’s sulking at his desk?” Lois suggested.
“How did you-”
“Just a hunch.”
“Y’know, it’s all Jimmy’s fault,” You groaned, letting your head fall onto the table.
“Of course it is, what’d he do now?” Lois grinned playfully. She had the kind of smile where you always felt like she knew something you didn’t.
“He kept going on this stupid rant about how me and Clark would be good together, and then I freaked out about it, and now I was accidentally kind of mean to Clark, and now apparently he’s sulking and probably hates me?” You rambled. It was almost comedic, right down to Lois’s wry smile.
“If it’s any consolation, I highly doubt he hates you,”
“Come on Lois, you too?” You exclaimed, sighing in defeat.
“What’s so wrong with the idea of being with Clark anyways?” Lois asked.
“Nothing but-”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t want to ruin a good thing y’know?” You conceded. You liked Clark, a lot, but you weren’t even totally sure if he liked you in that sense. Besides, if by some miracle he did, who knows what would happen if you guys broke up? After all, you two were coworkers. What an awkward situation that would be. By now, you’d simply come to the conclusion it was safer to not say anything. Even if it made part of your heart shrivel up just a tiny bit.
“What if something better comes out of it though?” Lois posed. You understood she was trying to be the voice of optimism, but you weren’t feeling too inclined to listen to that right now.
“I don’t know Lois, it’s not really worth it…” It physically hurt to say that part out loud, but it was still true. You sighed, throwing your cup in the trash and heading towards the door.
“You never know until you try,” Lois called out to you. She watched you leave, and stared at the spot where you sat. She’s known you and Clark for years, and all she wants is a shot at happiness for you both. Lois could only hope you listened to what she said.
Lois’s words echoed in your head as you walked back to your desk. They bounced around in your brain when you sat down, and while you worked. They still hadn’t left your mind even when you felt Clark’s eyes land on you again. You knew him well enough to know when he wanted to say something. You waited, and waited. But he never said a thing. The rest of the day ticked by, and Lois’s voice persisted. No matter how much you wanted to ignore it, no matter how much you wanted to ignore Clark, it was never that easy.
You packed up your stuff, and slung your bag over your shoulder. Clark was still sitting at his desk, and didn’t look up until you had pushed in your chair.
“Wait! Could I maybe, walk you downstairs?” Clark offered, the small glimmer of hope returning in his eyes. And against your better judgment, you felt persuaded to agree. You could never say no to Clark anyways.
The heavy quiet that fell over you two in the elevator was wholly unfamiliar. You found yourself reminiscing on times where it was impossible to get you and Clark to be quiet. But that was back before you were plagued with worries of ruining your friendship with three simple words; I love you.
Outside the Daily Planet, the scorching mornings had cooled down to more manageable nighttime temperatures. Next to you stood Clark, and once again, Lois’s advice blared inside your brain. Yet, it was Clark who spoke first.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“What? No!” You replied incredulously.
“Sorry, it’s just that you seem distant and I feel like I did something wrong…” Clark admitted, “Do you, not like me?”
That was the furthest possible thing from the truth. This all became an issue because you liked him too much. Because you were afraid of what would happen if you ever let slip just how much you liked him. It was right then and there that you could not stand it anymore.
“No Clark, not at all. Kind of the opposite actually,” You started, wringing your hands nervously, “Look, Jimmy made this dumb comment about how me and you should get together, and I freaked. Because it made me realize just how much I actually liked you, and that was really, really, scary.” There it was. Your true feelings, cast into the night air. Clark’s face changed. At first you thought it was confusion. But then his eyes softened, and you recognized it on his face. You’d seen it on his face so many times before you could sketch it from memory. Happiness.
“Y’know, I’ve been trying for years to get you to catch on how I felt about you. But nope, it takes Jimmy Olsen to get through to you,” Clark joked (only he could joke at a time like this), “I mean, I’ve been nuts about you since I’ve met you, and seriously, all I’ve ever wanted is for you to see me.”
“I see you Clark,” You said softly, looking up at him. You didn’t notice how close you were to him until you could see the flecks of gray in those beautiful blue eyes. Clark’s hand reached out for yours, tentatively, before you interlaced your fingers with his. The sounds of Metropolis surrounded you, before you felt Clark’s gentle lips on yours. You could smell his cologne again, that distinct smell of coffee and warmth, and it enveloped you as he pulled you closer. And for those precious moments, it was simply you and him.
Somewhere in the Daily Planet, Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane sat in the break-room.
“You think they’re finally gonna cave tonight?” Jimmy asked, glancing over at Lois.
“I don’t know, I’m doubting it,” Lois mused, “Wanna bet on it?” she offered.
“20 bucks says it’s happening tonight.” Jimmy said confidently.
“Deal.”
The next morning, when you and Clark walked into the Daily Planet hand-in-hand, Lois Lane owed a very smug Jimmy Olsen 20 bucks.
title submission !!! "in another universe, maybe" ??
not what first came to my mind w this but i highk like it more lol I WAS GENUINELY REACHING W THIS sorry i js wanted an excuse to try out dark themess also omg im so sorry this took forever
in another universe, maybe
"in another universe, maybe you'll understand my way of expressing love for you."
— a secret admirer you thought was cute slowly turned into something scary
pairing: stalker!taesan x gn!reader genre: oneshot, dark romance warnings/tags: one sided (?) 'love', actually its more of obsession, unconsented pictures, wc: 1.5k
you thought the letters were cute at first.
"i liked your hair," "you looked good today," some compliments anyone could say. but despite not knowing who these were from, you felt your stomach turn. your best friend could tell you this and you'd just go "thank you." a relative go say the same thing and you'd think they're just being polite. but something about getting anonymous letters sent specifically to you made you feel special. it made you feel wanted. you weren't popular or anything, so you this person really had you wrapped around their finger with their charming letters. you never wrote back—obviously, though its not like you could either way—but you re-read them every night, wondering who of all people it could be from.
soon enough, the letters were written describing things that were specifically you. mentioning habits only you have. then again, you still thought it was cute. like this admirer noticed you enough to mention how you specifically doodled bunnies and aliens at the right bottom corner of your notepad when class got boring. like they adored you enough to discern the way you'd sneak off to rooftop after tests, usually because you got stressed easily and wanted some fresh air and to take a breather.
you smiled everyday as you saw the letter stuck on your locker through the tight closing of the metal door after your third class, skipping to the cafeteria as you read the letters with your friends over lunch.
as the details grew more accurate and oddly specific, your friends slowly started to feel uneasy about this person.
"isn't it weird that this person knows so much about you?"
"i don't think it's weird. i think it's sweet that means someone likes me enough to notice me that much."
"yeah, but don't you think they're paying too much attention to you?"
"you guys are too anxious. chill out a bit!"
after a while, this person started talking more about themself little by little rather than sending you compliments only.
you learned he was a guy, and that he was into music. besides that, he mentioned a recent hobby he had was photography.
"if you'd like, i could send you some pictures i took in my next letter. if you want that, leave this paper on top of your locker. i'll leave a sticker of a camera on your locker if i got the paper." his letter read.
doing as told, you left the letter on top of the metal box. soon enough, you saw the sticker on your locker.
honestly? despite how much he told you about himself already, you still weren't interested in finding out who he really was. sure, you were curious, but you also enjoyed the thrill of the mystery, the way you were clueless of his identity.
finally, the next day came. his letter was already there when you arrived at school. you opened it immediately, finding aesthetic pictures, the kinds you'd find on pinterest. in one of the photos, he took a picture of a puddle from a rainy day. you could see a soft reflection of him holding his camera up over his face, his black fluffy hair covering up the rest of his features that the camera didn't hide. you found that photo alone attractive, growing more attached to this guy.
since then, he'd been sending you photos daily and talked about them too, whilst still talking about little habits you had that he (in his words) loved, cherished, and adored.
soon, he started taking pictures of you.
along the photographs of night skies and windy meadows, there were snapped moments of when you weren't paying attention in class, chatting with your friends in the cafeteria, waiting for your ride back home. you started finding these little things odd, though then again you dumbed it down to this guy being 'romantic'.
as the letters kept coming, he'd been even more specific with the things you do. worst of all, he started mentioning 'how nice your room is', and 'i love the little posters on your walls, and those tiny figurines on your study desk.' it was unsettling. you were already certain that this person wasn't your close friend. first of all, you rarely invite your friends into your room. not only because it's a mess most of the time, but also because you see it as your private space, for you and only you. as the weeks passed and you kept reading the letters, chills would run down your spine for different reasons from before.
the messages kept coming. 'i liked your pajamas last night, pastels suit you.' 'you should tie your hair up more often, you look better.' it was like there was a literal camera in your room, and he would watch the footage while writing you his next letters. sometimes, you'd talk to yourself and some of his messages in the letters would be like responses, as if he'd been part of the conversation.
soon enough, it became obvious that you were creeped out by this. you started leaving the papers to pile up, the letters dropping to the floor as rushes of students passed through the hallways in between classes. he started leaving them more and more, trying to put them in places you couldn't ignore. pinned onto your locker by a magnet, on the desk of your next class, and even on your friend's lockers. you picked them all up and threw them into the trash, trying to stay away from him as much as possible now. you were too late, though. you already fed into his obsession.
as you rushed to the benches outside your school to wait for your ride, you suddenly felt a tight grip on your wrist that dragged you to an empty classroom. it couldn't be any of your friends, they'd all left already. you heard the click of the door locking, the guy's back facing you. then, he turned around. it was han taesan, that guy in band club. you knew him from being partnered together in a few class projects, but you never really paid proper attention to him.
"why have you been ignoring me? have i done something wrong??"
"taesan? wha-" 'what are you saying?' you wanted to continue, but then it hit you. the letters you've refused to read. the stacks of papers you've thrown out. the familiar hair and face shape. 'i'm into music,' and he's in band. 'but recently, i've really been enjoying photography,' and there's a camera strapped around his neck.
han taesan was your secret admirer. or rather, your stalker.
"why are you the one asking me questions? shouldn't it be the other way around?"
"no, answer me first!"
"fine, then! it's because you're a creep, han taesan! knowing where i live, checking out my room, watching me at night, taking pictures of me—you're genuinely insane! you're brave enough to do that but you can't even approach me?"
with those words, something in taesan snapped. his demeanour changed quickly from pleading, needy, and desperate, to something darker. more dangerous, rather.
"creep? insane? y/n, i did all that because i love you. i want to get to know you more." he seemed all soft and gentler now, but something was off. like he had set up a trap, and he was waiting for you to fall into it. "i wanted to find out more things about you. things that only i know." he reached his hand out to you, wanting to touch or hold you. your hand, your arm, your waist, anything. "that's what makes our love special, y/n. it's secretive. we know things about each other that others don't."
you stepped back as he reached out, trembling and genuinely terrified, unsure of what to do. you felt that if you ran away or tried to escape, he'd charge at you and keep you pinned down. or maybe knock you out and trap you in some dark place like in movies.
"taesan, that's not love! that's obsession... that's... that's stalking! and if that's your idea of love, you're messed up. you're a freak, you're sick in the head! you-"
you were about to go on, but then he suddenly pulled you over and held you against the door, pinning you and trapping you. his voice was a lot softer now, which terrified you even more than yelling. "maybe. maybe you're right. maybe i'm what you say i am. obsessed, messed up, a freak, sick in the head—but it's all for you, baby. because i love you and i want you. i need you, y/n, and i can't live without you." he leaned in closer whispering into your ear. you stood still with your breath held, petrified. you felt that it you squirmed a bit much or even breathed too loudly, he'd do something you wouldn't like. "though i do wish that you could understand me... in another universe, maybe. maybe you'll love me for who i am, for my actions. maybe you'll be mine, and only mine. i don't care. even if it means hurting your friends to keep them away from what's not theirs, ill do it. but maybe in another universe, you'll understand why i'm like this... and maybe you'll love me the same way."
taglist: @moesthinking @shyeppi @mykaneptune @ivehan @wnouzi @andnevertheless @coriihanniee @loveseobie @taestulipss @berrybittynetwork @k-records
© BEOMTOMIE 2026
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title submission !!! "in another universe, maybe" ??
not what first came to my mind w this but i highk like it more lol I WAS GENUINELY REACHING W THIS sorry i js wanted an excuse to try out dark themess also omg im so sorry this took forever
in another universe, maybe
"in another universe, maybe you'll understand my way of expressing love for you."
— a secret admirer you thought was cute slowly turned into something scary
pairing: stalker!taesan x gn!reader genre: oneshot, dark romance warnings/tags: one sided (?) 'love', actually its more of obsession, unconsented pictures, wc: 1.5k
you thought the letters were cute at first.
"i liked your hair," "you looked good today," some compliments anyone could say. but despite not knowing who these were from, you felt your stomach turn. your best friend could tell you this and you'd just go "thank you." a relative go say the same thing and you'd think they're just being polite. but something about getting anonymous letters sent specifically to you made you feel special. it made you feel wanted. you weren't popular or anything, so you this person really had you wrapped around their finger with their charming letters. you never wrote back—obviously, though its not like you could either way—but you re-read them every night, wondering who of all people it could be from.
soon enough, the letters were written describing things that were specifically you. mentioning habits only you have. then again, you still thought it was cute. like this admirer noticed you enough to mention how you specifically doodled bunnies and aliens at the right bottom corner of your notepad when class got boring. like they adored you enough to discern the way you'd sneak off to rooftop after tests, usually because you got stressed easily and wanted some fresh air and to take a breather.
you smiled everyday as you saw the letter stuck on your locker through the tight closing of the metal door after your third class, skipping to the cafeteria as you read the letters with your friends over lunch.
as the details grew more accurate and oddly specific, your friends slowly started to feel uneasy about this person.
"isn't it weird that this person knows so much about you?"
"i don't think it's weird. i think it's sweet that means someone likes me enough to notice me that much."
"yeah, but don't you think they're paying too much attention to you?"
"you guys are too anxious. chill out a bit!"
after a while, this person started talking more about themself little by little rather than sending you compliments only.
you learned he was a guy, and that he was into music. besides that, he mentioned a recent hobby he had was photography.
"if you'd like, i could send you some pictures i took in my next letter. if you want that, leave this paper on top of your locker. i'll leave a sticker of a camera on your locker if i got the paper." his letter read.
doing as told, you left the letter on top of the metal box. soon enough, you saw the sticker on your locker.
honestly? despite how much he told you about himself already, you still weren't interested in finding out who he really was. sure, you were curious, but you also enjoyed the thrill of the mystery, the way you were clueless of his identity.
finally, the next day came. his letter was already there when you arrived at school. you opened it immediately, finding aesthetic pictures, the kinds you'd find on pinterest. in one of the photos, he took a picture of a puddle from a rainy day. you could see a soft reflection of him holding his camera up over his face, his black fluffy hair covering up the rest of his features that the camera didn't hide. you found that photo alone attractive, growing more attached to this guy.
since then, he'd been sending you photos daily and talked about them too, whilst still talking about little habits you had that he (in his words) loved, cherished, and adored.
soon, he started taking pictures of you.
along the photographs of night skies and windy meadows, there were snapped moments of when you weren't paying attention in class, chatting with your friends in the cafeteria, waiting for your ride back home. you started finding these little things odd, though then again you dumbed it down to this guy being 'romantic'.
as the letters kept coming, he'd been even more specific with the things you do. worst of all, he started mentioning 'how nice your room is', and 'i love the little posters on your walls, and those tiny figurines on your study desk.' it was unsettling. you were already certain that this person wasn't your close friend. first of all, you rarely invite your friends into your room. not only because it's a mess most of the time, but also because you see it as your private space, for you and only you. as the weeks passed and you kept reading the letters, chills would run down your spine for different reasons from before.
the messages kept coming. 'i liked your pajamas last night, pastels suit you.' 'you should tie your hair up more often, you look better.' it was like there was a literal camera in your room, and he would watch the footage while writing you his next letters. sometimes, you'd talk to yourself and some of his messages in the letters would be like responses, as if he'd been part of the conversation.
soon enough, it became obvious that you were creeped out by this. you started leaving the papers to pile up, the letters dropping to the floor as rushes of students passed through the hallways in between classes. he started leaving them more and more, trying to put them in places you couldn't ignore. pinned onto your locker by a magnet, on the desk of your next class, and even on your friend's lockers. you picked them all up and threw them into the trash, trying to stay away from him as much as possible now. you were too late, though. you already fed into his obsession.
as you rushed to the benches outside your school to wait for your ride, you suddenly felt a tight grip on your wrist that dragged you to an empty classroom. it couldn't be any of your friends, they'd all left already. you heard the click of the door locking, the guy's back facing you. then, he turned around. it was han taesan, that guy in band club. you knew him from being partnered together in a few class projects, but you never really paid proper attention to him.
"why have you been ignoring me? have i done something wrong??"
"taesan? wha-" 'what are you saying?' you wanted to continue, but then it hit you. the letters you've refused to read. the stacks of papers you've thrown out. the familiar hair and face shape. 'i'm into music,' and he's in band. 'but recently, i've really been enjoying photography,' and there's a camera strapped around his neck.
han taesan was your secret admirer. or rather, your stalker.
"why are you the one asking me questions? shouldn't it be the other way around?"
"no, answer me first!"
"fine, then! it's because you're a creep, han taesan! knowing where i live, checking out my room, watching me at night, taking pictures of me—you're genuinely insane! you're brave enough to do that but you can't even approach me?"
with those words, something in taesan snapped. his demeanour changed quickly from pleading, needy, and desperate, to something darker. more dangerous, rather.
"creep? insane? y/n, i did all that because i love you. i want to get to know you more." he seemed all soft and gentler now, but something was off. like he had set up a trap, and he was waiting for you to fall into it. "i wanted to find out more things about you. things that only i know." he reached his hand out to you, wanting to touch or hold you. your hand, your arm, your waist, anything. "that's what makes our love special, y/n. it's secretive. we know things about each other that others don't."
you stepped back as he reached out, trembling and genuinely terrified, unsure of what to do. you felt that if you ran away or tried to escape, he'd charge at you and keep you pinned down. or maybe knock you out and trap you in some dark place like in movies.
"taesan, that's not love! that's obsession... that's... that's stalking! and if that's your idea of love, you're messed up. you're a freak, you're sick in the head! you-"
you were about to go on, but then he suddenly pulled you over and held you against the door, pinning you and trapping you. his voice was a lot softer now, which terrified you even more than yelling. "maybe. maybe you're right. maybe i'm what you say i am. obsessed, messed up, a freak, sick in the head—but it's all for you, baby. because i love you and i want you. i need you, y/n, and i can't live without you." he leaned in closer whispering into your ear. you stood still with your breath held, petrified. you felt that it you squirmed a bit much or even breathed too loudly, he'd do something you wouldn't like. "though i do wish that you could understand me... in another universe, maybe. maybe you'll love me for who i am, for my actions. maybe you'll be mine, and only mine. i don't care. even if it means hurting your friends to keep them away from what's not theirs, ill do it. but maybe in another universe, you'll understand why i'm like this... and maybe you'll love me the same way."
taglist: @moesthinking @shyeppi @mykaneptune @ivehan @wnouzi @andnevertheless @coriihanniee @loveseobie @taestulipss @berrybittynetwork @k-records
© BEOMTOMIE 2026
THIS IS HAWT AS FUCK I DONT EVEN CARE TOMIE YOU MADE PEAK
actually ☝️🤓 clark kent would not rip your clothes off your body on purpose bc he knows how much textile waste is produced in this country and does not want to contribute to that. he’s also anti-consumerist so buying up multiples of the same thing with the express purpose of destroying it feels extra wasteful. everything he accidentally rips or breaks, clark recycles within an inch of its life. clark kent gives a shit about the environment and his carbon footprint!!!!
