#Well a dress but I was like ITS SO WARM OUT

[smashinbeetlessinceorson]

I'm a fiber nerd for similar reasons to you, headspace. If you'll humor me, I have a few unsolicited suggestions for looking for natural fibers in thrift stores (other than looking at the tags, naturally, but also since I don't always trust the tags, since fabric fraud or mislabeling isn't uncommon, and tags can be missing or hard to find).

Bast fibers like linen and hemp usually have a fair number of slubs and are usually woven for durability, because lightweight knits tend to unravel near the slubs just around the same time that the wear level starts to get Perfect.

If you're running through the racks and find a nice hand, remember that synthetics tend to absorb water poorly. Holding the fabric for just a moment and then rubbing the fingers together usually tells me if the moisture was absorbed, or if my hands are still sticky. Fabric softener and dry cleaning can fool me sometimes.

Same as the above, synthetics tend to reflect heat. If a fabric feels soft to the hand, hold onto it a moment. Silk and wool warm up slowly, but synthetics feel "warm" almost immediately. Plant fibers also warm pretty quickly in the hand, but will still absorb water.

Silk and wool are HEAVY on the thread level. A tightly woven silk jacket is way heavier than a poly or nylon one of similar thread gauge.

And although your assessments are largely excellent, pyroteknich, I have a few nits to pick:

Cotton gets WET and holds 36x its own weight in water, compared to ~6x for bast fibers and a little more for wool and silk. When it's wet, the water clogs the gaps in the clothes and prevents airflow. I mention this because I live in a humid subtropical area and sweat basically doesn't evaporate. Cotton means a swampy underside, or all-over-side if you're working hard enough or get caught in the rain. A notable exception to this is very loose and billowy clothing like gauzy skirts. I generally avoid cotton entirely because of its water-holding capacity.

Silk does wear like iron unless it gets wet, then it's very weak and abrades easily. Normal activities in my area will cause sweat to build up and that moisture will shred silks. Again, the solution is loose and billowy, and being choosy about which fabrics during particular times of year. I tend toward bast fibers in the warmer months and silks in the cooler ones. Reconstituted cellulose fibers like "bamboo", ramie, rayon, and so on have similarly poor durability when wet. Silk also stains very easily and HATES being in the sun to dry or for too long period, as UV light breaks it down, just something to be aware of.

And also unsolicited, I would like to share a few tips I've picked up for keeping natural fibers in good shape so they can get to that delightful broken-in level. We have very, very soft water in my area, so your mileage may vary.

If not handwashing, a top-loading washer, filled up completely with cold water, is pretty close to handwashing, on delicate settings.

Most of the time, "dry clean only" is a bunch of nonsense, except with suits or dresses made with water-soluble interfacing. People washed these pieces for how many centuries before dry cleaning existed? Yeah. Unfortunately, I don't know an easy way to find out if interfacings are water-soluble, except to give the piece a wash. I've restored dozens of stinky natural-fiber pieces that were discarded because the original owner's dry cleaning didn't remove the water-soluble odors, and I "restored" them just by giving them a nice wash. Sometimes a pair of suit pants or a jacket will start poking out the plastic interfacing after the wash, so yknow. Caveat washor.

Even if handwashing, strongly alkaline detergents or high heat will cause protein-based fibers like wools and silks to denature and degrade rapidly during the abrasion of washing. Vinegar will help, and mild curd soaps are best. If only washing wools, a little liquid lanolin mixed well with hot water and curd soap prior to adding to the wash water will help restore the fibers, making the garment more water-repellent, stronger, and more durable. Small amounts of detergents can be used to boost the efficacy of the wash if there is a lot of oil in the laundry soils.

Inversely, plant fibers prefer hot water and can withstand alkaline detergents well, making washing soda and borax viable additions, but hot water will often cause stains to set. I like to help remove the alkalines from the fabric by using vinegar in the rinse. Machine drying, even on "air dry" settings, will still cause static buildup in the fibers, making them slightly water-repellent and for myself, an extremely unpleasant sensory experience. I try to line-dry everything, which is difficult when showers and storms are unpredictable and frequent, and the humidity is 70%+ most days during the hottest part of the day. Still worth it, and indoor line-dry is an option.

Wools and silks are magnets for carpet beetles and clothes moths. When I'm storing clothes for the season, I wash them, gently lanolize the wools, make sure they're 100% dry, then heat up an oven with a baking stone to 200F (90C), line a metal sheet pan with parchment paper, cut the oven, and then leave the clothes in the oven for 30min to kill any eggs. Then I wrap them tightly with plastic bags and put them in plastic bins for storage, and I've never had a problem with insects since. I got the idea from bedbug treatments.

I hope that fellow sufferers from fast fashion and the electrostatic nightmare that is synthetic clothing can get a little something out of the years I've been working on this. I have pieces I've been wearing regularly for 15 years using these techniques.

The closest experience I've ever had to discovering "the vitamin" was buying a 100% wool outfit and wearing it in the winter.

Not only was I not freezing anymore, I was not sweating and overheating either. The horrible sensory nightmare of winter clothes disappeared.

In particular, I bought a pair of wool pants. They were a thrifted pair of fancy dress pants like you would wear at an important office job, and they were easily the most comfortable pair of winter-appropriate pants i'd ever worn. I wore them Every Single Day.

From that point on I realized a lot of my clothes were making me feel bad, and the common thread was polyester. Especially polyester blends.

It's a trap because the polyester clothes are the ones that always feel sooooo silky soft when they are in the store, whereas cotton, linen and wool can feel comparatively rough and scratchy. But when actually wearing them for hours throughout the day, it's the natural fibers that feel more comfortable.

Maybe the secret to sensory comfort is not about the presence of softness, but the absence of overloading sensations. Or maybe the sensory stress and agony is not triggered by texture of the fabric, but by how it breathes and regulates temperature.

Then there's the problem of clothing life span: polyester blends, no matter how soft they seem at first, become rough and scratchy and covered in hard, itchy pills after wearing them 10 or 20 times, whether or not they have been tumble-dried or even washed at all. (I tested it!) Linen and cotton become softer and more comfy the more you wear them, polyester but ESPECIALLY polyester blends become a constant stressor. Polyester blend t-shirts I used to love for their softness now feel bristly and irritating.

So now I'm trying to change my wardrobe to as many natural fibers as possible, and the more natural fiber clothes i have the more I realize that the plastic fibers stress me out. It's so easy to overheat or freeze in them and they're always degrading and becoming less comfortable and it sucks.

[siriuslywicked]

Okay, hear me out… Robby with a partner who has a hard time orgasming (because I need to feel seen, and hopefully y’all do too). MDNI 18+!!!

a/n: I know we all love a good smutty fic where the reader gets to cum like three times, but let’s be honest, that is not reality for most people. I need some representation for those of us who live the antidepressant lifestyle. I know I asked about Robby/Michael, but something about this felt like a 'Robby' fic (idk). Next time I write about this man we will go with Michael, pinky promise. Wrote this after working a 50 hour week and did not revise it. Also haven't written smut in literal years. You have been warned.

In recent years, getting yourself to orgasm has become a challenge. Sure, you can get there on your own with some patience and a trusty vibrator, but it takes time. And sometimes being with a partner, especially a new one, means you don’t really want them trying to get you there for forty fucking minutes. So, when you and Robby start seeing each other you don't exactly fake it, but you don’t let him focus his attention on you for long before you turn the tables and start pleasuring him. 

But Robby isn’t stupid, and he needs to know you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. So, a handful of times into sleeping together, he finds himself in a familiar position: dressed in only his briefs, lying sprawled out on his stomach, head between your open legs, putting his mouth to good use. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking amazing. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and below your entrance as he uses his tongue to steadily lap at your clit. The pressure and rhythm he's giving you is enough to make pleasure burn low in your pelvis; you can’t help but rock your hips into his face, using your grip in his hair as leverage to make sure he keeps his tongue right fucking there. 

Robby can feel the urgency in the way you’re pulling his face impossibly closer. He knows damn well that you haven’t cum for him in any of your previous times together, he’s had over thirty years of experience with women, not to mention he’s a fucking doctor, he knows what an orgasm looks like (and sounds and tastes and feels like). He can tell each time you give up and move the focus away from your own pleasure, trying to distract him. This time though, he isn’t stopping until he gets what he wants. He moves his hands from where they rest passively on your thighs, one going to grip your hip and anchor you to him, the other coming to rest flat and warm on your lower stomach. You let out a moan at the feeling of his palm on your stomach, the feeling in your pelvis has grown into something that feels more tangible. So much so, that your legs begin to shake with it and you think you might actually cum this time. Robby thinks so too, feeling your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He groans softly into you, and chooses this moment to push down on your belly. 

You jolt your head up in surprise, grip tightening on his head. “Fuck, Robby that feels good.” 

He moans again in response, and thanks to your more upright position you catch his hips rolling into the mattress. Dutiful as ever, he continues applying pressure with his palm and doubles down with his tongue, pushing himself to go faster, harder, anything to feel you cum on his face. 

You’ve moved to be fully sitting up now, one hand behind you for support and the other firmly anchored in his hair. You grind your hips almost frantically, sweat beginning to collect on your face and neck, chasing an orgasm that is so close you can taste it. 

“Oh,” you huff out followed by a hum that borders on whiny, “I think ‘m getting close.” Your teeth grit around the words, body tensing up in its pursuit of pleasure. 

Robby opens his eyes to peer up at you. Your head has lolled back, eyes squeezed shut, your mouth now hangs open on a silent moan. Your clit has gotten more swollen than he thought it could and he can feel you getting wetter by the second, it’s practically dripping off his chin. You are so close, so nearly there. 

And yet… 

“Fuck,” you whine out, and not in a good way. Your hips stop their movement, thighs no longer shaking with pleasure. Robby slows his ministrations and watches as you flop onto your back once more, arms coming to rest over your face, pout evident on your lips.

With a grunt, he pulls himself up and crawls to lay beside you. 

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?” He places a hand on one of your arms, tugging gently to remove it, only to be met with firm resistance. 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

You let out a sigh and allow him to move your arms off of your face. He pulls the one between you into his chest, interlacing your fingers with his. 

Still refusing to look at him, you stare straight ahead at the ceiling. This close, Robby can see the tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. Your face is flushed, now from a mixture of embarrassment and exertion. 

When you remain silent and continue to avoid his gaze Robby prompts you further. 

“You’re okay, nothing to be embarrassed about,” his thumb rubs soothingly along the back of your hand, “All I want is to make you feel good, sweetheart. But, I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me about what's going on.” 

Your eyes close tightly, tears finally spilling over and running down your cheeks as you nod in agreement. After a moment you open them again and finally turn to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly, eyes darting between his own. You elaborate a few moments later: “for not communicating.” 

“It’s okay, what’s important is we’re talking now. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

Robby waits, prepared to begin asking you questions in a diagnostic manner if you don’t speak up, but is pleased when you begin without prodding. 

“I- uhm,” a pause, “It takes a lot for me to uh- finish, most of the time.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, scooting closer and pulling you into a quasi embrace, hand draped over your waist. 

“Can you tell me what ‘a lot’ looks like for you?” Your eyes meet his again, unsure. 

His voice is low, almost gravelly, “When you touch yourself, what do you like? How do you make yourself cum?”

He asks with genuine interest in learning how best to please you, but his manner of speaking makes you feel suddenly hot as your thighs squeezing together. Robby doesn’t miss it. 

“I use my fingers mostly… but I have a vibrator too that I like. Mostly it just takes a really long time.” 

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he waits for your nod of assent, “There is nothing I would rather do than take my time making you feel good.” 

Feeling at a loss for words, a small ‘okay’ escapes you. 

“Good. Now, how about we try again and you tell me what you need from me, and we’ll go for as long as you want to. I would happily go all night without getting off if it meant I got to see you cum for me.” 

A smile grows on his face as he speaks, the tone shifting from serious to playful once more. You mirror his energy, grinning as you respond, “That sounds really fucking nice.” 

-

Forty seven minutes later (after Robby had all but tackled you into the bed for a solid makeout sesh and used his mouth once more to warm you back up) you find yourself perched on his lap, cock snug inside you. Robby sits with his back against the headboard, hands on your hips to guide the steady rock of your hips into his own. You have a tight grip on one of his shoulders to steady yourself, and an even tighter grip on the vibrator that you had sheepishly produced from the bedside drawer. 

“Come on baby, you’re doing so good for me, take whatever you need,” he encourages, voice rough with his own pleasure. 

“Feels really good, Robby,” you moan, resting your forehead against his as your hips pick up speed. 

Robby rolls his own up to meet yours, feeling you start to clench around him periodically. 

“I know it does, can feel you gettin’ all tight on me,” he laughs and all you can do is moan weakly in response. “Turn up the vibrator, you can take it sweetheart.” 

He feels you almost shake your head no to his request, before giving in and increasing the speed. 

“Oh- oh shit,” the effect is instant, your cunt feels so wet and warm as it grips him somehow tighter. Robby can feel his control starting to slip, and despite his earlier promise he knows he won’t last forever like this. Oh shit indeed.

“Feel so good around me. Tell me what you need, baby. Please,” He begs. 

“Talk to me? Please, Robby ‘m so close, just wanna know I’m being good for you.” 

“I got you baby, we’ll get you there. Me and that vibrator,” you both laugh at his comment, but Robby doesn’t lose focus for a second, using his grip to maintain your rhythm. “You’re doing so good, keep riding me just like this.” 

Nodding, you can feel the tell tale signs of your orgasm starting to creep in. The relentless buzzing at your clit coupled with Robby’s assistance in rolling your hips back and forth have you barreling towards the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Just let it happen baby you’re right there, gripping me so fucking tight.” 

Your movements start to grow erratic, hips beginning to lock up. 

Robby reaches down and places his thumb over yours where it rests on the “up” button. 

“Gonna look so pretty coming on my cock, such a good girl,” he presses his thumb down. 

It comes on fast and strong. Your core is tightening as your back curves, your hips go dead still and lift ever so slightly as you shake on top of him. “Robby, please,” it comes out as a pitiful whine, begging him for something, anything, even as your orgasm is ripping through you. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, hips slamming up into you, continuing to use his one hand to make sure the vibrator stays on your clit. 

Robby can feel you still clenching around him as his own orgasm overtakes him, and he rides it out for as long as he can, groaning out incoherent praises as his hips begin to slow. 

He’s brought back into reality when you whine frantically and at your joined hands holding the vibrator, suddenly oversensitive. Even without the stimulation, the aftershocks are powerful as you quake above him. He does his best to pull you back flush with his hips, tucking you into his chest as you ride it out. 

After several minutes of holding you in his lap, Robby helps you to the bathroom, only teasing you for how bad your legs shake once. Once you’ve both cleaned up, you wind up back in bed. 

“Thank you for that, I think you’ve ruined me for all other men.” You say it jokingly, but there’s nothing but truth behind the words. 

“The pleasure was all mine.” He kisses the top of your head where it rests on your chest. 

Just as you're drifting off to sleep you hear him mumble, “Do I need to be jealous of that vibrator?”

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 30

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of childhood trauma and abandoment

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 7,260 (i am so sorry)

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 2

A/N: i am so very sorry for the delay. hopefully the wait was worth it

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

"You know it's supposed to be in the 100s today, right?" Changbin sighs as he flops down onto the couch in front of you. "You're actually going to die from overheating if you go out like that."

You set the iced coffee you're drinking back onto the table and resume scanning the test shots you took of him earlier. Chan sits behind the two of you as the hair stylist finishes fixing his hair. Music plays through someone's phone as everyone else around you cleans up their mess.

The room you're in is one of the spare rooms used specifically to hold the group's concert outfits and whatever they're required to wear for individual schedules. In moments like this, the room doubles as a dressing room when someone has a schedule that requires them to be ready before they leave the hotel.

You woke up late, having missed your first two alarms so that you could join Chan and Changbin for breakfast. By the time you finished getting ready, you had to meet them in the room to take test shots and make sure their overall appearance matched the overall theme of the shoot. Not wanting to delay the day any more than you already did, you were planning on grabbing a piece of fruit from the hotel's complimentary breakfast on your way out only to be met with a muffin and iced coffee when you walked into the makeshift dressing room.

"It's cold right now. I'll take my jacket off later when it starts to warm up." You let out a low sigh before setting your camera aside and resuming your breakfast.

According to your weather app, it's supposed to be the hottest day of the week. You're skeptical given how cold and gloomy it is currently. It almost looks like it might rain any second now. Even if it does get hot later, you're hoping it after you've finished working for the day. You may be able to survive the heat but your camera most likely won't.

"Yeah, but you're wearing all black. That's going to attract heat. You're wearing an oven."

The oven in question is a zip-up hoodie two sizes too big draped over a black tee shirt that's closer to your actual size but still a bit looser around your frame. To top off your monochrome outfit, you're wearing baggy cargo pants and the hat Changbin bought for you. It's a stark contrast from his outfit, a slightly oversized tee shirt with a random faded beach designed with the sleeves and sides cut off into a muscle shirt paired with a pair of baggy ripped blue jeans. You almost want to tell him to bring a jacket just in case.

It's overkill, you'll agree with that. But it hides your figure well while you're out in public. It worked well during the airport trip out of Seattle. Not a single photo of you appeared online and there were even whispers of you being fired from the staff when fans couldn't find you. Having the kids call you 'hyung' helped sell the allusion as well.

“You know you don’t have to do all that anymore, right? They moved on,”

Just as suddenly an earthquake can destroy the foundation of someone’s home, your scandal with Hyunjin did its best to wreak yours. The subsequent and frequent aftershocks made it feel like another one was coming to reduce the rubble to dust. And while a “big one” did come the seismic plates shifted elsewhere leaving a more devastating catastrophe. A new scandal, one much more riveting than an alleged relationship between an idol and their staff member, had captured everyone’s attention.

Someone from a junior group who had just barely gotten out of their rookie period had gotten a girl pregnant.

A bigger quake, one with far more casualties, took the interest of the netizens that circled over you like vultures and they flew off to feed on a more appetizing meal. Leaving you lying in the rubble and staring at the sky as you waited for another aftershock.

“Noona,” Changbin calls softly as he waves a hand in front of your face.

You clear your throat and set the muffin back down. “It’s hyung today, remember?”

A smile slowly creeps onto Changbin's face as he glances over you. “You don’t look like a hyung.”

“Oh?” You clap your hands together to get rid of the remaining crumbs before reaching back to hide any pieces of your hair from sticking out. You fully zip up the hoodie and fluff it out. You pull the brim of the bucket hat down to cover most of your face. “How about now?”

Changbin pauses for a moment before reaching his hand out to brush off a bit of muffin your chin. The sudden touch catches you by surprise. Another pause as he thinks for a second, his hand still on your face. Finally, he pulls his hand away and leans back in his seat. “Too pretty,”

“You do realize what industry you work in, right? Men can be and are pretty.” You say almost too quickly. The room suddenly feels hotter than you know it's been the entire morning. You clear your throat and pick up your iced coffee, pausing for a moment as you bring it to your mouth. You take a quick sip and look off to the side at nothing before adding, “Go look in that mirror over there.”

After a moment of silence, you flip up the brim of your hat so you can see again as you continue drinking. You sit there quietly as Changbin stares at you. The tips of his ears are alarmingly red and the blush on his cheeks is a bit darker than you remember seeing earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch as he tries, and fails, to contain the smile that is quickly taking over his face. “W-well, t-t-that’s not…not what I—“

“Do I look okay?” Chan asks as he walks up behind you, oblivious to the conversation the two of you are having.

You shift your attention to Chan and give him a once-over. He fixes a rogue strand of hair, moving it off of his forehead and into the waterfall of curls leading to the end of his small mullet. He's wearing a faded tight-fitting ringer tee with baggy blue jeans hanging off his waist, just the smallest sliver of his midriff poking through the gap between his shirt and pants. But the second he raises his arms, you know his shirt is going to expose more. "Are you comfortable wearing that?"

"Yes," He nods with a sort of derpy smile.

“Then you look good. Let me take some test shots of you before we go. Go by the window, please.”

“Okay,” Chan says eagerly in a small, almost child-like, voice as he walks over to the large window. The room is far enough away from the ground floor to worry about the windows being open and fans peeking through.

You take a few quick pictures, only using the light from the window to mimic the conditions you're about to work in. After a few solo shots of Chan, you call Changbin over to stand next to him so that you can make sure they look good together. After a few more shots, you go to the gallery and check the images, making sure you don't have to send either one of them back to the makeup chair. Both Chan and Changbin walk over to you and try to look too. Chan stands across from you, looking at the pictures of himself upside down. Changbin comes up behind you, looking at the camera from over your shoulder. The room is suddenly hot again.

"We're good," You quickly shut off your camera and head back to the table to pack everything away again. "Let's go,"

***

You should have known better to trust the weather app. You should have listened to Changbin, not that he was correct either. Not entirely anyway.

It's not in the hundreds, but the high nineties might as well be. The breeze that occasionally blows through is more like the air that comes out from the exhaust of a car than the expected cool and refreshing summer breeze.

You sent Chan and Changbin off to go take selfies for inclusions while you sit off in the shade of a tree fanning your camera with your bucket hat at a nearby park. It overheated while you were taking a duo picture of Chan and Changbin at the beach. Annoyingly, it shut off right before you could take a picture of Changbin chasing Chan holding a stick with a bit of seaweed hanging off of it. Or rather, you hit the shutter, and then it shut off. Hopefully, if there was ever a moment for luck or god or whatever to be on your side, the picture got captured before the camera shut off.

"Is it working now, noona?" Changbin plops himself beside you on the grass.

You let out an annoyed sigh at Changbin refusing to help with your cover by calling you 'hyung.' It's one of the main issues of the day with him. At first, when you took pictures of them while you were out in the street or in other parts of the city, it was fine because most people were still in their homes. But as the day drags on, there are more opportunities for them to get spotted, only adding to your stress.

"Did you finish taking those selcas I asked for, Changbin-ssi?" You ignore his question while you try turning your camera on again.

"Yes,"

"Did you send them to me?"

"Yes,"

"Alright," Once the camera turns on, you turn it off again and get up from the grass. "Let's go find Chan and shoot somewhere else."

You grab your jacket from the grass, quickly shaking it off and checking each part of it. While you're busy making sure your jacket is free from grass stains, Changbin wastes no time grabbing your camera and camera bag. "About that...how about we go somewhere indoors for a while. We can cool down and not worry about your camera. There's an arcade near here that's pretty much empty and it looks nice inside."

"Did you go off wandering by yourself when were supposed to be working?" Now clean, you tie your jacket around your waist as you look up at Changbin. Strands of his hair from his curtain bangs are now sticking to his forehead. Before you do anything, you're going to have to let the makeup artist fix him up again. Luckily for you, they promised they would stay nearby just in case.

"I was working," You go to reach to take your things from Changbin just for him to sling them over his shoulder. "I just happened to find the arcade while I was walking. It's pretty cool in there too."

You try to take your things again but Changbin takes a half step back. Frustrated, you scratch the back of your head with one hand and rest the other one on your hip. "We have to get permission to take pictures in there. Did you even ask?"

A blank expression flashes across Changbin's face as he thinks for a moment.

"That's what I thought," You mutter to yourself.

"There you two are!" Chan calls from behind you. Both you and Changbin turn around to find the leader jogging towards you with a small plastic bag hanging from his arm and three cups in his hands.

"Did both of you go on side quests?" You scoff in disbelief, an amused smile creeping on your face.

"I was walking back and I saw a fruit stand...Sorry, the pineapple got me." Chan gives you a shy smile before handing you a pink drink. "It's strawberry lemonade. Fruit is good for you when it's hot like this."

Defeated, you take the strawberry lemonade and walk over to the picnic tables in the corner of the park. Chan and Changbin follow behind you, animatedly talking about something you can't hear. You shove your hat back on your head as you sit down on the bench. You're more exposed now and there's no way someone isn't going to recognize the loud pair.

"What were you two talking about?" Chan asks when he reaches the table. He places the bag and the last cup in his hand on the table. Changbin has the other one, a pale yellow drink.

"Changbin wants to go shoot inside of an empty arcade." You sigh as you finally manage to get your things back from Changbin as he sets them on the table.

Chan's eyes light up with a slight twinkle. You can almost picture a tail wagging behind him excitedly as he stops going through the plastic bag. "Really?"

"Yeah but noona says we can't go."

"Hyung," both you and Chan correct him.

"And I didn't say no. I said that we have to get permission from the owner. They'll probably say no." You add.

"Should we go ask? It'll be cooler at least. And we won't have to worry about other people." Chan pulls out three fruit cups from the bag and leaves two of them in the middle of the table. He wastes no time opening the last one and immediately goes for a piece of pineapple.

"That's what I said!" Changbin shouts excitedly as he grabs Chan's shoulder and shakes it, nearly making the older man drop the grape he was trying to eat.

You shoot Changbin a quick glare before rolling your eyes and fishing your phone out of your bag to check the time. You let out a quiet sigh when you see that you have about an hour and a half left of the allotted time for the pictures. If you didn't have to deal with your camera overheating, you wouldn't have wasted so much valuable time. "It'll probably be easier to go to the arcade. I was hoping we could head up to the Hollywood sign and take some pictures, the view is supposed to be beautiful."

"I like the view from here," Changbin says suddenly. His voice soft and small, almost as if he didn't mean to voice his thoughts.

"Hmm," You glance over at Changbin. His eyes are focused yet soft as he stares at you, a small hint of admiration in them. You put your elbow on the table and rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you look back at where you were earlier. Just across the sidewalk, you can see the ebb and flow of the ocean hitting the sand. You almost avoided going altogether, but something about the way Chan and Changbin screamed 'beach day.' It would have been a waste otherwise. "Yeah, the view is pretty nice."

"The ocean always looks beautiful," Chan speaks behind his hand through a mouth full of fruit. "You two should eat though, I think the sugar is starting to attract bees."

You hum quietly as you continue to watch the water, almost like you're lost in a trace. Something about the beach is calming, even if you're not physically on it. Just staring is enough to slowly pull your worries away. Your free hand wanders to the middle of the table, reaching for the fruit cup.

You yank your hand back quickly as something brushes against you and there's a sudden stinging sensation at the tip of your fingers. You sit straight up and look at your hand, flipping it around while trying to find a sign of injury. Three fine lines appear on your forehead when you don't even find a scrape on your skin. You look back up at the cup, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Ba-dum

Your face softens with your mouth hanging slightly ajar when you find Changbin also examining his hand in confusion. Despite the California heat cooking you alive, a chill runs down your spine eliciting goose bumps to spread across your arms and legs as Changbin's head snaps up. His sparkling eyes locked on yours with an expression that only mirrors your own.

"What just happening?" Chan asks confused as he looks between the two of you.

"Nothing..." You reply as you shake your head, bringing you back to reality. "I have to call your makeup artist so she can do some touch-ups before we go. Eat your snacks, I'll be back."

You can't get up any faster as you nearly trip getting up from the bench. Your heart does inexplicable somersaults in your chest as you walk away from the table.

What the hell was that?

***

"Chan, I guarantee if you stick your tongue out cheekily and wink with the tip of your straw or top of your slushie showing, Stay will absolutely lose their minds." You call from the floor of the arcade.

"Like this?" Chan asks as he perfectly replicates what you tell him to do.

"Exactly!" You cheer as he snaps the picture on his phone before taking a bite of fruit.

After your call with the makeup artist, you managed to find the arcade Changbin was talking about and talked with the owner. Or rather, the owner's son who didn't care what you did. You could have told him that you were robbing the place and he would willingly give you the key to the register and go back to scrolling on his phone.

You took a few pictures of Chan and Changbin playing various games for the next hour. You did your best in the dimly lit arcade and the flash of your camera. You should be able to edit the pictures later, but it's probably going to take hours to do so.

After you finished working, you sent Chan and Changbin to take a few more selfies while you parked yourself in the corner to eat your fruit cup and check the pictures. Your time is up with them but Changbin is engrossed in a claw machine in the back of the arcade. With no rush for the rest of the day, you decided to just sit in the air-conditioned room while you finally ate your snack. At some point, Chan disappeared and reappeared with slushies for the three of you and played some games while he waited for Changbin.

"Ah, my tongue is blue..." Chan notes as he checks the picture on his phone.

"It'll be fine. Just send it to me." You brush off.

Nobody's set foot in the arcade the entire time you've been there, fortunately. You're not sure if it's because of the obviously outdated games like Dance, Dance Revolution and Donkey Kong or the music that makes you feel like you walked into a different decade. Either way, you're thankful for the break.

"We're going to be here forever..." Chan groans as he sits down next to you.

"He really wants one of those toys, I guess." You shrug. Changbin's eyes immediately locked onto the claw machine the second he saw it earlier. Every time you weren't taking a picture, his attention would drift back to it. Eventually, you took a picture of him playing it and he hasn't left yet.

"Yeah, but it might be cheaper to just buy whatever plush he's trying to get at this point." Chan leans his head against the wall and takes another sip from his slushie.

"Yeah, you're probably right. It'll probably end up being the most expensive thing he buys during this leg of the tour."

Chan hums in agreement looking out in front of him. After a moment in silence, Chan pulls his phone out of his back pocket and responds to a message on his phone. From the corner of your eye, you can see a long text thread.

"Noona, do you want to come to dinner with us tonight?" Chan asks as he sets his phone down in his lap.

"Dinner?" You shift your attention to Chan. It's still too early in the day to think about dinner.

"Seungmin hasn't shut up about kimchi jjigae for about a week and Hyunjin found a place in Koreatown that's supposed to be really good. It's a hole-in-the-wall sort of place too."

"I would love to but I have a lot of things to get done tonight. A few comebacks are happening next week and I haven't done my reviews for them yet." You lie. You're ahead of album and come back reviews that you're done for the entire month of June barring any surprise drops.

"Take it from one of the biggest workaholics in the music industry--maybe even in the whole world--but you don't have to work every minute of every day."

You shove another piece of fruit in your mouth. "I'm not working right now."

"Technically you are." Chan chuckles.

"Eating fruit is my job?" You joke.

"That's a dream job. I wish I knew that was a possibility."

"Maybe in your second life."

"I'm being serious though. Not about the fruit thing. About the working thing. You're going to burn yourself out."

You set your now empty cup down in the space between you. "Didn't I overhear you and Changbin talking about meeting up with Jisung later tonight to work on some music?"

"That's different. We actually take breaks. We just are going to have a quick meeting, we're not going to record or anything like that tonight."

"I take breaks."

"That is the biggest lie I've ever heard come out of anyone's mouth. You're worse than Seungmin." Chan scoffs, his head lazily turning towards you.

You keep your eyes forward, staring at the title screen for Galaga. Even if the restaurant is not popular--even if the attention is no longer on you, you can't go out with the group. If anyone spots you out with them, it'll cause more trouble than it's worth. If you sit even in the same vicinity as Hyunjin and someone spots you, the chaos will start again. Even if you sit as far away from Hyunjin as possible, people will say that you're just doing it for appearances to throw off the media. You can't win either way. Unless you refuse to play altogether.

"Look, it's fine. It's better if we keep a clear...boundary between me you the eight of you. That way there aren't any more misunderstandings and you guys don't have to deal with the added stress."

"Yeah but..." The thought dies in Chan's throat. He knows you're right. The scandal with Hyunjin wasn't just inconvenient for the two of you, it affected the entire group. Fans had been attacking the other members online either getting mad at them for not mentioning the "relationship" earlier or begging them to be single. A huge mess all around.

"Okay, we can leave now." Changbin walks up suddenly. His hands shoved into his front pockets.

"Out of money?" Chan teases when he doesn't see a small stuffed animal anywhere on Changbin's person.

You laugh to yourself while you get up and pick up your bag and trash from the floor. You toss the cup in a nearby trash can and adjust your bag on your strap.

Changbin shakes his head as he pulls his hand out of his pocket. He stretches a fist out in front of him before opening his hand. Palm facing down, something small falls from his hand. It only falls for a second before it's suspended in the air, being held by a small loop still connected to Changbin's hand. The object moves around a bit, swinging back and forth before you notice it's a small stuffed cat drinking a coffee keychain.

"You spent all your time over there and that's what you got?" Chan laughs as he pulls himself off the ground. "You could have gotten that at a dollar store for less than what you paid."

Changbin shrugs nonchalantly as pulls the cat charm back into his fist. He moves his fist more towards you and, with his palm facing up this time, opens his hand again to reveal the cat.

"All that for a keychain?" You ask in disbelief. You've been waiting for him for at least 20 minutes.

"Yeah, but it's not really my style. You can have it." He sticks his hand out more towards you as he tries to offer it to you.

You stare at it for a moment. It's rather cute the way the black cat is holding a cup of iced coffee. "Shouldn't you give it to the resident cat enthusiast?"

"No," Changbin takes your free hand and places the plush in the palm of your hand before making you close your fingers around it. "But it reminded me of you so I think you should have it."

Ba-dum

You press save on your laptop before letting out a large yawn and stretching your arms over your head. After a few seconds, you lower your arms, pulling your shirt back down with one hand and rubbing the back of your neck with the other. You tap your phone screen after fixing your shirt to check the time.

3:09 AM

“Shit…” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t plan on staying up this late. When you got back to the hotel you immediately got to work importing the pictures you took today. Because of the damage to your laptop, everything takes longer than it should. So, while you waited, you took a small nap, which ended up being longer than you intended. You woke up close to dinner time so you went and grabbed food from a nearby restaurant and ate while you worked.

Editing the pictures also took a little longer than you thought it would. The gentle breeze caused stray hairs to fly around. And you had to do a lot of color correction for the arcade pictures. You also had to reformat the images that Chan and Changbin sent you to save you time later. You were so locked in, you weren't aware how long you were actually working. Luckily, you don't have to be at the venue until the afternoon. So can sleep in a little if your body will allow it.

While your laptop, held together by duct tape and prayers, saves your work you go and take a shower to get ready for bed. You’re busy wrapping your hair in a towel when you walk over to check if it’s done. The huffing and puff of your computer overheating from doing a basic function makes the room hot. You turn the air conditioning on and walk back into the bathroom to do your face routine. Just as you finish, so does your computer.

3:25 AM

You shut your laptop off and double-check that your camera batteries are charging. Once you’re satisfied, you grab a Ziplock bag from the pack on the TV stand and your room key before leaving.

The stillness of the hotel hallway is eerie. It's almost like you stepped into a space where time doesn't exist. It's different from the hallway of an apartment building where you can hear signs of life no matter the time of the day. Hotels, on the other hand, feel almost haunted by everyone who ever stepped foot in them.

You walk to the end of the hall towards the ice machine. As you get closer, the humming of the machine fills the void of quietness. Nearby is the elevator. You don't have to worry about anyone coming up. The entire floor is blocked out for the tour and for added security, the only people who can access the floor are those with the code. Amid the scandal and learning about how there's at least one person working for The Seoul Star: Supernova who is tasked with following the members to catch them in a scandal, your one sense of relief is knowing that they can't come up to the floor.

You fill up your Ziplock bag of ice and make your way back to your room. You hum quietly to yourself as you try to figure out what time you should wake up tomorrow and whether or not you should head over to So-Fi Stadium early to get some footage of fan interactions. You went and got some pictures of the fans camping out back in Seattle but you heard how insane the lines were for the merch presale yesterday. It's expected to be just as insane tomorrow...well, later today.

"Ah,"

You're attention is brought back to the present when you bump into something--no someone--causing you to stumble a bit. You don't fall, your collision wasn't that hard, but their hand rests on your upper arm to prevent you from falling further.

"Sorry, noona. I didn't think anyone was out here." Changbin says quietly. He releases his grip around your arm once he senses that you're stable.

"It's fine, I should have been paying attention." You brush off awkwardly. If you thought you were going to run into anyone, you would have gone out without the towel on top of your head. If it wasn't for the fact that the hallway is cold and your hair is still wet, you'd pull it off right now to save yourself from further embarrassment.

You look back up at Changbin only to be met someone almost unrecognizable. His face is pale and a little clammy. His hair is sticking up in all different directions and looks like it might stay that way. His eyes are darting around looking for...something. His body is so tense that he's shaking. Genuine concern feels your body. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, no I'm good." He breathes, his voice shaky.

"So good that you're just wandering the hallway at three-thirty in the morning?"

Changbin presses his lips into a fine line as he tries to come up with a half-decent answer. He looks everywhere else but you. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

You hold up the bag of ice in front of his eyes so he can see it clearly. "I was working too long so I need to ice my wrist before bed."

"You wouldn't need to ice your wrist if you came with me to the gym more often to strengthen your wrist."

"I know you didn't come out here to lecture me about rehabilitating my wrist." You lower the bag again and tap Changbin's arm, forcing him to look at you. "What's really going on?"

More silence sits between the two of you. The only thing filling in the quiet is Changbin's slow, shaky breathing. A dull pain in your chest appears as you continue to watch him.

“I know I don't exactly give off a comforting vibe," You pause for a second, choosing your words carefully. "but you can talk to me if you want. Completely off the record.”

Changbin laughs to himself quietly. "Last week you were going on about how you don't need to be taken care of or people to care about you and yet, here you are."

You ignore his remark, hardly reacting to it at all. He's right, you don't need to be taken care of or burden other people with your issues. But taking care of others is your nature.

Changbin shifts from foot to foot while he studies your face, almost like he's trying to read your brain and find some sort of ulterior motive behind your words. After looking for a moment and unable to find anything, his eyes soften.

"I...I couldn't sleep," He says simply, his voice tight and crackling.

"Oh?" You reply simply, urging him to keep going.

"It-It's nothing," Changbin says quickly. He leans back against the wall next to him and slides down into a crouch. He lowers his head between his knees and runs his hands through his hair. "I'm just being stupid."

Your body is faster than your brain as you move to sit next to him. By the time your brain catches up to your body, you're unsure of what to do next. Too many seconds are passing between the two of you.

"I don't think you're being stupid. Sleep isn't always easy. I can't even imagine the amount of anxiety coursing through your body the night before you perform in one of the largest venues in the world." You bump shoulders with Changbin, trying to cheer him up.

"It's not that," He lifts his head and leans it against the wall. "I...I have these really intense...dreams? Nightmares? I don't get them often but when I do...it’s just not a good feeling."

“What do you do when you get those dreams?”

“I just go to one of the members. But I'm pretty sure everyone is asleep right now. Even Chan hyung."

"And you talk about your dreams with them?"

"No," His eyes are focused in front of him as his hand absentmindedly plays with the plush carpet between the two of you. His hand accidentally brushes against yours for a moment, causing him to freeze for a moment before he continues. "But we would just talk about whatever. Or watch TV...listen to music...play video games."

You bring your knees to your chest and rest your wrist in a way that allows you to place the ice pack on it comfortably while you hum to yourself in response. "When my niece and nephews had trouble sleeping or had a nightmare I would tell them stories until they fell asleep again. Sometimes I would just hum too if I was too tired."

"You're an aunt?" Changbin's head snaps in your direction. You pick a spot on the floor and focus while the gears turn in Changbin's head.

"That's what you heard in that entire sentence?" You scoff in disbelief.

"I heard about the story part but you're so quiet about your personal life, it's shocking to hear you give up information like that willingly. I didn't even know you had an older sister until her live streams came out. You never talk about your home."

"Seoul is my home." You correct almost defensively. You pause for a moment, collecting your composure as an uneasy feeling brews in the pit of your stomach. “I know what you’re trying to say but that…place never felt like home.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up. You don’t have to explain everything if it’s that uncomfortable. I was just curious about the noona lore.”

“Noona lore?” You laugh, a genuine one that fills your chest with warmth.

“Like I said, you don’t talk a lot outside of work things. It almost seems unfair that you know so much about us and we know hardly anything about you. But I understand if it’s hard to talk about. Your sister is a bit…”

“She’s a bitch. You can say it, I won’t be offended.” You finally look over at Changbin, who stares at you with an amused look on his face. His lips are slightly parted with one corner curved into a smirk and eyes wide as saucers. “She’s 42 and somehow I’m more mature than her.”

“42?”

“Hm,” You hum in response. You ponder for a moment if you should even be telling him this. Weighing your options, you let out a sigh before starting again. “My mom had me late. My sister was turning 13 when she had me. I had an older brother too. He had just turned 18.”

Changbin’s face drops immediately in the middle of your explanation. “Had?”

“He’s not dead or anything!” You say quickly. “It’s slightly more complicated than that.”

You’re not exactly sure why—maybe it’s the ambiance of the hallway or your lack of sleep catching up with you—but you consider telling Changbin everything. How your siblings are actually your half-siblings. How their father was long gone off somewhere far away from the shit storm that is your mother. Eventually, she met your father and fell head over heels in love with him. At some point, he stopped loving her and her solution to get him to stay was to trap him with a baby. A baby he definitely did not want. He did try though, according to your sister. He stayed with her for your sake and all was well. But soon after you were born he was certain that parenthood, and a relationship with your mother, was not the path he didn't want to go down. From then on, your mother shifted the blame onto you. Your brother, freshly 18 decided to not go to university like he was originally planning and stayed to take care of you and your sister as your mother grew more neglectful and out of control. When you were old enough to start going to school and your mother was stable enough to actually care for her children, your brother decided to go back to school and earn a degree so he could get a proper job and help out more. Maybe even adopt you once he was a bit more financially stable. Like a switch had flipped, your mother went insane going on about how he was abandoning like both of your fathers. She kicked him out and threatened to call the police if he came back or if he talked to you or your sister. He tried after that. He’d still take you to and from school. Gave your sister lunch money and made sure you had something to take with you for lunch. And when your mother found out, she kept her word and called the police claiming that there was an abduction attempt. He didn’t get arrested but he knew that she would keep calling until he actually was behind bars. So for his sake, and yours, he stayed away.

But you spare him the sob story. Nothing good comes from reminiscing this late at night. And you’ve already gotten emotional in front of Changbin more times than you’re comfortable with in the last couple of months. Besides, it’ll give him another reason to pity you and that’s the last thing you want. So instead, you face forward and tell him a half-truth.

“We just lost contact over the years.”

Changbin nods, understanding that you're not willing to go further. More silence fills the hallway. A soft thud comes from one of the rooms. You're almost certain one of the other members, probably Jeongin, rolled off their bed.

Sensing the uneasiness radiating off of Changbin, you hold your good arm out, palm facing up, for him to take. He hesitates only for a moment before taking your hand. You're not sure why, if it's the heat of his hand or general exhaustion quickly taking over, but you feel hot. Like someone on the hotel staff just turned up the heater for the whole building. A new sound, a loud rhythmic thumping, rings in your ears as the two of you sit there, holding hands and saying nothing.

"What stories would you tell your niece and nephews?" Changbin asks suddenly.

"I would mostly just repeat the fairytales I would hear in school. My eldest nephew was born when I was 5. The other two were born when I was 9 and 10." You think for a moment trying to recall those fond memories with your niece and nephews. You quietly chuckle to yourself when you remember a botched version of Jack and the Beanstalk that you once told them. "I might have taken some creative liberties though."

"Tell me one?" He asks softly. His voice is small and laced with sleep.

"You want me to tell you a children's bedtime story?" You smirk lazily as you turn your attention back to the younger man.

"You can tell me any story you want to. Or you can just talk about whatever. You can even recap the day if you want." His voice hushed, a whisper of tenderness in the almost intimate moment. "I honestly don't care what you talk about. Your voice is so calming, I can just listen to it all day. It's...it's almost like listening to my favorite song."

Ba-dum

You think for a moment, your brain suddenly devoid of every story you've ever heard. So you make one up. It's more nonsensical jumbled-up words than anything. You're almost certain you blending in some actual children's stories and creating a convoluted story loosely based on Wonseok and Frankie about two members of a trio that hated each other and ended up falling in love. At some point, around the time the two main characters start to fall in love, Changbin's head lands on your shoulder. He was slowly slumping over as you were talking earlier so you weren't as surprised at the sudden contact. You would have thought he fell asleep if it wasn't for the familiar drumming of his fingers along the back of your hand.

As you finish the story, silence hangs over the hallway like a comforting blanket. The thumping noise, now louder, is still present. But so is Changbin's calm, even breaths. Part of you worries about how uncomfortable this position must be for him. Another part of you worries about how you're going to wake him up. If anyone walks out of their room and sees the two of you in the hallway sleeping hand in hand, there'll be rumors spreading through staff and the members like wildfire.

You're slowly nodding off yourself in the tranquil silence. Your eyes are shut and your head is resting on top of Changbin's.

"Noona?" Changbin asks suddenly.

"Hm?" Is all you're able to manage in your sleep-ridden state.

The drumming on your hand stops mid tap and for a second you're convinced he's just talking in his sleep. His breathing is still even and quiet, not showing any sign of stirring.

You push the ice pack off of your bad wrist and decide to let yourself rest for a few more minutes before waking up Changbin and sending him off to his room.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Ba-dum

Your eyes shoot open and the pounding in your ears gets louder and faster. Your mouth is impossibly dry as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You can't remember how to breathe.

“…What?” You ask after a minute. You look down at Changbin, who hasn't moved an inch from his position, in disbelief as you replay what you just heard in your head.

I think I'm falling in love with you.

Maybe you fell asleep without realizing it? Maybe you're dreaming? Maybe you're losing your mind?

Still, you can't bring yourself to look away from the sleeping man on your shoulder. The man who spent the first few months of you two knowing each other hating you. Who completely shut you out and made working with him difficult. The man who frustrates you to no end for reasons you can't begin to understand. Who has been slower to warm up to you than an oven during dinner prep.

Changbin slowly lifts his head off your shoulder and looks up at you, his eyes conveying a vulnerability that you've never seen in him before. He brushes a stray lock of damp hair from your face and tucks it into the towel on your head, his touch lingering as he drags his finger back down your face. Your breath hitches in your throat the longer he stares at you.

“I’m falling in love with you."

Ba-dum

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[applepiiex]

AFTER THE GLITTER FADES ! ! ! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

Y/N comes home from a long shoot still wearing the lingerie from set, makeup flawless, hair styled, and tired in a way that runs deep. Nanami barely looks up. It’s not coldness—it’s patience. Because the version the world sees isn’t the one he loves most.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑

“Which one?” Y/N asks, holding up two lingerie sets.

“You look better in warm tones,” is all Nanami says, blunt as ever.

Y/N stands there, two delicate sets dangling from each hand—one burgundy lace, the other a cooler lilac silk.

“Well, yes, but don’t you think it’s starting to wash me out? Now that I’m tanner?”

Nanami squints at the maroon against Y/N’s skin. For a moment, he considers it with his usual analytical calm. Then, without another word, he returns to his book.

This was how it always went. No matter what “sexy” outfit Y/N modeled in front of him, Nanami gave an answer like he was discussing color theory, not lingerie.

Most people didn’t get it. Y/N appreciated it more than anyone realized.

The performance of sex appeal, for him, had long since lost its spark. It was work now—camera angles, lighting, retakes. “Sexy” had become synonymous with exhaustion.

But Nanami never treated it like that. His attraction wasn’t rooted in lace or skin. If anything, the times Nanami wanted him most were the quiet ones—right before bed, when the day had stripped him down to just himself.

Not naked. Not posing.

Just Y/N —hair damp from the shower, face clean of product, an oversized sweatshirt from some old college he never attended, and shorts that were comically too short. Contacts out. Glasses resting crooked on his nose. Sleepy. Unfiltered.

That’s when Nanami looked at him like he was everything.

Sure, he could acknowledge objectively that Y/N looked stunning in lingerie. But he also saw the weight it carried—the stares, the critiques, the relentless industry gaze. And knowing that... made it something sacred, not seductive. Maybe once in a while—a birthday, an anniversary—it could mean something. But it wasn’t where desire lived.

Desire, for Nanami, was found in authenticity.

“What time do you get off today?” Nanami asked as Y/N emerged from the hallway, makeup half-done, work bag slung over his shoulder.

“Six. Not a bad shift. No retakes today,” Y/N replied, zipping the bag shut and heading into the kitchen for a snack.

“Would you mind making dinner for me?”

Nanami nodded without looking up from his book. Y/N was already kissing the side of his head, rushing out the door.

“Love you!” he called as the door clicked shut behind him.

“Love you too,” Nanami murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

Later, Nanami was in the kitchen, chopping carrots as Gojo leaned against the counter, rambling.

As always.

“You know,” Gojo said, voice laced with mischief, “I find it interesting that you have *those* pictures up.”

He nodded toward the hallway, where framed prints of Y/N’s modeling work hung—elegant, yes, but undeniably sensual.

“Someone might think you’re a perv,” Gojo teased.

“Those people wouldn’t be welcome in my home,” Nanami said calmly. “Besides, it’s art.”

“Art? Or eye candy?” Gojo shot back with a grin.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. “I’m not attracted to him like that.”

That gave Gojo pause. “That’s still so weird to me. I mean, if Suguru became a lingerie model? God, I’d be ruined. I don’t think I’d survive seeing him like that every day…” He trailed off into a mumble.

Nanami’s jaw ticked. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“That’s exactly the point. That’s exactly why I’m not attracted to him like that. People like you are what he has to face every time he steps in front of a camera. I'm scared he thinks he only matters when he’s dolled up. When he’s dressed for someone else's desire.”

He dumped the chopped carrots into a boiling pot, the heat hissing back at him.

“I loved him before the fame. Before the magazine covers and the runways. Don’t get me wrong—yeah, I used to be drawn to those images. But after a while? It became noise. Just... another costume. Another mask.”

Gojo leaned back, folding his arms. He was quiet for a second. Then, “So what turns you on, then?”

Nanami froze mid-stir, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not telling you that.”

Gojo leaned against the fridge now, arms crossed, watching Nanami like a cat that had finally found a string worth pulling.

“Come on,” he pressed. “You don’t get to drop that kind of deep, ‘I love him for his soul’ monologue and then clam up like I asked you your blood type.”

Nanami gave him a flat look as he stirred the pot. “It’s none of your business.”

“Which, in Gojo-speak, means it’s absolutely my business.” He smirked. “You said he doesn’t do it for you in lingerie—but you never said what does.”

Nanami sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you keep letting me in your kitchen.”

Nanami moved to the sink to wash his hands, trying to find a polite way to tell Gojo to drop it. But Gojo wasn't known for polite, and he wasn’t dropping anything.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, you know.” Gojo’s voice shifted—just slightly. Not quite serious, but softer. He wasn’t teasing now.

“I know how hard it is to love someone who lives under a spotlight. It’s not just about attraction. It’s about holding on to the part of them the world doesn’t get to see.”

Nanami stilled.

Gojo pushed off the fridge and walked over, dropping his voice a notch.

“You see him when no one’s looking. And you still want that version of him.” He paused. “That’s not weird. That’s rare.”

Nanami exhaled. Slowly. Like he’d been holding something in too long.

“It’s the little things,” he said finally, voice low and quiet over the bubbling stove. “When he’s tired and honest. When he takes his makeup off and leaves his hair messy. When he’s in the kitchen in the morning, grumbling at the coffee pot like it personally betrayed him.”

Gojo chuckled. Nanami kept going, almost without meaning to.

“He hums off-key when he’s happy. He forgets his own schedule but remembers mine. He wears clothes that don’t match because he dressed in the dark, and he looks... soft. Human. Real.”

He turned the stove down.

“Those are the moments that matter. That’s what I hold on to.”

Gojo nodded slowly, not mocking this time.

“That sounds... nice.”

“It is.”

There was a pause between them, filled only by the quiet simmer of dinner and the hum of the refrigerator.

Then Gojo, of course, ruined it.

“Still wouldn’t mind seeing him in thigh-highs, though.”

Nanami didn't look at him. “Out.”

“Worth a shot.”

A few hours pass, dinner nearly done and Gojo long gone. The front door clicked open with the soft sound of keys and a tired sigh.

Nanami didn’t look up right away—he was plating dinner, the table already set for two. The warm smell of ginger and garlic filled the kitchen, wrapping the quiet space in comfort.

“Hey,” came Y/N’s voice, bright but a little worn. Nanami turned.

There he was—objectively stunning.

Hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Makeup still sharp, lips tinted rose and cheekbones glowing under the fading hallway light. But now, it clashed against the oversized hoodie and loose grey sweatpants he’d thrown on to beat the chill.

Y/N dropped his work bag at the door, toed off his shoes, and smiled faintly. He crossed the room, hoodie sleeves tugged down past his palms, and flopped onto the couch with a huff.

“Photoshoots ran late,” he explained, voice muffled as he leaned back into the cushions. “The lighting guy couldn’t get the angle right, so we redid half the set. I’m pretty sure there’s glitter in my scalp.”

Nanami glanced at him, eyes flicking over the smear of gold shimmer still clinging to his collarbone.

And the subtle outline of lace peeking through the thin hoodie.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned back to the stove and carefully spooned the last of the rice onto a plate.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, tone level. Quiet. Cool.

Y/N blinked at him.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting up slightly. “You’re being... Nanami-ish.”

Nanami didn’t answer. Not really. He just walked past Y/N, setting the plates on the table.

Y/N didn’t push. He knew that voice. That posture. That line Nanami drew between what was public, performative, and real. And right now, even sitting in their home, with his makeup still perfect and lace tight against his skin, he felt like someone else’s.

That version of himself wasn't for Nanami.

So, without a word, Y/N stood, padded to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the door creaked open again. This time, steam rolled out from behind Y/N as he reentered the dining room, toweling his damp hair.

The hoodie was gone, replaced by an old cotton tee—worn thin and fraying at the hem. His sweatpants sagged slightly at the hips, and his face was bare, flushed from the heat of the water. Glasses perched lazily on his nose.

He looked like himself again.

He moved quietly to the table and sat down across from Nanami. Didn’t say a word. Just started picking at the vegetables with his chopsticks.

And that’s when Nanami looked up.

Really looked.

And smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a polite curl of the lips.

A quiet, genuine, eyes-softening kind of smile.

Y/N caught it and blinked.

“There it is,” he teased gently, nudging Nanami’s foot under the table. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Nanami shook his head slowly. “Not mad. Just... waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Nanami reached forward, brushing a thumb just under Y/N’s eye, right where a faint trace of glitter still clung.

“For you to come home.”

[michellesneptune]

What makes You irresistible according to Your placements?

‼️The placements I had in mind while writing this post are Venus, Mars and Rising but it’s entirely possible for you to resonate if e. g. it’s your dominant sign/planet or Sun/Moon or if you have a lot of certain energy in your chart so please take what speaks to you <333

♈︎ Aries Mars and possibly other placements (Venus and Rising) have the most deliberate and intentional movements. They approach things with this confidence that gives the air of “I know exactly what I’m doing”. And I’m talking about the smallest things: how they grab objects, how they walk into a space with perfect posture, how effortlessly focused they seem. You keep your eyes on the prize. You’re irresistible because you never look back. Their energy is so gathered, you know? I could watch them do anything for hours.

The bodies seem almost sculpted. The arms, the collar bones… You can see it in their eyes that they’re ready to start a war, whenever. Margot Robbie has this placement and she’s literally the Barbie. The standard. There is no one feature that’s out of place. Supermodel vibes. Sharp, nothing is a coincidence. A little intimidating even. The popular one at school, the captain of the team. The face card dares you to try and compete with them. One look and they could start a fire.

♉︎ Taurus placements (Rising, Venus and Mars, possibly others) remind me of gold jewellery, dark chocolate and Dolce & Gabbana. You want to bury yourself in their skin. The scent of the body is naturally attractive. People are drawn in an almost animalistic way. Taureans approach everything in an earthy and natural manner which makes them so effortlessly lovable. The paradox here is that they don’t need any of the materialistic stuff in order to seem luxurious. They would be the luxury even in a potato sack, stripped of everything tangible. Because the secret’s in the aura. The gifts from Venus flow in their blood, like black honey, slowly.

They seem so plump, like ripe fruit. You can’t help but want to pick them, own them. They don’t even have to do anything, the sole existence is enough. Full lips, long lashes, thick (often wavy) hair, beautiful neck, soft skin. It’s like they’ve been created with the destiny of becoming the muse. They are born rich, certainly not in the monetary way — it is not something money can buy — I mean natural beauty and attributes. They radiate sensuality. Spending time with them is like eating a three course meal at an excellent restaurant, on a warm evening after 8 PM in Naples, during the middle of summer.

♊︎ Gemini placements steal your heart with a twinkle in the eyes and a mischievous smirk. Their energy is very juvenile and they often look a lot younger that they are. This makes me think of Cher (a Gemini Venus) saying she’s almost never had her heart broken. When asked why by the interviewer, her response was simply: “I’m cute😄”.

Flirtatious little devils. The hands are very attractive here… makes you… wonder… what they can… Anyways, they’re very intelligent, obviously, but it’s more about what actually matters, knowledge usable in real life, they’re utilitarian in that sense. Street-smart, if you will. They won’t try to impress you with academic skills. They simply always listen, never limited by set-in-stone beliefs about what’s fascinating. If you manage to catch their interest, they will remain attentive. And then, when you least expect it, they surprise you with how much they know your mind, how well they remember its nooks and cranks. Enough to make you laugh like no other. Enough to make you fall. Hard.

♋︎ Cancers (personal placements, also moon conjunct ascendant) are certainly NOT the crybabies of the zodiac. They’re extremely strong and I believe it’s rooted in huge emotional intelligence. They will SEEM inconspicuous but, trust me, they know exactly what they’re doing. One second you’re just talking and it’s all casual, then in one blink of an eye, you’re laying on their couch, cuddling and drinking the hot chocolate they’ve made you, while you vent about your father. If you let them take care of you, there’s no coming back, you’ll always want more. My boyfriend is a Cancer mars and he always cooks for me. I’m tied to him forever by taste buds.

As for the body, the chest area is always extraordinarily attractive. The women here may appear to have had an augmentation, even. Also, TALK ABOUT CANCER EYES. They’re usually big (or just stand out), watery and expressive. Starry-eyed. It’s like looking into a galaxy. It reminds me of a hot day at a beach when the waves glimmer in the sun. Women have something maternal about them and men make you want to have their babies. Either way, you won’t be able to resist because they are resourceful and emotionally sharp like no other which makes them irreplaceable.

♌︎ Leo people are extremely charismatic. They know how to talk the talk and they know that they’re exceptional. You’ve probably heard about the lion’s mane and it’s true: the hair is fabulous. They’re confident like Aries, but with more flair. They’re divas. Driven by ego and it’s hot. They bring stardust wherever they go. Samantha Jones from SATC!! Sassy and extravagant but still a fan-favourite. Brave and loyal, can’t help but become obsessed.

They tend to be bossy but I don’t mind following a leader who knows what they’re doing. The spotlight follows them and shines a vivid light on insecurities of others and that’s why haters are driven to take them down. Leo rules heart, it feels as though they radiate magnetic energy created from their circulation through the skin. Being around you is like being around an A-list celebrity. Unapologetic and very talented. You want what they have, even if you’re not exactly sure what that is.

♍︎ The amount of Virgo-y people I’ve had a crush on over the years… Timothée Chalamet is a Virgo rising and I remember when we were all obsessed with him. He’s a great example of how I perceive you guys. He’s calm and laid-back in a way that is a little intimidating. Makes people want to impress you and do right in front of you. You command discipline, because those are the standards you hold yourself to. You would never make a fool out of yourself, because you are composed and mindful. You tell intelligent jokes and you always look clean.

I need to emphasise the bone structure! The cheekbones!!! (Uma Thurman and Bella Hadid are also Virgo risings). It gives the face an ethereal touch, like a high-fashion model. Virgo Mars, from what I’ve noticed, have beautifully shaped bodies, especially the stomach. It’s not uncommon for them to have a perfect six-pack. They resemble a Greek statue you’d stare at in a museum. Your discipline, beauty and brains make others ready to do almost anything in exchange for your approval.

♎︎ Libras are definitely the most charming of the signs. They’re baby pink, glossy lips and Bambi eyes. They give you flirtatious looks and smiles, kind of like Gemini but more shy and feminine. They’re really subtle and will have you wondering at 3 AM whether it was romantic or just friendly. Obviously, they have a taste for stirring things up behind the scenes. They’re innocent and guilty at the same time. They’ve got no idea what they’re doing, yet they just manipulated you into falling in their trap. You turn others’ hearts into a storm and disappear. Thief of Hearts by Madonna.

They’re more cute than sexy, but being cute seems to make them sexy? I hope you know what I mean lol. They’re classically pretty. The features are balanced, nothing’s exaggerated. Nicely shaped brows, small nose, clear skin. However, there’s this sadness to them, and tranquility. Homesickness for another world in their eyes. I HATE the notion that Libras are shallow and superficial. People rarely describe them as full, actual individuals. Truth is that they’re smart, funny and make amazing partners! People fall in love with the versions of themselves that they’re with Libra, because you know exactly how to bring that best side of them!

♏︎ Scorpios are a portal to another world. You’ll recognise them by heavy, magnetic aura, impossible to go unnoticed. It basically speaks for them. They’re often quiet thus each word actually spoken out loud seems like gold. But the eyes and body language will communicate multitudes, only if you observe closely. They seem an inexhaustible source of energy. Once you taste it everything in your life re-evaluates.

Scorpio placements have the best sense in fashion! Many of them possess a closet full of high-quality designer clothes. I’ve noticed that the darkness in scorpionic natives always seeks some kind of way out. It’s either black eyes or very thick dark hair. The area around the eyes seems dimmed and shadowy. Even with light blue eyes, they could have a distinctive limbal ring. They invented being irresistible. Please just suffocate me with your darkness already.

♐︎ Sagittarius rules over exaltation and so its natives are bigger than life. They’re often tall and agile. What I find most endearing about them is the laugh — loud and confident. I’ve noticed many of them to be extremely successful academics. Most great philosophers had sag placements. They’ll open your mind first and then legs…

They’ve been everywhere — and I mean spiritually, emotionally and physically. Perpetual journey for new sensations. Will you manage to keep up with them? Hell no. But you’ll die trying. Imagine being able to clearly hear someone laughing contagiously in another room but you can never access them, never able to join them in the laughter. That’s what being with them is like. You think you know where their thoughts are, truth is they’re already fifty miles ahead. Reminds me of Robin from How I Met Your Mother changing her mind about Ted for the 9583927 time, and Ted always chasing what he cannot have. They’ve got very beautiful legs, possibly because of constant running from boredom and commitment…

♑︎ Capricorn placements remind me of the Evil Queen from Narnia (please take this as a compliment). Also, at this point I’m convinced that they CARRY the modelling industry. Naomi, Kate, Shalom all have cap placements and they will always be legends and role models. They’ve acquired success and got to the top not just because of a pretty face, but because they’re masters of carrying themselves with professionalism and class. They’ve utilised it to create an image, a brand, a high-profile career.

And so what makes you alluring is the confidence in yourself, the sharpness which very much manifests in your physical features. Your beauty dares to ask openly: what’s in it for me? You’ll accept only if the offer is good. Sleek, often tall and intimidating. You like to surround yourself with powerful people and build an aura of unavailability. You know you deserve best and you won’t ever let your natural predispositions (like beauty and business-oriented mind) go to waste. People may call you greedy but they can’t argue with stone cold LEGACY.

♒︎ Aquarius possesses the spirit of exclusivity™. They’re true rebels by blood and you will NEVER understand the shit that they’re on. They have a knack for deciding what’s in and what’s out light years ahead of the general public. You know those memes saying: I’ve actually liked this/listened to that music centuries before you? Yeah, that is Aquarius energy personified. They’re just cool. They CANNOT be copied. Ever. And when you think you’ve succeeded in pulling off their aura or style, honey, they’re on sum else already.

Zendaya is and Aquarius rising and notice how everyone just knows exactly who she is and loves her, even if they’re not into pop culture at all. You couldn’t be ordinary, even if you tried. It comes so naturally to you, expressing yourself in literally any shape or form will always result in creating something one-of-a-kind. You could feel insecure sometimes, wondering why you just can’t fit in, but that is the only way that genius works. That is the only way to stir up a revolution. People cannot resist trying to mimic your vibe.

♓︎ Pisceans resemble porcelain dolls. They also remind me of Cindy Lou from the 2000 Grinch movie. The big eyes and long lashes, dainty features, rosy cheeks. Seeing the good in everything, often to their own detriment. Their movements are slow and mesmerising. Neptune makes everything a little blurry so they look like an impressionist painting.

You guys carry real vulnerability in your eyes so it’s easy for others to spot your good soul. Sadly, people will try to take advantage of this. They project their dreams and fantasies onto you and become obsessed. Troubled, broken and hurt people see you as their refuge, their sanctum. No matter who you actually are, they believe that you can heal them, fix and understand. They want you all to themselves. You possess a compassionate aura and can easily tap into someone’s vibrations, understand their vibe and act like a chameleon. That’s why people don’t want to let you go, you’re unforgettable.

Thank you so so much for reading <33 It’s probably the last post before I go on a break from tumblr… My last words on the drama: calling out blatant ai use in our community should be the standard. Period. I’ve never told anyone to off themselves. The rest I consider to be absurd at this point.

Ad meliora tempora!

Your Michelle~

[earthlyangelbby]

Meeting aspiring rockstar!eddie at a hockey game and getting put on the kiss cam together. thnx 4 ur writing! its rlly cute

Word count: 670 Warnings: None just fluff:)!

AN: What a cute idea! Excuse me if I didn't use the right words for what little hockey I actually wrote about I am completely unfamiliar with it outside of Disney channel originals and rom coms. I am so unbelievably happy you enjoy my writing! I hope its everything you wanted:))

You’re not even sure when he sat down. One minute, the seat next to you was empty, the next, it was full of denim and attitude, and this guy with really pretty brown eyes was laughing at his own dumb joke under his breath.

You try not to look. Really, you do. But his hair’s the kind you only see on an old album cover. Dark curls pulled back half heartedly, some still managing to fall into his eyes. When he glances over, it’s with a smile like he already knows you’ve been sneaking glances.

“Cold night for a hockey game,” he says, blowing into his hands. “Or maybe that’s just me regretting not stealing gloves from my friend when I had the chance.”

You hum. “You don’t look like you’re dressed for the cold.”

“I’m not. I’m dressed for the hope that Mike Wheeler’s VIP seats would be near a heater.”

That earns a laugh from you, small but real. “You’re here for Mike?”

He nods. “He’s announcing tonight. Made me take his extra ticket. Said it’d be good for me. Like I needed a little wholesome community violence or something.”

You snort. “Well, welcome to varsity hockey. I’m here cause it's my brother’s team, he's the enforcer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Number 17?”

You nod, and he lets out a low whistle.

“He’s the one who just checked that poor bastard into next week. Strong kid. I’ll be sure to sit very respectfully next to his sister.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “I’m sure he’d really appreciate that.”

“I aim to impress,” he says, draping his arms over the back of both chairs like he’s making himself at home. His arm is almost behind your shoulders now. Almost.

“So,” he goes on, “are you actually into hockey or is this just sister duty?”

“Bit of both. I’ve learned to cheer when the puck goes in and not ask questions.”

He grins, slow and lazy. “You’re kind of funny.”

“And you’re kind of nosy.”

“Oof,” he says, clutching his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “Wounded. You’re mean when you’re pretty.”

You blink.

He just grins wider. Like he knows what he’s doing to you.

You’re not used to someone this forward, this easy. And it should feel like a line, except the way he says it? Like it’s a simple truth. Like of course you’re pretty. Of course, he noticed.

You sip your soda just to give your hands something to do. “You always flirt with strangers at hockey games?”

He shrugs. “Only when they’ve got really good timing and better smiles.”

Your face is hot now. You hate how warm your cheeks feel under the arena lights.

“I don’t even know your name.”

He opens his mouth but then the jumbotron flickers above.

KISS CAM.

The crowd reacts instantly. Some “ooooh!”s and whistles. You glance up and your heart stumbles.

Because it’s you. It’s you and him.

You stare at the screen. Then at him.

He looks just as surprised but his eyes slide toward yours. A slow smirk spreads across his lips.

You lean in quickly, hand on his shoulder. “We have to,” you whisper. “They’re watching.”

He searches your face for one beat, then says low and steady, “You sure?”

You nod. “Just do it.”

So he does.

His hand catches your jaw like it’s instinct. The kiss is soft but assured. It's not rushed, not performative. Just warm. Intentional. A little longer than it has any right to be. His lips are plush and familiar in a way they shouldn’t be. You feel yourself sink into it for a second too long, and when you finally pull away, your pulse thunders in your ears.

The crowd roars.

He pulls back, breath a little unsteady, and looks at you with something like awe.

“Okay,” he says, voice low. “So, definitely should’ve asked your name first.”

You laugh, dazed. “Yeah. Probably.”

He offers his hand with a stupid grin. “I’m Eddie.”

Thanks for reading :) I love these requests makes my heart happy!!

[sansfavatiny]

"Drive You Home, Break You In"

Choi San x Reader | Established Dom/Sub | Explicit

Description: San is driving you home after a party with the rest of the members and some friends. Everything seemed to be going well until San noticed you were flirting with Mingi. Prepare for your punishment...

Word Count: 1634

Warnings: 18+ content, bd/sm, pushing past limits, breath play, overstimulation, choking, slaps

A/N: Hello everyone, this is the first fanfic I have written in over 3 years so I do apologize if my writing is a little crusty. If you have any requests please let me know down below. I hope you enjoy!!

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The leather seats creaked under San's grip as he steered one-handed through the dim streets, jaw clenched, the other hand draped possessively over your thigh. The music was off, silence thick with tension.

You shifted slightly in your seat, the hem of your dress creeping higher from the movement. His fingers tightened. You didn't dare meet his eyes.

"You thought I didn't see you," San said, voice low, dangerous. "Batting your lashes at Mingi. Giggling like you forgot who you belong to."

"I wasn't-"

He squeezed your thigh, and the breath caught in your throat.

"Careful," he warned, turning to glance at you just long enough for his eyes to flash in the dark. "You're already in trouble. No need to dig deeper."

Your stomach flipped. He wasn't yelling. He didn't need to. That tone calm, condescending, full of restrained violence - was worse. And hotter.

He smirked, sending your silence wasn't defiance but anticipation. "Good girl," he murmured, dragging his hand just slightly higher. "You remember your place eventually."

You clenched your thighs, but it was useless the heat was spreading too fast.

"We'll be home in five," he said, voice dropping an octave. "You'll undress, kneel, and keep your hands behind your back. If I see even a hint of attitude..." He let the threat hang, licking his bottom lip slowly. "I'll remind you who's in charge. Thoroughly"

You swallowed hard. Teasing had its consequences. You knew that. Maybe that's why you did it.

He pulled into the driveway and you both make your way into the house. The second the door clicked shut behind you, San's hand was in your hair.

"You know what to do."

You didn't speak. You didn't need to. The air was hot with expectation, and your body moved on autopilot stepping out of your shoes, unzipping your dress. You let it slide to the floor, baring yourself completely, pulse already pounding.

Then you dropped to your knees. Your hands folded behind your back like always, fingers laced, spine straight. But you couldn't resist the smallest twitch of your lips a nervous, teasing smirk as you peeked up at him.

That was all it took.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes gleaming with something animal. "Still mouthy, huh?" He stepped closer, unbuckling his belt at an agonizing pace. "You're practically begging me to break you tonight."

You didn't respond. You weren't allowed to not until he told you to.

He circled you like prey, dragging the leather strap slowly across your shoulder, down your chest, then around your neck. Not right, not yet just enough to make your breath catch.

"I'm going to ruin you," he whispered against your ear, his breath warm and cruel. "And you're going to thank me for it."

With one command "Crawl" you follow him on all fours to the bedroom. The sound of his footsteps, the creak of the bed, your own heartbeat thudding in your ears... it was all too much.

Once you reached the edge of the bed, he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up. His eyes searching yours not for hesitation, but for surrender.

"You're mine," he growled.

You nodded.

"Say it."

"I'm yours, San."

He kissed you bit you rough and hungry, before dragging you up onto the bed like a toy he couldn't wait to tear apart.

Then the real punishment began.

He didn't waste time. The second your back hit the mattress, San had his hand wrapped around your throat not tight, just firm to remind you who you belonged to.

"You looked so pretty tonight," he murmured, pushing your legs open with his knee. "All dressed up, acting shy. But underneath all that sweetness..." leaned down, brushing his lips over your jaw. "You're a filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"Yes," you whispered, voice catching. His fingers flexed slightly around your neck. "Only for you."

He chuckled low and sharp. "Damn right."

Then his hand was between your legs, two fingers slipping between your folds with an obscene wet sound. He didn't tease. Didn't need to. You were soaked.

"Pathetic," he sneered, voice tight with desire. "Already dripping from being told what to do."

You moaned as his fingers thrust deep, curling just right, palm grinding against your clit like he knew your body better than you did. And he did. He's made it his business to.

"You know what happens when you act up in front of others, don't you?" he hissed, withdrawing his fingers and holding them up, glistening. "You get used. Hard."

You whimpered as he shoved the wet fingers into your mouth, forcing your taste onto your tongue.

"Suck."

You did, eyes watering, tongue swirling, lips wrapped tight as he watched you with pure possessive hunger.

"That's my girl," he growled, undoing his pants with one hand. "Now spread those legs wider. I want to watch you come apart."

The stretch when he slid into you was brutal, overwhelming. He gave you no time to adjust, no slow ease in. Just one hard, hungry thrust that had your back arching and a cry slipping part your lips.

"San-"

"Shut up," he snapped, hips slamming into yours again. "I'll tell you when you can make noise."

Your breath hitched, hands still behind your back, nails digging into your own skin as he took you fast, deep, punishing.

"You love this," he grunted, one hand gripping your thigh, the other fisting your hair. "Being used like this. Stretched until you can't take it. Ruined."

"Y-yes-"

A harsh slap to your thigh made you gasp.

"Did I say you could speak?"

You shook your head, biting your lip, moaning low in your throat as he pounded into you without mercy.

"I'm going to keep fucking you until your forget your won name," he growled, eyes wild now, sweat slick on his chest. "And when I'm done, you'll still beg for more. Won't you?"

You nodded frantically, barely able to breathe, already close.

He saw it.

"Don't you dare come yet," he barked, pulling out abruptly. You nearly sobbed from the loss. But he wasn't done, not even close.

He flipped you over like a ragdoll, yanked your hips up, and slammed back in from behind with a guttural groan. One hand on your hip. The other? Back around your throat.

"You want to come?" he hissed. "You want to be allowed?"

"Please," you gasped, barely able to form the word.

He leaned down, teeth at your shoulder, voice in your ear like sin itself. "Then earn it."

Your knees were burning against the sheets, but you didn't dare collapse. Not when his hand was still wrapped around your throat, not when his hips were crashing into you like he had something to prove.

And he did. He always did.

"You think I'm going to let you off easy after the way you acted tonight?" he growled against your ear. "Wearing that dress. Flashing that smile. Do you know what you looked like?"

You whimpered, your body trembling.

"Mine," he spat. "You looked like mine. And now I'm going to fuck you until that's the only thing you remember."

Your body was strung tight, every nerve lit up like fire. Each brutal thrust knocked the air from your lungs, and his grip on your throat made it harder to breathe, harder to think, but you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to break. You wanted to shatter.

And San knew it.

"You're such a good little slut when you're quiet," he said, voice dipped in condescension. "Look at you. Obeying. Taking every inch. So desperate to come you're shaking."

He pulled out again and got sobbed.

"Don't cry" he mocked. "This is what you wanted."

You were shaking now, forehead pressed to the bed, hips still lifted and ready, so ruined and raw and needy. You could barely stay up, your arms trembling behind your back.

San ran his hand down your spine, slow, deliberate. "Beg."

"Please," you whispered. "Please, San. I need you. I need to come. I'll be good, I promise-"

"Oh, I know you will." His voice sharpened. "But I'm not done using you."

He shoved back in with a snarl, and this time there was no rhythm, just filthy, ruthless, thrusts that sent you over the edge so fast it hit like a collapse.

"Come."

The second the command left his lips, your body obeyed. You scream as everything unraveled, pleasure crashing through you so hard you couldn't feel your limbs. Your arms finally gave out, your chest hitting the bed, legs twitching as the orgasm tore through every inch of you.

But San didn't stop.

He kept going, grunting, cursing, using you like his favorite toy. You were too sensitive, too raw, tears streaming down your face, but you didn't tell him to stop. You couldn't.

"You take it so well," he groaned, voice wrecked now. "Fuck, baby. Look at you. Just perfect. Fucking perfect."

You barely registered the deep, growled curse when he finally came, deep, hard, spilling inside you with a feral sound. His fingers bit into your hips, hips stuttering through his release, holding you in place like you'd vanish if he let go.

When it was over, there was nothing but ragged breathing and the way his chest pressed to your back as he collapsed over you, still buried deep.

Then - silence.

Until San reached up and gently brushed the hair from your check, his lips soft at your shoulder now.

"You okay, baby?" he whispered.

You nodded weakly, still gasping, your body completely wrecked.

"Color?" He asked - the ritual. The check-in.

"Green," you breathed. "So green."

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close, warm and steady now.

"good girl," he murmured, kissing your shoulder again. "You did so fucking well."

[nayaesworld]

11:11

Chapter 2

—

Shapeshifter!Terry Richmond x Black!OC Charlie

Warnings: Supernatural creatures , mentions of murder, supernatural elements and lore

Summary: Terry helps Charlie uncover her supernatural heritage and learn the truth about the maternal side of her family.

—

—

Tuesday morning came to Charlie in a hurried rush. Her morning shower shocked her awake, she rushed her face routine, rushed getting dressed, and rushed to fill up her favorite ceramic bowl with cereal. The letter attached to the fridge by a magnet let her know that her dad was off to work before she’d even gotten up—a usual for the two of them. Most days they only got to enjoy dinner and the occasional lunch together, but she cherished whatever time she could get with her father—especially since she’d never met her mother. Something that had bothered her whole life and she wasn’t sure when she would ever feel just okay about it.

Today could be many things and the thought had Charlie curious. What would they even find at the library and was Terry even real? She had laid in bed the night prior trying to make sense of what had happened, pondering whether or not he could even be trusted. But deep down in her gut she felt it—a nudge forward in his direction. An odd feeling that today might answer every question she’s had her whole life. And she couldn’t pass that up.

Back in her room she grasped the small picture frame that held a photo of her mother. Her finger sliding over the bright smile before she sighed and placed it back on the nightstand. “Here goes nothing.”mumbling to herself she dug the metal pentacle from her coat pocket. The only way to contact Terry. She muttered the words softly to herself, letting them play out on her tongue as she grasped the pronunciation. She repeated them two more times, her confidence growing with each word. She believed what she was saying—was intentional with her words and a chill rushed over her as her passion twists swayed slightly from a breeze within her room. The temperature dropped and it caused her to wrap her cardigan tightly around her frame and she whispered the words to herself again.

A loud caw broke her from her concentration and the temperature in the room began to rise again. The same crow with gleaming green eyes sat atop her dresser using its beak to comb through its shiny black feathers. She moved closer from her doorway hesitantly as she gripped the pentacle in her hand. “Terry…is that you?”. Her heart nearly stopped beating in your chest when the bird replied a simple yes to her. She yelled and stepped back watching as a black ball of mist appeared and Terry was now standing in front of your dresser.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t use that little dove. You’ve surprised me yet again.” His oddly warm smile and voice was somehow distracting you from what had just transpired in front of you. Something Charlie was sure would take time to get used to.

“Well I figured either I was crazy or you were, so I had to take my chances. And plus we have unfinished business. You said I needed to learn my place in this world… how will you do that when you don’t know me? And what exactly is my place?”

“Neither of us are crazy. And you’re important—extremely important; I was sent here to help guide you. Charlie, your ancestors as well as your mother were detrimental pieces to this world, mine included.”

The information seemed like it would be a lot to take in so Charlie found herself moving so sit in the plush chair near her bed. She wanted to grasp everything. She watched Terry’s large frame move closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of her freshly made bed. She’d usually have something to say about that but now just wasn’t the time.

“Your mother…Kelly was an important woman, she did something no other could ever do. There was true peace and balance between the underworld and this one and she earned the respect of the king of the underworld; my father.”

“You come from a long line of witches. A once healthy flourishing bloodline that goes back longer than even I’ve been alive. A bloodline that also runs through your veins.

Your mother was murdered by someone who wanted to sever that tie. I hope to find them before they find you.”

“Terry a witch? Seriously, you don’t think I would know if I was a witch? You don’t think that my own father would have told me if my mother was killed…I’m not special and my mother died giving birth to me. I’m not your girl.”

With that Terry stood and walked to stand in front of her, a single finger moving to wipe a stray tear that threatened to fall from her face. She didn’t even realize she was crying, but talking about her mother never did her any good in that department. She’d always be a ball of emotions when it came to discussing her.

“Charlie you are special and you’re the exact person I was looking for. Your love for creating natural remedies and healing through the earth.. where do you think that comes from? Your healing hands and calm disposition.. it’s in your blood. I know it’s scary to be important but you have my word no harm will come to you.”

“I’ll kill the demon that killed your mother if I have to die doing it. I’m going to guide you and align you with your divine power.. but only if I have your trust to do so.”

Demons..shapeshifters…witches..murder? Charlie felt like her head was going to split open from all this new information. But behind that she had questions—about her, her father, her mother..her family. Twenty four years alive and the truth just decides to walk into her job on a random night— a truth that would change everything she thought she knew about her life.

“I trust you Terry. Maybe more than anybody right now..my father lied to me. Has been lying to me my whole life.. he told me she died giving birth to me. How could he lie to me like that and just deny me the only part of me that I have left of myself to remind me of her?” Charlie felt the tightening of her chest as she sobbed into her hand. She had to confront him for this, all this time without the truth. Life in the dark.

Terry placed a gentle hand to her shoulder, feeling the raw pain beneath it. “Don’t be quick to blame him, little dove… he had his reasons for secrecy. If it ever got out the child that your mother was carrying had survived and lived you would have been murdered as well. Your grandmother made him swear it—that way no one, not even you, would know the truth. But the time for secrecy is over. If you don’t learn this part of yourself…learn the powers that your mother passed down to you. You will die.”

__

The ride to the library was quick and swift and Charlie wasn’t embarrassed by how tightly she squeezed his midsection as he sped through the street…going way over the speed limit. When they arrived he parked his bike in front of the library. A smirk on his face from your wide-eyed expression as you gladly hopped from the back of his bike. After showing your library card to the sweet older lady at the front desk you led Terry to the section of the library that contained the studies and histories of African American culture and history. The black history in Silver Creek was rich and to know her own family history might be in one of those books excited her.

“Why were you acting all cryptic at first? People get hurt around here for that.”

“I had to make sure it was you.. and plus no human weapon could bring harm to me, little dove.” Terry ran his fingers along the spines of the books before tapping a book and pulling it from the shelf.

Past and Present History of the Leblanc Witches. Your mother’s maiden name. Your blood. How have you never seen this before?

Your brows screwed together as you turned to Terry in confusion. “Why is it just out in the open, anyone could have found this book!” Charlie lowered the tone of her voice as the librarian looked in their direction.

“It’s because we’re the only people outside of your family that can see it..it’s hidden in plain sight away from the human eye and out of the hands of people who want to harm your family.”

“There are small simple spells in here we can start off with..then we have to bring you to your grandmother. The reason I found out about you in the first place.”

“Terry, I haven't seen my grandmother since I was thirteen…how do I know she even wants to see me?”

“Don’t you remember what happened that day? That feeling that lit through your veins—that fresh raw energy. That was the birth of your powers. You’re only half witch so there was no way for your grandmother to know when they’d show up—and that put a target on you and your family’s back.”

“Everything your family has done was to protect you—to protect your mothers legacy; you. You are the very best of her and I intend to help you realize that.”

—

The fall weather in Silver Creek was like a postcard. Trees swayed with colors of red, browns, and oranges. A ‘V’ of geese flew far up ahead in the sky honking loudly as they raced towards a warmer climate. This was Charlie’s favorite time of the year; what a cliche. A half witch whose favorite time of the year JUST so happened to be fall. All she needed was a black cat to tie it all together. She chuckled to herself at the thought and repositioned herself on the back of the bike.

“What’s funny Ms.Moore?” You hadn’t forgotten about his presence but in a way it was odd to even be around him.

“My life…unfortunately. But I’ve learned to take a joke or two. Why are we at the park?”

“Because I need to eat and so do you. It’s been a long morning. The sandwich shop, you go often right?”

Charlie nods slowly before swiping a loose strand of hair from her face. “I do. How do you know?”

“It was my job to learn everything about you, from your work schedule all the way down to your favorite food spots. All for your safety of course.”

“Are you gonna grab a bite to eat too? I feel bad about you putting your own needs to the side for me and my family.”

Bold green eyes looked over her face before he nodded over to a park bench. “I’m not human Charlie as you now know. So I don’t quite experience your typical burnout and exhaustion…it’s very different for me. Being here on this plane tires me out to some extent but there are natural spots here on earth, even in this town where I can come to pull energy from. The park is one of them.”

“In the underworld where I was born, we learned which places held those natural energy spots. Learned how to get to them and harness that energy…it’s detrimental to my survival to know that. I need to stay focused and strong so I can help you. Nothing else is more important.”

Nodding her head Charlie placed the book inside her bag. “You know learning about all this is gonna split my head in two…does the life you live ever feel as insane as I do right now?”

“You’ll have guidance in all this Charlie. I don’t mean to bombard you with all this information…I just want you prepared. Prepared for anything that might come your way…this is why the reconnection with your grandmother is so detrimental.”

“I can’t imagine the things she must know…the things she knows about my mother. The things she’ll reveal about my family. I’ve been so alone, it’s been just me and my dad for so many years…I don’t have any friends. But I-I miss her. I miss her face, her cooking, her warmth. She was the closest thing I had to a mother before…that happened.”

She sighed deeply and held her head a little higher than she felt she had in years. “I want to fight for myself and my family. I want to…I have to. I owe it to my mother and to myself to do this. No matter how dangerous.”

“And so we will little dove..so we will.”

__

Terrys trek into the woods of the park only began when he was sure Charlie was safely nestled into a booth of the sandwich shop. He felt her eyes on his retreating form as she stared from the large windows. She was scared but the love for her mother emboldened her and gave her that push she needed to turn over stones that revealed the secrets of her bloodline.

It didn’t take him long to walk into the energy spot. The way the trees up above created perfect slits in the canopy to allow slivers of sunlight to rain down on the ground. All connecting and creating a circle to form a natural hotspot for the supernatural being. He hadn’t fed since the day before he found Charlie and his body was stiff and tingled with hunger. His diet was ever changing and usually consisted of parts of the human body he needed to complete transformations and maintain his power. Consuming the hearts, livers, and brains of mortals allowed him to appear human and stay off the radar of his enemies.

Unfortunately small towns in the human world afforded him no such luxuries. Everyone knew everyone and a missing person could point weary eyes in his direction and those were problems he didn’t want to arise here now or ever. He shrugged his leather jacket off and let the sun drench his skin. The heat making his black veins pronounced as his skin soaked up the moisture. His body consuming it and turning it into a ball of nutrients that would sate his hunger for the upcoming days. Just enough until he was able to get a city over into a metropolitan area and feed on the worst mankind had to offer.

Through the eyes of another he watched the nervous movements of Charlie. The subtle way she twirled her twists between her fingers and held her head low until the waitress greeted her. The small skips of her heartbeat—her shuddering breaths. He could feel it all. The way it felt like whispers on his cool skin. The thud of her heart and the way it felt like it came from the ground beneath his feet. Focusing on her and allowing his body to finally heal was soothing in a way. It gave him purpose.

His father Keres; and king of the underworld also monitored these spots. He had many eyes and many followers that notified him. But being a part of his father made him easy to find at all times and it was only a matter of time before he summoned him back home for a report. He always grew restless when Terry was away for too long. But Terry knew what he had accomplished this far was a step closer than they’d been in two decades to peace—and no one could snatch that from them again.

The Spanish moss in the trees above him swayed gently in the wind and the sun shifted up above him. The hair on his body stood on edge and the green of his iris began to turn black. His body doubled over and his fingers gripped the dirt below him. Something was wrong—his body was transforming. Changing him to his birth form, shedding the facade of his human skin and preparing him for what was coming his way. His true form stood at seven feet tall, hardened muscles rippling across his body as long arms dangled at his side. Sharp claws gripped a nearby tree as he shook away the disorienting feeling that had washed over him. Charlie…Charlie…I need to get to Charlie. His mind screamed at him to get it together and face whatever was coming his way. The view he had of her was distorting and eventually he lost sight of her.

Black wings unfolded and flexed themselves. He hadn’t flown in weeks, having been reduced to his human form for nearly a month. A heavy stench began to pour into his nostrils. The smell of decay and death; the stench of a demon. He growled and whipped around, the force causing pieces of bark to fly from the tree as anger bubbled in his throat. He would rip its throat out before he ever let it get past him—before it could get to her.

“A shapeshifter was written all over this delusion crusade…only you desperate creatures would come here restless as dogs. And maybe it’s time you got put down like one.”

Ugly, pure evil, and an abomination. It stood no more than thirty feet from him, its short curved horns and scaly skin disgusted him. The forked tongue left its mouth as it tasted the air around it. This thing—this demon could only be here for one reason. As quiet as Terry and his father had tried to keep things, it wasn’t entirely absurd that word had gotten out about Charlie. There were others in the underworld that didn’t want this ally ship with the witches. And they’d do anything to erase them from the face of the earth, that anything included selling out their own kind to demons.

“You and I both know how this will go…I’ve never been beaten by your kind. Never even be halfway fucking scratched. So why would you, a creature half of what I am, think that I’d let you a low ranking demon come between my ‘crusade’. I’ll send what’s left of you back to hell.”

But before he could make a move that sound hit his ears. A sound that made his non existent heart drop. Footsteps nearby and they were closing in too fast—too fast for him to get rid of the threat. His head began to hurt and he hoped that it wasn’t Charlie..wished it wasn’t her. The smell of macadamia and vanilla rolled over the air and any other time he’d love it, bask in it even. But right now in this moment he hated the smell, hated that it was connected to Charlie even worse. Because now the danger he spoke of was here and it was bringing the first of many battles to her doorstep and he was ready to step up to the plate.

Fuck his life. All three hundred years of it.

—

@slvt4her @rawflwrs @thabiddie23 @blyffe @sk1121-blog1 @orchidwonder @onherereading @brattyfics @theereinawrites @keehendrixx @writingsbytee @dimepiece09 @playgurlxoxo @zillasvilla @23jammy @kenshisluvrgirl @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @

[writingwhimsey]

Smut request please 👉🏻👈🏻

Character: Leon Dompteur (pls)

Scenario prompt #12

Dialogue prompt #3

I hope it's not too much for you... 💕

Hello dear! And thank you for the ask! Thank you for trusting me with your fave man! I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

For Smut's Sake Event

Scenario: Seeing the love marks they left on their partner and getting turned on

Dialogue: "Don't give me that look."

Suitor: ikepri Leon

NSFW 18+ content Oral female receiving, fingers, PIV

Marks of Love

Leon walked into the library. He knew this is where he would find her. He wasn’t surprised when he found her, sitting on a bench by an open window, a book opened in her lap and the sunlight forming a halo around her, making her glow.

He’d come looking for her, ready to steal her away for an adventure just the two of them. There was a festival going on in town and he knew that sometimes they both just needed a break away from the palace. A festival was the perfect thing. But then again, she looked so peaceful as she sat there engrossed in the story.

He smiled as he stood there silently watching her. Though he always fell asleep while reading, he loved how much she enjoyed it. He loved seeing her at ease and she looked completely at ease while reading. His amber gaze drank her in.

She let out a soft sigh as she turned the page. She then lifted her hand to move her hair off of her shoulder. That was when Leon noticed it. The love bite he had left on her neck the night before. Her fingers brushed faintly over the mark as she continued to read.

Was she aware of the mark? It was as if her fingers were lingering, tracing over the red petal. It was then Leon recalled how that wasn’t the only mark he had left on her last night. His eyes caught sight of another peeking out from the collar of her dress. He knew there were more on her stomach, chest, and thighs.

He began to warm as he recalled how sweetly she had moaned after each mark he’d left. How many times his name had left her lips as his own worshiped her. His heart began to pick up its pace as desire for her bloomed deep within him. 

She let out a gasp when she heard Leon let out a sigh he hadn’t even been aware of. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Leon… oh you gave me a fright.”

“Sorry.” Leon replied, giving her a sheepish look. 

“How long have you been standing there?” She asked.

“Long enough.” Leon answered. “Sorry, you just looked so beautiful.”

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of rose at his words. “So, you were just watching me read?”

“Yeah.”

“But…what was with that sigh?” She asked. “It sounded…heated.”

Leon grinned. “Well…it’s hard not to get that way when you’re so brazenly showing off the proof of our love from last night.”

“What are you talking about, Leon?”

Leon pointed to a spot on his neck, wearing a grin. “Right here, on your neck.”

Her eyes went wide and her entire face turned bright red as she clapped a hand over the side of her neck. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She asked, trying to give him a stern look but failing.

“I just now saw it…and the one peeking out from the collar of your dress here.” He said, pointing to his own collarbone.

“Have I really been like this all day? People could see…”

Leon walked over to her and knelt down beside her. “Yeah, people can see, but at least they know their queen is well loved.” He said, resting a hand on her thigh.

She gasped, feeling the heat even through the fabric of her dress. “Leon…”

He grinned. “I was going to sneak you out of here and to the festival in town… but I suddenly have other ideas.” He leaned in, nuzzling her neck.

“Leon…” She said, trying to give him a stern look and failing.

He grinned. “Don’t give me that look.”

They soon left the library, Leon carrying her to their shared bedroom. He didn’t set her down until they’d reached their bed. He laid her down and climbed on top of her, his large frame enveloping her smaller one.

Leon grinned as he lifted a hand, fingers beneath her chin. Her eyes were glowing with her own desire as she looked at him. “Leon…”

He spoke her name before leaning in and capturing her lips with his. His large hands roamed over her body sending waves of heat through her. He moved his lips from hers, going to trail kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck even as his hands moved to undo her clothes.

Her own hands moved to undo the buttons and ties holding his clothes together. He’d already had her practically bare, his lips on the side of her neck. “Mmm…perhaps I should leave more marks.” He murmured against her skin, lips twitching into a devilish grin against her flesh.

“Mmm…don’t tease me…” She said, giving him a pout.

“I was just thinking this mark on your neck needs a partner.” He replied, before sucking on the skin next to the other mark. He slid a hand up her side before moving to cup one of her breasts, gently kneading it as he continued to spread more love bites over her neck.

“Ngh…Leon…” She moaned so sweetly, just as sweetly as the night before. Gods how he loved the sound of her voice. The feel of her skin against his. The way she moved. The way she smelled. The way she responded to every touch.

Slowly, Leon moved, kissing down the front of her body and leaving more love bites along her tender flesh, looking like a trail of rose petals. “You look so beautiful like this.” He murmured, kissing that sensitive spot just below her navel, his amber eyes were looking up at her, such intent as he did.

Her breath hitched. “Leon…”

He grinned, placing another kiss there before dipping his head between her thighs, lips and tongue, setting to work on that little pleasure pearl. She gasped and her hands immediately moved to fist in his hair, holding him in place.

His lips quirked into a grin against her heat for a moment before he continued his work. He licked and sucked that sweet little bud, causing her to writhe. Her hips jerked when he added his fingers, slipping two inside to further stimulate her.

She tasted so sweet! She was heaven as she moved under his ministrations, his name leaving her lips in gasps and moans. He could sense her release getting close as her thighs tightened around his head and her hands gripped his hair tighter, her hips bucking harder against his face.

“Hah…ngh…Leon!” She cried as her release hit her, her walls clutching at his fingers.

He continued through her release, drawing it out and drinking up her pleasure. He didn’t stop until her fingers grew slack in his hair and her thighs fell to the sides. Slowly and gently, he kissed back up the front of her body.

“You are so beautiful.” He told her as he hovered above her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

She smiled up at him. “I love…you, Leon.” She said, still breathless and panting.

He gently kissed her lips. “I love you, too.” He said as he positioned himself between her legs, slipping inside. “And I plan to spend the rest of the day showing you just how much.”

She wrapped her own arms around him and let out a moan as he filled her. “Mmm…I want to…do the same…for you.” She replied, leaning in and kissing the side of his neck.

Leon gasped as he felt a warm stinging sensation, realizing she was leaving her own mark on him. He grinned. “I’m all yours.” He told her before he began to thrust. He would indeed spend the rest of the day showing her how much he loved her in every way he knew how.

Tag list:

@zulablaise @chirp-a-chirp @wistfulwanderingone @tooold4thisish

@limonzu @oda-princess @kisara-16 @tele86

@eventinelysplayground @bjorkshire-pudding @otomewonderland

@obeymetalesandikemen @lovely-bubb1es @lucyw260

@queengiuliettafirstlady @leiaglamela @almond-lebkuchen

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @littlefox1572

[soriseerakyra]

Stage Lights and X-Ray Eyes

A/N: This has been in my head for a year...Enjoy!

*Plop*

“SUPERSTAR STUNS WITH CRIME-FREE SHOW IN GOTHAM!”

Clark Kent should be surprised when the newspaper is slapped down in his face, but he’s used to it by now.

Lois stares at him with a chipper smile, cheeks pulling up painfully at the sides. Eye twitching, eyebrows unnaturally raised.

“Have I got a story for you, Smallville.”

‘Another lead to pass off, more like.’

He knew by now how Lois looked when Perry pushed a story onto her that she absolutely wanted nothing to do with. That’s where he came in. Not that he really had any way to deny her. He was still the rookie in the bullpen after all. He glances down at the paper in front of him, and a black-and-white image of the titular starlet singing to a crowd of thousands dominates the majority of the front page of the Gotham Times.

“Music not your thing?” He asks smartly.

Lois blinks softly, her face relaxing from its tight, forced state. His quip having put her at ease, she gives him an easy smirk.

“Let’s just say I’m not looking to cut my teeth on how pretty a singer looks in her new designer dress.”

“I guess that’s why you came to me,” he starts. “I am the fashion expert around here.”

The chuckle that Lois lets out is warm. Clark can feel his heart skip a little and his cheeks color at the sight of her genuine smile.

“Glad we are on the same page. Let me know how it goes, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

It’s all he can get out in response as she happily saunters away from his desk. The tension left her body, allowing her to glide effortlessly. He doesn’t know which one of them is more excited. Lois, because she got the weekend off, or him, because she finally talked to him like one of her colleagues.

***

Tight.

Being sewn into your costume was always a ritual, one equal parts glamour and quiet suffocation. The garment, crafted to perfection, hugged every curve like it had been molded to your body. Zippers, laces, and hooks drew it snug, each fastening a promise of elegance and control.

A perfect second skin.

Well… third in your case.

You’ve never protested. You asked them to make you a star, and their hands did all of the work. You let them stitch and tug, pin and adjust, the prick of needles. Being made over like a doll. This was nothing; the easy part. And nothing compared to when you finally touched the stage.

Fame is the thing you wanted—what you had wished for. And these pre-show moments were the necessary steps to make it happen.

In these rare moments, you were allowed to be passive, transformed into a porcelain doll for them to dress and perfect. Because the moment you stepped out that door, the illusion would shatter. You would have to become her again.

They all relied on your performance. Your success was their security. Your spotlight ensured their paychecks. So you let them move around you like worker bees, tending to their queen with quiet reverence and the buzzing urgency of purpose.

“Hair next,” someone said. “The curls are starting to fall. We’ll need to reset them.”

“Is she sweating?”

A face appeared in your periphery, scanning you with quick precision. “No. Makeup’s holding.”

“Good. Those lashes were hell to get on.”

A honey-blonde girl knelt at your feet, her skin the shade of butter pecan. She fiddled with the straps of your heels, stealing shy glances up at you as she worked. Her voice trembled just enough to betray her nerves.

“Ready for tonight?” she asked, trying for casual but failing.

You saw it in her eyes—that flicker of awe, the breathless anticipation. Her hands fumbled more than once with the buckles.

Starstruck.

She was still new. The others had long since learned that your radiance wasn’t magic. It was work. Smoke and silk and sacrifice. But she would learn. For now, you gave her a soft smile to ease her jitters.

“As I can be, thanks to you guys,” you reply with a smile.

Her cheeks darken, and she shyly glances away. And for a moment, you find yourself having to suppress a chuckle. Until her grip on your leg tightens.

“H-hey!” She stutters, surprised, and then anger fills her. “You can’t be in here!”

A startled shiver runs down your spine as the chaotic room is suddenly still. The sudden silence is terrifying. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and fear bubbles to the surface of your skin.

You turn carefully, mindful not to undo the hard work of the artists who hadn’t finished their tasks yet.

At the door stands a man, shoulders sheepishly hunched, with wide blue eyes that seem just as alarmed as everyone in the room. The wine and white plaid shirt, partially hidden beneath an almost too tight light brown leather jacket, is enough to clue you into the fact that he is not one of your fans who’s snuck backstage for a sneak peek.

His unexpected entrance has caused a bubble of tension to fill the room, and he’s the first one to break it.

“Sorry,” he stutters out quickly, a few fingers coming up to push up the square frame of his glasses.

He has uttered an apology, but he hasn’t made a move to leave.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry!”

You aren’t sure who screamed it, but the intruding man is soon swarmed with angry bodies pushing and prodding him out of the door. One of your dedicated stylists is in the back of the mob, threateningly waving his still-hot curling iron, promising to burn the man if he doesn’t move.

Strange that, with all the mass pressed against the intruder, none of your defenders can seem to get the man to move an inch or two.

Desperate blue eyes meet yours, and you can’t help the chuckle that slips from your lips.

It’s not the first time you’ve dealt with someone who's snuck backstage, and it won’t be the last. For some reason, people always think it’ll be easy to get to you. Maybe early on in your career, but not now. Not when so many people depend on you.

“I’ll call security,” the girl at your feet mutters, finally releasing her protective hold on your leg to go and find someone’s phone.

Oh yes, how did he manage to get past your security?

“Please, I didn’t mean any harm.” It’s a desperate thing that falls from his lips. A soft voice with the barest hint of a midwestern drawl is pleading with you for mercy.

Curious, your fingers find the shoulders of the blonde girl before she can press send on her call.

“Then what did you mean by coming back here and scaring us all?”

The room settles into a rumble of accusatory mumbles at your question, bodies waiting for the man to answer. The pinging of metal prongs lets you know the curling-iron-armed stylist is ready to act should the man not have a satisfactory answer.

“I-I just wanted an interview. I’m Clark Kent, with the Daily Planet.”

It’s an earnest answer, and he can’t keep the grin from forming on his face when a few in the mob begin mocking him. He shows his press badge as proof.

You have vague recollection of the Daily Planet, having given an interview or two when you’d passed by on tour before.

Your lips twist in amusement, and the crease of his frown on his face only gets larger.

“If you can find me after the show, I’ll give you one.”

The tension eases from the room at your decree.

The man’s eyes light up, and for a second, you feel bad for giving him an impossible task.

“Thank you,” He gushes as he finally begins to slip back through the door frame. For a man so large, he’s quickly able to shrink back into the shadows of the dimly lit hallway.

Your team doesn’t move until he’s entirely out of sight, their wary glances following him until they are sure that he is gone.

The door shuts, and your intruder is gone just as quickly as he appeared. The room seems to relax for a second. Tension drains from the room as worried beings lock eyes with each other, seeking comfort. That man truly didn’t seem to understand the high alert he put everyone on.

If you had any intention of giving him an interview, you would have been sure to impress upon him the issue of his interruption.

The lull in activity is over in a moment. Like clockwork, hands resume their tasks, and you’re back to being primped and preened for your performance tonight. You all realize that you must put the disturbance behind you. And you're mentally blocking out the audacity of that reporter.

You almost feel bad for that reporter; whatever angle he was thinking of writing about will be gone in a few hours, and he’ll have waited through the whole concert for nothing. But there's nothing to be done about it now; it’s not as if you’ll ever see him again.

***

It always feels strange to slip back into your own body—a sudden relief filling you, like the sensation of slipping off a too-small latex glove.

Your alter ego was a little taller, eyes a little bigger, and mouth slightly poutier. But she was still you. You looked enough like your other form that people often asked if you were related, but most never bothered you in public.

You were subject primarily to silent speculation and whispers between friends. And that is just how you wanted it.

Fame without the downsides. Most of the time. You were still free to be yourself without having to worry about how you would manage a life.

Slipping away from your handlers had always been something you were good at. Those close to you were more than trustworthy enough to keep your secrets.

Once you changed back into your regular form, you were able to slip out of the stadium with some of the stragglers, concertgoers too drunk to find their ride or still high from the experience, and those taking pictures.

You sit on a bus stop bench watching small groups of people stumble along sleepy, dark roads. The total opposite of the congestion

“There you are!”

You freeze.

A large form passes in front of you before you’re able to comprehend what’s happening.

There in front of you stands the journalist who forced his way into your dressing room. He looks at you with excited eyes and a nearly boyish smile. He looks at you with a mix of relief and excitement because he’s fulfilled his task, and now he’s here to ask you whatever inane questions he has for his paper.

But how did he…?

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person.”

That should be enough. The difference in tone of your voice should be enough to throw him off. Like your other features, your voice is a little deeper, with slightly raspy tones, different from your facades' honey-dipped tenor. Your eyes flicker away from his and back to your phone screen, willing the car icon to move closer to your location.

Your eyes flicker back up when you realize that he hasn’t moved.

He’s looking at you blankly for a second. All joy and relief at having found you drained from his face. His eyes flicker up and down your form for a second as if he’s trying to confirm what he’s seeing.

Then he tries again.

“I’m sorry, I know we met in kind of a weird circumstance earlier, but I’m Clark Kent. You told me to find you after the show for an interview.

You bite the inside of your cheek in irritation.

“And I told you I think you have the wrong person.”

Your lips pull down in a frown, and your eyes squint in practiced irritation.

His brows furrow at your confusion. “If you want to reschedule, we can do this at another time, it’s just that you said to find you after the show.”

Your throat tightens, and the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end. Something isn’t right with this guy. Earlier, when you met him, you didn’t think that he had any ill intentions. But what kind of freak was he that he could see that you were…well…you?

You clench your fingers around your phone tightly, the muscles in your belly clench tightly, and you become nauseous.

It’s the second time in the day that the man has caused you fear.

White light hits the corner of your eyes, and your phone vibrates in your hand; your ride has come just in the nick of time.

The only thing you must do is to get away from this extremely dedicated reporter.

He’s still looking at you with clear blue eyes, eyes too bright and lively for this time at night. You know he’s waiting on your next move, hoping for an answer you were sure you were incapable of giving him at the moment.

Your throat is tight with anxiety. This man appears to be either a stalker or overly aggressive at his job. And neither one of those possibilities is something that you want to deal with right now.

“I have to go, my car is here.”

Your explanation is mumbled as your eyes cut away from him, unsure why you are giving the strange man an answer in the first place.

“But-,”

You rise quickly from your seat, and he takes a measure two steps back, his reflexes surprisingly fast for someone of his size.

You dash to the car waiting for you across the street, its driver now flashing his headlights in annoyance.

The moment your foot steps onto the gravel-paved road, you feel a twist—an awkward roll of your ankle inward. Your knee gives out at the sudden irregular feeling.  The realization that you're falling comes fast, your eyes close quickly, and one of your hands comes up to protect your head almost instinctively.

Your blood is tingling with apprehensive jitters as you wait for the feeling of cool, rough pavement to scrape against your exposed body parts.

Then you feel it, a warmth spooled against your ribs.  Large hands splayed against your back and side, wrenching you from the grip of an unfortunate, and highly embarrassing, spill.

Your eyes open in bewilderment as you realize that you are more right-side-up than you expected to be a few seconds prior.

Straight ahead, you see your ride share driver throwing his hands up in exasperation, beckoning you to hurry to your paid-for seat.

“Are you all right?”

It’s not until you feel warm breath on the back of your neck that you realize that you are being cradled by the man who’s had you on edge.

“I’m fine.”

You're forceful when you rip your body away from his. But he’s quick to release you without any fight. His hold had been so light it had almost seemed like he’d been afraid you would break. Your clumsiness is probably making him feel as such.

His brow is furrowed in a look of concern, and he appears gentle.  A hand of his reaches out to steady you when you step down off the sidewalk.  His concern seemed so genuine that you almost feel bad for not trusting him. Almost.

You walk away, heading to the car and trying to assuage the guilt that’s building in your stomach.

You only make it to the halfway point before you turn around.

“You have a card?” Your voice is little more than a mumble, but the reporter is either an excellent lip reader or has the hearing of a retriever because he perks up immediately.

His large hand shoves its way into one of his jacket pockets as he easily steps over the sidewalk.  He does it with such ease, it's almost as if he's mocking your little spill earlier.

 Your fingers brush against each other when you take the card from him.

His cheeks burn red.

You cut your eyes away.

"I'll text you," it's a mumble. You wonder if he can tell how defeated you feel.

 You don't dare meet his gaze again to find out. Instead, you hurry to slip into the car, sliding down the back seat to wallow in your pity.

Was this how everything ended?

***

“Interview With a Shape Shifting Starlet!”

No, that felt wrong. She hadn’t even agreed to the interview yet. How about…?

“Superstar Disguises Self to Live Among Us?”

No, that felt worse. Invasive. Icky.

Clark Kent didn’t sleep last night. He’d been haunted. He didn’t see it when he caught her sitting alone last night, how spooked she’d been.

How genuinely scared she was.

Even when she had practically run away from him, he’d been too enthused actually to notice those buckeyed looks she gave him.

She hadn’t even seemed that scared when he ‘found’ himself in her dressing room.

She was so in control then, so above it all. Ethereal, almost blinding.

‘And half dressed.’ ‘

He feels his cheeks burn, and he’s sure that he’s red as a tomato.’

He had tried his best not to look, but it was all happening so fast. He was glad that he had gotten a good look at her, though. Without it, he never would have found her again.

Her posture had changed. Her voice, her gait, even the lines of her jaw. But those eyes. He could pick those pretty eyes out of a crowd, a solar system away.

But he’d been too indulgent to read the distress.

Imagine that Superman couldn’t tell when someone was afraid.

Clark sits at his desk at the Daily Planet, pencil twirling in his hand. He doesn’t have the heart to write any of his proposed headlines on the computer. He was too worried he might accidentally get inspired.

He wasn’t looking to write an exposé on a woman who looked like she was genuinely in fear for her life.

But what was it that he was supposed to do now?

The city skyline starts to pale as the sun begins to creep up. Light was cracking through the big open windows of the office.

Clark leans back in his chair, glasses off, finger rubbing at his nose bridge.

She had told him no twice and had tried to run away from him.

And still she said, “Do you have a card?”

Guilt.

It's eating him up.

While he may have remembered those eyes at first because of how beautiful they were, he can’t stop thinking about them now because of how familiar they seem.

He flips the page in his notebook.

He couldn’t write the article, it wouldn’t be right.

But he could write a letter.

“You looked afraid when I found you. Not afraid of me, but afraid of being seen. I know that feeling. I live it every day…”

***

“And it was unfair of me to put you in this position without thinking.”

One of your legs is folded on your lap as you read the letter. Sun warming your back, you reread the letter. The whole thing is lengthy and filled with other versions of apologies, admissions, and small memories that he must have held onto. He recounts their first interactions – awkward and uninvited — and how unprepared he was for her presence. He writes about the moment he saw her alone at the bus stop and how he should have seen more than just a source for a story. Because his mind could see her for what she truly was at that moment. A woman who just wanted to vanish into the night, and he hadn’t let her.

Somewhere between the small apologies and the anecdotes, you forget yourself; a small smile cracking the façade you had put on when you had agreed to meet him here at the park. You had told yourself that you would be stoic, solid as a rock. But you couldn’t.

Not when he handed you the letter and hurried away with a wave, blush of embarrassment on his cheeks. Not with all the self-deprecation and the indications that this man was just a giant dork who loved his job.

You press the paper against your thigh, eyes still skimming the last few lines. There’s something comforting about the slant of his handwriting, the way he loops his lowercase' e's as if he’s not in a rush.

“I won’t publish a word,” he wrote. “I just wanted you to know someone saw you and didn’t look away.”

You exhale slowly. That line—it settles into you like warmth after cold rain—a slight relief.

Then your fingers hover over your phone.

You shouldn’t reply.

You’ve told yourself to let this go. Fame and privacy can’t coexist. That people like him, good at heart with keen eyes, are too dangerous to let close.

But still, you type out a message.

Coffee? Somewhere quiet? No interviews.

Your finger hesitates above send.

Then taps.

You set the phone down beside the letter and pull your knees to your chest, letting the city move outside your window.

Maybe this doesn’t have to be about headlines.

Maybe this time, it’s just about being seen.

***

The café was tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore—quaint and forgettable.  It had been her suggestion. Clark had suggested a dinner, but received an emphatic “No!” in response. He supposed that a superstar wouldn’t be a fan of somewhere loud and crowded, like a dinner in a busy city. But she also probably personally wasn’t a fan of the noise when she was herself either.

He arrived early. He had already claimed a corner table where the light didn’t quite reach, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee and nervously rereading the message she had sent. It had come early in the afternoon, but he couldn’t read it at his desk. Not after he handed her that letter and ran away like a weirdo.

He also didn’t want to be seen on his phone after he failed to put the story Lois had so graciously given him. She was quick to send him daggers when he came in that morning and had nothing to show for the expensed ticket that was bought for him.  

But when he had read it, his heart thumped with relief.

Coffee? Somewhere quiet? No interviews.

Would it have been wrong if he had admitted to himself that that was precisely what he had hoped she would write?

The bell over the cafe door jingles as it opens, and Clark is surprised. She’s here, the real her, like she agreed to.

She wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast. Understandable. But the style was different from the sweatpants and hoodie that he caught her in that night.

He catches her gaze, and she gives him a nod; he smiles. He hoped he didn’t come off too eager. She didn’t give him one back; instead, she opted to head to the counter and place her order before coming to sit down.

For a moment, neither spoke. She didn’t remove her glasses, and he couldn’t keep the awkward smile from his face.

He realizes he’s doing it when she furrows her brows a little, confused.

Clar cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming.”

“I almost didn’t.”

Her voice is steady, but he can tell that it is not entirely the truth.

He goes along with her words.

“I figured.” He paused. “I meant every word I wrote.”

“I know.” She looked at the table, then up at him. “You have kind eyes. It’s annoying.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh. “Sorry about that.”

A server came by and placed her order in front of her—a light coffee-based drink with a cinnamon-coated rim.

“I thought you’d ask for tea,” he starts. She stared at him blankly. “…you know…because…singer.”

She doesn’t even crack a smile.

“So, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk,” he said. Or…sit.”

“Still deciding.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t tense. Even as she stared him up and down, he didn’t feel any pressure. No feeling that she meant him any harm. She was just…unsure. Measured.

Finally, she asked, “How did you know it was me?”

Clark’s expression softened.   “I didn’t. Not at first. But when you looked at me backstage, then again at the bench, I saw the same thing. Something under the surface.”

Her lips purse.

“Bullshit.”

***

His blue eyes go wide at the curse, like he didn’t expect you to be capable of the words. And he was right. You weren’t usually one to confront someone for lying; something about that felt hypocritical. But for you, this was a matter of life and death.

You take off your sunglasses, and he averts his gaze.

“Tell me how you knew it was me.”

He turns red quickly, from the tip of his nose to his ears. His jaw clenches for a moment like he’s wrestling with something—whether to lie again or to admit something that might make him sound crazy.

Finally, he exhales.

“Two things,” he holds out two fingers like he’s going to lose track of the number if her doesn’t. “Y-your eyes.”

“My eyes?” You questioned.

“They’re pretty both ways.”

He sounds so shy and sincere, saying that your heart thumps in your chest, and a burst of heat paints itself across your cheeks.

“Thanks. What’s the other thing?”

He exhales.

“I saw your heartbeat.”

You blink.

“What?”

He rubs the back of his neck, shoulders hunched slightly. “It’s going to sound… weird. But I have certain abilities. And one of them is… I can see things. Hear things. Like your heartbeat, the rhythm of your breathing. It didn’t change. Not when you changed your hair, your clothes, even your voice. It was always you.”

You’re silent.

Not out of fear, but surprise. Maybe a twinge of understanding.

He continues, voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just something I pick up on sometimes, without trying.”

“And you didn’t write about that either?”

“No.” His answer is immediate. “Because that’s not the story I care about.”

You lean back, studying him again.

You want to ask, “Did you make a wish on a magic stone too?” But that seems a little invasive. So you ask instead.

“So, you’re special too.”

He nods.

You bite the inside of your lip. You're supposed to think it's not really the weirdest thing to happen to you. More and more remarkable individuals seem to emerge in the world all the time. Aliens too.

You nod slowly. The quiet stretches between you again, this time with something new inside it—recognition.

And maybe a little bit of trust.

***

Is it wrong to text a stranger nonstop for days? It’s what you’ve been doing since your last show. Your last performance in Metropolis was the final stop of the tour. And you were in no hurry to leave. Not since you made a new friend. One where you could be just you. Without lace, lashes, or lenses.

Clark’s messages are short. Sometimes funny, sometimes awkward, always genuine. You were glad he agreed to keep messaging you, though. He preferred talking on the phone. You hated it.

He never pries. Never asks about your performances, your set list, or the gossip swirling around your name online. He talks about the city mostly. The places he likes to visit are late at night. Where to watch the best sunrise. Which rooftop cats are the boldest.

And you find yourself telling him things, too—mundane things. About the tea, you burn your tongue on, about how you bring blankets from home because you can’t sleep on hotel sheets. About your favorite movies, and the pair of socks your aunt gave you for your birthday.

Sometimes, you don’t even realize how much time you’ve spent talking to him until your phone buzzes with a low battery warning.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re lying on the hotel couch in an oversized hoodie, bare-faced and warm under a blanket. Your phone buzzes.

“Rain’s coming in. You ever watch the storm from the museum steps?”

You smile. You hadn’t. But now you’re curious.

Twenty minutes later, you’re there. Hood up, sitting on the cold marble steps of the Metropolis Museum, the city stretched in hazy lights below. The sky rumbles softly overhead.

He joins you without fanfare. No surprise this time. Just a quiet presence beside you, holding out a paper cup.

"Chamomile," he says. "I guessed."

You take it, letting your fingers brush his. "You’re getting better at this."

"I had help."

The two of you sit in silence for a while, sipping tea as rain starts to fall in soft, lazy drops. The city glows through the mist, warm and alive.

You speak first. "I haven’t stayed in one city this long in years."

Clark hums. "That a bad thing?"

You shake your head. "No. Not bad. Just... different."

"Different can be good."

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. And for once, you don’t look away.

Your voice is quiet. "Do you ever wish you could just be one thing?"

"All the time," he admits. "But then I remember—some people get to be two. And that’s not a curse. It’s a gift."

The rain gets heavier, but you don’t move.

Neither does he.

***

She doesn’t notice the figure.

How could she?

She’s wrapped up in the rain. Watching it roll down the uncovered stairs, catching a few drops in her hands, and smiling up at him. But Clark does. His head shifts slightly, just enough for his brows to furrow.

Her pretty eyes become concerned when she feels him stiffen next to her. His hand comes up to lightly touch her arm.

“We’re being watched,” he says. Voice so low it nearly vanishes beneath the rain.

She stiffened beside him. He didn’t need to use his vision to know the figure had moved. The glint of a lens confirmed it. Then it was gone, tucked back into a coat, and the shadow turned away, walking off with a pace far too smooth.

She was already up, hood drawn tighter. "Paparazzi?"

Clark shook his head, rising beside her. “No. They would have taken more than one photo. That was deliberate.”

He didn’t like the way the stranger carried. Smooth, unbothered by the fact that they had been noticed. Someone who had already known exactly where to stand, when to photograph, and when to vanish.

She checked her phone as it buzzed, and her face paled.

Nice disguise. Shame if the world found out.

His jaw locked. That cold, gnawing anger he rarely let surface crept in.

"We should go," he said immediately. "Now."

They descended the museum steps. The rain grew harsher, but he kept her close, matching her pace without crowding her. Her breaths were short. Her hands shook.

Back at her apartment, she bolted the door while Clark scanned the perimeter. Every window, every corner of the rooftop across the street. His hearing stretched into the quiet.

Nothing.

Yet.

She asked the question without turning around. "Who would do this?"

He hesitated.

Then: “Someone who knows what you are. Or… who—what I am. Maybe.”

He sees it flash on her face for a moment—Who are you? But she quiets it quickly.

He was relieved. He should tell her, shouldn’t he?

He knows who she is. What she is. Was it only fair?

And she asked slowly, “You think this is about us?”

Her eyes seem to flash a bit brighter just so her meaning is clear.

“I do.”

She pauses, and he can read the expressions on her face, the trains of thought that she is going through.

And then she exhales. Her shoulders, which had been taut since the moment he spoke at the museum, finally lowered.

“I’m tired of running,” she says quietly. “And hiding.”

He takes a step closer, his hands still open and nonthreatening. “Then don’t. Not alone, anyway.”

She meets his eyes. Hers are uncertain, but not unwilling.

“I’ll need your help,” she says.

“You’ve got it,” he answers. “Whatever it takes.”

And somehow, despite the fear crawling in the back of her mind, she believes him.

She finally believes someone.

***

You had hoped it was a one-time thing. A scare in the rain. A photo that never surfaced. That the person that Clark had sensed was nothing more than a person walking by, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

But then the second message came.

You looked tired tonight. Maybe you should sleep more.

You haven’t performed in nearly a month. Haven’t left the hotel room that’s become your apartment, since that night.

Clark had taken to checking in on you more frequently, sometimes in person, sometimes just through text. You didn’t tell him everything. Not yet. There was a part of you that didn’t want to look helpless. Not to him. Not when he looked at you like you were someone still whole.

A part of you also didn’t want to tell Clark because you were angry with him. Furious that he found you out. And angry that he wasn’t the only one now. That this started happening after you had met his stupid, wonderful face. How could you need him to be around and be so rage-filled at the same time? But you need him.

Because the eyes—whoever they belonged to—never left.

Sometimes, you saw them out of the corner of your eye when you slipped out for groceries. A reflection that lingered too long in a passing car. A silhouette at the edge of a building that disappeared before you could double-take.

The worst part? You started to second-guess your own senses. Was it paranoia? Or instinct? A part of you had started to regret your wish. Not just being famous or having a perfect form part. But you felt silly. Who makes a wish and doesn’t ask for some kind of superpower? Something that you could have used to protect yourself.

Because, the threat is getting closer, one night, the elevator in your building chimed at the wrong floor. No one stepped out. But when the doors closed, there was a folded piece of paper on the floor.

Your name. Scrawled in ink.

You opened it with trembling hands.

I liked the black hoodie better. You don’t need to hide from me.

You don’t remember the last time you screamed.

But you did then.

By the time Clark arrived, the note was on the floor, and your hands were still shaking. He didn’t ask questions at first. Just stepped inside and locked the door.

You didn’t ask how he knew you were home, or how he had gotten there so fast. You were just glad that he was there.

Sat on the couch together, you fiddled with your hands, clammy with nervous sweat.

“I think he’s getting closer.”

“He?” Clark asks. But nothing in his tone screams surprised. You were sure he’d known that entire time, too.

“I feel it in my bones,” you say, giving him a nervous smile. “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about being alone anymore.

It was a horrible attempt at a joke, one to make you feel better.

But the way that Clark’s face seems to crumble in on itself…How could he find himself carrying just as much as you had? You were still a stranger.

And that’s why you said.

“I don’t think you should hang around me anymore, Clark. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His eyebrows raise, and his face softens, but there is a bit of anger in those blue eyes. A bit of darkness you hadn’t seen before.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

He takes the note from your coffee table. “But him. I think it’s time that I meet him before he meets you again.”

You nodded, throat too tight for words.

If he was done waiting, then you were too. Whoever was following you has stopped being patient, and so have you.

***

It was her fault.

How couldn’t it be?

She knew what she was doing every time she stepped on stage and smiled. Oh, and that voice of hers.

Enchanting.

He hadn’t minded it if it was hers or not. Not that he couldn’t tell which things were intrinsically hers. Her hair color, skin, the smile, the way her knees knocked slightly together. And god, those eyes! He couldn’t get enough.

But he was fine not being the only one that got to see the here that was perfection, in both forms.

Because she was generous, she toured around the world. Letting the world see her perfection.

But the key was, she shared.

This spending, time with a newspaper writer, wasn’t exactly fair. And it wasn’t exactly him. Who was Clark Kent to monopolize her time? To get her to lock down her time in Metropolis when she never stayed in any place for more than two weeks, tour or not?

No. It wasn’t fair.

Clark Kent hadn’t quit his job for her.

Clark Kent hadn’t followed her around the world.

Clark Kent hadn’t lost his family for her.

So why did Clark Kent get to have her?

No, he’d nip it in the bud before it got that far. Before the larger man could even get the chance to lay his hand on her.

Because no one loved her the way Henry Miller had.

***

I promise I won’t be more than 15 minutes.

How many times had you begun to type it out? But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You knew what you were doing, so it makes sense. He had made you promise to tell him anytime you went out.

“I’ll be there,”  He said.

But how could he? And how could you bring yourself to ask that of him? He needed to work and live his own life.

The one that was far less complicated than when you had entered.

If you had just agreed to give him that interview, he wouldn’t be involved in this mess in the first place.

And perhaps, neither would you.

So you went out.

Hood up. No makeup. Your “real” face.

It was supposed to be fifteen minutes, just as you promised in the text you never sent.

Just enough time to breathe, and just enough time to get some ice cream from that bodega on the corner that you and Clark had passed so many times.

And then it happens.

That itch.

A bit of twisting of your skin, your instincts on fire. Too heavy a silence in the aisle. The store felt eerily empty. You couldn’t see the cash register from back here, but you could see the back door, and the fact that it is slightly cracked open, just enough space for you to run.

And so you do.

Or you would.

If your wrist hadn’t been grabbed.

If you hadn’t frozen where you stood.

“I liked you better in the black one.”

The voice itself wasn’t remarkable. Averagely low, bland, nothing remarkable about it.

But you recognized the cadence—the words.

You turned slowly.

He looked like any other man. Slight frame. Brown short hair. Jeans, coat, bland like oatmeal. But his eyes were already devouring you. Wide and too bright.

You don’t recognize his face.

But he knew yours.

And worse, he smiled like he owned it.

“Who are you?” you asked, already backing away.

He didn’t answer.

Just tilted his head, like a curious dog, and said, “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You turned and ran.

And then you screamed.

***

It pierces his ears, that scream. He’s never heard anything like it. It seemed to be happening right next to him, but also all around him. And he’s not alone because everyone in the office seems to wince.

Like a dog whistle, they could all hear it calling to them, but they didn’t understand. Lois looks confused for a moment, but she shakes off the tone. Others do too.

But Clark can still hear her, and the anguish in her tone is evident.

He’s up and moving before Lois can even ask what’s wrong. His glasses are in his pocket, and the elevator is ignored entirely. Within moments, the wind howls past his ears as the city blurs beneath him.

He follows the sound.

***

He has you pushed up against the wall, a hand clamped over your mouth. One of his eardrums is bleeding.

You don’t know what you did to cause it—screamed too loudly? Fought too hard? But it doesn’t matter.

Henry Miller is panting, ragged, and furious. His face is a mask of desperation and obsession. Spittle dots the corner of his mouth.

“I loved you first,” he hisses. “I saw you before all of them before you changed. Before you hid. You think Clark Kent sees you? You think he deserves you?”

You shake your head under his grip, fury rising even as panic claws your chest. You try to knee him again, like you did moments earlier, but he pins you harder.

“I’ll release it,” he growls, fishing in his coat pocket. “All of it. Your face. The raw footage. Let them see what you are. Then we’ll see who comes crawling back.”

Before the words even finish leaving his mouth, there’s a sudden whoosh of displaced air and a crash like thunder.

Henry is gone.

One second, he’s pressing against you; the next, he’s across the room, slamming into a metal shelf that crumples behind him.

Clark stands where Henry had just been. No glasses. No hesitance. Dipped in Blue and red.

Superman.

“Don’t touch her again,” he says, voice ringing with something ancient and absolute.

Henry groans, trying to scramble toward the device he dropped. Clark’s foot lands on it, crushing it with a satisfying crack.

“It's over.”

You slump to the ground, breathing hard, chest heaving. Clark is already at your side, crouching low, hands not touching but ready.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, but it’s shaky. He sees the tremble in your hands. Without asking, he pulls off his cape and wraps it around your shoulders.

Henry is moaning behind the shelves, but you block it out. You stare at Clark, this man who had been beside you as a reporter and now hovered like a myth come to life.

“You’re him,” you whisper. Not a question.

“I am,” he says. “And I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

But you shake your head. You pull the cape tighter around you

“No, I’m sorry. I should have texted, like you said. I just…”

Your voice breaks, but only slightly. You shake your head again, angry at yourself—for the fear, for the pride, for letting it get this far.

Clar doesn’t press. He simply lowers himself beside you, his presence a shield against the world.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says gently.

“I just wanted some ice cream.”

It’s pathetic as it comes out of your mouth. Voice slightly hoarse, exhaustion beginning to overcome you.

Clark smiles, and it’s not the kind of smile people give when they think you're being silly. It’s soft. Understanding.

“Then next time,” he says, “I’ll go with you. We’ll pick the flavor together.”

You close your eyes for a moment, the tension slowly seeping out of your shoulders. His words shouldn’t mean as much as they do—but right now, they mean everything.

A moment passes. Then another.

You finally look at him. “I think I need to go back to the hotel.”

His expression shifts—not surprised, but attentive.

“Okay,” he says. “Come here.”

You hesitate. Not out of fear. Just awe. He’s already removed his jacket, his cape unfastened, catching the low streetlight in soft folds. He steps forward, arms steady, posture sure.

You nod.

When he lifts you, it’s effortless. Like you weigh nothing. His arms are warm, one beneath your knees, the other around your shoulders, and then—

The city drops away.

The wind roars past you, but his body shields you from the worst of it. Lights blur into lines. Streets become threads of gold and red. You press your face lightly into his chest, breathing steadily, eyes closed.

You’re safe.

He lands on the hotel balcony like a whisper.

You don’t move right away. Neither does he.

Finally, you look up.

“Thank you,” you say. And it means more than just for the flight.

He sets you down gently, brushing your hair back from your face.

“I’ll stay close,” he says. “In case you need me.”

You look at the empty room behind you, and then back at him. The night suddenly feels too long to spend alone.

“Would you stay?” you ask. Quiet, but sure.

Clark blinks, then nods. “Of course.”

You leave the balcony doors open as you walk inside together. He shrugs off what’s left of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. You grab a blanket from the bed, tossing it onto the couch, then hesitate.

“Bed’s big enough,” you murmur.

He meets your eyes—not with surprise, but with understanding. “Only if you want me to.”

You nod once.

You both settle in, silent but not uncomfortable. The hum of the city becomes a lullaby beneath the glass windows. His presence is steady beside you, not looming, just there.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, warm and human and close.

And this time, you don’t dream of being followed.

***

Clark was awake before the sun broke over the city.

Old habits. A farmer’s clock buried under years of heroism and secrecy. He didn’t need much sleep anyway, not really. But he had stayed still through the night, careful not to wake her. She had curled closer sometime during the night, her head resting on his shoulder, the steady rhythm of her breath easing something tight inside his chest.

It wasn’t until the sun began to shine with a soft morning gold that she began to stir.

She blinked slowly, tugged the blanket up over her shoulder, surprise eking out of her very being. Then she blinks. Clark can see the wheels turning in her head as she remembers the events of yesterday.

A smile then a frown, before her face settles on a look of unguarded contentment. They sit in that silence for a moment.

Then:

“I have a question.”

Clark turned his head to her gently. “Anything.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed in thought. “When you’re flying… what does it feel like?”

He blinked, then smiled softly. That wasn’t the question he expected.

“It feels,” he began, voice quiet, “like the world lets go. Like gravity forgets to hold you. And for a while, all you can hear is the wind and your own heartbeat. Like nothing else matters.”

She nodded slowly, like she was memorizing that.

Then: “Do you feel free?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

He glanced out the window, where the skyline glimmered.

“Other times, I feel like I’m flying toward something I can’t quite catch. A danger I’m always late to stop. Or… a life I’m still figuring out how to live.”

She was quiet at that.

Then she reached for his hand beneath the sheets.

“You weren’t late last night.”

Clark turned back to her. Her expression was earnest. Honest.

“No,” he said. “Not last night.”

Silence for another beat.

“One more.”

He nods.

“Do you twinkle or were you born that way?”

Clark’s brows narrow in confusion. “What?”

Her mouth purses, “I mean like this.”

Her eyes seem to flash, and all around her, small twinkling lights seem to appear like fireflies. When the haze disappears, she’s in her perfect form.

With another flash of her eyes, she seems to release that state, and she’s back to normal.

“So do you twinkle?”

She laughs—real, unguarded—and the sound makes his chest ache in the best way.

“Well, don’t let it get to your head,” she says, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders. “It’s just light-bending particles. A little reflexive shimmer. Not even that impressive.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says plainly.

She goes still at that. Not because she doesn’t believe him, but because maybe, in that moment, she does.

Clark shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. It’s more like... holding your breath. You can only do it for so long before you need to let go.”

He nods slowly. “I know that feeling.”

Their eyes meet again. Something unspoken lingers between them. Not fear. Not tension.

Hope.

A gentle knock on the hotel door breaks the spell—room service.

She looks at Clark, a question in her eyes.

He smiles. “I’ll get it.”

As he moves toward the door, she sits back against the headboard, arms wrapped around her knees.

He opens it, signs, thanks the server, and wheels in a tray stacked with covered plates and two mugs of coffee.

“Did you—?”

“I called down while you were sleeping,” he says with a shrug. “You had a rough night. I figured waffles might help.”

She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You’re kind of ridiculous.”

“And you’re kind of amazing,” he replies, placing a plate in front of her.

She blushes but doesn’t argue.

As they eat together, the morning light grows stronger. Outside, the city stirs with its usual chaos. But inside the room, there’s a rare and sacred kind of quiet.

Not the kind born from fear.

The kind born from beginning again.

***

It’s a Friday morning. Weeks since the storm at the museum. Since Henry Miller's arrest.

The world had moved on. Quietly and then all at once.

Your name never hit the headlines. Footage of you never released. Clark made sure of that with the stump of his foot. If anyone had known about your run-in with Superman, it would have been the bodega clerk. And as far as he was concerned, you were just another girl that Superman saved. That was good enough for you.

Clark had promised to protect you, and he had kept his promise. So you figured it was only fair that you kept your promise to him, too.

***

The bullpen at the Daily Planet buzzes with its usual chaos—phones ringing, reporters arguing over phrasing, coffee machines hissing nonstop.

Clark is at his desk, unable to focus. He hadn’t talked to the girl since last night. She had sounded mischievous on the phone. Promising him that she had a surprise for him.

He’s halfway through rereading the same sentence for the fifth time when the room goes quiet.

It’s not total silence, but a shift—a collective breath held.

He glances up and sees her.

She stands just inside the bullpen doors in her full form. The version of her that the world knows. Posed. Radiant. Not intimidating, but undeniable.

She offers a small wave.

Clark blinks.

Then stands.

“Hi,” she says. The same mischievousness he heard on the phone is alive in her eyes.

“Hi,” he echoes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts, walking closer, pulling a notebook from her bag. “Besides… I figured you’ve waited long enough.”

He recognizes the notebook. The one he’s seen her scribble in more than once, always closed before he could sneak a peek.

“For the interview,” she clarifies.

“You’re serious?”

She nods. “You still want it?”

Clark stares at her for a moment, then laughs—a soft, disbelieving sound. “Of course I do.”

“Then find me a quiet room, Kent.”

His coworkers are still watching as he leads her into an empty, glass-walled conference room, which is private enough.

He pulls out a chair for her. She raises a brow, amused, but she sits. He settles across from her, pulling out his recorder, notepad already open.

“You can ask anything,” she says. “But I might not answer everything.”

Clark’s smile turns thoughtful. “That’s fair.”

The recorder clicks on.

And for the first time, without fear or disguise, the story begins—on her terms.

***

METROPOLIS TIMES “SUPERSTAR SINGER SETTLES IN THE CITY OF TOMORROW” Beloved international star surprises fans—and local reporters—by calling Metropolis her new home.

Sources close to the performer say she’s “ready to write a new chapter.”

[sillydeimos]

Do you have any headcanons for Hank/Jeb? I've been digging through your scrumptious page and I adore it all

hi welcome back to my office, come on in fair warning i tend to ramble quite a bit.

^ wtf are these bugs????

-christoff, very earnestly, likes the idea of hank wearing a suit. which is funny because it's not even that jeb is really particular about dressing fancy (we've all seen that 'i'm jebus lol' shirt the only reason why he was wearing a lab coat was cause he worked there) it's just that he thinks hank would look good in one...and hes right!

-i don't think either of them do nicknames, however i do like the idea of jeb calling him 'darling' or 'angel' in a very sarcastic way. hank's intrigued by it because he never hears christoff call him anything that isn't his own name so he's like "hm. continue."

-so sometimes people have a different tone for reading outloud. hank has a 'reading voice', it's incredibly monotone and dry and for some reason, christoff REALLY likes it. it's like a weird asmr thing for him he's looking for excuses to have hank read out more things.

-i really, really enjoy the thought of jeb trailing after hank ontop of the buildings of nexus city or just generally following close behind, thinking hank is up to nefarious shit, then sees hank in an alleyway feeding the local cat colony. moments where he's like oh, he's not like. completely irredeemable. but my research was ptsd-fueled wtf.

-speaking of which i do actually have a doodle i made of hank wearing christoffs 'i'm jebus lol' shirt i can just show it. but i think he wears it...and stretches it out cause he's wider then christoff lmao

i'm pretty sure i've also drawn christoff wearing hanks smiley shirt but its very old. i need to redraw it again sometime.

-hank tried to teach christoff the fine art of ventcrawling at least once. it didn't go too well. turns out christoff really, really hates enclosed spaces. he's very fond of his own ability to float and glide around, so being in a confined space makes him feel like a bird stuck in a cage.

-i think hank would be kind of weirded out by christoff being able to carry him around while floating, but he warms up to it. what he's really embarrassed about is christoff trying to carry him bridal style while he floats around.

-as i stated in a previous headcanon post, hank doesn't find very traditional things cute, or someone trying to be purposefully cute. it's not that you need to even be naturally cute, he just doesn't see the appeal. i'm not even sure he finds cats cute, he just really, really likes them... however, for some reason one time he sees christoff doing something, like maybe even doing something that makes him really frustrated like trying to dig through files and getting all huffy and mad and suddenly hank is hit with the ! realization... "oh, cute." and christoff is annoyed, still frustrated, but now subtly blushing and yelling at hank "what are you doing over there, rambling about nonsense? your assistance is required, make haste." and then thinks about it later.... he's never been called cute before. sorry is that kinda ooc ?? oh well in canon hank isn't doing gay shit so it doesn't matter

-christoff... ABSOLUTELY fell first and he's so annoyed by himself for "letting" that happen. he is so annoyed by his brains ability to feel emotions like nooo what the fuck i'm meant to be a vessel, the savior of nevada. that is an entirely nebulous concept it should not involve having feelings.

-hank isn't really the 'fall in love' kind of guy, he just knows that christoff is deeply interesting to him and something about him has him keep coming back. though the feelings do get kind of confusing and frustrating for him because there's not a clear answer for him what he feels, which leads to outward frustration with christoff.

THAT'S ALL I CAN THINK OF FOR NOW but thank you for reading if you did!!!

[pigeonwhumps]

Morning

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

A former living weapon in a rehabilitation programme has a bad morning.

620 words

CWs: living weapon, recovery whump, self-dehumanisation, past dehumanisation, fear of death, conditioned whumpee, lab-grown whumpee

When Caretaker enters the front room, wrapped in comfy flannel pyjamas and a dressing gown, she finds Whumpee sitting ramrod straight on the sofa, hands curled loosely in front of it, clad in only a thin, baggy t-shirt and shorts.

Ah. So it's one of those mornings.

"I'll be right back," she whispers to the stillness. Whumpee doesn't respond, doesn't even blink, but Caretaker knows it heard. It always does, with those near-supernatural GMO-ed senses of its, and that's... that's probably part of the problem.

She hurries upstairs and fetches a stack of warm clothes, placing them beside Whumpee with a whispered instruction to change into something more comfortable. Then she heads into the kitchen, heating milk on the hob, cinnamon, cardamom pods. Cocoa powder into well-loved mugs.

It's a hot chocolate morning. A morning for warm, delicious smells and tastes, that, crucially, Whumpee never had before it moved in.

She places both mugs on the coffee table and sits down opposite Whumpee, feet curled beneath her, giving it plenty of space. It's wearing a fleecy oversized hoodie over dungarees now, but it's still sitting in the same stiff position.

"What's up?"

"This weapon has been using luxuries it does not require, ma'am. It is malfunctioning. It needs readjusting."

"I've told you, this house is as much yours as it is mine. You don't have to need something to use it, although given that it's you I doubt you've done anything outrageous. What is it you want me to hurt you for?"

Because it's not 'readjustment', it's not 'correction', it's hurt, pure and simple, and Caretaker refuses to refer to it as anything but.

"This weapon used an extra blanket, ma'am."

Caretaker's heart breaks. She has to swallow hard a few times to be able to speak without just sobbing, but something tickles her cheeks anyway.

"There's nothing wrong with that, sweetheart."

"Weapons do not need anything, ma'am. This weapon was being weak. It needs realignment."

"Can I come and sit next to you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Caretaker smiles deliberately, moving to the end of Whumpee's sofa as it watches her warily. "Thank you. Now, you've done nothing wrong. I mean it. You're allowed blankets, why do you think there's a quilt on your bed? I'm not going to hurt you for using a blanket."

"This weapon was not cold, ma'am. It wanted to be more comfortable. It should not have thought like that, and it should not have acted on it, because weapons do not have wants and do not need to be comfortable. This weapon needs correction, ma'am, otherwise it will continue to malfunction and then it will be dissolved back into goo, so a better weapon can be made."

"I'm not going to kill you, or send you back, sweetheart. Never. I already promised you that. And you're not dangerous, that was the only requirement from the military facilitators for the end of the trial."

"That doesn't mean they'll let me stay!" Whumpee bursts out, before slamming its lips shut, rocking back against the sofa, flinching back, eyes wide, the most emotional Caretaker has ever heard during the day. "This weapon apologises. It malfunctioned, it did not mean to... it is not a person, it knows that."

"Shhh." Caretaker snakes an arm around Whumpee's trembling frame and runs a hand over its head. "It's okay. You're not doing anything wrong. I know it's stacked against us, Whumpee. I know they don't want a successful rehabilitation, although I'm not quite sure why. I won't let them take you back at the end of this, not to be used again or killed or anything else. You got that?"

Whumpee hugs its weighted moose close, doubt in its eyes.

"Yes, ma'am."

[heartorbit]

hello, sekai! 🌎💫☘️💿🎪🎼

it's a good movie sir

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[rat-rosemary]

Augh no one cares because we're chatting about Dreamnap on Shadoune's gay French event, but I'm thinking about the god of the wild au

The vulnerability of all the rituals that the humans in the dsmp make for Dream. He's am animal born God, he doesn't naturally have rituals or offerings, or even clothes! But they make them for him

Tommy and Wilbur spend months studying all sorts of Gods, tearing their practices apart and making them Dream's. Everyone finds their own way to honor Dream and feed him devotion in a way that they didn't need to. None of this is natural to him, none of this is needed. But they still do it. They still write prayers and make up dances and make hand made plates to hold fruit and milk and honey.

When Dream shows up dressed in embroidery and gold that's Tommy pulling him aside to dress him in the clothes he made. It's all handmade, it's all trust, it's all domestication and care and so much love. It's all human instinct.

[hewhobreathesfire]

I'm not afraid to admit I cried a little bit when I was laying on the sidewalk temporarily stunned. and I kept crying while speed walking to the bus stop a few blocks away. that shit hurt so bad, on top of an already miserable morning.