#but doesn’t understand what those feelings are or why he’s having them

[lvmoure]

But Daddy, I Love Him CS55

Summary: In the youngest child of King Charles II and late Princess Diana of Wales fell for an F1 driver, and is willing to do anything just to be with him.

Warnings: slight angst and rebellion.

You want nothing but to escape from the royal protocols that your family have set.

You are a lot of things: classy, smart, beautiful, elegant, and also, away from the eye of many, you are nothing but a rebel. Growing up in a dysfunctional family where your brothers seem perfect, life is nothing but complicated. It becomes even more complicated when your older brother, Harry, decides to live away from everyone with his wife, Meghan. You feel the weight of expectation in Buckingham Palace, where every action is scrutinized and every misstep could lead to scandal. You yearn for freedom, for a life beyond the gilded cage of royalty.

It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the clouds outside your window reflect the turmoil inside. The dark sky looms over the palace like an ominous reminder of your frustrations. You sit on your bed, staring at the opulent walls adorned with portraits of ancestors, wondering if any of them ever felt trapped in their roles. Your heart pounds in your chest, a constant reminder of the fight brewing inside you.

“Why can’t you just act like a proper lady?” your father’s voice booms from the hallway, pulling you from your thoughts.

You can hear him pacing outside your door, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. “You’re a princess, for heaven’s sake! This isn’t a game!”

You stand up, your anger boiling over. You open the door, your resolve hardening as you face him. “This isn’t about being a princess, Dad! It’s about being myself!” Your voice trembles slightly, betraying the intensity of your emotions.

He turns to you, his expression a mix of exasperation and disappointment. “Being yourself is exactly what got you into trouble last time. You can’t just run off to… to some racing event with that Sainz boy! It’s unbecoming.”

“Unbecoming?” you scoff, crossing your arms defiantly. “What’s unbecoming is pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m tired of this charade. I want to live my life!”

He steps closer, towering over you, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “And what kind of life do you think you can have? You’re throwing away everything—your title, your future—for a whim. For a boy!”

“Carlos is not just a boy! He’s passionate, driven, and he understands me in a way you never will!” Your heart races, but you refuse to back down.

“Passionate? Driven? Those are just words to romanticize what he is—a reckless race car driver! You think this is some fairytale?” His voice rises, echoing in the grand hallway, and the walls seem to close in on you.

“Maybe I don’t want a fairytale, Dad! Maybe I want to create my own story!” You take a step back, your breath quickening, realizing how far the argument has escalated. The tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away, determined to stay strong.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. “You are a princess! You have responsibilities, expectations! You can’t just abandon them!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a princess anymore!” you shout, the words escaping before you can stop them. Silence hangs between you like a taut wire, both of you breathing heavily, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air.

He studies you for a moment, disappointment flashing in his eyes. “If you leave, don’t expect to come back. This family doesn’t tolerate such behavior.”

Your heart sinks, the threat echoing in your mind, but the fire of rebellion burns brighter. “Maybe I’ll take my chances.” You turn on your heel and storm down the hall, the echo of your footsteps reverberating through the palace like a drumbeat of defiance.

As you grab a small bag, you throw in a few essentials—clothes, your phone, and a picture of Carlos you keep tucked away. The thought of leaving fills you with both fear and exhilaration. You pause at the door, your heart racing as you glance back at the life you’re about to abandon.

With one last deep breath, you step out into the rain-soaked streets of London, the cold air invigorating. Each step takes you further from the constraints of your title and closer to the life you’ve always dreamed of—one filled with passion and freedom.

Days pass, and you find yourself standing on the sun-kissed shores of Mallorca. The salty breeze tousles your hair as you sit on the warm sand, staring out at the turquoise waves crashing against the shore. You left everything behind: the palace, your family, the expectations. You made the choice to find solace in the sun, but it feels like a band-aid over a deeper wound.

Carlos, with his warm brown eyes and infectious smile, had always been a light in the dark. It was his idea to meet here, a promise he made to show you the world beyond royal duties. As you watch the horizon, you remember the first time you met him at a charity event, his passion for racing sparking something inside you that you never knew existed.

Suddenly, you hear his voice, and you turn to see him approaching. “There you are! I thought I’d lost you to the sea,” he teases, his smile lighting up his face.

You smile back, feeling the weight of your past lift slightly in his presence. “Just contemplating life and my terrible decisions,” you say, trying to sound light-hearted.

“Hey, every decision leads us somewhere, right? At least we’re here now.” He gestures to the beach, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at his optimism.

“Yeah, here. Away from everything,” you reply, your voice trailing off as you recall the argument with your father.

Carlos sits beside you, his presence comforting. “Is everything okay? You seem… distant.”

You sigh, looking out at the waves. “It’s just hard to let go of everything. My family… they expect so much from me.”

“You don’t owe them anything. You’re allowed to be who you want to be.” His words are gentle, yet they cut through the chaos in your mind. You turn to him, your heart racing.

“But what if who I want to be isn’t what they want? What if I’m just throwing everything away for nothing?”

“Nothing? You’re not throwing anything away. You’re chasing what makes you happy. And if that’s me, then I’ll do everything to make it worth it.” His sincerity makes your heart flutter, and you feel the connection between you deepen.

As the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the island, you realize how much you longed for this kind of connection. “What if this is just a summer fling? What if you go back to racing and forget all about me?” The fear creeps in, but you push it down, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Carlos takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. “Then I’ll race back to you. No matter what, I won’t forget you. You’re not just some fling to me.” His eyes hold a promise, and for the first time, you feel hopeful.

That week, you explore the island together—dancing under the stars, sharing stories, and laughing until your sides hurt. Each moment feels like a stolen treasure, a world away from the palace. But as the days pass, the looming thought of returning home creeps into your mind, a shadow over your newfound happiness.

The week has come to an end, and you find yourself at a quaint café overlooking the Mediterranean. The sun rises slowly, casting a warm light that contrasts with the storm brewing in your heart. Carlos sits across from you, sipping his coffee, a content smile gracing his lips. You want to capture this moment forever, to freeze time in this perfect bubble.

But the bubble is about to burst. Your phone buzzes, a message from your father breaking the serene atmosphere. You read it, and your stomach drops. “Come home. It’s time to face your responsibilities.”

You set the phone down, feeling the weight of the message like a boulder on your chest. “I can’t go back,” you whisper, panic rising.

Carlos looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my father. He’s demanding I come back to the palace. I can’t bear to face him after everything.”

“Don’t you want to talk to him? Maybe he’s just worried.” He reaches out, but you pull away, the thought of facing your family unbearable.

“Worried? Or controlling? He’ll never understand. I feel like I’m suffocating in that place.” Tears brim in your eyes as the emotions flood over you.

“Then let’s not go back,” Carlos says fiercely. “We can stay here. We can make a life together away from all that.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of reality. “I can’t run forever, Carlos. My father will always find me.” You realize with a sinking heart that this paradise can’t last forever.

The conversation grows heated, both of you struggling to find a solution. “You have to fight for what you want,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Don’t give up on us.”

“It’s not that simple! My family… they have expectations. I can’t just turn my back on them.” The thought of your father’s disappointment stabs at your heart, but the idea of losing Carlos cuts deeper.

“Then you need to stand up for yourself. Tell him how you feel.”

You pause, considering his words. “What if he doesn’t care? What if he just wants to control me?”

Carlos reaches for your hand, holding it tightly. “You

won’t know until you try. You deserve to be happy, and I want to help you fight for that happiness.” His eyes are fierce with determination, and you feel a spark of hope igniting within you.

But the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your heart. “I don’t know if I can go back and face him,” you admit, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Then we’ll face it together. I’ll be right by your side.” His warmth envelops you, and for a moment, you believe him.

But then reality crashes in. You know what you must do. “I have to go back, Carlos,” you say softly, pulling your hand away. “I can’t abandon my family, no matter how hard it is.”

The decision hangs in the air, and you can see the hurt in Carlos’s eyes. “I understand. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy.” His voice trembles slightly, the pain evident.

“I wish things were different,” you murmur, your heart breaking as you stand up, ready to leave the paradise you’ve found.

As you walk away, every step feels heavier, and you can’t shake the feeling of loss that grips you. Carlos’s figure fades into the background as you board the plane back to London, leaving behind a piece of your heart in Mallorca.

Back in Buckingham Palace, the weight of reality crashes down like a heavy fog. You wear a smile for the cameras and the public, but inside, you feel like a ghost drifting through the hallways. The opulence feels suffocating, and every laugh shared with your family feels hollow. They celebrate your return, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside you.

Each day, the longing for Carlos grows, filling the empty spaces where happiness used to reside. You replay every moment from your week in Mallorca, from the gentle caress of the ocean breeze to the warmth of his hand in yours. The memories haunt you, and the loneliness settles in your heart like a cold stone.

One evening, you find yourself wandering the gardens, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the flowers. The beauty of the night contrasts sharply with your inner turmoil. You stop by the fountain, the sound of water soothing yet haunting.

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the responsibilities you’ve shunned. You should be grateful for everything, yet all you feel is regret. “Why can’t you just be what we want you to be?” he had said, and the words sting like a whip.

You sink to the ground, tears spilling as you realize the truth—you cannot live a life dictated by others. You want to fight for your love, to reclaim the happiness you’ve tasted with Carlos.

“I can’t keep living this way,” you whisper to the night, your heart racing with determination. “I won’t lose him.”

The decision crystallizes in your mind: you will leave again, this time for good. You’ll fight for the life you want, for the love you’ve found. The fear that had held you back shatters, replaced by an unyielding resolve.

As dawn breaks, you pack a small bag once more, your heart pounding with the thrill of rebellion. You leave a note for your family, knowing they may never understand, but this time, you don’t care. You are doing this for yourself.

The flight to Mallorca feels like an eternity, your heart racing with anticipation. You step off the plane, the warm breeze washing over you, carrying the scent of the sea and memories of laughter. The familiar landscape unfolds before you, each corner reminding you of the moments you cherished with Carlos.

You find him at the same café, his laughter echoing through the air as he chats with a group of friends. When he sees you, his face lights up with a mixture of surprise and joy, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

“Is that really you?” he asks, disbelief evident in his voice. “I thought I lost you for good.” You run to him, throwing your arms around him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. “I came back. I had to fight for us,” you breathe, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks. Carlos pulls back, searching your eyes for the truth. “You mean it? You really want this?”

“Yes! I want you, Carlos. I want this life, the one I choose for myself. No more hiding, no more running.” You take a deep breath, the weight of the world lifting off your shoulders.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, cupping your face in his hands. “I was worried you’d change your mind.”

“Never. I’ve spent too long trying to be someone I’m not. I want to embrace who I am, and that includes you.” You lean in, and he captures your lips with his, a kiss that seals the promise of a future together.

For the next few days, you immerse yourself in the vibrant life of Mallorca, exploring the island hand in hand. You learn more about racing, his passion igniting something within you. You share your dreams and fears, building a bond stronger than ever.

But then, the day comes when Carlos must leave for a race. As you stand on the balcony, watching him pack, a wave of sadness washes over you. “You’ll come back, right?” you ask, the uncertainty creeping in.

“Of course! I’ll always come back to you,” he promises, wrapping you in his arms. “Just remember, you’re the reason I push harder on the track. You give me strength.” As he leaves, you feel a mix of pride and longing. You have finally found your voice, your path, and love. But you know that this journey has only just begun.

Months pass, and you find yourself at peace with your choices. You’ve forged a life away from the palace, pursuing your passions alongside Carlos. The connection you share deepens, built on trust and understanding.

Finally, the day comes when you stand before your father again, ready to confront the past. You’ve made your decision; you want to forgive him and seek a relationship based on honesty.

“Dad, I want to talk,” you say, your voice steady as you approach him in the gardens. He looks up, surprise etched on his face. “You’re back from your… adventures.”

“I want to understand. I want us to move forward, but I need you to understand me too.” The words come rushing out, a torrent of emotions spilling over.

Your father’s expression softens, and for the first time, you see the regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just wanted to protect you.”

“I know. But I need you to let me be myself,” you reply, your heart open. “I want to find my own path, and I want you to support that.”

As the conversation unfolds, you both find common ground. There’s healing in vulnerability, and slowly, you rebuild the bridge between you.

A few months later, you stand in a sun-drenched chapel surrounded by friends and family, your heart pounding with excitement. Carlos stands at the altar, his eyes full of love and determination.

As you walk down the aisle, your father by your side, you feel a sense of peace. You’ve embraced your past, and you’re ready to step into the future. You take Carlos’s hand, and in that moment, you know you’ve chosen the right path.

The vows you exchange are a promise not just to each other but to yourself: to love fiercely, to fight for your happiness, and to always remain true to who you are.

As you seal your vows with a kiss, the future stretches before you—unpredictable, thrilling, and entirely yours.

[stealingyourbones]

I was told to also put this on tumblr. Below the read more is research on each of the reasons why Gotham is so so very cursed.

1.) Gotham is canonically cursed: Observe: Points 2-5.

2.) Portal to hell in Arkham’s Basement: In Arkham Asylum: Living Hell (2003). First scene is a cult sacrifice, then not mentioned until issue 5 when Ivy and Magpie dig deep below the earth to escape Arkham, accidentally reopening a pit to hell that was closed. Said portal re-releases seven devils called the Skarva. All done with the help of Junkyard Dog and Doodlebug (Two Arkham patients who were made for this series) to summon CThuGha the arbiter of Hell. In the end the demons get tricked and sent back to hell. Unsure if the pit can be reactivated or not.

3.) Magical resurrection swamp on the outskirts of Gotham. The Slaughter Swamps (Also known as Suicide Swamps) is located several miles outside Gotham. It doesn’t resurrect anyone, just Solomon Grundy. Cyrus Gold, a corrupt evil businessman, was murdered in the swamps and after many many years he arose as Solomon Grundy, an immortal zombie like being of The Grey (A Force of Nature, the collective consciousness of all fungal life) who, everytime he “dies”, he arises from the swamp once more. The Slaughter Swamps have in recent years become a state park.

4.) Evil warlock sleeping underground for 40,000 years and cursing the land. In Shadowpact 5-19, 23-25.  The Villain Dr. Gotham appears and his backstory is exactly that. An evil warlock who was sleeping underground for 40,000 years, his presence cursing the land of Gotham. His end goal is to take over the world and to destroy the Shadowpact team. His Big Attack against them is to summon an all devouring sun king onto earth. ( he did manage to destroy a large chunk of Chicago by summoning a volcano. He gets his ass beat and flees soon after and makes a fucked up mitosis son to capture magically inclined women to feed to the sun god. Mitosis child dies by the hands of Dr. Gotham, Sun god gets properly summoned, thousands of magic users appear in a fun series finale and destroy the sun god. Dr. Gotham dies because of the failed summoning.)  I added a panel that lists off the Shadowpact team as I had no idea who they were before researching this so those who are reading might not know either:

5.) Demonic Bat God locked in the city centre: In DC Comics Presents: Batman Dark Knight, Dark City there's a demonic cult during the early age of Gotham that summons the bat demon Barbatos which they then imprison in the city center. (The Riddler gets ahold of The Confessions of Jacob Stockman, the only written tale of this incident, and becomes more erratic and bloodthirsty than normal. Batman chases him and plays Riddlers game, not fully knowing what's going on but he's preforming rituals to set Barbatos free and make the demon Riddler’s personal slave. The summoning fails and Bruce lays the sacrifice (a lady  from 1765 named Domique) to rest at his parents mosque which sets the demon free. Before being set free, demon tells Bruce that because of his presence in Gotham, his influence spread throughout the city. (essentially a curse)

6.) Gotham had its own X Files unit for a few years: Gotham by Midnight is a comic run mainly starring The Spectre, Jim Corrigan, and the GCPD. Said taskforce is called the Midnight Shift and they work on cases Batman gives them that he doesn’t understand. Jim finds cases that feels supernatural and then they investigate the cases.

fun fact: Gotham is, in fact, canonically cursed. Between the literal portal to hell in Arkham's basement, the magical resurrection swamp on the outskirts, the evil warlock sleeping underground for 40,000 years and cursing the land, and the demonic Bat God locked in the city center, it never stood a chance. City's so cursed it even had its own magical X-Files unit for a few years.

[hiddenreamers]

Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024 - Lando Norris

SUMMARY: For Lando, the words "first love" just make him think of his childhood neighbour. Then, his heart breaks a little when he remembers she's somewhere in San Francisco. How surprised he is when it turns out you're much closer - in an apartment across the hall. Lando couldn't be more grateful for the strange mysteries that led you to this doorway.

WC: 983

Everybody has those moments when they are suddenly reminded of someone they knew long ago. Old classmates, kids from summer camp, playground friends – people who once were part of your daily life but now you think about them maybe once a year if not less often. Those silent questions of “I wonder what happened to them?” come and go just as quickly, like a golden brown leaf carried by the wild, autumn wind.

Lando is something of an exception to that rule. The thoughts of his old neighbour never quite leave him, as though his autumn is more of a perpetuity than a season. Despite the passage of time, that curious quirk of his stuck. However, the why has changed. While still a child, he’d ponder the memories of you simply out of longing. It is only natural when one’s closest companion is gone one day. Then, as his young heart began revolving around crushes, dates and girlfriends, Lando suffered an epiphany. Finally, he understands! It was as if on some random Tuesday lightning had struck him – it was love he felt for you, not just friendship. And what a tale of one’s first love it told! “We were inseparable, soulmates, if you will, when one day she moved away and I never heard from her again.” Truly, a drama worth a thousand novels.

Little does he know, that those strange mysteries that separate lovers, sometimes lead them to each other’s doorways…

Lando is closing his front door, when the sound of paws tapping the floor grabs his attention. Without much thought, he looks down the corridor.

The tapping belongs to a rather happy-looking Scottish setter. He recognizes the breed only because he’s spent his childhood running around a small British town with you and two of those dogs. Despite the lingering memories of the past, Lando doesn’t mind the pet any longer, again focusing on his own things. Then, a strangely familiar voice distracts him again:

“Come on, Axel! We’ll have plenty of time to make friends later.”

Almost giving himself whiplash, Lando looks for the source of the sound. Could it be…?

You’re a little surprised when you hear someone calling out your name in a questioning manner. As far as you know, none of your friends live in Monaco. So how come someone here knows you? Fixing your grip on the box labelled Kitchen, you take a look around the corridor.

For a moment, you think you’re just seeing things. But you’ve stared at that face for so long, you could recognize him in the darkest, most inexplicable fever dream; the face that you’ve associated with home for your whole life.

“Oh my God, Lando Norris!” you exclaim between chuckles. “I can’t believe it!”

His cheeks redden a little. “You remember me?” The question has a distinct tone of surprise.

“Of course I do! You were my best friend,” you say. “Well, the only friend for a few years,” you add, your voice noticeably quieter than before.

“What are you doing here? I thought your family moved to San Francisco.”

It is only then that Lando truly sees who you’ve become throughout all those years away. Perhaps you are more beautiful than he could imagine but you’re also much sadder. There’s a wistful look in your eye, a tell-tale sign of maturity that is only born out of tears. He can only wonder what pains have brought you back to him.

“At first, it was San Francisco, then New York, Chicago, L.A… I never fit in anywhere. They’re all very lonely cities, you know?” Just for a second, your eyes become glossy. His heart feels a painful sting that only gets worse as you force a wide smile on your face. You’ve had practice in faking happiness, haven’t you? “But enough about me, it’s not that interesting,” you say in a casual tone. “Congratulations on your driving career. Seriously, you’re amazing. Would it be creepy if I admitted now that I’ve watched every single one of your races?”

“Not as creepy as admitting I’ve stalked your social media and never followed you because I thought you don’t remember me.”

“Are you dead serious right now?” Lando’s sheepish smile earns a loud laugh from you. “You should have tried anyway!”

“Funny that you’re the one to say that,” he retorts. “Why didn’t you message me if you’re such a big fan?”

Flustered, you look away for a moment. “Honestly, I thought it would be weird,” you confess. “I was sure you’d forgotten all about me and pulling this ‘we were childhood friends’ schtick now that you’re famous would be so embarrassing. You’re this top-of-the-top racing driver and I’m, well, me.” A bitter chuckle comes after your words but the faux amusement isn’t enough to fool Lando.

“You’re staying for long in Monaco?” His question is accompanied by a light gesture towards the box in your arms.

“As long as they don’t fire me, I guess.” That strange, sad laughter again. “Listen, you look like you have somewhere to be and I’ve already taken up too much of your time. You could come by in the evening, catch up if you want?” Your tone rises, revealing uncertainty about whether the invitation is welcome.

But to him, the answer is obvious. “I’d love that.”

You give him one last smile, then disappear behind the door to your apartment.

In some sense, he has you back. Not the girl he remembers, no. Something innate seems to be gone from your soul but Lando lacks the words to name the change. The sights, the loves, the pains – whatever it was that took your life on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, it sprouted melancholy in the very marrows of your bones.

“What happened to you?” he whispers to himself.

The only answer that comes is muffled footsteps and the shuffling of cardboard boxes.

Check out other fics in the Ampersand Themed Works

[themeraldee]

Mark Me Yours

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 4.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Biting. Established Relationship. Mild Pain Play. Cunnilingus. Fingering (with gloves on).

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #16: Biting

Amongst the buzz of some vague Halloween music and constant chatter, Homelander is impatiently looking around the room. As an annual treat, Vought organizes a Halloween-themed party for their shareholders, ambassadors and any and all influential people that get easily swayed by expensive champagne and an impressive catering spread. 

The one person not impressed is Homelander himself. 

He’s had his fill of schmoozing and brown-nosing at Madelyn’s behest. By now he’s just looking for an excuse to leave. He’s not one to indulge in partying like the rest of the Seven. Looking at the state of them leaves him with a bitter feeling. There they are being more rambunctious than ever while he’s the only one who’s trustworthy enough to actually get the job of upselling and marketing done right.

While it’s dressed as a fun party, Vought doesn’t do things for fun. It’s a thinly veiled attempt at getting all the powerful people in the room to spend more money and sign onto more superhero-led campaigns in their fields. Really, to Homelander it’s a waste of fucking time. There are so many better things he could be doing. But no. He’s stuck having to sweet talk every C-suite level person in the room.

And while part of him wishes he could just relax and kick back like the rest of them he just as much scoffs at the childish Halloween costumes the rest of his team came in. Before the party even broke out, Deep thought it would be funny to come dressed in one of those terribly cheap polyester Homelander costumes all the pathetic lowlifes wear on this day of the year.

Pfft. As if they could ever understand the burden that comes with wearing the suit. Neither, really, could Deep. That’s why one look was enough to get through even his thick and algae-infested skull that if he doesn’t change out of the suit there won’t be a body to dress up for the party. 

With an exasperated shake of his head he looks for you. He comes into these parties with decent energy, soaking up the applause and the adoring words but very quickly the praise turns sour when he feels just how empty and vapid each executive he talks to comes across as. They don’t actually care for his attention. They just want to wring him dry for more cash and fame. You’re the only one who’s managed to keep his usually soured high going. Your look doesn’t turn vacant, instead there’s a real person behind those eyes. One that’s his. One that adores him and is his to adore. 

So where the hell were you anyway? Your presence is what makes him tolerate the insipid crowds these days. Besides the fact that he gets to be with you and show you off to the world, he happily uses your name as an excuse to get out of conversations that just about manage to reach levels of stupidity and numbness that even his media-trained smiles and nods can’t keep him looking interested.

Fucking Halloween. What a stupid holiday, he thinks. Homelander slides his tongue over the fake plastic vampire fangs you insisted he wears throughout the night. As if he’s a child that has to partake in the “festivities”. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s gracing everyone here with his effervescent presence. Surrounded by cameras he has no choice but to keep up his flawless smile, now tainted with the silly prop.

And really at this point he’s getting less annoyed and more worried. You promised you’d show up. And while the party is in full effect you’re still nowhere to be seen. Homelander steps a little to the side, removing himself from as much of the chatter and music as he can, instead listening carefully, honing in on the familiar pitter patter of your heart. Only outpaced by the clicking of your heels as you rush across the stone flooring.

Tsk, late as always. 

Not even a minute later you make your way through the open door, immediately looking around for him. Homelander watches you try to calm down your rush as you finally settle your eyes on him. You’re smoothing down your dress and calming your breath. He leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow and with a lifted gloved finger he motions for you to come close.

Thank god you’re finally here. Just the sight of you is enough to release the tension in his shoulders. Relieved that there’s finally someone who he doesn’t have to pretend in front of. 

And what a sight you are. Dressed to the nines, a gorgeous classy black evening dress that fits your body perfectly.

He would know, it’s one of the many he handpicked for you. 

Looking at you now he can’t deny that he’s got impeccable taste. His keen eye is good when it comes to picking clothing that dresses your figure in a flattering way. Not just any dress would do, it always has to be perfect.

Until he actually notices the little band of cat ears across your head that has him recall the very long-winded argument—or an exchange of opinions as you liked to call it—about the importance of dressing up appropriately during any festivities you come to be a part of.

“Look who finally showed up. I was beginning to think you stood me up.” He flashes you a grin, letting the fangs exaggerate the sharpness of his smile. 

You stutter through your answer, caught off guard, and instead of defending your tardiness you change the conversation. Homelander watches as your eyes widen in surprise, locking on the way he slides his tongue over the pointy ends. The shiver that runs through you doesn’t escape him either. Well… isn’t that interesting. 

“Oh my god—I didn’t think— you’re actually wearing them!” Almost comically you put your hand over your mouth in shock and he takes the time to properly look you up and down. In your initial shock you let him in on not one, not two but three secrets. 

From the gasped breath and the excited shiver running down your body he deduces that your earlier adamant begging to have him dress up was for an entirely different indulgence. 

His second surprise upon checking you up and down was the lack of any undergarments. Not that he wouldn’t be able to look through the flimsy bits of fabric as well but the lack of them certainly inspires a mood. 

And the third secret your body lets him in on is just how much you enjoy the sight of his fanged grin. Your thighs rub together but with no fabric to soak into, your slick just squelches in between your legs. A sweet little symphony for his ears only. Maybe tonight won’t be so boring after all. 

If this was the kind of trick or treating he knew he’d be getting he’d have been onboard with the holiday a lot sooner. 

His mouth tugs into a smile but he stops himself, instead tutting and shaking his head.

“Unlike someone, I’m keeping my word.” He rolls his eyes. “After all that hounding you come out in this? So much for dressing up, Mrs Halloween spirit.” He makes a mocking gesture with his hands, waving dramatically over your Halloween costume, if one could call it that.  

“And sweetheart, although you look stunning, your little cat ears definitely don’t count as a costume.” Homelander relishes in the way you swoon under his compliments and attention.

At least someone here understands how valuable it is to have his attention. 

Homelander waves over a waiter, plucking a flute glass off the tray, passing it to you. This breaks you out of your trance and you finally get your words straight.

“Sorry, that’s why I’m late. I had a costume, I swear! Then Ashley needed help with something and then on my way here someone spilled red wine all over my costume, so I had to change. I know it’s not impressive but this was last minute!” 

“Oh, it’s very impressive. Just not very festive of you.” He quotes what you said earlier that evening about his reluctance to wear the stupid Dracula costume you prepared for him.

“If you wanted to come as Catwoman you could’ve worn some swanky latex at least.” 

“Oh no thank you. You’d be peeling me out of that at the end of the night.” And you look cute when you shake your head with that displeased look on your face.

“Who said I won’t be peeling you out of this?” He places his hand on your waist, his glove sliding across the silk of the dress.

“I’m hoping that’s gonna look a little more elegant than the latex suit would.” You lean in, whispering this little secret as if it was just the two of you in the room. You do always make him feel like he’s the only one in the room. Finally, he’s getting the respect he deserves.

“One way to find out.” He graces you with a show of his sharp fangs as he whips out another wide grin. 

It almost wins you over.

But you’re not that easily swayed. And you came here to celebrate Halloween with him. Clearly, he’s not gonna be able to use you as an excuse to leave just yet.

You say just that.

“You can’t leave yet!” You cover your flustered cheeks with a laugh.

Homelander doesn’t give up without a fight, but more importantly there’s nothing he loves more than having an upper hand. “Then why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

He’s close to leaning you against the wall and boxing you in so you don’t have a chance to get away but he does have appearances to uphold. 

“I—um, I thought I’d keep you motivated to keep your energy up throughout the night.” You’re no stranger to keeping things exciting. Flirting with him is a must and comes naturally. Unless it’s outside the comfort of your home. Then you get all flustered and embarrassed. It’s cute, really. 

“You’re motivating me to leave.” He grumbles and dips his eyes back down your body, making it terribly obvious that he’s not just admiring your dress. 

On the other hand, he’s a better flirt in a crowd. He knows the power that comes with being surrounded by people that adore him and while it’s the comfort in between the two of you that allows that, he takes advantage of being the one who’s seemingly in control. 

“I've barely just arrived!” 

“That's your problem not mine, be punctual next time.”

 “Come on, just another hour. You can manage.”

He rolls his eyes, already beyond fed up with the party. However, he still has a job to do and you take the chance to make your way around the room to make your presence known to other attendees. 

As the time goes on, Homelander catches you looking around for him like a sixth sense tickling the back of his neck and everytime he meets your wandering eyes, giving you a dazzling smile showing off those fake fangs he still puts up with just for you. And each time you look away flustered and move out of his line of sight.

While everyone else is here to kick back, he’s still on duty, actively greasing deals, soft-launching Madelyn’s messaging and repeating the corporate-glazed talking points just to plant the seeds of Vought’s future plans in unsuspecting and mildly inebriated victims. 

The promised excruciating hour later he finally makes his way around the room back to you, pulling you out of the conversation with his media smile aimed at the group. “Sorry folks, you’ll need to excuse my date.” With a hand settling on your lower back, he takes you away into a quieter corner, plucking the empty glass out of your fingers, placing it at a nearby catering table.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not! I just know how busy you are.”

“Right.” He spreads his lips into a wicked smile and he watches as your eyes quickly dart from his eyes to his teeth, not quickly enough for him to miss it. Neither does he miss the way your heart skips a beat.

It’s then he puts his hands on his hips shaking his head with a laugh. “I knew it, you’re into this.” He lifts one hand to wave a gloved finger in your face as if you’ve done something naughty.

“I’m not!” You’re a terrible liar. Homelander just places his hand on your chin as he uses it to tilt your head to one side.

While ignoring your protest he continues. “Is this some sort of Twilight fantasy you’ve got? Want me to bite you here?” 

“What—no!”

He raises his eyebrows, parting his lips as he glides his gloved fingers down your neck with his other hand. As if you were in a secluded bubble he has his eyes firmly set on you, focusing on the hurried beat of your heart. 

Unlike him you fluster. Unable to tune out the sound of the party and the presence of a crowd.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me!” You squeak out like a little mouse, though your hushed voice makes no difference to Homelander’s keen ears.

While he doesn’t let the topic go, he does let go of your chin, allowing you to straighten up. 

“While I love you very much, I’m not covering myself with glitter.” He chuckles to himself, terribly amused at having found one of your guilty pleasures. “But I can be your super strong and fast vampire if you’d like that.” It’s his turn to turn all hushed and whispered. He talks in a way that he usually indulges in between the sheets yet he can’t resist to see your reaction.

Homelander doesn’t miss the way you shudder at his proposition. He almost melts away your stubborn exterior, but you snap out of the dazed vision and blink your fantasies away. This is not the place.

“Wait, how do you know so much about it? And no, no, it’s not a Twilight fantasy. It doesn’t matter. Does it really need an explanation?” Still continuing with the hushed outrage you pull him with you, backing out of the party hall.

Homelander grins at you widely, purposefully flashing the fangs while you drag him away from the party. You probably think you’re being subtle, trying to blend your bodies in between the incoming crowds. However, his cape alone is as dead giveaway as any. If anyone cared to get his attention at the party they were now keenly aware that he’s left. 

“Nope, not really. I just want to know what’s going on in that fucked up little head of yours.” The lightheartedness that comes with you two prodding one another is not only refreshing; it’s needed. To have someone he can feel like a lovesick teenager with is more important than he expected it to be. 

You act as if you were sneaking away from your parents’ house rather than seeking the quiet comfort of your home.

You secretly make your way down hallways, guiding Homelander behind you.

Even with his hand in yours you reluctantly turn around. The Eurydice to your Orpheus where one look would make him disappear forever. 

He understands the love shared between the two of you. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming it feels like its own living thing. Ever growing. Spreading like mold. Taking over everything that you both are. Be it good or bad. 

When he shuts the door behind the two of you it’s like the rest of the world goes quiet. He can’t stop himself from smiling widely at the sound of your pretty laugh when he spins you in place, clumsily dancing with you across the hardwood floor of his penthouse. 

He didn’t get the luxury of dancing with you during the party so he enjoys the feel of you carefree and against him in the comfort of his personal enclosure.

Neither of you need music to feel the intimate rhythm of your bodies. And really, the party has only just started. Each wrong step results in a giggle and another twirl with which Homelander brings you closer.

The warmth and love Homelander can feel from your laugh is so visceral he needs to taste it. He captures your lips. Simply pressing his against yours. Feeling the vibrations of your giggles against his pursed lips.

Just as he’s parting his lips to deepen the kiss you stop him, placing a hand on his chest. You don’t put any effort into pushing him off, it would be fruitless should you try anyway. 

“Take them out, they’ll get in the way.” You refer to the fangs you’ve been downright drooling over the whole night. Finally. Homelander takes out the prop fangs and tosses them to the side.

With no barriers in the way he devours your lips like he’s been starved for the taste of you all night. He’s drunk on the ease with which you let him take what he wants from you. 

He’s pulling out his best moves tonight. He’s always eager to impress, but tonight especially so. It’s not everyday he finds out about yet another depraved fantasy you’ve been keeping away from him. That alone is a reason to celebrate and pull out all the stops. So if a little innocent vampire roleplay is what you want, a vampire roleplay is what you’ll get. 

Nipping at your lips earns him a moan. His hands gliding up your body cause a shudder. He continues teasing you little by little until your body is begging him to take it further. Your tongue licks over the naturally pointy ends of his canines. His grin stretches wide, dissolving the haze of lust and instead reminding him of what he’s here to do.

He walks you back to the sofa, all the way until your calves hit the upholstering and your knees give in. With a gleeful giggle you fall onto the cushioning. Homelander follows after you, sprawling across your body, still kissing you.

"I can hear your pulse racing..." Homelander breathes out when he pulls away. His eyebrows pinched tight together, acting as if any second away from you causes him pain. 

It doesn’t. But being away from you might as well feel like he’s drowning.

“All that blood rushing…” In a breathy tone he continues. His hands push the straps of your dress over your shoulders. His hands tremble. Wanting to grip and squeeze and push and pull. But the power he’s capable of is always kept tightly locked up. But the desire and the pool of need inside him just begs for him to be inside you, feeling your supple warmth all around him.

But he wants to fulfill your fantasy. He wants to be good for you.

With a moan he drags his tongue starting from your collarbone up the line of your neck. Hungry for the faint taste of you he licks at the tender skin, sucking marks where you won’t be able to conceal them.

He laps his tongue over the junction of your neck and shoulder with the same eagerness he usually devours your cunt with. Now he’s preparing the soft delicate skin of your neck, akin to a surgeon before a procedure. Equally diligent in prepping your skin ready for the incision. Except Homelander wants you to feel the sharpness and warmth of his canines and incisors rather than the cold steel of a surgical scalpel. Your blood rushes to the surface where he’s sucked hickies all over your skin. The temptation to break skin and feel the warmth of your blood is tempting. But alas, he wants you lightheaded with pleasure, not blood loss.

He’s too sucked into his own world. Your blood is rushing loudly in his ears. He doesn’t even manage to slip out another zinger before sinking his teeth into your neck with a needy moan.

Should someone stumble upon you two, it wouldn’t be clear who asked for this roleplay in the first place. 

Homelander’s careful with the pressure he puts into the bite. Even without his super strength he could easily break through your fragile skin. Instead he’s leaving indents and bite marks over your neck that have you whimpering right into each lap of his tongue over the wounded skin.

Attuned to your body’s responses he can feel the way you’re getting off on the contrast of the sharp bites and the dull ache of his languid tongue.

When he’s done with your neck, Homelander pulls away. Eyes hazy with lust. Hands trembling. His heartbeat is so loud it overpowers yours. He slides his tongue over his teeth as if he was licking off your blood. He looks up to meet your eyes and if the sight of you isn’t something out of a dream.

Just as hazed with the thick lust in the air. The smattering of bites is exquisite on a canvas as perfect as you. Your body rises and collapses with each shuddered breath and Homelander wants nothing more than to finish painting your body with his love.

And he does. Tearing and sliding the silk fabric off your body he leaves you bare in front of him. Your choice to omit your underwear gets you rewarded faster. He’s already sucking and biting all over your chest. Swapping for soft kisses anytime you yelp out of painful sensitivity.

Homelander bites wherever his teeth allow to sink into your flesh. Giving them the same soothing treatment with his tongue like he’s done on your neck.

The bites he descends upon your sides make you burst into giggles, temporarily breaking the bubble of the heated tension. With a smile he nuzzles his head into your belly, kissing you with affection all over the exposed skin. While the love he exudes is just as intoxicating, you push his head further down.

“Greedy.” He teases, but he happily slides off the couch, kneeling on the ground right in front of your gloriously spread legs. “Want me to bite you here too?” He easily slides back into his breathy tone as his mouth waters at the smell of your arousal.

After all this time he’s spent getting you worked up with bites and kisses you’re leaking over the couch.

He doesn’t wait for your answer, if you were coherent enough to give it anyway, and instead he licks up your inner thigh. Narrowly avoiding your sopping wet cunt. And while the hypnotizing rhythm of your throbbing clit nearly sucks him in, there’s still plenty of supple flesh he’s yet to sink his teeth into.

Homelander treats your inner thighs with the same respect he’s given your neck. Even though you wiggle underneath his tongue he holds you down. His arm easily pinning your middle down, while his shoulders keep your legs open enough for him to continue.

Here the sensation makes you both whimper from the stinging bites and giggle from the tickling motions of his tongue. Your body continues to serve as a canvas as he litters marks in between your thighs. He lets a few bruises join the mix as he grips your thighs with too much enthusiasm when he dips his head lower to bite another mark higher up the sensitive skin. 

You don’t shy away from the pain either. The contrasting shades of pain he paints across your skin just make your breath stutter, your heart race and your core ache for more.

Homelander is just as strung out. His cock is heavy and aching uncomfortably in the tight confines of his pants but he’s not about to relieve himself. Not when you’re served in front of him like a meal. 

Finally he buries his head into your lap. He licks up a line from your weeping hole to your clit, slurping up as much slick as his tongue can gather. He goes through expressions of content, where he’s eagerly sucking on your clit, and need, where he pinches his eyebrows together, whimpering into your cunt at the feeling of you quivering around his tongue.

And really, he could spend hours in between your legs. Getting handfuls of your ass he pulls you even closer, his tongue now closely and precisely rolling around your clit in a rhythm that has your toes curling and heart pounding. He’s come to know your body as intimately as it gets. The changes in pace are part of his plan. The slow teasing to a fast build-up, letting the feeling of your encroaching orgasm climb up and up your spine until he slows down, dropping the meter down again, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

With the occasional pull to the side where he nips more bites into your inner thighs he has you strung tight, and he’s playing you like a violin. When your moans turn into near sobs at the constant edge he keeps you balanced on, Homelander takes pity on you.

Gathering the slick and saliva, he pushes two thick gloved fingers into you. The drag of the leather glove is not familiar enough to you and you whine at the contact, clenching down on his fingers. Tight enough to nearly stop the glide.

With soft kisses he descends upon your clit, he lets you relax. When your cunt is no longer squeezing his fingers for dear life he drags them in and out while amping up the pressure. The obscene display of you bare to the world and him still dressed in his uniform has you both vocal and shameless.

While he’s already done a fantastic job of licking you open and needy, making you into an even bigger mess than you were before; he’s now fucking you wide open, preparing you for what’s inevitably going to be his cock in a round or two filling out all the space his fingers can’t reach. 

“C’mon, keep fucking me. Harder. Harder. Ye-yes. Yes!” You groan out, your voice all cracked and strained from moaning for so long. 

You grind yourself down on his fingers as much as the space allows. Your fingers pull at his hair while you ride both his face and his fingers to completion. It’s a hard finish, with downright growled words of praise as you chase the high he’s providing you with.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. Fffuuck. Such a good boy, letting me ride your face like that.” You pant in between words, just as eager to give out praise as he is to receive it. 

With an obscene squelch, Homelander pulls his fingers out of you, sucking the leather clean, adding to the already rich taste of you on his tongue. You slide down the couch and lean down to kiss him, and he indulges you in letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Pulling away, you only allow the minimum space apart in between each other. Just like him, you act as if being apart caused you harm. 

“Take me to bed. I want to ride your cock next. Aaand maybe bite you myself.” With a giggle you wrap your hands around his neck. 

“You know you can’t bite me.” With a tilt of his head he kisses the bite marks he’s left behind. Each kiss brings back a little spark of pain making you twitch. 

“I love a challenge.”

“Well I’d certainly love to see you try.” He effortlessly lifts you up from the couch, already carrying you over to the bedroom.

After all the treating he’s done, he’s definitely excited to see some tricks.

So maybe the Halloween celebrations are not so stupid after all.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade @littlegaaby @jokesonyoupup

@nommingonfood @infinetlyforgotten @nervoussystemss

[vir-tanadahl]

[DAV Spoilers] My Thoughts on Solas

Look, I know this might be an unpopular opinion, but these are just my thoughts. Take what resonates with you, and feel free to leave behind what doesn’t.

Under the cut, because spoilers!

I don’t think Solas was acting OOC.

TDLR: We are dealing with the Dread Wolf for most of DAV, not Solas.

This is not the Solas we know from DAI. In DAI, Solas concealed his identity as the Dread Wolf, embodying a part of himself from before he fully assumed that role. Now, however, he has fully embraced the mantle of the Dread Wolf.

 2. The comment about hating blood magic? It was a lie. Solas knows that, in this world, blood magic is despised and viewed as evil. The truth is, he sees it as a tool—both in DAI and in DAV. He lied to the Rook, manipulating his words to earn their trust.

3. I don’t think he intended to kill Varric—I think it was an accident; if that were his goal, he would have done it long before. If you slow down the cinematic, you can see him lower his head, a gesture of shame. But then again, this is the same man who killed Felassan. It is still shitty that it happened though.

4. Solas doesn’t trust the Rook, and he isn’t going to be as open with them as he was with the Inquisitor. Unlike the mentorship he offered the Inquisitor, Solas sees the Rook purely as a tool. He will never confide in them about his feelings for the Inquisitor, whether as a friend or a lost love. This time, he’s a tactician, a strategist—cold, calculating, and entirely focused on his goals. In my opinion, if Solas were to confide in the Rook, it would feel out of character. They haven’t developed that level of trust, so in my opinion, it would come across as fan service. 

5. I don’t believe Solas and Mythal had a romantic relationship. Although Mythal called him ‘love,’ the evidence in DAI suggests it was more likely reverence than romance. As Brené Brown describes, reverence—a deeper form of admiration or respect—is often rooted in a profound connection to something greater than ourselves, encompassing adoration, worship, or veneration.

6. It’s possible that Solas was bound by a geas, which would explain his intense reaction if the Inquisitor drank from the Well of Sorrows. This could also be why Mythal remains central to his story. He tells both the Rook and the Inquisitor that he cannot stop—not that he won’t, but that he cannot. Perhaps, before her death, Mythal commanded him to avenge her, binding him to her will and compelling him forward.

Update to 6: However, if it wasn’t a geas, then it speaks volumes about Solas, his choices, and the theme of regret that runs through DAV. Honestly, I hope it wasn’t a geas, because that would highlight his fallibility, showing just how far he’s gone and the struggle he faces in trying to reconcile (and failing) with those choices. It would also explain why he feels bound by his actions, believing he cannot turn back and why Mythal remained central to his story because he came into this world for her and he "failed" her. By releasing him from her service, Mythal allows him to see that his path wasn’t shaped solely by his own choices. He’s been carrying the weight not only of his decisions but of hers as well—and he isn’t responsible for her choices. Mythal had to be the one to make him understand that.

7. Solas's wisdom has twisted into pride. He's fixated on erasing the mistake he believes he made, on fixing what he thinks he broke. But this pride blinds him to the beauty of the world he inadvertently created. If his wisdom had remained pure, he might have seen that this new world, born of his error, holds its own beauty—and that not every mistake needs to be undone. It feels like Solas embodies Wisdom, while the Dread Wolf represents Pride.

8. Solas does care about people, but his wisdom has twisted into pride. The Dread Wolf, however, leads him to view their deaths as necessary sacrifices—a means to an end

9. Solas/The Dread Wolf created a prison that even the gods could not escape it—because escape would mean confronting the pain they caused and accepting any regrets tied to their choices. The gods refused to do this, seeing their actions as justified. Solas, too, remained bound, unable to face his own regrets and the pain he caused, needing to believe there was purpose in them. He is shocked when the Rook escapes, as he doesn’t believe (or literally just cannot accept this due to being under a geas) anyone can truly accept their regrets and move forward.

10. The Dread Wolf using spirits of chaos—and other similar entities—as tools in his war makes sense. He chose spirits that wouldn’t be corrupted by the task, a calculated and strategic move, even if it’s ultimately a morally questionable one.

IDK take it or leave it.

UPDATE:

I also believe that the essence of Mythal, which released him from her service, ‘died’ after freeing him. The essence he carefully preserved could only watch and observe the world, as Mythal herself stated she couldn’t exist outside the Fade. I think Solas knew that. This fragment of Mythal, the one he knew, who just released him from her service no longer exists anymore.

[writterofstars]

a sugar adiction

Ok, can you imagine a world where Kryptonians’ metabolism requires a lot of sugar, and they also age slowly and have problems if they don't consume enough?

Clark Kent was five years old, though no one would believe it just by looking at him. He seemed like a three-year-old, with chubby cheeks and curious eyes, but with a gaze that Martha and Jonathan Kent had learned to interpret as someone who saw much more than he said. And for some reason, all the sweets in the house disappeared as quickly as they bought them.

“Jonathan, I swear I left a jar of jam in the pantry yesterday,” Martha said, checking the empty shelves over and over again. The jars of honey, the sugar, the cookies; nothing was safe when Clark was around. But what child, no matter how small, could finish an entire jar of jam in a day?

Jonathan sighed, both amused and concerned. “It must be a phase,” he replied, watching the child play among the chickens outside. Clark seemed normal, but the Kents had started noticing strange things. Like how he appeared exhausted if he didn't get something sweet during the day, or how, even though he ate an incredible amount of sweets, he remained thin and small. Very small.

Clark heard the sound of the door and turned to them with a sugary smile, small smudges of jam on the corners of his lips.

“Were you in the pantry, Clark?” Martha asked gently. The boy looked down, part amused and part guilty.

“I was hungry, Mom.”

Martha knelt down to wipe his face with a cloth, her fingers pausing for a moment on Clark's cheeks, soft as those of a much younger child. At five years old, he still had delicate skin and the eyes of a little boy, and sometimes Martha couldn't help but let a silent worry slip into her thoughts. Other kids his age already looked more grown-up, stronger. Clark, on the other hand, was like a mystery.

But the problems weren't limited to his size. There were nights when the boy would wake up gasping, saying that the air felt heavy, as if breathing the Earth’s atmosphere took effort. Martha and Jonathan would find him in the middle of the night, sitting up in bed, gazing out the window at the sky with that melancholic expression that only he had, as if he somehow knew he didn't quite belong to that place.

“What do you see out there, Clark?” his mother would ask, stroking his hair. The boy would smile, not knowing how to respond. He didn't know why, but some nights he felt just a little bit closer to the stars, even though he didn't understand why that attraction existed.

It wasn't just his slow growth or his obsession with sweets. Sometimes, Clark had trouble with his eyes. He said they hurt, especially when he stared at something for too long. Once, while trying to cut carrots in the kitchen, Martha was startled to see Clark staring at the carrot with a strange intensity.

“Mom…” the boy said in a low voice, “I can see inside the carrot.”

Martha stopped, her knife in mid-air. “What do you mean, son?”

“It’s just that… I can see inside things. Like shadows. I see them even when I don't want to see them,” he said, with the confusion of someone who still doesn’t understand what his eyes are seeing.

From that day on, the Kents began to understand that Clark had a different vision, one that sometimes showed him things no one else could see. Martha tried to make him feel that this wasn’t wrong, that it was part of him, but she couldn't help but wonder what else awaited her son.

[scoops-aboy86]

You know what? You know who else loves that ‘doing co-dependent stuff but they’re not even dating, they should totally date’ shit?

Dustin. He’s just looking at Steve and Robin instead of Steve and Eddie.

So imagine one day he sits Steve down like, “Steve. Buddy. Longest of my older male friends.”

“It’s so weird that you call me that man, stop it.”

“Whatever, just listen to me.” And proceeds to go on a long, winding lecture about how when you spend all your time with someone, finish each other’s sentences, honestly seem to read each other’s minds half the time, that means something. He doesn’t mention Robin’s name because he knows Steve will shut him down the second he does, like always, so he keeps it general.

And he’s so damn pleased when a startled ‘oh’ of realization crosses Steve’s face because finally!! Progress!!

The next day, Steve is particularly antsy when he picks Dustin and the rest of the party up for a ride to Hellfire at Eddie’s new place. Dustin figures he's still hyping himself up to ask Robin out, so he makes sure to tell Steve all kind of supportive things, reassuring him that he looks good and he’s got this—to the point where Lucas and Mike keep giving him weird looks, but they wouldn’t understand, this is brother-to-brother stuff and all they have is sisters.

When they get to Eddie’s place Steve parks and comes in with them, which is a first. But Dustin knows that he and Eddie have been hanging out a lot lately, which is great! He probably wants an additional pep talk from his friend, and Eddie is great at getting people hyped up. Like, when Steve took them all to see Corroded Coffin play at the hideout a few weeks ago? Even Steve had been into it, let Eddie try and teach him how to head bang after the show and everything—and he doesn’t even like metal. So Steve asks Eddie if they can talk in the kitchen for a sec, and Dustin grins and flashes him a thumbs up.

And, you know, Dustin really feels like he has a part in this conversation, since the whole thing was his idea. He puts his stuff down at the table and only gets into a brief argument with Gareth about where they left off last week and what they should do next before trotting off towards the kitchen with the excuse of grabbing a soda.

He did not expect to walk in on his two favorite older male friends making out against the pantry. (… Okay maybe Steve is right, that does sound weird and he probably should stop calling them that, but that’s not the issue right now.)

They break apart just long enough for Eddie to pant, “Hey, Henderson… fucking thank you, man.”

Steve looks over his shoulder and shoots Dustin a happy grin. Like, the happiest Dustin has ever seen him look, ever. “Yeah, I never would’ve put two and two together without you, buddy. Now… get out.”

“This is great and all,” Dustin says, “but what about our game?”

“Out,” Steve repeats, while at the same time Eddie says, “Give me ten… fifteen minutes. And close the door behind you!”

So that’s a development. And, in retrospect… Dustin can see it.

They kind of make more sense together than Steve and Robin even, considering those two bicker like Mike does with Nancy while Steve and Eddie’s back and forth has always been like… Dustin doesn’t know, but some sort of something. An energy. A vibe. Maybe like that electricity Steve had been talking about, the first time they’d really talked back while looking for Dart.

… Whatever, Dustin is still claiming matchmaker bragging rights as soon as everyone else knows. For now, he has to go back to the game table and spin a worthy cover story to his compatriots about why dnd is going to start a little late.

you know what...my favorite steddie trope is actually "they aren't even dating...yet". love seeing the most ridiculous, homoerotic, and codependent shit slapped together in two sentences and then followed by they're not even dating. i eat it up every time, keep doing that shit🙌

[incorrect-upon-a-witchlight]

Kremy: This totally sucks, man.

Frost: This is horrible.

Kremy: Yeah, I know, I mean look at today’s news.

Frost: No, it’s not that, it’s Gricko.

Frost: It’s just like, I can’t get him out of my head and every time I look at him I have this pains in my chest, and I just know it’s his fault, that bitch!

[seaglassdinosaur]

Remembering that two long-running arcs of the Origami Yoda series regarding Dwight were his classmates becoming real friends with him as they stop seeing him as the ‘weird kid’ and connecting with him as a person, and Dwight starting and continuing to date Caroline, the girl he likes. These arcs present to the (presumably neurotypical) audience, an autistic-coded character as someone nuanced and human, who is capable and desirable as a partner and friend, encouraging the idea of looking past dismissive judgements of strangeness and to try to understand people, and even if you can’t, accept them and appreciate them for who they are.

[poisoned-pearls]

wanting to write a fic set one year in the future of twst for azujami is tough bc neither of those motherfuckers have a ton of friends. What do I have? The twins? Ruggie? Riddle? That lowkey feels like all I’ve got. Maybe ace, for basketball, but still.

[dont-miss-me]

I am sorry, but if you see no difference between an extra risk of your spouse being in complete control of your income and the future of your carer and just general risks of being in a relationship, that’s on you and I am not going to repeat something you clearly refuse to understand. And all the instances you listed to “prove me wrong” don’t even apply here because in none of those examples more powerful person is in DIRECT control over you. “Marrying a person who owns a place where both of you will live in isn’t problematic so employee/boss isn’t problematic either” isn’t a gotcha you think it is, because it can be problematic if the owner of the place has an income and their partner doesn’t. And if their spouse has income, then most of the time the threat of homelessness can’t be used as an abuse tactic.

Jean/Scott isn’t a good counterpoint either, because Charles is a leader of the X-Men above Scott and can always override his decisions, and being an X-Men member isn’t a paid job. King/commoner is obviously problematic, but Storm has other citizenships aside from Wakandan and she has the X-Men to back her up if T'Challa ever decides to use his power as king against her. In comics Emma/Scott started as a patient/therapist affair, I would say Emma being rich is the least problematic thing about this ship.

In regards to Storm/Logan and Rogue/Logan, yes, they have an age gap, but there is barely any other power dynamic between them, and also Logan is immortal, so it’s fairly obvious he wouldn’t pursue them because he wants somebody young who he can manipulate but because there aren’t many people who are older than 100 who he can date. My argument was never that age gap itself makes relationship tainted in every situation.

(Side note, but if we don’t change Daken’s origin from comics, he won’t be Rogue’s and Storm’s age in year 1997, he would be 52 years old. And yes, that would make Logan dating people younger than his son slightly awkward, but again, it comes with a territory of being immortal).

My argument was that it’s bad to be an authority figure and date your direct subordinates. Jean and Scott both answer to Xavier first, T'Challa isn’t Storm’s king, Storm, Rogue and Logan are colleagues, and Emma/Scott actually supports this point.

Also, the points I used in this thread weren’t to argue about 616 Rogueneto, but about '97 Rogueneto (+AoA at the end). 616 Rogueneto doesn’t have the same issues as '97 Rogueneto or AoA Rogueneto aside from age gap and they all have vastly different dynamics, so I won’t use their dynamic in 616 Rogueneto to talk about '97 Rogueneto.

I don’t like 616 Rogueneto but it’s biggest sin in having age gap that isn’t amoral, but I personally find it weird and uncomfortable. '97 Rogueneto on the other hand has other problems I laid out already AND it’s age gap can be interpreted as being even worse in X-Men '97 than in comics, but in both cases, we have no definitive timeline so I won’t argue that this is THE correct reading (I would say that 616 Rogueneto started when Rogue was either 25 or older while '97 Rogueneto started when Rogue was 19 or 20, but again, this isn’t set in stone).

Another side note, but I feel like the reason why some people have strong reactions to Rogueneto, aside from preferring Romy, is because they don’t like Magneto, don’t think he is a good person and view his actions and ideology as immoral. I know I do view him as a bad person (at least in the current way he is written in various media) whose borderline eugenicist ideology repulses me, so I am not going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he won’t be an awful or abusive to his partner.

In the end, I do believe that Rogueneto has problems, but these problems don’t make it irredeemable and I don’t mind people shipping it. What I do mind however, is seeing people say that people who don’t like Rogueneto are sexist, or that it’s a harassment of Rogueneto shippers to make posts about disliking Rogueneto, or that there are no actual problems with the ship and Romy shippers invented them out of thin air. You can look at Rogueneto age gap and say that you are okay with it. I can look at Rogueneto age gap and say that I am not okay with it. Because yeah, there is no actual crime happening here, but different people have different boundaries at what they find acceptable, and that should be respected.

Consider: saying Rogueneto is a power imbalance and thus is toxic is a disservice to Rogue because she is powerful, both in actual superpower and in personality

Here's me, more of a rant than anything:

Rogue's not a damsel in distress. Even if she can't absorb Erik directly – as it the case 97' but not most of other universe, including comics and animations (ie. Watxm or Evo) – Rogue can still keep up by absorbing literally everyone around. She's never helpless

Age gaps aren't intrinsically unbalanced. The term "power imbalance" can't inherently refer to an age gap because it means one of them can dominate decisions in a relationship because they have financial power, influence and resourcefulness.

Wouldn't Jean (as Phoenix) x Scott also be a power imbalanced and thus toxic if we applied the same rules to them because Phoenix is a million years older and also much more powerful? Or Storm x Wolverine, since Ororo is Rogue's age?

Not to say that X-Men 97' is the only place where they had a relationship close to teacher/student. He wasn't even her mentor. Yes, she was living on the citadel by an undisclosed amount of time, but let's remember that if she wanted to leave he wouldn't be able to stop her. And, if you consider a (legal adults) teacher/student to be inherently predatory... I can't do anything about that. Just never get close to colleges.

Saying that Erik took advantage of her, that this was grooming or abuse is horrible– please don't use real world problems to express your discontent with a fictional couple that doesn't even fit the term you're trying to use

And saying that Magneto was manipulative by offering a crown to her... He was asking. Rogue could step back– she did. Would you prefer he didn't and left her for Genosha? (Like she was going to do to Remy). Because, to me, Erik considering her fit to rule is romantic

[victory-cookies]

bro why am I still in the closet. I am in my twenties and my parents are chill. why have I chosen this path

[lionblaze03-2]

personally I don’t hate gray wing nearly as much as everyone else because he’s a great example of having rose colored glasses just because ‘well, he’s family’, and not realizing until far too late that that essentially ruined his life and made him amount to almost nothing. Because clear sky is his brother, he wants to assume the best of him. Surely, my brother would never. Surely he didn’t mean it like that. Surely he’ll do better next time. He’s my brother. He COULDN’T be a bad guy. So he keeps giving him chances, over and over and over again, until it’s completely destroyed him. Until he can no longer breathe, his lungs full of toxic smoke that clear sky abandoned him to breathe in, until he is under his claws, nearly killed under the moonlight, until his people are battered again and again, until borders become inevitable. But he never, ever realizes, because- it’s his brother. Surely, his brother will do better next time. Surely, he didn’t mean it. Surely, he will change.

And believing that is the death of him.

[dreaming-medium]

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

[jammyjen26]

Simon has been fidgeting for the past ten minutes.

He’s sweating bullets while you just stare at him worried.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to..” You say, he glares at you and shakes his head with a scoff.

“I promised you. I ain’t goin’ back on my damn promises. Just wait.” He huffs and sighs.

Simon had promised that on your 1st year anniversary of dating, he’d show you his face.

However, now that the day has come. He’s nervous.

What if you leave because of the way he looks? What if you’re not satisfied with what you see? What if you get scared?

So many thoughts, so many insecurities, and so much anxiety.

“I can close my eyes and then you can just tell me when to open them.” You say with sweet smile that he adores so much.

He doesn’t know how or why whenever you look or smile at him, his hearts throbs and skips beats.

He likes this feeling. Makes him feel like a teenager.

After all you are his first serious relationship after all his one night stands.

He doesn’t understand what you see in him and why you love him.

“Alright. Close your eyes for me, blossom.” He says as he stares at you.

You nod and close your eyes.

He wipes his sweat with the back of his hand and then pulls his mask off.

A soft thud on the carpet floor, the cool air filling his face.

He takes a deep breath and taps your shoulder.

“Open up.” He mumbles in a quiet voice that you barely hear.

You open your eyes, you’re met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Brown eyes that look fierce but there’s love in them, light brown buzzed hair, pink plump lips, chapped but they look soft.

“You’re…” You say as you stare at him.

His mind is going crazy, what are you gonna say? Is he ugly? Is he an abomination?

“You’re so fucking hot..” You blurt out.

He stares at you before throwing his head back in a laugh. You’re drooling.

Drooling like he’s a medium rare piece of steak on a gold platter.

The rest of the night is spent with you pampering him and complimenting him each second.

He’s not one to accept compliments and always thought they were backhanded.

When you compliment him and stare at him with those beautiful eyes, he just knows you’re telling the truth.