#But like... people. ENGINE SIZE. It's a thing.

[paxaz535]

SLOW SIMMER - FIVE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note : here it is! sorry for the wait lol

—————————-

azzi woke up to a ton of notifications lighting up her phone. she didn’t like being woken up by people blowing her up, but something made her check anyway.

paige has added you to a group!

lake 💦

dijonai

you all ready?

arike

girl it’s about nine in the morning

dijonai

so?

maddy

people are still sleeping

dijonai

azzi !!

hey girl

you up?

azzi

unfortunately

lyss

real

azzi decided to get up and get herself ready for the day, packing a few things for the lake.

she went to the kitchen after finishing her business.

paige

wait we meeting at your house right nai?

dijonai

yes

azzi

where even is this lake?

lyss

that’s actually a great question

dijonai

😭 y’all swear i don’t plan

it’s like 35-40 mins out

calm vibes, not crowded

maddy

i better not get bit by a mosquito the size of a tennis ball again

arike

girl that was one time

paige

azzi do you wanna ride with me? or you rollin with nai again

azzi

i’ll go with you

i gotta bring all the food stuff anyway

dijonai

as long as the food is there, idc who she ride with

lyss

period

maddy

we need to get a speaker this time

no weak phone-in-a-cup playlist

paige

i got it, don’t worry

arike

azzi just don’t forget the sandwiches

i been thinking about them since thursday

azzi

oh i didn’t forget

i’m already up and prepping 😭

dijonai

chef fudd in the building

paige

chef fudd in the kitchen

get it right

azzi smiled at the screen, shaking her head as she started pulling out ingredients.

azzi had her music playing low in the background—some soft r&b to keep her mood right as she moved around the kitchen. her bonnet was still on, slippers dragging across the tile as she packed up her cooler with care.

she had made the sandwiches fresh:

turkey and provolone with garlic aioli, caprese with a balsamic glaze, and a few vegan options just in case. fruit skewers sat in their own little container. chips were packed. and of course, she had to throw in some cookies she baked last night.

it was giving… picnic mom energy. and she didn’t even mind.

just as she zipped up the last cooler bag, she heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps coming from down the hall. paige.

“damn, you been up,” the blonde yawned as she rubbed her eyes.

“you told me y’all were meeting at dijonai’s at ten. it’s 9:12,” azzi said, not even looking up as she rearranged things on the counter.

“yeah but i didn’t expect you to be this… advanced,” paige replied, making her way toward the fridge.

“i don’t play about food. that’s like, my whole job,” azzi said with a small smirk.

paige opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “you need help carrying all this to the car?”

“you offering or just trying to be polite?”

“a little of both,” paige grinned.

azzi laughed and handed her one of the cooler bags. “let’s go then.”

as they made their way out the apartment, paige looked over at azzi—braids still tied up, oversized hoodie and shorts, gold hoops glinting in the light.

“you always this productive before ten a.m.?” she asked, genuinely curious.

azzi shrugged. “only when i care about who i’m feeding.”

paige raised a brow but didn’t say anything—just nodded, lips twitching into a smile as she opened the trunk.

it was gonna be a good day.

even paige could feel it.

as they loaded the car, the morning sun was already warming up the pavement. azzi tucked the sandwich trays between the coolers while paige grabbed the speaker and a few folded towels she’d promised to bring.

“you sure you don’t need to change?” paige asked, eyeing azzi’s comfy outfit.

“nah,” azzi smiled. “i brought a change of clothes. i’ll get dressed once we get there.”

paige nodded. “smart.”

they got in the car, paige starting the engine as azzi pulled out her phone to send a quick text in the group chat.

azzi

on the way 🚗

don’t start talking shit without me

dijonai

we would never

arike

lies. i already got a few things to say about your hoodie

lyss

i said the same thing 😭

dijonai

it’s literally cute chill wear. leave her alone

maddy

some of y’all wore sweats to brunch last week let’s not judge

dijonai

EXACTLY

i just texted y’all the location again just in case

paige

got it

lyss

bring sunscreen this time, i’m not playing

arike

this is directed at maddy but okay

paige glanced over as azzi chuckled at her phone.

“they’re a mess,” the chef muttered, screen lighting up with more replies.

“you get used to it,” paige said, her hands relaxed on the wheel. “or maybe you just end up becoming part of the mess.”

azzi looked over at her. “maybe i already am.”

paige smiled, just a little.

“good.”

the ride continued in peaceful silence, music humming low between them.

azzi looked out the window, the city slowly turning to fields and water.

this was new.

this was soft.

this was… something.

she didn’t know what yet.

but it didn’t feel like nothing.

-after meeting at nai’s house-

they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the lake spot around 10:02.

“we’re early?” azzi asked, surprised as she glanced at the dashboard clock.

“miracles happen,” paige replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “they’ll probably pull up loud and chaotic in the next five minutes.”

azzi laughed softly, already opening her door. “that sounds about right.”

the lake was quiet for now—water glistening, trees swaying, and the little picnic area already shaded under a big oak tree. it was perfect. azzi opened the trunk and started grabbing the bags while paige laid out the big blanket they brought, setting the speaker to the side.

“we should’ve brought chairs,” azzi muttered, organizing the food near the center of the blanket.

“we did,” paige smirked, pointing to a folded set stashed in the trunk. “you thought i wouldn’t come prepared?”

“okay, bueckers,” azzi nodded, impressed. “look at you being all functional.”

before paige could get a comeback out, a car horn beeped twice.

they turned around just in time to see dijonai’s car pulling in—music already thumping.

“here they come,” paige sighed with a grin.

the car doors flew open, and chaos spilled out: arike jumping out with her crocs already halfway off, lyss stretching like she just got off a six-hour flight, and maddy walking up with a portable fan and iced coffee in hand.

“chef fudd in the building!” dijonai shouted, arms out as she approached. “and she’s looking like a picnic snack and the whole damn meal.”

azzi shook her head, blushing as she hugged her. “you’re too much.”

“never enough,” dijonai winked before helping unload the rest of the car. “tell me you brought those turkey sandwiches.”

“of course i did,” azzi replied. “and the caprese ones too.”

“god bless you.”

“who made the cookies?” maddy asked, peeking into the container as she sat down.

“me.”

“you made these?” her eyes widened. “yeah… i’m proposing by sunset.”

paige just laughed, already setting up the speaker. “i told y’all.”

lyss plopped down next to arike, grabbing a fruit skewer. “chef fudd might be the best decision you ever made, bueckers.”

paige’s eyes flicked to azzi.

“don’t i know it.”

azzi pretended not to hear that—

but the way her stomach flipped?

yeah. she definitely did.

“we left at the same time, how come yall are now just getting here?” paige asked as she looked at dijonai. the girl looked down at her shoe, a playful nervous expression on her face. “i needed gas.”

paige just shook her head. “typical nai,”

“well come on, let’s get this started.” arike spoke.

-

the lake day unfolded like something out of a dream.

music playing low, food laid out perfectly, the sun warm but not overwhelming. azzi had changed into some black biker shorts and a cropped tank, still modest, still cute. her gold hoops stayed in, glinting when the sunlight hit just right.

she sat under the tree with maddy and dijonai, the three of them talking like they’d known each other for years.

“so wait, you really be up before the sun every day?” maddy asked, genuinely curious.

“not every day,” azzi laughed. “just the days i’m cooking—which, yeah, ends up being most of them.”

“nah, that’s discipline. i can barely get outta bed for morning lift,” dijonai added, shaking her head. “you built different.”

paige was nearby, lounging back on one of the fold-out chairs, a water bottle pressed to her cheek to cool off. she kept glancing over, just subtly, as azzi talked. there was something about seeing her like this—comfortable, a little sun-kissed, smiling easily with her friends.

not her friends. not yet.

but paige could feel the shift happening.

they were becoming something.

arike broke the calm by tossing a grape at paige. “yo. you gonna get in the water or just sit there like somebody’s bodyguard?”

“i’m observing,” paige replied, dryly. “and supervising. very important role.”

lyss was already wading in up to her calves. “coward behavior.”

“nah,” dijonai called out. “i feel her. not everyone tryna get lake water in places it don’t belong.”

“okay but—azzi?” arike called out. “you swimming?”

azzi looked up, surprised to be called on like she was the new kid in class.

“uh… maybe later.”

“i’m calling that a yes,” arike smirked, already splashing lyss.

paige sat up a little, watching azzi brush a braid behind her ear and smile at the chaos. she stood slowly, walked over to where paige was sitting, and nudged her with her foot.

“you good?”

paige nodded. “you look like you’re having fun.”

“i am,” azzi said. “your people are cool.”

paige looked up at her, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“you are too.”

that made azzi freeze for just a second.

not visibly. not enough for anyone to catch.

but she felt it.

the compliment hung in the air, unspoken weight behind it.

“thanks,” she said finally, her voice softer.

paige nodded once, letting it sit.

“you ever think about staying in dallas long-term?” she asked suddenly, voice low.

azzi looked at her, studying her expression.

“why?” she asked.

paige shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “just wondering.”

azzi tilted her head, playful but still serious. “maybe i will.”

paige grinned. “good.”

and just like that—

the silence between them said everything else.

the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting gold across the lake’s surface. a few of the girls were still in the water, lyss doing lazy backstrokes while arike and dijonai floated nearby on inflatable loungers they’d somehow pulled out of the trunk.

azzi was sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket now, drying her legs with a small towel after finally giving in and wading into the water with maddy for a bit. her curls were slightly damp around the edges of her hairline, but her makeup had somehow survived. she reached for a grape, glancing up when she noticed paige walking back toward her with two bottles of water in hand.

“you finally moved?” azzi teased, smiling up at her.

“i was conserving energy,” paige replied, handing her one of the bottles. “supervising takes a lot out of me.”

azzi laughed softly, taking the bottle with a nod. “thanks.”

they sat in a light silence for a few moments, watching the others play and yell over some floating game lyss made up. azzi glanced at paige from the corner of her eye.

“you always like this?” she asked quietly. “watching more than jumping in?”

paige’s brows lifted slightly. “that obvious?”

“only a little.”

paige leaned back on her palms, stretching her legs out in front of her. “i don’t know. sometimes i just like… watching people be happy. it feels good to have quiet moments like this, you know?”

azzi looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable. then she nodded.

“yeah. i get that.”

paige turned to face her a little more directly. “but if you want me to start cannonballing into the lake next time, i’ll do it.”

“don’t tempt me,” azzi grinned. “i might hold you to that.”

paige smiled back, quiet again for a beat. the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

“they like you, by the way,” she said suddenly.

“who?” azzi asked.

“the girls. my team. they really like you.”

azzi looked down, biting back a shy smile. “they’re cool. they made me feel like i’ve known them longer than a week.”

“i’m glad,” paige replied, more serious now. “i didn’t wanna bring you into this and make you feel weird or… out of place.”

“you didn’t,” azzi said quickly. “i feel good here.”

paige nodded once. “good.”

the moment lingered between them—light but full, like there was something more under the surface they were both too careful to name.

then, from the water:

“YO, P! AZZI! COME SETTLE THIS!” lyss shouted. “WHO WON THE RACE? BE HONEST.”

“BECAUSE I KNOW IT WASN’T YOU!” arike hollered.

paige groaned. “here we go.”

azzi laughed, already standing and brushing off her shorts.

“you ready, supervisor?”

paige stood, eyes still on her.

“yeah. let’s go save the day.”

and they did—together.

softly. slowly.

maybe even unknowingly falling into something neither one of them was fully ready to admit just yet.

—

after stepping off the blanket and heading toward the lake’s edge, azzi felt the splash of water hit her ankle before she even got close.

“oh, we throwing water now?” she called out with a raised brow.

“you’re guilty by association,” arike said with a grin, floating in her tube like a villain in a summer movie. “and since paige be playin’ referee, you both catching strays.”

paige rolled her eyes. “this is why i stayed on land.”

“too late now!” lyss yelled before tossing another wave in their direction.

azzi yelped, stepping behind paige. “oh nah, you’re gonna have to take that one.”

“caption: bueckers caught simping at the lake,” she muttered with a smirk.

maddy stood next to her sipping a smoothie, watching the way paige kept glancing at azzi when she thought nobody noticed.

“yeah,” maddy said, leaning slightly toward her. “she gone.”

dijonai grinned wide. “so gone.”

—

later, as the sun began to dip behind the trees and the girls packed up their things, azzi sat at the back of dijonai’s car, towel draped over her shoulders and her braids slightly puffed from the lake water.

paige walked up beside her, a zip-up hoodie in one hand.

“here,” she said, holding it out.

“what’s this for?” azzi asked, eyeing it with a smile.

“in case you get cold. it’s already kinda chilly out.”

azzi took it, her fingers brushing paige’s for just a second.

“thanks,” she said softly, slipping it on. it was a little big on her. cozy. smelled like fresh linen and maybe even a little coconut.

“looks better on you anyway,” paige said quietly, almost under her breath.

they said their goodbyes slowly, the kind that came with soft yawns and half-hugs and promises to send the pictures dijonai wouldn’t stop taking.

paige had parked a little farther down the road, away from the cluster of cars. azzi walked beside her, the zip-up hoodie still on her shoulders, her towel slung across her arm. they were quiet for a second, the only sound being the hum of cicadas and the soft scuff of crocs on gravel.

“that was actually fun,” azzi finally said, glancing over.

“you sound surprised,” paige replied, smirking as she unlocked the car.

“a little. i didn’t think a random lake day with five girls i barely knew was gonna be this chill.”

“well,” paige said as she opened her door, “we’re good people.”

“eh, debatable,” azzi teased, sliding into the passenger seat.

paige looked over at her, then shook her head with a smile before starting the car. the drive was quiet at first, windows slightly down, the air warm but bearable. a playlist was running on low volume—some brent, some sza, something mellow enough to match the way the day felt.

azzi rested her head against the seat, eyes fluttering shut for a second. paige glanced at her out the corner of her eye.

“you tired?”

“no, just thinking,” azzi mumbled, eyes still closed.

“about what?”

azzi opened one eye, looked at her. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“you don’t gotta answer.”

“i don’t mind.”

paige waited. azzi inhaled slow before turning her head to face her fully.

“i think it’s just weird, in a good way, how fast i feel comfortable around you.”

paige’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. she didn’t speak right away, just let the words sit in the air for a beat.

“same,” she finally said, her voice low. “it’s easy with you.”

azzi smiled to herself, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“you’re lucky you can cook,” paige added.

“i thought i was charming.”

“you are. but food definitely boosted your rating.”

they both laughed, the car turning down familiar streets now. the sky above was getting darker, painted in shades of deep orange and sleepy blues.

by the time they got to the apartment, neither of them moved to get out right away. azzi unbuckled her seatbelt but stayed seated, her fingers playing with the edge of the hoodie sleeve.

“thanks for inviting me,” she said. “for real.”

paige looked at her, her voice quiet. “thanks for coming.”

azzi finally got out, paige following behind her. and even though the day was over, and the lake was miles behind them—

the warmth still lingered.

just like the way azzi kept paige’s hoodie on all night.

just like the way paige kept watching her when she thought she wasn’t looking.

azzi went to her room and immediately started to unwind, pulling out clothes and getting ready for a shower. just as she tossed her towel over her shoulder, her phone buzzed.

mom

you seem to be having fun hence no check-ins yet

azzi laughed at her mom’s message before typing back:

azzi

yes i have been having fun actually

mom

not too much… right?

azzi

ew mom stop

no

mom

you know how i am

how are you though?

azzi

i’m doing really good so far

paige is welcoming

me, her and a few of her teammates went to a lake today

mom

that sounds good honey

i’m glad you’re getting comfortable

azzi smiled at her phone, letting herself breathe a little easier. sometimes her mom’s check-ins could be a lot, but deep down, she knew it came from love. and honestly… it was nice to feel missed.

her thumbs moved quickly across the screen:

azzi

yeah i’m trying to

it’s a little weird still

but a good weird

mom

good weird is still good

that girl better be treating you right

i’ll come to texas if she not

azzi laughed again, shaking her head as she grabbed her towel and slid her phone onto the counter.

azzi

she’s treating me fine

don’t start

mom

mmhmm

i’m watching though 👀

azzi chuckled to herself, setting the phone down and walking toward the bathroom. she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused for a second—thinking back to the car ride, the soft music, the way paige looked at her like she was familiar.

whatever this was, it was slow.

it was new.

and even if azzi didn’t want to admit it out loud just yet—

it felt like it was building into something.

she stepped into the shower, warm water washing away the lake, the sun, and the weight of the long day—

but not the smile that was still stuck on her face.

-

paige woke up to the smell of breakfast and immediately smiled. azzi was really outdoing herself—paige loved it, though.

she stretched slowly, her body still sore from yesterday’s lake trip, but the aroma of food was enough to get her out of bed. it was warm, comforting, and familiar at this point… almost like home.

she pulled on a hoodie and padded out of her room, rubbing her eyes.

“you’re spoiling me,” she said, voice still raspy from sleep.

azzi looked over her shoulder, grinning. “good morning to you too.”

paige smirked, leaning against the counter. “seriously. this smells crazy.”

“you say that every morning.”

“and i mean it every morning.”

azzi laughed softly, turning her attention back to the stove. paige watched her for a moment—hair up, movements fluid, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the bracelet paige hadn’t noticed before.

damn.

“you want coffee?” azzi asked without turning.

“please,” paige replied. “and maybe a permanent contract.”

azzi looked back at her, eyebrow raised. “for what?”

“you. living here. feeding me forever.”

“hmm… we’ll see,” azzi teased, plating the eggs.

paige smiled, sitting down at the island like she always did.

yeah. she could get used to this.

in fact, she already was.

paige sat with her elbows on the island, eyes following azzi’s every move like she was watching a show that never got boring.

“what’s on the menu today, chef?” she asked, chin resting in her hand.

“simple,” azzi said as she slid a plate in front of her. “cheesy eggs, turkey bacon, toast with honey butter, and fruit. didn’t wanna do too much today.”

“this is doing enough,” paige mumbled, already taking a bite. she closed her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “god… marry me.”

azzi laughed as she poured the coffee. “you can’t keep proposing every time i feed you.”

“and yet, here we are,” paige replied, sipping her coffee like she wasn’t dead serious.

they ate in easy silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of silverware and the light music azzi had playing from the kitchen speaker.

paige glanced at her again. “so what’s on your agenda today?”

azzi shrugged. “i might run to the store later. clean up. prep for dinner. i don’t know, whatever needs doing.”

paige nodded slowly, then cleared her throat. “wanna chill after?”

azzi looked up at her, a bit surprised. “like… chill how?”

paige smirked. “like movie, snacks, couch. you and me. maybe some shit-talking if the movie sucks.”

azzi smiled behind her coffee mug. “you asking me out, bueckers?”

“nah,” paige said, eyes locked on hers. “just trying to keep the chef happy.”

“hmm. okay then,” azzi replied softly, her cheeks warm. “movie night it is.”

and just like that, something quiet sparked between them again—tucked between toast and turkey bacon and two people pretending like it was just breakfast.

but they both felt it.

and neither of them wanted to name it just yet.

-

“you’re back!”

azzi looked up and saw the two girls she came across last time she was here. she smiled immediately. they seemed sweet—genuine, kind-hearted.

“caroline and allie… right?”

she was nervous she’d mess up their names, but the second allie gasped, she knew she got it right.

“yes! you remembered, oh my gosh.” allie beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

azzi let out a small breath of relief, laughing softly. “i was hoping i did. would’ve been awkward if i didn’t.”

caroline grinned as she leaned over the counter. “we’ve literally been talking about your food nonstop. i even tried to remake that salmon dish you posted the other day.”

azzi raised her brows. “oh yeah? how’d it come out?”

“umm… edible,” caroline said, laughing. “not you level, but i tried.”

“points for effort,” azzi joked, setting her basket down.

“so,” allie started, eyes twinkling, “what’s on the menu this week?”

“that depends,” azzi said, glancing at her list. “whatever this cart tells me by the end of the aisle.”

they all laughed, falling into easy conversation—like they’d known each other for longer than just two grocery store run-ins. and for once, azzi didn’t mind the attention.

allie looked down nervously before asking, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. she knew it was a long shot, but she was never the type to hold back.

“is there any way we can stay in contact?”

azzi blinked, caught slightly off guard. she looked at allie, then at caroline, and thought for a moment.

like she said earlier, they seemed genuine. warm. sweet. and honestly… she needed more friends out here in dallas. it wouldn’t hurt to get to know them a little better.

“yeah, sure,” she said softly, pulling out her phone.

azzi opened instagram and started scrolling through her followers, quickly searching for an allie and caroline. it didn’t take long—she recognized their profile pictures.

both girls felt their phones buzz and looked down, jaws practically dropping when they saw the notification.

azzi fudd followed you back.

they tried so hard not to scream in the middle of the store, exchanging wide-eyed looks instead.

“no way,” caroline whispered.

“this is the best day ever,” allie muttered, clutching her phone like it might disappear.

azzi smiled as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. “don’t be weird in my dms and we’ll be good.”

“never,” caroline promised, holding a hand over her heart.

“seriously,” allie added, grinning. “thank you, azzi.”

“of course,” she said, pushing her cart toward the next aisle. “i’ll see y’all around.”

they stood frozen for a second, watching her walk off like they just met a celebrity. because honestly? they kinda did.

-

paige heard the door unlock and peeked over the couch. “chef’s back,” she called out, setting her phone down as azzi walked in with three bags in her hands.

“and the chef comes bearing gifts,” azzi responded, kicking the door shut behind her.

“did you buy the whole store?” paige teased as she got up to help, grabbing two of the lighter bags from her hands.

“almost,” azzi said with a shrug. “dallas tax.”

they both set the bags on the counter. paige started peeking inside one, curious. “you didn’t forget the honey butter, right?”

“top priority,” azzi said, pulling it out and handing it to her.

“you’re already my favorite person,” paige muttered, inspecting the label like it was gold.

as azzi unloaded, paige suddenly paused, pulling something out with raised brows. “uh… why is there a tub of strawberry mochi ice cream in here?”

azzi didn’t look up. “you like mochi, right?”

paige blinked. “i mean, yeah… but i’ve never told you that.”

azzi finally glanced her way with a small smirk. “you didn’t have to.”

paige stood there for a moment, staring at her. something about azzi’s answer made her chest feel warm.

“…okay, that was smooth.”

“i try.”

“you trying to get bonus points or something?”

“maybe.”

paige rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. she gently placed the mochi back into the freezer, stealing one last glance at the girl who somehow made grocery runs feel like flirting.

azzi was trying out a new recipe, and like always, she had her phone propped up on the counter, already recording. whenever she tested something new, she liked to post the process—give her followers a peek behind the scenes.

but this wasn’t her kitchen.

this was someone else’s.

specifically, paige bueckers’ kitchen.

and for some reason, that fact weighed heavier today.

she stood quietly, her hands halfway through prepping the ingredients, her face pulled into that familiar thinking expression.

“you okay?”

she looked up, startled slightly at the soft voice.

paige stood across from her, leaning against the counter, a gentle crease between her brows. concern, subtle but present.

azzi gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. “yeah. i need to talk to you,” she said, setting the knife down.

paige’s posture straightened just a bit. “about what?”

azzi hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the cutting board. “not anything bad. i just…” she looked up again, her voice softer this time. “i don’t want to overstep.”

“you’re not,” paige said quickly, taking a step closer. “whatever it is, just say it.”

azzi nodded, her gaze dipping for a second. “sometimes when i’m cooking or recording… i feel like i’m taking up space that’s not mine. and this kitchen, this whole place—it’s yours. i just wanna make sure you’re okay with all of it.”

paige blinked. then her mouth opened, then closed, like she didn’t know how to word what she wanted to say.

“azzi…” she finally breathed out, “this kitchen has never felt more like home until you started using it.”

azzi’s breath hitched just slightly.

“i’m not just okay with it,” paige added, her tone warm and sincere. “i want you to feel like it’s yours too.”

azzi nodded slowly, her heart doing things she swore it shouldn’t.

“thank you,” she whispered.

paige smiled, that soft, knowing one that always seemed to land in azzi’s chest. “now get back to that mochi crusted chicken or whatever this is. it smells insane.”

azzi laughed, picking her knife back up. “it’s a crispy miso glaze with sesame slaw.”

“same thing,” paige teased, leaning on the counter again. “i’ll just stand here and admire the chef in action.”

paige stayed leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she watched azzi move around the kitchen. there was something really calming about the way azzi cooked—confident but unhurried, every movement intentional. her braids were tied back into a loose bun, a few strands curling by her cheeks, and her apron was tied snug around her waist.

“you know,” paige started, her voice a little lighter now, “this might be the first time i’ve ever just… stood here and watched someone cook in my kitchen.”

azzi didn’t turn around, but her smile grew. “that a good thing or bad thing?”

“depends.”

“on?”

“on whether or not i get to sneak a bite before it’s done.”

azzi turned her head just enough to shoot her a look. “absolutely not.”

“wow. heartless.”

“it’s about the full experience, bueckers. presentation. timing. everything matters.”

paige stepped a little closer, still smiling. “you sound like a whole food network episode right now.”

“good,” azzi said, pressing a spoon into the sauce she’d been stirring, then lifting it to her lips for a quick taste. “that means i’m in my zone.”

“you always get this focused when you cook?”

azzi paused for a second, then glanced over her shoulder. “usually. but it’s different here.”

paige’s brows lifted slightly. “different how?”

“you’re here.”

there was a beat of silence.

paige didn’t say anything right away, just walked slowly over until she was standing right next to azzi at the counter. she looked at the rows of spices, the sauce simmering on the stove, then finally back at azzi.

“that’s a good thing, right?”

azzi turned to face her fully, their arms almost brushing. “yeah. it is.”

paige’s eyes lingered, softer now. “cool. just making sure.”

azzi looked away first, chuckling under her breath. “you’re annoying.”

“and you’re flustered.”

“am not.”

“are too.”

“you wanna chop the scallions or what?”

“not unless you wanna risk losing a finger. chef fudd got it covered.”

they both laughed, the kitchen settling into a comfortable rhythm again—paige watching, azzi focused, the space between them quietly buzzing with something neither one of them wanted to name just yet.

the dish was plated perfectly. azzi always took her time with presentation, especially when she was testing out a new recipe. two plates sat on the island, the aroma making paige lean in instinctively.

“this looks insane,” paige said, already reaching for her fork.

“wait,” azzi warned, holding up a hand. “let me take a picture first.”

paige groaned but leaned back, laughing. “you’re such a chef.”

“and you’re lucky to be eating this for free.”

“don’t remind me.”

azzi quickly snapped a photo, adjusting the angle slightly before nodding. “okay. now you can eat.”

paige wasted no time. she took a bite, her eyes widening almost instantly. “okay—who gave you the right?”

azzi just smiled, resting her chin in her hand as she watched paige chew. “good?”

“azzi. be serious. this is the best thing i’ve had in my life.”

“you said that last week.”

“i meant it then. i mean it now.”

azzi tried to play it cool, but the pink that dusted her cheeks gave her away. she picked up her own fork and took a bite, humming softly at the taste. it was really good. she could admit that.

they ate quietly for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that felt full. like neither one of them needed to speak to feel something.

eventually, paige broke the silence. “so, is this going on your page?”

azzi looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “probably. why?”

paige shrugged, swirling a piece of food with her fork. “i don’t know. it just feels… different. like this was made for me, not for the camera.”

azzi’s heart skipped.

“it was,” she said before she could stop herself. “i mean… you were the first person i thought about when i was trying to figure out what to make.”

paige looked at her, fork stilling.

“well,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “for the record… i’d eat whatever you made. even if it sucked.”

azzi snorted. “you’re annoying.”

“and you’re soft.”

“shut up.”

“no, seriously,” paige leaned forward, eyes sparkling a little. “thank you for this.”

azzi didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small nod and looked down at her plate again. but her smile—her smile said everything.

-

paige tossed the last of the throw pillows onto the couch before stepping back with a satisfied nod. “okay. we’re officially cozy.”

azzi walked in with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a blanket tucked under her arm. “i still don’t understand why we need all these pillows for two people.”

“because comfort is a lifestyle,” paige said matter-of-factly, grabbing the bowl from azzi. “also, you move a lot when you sit. the pillows are a buffer.”

“wow.” azzi raised an eyebrow. “you just called me chaotic in the nicest way possible.”

“i call it like i see it.”

azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, dropping the blanket down on the couch before settling in. “so what are we watching?”

“you picked last time.”

“so?”

“azzi…”

“ugh, fine,” she groaned, pulling her legs up under her. “but if you pick something boring, i’m making dessert in the middle of it.”

“deal,” paige said with a grin as she scrolled through the options. “but i won’t. i’m feeling generous tonight.”

the sound of the tv filled the space, warm and low. paige eventually landed on a comedy, something light and stupid enough that they wouldn’t be too locked in. she plopped down next to azzi, close but not too close—just enough that their arms would brush if either of them shifted.

halfway through the movie, the popcorn was gone, azzi had stolen a pillow to hug, and paige had long abandoned sitting up straight. she was leaned back, her legs stretched out, one hand resting lazily over the back of the couch—right behind azzi’s head.

neither of them said much, but every now and then they’d glance at each other, smile at the same lines, or laugh a little too hard at the same dumb jokes.

“you’re really not gonna make dessert?” paige asked during a quiet part of the movie, her voice lower now, more relaxed.

“you said the movie wouldn’t be boring,” azzi teased, glancing at her from the side. “you lucked out.”

“mm. i’ll take it.” she paused. “this is nice.”

“yeah,” azzi said, softer now. “it is.”

a comfortable silence fell over them again. and when azzi adjusted slightly, leaning just a little more into the couch cushion… she felt paige’s fingers graze the back of her shoulder, casual but lingering.

neither of them said anything.

but both of them felt it.

the credits started rolling, the volume low, but neither of them reached for the remote. azzi was curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket now wrapped loosely around her legs, her head tilted toward the screen though her eyes weren’t really watching it.

paige, stretched out beside her, finally spoke.

“so, what’d you think?”

azzi glanced at her. “about the movie?”

“yeah.”

“eh. seven outta ten,” she said with a teasing smirk. “the popcorn was better.”

paige laughed. “so you’re saying i saved us by not making you get up and bake.”

“exactly. you’re welcome.”

paige looked over at her, her smile slowly fading into something smaller, gentler. she leaned forward to grab the remote and clicked the tv off, the screen going dark and leaving them in the quiet glow of the living room lamp.

“you know,” she said after a moment, “this is probably the most i’ve relaxed in a while.”

azzi blinked, surprised by her honesty. “really?”

“mmhmm,” paige nodded. “my life’s usually just… basketball, media, traveling, repeat. even when i’m home, i don’t really feel like i’m here, you know?”

azzi hummed, her voice low. “but you feel here now?”

paige looked at her for a second too long. “yeah. weird, huh?”

azzi didn’t look away. “not weird.”

they sat like that—facing each other, something silent building in the space between them. azzi shifted a little, suddenly aware of how close they were. she could feel paige’s warmth beside her. not touching, but close enough.

“you tired?” paige asked, voice quiet.

azzi shook her head. “not really.”

“good,” paige said, and then she hesitated. “mind if we just… sit here? for a little longer.”

azzi smiled gently. “no. i don’t mind.”

and so they stayed like that.

not saying much.

not needing to.

and for once, silence didn’t feel like space between them—

it felt like something shared.

paige pulled the blanket over her lap, her movements unhurried. she glanced over at azzi again, catching the way the chef’s eyes followed her hand without even thinking. it made her grin.

“you always this quiet?” she asked, her tone light.

azzi let out a soft breath of a laugh. “when i’m comfortable… yeah.”

“so you’re comfortable.”

“a little,” azzi said, teasing, her voice barely above a whisper.

paige tilted her head, smiling. “good.”

the room settled into quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward—it was the kind of quiet that comes after a long day and a warm meal, when both people are content just being near each other.

azzi leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “you ever get scared of how fast time goes?”

paige looked over at her. “sometimes.”

“i do,” azzi admitted. “like, one day i was just a kid helping my mom cook breakfast, and now i’m here… living in someone else’s home, cooking in someone else’s kitchen.”

paige didn’t say anything for a second. then—

“you say that like you don’t belong here.”

azzi opened her eyes, her gaze meeting paige’s.

“but you do,” paige continued. “i don’t think you realize how easy you’ve made it for me to come home. how much better it feels.”

azzi blinked slowly, her eyes soft. “thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” paige murmured. “just… don’t think this isn’t your space too.”

there was a beat of quiet between them, like something unspoken just settled into place.

azzi looked away first, her voice gentle. “you make it easy to feel at home.”

paige smiled, a quiet kind of proud. “then i’m doing something right.”

they didn’t talk much more after that. not because there wasn’t more to say—just because sometimes, sharing a couch and a little silence was enough.

and that night, when they both went to bed…

they both slept a little easier.

[nothing-leave-me-alone]

I see so much of Seeker culture barely anything for others so here's a mixed bag of headcanons for cybertronian cultures

Bots naturally born in Crystal city or praxus to have either an iridescent or pearlescent finish to their paint. Either through parents code or from hot spots. It helps them blend with the crystal flora of their city. It's hard, nearly impossible to cover it. Prowl looks like a cop lost a bet with his 5yr old daughter so his alt is SHIMERRYYYY

Wing speak for grounders is VASTLY diferent than fliers. It's more jerky and harsh. slamming against their backs, rolling the windows up and down or the sound of the handle or lock. Imagine the acoustic diference of singing german to Spanish.

Door wings have very little sensors in contrast to seekers. Grabbing them has less cultural meaning to them. It's even a popular way to have your kid hold on.

Shuttles don't have wing speak, sadly it was lost to time. But they are masters of bio light and em field reading. It's helpful for a frame type that spends so much time so far from eachother to be able to communicate at a distance.

Shuttle sparklings almost never use their magnets. Shuttle flights are usually too harsh as they leave the atmosphere so they usually stay inside their creators compartment

Many people see praxus and vos as sister cities despite the wide diferences. It's recorded that door wings and seeker wings developed around the same time and place and the seekers floating city simply drifted away, but many things remain.

Bots are infact born medics naturally but this just means they have extra sensors in their optics and hands and extra repair databanks. Any bit can become a medic through frame alteration and study. the council discourages this.

Medics are stereotyped as caregivers but not partners. Social norm paints them as those who help at the hot spots but don't get to raise a family of their own. They are thought to be married to their job by primus's will

'miner' frames are actually just a sub type of grounder war frame, made to survive the many tunnels and caves of cybertron. They developed thicker plates and underground sensors, they usually have poor optic sight. It was simply convenient to reliable them as workers once there wasn't a nerd for more soldiers.

There are very few aquatic bots in cybertron as the planet has very little in terms of "sea" it has a few, deep cold patches of coolant that keep primus frame cold. Most aquatic alts are feral or cold constructed

The rust sea is a vast dessert of uncharted territory. The bots here are nearly 80% feral, there's rumors that some harsher sub categories of the standards live deep in the sands due to wild hot spots adapting.

Transport frames are trucks, trains, busses, cargo ships and planes. The diference is their size class.

When optimus was Orion he was a light weight class transport frame, he became a heavy weight as optimus. had to learn the etiquette for honking his now louder horn and to control his smoke output

Two wheelers are often looked down apoun as weak and as a snobby alt.

Speedster frames like blurr and Mirage and knockout originate from velocitron. The city has very harsh beauty standards. Even one kilo more makes you overweight, being slow is a social blunder. (ozempoc knockout from the comics haunts me FUCK YOU MEAN BLURR IS FAT?! "

I'll give it to bayverse... I love how their cybertronian sounds. Cybertronian accents don't sound melodic to humans, it makes the alredy foreign sounds of cybertronian sound even more like machinery, seeker ant is a lot of engine whistles, tones, and fans.

If optimus spoke with his accent from when he was Orion his cybertronian would sound like granite being driven over slowly. Megatron thinks its lovely.

When starscream speaks seekercant his voice dosent change it's scratching but it somehow sounds right now. Like how people sound off until they speak their language. Megatron hates to admit it sounds lovely

Kaon is the Gotham of cybertron. At least rent is low. Or zero is you are owned.

Train alts speak similarly to shuttles and both types consider the other their land/sky cousins.

[dozybeez]

Spin For Me (Pt. Eleven)

She's the quiet girl in class with a secret life after dark. He's the campus heartthrob who's used to getting what he wants— except her. When a class project forces them together, buried truths, blurred lines, and undeniable tension threaten to unravel everything they thought they knew.

→ part one → part two → part three → part four → part five → part six → part seven → part eight → part nine → part ten

→ part twelve coming soon

pairing: college au! kim mingyu x exotic dancer f!reader

word count: 4.2k

content warnings: slowish burn, smut, lap dances, adult club setting, derogatory language toward sex workers, internalized shame, emotional distress, subtle? size, possession, and innocence kink. drugs & alcohol. MDNI

songs for this chapter:

Stargirl Interlude by The Weeknd and Lana Del Rey

Your Face by Wisp

The car was dark. Cold. The engine was off, the keys dangling from the ignition like some kind of taunt, but Mingyu didn’t even notice the temperature biting through the windows or the stiffness in his legs from sitting too long. He was slumped low in the driver's seat, knuckles pale from where they gripped the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight like it was the only thing holding him together.

You were out there. And he had no idea where.

His heart felt like it was being squeezed slowly, rhythm erratic, out of sync. It had been nearly an hour since he saw the video, since his chest caved in under the weight of what he knew now—that your secret was out, your mask torn off by some jealous girl with too much time and not enough decency. The video kept replaying behind his eyelids, over and over, your body on that stage, bare-faced and exposed, with the world watching and whispering.

He thought about the way you'd flinched when anyone even asked where you worked. The long silences. The careful deflections. The mask you always wore onstage wasn’t just for show—it was armor. Privacy. Control in a world that constantly tried to take it from you.

And now it was all gone.

His stomach twisted violently. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, exhaling through his teeth, trying to steady the heat building in his chest. But it wasn’t working. He could feel the guilt closing in like a vice.

This was his fault. He should’ve protected you better. He should’ve known that loving him came with a spotlight. And in that spotlight, people weren’t kind.

You never wanted this. You just wanted to be good. To stay quiet. To survive school, work your job, and be left alone. But he dragged you into the sun, and now you were burning for it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word catching in his throat.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional groan of the car shifting in the cold. He sat there like that for what felt like an eternity, each second layering more guilt onto his back. Where would you go after something like that? Why wouldn’t you be curled up in your dorm bed? Or would you be walking aimlessly through campus trying at this time at night, to escape the stares, the comments, the shame that was never yours to carry?

He didn’t know. That was the worst part.

His hands were shaking. He stared down at them like they were foreign, like they weren’t the same ones that had held your waist just last night, had laced with yours on the walk back from the party, had wiped sleep from your eyes in the quiet hours of morning.

And then—like the helplessness had finally reached a boil—he slammed his hand into the steering wheel with a sharp, echoing crack.

The car rocked slightly from the force, and he sucked in a ragged breath, the pain radiating from his palm not nearly enough to match the storm in his chest.

Another breath. Then another. He leaned back, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to center himself, counting backwards, grounding himself in anything solid: the grip of the wheel, the cold sting in his palm, the sound of his breath in the cramped space.

You were alone. You were hurting. And he wasn’t doing anything.

No more waiting.

He looked up, eyes scanning the dim street through the windshield, mind scrambling. Where could you go where no one would follow? No one would look at you with pity or disgust or performative sympathy?

The answer settled in his gut like ice.

The club.

It was ironic, almost cruel, but it made a twisted kind of sense. That stage had always been yours. Where the music drowned out the world. Where the lights made you faceless, powerful. Free.

Maybe after everything, you’d gone back to the only place that had ever let you disappear… but also the same place that led to this whole mess.

Mingyu reached for the keys, starting the engine with shaking fingers. The car roared to life, lights flaring against the quiet street. He shifted into gear and peeled away from the curb, heart pounding faster than the tires could keep up.

He hated driving angry. It made everything feel louder—every honk, every flash of headlights, every breath in his lungs. The world was rushing past him, and all he could do was hold the wheel and pray he wasn’t already too late.

The city blurred around him—flashes of red lights and crosswalks, flickering neon signs and drunken laughter drifting out from convenience stores. The usual nightlife, indifferent and alive.

But in the pit of his stomach, he felt nothing but dread.

The thoughts came again like a cruel loop.

Why didn’t I go to her sooner? Why didn’t I protect her better? Why didn’t I tell her this wasn’t hers to carry?

He gripped the wheel tighter.

The mask. The job. The dance. The video.

All of it was being twisted against you like a weapon. And Mingyu, for all his height and strength and charm and good intentions, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it.

Not when it mattered.

The club was ten minutes away, tucked into a narrow street with worn pavement and old signage that flickered like it had seen one too many winters. Mingyu pulled into the lot behind the building, parking under a broken lamp that buzzed faintly overhead.

He cut the engine and just sat there for a moment.

Hands still on the wheel.

Heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.

He could hear the muffled bass thumping through the walls already, the pulse of the familiar place. He remembers the first time he ever saw you… saw Fawn. That night when you danced for the crowd he was a part of—masked, confident, defiant. When you caught him off guard with your fire, your control, your mystery.

Now that mystery was gone. Now everyone knew.

He didn’t want to go inside and see you like that again. Not like this. Not if you were dancing because you felt like you had nothing left to hide. Not if it was desperation, not power, fueling your steps.

But he had to.

He had to see you. Had to tell you he was sorry. That you didn’t have to carry this alone.

He pushed the door open and stepped out, the cold air hitting him like a slap. His hoodie wasn’t enough. His lungs burned from the tension wrapped around his ribs.

The line at the front was short—weekday crowd—and he didn’t wait. He barely spoke to the bouncer, just flashed his ID and stepped into the dark, warm press of the club.

The lights hit him first. Deep red and violet, cutting through the dim with an intimacy that felt invasive. The music wrapped around his spine, low and sinuous, curling in the corners of his mind. He made his way toward the bar, movements stiff, eyes scanning every inch of the room.

But you weren’t there.

Not in the crowd. Not at the edge of the stage. Not in the booths lining the back wall.

He sat, ordered nothing. Just waited.

And then—

A hush fell over the room, just for a breath.

The DJ’s voice slid out of the speakers, sultry and smooth. “Up next… Fawn.”

His spine straightened.

The name wrapped around him like ice.

And then the music started—soft at first, a faint echo of a synth lullaby and haunting vocals.

Lana. The Weeknd. “Let me guide you to the stars…”

He turned his head slowly—almost afraid.

And there you were.

On the stage.

No mask.

Only your face. Bare. Raw. Defiant. Your body moved slowly, the rhythm pulsing through your bones. Sensual. Sad. Free.

Mingyu didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. He just watched.

And something in him cracked wide open.

The stage was bathed in red.

Not the soft kind. Not candlelight or romance. It was the kind of red that made everything feel like it was pulsing. Like the room had a heartbeat. And Mingyu could feel it against his skin—every thrum of the bass crawling up his spine as he watched you step into the light.

Your face was calm. Cold. Beautiful in a way that didn’t invite touch. It was a mask in its own right—the stillness of your mouth, the glaze in your eyes, the deliberate slowness of every move you made. It should’ve felt empowering, watching you command the stage like that.

But Mingyu had seen what you looked like when you danced for joy.

This wasn’t that.

The song rolled through the speakers, breathy and low—The Weeknd’s voice a ghost against Lana’s haunting hum.

"Let me guide you to the stars…"

You moved like liquid shadow. Graceful. Controlled. Not robotic—not tonight. No, tonight you danced like someone who had let go. Like the fall had already happened, and all that was left was the slow drift downward.

Your fingers curled around the pole with reverence, your back arching in perfect, practiced form. Every twist of your hips, every drag of your knee against the chrome—it was sensual. Intoxicating. But it wasn’t for the room.

It wasn’t even for the money.

It felt like a eulogy.

You didn’t acknowledge the crowd—not with your smile, not with your hands, not with the coy glances the other dancers sometimes gave. You kept your eyes forward. Until they met his.

And everything slowed.

It was halfway through the song. The moment your gaze found his through the red light and the noise and the crowd that suddenly didn’t exist anymore. Just you. Just him. Just the space between you stretching thinner and thinner with every beat.

You didn’t look away.

Not when you curled downward into a split, hand trailing from your ankle to thigh. Not when you pulled yourself back up the pole, your silhouette painted in starlight and pain. Not when the song whispered, "I just want to see you shine ‘cause I know you are my star."

He wanted to get up.

He wanted to run to you, wrap a jacket around your shoulders, pull you down from that stage and tell you none of this mattered. That they could never define you. That you didn’t need to give them anything. That you were enough.

But he couldn’t move.

He watched you dance.

Watched as your fingers splayed across your ribs, then down your thighs. Watched as you rolled your neck slowly, a flick of hair catching on your lips. Watched as you gave them nothing but beauty and silence and grief, wrapped in red light and bare skin.

And then the song faded.

You lowered yourself to the ground in a final kneel, one leg bent beneath you, the other extended like a blade. Your arms wrapped across your chest, like you were holding yourself together.

The lights dimmed.

Applause echoed, a low roar. But you didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t bow. You stood and disappeared behind the velvet curtain before the last clap even died.

Mingyu stayed in his seat.

Motionless.

It was only when the next dancer was introduced that he remembered to blink. The bar was crowded again, people chatting and laughing like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t just watched a girl fall apart in the most beautiful way.

His hands were shaking.

He expected you to come out. Maybe circle the floor, take a breath, find him.

But you didn’t.

He waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. The next dancer came and went. Still no sign.

A slow dread began to bloom in his chest.

Then he stood. Pushed through the crowd. Eyes scanning, heart pounding.

He made his way toward the back hallway, toward the curtained-off entrance that led to the dancers’ lounge. A security guard stepped in front of him before he could get close.

"No backstage access," the guard barked. "You know that."

“I just need to talk to her,” Mingyu said. His voice cracked more than he wanted it to.

"Doesn’t matter who you know. Rules are rules."

Then a voice cut in.

"Yo, is that Fawn’s boy thing?"

Mingyu turned. One of the dancers was leaning against the wall with two others. She tilted her head.

“Yeah,” one of the others chimed in, smirking. “I wouldn’t forget that face. Or that body. Damn.”

The first girl laughed as she eyed Mingyu up and down. “She’s in a private, honey.”

The world tilted sideways.

Mingyu blinked. “A private?”

The girls didn’t answer.

He turned.

Walked fast.

Then faster.

Down the corridor he remembered. Past the hallway with the black walls and flickering lights. Toward the private rooms.

His pulse thundered. His breath came sharp. His vision tunneled.

Room Three. That’s where it had started.

And maybe that’s where it would end.

⸻

The hallway was dark, lit only by a sickly flickering overhead light that stuttered like it couldn’t keep up with the pace of his heartbeat. The bass from the club floor thudded beneath his feet, but it was distant now—muffled, irrelevant. All Mingyu could hear was the pounding in his ears. His fists clenched at his sides as he passed rooms with numbers printed in cheap gold stickers. One. Two.

Room Three.

He didn’t knock.

The door flung open, crashing against the wall with a sharp bang that turned every head inside. You flinched, your head snapping toward the sound. Your hands were still on the pole, halfway through a twirl that made the tiny, shimmering fabric of your outfit catch the low amber light of the private room. Your body froze mid-movement—hair damp with sweat, lips parted, chest rising fast.

And just a few feet away, an older man sat there, legs spread on the plush velvet chair, leering, hands already on the arms like he was waiting to claim something.

Mingyu saw red.

The moment froze. Your foot barely touched the floor from your last spin when he lunged.

“Hey—!” the man shouted, trying to scramble up, but it was too late.

Mingyu’s fist collided with the guy’s jaw before anyone could blink.

The man’s head snapped back, a grunt of pain leaving his mouth as he staggered sideways, crashing into the side table. A half-finished drink spilled across the carpet. The music kept playing from the tiny speaker mounted near the ceiling—an upbeat, sultry rhythm, completely at odds with the chaos unraveling beneath it.

You screamed his name.

But Mingyu didn’t hear it. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. He was already on him again, grabbing the man by the collar and dragging him forward with a strength that wasn’t calculated—it was protective, feral. Another hit. Then another.

“Don’t you fucking touch her—!” he snarled through clenched teeth, eyes wild.

“Mingyu, stop—!”

His vision blurred. He didn’t even know what he was swinging at anymore. Just knew the fire under his skin and the sharp ache in his chest. Knew the way your face had looked when you’d turned toward him—exhausted, stripped of your armor, the glimmer in your eyes replaced by something hollow.

The man beneath him tried to shove back, but Mingyu shoved harder. It was rage. Helplessness. Shame.

Everything he hadn’t said. Everything he hadn’t protected.

The door slammed again—and this time, it was a guard barreling into the room.

“Hey—HEY! That’s enough!”

Strong arms yanked Mingyu back, dragging him off the man who was now cursing and clutching his jaw.

“You’re done,” the guard spat, gripping Mingyu by the back of his shirt. “Get your little boyfriend out of here before I call the cops.”

You stood there in stunned silence, lips parted, hands still curled at your sides. The flashing lights outside the private room painted you in pinks and reds as the door opened again.

Mingyu’s chest rose and fell, hard and uneven. His lip was split—he hadn’t even realized the man landed a hit. He didn’t fight the guard. Didn’t resist. He just let himself be shoved out, the hallway spinning around him.

The back exit door flew open, slamming into the brick wall.

Cold air hit his sweat-damp skin like a slap.

He stumbled into the alley, teeth gritted, hands still curled into fists. The club door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the music, leaving only the buzz of the neon EXIT sign above and the distant hum of the city.

It was the same alley from last time.

The same place after he’d found out who you were behind the mask.

The same place you had told him you didn’t want to be seen.

And now—he’d seen everything.

He stood there, hunched slightly, breathing hard, knuckles red, chest heaving like he was about to be sick.

The door opened again, and the click of your heels broke the quiet.

He didn’t look at you at first. His head was bowed, hair falling over his eyes. The side of his lip was bleeding. His fists trembled.

You didn’t say anything. Not right away.

Instead, you reached into the strap of your top and pulled out a slightly crumpled cigarette—one you’d tucked away earlier for after the private. You walked toward him slowly, the light catching the shimmer of your tiny outfit, the fabric clinging to you like second skin.

Your eyes were unreadable. Tired. Icy.

Mingyu’s hand twitched when you reached into his pocket without asking and pulled out his lighter he always kept on him. You flicked it open with a practiced thumb, lit the end, and took a long, slow drag.

The smoke curled between you in the chill air. A lazy, silver barrier.

He looked up then. Finally.

You were only a few steps away, framed by the backlight of the club, cigarette in hand, hair wild from the dance, glitter still dusting your collarbones. You blew out the smoke slowly—eyes on him the whole time. Not angry. Not soft.

Empty.

“You do privates now?” he asked, voice hoarse. “What happened to your mask?”

You raised a brow, another drag pulled between your lips.

“Oh, that’s where the line is?” you said, voice sharp. Mocking. “Everyone else draws it at ‘stripper,’ but you—Mingyu, the good one—you draw the line at private dances?”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

You stepped closer, heat in your voice now. “You think you’re better than them? You think you get to sit in your car, full of guilt and savior syndrome, and still act like this wasn’t exactly what you paid for months ago?”

“I didn’t—”

You blink. Just once. Then you laugh—but it’s hollow. It scrapes on the way out.

“No, but you’re still losing your shit over the fact that your little situationship—not even your girlfriend, mind you—is doing her job… is actually a stripper.”

He flinches, like the word stings.

You step forward, smoke curling from your lips as you stare him down, your voice steady but cracking beneath the weight.

“Not a contemporary dancer with an Apple playlist and a tasteful solo act. A stripper. Someone who can get down and dirty on a stranger. Maybe that’s all it took. Maybe I just needed today to happen. Maybe the video getting leaked—maybe it finally showed me what everyone else already sees.”

Your voice gets smaller, tighter.

“That behind the mask, behind the bullshit rules I told myself would protect me—‘no privates,’ ‘no touching,’ ‘keep your face hidden’—I’m still just the thing they said I was. That you think I am.”

His breath catches. “That’s not—”

“That I’m too dirty for you,” you say flatly. “That I embarrass you.”

You can’t look at him. Your words are slipping out too fast now, pouring from that place in your chest that cracked hours ago and hasn’t stopped bleeding since.

“And it’s fine,” you whisper, even as your voice threatens to break. “I get it. I really do. We never put a label on this—never said what we were. And why would you?” You let out a bitter breath and drop the cigarette before smushing it with your heel. Your arms then folding tightly across your stomach like you can hold yourself together. “I mean, look at me. I humiliated you. I dragged your name through the dirt just by being associated with you. People are calling you pathetic for dating a stripper. And fuck— we aren’t even dating. They’re laughing behind your back like you didn’t know. Like you were just some idiot who got used.”

Your eyes sting, but you keep going. “And I didn’t even mean to do this to you. I tried so hard to keep everything separate. But now—now there’s nothing left to hide. Just… the worst version of me, and I hate that it’s the one everyone sees now. The one you have to see.”

Silence.

Cold night air.

Then—

His footsteps scrape forward fast.

You freeze when his hands reach out and grip your shoulders—not rough, not forceful, just there—trying to hold you still before you spiral any further.

“You know I was gonna ask you to be my girlfriend tonight?” he says, voice raw and shaking. “Well—technically yesterday, since it’s past two. But yeah. That was the plan.”

You stop breathing.

Eyes locked on his, mouth parted, stunned silent.

His hands are still on your shoulders, and his face is close now—too close—and his eyes are glassy, jaw clenched like the words are hurting him more than the cut on his lip.

“I’m not mad because I think you’re some slut,” he says, voice dropping. “I’m mad because this isn’t you. Not like this. Not like what I saw in that room.”

You don’t speak. Can’t. Not when his thumb brushes up your arm like he’s trying to ground you, not when the weight in his voice threatens to pull you both under.

“I know you like dancing,” he whispers. “I know it’s part of you. I know it lights you up. But baby, I also know you don’t like doing privates.”

You blink hard, a sharp sting behind your eyes.

“I wasn’t angry at you,” he says. “I was angry that it got this far. That I couldn’t stop it. That I couldn’t keep the world from taking something that made you feel powerful and twisting it into something that hurts you.”

He pauses. Lets the silence breathe between you.

Then: “I saw your face on that stage tonight. You weren’t proud. You weren’t enjoying it. You looked like you were trying not to fall apart.”

Your hands are trembling now.

“And that guy,” Mingyu says, voice darkening, “he looked at you like you were something he owned. Like he paid for you. And I just—I lost it.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb soft against your cheek, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he holds you any tighter.

“I don’t mind that you strip. Well, obviously, I’d rather have you all to myself—your dances, your everything. But what breaks me is knowing someone else took that choice away from you.”

You shut your eyes. A single breath escapes you, shaky and quiet. 

His hand drops from your jaw, curls into a fist at his side.

“I failed you.”

You reach for his arm then, slow and hesitant, the way someone reaches for something they think might vanish. Your fingers curl gently around his wrist, anchoring him. Anchoring yourself.

He looks down at where your skin meets his, eyes wide and soft with disbelief.

“I didn’t do the private because I wanted to,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I did it because… after that video, it felt like there was nothing left to hide. No one left who understands that working here doesn’t define who I am.”

Mingyu swallows hard, voice thick when he says, “There’s me.”

And somehow, those words are the only thing that shatter you completely.

The tears don’t fall fast. They’re slow, quiet, warm against the cold night as they streak down your cheeks—real and exhausted and finally letting go.

He sees it. And he doesn’t hesitate.

Mingyu pulls you into his chest, hard and certain, like he’s trying to piece you back together through touch alone. You fall into him without a fight. You bury your face in his hoodie, and his arms come around you—one at your waist, the other curling around the back of your head. He holds you like it’s instinct. Like he was meant to.

Your cheek presses to his chest, and you feel the heavy thud of his heart. It’s uneven. Hurting. Just like yours.

“I know it’s not romantic,” he whispers into your hair, voice thick and frayed. “Not how I wanted to ask. It was supposed to be on some candlelit rooftop, with tea and stars and all your favorite things. Not here—standing in a grimy alley outside a strip club…”

A soft laugh slips from your lips, and you clutch his hoodie tightly, your fingers digging in like you need him to stay steady—or else you might vanish.

“But I can’t wait anymore,” he breathes. “I need you to be mine. And I need to be yours.”

You close your eyes.

He leans his head down, touches his mouth to your temple in the softest, most reverent kiss.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks quietly.

The question hangs there, fragile and trembling.

But your answer is already moving—wrapped in your arms as you nod into his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, almost too quiet to hear. “Yeah, Gyu.”

And for the first time that night, the weight starts to lift.

Not completely.

But enough for you to breathe again. Enough to stay in his arms and know—for once—you’re not carrying all of it alone.

⸻

// would u guys kill me if I say I want to change the original ending I have completely and just keep going with this story indefinitely? I dont have anything planned but I just thinking ending it with what I originally had wouldn't bring them justice.

Tag List: @sojuxxi @belovedgyu @bingumingoo1004 @burnerforfiction @jujuz251013 @dmstoyangyang @armycarat2612 @eisaspresso @svthinker @babycaratdeul @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @iluvhosh @caratcak3 @anateeso @tooflef @cocoalmond @mayalou @aeerio @aquasan29 @chemiru @dinonara-ara

[thegreenleavesofspringinsunlight]

Tell me none of you people watch farmers and ranchers on YouTube without telling me none of you people watch farmers and ranchers on YouTube.

Saw this Trucks Discourse on facebook and I'm not part of that world but yeah that one on the left is delightful and I really had no idea just how wasteful and pointless the other kind is until this comparison

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[sparrows4bats]

Damians Lore Drops have to be incredible. And a little horrifying.

Because Damian just does these insane, incredible things and then goes on with his life.

It's a trait he shares with most of his family, but Damian just tells them the most insane things about himself over breakfast on a Thursday in a bored tone like he didn't just admit to that time he and Jon fought a gun touting Batman Tim Drake from the Future. Or that he died at least twice in a murder tournament and told no one! They thought it was a regular fighting tournament.

Imagine he is arguing with Jason, and Jason threatens to make his life hell over the last pancake, and Damian just replies,'been there, done that, it was not very pleasant.' And it's not quippy or anything, just serious and little haunted. Jason freezes, Damian eats the pancake, AND THEN HE GOES ABOUT HIS DAY AND REFUSES TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS.

Like Damian has a lot of weird skills, especially for a kid. The entire batfam does, but like Damian canonically built a flying batmobile at ten like it was a Lego set.

Imagine Dick or Bruce saying that they wished that they had this ultra specific imaginary device, and a few days later, Damian hands it to them completely unprompted. They ask how and why, and Damian admits to having the equivalent to multiple high levels degrees in engineering and mechanics at like, age six, and he would have done more, but his mother killed the tutor.

Dick asks what else he's learnt, but the list is so weird and varied it leaves him shook. Who makes a nine year old study business management and finance?? (This is also canon)

Then there's the weird people and animals Damian seemingly collects. How does everyone react to Goliath? How do they find out about WIGGLES? Why does he have so many friends they have never heard of, and why are so many of them old enemies of Bruce's he met on the murder island? When did you get a cousin? Why did you punch Green Arrow? Huh? Fair.

Wtf Bruce, you let him keep the monkey??

Damian isn't used to communicating anything, so 90 per cent of what they know about him is what he deems revelvant at the time. Like, oh, Ras used to lock him in a box regularly so he knows how to escape this trap. Cool.

Oh, they can't understand a man they are questioning, Don't worry, Damian knows that language.

Oh no, they need voice access to get into this super secret base. Damian can mimic anyone.

Do you need help identifying this very rare mineral? Damian, I could have a PhD. in Geology by now if the tutor survived my mom, has got you.

He drives like an F1 racer and can manage lorry sized vehicles at 13. Studied magic just so he can use some spells in emergencies.

He just doesn't say anything until he needs to.

I think he is like that the rest of his life, though. Like his family starts to expect the weird shit all of them do, and at this point, very little surprises them .

Until Damian starts to date Jon and says nothing.

He just comes to the Manor one day with a baby and proceeds to introduce Bruce to his granddaughter. All happy and completely normal.

Meanwhile, Bruce is having a heart attack and asks who her mother is?

Damian explains how Talia grew her in a tube for him and Jon as a wedding gift. Bruce almost dies from choking on his own spit.

Talia grew him a baby? And since when are you married? And to Jon? Why does Talia know before him? Oh God, he and Clark are in laws.

[casssmalefantasy]

STRUCK - PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: you’ve been a uconn fan for as long as you can remember. a fan bowling event? cool. being in the same lane as paige bueckers? wild. her noticing you? absolutely insane.

| warnings: flirty tension, butterflies, confident!paige, mutual attraction, soft moments

| word count: 3.5K part two

| author’s note: this has been in my drafts so hi

you’re nervous.

you try to play it cool—white paige jersey, black cargos, your best pair of jordans like it’s just another night out, but the minute your friend parks the car outside the packed bowling alley, it hits you.

this isn’t just a cute little fan event. it’s the uconn women’s basketball fan event. and your forever celebrity crush just happens to be the face of the program.

“you good?” your friend asks as they kill the engine, glancing over at you with a raised brow.

“yeah,” you lie, tugging at the hem of your jersey. “i just didn’t think it was gonna be this many people.”

“girl… it’s uconn and paige bueckers. what did you expect?”

fair point.

you step inside, and the energy is wild. the place is packed with fans—some in custom shirts, others carrying handmade signs, a few even dragging wagons full of gifts for the players. each lane has a player assigned to it, but people are free to move around, say hi, take pics. the energy is loud, chaotic, a little overwhelming, but then your eyes land on her.

lane five.

her blonde hair put up in a bun. oversized madison reed tee with a hoodie, white sneakers, and the easiest smile you’ve ever seen.

paige bueckers.

your breath catches a little. you try not to stare too long.

“yo,” your friend nudges you hard enough to snap you out of it. “she looked at you.”

“no she didn’t,” you say too fast.

“yes the hell she did,” she whispers. “she keeps glancing over here. i swear.”

you glance up. she’s mid-laugh with a group of younger fans, holding a sharpie in one hand and someone’s custom-painted basketball in the other, but then her eyes flick your way. and linger.

your throat goes dry.

you look down at your gift—the carefully wrapped vintage timberwolves jersey you scored from a late-night ebay hunt three weeks ago. mint condition, her size. you knew you were gonna give it to her tonight but now? now you’re not sure you even remember how to speak.

minutes pass. the lane starts to clear out a bit. paige takes a sip of her soda, glancing around casually. and then somehow, she’s walking toward you.

like, actually walking. toward you.

“hi,” she says when she reaches your side, eyes on you like you’re the only person in the room.

“hey,” you manage, trying to sound normal and not like your heart is trying to punch its way out of your chest.

she nods at your friend. “i’m paige.”

“she knows,” your friend grins, nudging you again. “been her favorite player since forever.”

“really?” she looks at you again, eyebrows raised. “that true?”

you laugh, a little embarrassed. “yeah. since, you played back in hopkins.”

“a real one,” she smiles. “i like that. what’s your name?”

you tell her, and she repeats it, saying it soft and slow before her smile deepens.

"cute," she says, eyes flicking over your face. "i like that."

you smile back, a little shy but holding her gaze.

then she nods toward the bag in your hand.

"so... what’s in there?"

you blink. oh right. the gift.

"uh—it's for you," you say, holding it out. "just... thought you might like it."

her brows lift, surprised. "seriously? can i open it?"

"yeah," you nod quickly. "please."

she carefully rips into the wrapping paper, eyes widening immediately.

“no way,” she breathes, holding up the jersey. “this is vintage. where’d you even find this?”

“i’m an elite thrifter,” you say with a half-smile. “it’s kind of my thing.”

she laughs again. low, but genuine.

“this is insane. thank you. seriously. can i—?”

before you can react, her arms are around you. soft, warm. she smells like clean laundry and whatever body spray she wears that’s gonna haunt your dreams now.

she pulls back with a smile and gets pulled into another group photo, but not before glancing back at you, like she doesn’t want to be pulled away.

your friend is losing their mind quietly beside you.

“sooooo,” she says. “what was that?”

you shake your head, still in a daze. “i don’t even know.”

—

you’re mid-bite of a soft pretzel when you feel someone beside you again.

“you again,” she says softly.

“me again,” you grin.

this time it’s quieter—less people crowding around, the night winding down. it’s just the two of you by the snack bar, a gentle bubble of space around you.

“thank you again for the jersey,” she says. “you really didn’t have to do that. it’s seriously so cool.”

“you’re welcome. i figured you’d appreciate it.”

“i do,” she says, leaning casually against the counter. “you always this thoughtful or is this just for me?”

your cheeks heat. “depends who’s asking.”

she laughs, a low, flirty sound.

“i’m asking. obviously.”

you glance up at her, meet her gaze.

“then yeah. just for you.”

her smile grows. “you’re cute.”

you nearly choke on your pretzel.

“uhh…thanks.”

“no, really,” she says, tilting her head. “you’re pretty. and cool. and clearly got taste. i’m impressed.”

you smile shyly. “you’re not too bad yourself.”

“not too bad, huh?”

“maybe a little pretty.”

“a little?” she teases. “damn. now i’m offended.”

“fine,” you laugh. “you’re really pretty.”

“thank you,” she grins, satisfied. “so are you.”

the air shifts. warm and soft and a little electric.

“you in college?” she asks.

“yeah,” you nod. “play at a small d1 for basketball. not uconn-level, but it’s home.”

“you hoop too?” she blinks. “okay. i really like you now.”

you laugh, ducking your head.

“you any good?” she teases.

“you trying to find out?”

“maybe i am.”

your heart is doing somersaults now. you barely notice the music turning down or the event staff telling everyone things are wrapping up.

“hey,” she says, suddenly a little more serious. “before this ends, can i get your number?”

you blink. “really?”

“yeah. unless you don’t want me to have it.”

“no i do. i do.”

you pull out your phone and hand it to her, trying not to freak out as she types in her number and sends herself a text.

“cool,” she says, handing it back. “now i can text you when i wear that jersey. or when i want someone to talk basketball with. or, y’know… just because.”

you smile. “yeah. i’d like that.”

she gives you one last grin—bright, a little smug, totally charming.

“see you soon, mystery girl.”

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌟⭐️🌟

Credit goes to Tumblr @astroismypassion

This one has been sitting in my drafts for months.

🌟I don't care what y'all say about Venus in the 6th house loving order and organisation. I see these people love orderly chaos and aesthetic cluttercore. They embrace curated mess and love imperfectly organised spaces. They love having vintage things, trinkets, crystals on their desk.

⭐️Taurus Mercury is a sensory thinker. They often get flashes of knowing or information while cooking, walking, creating or just being. They also remember things in sensory flashes, like the smell of the room where the breakup happened, the tone someone used that made you trust them, what something felt like in your gut. They dislike being rushed into an opinion (lol Kanye West), but then casually drop a truth bomb.

🌟Venus in the 6th house has a secret love of miniatures, such as tiny animals, pocket-sized art, tiny plushies.

⭐️Gemini over the 7th house, you guys, attract people who bring out two sides of you. And you definitely are not the type who can make "opposites attract" work. You truly require someone who is similar to you and your temperament, identity, personality.

🌟Venus in the 6th house can be attracted to somewhat overlooked or humble people, they romanticize the unseen (opposite 12th house). They like a barista, the librarian, the lab tech, anyone quietly doing their work.

⭐️Sagittarius Risings attract significant others that play multiple roles (partner, friend, teacher, critic) or they are into multiple fields (engineer who is also an artist, teacher who is also a poet). In extreme cases, you can have someone who live a double life or just often reinvents themselves.

🌟Libra Mercury often thinks in opposite ways. When they say I'm confused, it's actually when they know too much.

⭐️Gemini over the 7th house are so cerebral in a connection, that they only know how they feel once they say it out loud or write it down. You might also end up with a partner who has a twin or a sibling who looks just like your partner. In some cases, the people you commit to will change dramatically over time. On a positive side, they can show you how to be flexible, youthful and curious in ways you forgot.

🌟Aries Moons grew up in an environment where they had to self-soothe fast, fight for attention or be emotionally independent way too early. They yearn for someone to be there for them without them needing to earn it.

⭐️Also, they are actually veryy vulnerable, but randomly and in bursts, they are vulnerable with you when you least expect it. And often end up regretting it right after. You might also test people with anger, distance or sarcasm BEFORE opening up. You often have the feeling that if you show you need something, you lose power. Also, I'm sad to say it, but you guys only heal when you are alone.

🌟Gemini Descendant, you guys have a partner that is mentally quick, but emotionally inconsistent. They might randomly emotionally detach or check out.

⭐️Sun in the 6th house give such "alpha behind the curtain" vibe. They are just quietly running things behind the scenes and hold everything together due to how consistent and competent they are. You guys might lead without anyone realizing you're leading.

🌟Sun at an Aries degree (1, 13, 25) are prone to have thin hair.

⭐️ I have to say it again, that Cancer Suns are not soft caretakers. They don’t give love freely, only when you actually earned it. They also often deal with mother’s sacrificed dreams or mother’s grief, because she didn’t fulfill her dreams.

🌟 Virgo Mars has a rage that always come across as calculated rage. They time well, when they will reveal their anger for you. Don’t get fooled that it’s random. They just withdraw their energy, stop fixing your mess and use their disorganization against them.

Credit goes to Tumblr @astroismypassion

[comatosebunny09]

2am | sylus

sum: your famous actor boyfriend takes you out for a drive, and then some. 2.6k words of cheesiness, vibes, and filth.

cw: actor!sylus au, female reader, fluff, language, p-in-v, pregnancy jokes, period mention, slight overstim, biting, marking, fingering, nipple-sucking, cheesiness, mdni

now playing: seoul city - jennie 0:01 ❍─────── 2:43 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

“Hungry,” you bemoan, rubbing your tummy. Your bottom lip juts out for good measure beneath the ambient wash of golden light in his bedroom. “I want chocolate.”

A light huff, followed by deft fingers closing around your wrist beneath the silken glide of bedsheets, answers you. “Late-night cravings again? You sure you aren’t pregnant?”

He chuckles and cringes away when you swat at him, expression not the slightest bit amused. 

“You know I’m not pregnant. And if I were, I’d kill you.” 

He props himself on an elbow and hand to study you, dragging the backs of his fingers down your exposed belly, tracking their lazy descent with smoldering, scarlet eyes. “I think you’d look beautiful carrying my child.”

Another smack, another laugh, another rustle of sheets. “Sylus, I swear to God—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” your boyfriend—God, it still makes you all warm and tingly calling him that—assuages, panning in for a taste of your lips. 

You groan into his mouth, a little lightheaded, a little breathless—a distraction. Of course. 

He draws back with a hand at the nape of your neck before you can fully surrender yourself.

“I’m merely teasing you. But you’ve had a sweet tooth nearly every night this week.”

You chew on your lip, sinking into the doughiness of his bed, toying with the stitching of his comforter. “My period must be coming on.”

He smooths his palm over your belly. The sheer size of it—how it swallows up the bulk of your flesh—makes your throat thicken. 

He’s contemplative, circling your navel with a short nail before exhaling slowly through his nostrils. “Would you like to go for a drive?”

You sit up faster than he can blink, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, radiating the energy of a golden retriever. “Can we?”

Sylus chuckles, an enamored sound, smile unguarded and wide as he boops your nose. “Sure, sweetheart. Get dressed.”

You don’t have to be told twice. And it’s comical, watching you fight the bedsheets for freedom, before you snatch your clothes from his armchair to race into the bathroom.

—

Sylus is territorial by nature. 

He’s not the biggest fan of people touching his things, especially the expensive ones. But you, being one of said things he covets, he gives a pass.

He lets you fill the cockpit of his car with your music, the sultry croon of R&B. It helps that he listens to everything. That you have similar tastes in music, and he’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with it, bobbing his head, mouthing the lyrics.

You’re adorable, do you know that? So cute, he lets you roll down the windows and shove your head out, the summery, night air lapping over your cheeks and threading through your teeth and hair.

He grabs your thigh, gentle yet firm, kneading your warm skin. Can’t help the grin rounding his mouth, the warmth spilling through his chest. 

The street lights flanking the road glaze over the sleek outline of his car, the windshield, and he finds himself thinking he’d give it all up for a bit of normalcy with you like this every day.

—

It’s a quarter ‘til midnight when Sylus pulls his car into the convenience store’s parking lot. 

He parks on the side, tucked beneath the shadows and in the security cam’s blind spot. It’s alarming enough to see a luxury car at a store so quaint. He doesn’t want to draw too much attention to you—your relationship is pretty low-key, and he respects your desire to keep it that way, lest his fans and the press have a field day with your face.

After killing the engine, he tucks his hair into an obsidian baseball cap. Draws up the zipper of his leather jacket to his chin, slipping a mask over his nose and mouth. He contemplates putting on shades, but then he’d look too suspicious.

You follow suit, donning a matching hat—God, you’re both disgusting. He’d bought it for you when he got his, because, as he said, “couples should match.” 

You rolled your eyes when he presented it to you, accepting it with a smile, playful yet genuine.

You hold hands when you exit the car, fingers laced, tucked into his side, giggling and shoving against him.

The store’s motion sensor chimes when the pair of you duck inside, the cashier looking up from her magazine with a warm smile to greet you. 

He’s reluctant to, but he lets your fingers slip from his when you meander down the candy aisle, lost in your own little world. He shoves his hands into his jacket’s pockets, skimming over the various snacks and trinkets lining the shelves. Head on a swivel, on the lookout for anyone who might recognize him. Luckily, you’re the store’s only customers. 

He sidles up behind your bent-over form, a finger held to your chin in contemplation as if you’re defusing a bomb. He gives you a once-over, eyes crinkling. You fill your jeans to filth. He can’t help himself, molding his hand to the shape of your ass.

You give a start, casting a surprised look at him from your shoulder before narrowing your eyes. 

“Sir,” you clip, tone impish, haughty, “I’m a minor.”

Sylus scoffs, breath warm against the cloth of his mask. “If you’re a minor, then I’m an infant. Now who’s robbing the cradle?”

He stiffens, anticipating a smack. It never comes, but he winces when you brush past him, instead pinching his side, in pursuit of the freezers. 

He follows you like a watchful Doberman. Rolls his eyes at the junk food filling your arms, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He gives you wiggle room around this time of the month where he’d typically give you shit for eating like that.

When you’re done perusing nearly every aisle, you retreat to the front counter. You deposit your wares on the countertop, colorful bags spilling down the pile like lava. One of your candy bars slips, careening to the floor. He reflexively catches it, tapping you on the head with it before tossing it onto the counter.

“Would you like me to buy the entire convenience store next time?”

You pull a face, clearly sick of his shit. 

“I don’t know this man,” you say, turning your attention to the cashier. 

You tug your wallet from your back pocket to pay. But he beats you to the punch, that telltale black card held to the PIN pad with lightning speed. 

You exchange a look, a wordless argument, before your chin juts out defiantly. You gather your bags of processed junk before the cashier stops you, crow’s feet lining her eyes to match the mischievous cant of her lips. 

She slips something with a suspicious-looking rhino on its cover into one of your bags, sealing whatever drug deal she’s made with a wink. 

Sylus doesn’t miss the mortification sinking into your features before you zip out of the store, leaving him to blink bewildered at the trail of dust clouding in your wake.

—

He pretends to be annoyed when, on your way back to his penthouse, you fix him with those beseeching, puppy eyes, gentle fingers clasped around his wrist, begging him to stop at a drive-in restaurant for a milkshake. More specifically, a chocolate one.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” he taunts over the quiet purr of his engine, garnering a fist to his chest.

He humors you nonetheless. He lives for these moments with you, free of the blaring set lights and scrutinizing eyes. Where he can adore you freely, have you all to himself, unhindered by your positions, your status. 

He watches you talk all sweet into the mic with his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the center console, ordering more than just a milkshake. 

You look back to ask if he wants anything, eyes round, face gorgeous, haloed by the halogen glow of the spotlight. He declines, figuring he’ll snatch whatever’s in your bag when you’re not looking. 

Food always tastes better when it’s someone else’s.

You swat at him when he digs into your carton for a mozzarella stick, blissfully munching on your spoils. 

“I asked if you wanted anything, and you said no.” You make a face, turning your chin up, mouth full of fried cheese.

The mild annoyance on his face transitions into something impish. And before you can blink, he pitches himself over the center console, kissing you nice and slow. Greedy, teasing, slipping his tongue into your mouth to milk a gasp from you. 

He draws back, fingers loose on the steering wheel, grin shit-eating. You’re gobsmacked, a half-eaten mozz stick pinched between your fingers, frozen halfway to your mouth. 

“Tastes better when it comes from you, anyway.”

You scoff, calling him a dork as he starts the car, trying to hide that shy little smile behind your hand.

—

It’s two in the morning by the time you’re back in his penthouse. Swathed in the soft glow of his cabinet lights, seated on the crisp kitchen floor in front of the fridge, legs entangled, laughter filling the tranquil atmosphere. 

You’re feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. Your idea, donned in your bra and panties, Sylus in boxer briefs, as you try and fail to toss chocolate chips into his mouth. 

It’s sensual. Something like a dream. Two lovers untouched by the world, existing in each other’s presence without the fear of it being front-page news. 

Chocolate sauce drips down the swell of your cleavage while you’re halfway through a strawberry. He follows its languorous descent with ravenous eyes before pulling you, laughing and squealing, onto his lap. 

“Such a messy eater,” he drawls, smiling against your lips, your sides warm and doughy between his fingers. 

He kisses you, once, twice, the tang of strawberry intermingled with the flavor of your mouth. He then ducks down to seal his lips to your breast to swipe at the ganache sliding down with his tongue. Your giggles transition into a pleasured breath out, fingers automatically burying themselves into his hair, head thrown back. 

He growls low against your flesh, nipping it, sure to leave a bruise. You wind your hips against him, so deliciously out of your mind, so pretty, the apex of your thighs grinding pleasantly against his girth.

“Here?” he husks, moving to pay your unattended breast the same homage. “On the floor?”

You nod, biting your lip to contain your smile, your eyes closed. It’s increasingly difficult to focus with his mouth moving like that. With his teeth scraping your skin, with his cock bumping your clit just right, his arms wound tight around your waist, so thick, so reassuring.

He’s laying you down onto your back before you can think, slow and meticulous like an offering laid onto an altar, open-mouthed on your neck, voice thick and lustrous. 

You arch your back to let him unclasp your bra, lift your hips to help him slip your panties off. You adopt a look of innocence at the coquettish glimmer of his eyes. Trade it for a shaky sigh when he blisters your sternum with kisses, honey slow, maddening. 

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Tortures you, circling it with wet precision, and when you bow into him, he closes a hand around your muff, two devilish fingers curling inward to test the stickiness of your opening. 

You lose it when they slip inside, slow and teasing at first, before splitting you nice and open. And you feel so full, complete, as he presses in, knuckle-deep, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. Curls, pistons, scissors his fingers, maneuvering his mouth to seal around your other nipple, never once releasing you from the smoldering fire of his gaze.

When you’re writhing and begging in fragmented moans—more, please—pulling at his shoulders, his back, and you’ve thoroughly saturated his hand with your essence, he grants you mercy. Withdraws his fingers from the hot suction of your cunt, bringing them to his mouth for a sample.

You bear down on yourself, throb, at the sight, burning hot. He chuckles, watching you, voice smoky as mountain air, before reaching down, down, down to palm the intimidating swell of his cock beneath his briefs. 

Pulling himself free, underwear kicked off, he strokes himself, his massive hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock, the flared, angry-red tip. Your stomach pinches. Mouth waters. You sit up on your elbows, desperate to feel him stretching your jaw. But he pushes you back down with a hand at your belly, a flash of a furrow between his brows before that playful mask returns.

“Later,” he croaks as if reading your thoughts. Sensing your desire to please, to take care of him, much like he’s spoiled you from the moment he asked you to dinner some months back as you pressed concealer and powder beneath his eyes, to now.

You’re drawn from the cloud of your thoughts with a strained sound pushed between gritted teeth, as Sylus rubs his shaft between your labia, coating it with your slick. He’s pushing into you before you can think, blisteringly hot, thick, splitting you nice and open, the obscene squelch of your union luring twin groans from your throats. 

His biceps flex as he pitches himself forward, balancing on his hands on either side of your shoulders. And he eases fully home after a few agonizing strokes, buried deep, teeth gritted, eyes hooded as if struggling to keep himself from fucking you raw into the glacial, marbled floor.

He searches your gaze for any signs of discomfort. Offers you an out, a means to push him away in case you don’t want this. You smile fondly, tangling your fingers in his hair to draw him down for a kiss. Always so considerate, seeking reassurance, consent, despite having spread you open like this countless times before.

He takes his time breaking you down on his cock to build you back up. And it’s blinding white. Transcendental, how you leave your skin, your body, Earth, as your orgasm sparkles through you after what feels like hours of moving as one, your nails digging waning moons into the backs of his forearms, heels locked in the divots of his back.

He kisses you honey-slow. Loving, leaning on his elbows as you come down, thumbs swiping stray tears from your cheeks, before rocking into your shuddering walls in search of his own release.

He carries you, all boneless and spent, smiling like a fool, to his bedroom once you’ve both had your fill. Curls around you in his bed like you’re his primary source of warmth, his treasure, chin notched in the dip of your shoulder, hair ticklish against your cheek. 

“Sleep,” he tenderly instructs, exhausted, enamored. 

And as if under his command, you slink below the shadowy surface, heralded there by the evenness of his breath and the rigid safety of his body melded to yours.

—

You’re not at all surprised when you awaken the next morning to a suspiciously familiar, towering silhouette with a black cap plastered all over every major social media app. “With his mysterious lady friend,” reads every caption, your face luckily shrouded by the shadows of your cap in each grainy photo.

You groan, tossing yourself against his pillows. He grins sheepishly in your periphery, a naked Adonis beside you, winding those long arms around you to draw you back against him.

“Sorry,” he ruefully offers, blistering your neck and shoulder with apologetic kisses. “I should’ve known someone would recognize me.”

You plaster a hand over your face. Try not to smile. To laugh. Cry. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone spotted you together, before the rumors started, though you’re grateful your face was at least hidden.

You shake your head, stroking over the protruding bone of his wrist with a soothing thumb.

For now, you’ll risk your anonymity—continue to risk your career—if only to remain by his side. 

[applejusue]

ellie williams ─── sewn together

Between long shifts at the hospital and trying to keep your girlfriend afloat, things are tough. Ellie's grieving, you're overworked. You get a familiar call that she's gotten into another fight.

◟`# cw: fighting, grief, comfort, blood, fluff.

the last of us masterlist . . .

You'd just finished a night shift, calves aching and brain foggy as you slumped into your car. You let your head move back against the headrest, mentally warming yourself up for the drive home. You wondered if Ellie cooked you dinner or maybe she was asleep, you hoped she was at least sleeping. You were worried about her lately. Joel's passing hit Ellie like a truck, her once loud and squawked laugh was now just a soft huff or an amused smile that didn't hit her eyes as much as she thought it did.

At the funeral, Ellie just stared, her glossed-over sunken eyes fixated on him as he was lowered into the ground. She wore a wrinkled grey suit two sizes too short and didn't utter a single word to you that night.

As you started up the engine to your barely functioning hunk of metal, your phone lit up brightly with a familiar number and a pretty face. Your lips tightened in soft affection, before pressing the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could take off. Your voice was tentatively hushed, a flicker of anxiousness in your gut. She knew you finished at 9.

"Hey baby, everything okay?"

You could hear her breathing on the other end, it only made your heart beat quicker.

"Yeah I just-.. I need you to pick me up yeah? Got into some trouble.."

Ellie's voice was a wobbled whisper, one you knew came out when she was trying to swallow back her tears. You could faintly hear a busy area around her, beeps, people and papers. The hospital. You exhaled silently through your nose, taking a U-turn to the clinic down the road. It wasn't the first time Ellie had gotten into some "trouble", but it seemed to be getting more frequent lately. She'd come home drunk and teary-eyed, a little scruffed up, or on the worst nights like this, you'd collect her from the hospital when her brawls got out of hand.

"Yeah.. I'll be there soon sweetpea.."

You didn't have it in your heart to be mad, not when she cried so quietly in the mornings or couldn't leave your bed for a few days because her legs wouldn't move. Not when her hands would shake even as you held them in your warm palm, or you'd see her sleeping with his shirt. Ellie felt so deeply, and you knew she'd lost something that would take a long time to come to terms with. You'd drive to the damn hospital.

The waiting room was a clusterfuck of sick babies, the elderly and sleep-deprived nurses. You approached the reception desk, your keys still jingling between your fingers. There were a few open doorways by the area, and you could just about make out some tattered jeans and boots dangling from a bed. That was your girl.

"Can I help you miss?"

The receptionist caught your attention, her smile tight against the lines on her forehead.

"Oh, I'm here to pick up Ellie, Ellie Williams.."

Your gaze was still fondly drifting toward the room, that familiar worry still swam around your gut as you listened to the receptionist clacking against her keyboard. After signing some papers, she stood, leading you over. You followed politely, even if you knew where Ellie was.

"She's pretty.. fragile, won't let any of the nurses near her so we didn't get to check her vitals or anything, but she seems to be alright other than some cuts and bruises. She had a nasty gash on her forehead when she arrived, but she sat still long enough for us to patch it up.."

You didn't like the look on her face as she spoke about Ellie. It wasn't exactly pity, more like the look you'd give a bad dog that never learnt how to be obedient. It made your jaw tighten slightly, but you nodded. It was a look people had given Ellie before when she caused fights or stormed off. A bad dog.

And yet when you entered the hospital room all you could see was your girl, your broken girl with glossy eyes and a big bandage over her forehead. The nurse came in with you to check over her file and clean up the space for the next patient. Ellie looked up at you as soon as you came in, her speckled face bruised with little scrapes from whoever she got too irritated by tonight. Her soft pupils were swimming in tears that started to drip down her face the minute you arrived, the minute she could let her guard down.

"Oh baby.."

You whispered softly, your arms coming around her shoulders almost immediately as she sunk into your chest. Ellie's bruised and trembling fingers gripped at your hoodie tightly, a flood of hushed apologies leaving her bloody lips.

"I'm sorry.. I wasn't trying to start shit this time I swear.."

Her muffled voice came from the soft fabric on your body as your fingers ran through her scruffy brown hair. You leaned down closer, cradling her as you kissed the top of her head. The nurse who still stood nearby disinfecting some of the equipment was almost surprised that the girl who had shown up barking and bleeding seemed so docile in your arms.

Once you'd gotten Ellie calmer you picked up her backpack, slinging it over your shoulder before tugging her gently off of the bed, her large cold hand laced into yours. Ellie hovered closely to you while you moved through the waiting room, her heavy eyes focused on the floor. She climbed into your passenger seat, still avoiding your eyes like a kid who's afraid of being grounded. It made you smile, even if you had a pain in your gut from worrying so much about her.

You laced your hand into hers as you drove home, a silent reassurance.

'I'm not mad at you.'

The journey home was quiet, and you were already wondering what food you'd order in when you got settled because you certainly weren't cooking dinner. Ellie followed you inside, lingering in the doorway. You hated seeing her like that, uncertain, sore and tender. Sometimes it felt like her soft little heart was in your hands, and you'd do anything to keep it safe.

"I'm gonna order in sweetpea, so you don't need to worry about dinner.."

Your voice was gentle, and you pecked her on the cheek that had the least damage. Ellie looked down at you almost dreamily, and you couldn't read what was in those dark eyes, but you were okay with that. Ellie's arms were suddenly around you again, catching you off guard as you both lingered in the doorway. Your hands hovered for a moment before moving around her with ease, feeling her warm damp cheek against your shoulder.

"Thank you.. for coming to get me, ..even when I don't deserve it.."

Her voice wobbled near the end, her grip tight.

You stroked her hair, gently tucking some strands back into place as you shook your head with a soft sigh.

"I'll always come to get you, always.."

[bigwishes]

Embarrassed?

Tom sat there staring down at his phone, typing like his life depended on it.

"if this is true I will literally trade anything to get bigger, you can make me a dumb jock, make my dick small, Ill even take being a walking joke, you can take anything you like so long as I can get huge!"

He had stumbled upon a site called "give'n'take" which was claiming that it would allow him to trade something he currently has for something he wanted. He had seen claims from guys claiming to of turned into their dream self over night by giving up something that they never really liked about themselves anyway.

But it was Hard for Tom to pick something he wanted to give up, he had almost won the genetic lottery in his eyes. A fat nine inches down stairs, 6.5ft tall, a good amount of body hair, not enough to be annoying but enough to drive guys wild. Everything had made him a walking stud that oozed confidence with every step. All but one thing that is. Tom had loved bodybuilding ever since he could remember, he loved the look of huge guys and he loved the idea of being one, but on his 23rd birthday he looked in the mirror and saw after years of work he looked nothing like a bodybuilder. sure he had some size but there was no real mass. He just looked like a guy who played sport on the weekend. He wanted to be so much bigger. He got hard imagining himself being the guy who had to turn sideways to get through a door or who rocked up to a house party in gym shorts and an XXL stringer tank top that clung to him like it was about to snap. Unfortunately his height was against him, his long muscle fibers took ages to develop and when they did it was so evenly spread out it didn't look like he had done anything at all.

He'd do anything to be bigger, he'd be happy with anything taken away so long as he was huge. So he left the choice up to the people behind the screen.

---

The next morning Tom woke up and instantly felt strange, he felt off balance some how like his body had gone up 30 pounds over night and when he got up and looked in the mirror he realised...it had.

"HOLY SHIT" Tom yelled out into his empty apartment.

His body had beefed up and become more defined without any more work. He couldn't worship himself for long though as he instantly began investigating to see what had been taken, but it didn't appear like anything was missing at all.

He was still packing, he hadn't shrunk in fact he might of even gained an inch or two and he didn't have any issues remembering anything from his engineering degree or any day to day stuff. The thought crossed his mind that maybe they had forgotten to take something, or maybe because he wanted to be big so badly they cut him a break.

Tom's worries melted away as he smiled and flexed his newly enhanced biceps.

"mmm, not as huge as I was hoping for but I'll keep working on it"

Tom picked up his gym bag and decided to head out to see what his new size could do, and to stick to the habit, he didn't want all this new size to make him forget to work out and end up losing it all in a few months.

Tom arrived at the gym and changed into his workout gear but he looked and felt different was he...bigger? nah, he thought to himself, its just him getting used to being this big although as he stared at his new size in his reflection a new thought entered his mind.

"Maybe this tank top is too tight...I probably shouldn't be such a show off and buy some looser clothes to cover up"

He shook his head and decided to think about it when he got home, right now he just wanted to see how strong he had gotten.

As Tom worked out something weird was happening, he knew how to exhaust his muscle, he new how to overload the weight and really make it feel like work but as he added weight with each set it felt just as easy as the last.

He'd occasionally see his reflection in the mirror wall and he looked like he was getting even bigger, and his tank top felt even tighter than before. Surely it was just the pump he thought to himself as he continued to lift and push his body.

He sat down at the cable row and put the pin almost at the bottom of all the plates, surely this would be a struggle for him. Tom leant back and pulled when suddenly.

Cutcshhhhhhh!

the sound of ripping fabric rung out in his ear as he felt the shoulder strap snap and felt the fabric split across his back.

"aw shit" Tom said as he stood up and took of his shirt.

Immediately he saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked huge. His muscles bulging he couldn't help but pull his gym shorts up and flex, this is what he wanted to be an absolute tank...

but, everyone probably thought he was a dickhead flexing outside of the changing room, he thought to himself. He started to wonder if he was that guy now, the guy who'd workout shirtless and annoy everyone in the gym.

He noticed a few dudes looking at him like they were waiting to get on the machine. His face turned a slight pink on his cheeks and he was flushed with embarrassment.

"oh s-sorry" Tom stuttered as he quickly tried to move out the way

Originally he thought he'd just move on to the next exercise but he realised he was shirtless and bolted for the changing room. Once inside he gazed at his reflection again.

"maybe...I shoulda asked to be just a little smaller, fuck now I gotta walk outta here shirtless"

Tom couldn't get a grip and didn't no what had come over him. He had never felt a shred of embarrassment in his life but now he was worried what people would think about him being shirtless in the gym.

The changing room was empty and Tom took the time for a few more poses before he was gonna make a run for the exit. He flexed his arms as hard as he could and felt the blood rushing into the muscle, but it was strange, the muscle wasn't just pumped up, it was like it was still pumping up. He tilted his head and watch in the mirror, slowly but surely his shoulders and arms were expanding, his chest was filling with mass and size. He saw his already huge legs slowly expanding out into colossal pillars as they stretched his shorts. He could hear the fabric starting to strain and quickly bend down to get his gym bag.

The moment he leant over he heard the changing room echo with a large tearing sound as he felt the tightness relieve across his ass. Tom's face turned bright red as he quickly reaches around to make sure it was just the shorts he had split and not his underwear.

He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his underwear was still in tact, he stood up and took a step hearing has his massive thighs tore and split his shorts with just one step. He was almost at the door when he saw his hulking figure in the mirror.

He stood frozen admiring his huge body, he flexed his entire body at once loving how huge he had become, he noticed his underwear was straining and the fabric was starting to become see through and then he remembered....he had to walk through the gym like this to get out....

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, everyone was gonna be staring at him

Tom quickly grabbed his bag and made a break for it through the busy gym. He had hoped to run but his body was so big that was almost an impossible task, so jogging was next but even just a slight jog left him out of breath and gasping for air. By the time he reached the door he had multiple people staring at him confused as he was huffing and puffing like he had just run a marathon.

He swung open the door to the gym and bumped between two guys that were on their way in. Tom tried to apologise but the only noises that came out were him gasping for air and trying to catch his breath. He flashed a quick apology wave as he climbed into his car which was luckily parked right in front of the entrance.

Tom looked down trying to slow his breathing and catch his breath when he noticed his huge hard on. His dick was like steel, the thought of everyone staring at him....judging him....

Tom started his car trying to ignore it but he heard the two guys he had just bumped into talking, muffled by his window.

"bro did you see that guy, there is just a thing as too big"

Hearing those worse Tom felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment swell in his stomach and work its way to his pelvis as he started taking deep and slow breaths.

"I know right dude, and the way he was so out of breath just walking through the gym, and working out in his underwear? what a loser"

the two men walking into the gym laughing as the door shut behind them

The words echoed in Tom's ears, he couldn't help it, he gripped his steering wheel so tight he thought he was going to break it, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as his dick began to twitch and erupt. Tom let out a pathetic moan as he looked down to see not just his underwear soaked but his car seat and thighs caked in cum.

Tom looked into his rear view mirror, his head, traps and shoulders completely blocking the view, his face was flush as he felt more embarrassed than ever before in his life, He started his car and quickly reversed out.

"god...I'm such..."

His dick instantly got hard again.

"fuck, I'm so big....I'm...too big"

Tom started panting as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm a fucking big, freakish, loserrrr--eerruuuuughh!!"

Tom couldn't help unload himself into his underwear and over his car seat thinking about how pathetic he was...

Well...he did say he was happy for them to take anything, His confidence seemed like a fair price.

[nouearth]

small things like these.

pairing. clark kent x male reader.

word count. 12.2k.

summary. a moment like having a cup of overly-sweet, sugary coffee spill all over you was one of the reasons why you'd been charmed by a clumsy man named clark kent.

content warning. fluff, eventual smut, corenswet!clark, top!clark, bottom!reader, strangers to lovers, brief lois lane mention, yearning!friends, clark has a sweet tooth, kissing, rimming, blowjobs, praising, sweet verbal, size difference, body worship, breeding, sweet and passionate love-making!

a/n. i recommend listening to the normal people soundtrack while reading!

I: MAY.

It all started with a crash.

The smell of gasoline was poisoning. Cars were lined up like dominos, passing gas from one engine to another, and the scent was festering in Clark’s nostrils, its rotting smell seemingly quadrupled by the summer heat. That was the charm of the city. The smell, and the constant scream of car horns as traffic began piling up. In the eyes of his folks, Clark can see his Ma and Pa doubting his sanity had they ever witnessed Metropolis. His Ma would shake her head in disapproval at the size of his apartment, and his Pa would be overstimulated into disbelief as the trio held hands and swam their way through the swarm of people who were simultaneously being chased in pursuit by one reminder: 

FASTER! YOU’RE RUNNING LATE!

“Oh, crap—“ Hugging the coffee cup to his chest after switching arms, Clark rolled his sleeve up to check his watch. Quarter to nine. “Crap, crap, crap, crap!” Panic finally set in, charging Clark forward into the sunny abyss of office-workers.

This would be the last time he would grab coffee right before work. He’d paid for the consequences already by nearly missing his morning meeting multiple times. Heavy emphasis on nearly as his shoes would audibly skid from turning from one corner to another upon the race he had against the clock, as the slippery leather of his shoes would nearly make him take a tumble if he hadn’t corrected his footing once he began sprinting to his cubicle, and as he sat down in the uncomfortable seat of his chair, only to rise back up once Mr. White made his entrance, nearly missing roll-call. Out of relief, Clark would take a sip of his Frappuccino. The whipped cream deflated from the race, though its vanilla flavor was unaffected as the foam happily danced on his tongue, mixing deliciously with the sweetened coffee. he would feel himself replenished with energy the more sips he took. “Damn you…” He would gulp, licking the vanilla foam off his lips, repentant in his mutter, “Why do you taste so good? Right when I’m supposed to let you go, you reel me back in…”

Clark was a certified Metropolitan.

“Sorry—I’m sorry—‘Scuse me! Passing through—“ 

Nearly there. The man was a mountain of muscle, sturdy and well-knit upon first glance, but Clark used his muscles for good, to protect others in situations where they needed him for leverage, not to harm. Upon instinct, he turned a shoulder for a woman to pass through, sparing little contact, then another when a father chased after his kid. It was hectic, his cup of coffee almost losing his grasp in midst of the scuffle, but Clark managed to find a silver lining in the crowd in midst of the clock ticking: the revolving door to the Daily Planet, an entrance Clark has become irrevocably beholden to. 

“S-sorry!” 

A man yelled out, “Watch it, asshole!” In midst of bumping shoulders.Few met his height. Many would either desire to have his height, or to be in the arms of the man who towered over 6’4. Though, in the morning of Metropolis, most if not all deemed it a nuisance.

Breaking out of the herd of people, Clark felt liberated. His legs moved in larger steps, and his elbows spanned from his sides like how they normally should as he ran into the revolving door and pushed against the partition to turn. He checked his watch again. Three minutes left. “Come on, come on—“ One hand squeezed his cup of coffee, and the other clasped his ID badge. His fingers felt slippery from the condensation of his drink, so he squeezed harder, pacing forward to the elevator, then faster when the elevator opened with only a single patron, you, occupying the space.

Faster. 

Clark’s thighs were on fire. 

His watch, two minutes.

Faster. Almost there. 

Clark let out one last breath as he was nearing, holding it out in preparation to stop the elevator door from closing. A relief of a smile came to spread across his face when it opened to accommodate his charging entrance from a few feet away. Usually, he was met by an expression of irritation by anybody who was occupying the elevator, but you looked bewildered, your eyes opening wide milliseconds later upon realization. 

Fear, as your mouth opened to shout, “W-wait! S-slow down!”

It was all in slow motion, watching your face contort to a various of expressions, and then nothing, as Clark clenched the cup of his drink with the force akin to batter hitting a home-run, popping the lid off the cup in process, and spilling the Frappuccino onto the frightened man, with extra vanilla whipped cream and all. All you needed as a cherry on top of your head, and you were ready to be sold as a Monday lunch special.

Maybe his beginner’s luck was running out of flame.

II: MAY.

Luckily, not many people seemed to use the bathroom in the morning. They must’ve gotten it all out of their system before coming to work. You were bent over the sink, wiping your face with god-knows how many paper towels.

“Just my luck…” You grumbled, squinting at your reflection in the mirror as you wiped the corners of your eyes, then your forehead, and then your ears. No matter how many times you’d lave your face with water, you felt sticky, gross, and worst of all, you looked like a mess. You still had your hair and clothes to clean, the smell of vanilla syrup sickening to your nose. The latter was definitely going to require an insane amount of bleach and arm grease to get the coffee stain off.

The door swung open not too long after, and in came the culprit who’d painted your clothes in brown and white, wide-eyed and panicked like he was searching for a lost puppy, then apologetic and defenseless as if he was the puppy that ran away.

“Shoot, I’m so, so, so sorry—“ He brought his hands to his head, pulling at the messy dark curls of his hair. You side-eyed him, responding with nothing but silence, and then a crinkle of the paper towel as you squeezed out the water. 

“Save it.” Your tone was pointed, though you didn’t necessarily mean for it to come across as aggressive as it did. It was already a bad start to your day. Your milk expired, you ran out of frozen breakfast food, and the bakery you liked to visit in the mornings temporarily closed for renovations. All forewarnings to this very moment, where you had been cleaning whipped cream out of your hair. You held out another damp paper towel towards the man, and then waved it when he simply stared, or rather embarrassingly gawked at the mess he had created. “Get my neck.”

“Y-yeah… Of course.”

Silence. You weren’t sure how long you two have been at it, but you’ve managed to fill the trash can half-way with the paper towels. In complete, utterly awkward silence. His touch was delicate, the paper towel gently cascading over your neck in small swipes, even though you’d shown him that you were more than capable to pierce through him with your glare alone. Laser beams would ricochet off your reflection, bounce off the tiled walls of the bathroom, and somehow strike him through the heart and tear that oversized vest right off of his large frame.

The anger only settled when the man repeated his nth apology, moving onto wipe your hair clean. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, breathing out a deep sigh, because it was a mistake. You were having a bad start to your day, and… so was he? Wouldn’t be a surprise. Mondays were notorious in fucking up the week.

“It’s… fine. Not like you meant to do that.” You looked at him through the reflection, his brows scrunched from hyper-fixating on every lock of hair that was blessed with his whipped cream. Was he always this handsome? And why is he towering over you? Why is he so close? 

“Who gets a Frappe in the morning though?”

“I—Black coffee doesn’t really help me stay awake.” A nervous laughter now that you were making conversation with him. It was the complete opposite of how he physically looked. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Nor does it taste that good.” He muttered, cleaning the last lock of your hair.

“I would tell you to watch your sugar, but I’m guessing… you got that down?” You didn’t mean to make a comment on his broad body, but the difference in stature was laughable. “(M/N). You?”

“I-Uh, Clark. Clark Kent.” He washed his hands in the sink next to you, lips opening to what you could presume to be another apology. You’ve only met him for fifteen minutes, but you were beginning to catch his habits.

“Okay, Clark.” You stepped forward, crossing your arms, and you could feel the rattle of his gaze as he glanced at you from the reflection. “I work downstairs, at the gift shop. You can apologize by bringing me lunch for a month straight.”

“Wait—A month?! T-that’s kind of expensive, don’t you think—“

“Hey, you can make it yourself. Get it from the supermarket. Scraps from a restaurant’s garage bin nearby. I don’t really care.” You leaned against the counter, stifling a smile as Clark looked rather charming flustered like this. “If you were really sorry, you’d be committed to making up for it nonetheless.”

“That’s a little extreme for someone you don’t know…?”

You shrugged, then turned on your heel. “Spilling a drink on someone isn’t exactly an ideal way to introduce yourself, you know.” Dusting your fingers of water droplets, you began your exit. “Also, I need a new shirt.”

“W-wait—“

“See ya, Mark!”

“It’s Clark!”

Maybe his luck was just beginning.

III: JULY.

“So…? Ready to guess?” The smile on Clark’s face was filled with anticipation. He watched you chew the contents in your mouth in an obnoxiously poised manner, an inside joke between the two of you as you two had been binging on cooking competition shows. You tilted your head in thought like the pretentious judge on one of those shows, pausing mid-chew like something strange had collided with your tastebuds, then continued as if it had faded away. “Come on, I’m dying here.”

You swallowed, taking a sip of water to wash down the bread. “Hey, I need more than a bite to figure the ingredients out!”

“(M/N), you’ve practically eaten half of the sandwich already.” Clark took his half of the sandwich and sank his teeth into the pillowy bread. 

“Look who’s talking.” You rolled a piece of white bread in between your thumb and index finger until it formed a ball, and playfully threw it at Clark’s shoulder. “I didn’t get to eat dinner last night.”

It was a strange feeling in Clark when you said that. His chest swelled a little, as if his heart kicked it from within. “Why’s that?” He slowed his chewing to clear his ears, putting aside his tastebuds for his attention.

“Well, they’re expanding the gift shop, so they’re asking me to work longer hours to help out. No one else said yes, and I need the money, so there was no question about it, you know?” He watched you dust off your fingers on a napkin. He knew of your habits now. Take a sip of your water, which you did, then fully settle your arms onto the table, unabashedly gazing into his eyes to give your tastebuds a break. His eyes altered to the tip of your tongue, peeking out to lick a crumb off your lip, and Clark mirrored onto himself.

It was a secret vaulted in the deep abyss of Clark’s stomach - well, not so much considering Jimmy liked to run his mouth - but your eyes were his favorite parts about you. Even when they were seemingly set aflame on the day he’d met you, your orbs have since had a way to reel him in like bait and never seemed to have let go. He would find himself free-falling into what soon felt closer to home with every second that would pass by.

“Doesn’t mean you have to skip dinner, though.” 

There was a breeze. Gentle and swaying like the jazz music playing in the balcony of the café. It sifted through your hair like sugar would through fine mesh. One got caught on a few strands—wind— and it blew back to recognize your features with the sun, beaming on features that Clark would someday have the courage to say he adored.

“Why? You thinking about bringing me dinner too?” He doesn’t like that you tease him so effortlessly. Clark also doesn’t like how easily flustered he gets, which prompts the cycle of teasing to begin with. 

With hesitation, he tried it himself once, saying something about how you looked good enough to eat or something when you styled your hair back for a change. Though, what came out was something along the lines of: “You look like you eat good enough,” and Clark would rather forget that interaction even happening.

“Haven’t stopped bringing you lunch, if you think about it.” The memory of his first meeting with you brought a smile to his lips, and yours as well, because you two tend to sync thoughts. 

“Yeah, two months now… When’s that going to stop?”

“It’s a routine now. I don’t think I can find it in me to suddenly stop feeding you.”

“Hm, you’d make a good boyfriend, Clark.”

“Yeah…”

IV: AUGUST.

“Nervous?” 

The powdery top note of your hairspray tickled your senses. You counted in your head, holding back a layer of Clark’s hair in your palm. One, two, three, four… Once you reached thirty, you released, sealing the pushed back fringe in place with another layer of the grooming product. 

“How can you tell? Do I look nervous?!” He’d been chewing on his lip, playing with his fingers, moving in his seat. It was like a toddler, but unlike a toddler, Clark was an adult. An adult who had enough awareness to refrain from making any sudden movements while someone had a scalding hot styling iron in their hand.

“Clark, you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since you sat down—“ You delicately pulled a curly strand to the front of his forehead, and it was another reminder how easily Clark could pursue a career in Hollywood. If only journalism hadn’t been such a strong passion for him. Though, with the way his nerves had been electrifying his body—maybe he made the right call in the end.

“Oh—Sorry… I’m just—I don’t know. What if I mess up? I say the wrong thing to Lois, and then she hates me forever? Then what? She tells the entire office about what a terrible—”

“Whoa, I think you’re thinking way too far ahead here. What happened to you being Mister Optimistic all the time?” You ushered him to get up from the seat, and then handed Clark his dress shirt and tie. “Besides, I don’t think Lois would do that. If you like her, that must mean she has some type of soul.”

“I guess so.” Clark muttered, changing into his shirt. Perfectly tailored to his body contrary to the oversized button-downs he was used to wearing. “You wanna hang out after?”

“Uh… you sure you’re going to be free? And not… you know,” Your brows raised, giving Clark a knowing look, and it was that flush of skin that you secretly adored coming in hot, boiling on the apples of his cheeks as Clark quickly deciphered what you meant.

“I don’t sleep with people on the first date, (M/N).” It was priceless. The horror on Clark’s face upon the accusation, his orbs retracting like he’d seen a spaceship landing on earth for the first time. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his confession while tidying up his living room. 

“I know a lot of people do! I just had to make sure.” You waited on the couch as Clark changed, replying to missed messages, scrolling through updates on multiple social media accounts, until you heard Clark approach from behind.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and you turned upon the sound. “Looks okay?”

It was Clark.

It was Clark, but a more refined version of him. Not that he was sloppy in the first place, but simply… you could see him clearer, his own confidence radiating like it had finally discovered an escape to its freedom. His eyes, clear blues that sparkled even when the approaching night began casting shadows through his blinds and onto his glasses. It helped that you styled his hair back too, framing his face for the whole world to admire, and most importantly, for his date to as well. You reminded him to stand tall, and he took that into consideration through his posture straightening, and his chin raising.

“Y-yeah, you look… great.” It was infectious. His smile while he admired himself through his mirror. His dimples smiled back at him, and you felt your own lips curling on their own, like you’ve eaten a candy that was too sweet for its own good. “Lois is going to love it.”

Cavity-inducing.

“Yeah? Oh—I have to pick her up soon. So, you’ll be here, right?! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if it goes well—“ Clark let out one last breath, then a shake of his arms, and he found his nerves rattling up again despite as he approached the door.

Ten steps closer than before to Lois.

“It’ll go well, I promise!” It was his moment. Clark’s moment. Yet, you felt weird about it. You wanted to look at him for longer, a sudden greed to keep him in his apartment for longer.

“All right… wish me luck.” He turned to look back at you, appreciative in his smile, but his eyes looked guilty, meaningfully longing akin to the way he had looked when he spilled his drink on you.

That’s right.

“Good luck.” Apologetic, you remembered when he finally exited the room, and closed it shut.

Clark gave you cavities.

And like all cavities, you needed to get rid of them.

You needed to get rid of Clark.

V: DECEMBER.

It was partially his fault, wasn’t it?

There was no doubt in mind that you and Clark have been spending less time together. Clark was never a big texter, but he found himself messaging you a lot more often to make up for the fact that he had rarely seen you the past few weeks. Lunch was spent with Lois, dinner was with Lois, drinks were with Lois, binge-watching TV… with Lois.

“You’re always talking about Lois…”

It was why he preferred meeting up, because you never answered your phone, especially these days. If he was lucky, you’d spare him more than four messages a day before saying goodnight.

You never liked saying goodnight, and neither did Clark. By preference, Clark liked to fall asleep on the phone with you where he would catch your snores, and the embarrassment of it all would keep you awake for a little longer, at least until it was Clark’s turn to retiring for the night. It felt safe, knowing that he wasn’t - to some extent - alone in his bed. That he could mumble your name in his sleep, and you’d toss in bed, his voice ricocheting off into your own dreams.

It felt intimate.

“Hey, give me a call whenever you get back. Lois and I found this really cool aquarium you’d really like! I got a turtle keychain for you too.”

“(M/N)? Hey, I totally forgot about dinner last night! Work’s gotten so busy, and then Lois wanted to go out, and my parents were calling, so—Let me make it up to you? We can go to that diner you’ve been talking about.”

“Hey, (M/N)! Didn’t see you at the shop today… Doing okay? Not sure if you got the sandwich I left for you on the counter. Or maybe someone had stolen it. But text me? Let me know?”

“It’s Clark. Why am I telling you—I saw you the other day, but… you seemed like you were in a rush? I’m guessing renovation is taking a toll on you? Give me a call…”

“Hey, uh… Listen, If I did something… Will you let me know, please? I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening here, between us, but… I just. I miss—”

Clark didn’t want to seem obsessive. Absolutely not. 

But this was getting out-of-hand. He was panicking. He’d been panicking for the past few weeks since this whole charade had started. It was only right for him to worry like this, about his best friend. To go from aligning his lunch breaks with yours to sitting stone-faced at his cubicle with a half-eaten sandwich in his Tupperware was a huge disruption to his routine. It was like the world had turned against him in solidarity. Knowing his own mind, Clark deserved it.

There had been a farrago of missteps, too many of them to count, for Clark to simply shrug it off and see the silver lining through them for the next day, for the next week, or for the next month. It wasn’t like before he’d met you, where he would simply get caught in a long line of office workers waiting for their coffee, and then received a free pastry because they had messed up his order twice. Or how he would sleep through his alarms, where his body clock fortunately alerted him awake before traffic would begin to dominate the streets. 

No, this was different.

He’d earned a raise since then, for his great work on profiling the Superman, but it was all he did now. When it wasn’t Superman, it was being Superman, and Clark wished there was someone to talk to. To celebrate with, now that he can splurge a bit more on himself. To vent towards, about how it was obvious that he’d been holding Lois back since their relationship started. To shout with while he watched a movie because the killer had been in the main character’s house all along. To lament towards, because Lois had called it quits, yet in spite of that, it wasn’t as painful as the way you had been treating him. To scream out the month’s omen with, because maintaining this double-life of his was wearing him down.

Moments of happiness, catapulting his memories of you with laughter and warmth, had felt like a wound. A piece of him was broken. He felt hollowed out - a pineapple without its core - more so than ever, losing you as quickly as he had became friends with you, as quickly as he had fallen for you. Spineless, if he just watched you slip out his fingers and float away.

He needed to bring you back. He needed to tie you around his wrist like a balloon, like how his Ma and Pa would when they took him to the fair as a kid. At least if you float away again, he’d chase after you like he should’ve the first time.

If luck was on his side, you’d let him hold your hand and cruise the winter sky together. And if a miracle was in the palms of Clark Kent, he’d reckon voyaging the four seasons as one would turn over a new leaf.

VI: DECEMBER.

The air was frigid. The glass pane of your window shivered against the cold, frost webbing your reflection from corner to corner as you peered out into the city. Noses red and cheeks flushed, symptoms of the freezing cold as they endured the walk home. Careful steps across the sidewalk, into the street, as flakes of white fell to the earth. 

For an alien, it would summon silence. Those sparkling crests that would melt upon contact—an invasion they would yell in terror as the flakes seeped into their skin like acid. But for humans, people like you, it brought laughter. Giggles pierced the air, couples holding each other close to gather heat, but to also keep each other from slipping, and the world had only felt warmer despite the snow’s best efforts.

Your smile reflected off the joy radiating off of multiple passersby. Kids with their guardians. Dogs with their owners. Parents with their own parents. The holiday was nearing, spirits ramping in midst. As the streets emptied, leaving you in nothing but the cruel howl of the wind, you couldn’t bring yourself to caring about your favorite celebration. There was little need for your participation if you didn’t have anyone to spend it with.

To be completely honest, it was your fault.

Clark was happy. He was happy to have someone who shared the same interest in him. He was happy that Lois could bring the best out of him, either out of his work or out of his personal ambitions. Lois would make Clark the man his parents would be proud to see after silently agonizing over months on whether the city would be good for him. He was happy to share this new chapter in his life with you, and you had little patience to see him blossom.

You couldn’t bear it, knowing that it could’ve been you.

God, you were being childish. This felt like high school all over again, except… not really considering you weren’t out in high school. You’ve watched enough coming-of-age films to know that the audience would’ve deemed you immature. Worst of all, you would’ve vented to Clark about how foolish the main character was being.

Your romantic experience had been limited to silently crushing on guys in your classes to hooking up with strangers through an app. Maybe that explained why you were acting out. Why you preferred isolating yourself from the root of your happiness instead of surrounding yourself with it. When was the last time you were ever in love? With the family dog? With her puppies? No, actually in love… with a person, with a man.

“Fuck.” The ice cream in your mouth suddenly stung the back of your jaw the longer the spoon sat in your mouth. You’ve been looping Clark’s voice messages, debating on whether it was too late to reconcile, whether he was too upset at you to even want to have you step a foot inside of his apartment. 

“I miss you. I really miss you.”

You winced, groaning in discomfort, tensing your jaw as the voice message looped like some kind of hypnotic spell. “I miss you. I really miss you. Miss you. Miss. You. (M/N). I miss you.”

The sweetness bulldozed your molars. It was unbearable. You tended to your cheek, holding onto it as you hastily slipped on your coat and beanie.

Throbbing. Your gums.

Your hand yanked the door open, and you marched outside, into the blanket of snow.

Beating. Your heart. 

The cavity was returning, and you needed Clark’s help.

VII: DECEMBER.

Clark had mixed feelings seeing you at his doorstep.

This was not how it was supposed to go. He was the one that was supposed to be drenched from the snow. Shivering like an unkempt toy, with severed electrical currents making him twitch at the modest breeze, at the welcoming warmth. He peered down at you, where you met his gaze. Clark registered a broken and a contrite heart, and he could only respond in complete silence. Frozen in place because the visit was unexpected, but also because you made his heart swell to the point of nearing combustion, and it took all his might to control himself from pulling you into a hug.

“Hi.” You sniffed, wiping your runny nose. There was a stark contrast between your body temperature and Clark’s, he could feel the frost biting his own skin.

“Hi…” Clark took a step closer, but he couldn’t cross the distance between you and him, halting as if there was an ice barrier. No, control yourself, Clark. “I—Come in.”

A wet layer of skin; narrow hills from your eye bags, past the apple of your cheeks, and down to your chin. Crystals would form along your tears if you hadn’t insistent on wiping them clean. You never liked being vulnerable with him. With anyone, for that matter.

Clark stepped aside to welcome you in. You passed one glance at him, hesitant and apprehensive, but the warmth reeled you in, one shoe at a time. He was so close to you. Your arm nearly brushed against his, close enough as if it had almost nudged his elbow.

“You’re freezing—I-I’ll make some coffee.” He headed towards his kitchen, then paused to glance back at you, resembling the skittish reporter you first met as his indecisiveness staggered his following steps. “No, Tea? Hot water? I don’t know—“

“Clark, that can wait… Uh, how about we talk… first?” Clark could see it. He could see how you felt like a stranger in his apartment, a place he’d nearly asked you to move in as his roommate considering you spent so much time here. 

You carefully took off your coat, and Clark immediately went to your aide to gather it into his arms and put it on the coat rock. Though, not before letting the smell of your cologne linger in his nose, because god, he missed this. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s… talk.” He gestured towards his couch, tidying up the sweater that was beginning to feel constricting on his body.

Other than a tiny Christmas tree hiding in the corner of his living room, not much had changed. Everything was right where you’d last seen it, including a polaroid Clark took of you and taped to his ‘Wall of Memories.’

Out of instinct, you sat at your side of the couch, and Clark sat to the left, right beside you. Your palms ran over the cotton upholstery, then paused when your finger dipped into a ripped hole you had accidentally created when you two were watching a horror film.

“So… how are you?” Clark was staring. He didn’t mean to, but seeing you beside him felt… unreal. Maybe he was dreaming. The space next to your hand looked inviting, so his own hand naturally found its place, laying it there with his pinky finger barely grazing yours. You’re real. His pinky twitched when your finger brushed against the tip, and you pulled away. No, no. Come back.

“I’m good, well—long story, but…” You sighed, and Clark was patient as you took a moment to gather your thoughts. It was unlike you. Not that it was bad, but it was extremely attractive how outspoken you could be, especially regarding subjects you were passionate about. It was like you rode the ocean waves, swam with large strokes because you had a goal in mind, to convince Clark that mint chocolate chip was the best flavor of ice cream and whatnot.

“Before we catch up, I’m sorry… I don’t really know what I was doing, but it was my fault. I’m childish, I know that. I pushed you away because I was jealous… of Lois. And—please don’t hate me, but I hated how you looked at her. And how she looked at you.“ You breathed, your eyes casted downward like you were ashamed of being capable of human emotions. Then they clenched, because you heard how incredibly thoughtless you were being, yet that didn’t stop the tears from forming.

“And I was supposed to be happy for you, Clark. I mean, I knew I didn’t have a chance to be with you, but I somehow convinced myself that one day, you’d look at me with the same amount of affection you’d look at Lois. I would wait, and wait, and it was getting… painful. I mean, who am I kidding? I should’ve let you adjust first before growing impatient, but it felt like I was being replaced, and I was afraid of the inevitable, Clark—“

Now, you were floating. And out of fear, Clark felt his hand come alive, and spider close to your hand again. Tie him before it’s too late. It was up to Clark to change the trajectory of your descent. The pinkie that had lain next to your own crossed over and locked over yours. The barrier of ice that had been building between the two of you shattered into a million shard and he was frozen. A million of them pierced into Clark’s skin when he took your hand into his, and the clasp of your hand into his had bonded.

“Clark, what—“ Your eyes widened, letting in fragments of Christmas lights to highlight the glossy sheen of the tears welling in your sight. 

Without questioning it, Clark pulled you into his chest and felt the crumbled wetness stain his sweater. One by one, his fingers loosened to let go of your hand to support your body with his arms. Strong, thick arms wrapped around your body, fitted snug against you like a vest. There wasn't any resistance from your end, so he held you longer, then tighter in case you’d let go of him. 

It had never felt so good holding someone’s weight.

Two hearts pulsed against one another, and then as one as Clark buried his head into your neck in silence, while you rested your cheek against his shoulder. You clutched yearningly at his back, and Clark ran his palm over yours. Completely different motions, yet they told the same story, the same ending.

“I missed you.” In harmony, Clark’s voice mixed with yours. Clark often marveled at it, how often he came into sync with you as a pair. Another, when you mustered up the remaining energy to blindly breathe out a sweet laugh against his neck, and he followed, his soft lips inking your skin with a grin.

He didn’t want the hug to end, but it had to sooner or later. Clark needed to see you, as much as he needed to touch you. Releasing you from his hold, he settled for the middle. Large hands found their way back to the vacancy of your own pair and he leaned his forehead against yours, watching your eyes come back into focus as you gazed upwards, officially sharing his yearning.

“What are we doing, Clark?” It was dangerous. There was a heat to his cheeks that needed to connect with the one festering on your own. A dryness to your lips that needed a fresh paint of balm. Clark silently leaned closer, yet your gaze steadied, like you were silently anticipating something. “Lois…”

“We’re not together anymore.” He revealed once to his parents, and that was that. It was a strange feeling bringing up his relationship with Lois again, considering they’d both healed from it and moved on as friends. It was better that way, felt better too. 

Your lips parted for another question, but Clark was quick to answer. “November...”

“I’m sorry—“ Undeniably, Clark’s patience had run its course. He didn’t spare a single second for you to catch your breath. Instead, letting gravity pull the weight of his head until his nose pressed against yours. Multiple forewarning bumps to your septum that made you crease your nostrils, a charming expression he’d later marvel over. 

Clark allowed himself to sink further into you, applying all of his weight to push you back into the cushions of his couch to then finally capture your lips for one yearning kiss. It was cathartic. He’d wanted this for months. His mouth on yours, his hand into yours, and now that it was finally occurring, Clark wanted to savor the moment. Your body was reacting prosperously, opening your legs to close the distance between Clark’s body and yours. You wrapped them around his hips, condensing him groin to groin. Gentle tremors rattled down Clark’s spine as he pressed into you, mouth and hip, stirring wondrous feelings that ignited from the bonded bodies. First with the utmost uncertainty, then with a starry vehemence upon catching your delightful little sounds in his lips, in his mouth, on his tongue. He swallowed, releasing your hands to tuck his left beneath your head. A cushion, or a reminder to him, as his thumb carefully caressed your cheek, that this was real, that this was happening. You gasped, occupying your free hands around his neck because you felt yourself slipping. Whether it was off the couch, or from your original state of delusion, Clark was going to catch you no matter what.

“I love you.” Scratch that, he was never going to let you go. Not this time. You had no doubts about that as he repeated those three words into your mouth like you needed convincing, then kissed you again to lock his stubborn pleas in place. His glasses bumped against your face, but the feeling of his mouth on yours felt too good for you to complain.

A breather, you pulled away soon because Clark was stealing your oxygen, and you needed to tell him before you would embarrassingly faint from overdosing on the simplicity of his kisses. You took one look at him, gently pushing his head back before your hands had taken his cheeks hostage and cupped them, analyzing what made you fall for him in the first place. Thick dark curls that fell gently over his forehead. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut when your fingers ran through them, the pressure of his scalp gratifying like a long stretch in the morning. Wide frames that were too big for Clark’s face, but had he gone any smaller, they would’ve completely hid the beautiful blues of his eyes. You straightened the crook of his glasses, grinning because the bewildered look on his face resembled a puppy’s. His physical appearance made your heart skip more than a couple of beats, yes, but it wasn’t the main attribution to your attraction.

Your hand trailed from his neck, to his chest, then to his heart. Boiling, his heart was pulsating rapidly like yours, and you sighed.

Because it was here. This was why you fell in love with him.

“I love you.”

His heart was making popcorn, and the scorching heat was rising to Clark’s cheeks. “Thank, god.”

Clark pressed one kiss to each of your palm before leaning back into you, and continuing where he left off. Your laughter was eaten up by his mouth. Suddenly ticklish as Clark catapulted your lips with an uncontrollable laughter of his own. His body shook with yours, heart pounding at one’s chest to bond with the other as he held you close once again.

Nothing was funny. Just simply relieving.

Now tighter, drawing you into his arms when the collective laughter was enough for the couch to move a nudge and roll your intertwined bodies onto his floor. Clark could laugh all night long with you, something that could pull a world record if there was someone to verify the interaction, but something began aching inside of him when he was reminded of your hips against his, groins rubbing in simultaneous pleasure. He maintained his position on top of you, in between your legs, and seized the opportunity to press against you. When your laughter was interrupted with a stifled whimper, without a doubt, Clark was a goner.

“Can… I?” He leaned up, his curious palms on your inner thighs kept you spread on the floor. You watched inquisitively, anticipating, hardly masking it with a low-effort grin.

“Can you… what? Not sure what you’re asking, Clark.” Your elbows supported your body, leaning onto them as Clark bit his lips at your obvious teasing. You wiggled your hips while his hands did their best to avoid touching you there, anywhere but there, until you gave him permission. Chewing, because he was trying his best to control himself upon seeing your crotch twitch with agony.

“Come on…��� His palms roamed the back of your thighs, then towards the front again, because he needed to occupy the anticipation of his sweaty hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not a reporter like you, Clark. Unfortunately, I was never good at deciphering clues or hints. You pulled him down by the collar of his vest, wrapping your legs back around his hips because you loved making him flustered. “Give it to me straight.”

“I—“ Clark surrendered at the touch of your lips on his. Gentle and sweeping, you kissed him like fall of snow, and he melted, whispering into your mouth, “I… want to make love to you.”

His voice registered sweet, in both mind and body. Your tastebuds bloomed when he kissed you again and slipped a tongue in without much warning. Your pants felt tighter as Clark began his antics again and ground himself against you, eagerly rubbing his larger bulge over your own. Clark was a growing cavity, festering right down to the root, but it was no longer painful.

It was indisputably pleasure.

“I’m all yours.”

There was something hidden in Clark’s gaze, something that his glasses had been unfairly shielding from you. You reached up to put aside his glasses and felt your breath hike when the quick glimpse of his gaze matched the avidity of his mark to your neck.

He refused to part from you. Even with the eagerness of stripping you, he needed to be in close proximity. Knit vests off, Clark returned to mark at your neck. Sweaters tossed, he quickly studied your figure and where you were most sensitive with his tongue and palms Wet and warm, you whimpered. Pants kicked, he helped you out of them while he clumsily stumbled out of his. Slow down, you’d laugh with him, and Clark would find his balance with a hug from you before he could embarrassingly take a tumble. A trail of clothing led to his bedroom, where you laid on the bed while Clark sat on his knees, decorating your entire body with the tiniest, yet wettest kisses. He palmed himself to this, squeezing his erection to the restricted pulsation of your own. Every time he ran a marathon of licks up your leg, your briefs twitched. Clark neared closer to your thighs, then inner thighs, every lap, and the twitching doubled.

“Clark…” It accidentally came out as a whine, and you were grateful that it did because you’d been keeping an eye on his clothed erection, watching it unfurl from a stuffy mass to an intimidating thick shaft where it began outgrowing his original side tuck and throb against his left thigh. It would be more than a handful, two if you were being pessimistic.

“Baby, be patient… I missed you.” The pet name came out of nowhere. They didn’t have nicknames for each other, but Clark felt good calling you that, and seeing how your cock began pulsating rapidly at the sound of his voice, he’d reckon it felt just as good hearing it for the first time.

After teasing you with multiple sequences of nearly kissing your bulge, Clark finally caved in and pressed his mouth to where the tip of your erection was hidden. Its location marked with a tantalizing wet spot that made him moan when he could taste your salty leakage through your briefs. Mouthing it, licking it, you watched Clark with an open-mouth, finding yourself mimicking his licks to the open air as you imagined his own erection was in your mouth. You played with your nipples, and it was heaven. You could get off to this. Clark could too, as he began rutting into the mattress, laving the center of your briefs with his wet tongue.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. You look so sexy, so…” Clark never finished his slurry of a sentence, clearly high off of his desire to ruin you. Your lids felt heavy, pinching and twirling your nipples to his languid mouthing like it was your lullaby. His voice came to a complete halt, a beat of silence that you’d come to query, until your eyes immediately widened at the warmth of his mouth surrounding your cock, finding your unspoken question answered.

“O-oh, Clark.. .That’s—mmf!” One hand was fondling your balls, while Clark’s other was stroking himself through his briefs after tossing your underwear to the carpet. His mouth was full. Warm and breached with your stiff shaft. His cheeks hollowed, and your body arced toward the ceiling as a result of holding your moans back. 

On the contrary, your body was trembling. Cold tremors electrified every bone in you as Clark explored your cock with his thick tongue, building your excitement to a rattle. He’d secure you in his mouth, sucking and refusing to let you go even when your fingers laced and pulled at his hair, a lazy attempt to push him off, but it only encouraged him to suck harder, lick at the underside of your cock, at your veins, swirling over the glossy tip, tasting the salt you’d produce solely for him, because of him. “S-stop, I’m going to come if you keep—“ 

“Sorry, you just taste so good…” Reluctantly, Clark pulled you out with a subtle pop, wiping his remaining saliva on the back of his hand. Your cock was twitching in a shiny coat of spit as you and him both watched his masterpiece of a tongue have its remaining effect on you.

“My turn…” It was a declaration. You crawled forward onto all fours while Clark watched in anticipation. He sat up on his knees upon you reaching for the waistband of his briefs. With a slow pull, his large erection sprang free with a heavy bounce, and your pupils dilated. “Jesus, Clark…” You removed his briefs, tossing it to join the floor, and he sat back on his knees while you marveled over his girth. Its size submitted you into silence. A tint of envy, but mainly of wonder as you couldn’t possibly imagine fitting him inside of you.

“Hey, you don’t have to…” Clark could see the fear in your eyes. The intimidation. Though, he would never admit that he was extremely turned on from watching your expression morph into utter astonishment. His cock, however, couldn’t care less. Thick and mighty veins blasted from the base of his raging hard-on to the very plump tip of the bulbous head. It was as equally as inviting as it was intimidating.

“I want to. I’m just… kind of jealous, that’s all.” You laughed to yourself, wrapping a firm grip around Clark’s shaft and watching in awe at how you couldn’t close your fingers around him, even when you had adjusted your hand. Clark’s cheeks were scalding. Was there an adjective to describe someone who was embarrassed, but extremely aroused right now? He’d have to look it up, but he was that. He watched how your mouth practically salivated for him, working him in slow strokes because you were careful not to anger this phenomenon of a creature.

“You’re perfect, wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Where would be the fun in all of this if we all looked the same?” You hummed at the comforting words, somewhat feeling guilty over your cock hardening over such a sweet consolation. 

Nonetheless, it wasn’t something you were going to dwell on. You knew Clark loved your body, he would’ve inhaled you whole if he could. As a token of appreciation, you nuzzled over the underside of his cock, lining gentle kisses over the veins that made you the hungry, desperate man you were displaying for him. “I love you.”

Clark would burn this image of you, drooling over the sight of his cock, over the tense of his muscles as you licked his abdomen, sucked at a birthmark on his hip, then hollowed your mouth out to accommodate his erection. “I love you.” He exhaled from his gut, nearly seeing the whites of his eyes as you didn’t spare a second in warming him up to your throat. 

“Baby, slow down… You’re going to choke—“

“Mmfggh—“ Sweet sounds. Delicious noises that made his spine tingle, that made his muscular chest puff up as it swelled with so much selfish pleasure. You looked up at him with such pureness, a determination that Clark was afraid to shatter if he made you stop, so he simply watched. Petting your head, brushing strands of your hair that threatened to obscure the parts he’d loved most about you. Your eyes sparked with glee as the salt of his cock watered your tastebuds. You let your hands roam free on his body. One palm admiring the toned muscles on his stomach, the other stroking the inches of flesh that haven’t been in your mouth yet.

Then, your eyes filled with tears, as you became overzealous from your mouth blooming with arousal and heat as you took more of Clark. Past the tip now, your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock to make room for his large shaft. Your cheeks hollowed while you sucked, and you could taste Clark leaking on your tongue again. Thick and salty pre-cum dancing over the bed of sprouts.

“Baby, careful…” Despite his warning, Clark couldn’t help but thrust every now and then into you.

It was difficult stuffing Clark inside of your mouth, but you proceeded. Further and further, you sank your head. Clark carefully held you while his gaze marveled at the warmth of your mouth. You’d splutter into a gag when you lodged him into the back of your throat, cramped and gratifying despite the tears in your eyes. Clark was quick to pull you back in case you choked on your own spit, and he knew you. He knew you were the type to take on a challenge. Before you could complain about him pulling you away, he brought you up for a kiss, meeting you half way as he bent forward. His hand was on your nape, tenderly massaging in case you pulled a muscle, and he smiled at your fluster when he pulled away. A thin line of spit connected the pair of lips, a display of devotion for one another. “You did so well.”

While Clark laid you on the bed once again and reached for lube out of his bedside drawer, you were kissing at the underside of his jaw. He’d left a mark on your neck, so it was only fair that you made your presence known as well. Your teeth nibbled on the stretch of skin as your lips wandered off to suck on a patch of skin on his neck. The smell of his body wash was strong in your nose when you buried your face into him, suckling until Clark’s neck had skipped the initial stage of turning pink, and instead, an ardent red. “Don’t finger me too much. I want to feel you.” Your cock throbbed in anticipation.

“No way, (M/N). I’m going to hurt you if I don’t.” He sealed off any potential retorts from you with a smooch to your lips, and then affectionately bumped his forehead to yours, sparing you a teasing smile. “And I promise you, you’d still feel me even if I spent an hour warming you up.”

Your heartbeat spiked.

You brought your knees up after he placed a pillow beneath your lower back. Clark took his sweet time lubing his fingers and erection. There was an obvious motive behind the gaze he’d spare you. A smugness in the curl of his calming smile. He made sure you were watching as he bucked his hips up when he slimed his cock with a glorious amount of lube. The remaining lubricant was used to lather your rim, and then the surface of your lips as he brought his hand up-close.

“It’s cake-flavored. Haven’t used it yet.“ Clark said with a laugh, pressing his lubed thumb to the center of your mouth.

“Of course it is. What’s with you and sweets?” Your lips parted to let your tongue peek out and take a swipe at the wet layer of his skin. Artificially sweet at first, but it wasn’t unpleasant enough to detract you away from it. After taking multiple samples of the lubricant, you closed your mouth around Clark’s thumb, and that was when the base notes hit your tongue. The scent of vanilla tingled your sinuses, as well as the artificial flavor of the sweet commodity spreading pleasantly on your tongue the more you sucked. It tasted more like marshmallows than a cake, but you weren’t complaining. You pushed his thumb out with your tongue and nodded in approval. “Tastes nice. Why do you need it to taste like cake though—“

“Because I like cake.” With a push of your thighs, Clark was back on his knees again. He haunched over to face your exposed entrance once you locked your arms around your legs, holding your knees to your chest. Then, he flattened his tongue over the smooth surface of your crack. One stripe to sample the quality of the flavor. Another to discover the depth of vanilla blossoming on his tongue. And then another few laps, because your bare flesh tasted infinitely better than whatever was mixed in that bottle of lube.

“Clark…” You wished you could properly watch him. For now, you had to settle on blindly watching the top of his head from the opening of your legs, dark curls bouncing as he eagerly devoured and lapped up the layer of lube that slicked up your opening. His tongue swirled over the rim of your hole, teasing at first, to sample you again, then he pressed his mouth to your entrance. The movement of his languid mouth nipping and mouthing made you pucker. It was an automatic reaction, you clenched, then opened, and Clark seized the opportunity and slipped his tongue inside of you, officially tasting you. “C-Clark! That’s—Mmf!”

Clark was under hypnosis. Everything that was said to him, that was plead towards him while he ate you out was drowned out by the sound of his slobbering. Two palms on your asscheeks stretched you out while Clark thrusted his tongue inside of you like daggers. When you clenched around his tongue, Clark pulled back to carefully push a lubed finger inside of you, spreading you back open. “I wish you could see this right now, (M/N). Your hole’s so pretty.” He looked up at you, lips beaten red and his fringe tousled, while he pumped two fingers inside of you now, smiling at the way your body had a mind of its own, floundering within your own hold, completely stripped of insanity and instead, disheveled over the smallest touch. “You look so pretty.” Your cock twitched in solidarity. 

For someone who made it seem like he absolutely got no action, Clark was a natural talent in pleasing you. His fingers were thick and deep inside of you, curling at various spots you hadn’t even brushed once in your lifetime. You bit your lip, writhing in suppressed arousal, and Clark would watch in awe as he simultaneously licked around your rim and thrusted his fingers inside of you. Three now, spreading, twisting, and churning in and out of you smoothly with the help of a fresh paint of lubricant. His thick pecs bounced with every draw of his fingers, sweat beginning to form over his neck and shoulders as the heat between you and him only escalated. He broke out into cold sweats, watching you unravel your sanity before his very eyes, and Clark was eager to be the cause of your destruction, for you to equally ruin him.

You’d let your legs collapse onto the bed a while ago, but it was fine, because once you were properly warmed up, Clark took matters into his own hands and balanced your feet over his shoulders, pulling out and orienting his hips before you. He slicked his cock in another layer of lubricant, the smell of vanilla mixing pleasantly with his arousal, and he leaned for a sweet, but confirming, pushing your knees towards your chest in the process.

“I love you.” He softly whispered into your mouth, forehead to forehead. Words of affection that you couldn’t possibly imagine growing tired of. Your stomach was in knots, your heart tugging one way, and then another, as you two shared a gaze. A silent one, but surely meaningful because you felt close to tearing, looking into his sweet, adoring eyes. It nearly ripped when he repeated those three words again in your ear, gentle like the kisses he was adorning the shell of your ear, ticklish like the way he had been tracing your rim with the tip of his cock.

“I love you…” It came out as a purr, and you gave his shoulders a loving squeeze. I’m all set.

Upon the completion of your breath, Clark pushed his hips forth. Slowly, you felt your hole opening. Wider, as it took in Clark’s hot pulse. Gasping, as it was a struggle to fit the head of his cock inside of you. Your body naturally reacted in pushing back the intrusion out of your body, swelling around the plump glans and clenching to prevent him from moving any further. “C-Clark—“

“M-mm, relax—“ He grunted in the depth of your mouth, distracting you with another open-mouthed kiss. But Clark was persistent. He was nearly there. One more push, and he was in. He used the back of your thighs as leverage, pushed your legs further back, and pushed with careful might. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to break through the barrier that refused to let you two bond. Clark was pushing. You were pushing back. It was a battle for territory, a toll on your body as you broke into cold sweats. You inhaled at the increasing soreness, but nonetheless endured because you’d endured worse. 

You’d lived through the loneliness that was your life without Clark, and that was absolutely unbearable compared to this. The thought of spending eternity with him reconciled you with near pleasure. You two would go on to do everything together. Holding hands with him in public would be a no-brainer as you helped him shop for a new suit. You’d celebrate his promotion over dinner, either homemade or a fancy restaurant, because Clark deserved the luxury of life. And if all things go well, he’d reward you for staying by his side and supporting him with a ring. Nothing too grand or magnificent, because you were never too keen for the lifestyle of the wealth. And knowing Clark, he’d ramble about how he could buy another engagement ring if you weren’t happy with it, completely forgetting to ask you about the inevitable: Will you marry me?

Exhaling once more, you brought a hand to his nape and gently pushed his forehead to yours. Then his nose squished with yours when you felt your body arched off the bed in response to Clark finally breaching inside of you with one tantalizing thrust, goosebumps fluttering over your skin and amplifying the soreness by tenfold. “H-hh! Clark!” You choked out, straining your neck as your body felt like it was burning. Scalding with pleasure and pain all at once.

“I got you. I got you, baby…” Clark slipped an arm beneath you, cushioning your body when gravity pushed you back onto the bed. He began lathering your neck in pacifying kisses, stilling his hips while doing so. “Doing so well, doing so good. You feel so good, you know that? You make me feel so good.” Clark was drunk on the grasp you had around his cock. So tight, you felt so tight, and he anticipated what you’d feel like beyond the first few inches of him.

“You’re okay?” For moments now, he’d been kissing you to divert your attention from the pain. Wiping beads of sweat off your face with the back of his hand. Massaging your chest and playing with your nipples. Anything to get your body to relax. Though, the most effective remedy was when he gazed into your eyes and rambled. Clark knew that. He felt your muscles loosen when he’d make a silly joke, or when he’d bring up a memory about losing his shoe at work. Touching was the easiest effort and you loved the weight of his palms on you, but you were most sentimental about Clark finding other ways to temporarily shift your mind to a sanctuary. All in all, the power of his humility was a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m okay… Just been a while.” Your lips slurred against his, kissing Clark again, extremely appreciative of his patience. “Think I’m all good now. You can move.” You confirmed with a gentle pat to his cheek.

“I’ll make you feel good.” It was a promise.

Clark kissed at your ear. “I’ll make you feel like you won’t want to stop when we’re about to end.” A symptom.

His lips moved to your neck. You shivered at the ghosting of his mouth, of his tongue, before he’d rightfully claim another spot on your neck as his own. 

Clark reeled his hips back until only the tip was left inside of you. You whimpered at the emerging heat, but it was beginning to become bearable.

“I’ll make you feel like you were made for me.” You felt yourself split into two when Clark brought himself forward. A gasp slipped when you felt your hole stretch. And then continued to push itself to its limits as he worked himself inside of you with gentle and subtle thrusts, until Clark was an inch deeper. The grasp you had on his shoulders was extreme, egg-shell white as the sweat in your palms threatened to loosen your grip. The husk in his voice trembled while you swelled around him. Rapid pulsations embraced the thick veins of his cock, seemingly massaging him out of appreciation, a token of your gratitude because pleasure had finally materialized in the loss of your agony.

The toned muscles of Clark’s thighs slapped into the back of your sweaty thighs with every thrust. A salacious sound that wouldn’t cease. Louder. Harder, when Clark was comfortable enough to properly move inside of you. “Because you are.”

Properly stir your insides. Your face said it all. Your sight blasted as you watched Clark with dilated pupils, mouth agape like you had better counter to the flattery of the man’s words. Instead, you found yourself choking back on them. Words. They would’ve been affectionate words. They came out as stifled moans because it was embarrassing for Clark to see you like this. Grunts when Clark lodged himself deeper inside of you. He was just as motivated by a challenge as you were. The challenge of making all sorts of delightful noises fall from your mouth out of your own will.

Sweat dripped off of him like he’d just returned from a blacksmith.  A sweltering fire would heat him up. Not to burn him, but to make him pliable enough for the blacksmith to shape the perfect man out of Clark’s flesh and bone. A chisel to carve out the deep dips in his upper traps, where your palms loved occupying. Another at his waist, where you’d hold Clark to help him dig you deeper. Then a hammer, used to forge the sturdy muscles on his athletic body. Deep hills and valley, crafted over his pecs and abdomen to let his sweat drain onto your body.

“You’re made for me, as much as I’m made for you.” Clark murmured.

A vow.

With that, Clark mounted you, both of his palms grounded to the space by your shoulders to stabilize his catapulted position. He pushed his full weight on top of you. Your legs folded towards your chest, alongside the sink of his body, until your knees signaled the end of their mobility. A kiss to your left calf to keep you alert, a bite to the other to warn, and Clark propelled his hips forward without the intention to stop. Further and further, your mouth and eyes widening as he tunneled through your contraction, until his cock was deeply-rooted fully inside of your hole. Clark settled himself inside of you with a yearning groan, and you retaliated with staggered cry.

“C-Clark, I feel so… full. Honey, fuck—” Your skin prickled with goosebumps knowing that Clark had fully breached your hole. There was no doubt about that, yet your hand snuck down to blindly confirm the achievement, to see if you could slot your hand between his pelvis and your ass. But Clark was pressed flushed against you. No gaps. Only the thick hairs of his pubic region came into contact with your fingers, and your cock twitched.

You were completely and utterly full to overflowing.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. You feel so good. So warm. So… tight.” Clark huffed out a few breaths and slid his cock nearly out before slamming it back into you. 

“U-uh-huh.” You panted at the sight of his arousal. How gratifying it was to Clark, being inside of you, to the point where his eyes would roll back, and then feel the need to slow his deep thrusts, because he was close. You could tell. You could feel his cock throbbing harder. Veins hotfooting a nearing high as you stimulated his aching muscle, and you were stroking your leaking dick to the feeling.

“I love this… I love you. I love making love to you.” His cock hammered your insides, the thick head of it raking past your sweet spot. It made your cock tremble, your glans crying out with thick, teary pre-cum. When your moans hiccuped a pitch, Clark realized he had mined gold.

“C-Clark, I love you—“ Your firm cock slid through your closed fist every time he moved, the creaking of bed springs following every motion of his thrust. It wouldn’t be long before you made a complete mess on your body. “Oh, god—“ Clark clasped his mouth around your tongue, greedy to feel your moans ricochet off the walls of his cheeks, and into the depth of his throat. Veins charged his arms as he pinned your hips to the bed. You were floating, higher and higher. The roam of your hands, over his sweaty pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his abdominal muscles, his arms—you were stimulating Clark’s body so he doesn’t stop. Motivating him to blind you with his devotion, starry skies and all.

“P-Please, Clark. God, that’s so good. You feel so—“ Forehead to forehead now, Clark was watching you passionately through heavy lids, alternating his gaze from the silent plea in your eyes, to the beaten and swollen muscle of cock in your jerking fist. All while he throbbed inside of you, overwhelming you with the pulsating of his thick cock veins, making love to your hole with the refusal to stretch his approaching climax.

So close, you were so close. You held Clark by his neck with one hand, and refused to let him pull away.

Faster and faster, his cock consistently drilled into your prostate, drumming against it with a deep swivel of his hips and more, until you couldn’t hold back your cries. Your pulse raced as your cock twitched with your heartbeat, speeding the flicks of your wrist to outpace Clark’s thrusts. 

It was a tense battle to see who’d erupt first. Harder. Harder. Faster. You were a mess, and so was he. You made him a mess. A drunk intoxicated by carnal desire. Sweat clung onto his fringe, yet he had never looked so attractive, powering into you like a madman, impaling you with his love, with his devotion, with all of his might, brute force, through gritted teeth. You gripped him hard by his biceps, unsure of whether your cries of pleasure were heard between the thunderous sound of his thighs connecting to your asscheeks and the creaking of bed springs. You took a chance to cry out again, to warn him that you were close. 

“C-Clark, I’m going to come…” The bubbling feeling had been too irresistible to delay any longer. Clark locked eyes with you upon your alert, and groaned. His tongue came out to skim the bottom of your lip, and you strained forward to cover his mouth with yours, sealing the pair of lips in a slow kiss, contrary to the rapid rhythm that had overtaken the rest of your body, and it stole your breath and made you all dizzy. Your cock only needed three more pumps.

Clark panted a few quick breaths, bracing his body in anticipation by clutching onto your hips until his fingers had turned white. “Want to see you come from my cock…” What you heard in his murmur was beyond want. 

It was need.

Two. 

You reminded Clark that you were going to come.

One. 

His forehead pressed hard against yours, and he switched his gaze to your jerking fist.

“Clark—“

“Let it out. Show me how much you love me.”

You yanked your hand a millisecond before the inevitable, and Clark watched in pure bliss, maintaining his thrusts as your cock erupted with white. Thick shots of cum catapulted across your body with the aid of Clark’s thrusts drilling semen out of you. Layers of creamy ropes messily inked your body from abdomen to chest, and that was all it took for Clark to spill his load inside of you. 

His hand like claws on your waist, he pummeled your insides for a few more seconds, delivering your ass with powerful thrusts, and you sobbed out in between breaths, clutching a bundle of his hair in both fists. Finally, Clark grunted, unloading himself inside of you with a scalding bite to your lips. You felt his cock pump, his balls jolting as it drained itself inside of your cavity, filling you up with an unspoken affirmation that you were his. He pushed his cum deep into your hole, powering through the cold tremors overhauling his body, and resumed thrusting inside of you. 

Shallow and slow, but enough to spread himself all over your walls. Enough to remind you of the memory when you had been claimed as his, in case you’d ever forget.

You shuddered, dropping your legs to wrap them around his waist, because you could never forget. Couldn’t if you had tried. Not when he was milking his orgasm into you, dumping his warm seed into your hypersensitive hole until he filled you to the brim. Not when you prevented him from pulling out, because you pressed the heel of your feet into his lower back, and countered his thrusts with swivels of your pelvis, gluing him shut to you. 

Until you were bonded to him.

“I love you…” Lethargy in his voice, his eyes closed. Clark worked so hard, and you immediately rewarded him with a slow kiss, embracing him close to you after.

“I love you.” He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, evidently gratified by your response as you felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile. You murmured sweet praises in his ear, petting the back of his head to calm the electrical currents stimulating his body.

“We… have a lot of catching up to do, by the way.” Clark suddenly spoke, and your eyes weakly opened, inquisitive over the strange tone in his voice.

It was also funny. How absolutely massive the man was, yet in your arms, he was cuddling up to you as if he wasn’t aware of his own weight plastering you.

“Yeah? Something on your mind, or you wanna save that for tomorrow?” You idly twirled a piece of his hair around your finger, windmilling it out of affection.

“I mean, I guess so? It’s been on my mind since we’ve met. And it’s been killing me on the inside.” The stubble on his chin tickled you when he lifted his head to look at you. The expression on his face suddenly made his warning seem all the more significant.

Concerning, as you propped yourself on your elbows and frowned. Despite your risen position, he was insistent on continuing to rest his weight atop of you, not that you had minded. “You’re kind of scaring me, Clark. What is it? Did you get fired or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I—It’s just…” He stammered, then heavily exhaled. Thoughts of regrets plagued his mind at first, but he trusted you. You could see it in the light of his eyes. “Okay, here it goes. You know... how I’ve written multiple articles about Superman?”

“…Yeah? Got you on Perry’s radar, didn’t it? He seems to only like talking to you, which is impressive. Not surprising though—”

“Yeah, well… It’s just—there’s a reason why… he only sees me.”

“Why? Is it because he saved you or—”

“Clark, what are you doing with your eyes?—“

“Wait, holy crap—“ 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[theliving-radio]

Hi :D I've read your Big Brother Malleus headcanons and I love them a lot. I don't know if you take requests but... I've been wondering on what would happen in the following scenarios:

Reader gets involved in a mishap during class and gets turned into a little kid by accident. While Ace, Deuce, Grim, and the teachers try to find a way to fix this, Reader starts crying and screams that they want their Big Brother.

Angsty bit: someone with a grudge against the Draconias finds out that the Reader is Malleus' younger sibling and kidnaps them.

You don't need to write anything you're not comfortable with. Just wanted to share some of my ideas for when a Protective Big Brother Malleus will appear.

1) I love this idea so much, so here’s a writing short~

Professor Crewel passes the neatly wrapped up, toddler Prefect to the three idiots to prepare making an antidote.

Ace held you away from him like you would give him a some weird crazy disease from your tiny chubby self.

“Oh my Sevens… Ace, hold them properly!”

“I am holding them!”

“Not PROPERLY!”

“Mrah! Pass them to me! I’ll carry them! They’re my hench-human after all!”

“Grim, they are like the same size as you but heavier!”

“I’m strong enough!”

All three of them argued over one another, the noise from them starting to hurt your little head. And so you did the only thing you could do to get out of these idiots hold.

Cry.

It started out as a small sniffle and then increased to loud wailing. All three of your friends stop what they’re doing and go back to focus on you.

“Hey, why are you crying? It’s ok! Look, big brother Ace is here!” Ace raises you in the air and started making an engine sound with his mouth, trying to mimic a plane sound as he pretended you were the plane!

His movements only caused you to cry harder.

“Mal Mal!” Ace stops his movements when he heard you scream out for a certain fae.

“Uh oh.” Deuce also paused as he, Ace, and Grim slowly turn their heads to the classroom door as they heard the sound of loud footsteps steps running in the hallway.

The classroom door slams open to reveal Malleus in the doorway, scanning the almost empty classroom. His eyes land on you, your tiny figure crying in Ace’s hold.

Was that you? It couldn’t be…

But you confirmed Malleus’s thought when you sniffled and started making grabby hands towards him, letting out sad miserable sobs that broke his poor dragon heart.

Malleus was over to the four of you in an instant, stealing you away from Ace to hold you close to himself.

“Hey-,”

“My poor, sweet, Baby sibling. You do not need to fear anymore. Big Brother is here now.” Malleus ignored Ace, having his full attention on you.

Malleus held your small body close to his chest and rocked his body side to side, lulling you into a deep sleep. Your hiccups and sobs were no more, just the sound of your soft snores as the fae continues to hold you.

Malleus smiles down at this small baby version of you. His baby sibling, (who is an actual baby now) was adorable. You had your face squished up against his chest and your tiny hand was gripping his school jacket.

Ace and Deuce were in awe seeing the dragon fae take special care of you, how gently he handled your infant form.

Grim on the other hand wasn’t really impressed. He’s seen Malleus try and baby you before and you usually swat him away playfully, so this wasn’t really new.

Malleus turns to face the people who caused the problem in the first place. Ace and Deuce thought they were gonna die right then and there. Instead, the fae smiled at them.

“Both of you are lucky that your mishap has created something positive out of it. I already assume Professor Crewel is making something to reverse the process?”

“Yeah… He said we have to take care of the Prefect for the time being.”

“Absolutely not.” Malleus dismissed Deuce, “I shall be the one looking after my Baby Sibling. I am their Big Brother after all.”

Malleus proudly walks away from the three, going back to his dorm and to ask Lilia if he has Silver’s old baby carrier.

He knows you aren’t gonna be like this forever, but he’s gonna use all the time he has to savor this opportunity. Big Brother Malleus is gonna take good care of his Baby Sibling.

2) Now for the kidnapping bit, I wouldn’t think it would be much of angst. Just more of-

You were currently sitting in a chair.

In an office.

Inside the Royal Sword Academy.

Facing Headmage Ambrose who looked as equally as annoyed as you were.

And right beside you was the cause of the reason why you were here.

Standing beside you was a student from Royal Sword, who also happened to be a Prince, standing proudly at his accomplishment.

And what did he accomplish?

Kidnapping you apparently. You were minding your own damn business, having a nice walk with Malleus… when this asshole on a white horse came out of no where and swiftly stole you away from your peaceful walk.

Like excuse you???

“Prince Etienne, please… can you explain to me, one last time, why you brought Mx (Y/n) here?” Ambrose finally spoke up as he adjusted his spectacles, looking at the one named Etienee.

“It’s just like I said, Headmage. I’ve been hearing news about a poor, magic-less student suffering at Night Raven. Clearly, the school had to be taking care of them, right? Yet I couldn't stop my concern..." Etienne crossed his arms and closed his eyes, recounting the events on what he saw.

"So, I rode over to the school, hoping to maybe see the Prefect and how they are doing. But when I made it to the school, what do I see? This poor Defenseless student being attacked by one of their peers! He was about to hit them!"

At the time of your kidnapping, Malleus was teasing you due to the height difference and was about to ruffle your hair... but before he was able to do so, you were taken away.

Did he think Malleus was gonna hit you? Malleus would probably curse himself for eternity if he was to hurt you. Just two weeks ago, the poor idiot locked himself away when he accidentally stepped on your toe. He sent you a chest full of jewels from his own hoard as an apology!

"-so I took action! I couldn't stand by and watch another get hurt! I told my horse to pick up the speed. I was able to grab them by the back of their shirt and lift them up and onto my steed! From there I immediately rode back here and away from their attacker."

Attacker?! Malleus!?

But Etienne didn't seem to care or listen. Even when he took you away, you threw insult after insult at him, yet he did not care.

Ambrose pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long sigh.

"Excuse me, Headmage?"

"Yes, Prefect?"

You point over at Etienne, "I wish to report this student for harassment and disturbing the peace... My peace."

Etienne quickly turns to you and dares to look offended... HIM! Offended!

"Why are you reporting me?! I saved you!"

"Saved me from what? Getting my hair messed up? Being teased by a friend?"

"He was going to hit you!"

"Bullshit!"

Ambrose watches as you and Etienne bicker at each other. He sighs and stands from his desk... and that's when he feels it...

A powerful source of Magical Energy was fastly approaching this very room...

Suddenly, the Headmages' office doors slam open, and the room is illuminated by a bright flash of lightning, followed by the sound of rolling thunder. There stood a tall and intimidating figure; the only sound heard from them was the heavy breathing and the small whisps of fire escaping from his mouth.

Malleus Draconia in the flesh looked like he was just about to kill someone.

Before you were able to greet him, Etienne pulls you closer to him and raises his mage pen, pointing it right at Malleus. Seeing you so close to the human prince caused Malleus to growl.

When the situation looked like it was getting too much, Ambrose flicked his wrist and took Etienne's pen away, flicked his wrist again and had you both separated, then motioned for Malleus to come inside his office.

The dragon fae huffed out his nose, letting out smoke as he began to make his way across the room. Etienne turned to Headmage Ambrose, his expression of pure shock. "Headmage! This is the student I saw-!"

"What took you so long, Horton?" You interrupted Etienne, giving Malleus a playful smirk, making the fae move his murderous glare from the prince to you. His expression changed so quickly to one of worry as he strode over to you and began to pat down your body.

"Are you ok? Did you get hurt anywhere? I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get here, I was processing what happened before my eyes." You laugh as Malleus explains himself, still patting down your body to see if you had any cuts or bruises on you.

Etienne's jaw dropped as he watched the student from before, who tried to hurt you, was looking for any injuries on your person. Ambrose lets out a small chuckle as he goes back to sit at his desk. The Prince turns to the Headmage, who clearly wanted to know what was going on, but didn't know how to ask.

"Prince Etienne, I know that I, and many of your teachers, have told you to stop jumping to conclusions. You always assume something before examining the full situation," Amborose motioned to Malleus, who seemed less concerned about the other two humans in the room as he was nonstop checking on your well-being. "This is Prince Malleus Daconia. Future King to Briar Valley."

Malleus took his glove off and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. "Are you getting a fever? You feel slightly warm..."

"Malleus, it's been like 45 minutes, how would I have gotten a fever within that period?"

"Humans have a weaker immune system than fae, so I wouldn't be surprised if a certain human prince gave you an illness..." Malleus shifted his gaze to Etienne, going back to the death glare he was originally giving him.

“You looked like you were about to hit them!”

“And why, pray tell, would I ever hit my Baby Sibling?”

The room fell silent from the bombshell Malleus just dropped.

You stuck your hand up, adding to what he said “Adopted! He adopted me as his sibling, and I’m ok with that.”

“Baby Sibling.”

“We are not starting this conversation again.” You huff and crossed your arms. Malleus couldn’t help but chuckle at the obvious pout you gave him.

In that moment, Etienne watched as Malleus lifted his hand up… and ruffled your hair…

He got the situation all wrong…

“I apologize for my behavior!” Etienne bows towards you and Malleus. “I really thought the Mx (Y/n) was in some sort of danger! So I acted out without thinking!”

Malleus grew quiet as he looked down at the human Prince, clearly asking for forgiveness from his past actions. The Fae only lets out a huff and steps closer to Etienne.

“I am not entirely happy that you ‘rescued’ my dear Baby Sibling… but, I do admire the fact you sprung into action just to protect them, even when there was no danger around.” Malleus’s words caused Etienne to look up at the dragon fae, confusion written on his face. Malleus continued, “My Baby Sibling was not in any danger, yet when you believed they were, you took action. I admire that. And you were unaware of our relationship, so it would make sense you assumed the worst.”

Etienne picked himself up, his face burning from the embarrassment and the praise Malleus gave him. He nervously scratched the back of his neck and turn towards you. “I also apologize for… not listening to you when you said you were in any danger.”

You wave his words off, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time I was kidnapped.”

“What?”

“Are we done here Headmage?” Malleus’s turned to Ambrose who rose from his chair.

“Yes, again I apologize for the trouble my student has caused. Please, allow me to escort you out.”

Ambrose walks ahead as you and Malleus trailed after him, leaving behind the human Prince.

Etienne rubs his hands over his face and lets out a sigh. Truth be told, he was aware of Malleus Draconia. He was aware who the Dragon Fae was. Sevens, his kingdom was right next to his!

But he was never aware that there was a new Draconia in the picture. Etienne furrows his brows as he looks back towards your retreating form.

Were you going to be ok?

————————————————————————

Sorry for the long response back!

Also it occurred to me that now, Malleus will barge into any room if his Baby Sibling was in danger, or just called out to him lol. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this!

[jimvasta]

Humans and their pets

The sentient races of the universe have just about started to get their heads, or approximate similar in function body parts, around the odd nature of humans but only recently have humans begun to bring other Earth creatures into space with them.

“Don't worry about Fluffy, he's totally ship trained.” the human designated Bradley spoke with frightening casualness about the creature sat at his side. It's muzzle was level with his hips and it's forward facing eyes showed it had predator history just as much as humans did.

“It has fangs.” Captain Mota'tog was unimpressed. The permissions were correctly stamped on the file and yet such a creature hardly appeared inoffensive.

“He does not, he's not poisonous. Of course some of his teeth are sharp, he's an omnivore.”

“He's a hunter.”

“He mostly hunts biscuits. He'll scavenge in the canteen from anyone soft enough to feed him. He's a certified well-being dog. People stroke him, he's got really soft fur, it makes them feel better. Look, he's wagging his tail, it means he likes you.”

Mota-tog whistled uncertainly.

“Oh wow!” One of the human engineers arrived at the airlock and dropped her bag as she stared at the dog. “So cute!”

Fluffy jumped round, tail wagging furiously, nuzzling in as the woman buried her hands in his warm soft fur.

“You are totally gorgeous. You're so fluffy and beautiful, you're like a little polar bear. You're here to stay, yes you are.” the woman happily baby talked to the dog who was more than half her size.

Bradley looked at the Captain and indicated. “See. Dogs make us happy.”

“You do all the care for it.”

“Of course.”

There were some false starts with the rest of the crew who were not so trusting of the huge pack hunter in their midst, but over the next few months they slowly learned to trust that the worst he would do was beg for food off their plates at meal times. Some of the braver aliens even began to pet him.

Then an alarm sounded.

Everyone raced to their emergency stations.

Bradley was in the cargo hold, his duty was to check the cargo was safe and secure.

He had quickly trained Fluffy to sit in a corner out of the way. It kept him safe in case anything shifted. The last thing he wanted was for his pet to get hurt by moving cargo.

The clang of magnetic grabs was deafening.

The alert was for a boarding raid.

Pirates.

Bradley cracked his knuckles and picked up a pry bar.

Through the rest of the ship there were varying degrees of panic.

A few of the other species could fight but most looked to the humans, having learned the way they fought when cornered and knowing their best hope to survive was to stay back and wait for the screaming to stop.

“What the fuck is that?!” the shout was shock and outrage. More anger than fear in the moment.

Crouching as it came through the main airlock was a creature taller and broader than anything else on the ship.

“Star spirits preserve us,” Mota'tog whistled. “A Batath.”

“It's a bloody troll is what it is.” Martins snapped.

Everyone froze as they heard the snarling and growling.

It was not coming from the Batath.

Fluffy arrived at speed and leapt, not caring can his opponent was huge. His fur was already matted with the blood of pirates and this was just another opponent.

The humans charged.

The Batath could only concentrate on one enemy at a time, it was used to picking off creatures as they ran, not fighting them off as something had its teeth deep around a knee trying to rip it apart.

The pirates ran when the Batath fell and the gore covered humans turned to face them.

Bradley let himself drop to the deck. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Good boy, Fluffy.”

Mota'tog shook his feathers as he watched the dog go back from snarling killing machine to placid fuss receiver. “I swear to the spirits, all Earth creatures are insane.”

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[shapelytimber]

Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.