#but i completely forgot to write it that way

[hangmanwrites]

your personal kryptonite ━ clark kent

dedicated to ━ @frivolousimagination because she’s the one who convinced me to post this ridiculous filthy mess even though i was being a coward about it, love u bestie, this one’s for you!! word count ━ 3.4k words pairing ━ clark kent x fem!reader content warnings ━ smut, mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it irl unless you’re also dating superman), soft dom clark, praise, overstimulation, crying during sex (in a hot way), emotional support himbo vibes, aftercare, romantic filth, gentle but devastating author's note ━ this is only my second time writing smut so please be kind to my fragile little writer brain, i’m still figuring it out one emotionally unhinged paragraph at a time, but i really hope you enjoy it anyway and fall a bit in love with soft filthy clark, too. masterlist read here ━ we have a little discord server if you want to talk about david corenswet, clark kent, or anything in between. it’s a cosy community where we spiral together, share ideas, and help each other out with fic writing too. everyone’s welcome to join as long as you’re over 18. minors are not allowed, sorry loves!! 🩵

Today was a shitty day.

Work treated you like you were some sort of animal, not even a real person, just this empty thing people could toss problems at and expect answers from, like your brain was some kind of machine that didn’t glitch or ache or hit its limit after hours of passive aggression and sugarcoated threats and stupid bloody spreadsheets that kept crashing for no reason. 

You’d barely managed to get through lunch without biting someone’s head off, and you did snap at a printer, which definitely made at least one intern scared of you forever, but honestly, at this point, let them be scared. 

Let them think you’re heartless, because you can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep pretending it’s fine, that you’re fine, not when the train made you late and the rain soaked your socks and some stranger told you to “smile more” like that was going to fix your entire nervous system spiralling into self-destruct mode.

You almost didn’t come, almost got off at your usual stop and went home to cry into the same pillow that’s soaked up too much already this month, but the thought of being alone felt unbearable, like your body might shut down if you didn’t see him.

So now you’re outside his flat, fingers aching from gripping your keys too tight, throat thick with everything you can’t name, and the second he opens the door—

It’s over.

Your whole posture collapses like your spine forgot what holding you up looks like, like his face was the final straw, and suddenly he’s right there, stepping forward like you’re made of something delicate, like he knew before you said a single word that something was wrong, and he doesn’t hesitate and just pulls you into his chest with both arms, firm and warm and steady, and it ruins you completely.

You don’t even get a chance to apologise, because he’s already holding you like you’re not a burden at all, just tired, just human, and your fists are already curling into the front of his jumper like it’s the only thing keeping you standing upright.

And you can feel your breathing hitch against him, feel that awful stutter in your chest like a sob is waiting to break free and you hate it, you hate it so much, but he just keeps whispering, quiet and careful and close to your ear, It’s alright, I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you.

And he does, one arm wrapped firm around your back as though he’s trying to hold you together by force, the other hand steady at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair in slow, soothing motions as though he knows exactly where the panic lives and how to quiet it without being told. 

He sways with you gently, barely a movement but enough to keep you present, enough to remind your body that time is still passing, that you’re still here, still held, still safe in his arms even if the rest of the world spent the entire day trying to convince you otherwise.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or question or try to coax anything out of you, he just stays there with you. He’d done this before, he’d memorised the shape of your silence and knows how to sit inside it without making it about him. 

When you finally manage a full breath, not the shallow, uneven things you’d been taking all day but an actual proper inhale that lifts your chest and makes your shoulders fall, his hand presses gently against your back as if to say I felt that, I see it, you’re doing so well.

“Come here,” he says, soft and certain, and you follow him instantly, still clutching his sleeve, still a little folded into yourself, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just guides you through the flat with both hands at your waist as though you might vanish if he lets go.

He sits you on the edge of the bed and crouches in front of you without hesitation, his hands on your knees, thumbs brushing slowly over your tights in a way that doesn’t ask for anything, and when he looks up, his eyes are so impossibly kind it nearly undoes you again, not because he pities you, but because he doesn’t, because he’s really looking at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, gently, carefully, as if the question is something he’s laying at your feet rather than pressing into your hands, “Or do you just want quiet?”

You shake your head, not sure which one you’re saying no to, not sure it even matters, because he nods anyway, as though a quiet understanding in the way he leans forward and presses a kiss to your knee, soft and lingering.

Then he kisses you again, a little higher, just above the edge of your skirt, and his hands slide to your hips, not in a greedy way, not in a way that demands anything, just a presence, just a reassurance, just him reminding you that he’s here.

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice lower now, gentler, as though you might fall apart if he speaks too loud, “Then we’ll just sit. You and me.”

You nod, barely, just once, and maybe he thinks that’s it, that you’ll stay still and let the quiet carry you, but your hands are already reaching for him, moving like they’ve been waiting all day for permission, and the second your fingers thread through his hair, your whole chest twists, as though something in you finally dares to ache now that he’s here to hold it.

He doesn’t pull away, just lets you tug him into the space between your legs where you’re still curled on the bed, and your mouth finds his before you’ve even had time to think, messy and eager and a little too much, as though your body’s just trying to survive through contact.

He kisses you back like he’s been waiting for it, like this is exactly what he hoped would happen the second you walked through the door, and it’s slow at first, careful, as though he doesn’t want to take anything from you that you’re not ready to give, but the way you’re pulling at him makes it impossible to keep it gentle.

You know he feels it too, the way the air thickens around you the second you tilt your head and open your mouth for him, the way his hands tighten on your hips as though he needs something to hold or else he might break apart entirely.

It’s not perfect, not neat or delicate or slow-burn cinematic, it’s messy and damp and hungry, and the exhaustion still clings to your limbs, the rawness of the day still presses at your skin, but none of it matters, not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only place he wants to be, not with that heat building low in your belly every time his thumb finds your waist or his tongue brushes yours just right.

You’re not trying to start anything, but the way he groans when your nails scrape the back of his neck pulls something up from deep in your chest that has nothing to do with sadness and everything to do with want.

You press in closer, tighter, chest flush to his, legs drawing him in, and you don’t stop kissing him because you don’t know how else to ask for more.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice rough now, ragged around the edges like he’s barely holding onto restraint, forehead pressed to yours, “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage, I—”

“Please,” you whisper, too fast, too breathless, too much, but you don’t care, you’re already chasing his mouth again before he can finish the sentence, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in, and he lets you, because it’s Clark and he always does, and his lips are back on yours before either of you can think.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or take more than you’re ready to give, just kisses you with that quiet, steady focus that makes your whole chest tighten, his mouth slow against yours, his hands firm and careful even when they slide under your thighs to lift you into his lap, holding you close like it’s second nature.

You shift slightly, just enough to feel the heat of him pressed between your legs, and the sound he makes is low and helpless, his hands gripping at your hips like he’s trying to keep control, and for a second he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, and there’s no rush in it only that same quiet awe in his expression.

When he leans in again, he doesn’t go for your mouth, not yet, just presses a kiss to your jaw, then your throat, then just under your ear, each one slow and unbearably tender, and when he whispers, “You’ve had such a hard day.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses you again, quiet and steady, as if he knows you’ll try to brush it off and doesn’t want to let you.

His hands move lower, sure and careful, fingers sliding beneath your underwear like he’s done it a hundred times, not from habit but because he knows you now, knows how to move without asking for more than you’re ready to give, and when he pulls the fabric down your legs, you lift your hips for him without needing to be told.

And when he sees you, really sees you, he exhales like it knocks the breath out of him, low and quiet and almost reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him in.

“God,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath, hands sliding up your thighs to part them, not rough, not rushed, just steady, grounding, and when he sees how wet you already are, he doesn’t say anything else just leans in and licks into you like it’s all he’s needed all day.

It’s filthy, right from the first slow pass of his tongue, so deliberate it pulls a whimper straight from your throat before you can even think, and you can’t hold it in, not when it’s not just his mouth.

Your thighs twitch, your hips shift, and you’re gripping the duvet in tight fists just to stay grounded, but he just keeps licking into you, slow and deep and steady, as though this is the only thing that matters.

And when you moan his name, helpless and breathless and wrecked, he groans back into you, fingers digging in just a little harder, and it’s not for show, it’s him, it’s real, it’s yes, that’s it, let me have it without saying a word.

Then his hand slides back down, his fingers warm and slick when he pushes two of them inside you, slow but sure, like he’s done this in his head a hundred times, and the stretch is so good it knocks the breath from your lungs, makes your hips jolt into his mouth, and he groans low and keeps going, his fingers working you open as his mouth stays right there.

And you can feel your climax building already, hot and unbearable and close, because it’s him, Clark, on his knees, giving everything, and you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

You say his name again and it’s not a choice, it just happens, your mouth moving before your brain can catch up, because everything’s gone fuzzy, because your body is too full to hold anything else, and he hums in response, pleased and steady and so full of love it makes your chest ache all over again.

His palm presses firm to your lower stomach, and his voice comes soft and ruined against your cunt as he says, “Let go for me, baby, I’ve got you, it’s okay, just let me have it, come on.”

And you do, God, you do, it hits you hard and fast and so deep you don’t even realise you’ve stopped breathing until it all rushes back at once, and your body’s jolting up into him without warning, a helpless thing. Every muscle snapping tight and letting go all at once, and your thighs are shaking around his shoulders and your fingers are pulling hard in his hair and he just groans, low and hoarse and wrecked.

He slows down, keeps his tongue soft and steady and lets you fall apart in his mouth, lets you ride it out with his hands holding you still, one on your thigh and the other pressing down gently on your stomach.

You’re shaking, breathless, too far gone to speak, not a single thought in your head beyond the crashing release still flooding your chest and hips and thighs, and your hands are still in his hair, and when he finally lifts his head it’s slow.

His mouth is red, his eyes unbearably soft, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. He’s flushed and wrecked and breathing hard, but he still smiles when he sees you staring at the ceiling like your mind hasn’t caught up yet, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush your hair back, voice low and hoarse when he asks, “Are you alright?”

You nod, or something close to it, and he seems to understand. Then he leans down, kisses your hip, your stomach, the centre of your chest, soft and slow and steady, like he’s still trying to take care of you even now. 

Your throat tightens all over again, because it’s him, and he’s still looking at you like you’re a miracle.

His mouth moves higher, kissing along your collarbone and neck, and his hands slide back up your thighs, hot and unshaking, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. 

You can feel it in the way he breathes, in the way his body holds still like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You feel him now, still hard, still clothed, the shape of him pressed to your thigh, and you can’t help it. Your hips roll, slow and greedy, your body answering before your head can catch up. 

He groans into your skin, low and deep, and you feel him falter, feel him fight not to lose it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, quiet and hoarse and almost dazed, and it’s not a complaint, it’s reverent, it’s full of disbelief that he gets to have you like this, that he gets to stay here, and then he’s sitting up just enough to tug off his shirt and undo his belt, one handed.

And you watch him, still flushed and sensitive, still sore in the best way, but your legs spread for him automatically because your body wants this, wants him, wants to feel him everywhere, and when his trousers hit the floor and you finally get to see the full, desperate shape of him, flushed and thick and twitching with how hard he is. 

You swear under your breath because it’s obscene, it’s not fair, he’s so beautiful, and he just kneels between your legs like he belongs there.

He leans down to kiss you again, mouth still messy from everything he did to you, and you moan into it, half from the taste of yourself on his tongue and half from the way his cock presses right up against you, not pushing in yet, but it’s hot and heavy against your overstimulated cunt.

Your body jolts with it, and you hear yourself whimper, and he shushes you softly, forehead pressed to yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, not because he doesn’t know, but because he needs to hear it, needs to be sure, always so careful even when he’s wrecked and seconds from losing it completely.

You nod again, this time more definite, more desperate, and you whisper, “Please,” and that’s all it takes.

He pushes in so slowly you can feel every inch of it, feel every thick, aching stretch of him as he fills you, deeper than you thought anyone ever could, thick and hot and perfect, and you’re already gasping before he’s fully seated, already clutching at his back with both hands as your body adjusts, 

“You feel—” he starts, and then cuts himself off with a soft, broken noise, and presses a kiss to your throat as his hips roll forward, just enough to make you whimper, and he whispers, “So warm, sweetheart, so soft, you feel incredible.”

And then he moves for real, pulls back just enough to drag the whole length of himself out of you before sliding in again slow and deep, and your mouth falls open because it’s filthy, the sound of it, the slick, obscene drag of his cock inside you, your body taking him like it’s what it was made for, and Clark’s still breathing like he’s trying to survive it.

Clark sets a rhythm, gentle but full, grinding deep into you with every stroke, his hips tilting just right to press against that spot inside you that makes your thighs twitch and your stomach clench.

And every time he finds it again, again, he murmurs something soft into your skin, “There you go, That’s it, I’ve got you,” as though he’s guiding you somewhere, as if your body is answering him and he’s proud of it.

And it is so much, the stretch of him, the wet slide of your bodies moving together, the way your slick is dripping down your thighs now, messy and shameless, and Clark can feel it, can hear it, and instead of shying away from it he groans softly into your neck, presses his hand flat against your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, and says, breathless and stunned, “You’re so beautiful like this, I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how this feels.”

His voice is wrecked, soft and rough as he shudders above you, fingers finding your clit with slow, careful circles that make your whole body jerk beneath him. He doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking you deep and steady, every thrust dragging right through you, and your legs are shaking, your hands clutching at him just to stay grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth, kissing you slow, “I’ve got you, I promise, just let go for me, sweetheart, please—”

And you do. It hits hard and hot, your body locking tight around him as everything breaks open, and you cry out without words, just Clark, just need, and he holds you through all of it, kissing your face, whispering soft things you can’t even process through the pleasure.

And he’s still inside you when it fades, still thick and hard and throbbing, just watching your face with the kind of awe that makes you ache all over again, and when you finally open your eyes, blinking up at him with wet lashes and parted lips, he leans down and kisses you one more time, deep and slow and full of everything he hasn’t said yet.

“You’re alright?” he asks, and he’s flushed and wrecked and still holding back, and you nod, still breathless, still clenching around him, and his whole body shudders again.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he admits, so softly it makes your heart twist, “You feel too good, I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you—”

But you’re already pulling him closer, because he needs it, because he’s holding himself so carefully, still buried in you and barely moving, arms shaking and jaw tight like it’s taking everything not to fall apart.

You press your hands to his face, tilting his head until he looks at you, and the second his eyes meet yours, something in you snaps again, because he’s beautiful and he’s yours and he’s waiting.

You don’t have to speak. He sees it in the way you nod, in the way your hands cradle him, in the way your thighs pull him in.

And he exhales, shaky and wrecked, and leans into your touch like he’s been waiting for it, and he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, barely audible, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say, and it’s not breathless anymore, not messy or chaotic, it’s just soft, steady, honest, because you mean it, because you know him, and you know he never could.

He starts to move again, slow and deep and careful, as if he’s trying to memorise how you feel now that he’s allowed to. It’s not rushed anymore, just warm, just full of that unbearable closeness that only he ever gives you, and when your body clenches around him he groans, low and reverent.

Clark kisses you again and again, mouth soft on yours, whispering between breaths, “So good, I’ve got you, I’m right here,” and it’s never really about him, not even now, not even with his hips starting to stutter and his hands gripping tighter like he needs to hold on to something real.

And when it happens, when he finally lets go, you feel all of it; the shake in his thighs, the rough sound in his throat, the way his mouth drops open against your cheek and you hold him through it, hands in his hair, whispering his name just to let him know you’re here.

He groans your name like it’s the only word he knows, and he spills into you with his face tucked into your neck, his entire body trembling as though he’s never felt anything like this before, as though this moment, this warmth, this love, is undoing something in him he never thought could be undone.

When it’s over, his hips still and his breath evens out, and he doesn’t move. He stays close, chest to chest, mouth pressed to your skin like he’s not ready to let go, and you lie there with him in the quiet, holding each other, breathing slow and steady, hearts still racing in sync, and you know you’ve never been loved like this before.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, tangled and quiet, your legs still around his hips, his arms still tight around you like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you would fall apart if he stopped holding you like this, so gently, so steady, like he’s keeping you from breaking again.

When you finally shift, just enough to breathe deeper, he follows without question, tucks his face into your neck and sighs. Quiet and warm and full of peace, as if something inside him has finally gone still.

It’s a mess, all of it, your bodies sticky, your thighs still shaking, your heart beating too fast to keep up with your thoughts, but you don’t care. Not when his hand keeps stroking slow across your back like he’s soothing something deeper than skin, not when his mouth keeps finding your shoulder in soft kisses that feel more like promises than habit.

You should say something, maybe thank him or laugh or breathe properly, but all you can do is hold him tighter and hope he gets it. Hope he hears it in the way your fingers stay in his hair, in the way your forehead presses into his cheek, in the way your breathing finally begins to settle, not calm, but easier. 

And the thought hits you, not all at once but slowly, creeping in through the quiet like a truth you’d been ignoring until now;

Kryptonite could kill him, sure, it’s the one thing strong enough to bring him down, the one weakness he can’t hide, but Clark Kent on his knees, hands steady and tongue slow and eyes so full of love it breaks you, that might just kill you first.

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. chapter one

⠀☆ SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

contains. mentions of past cheating, a lot of pop culture references and just very meta, alcohol consumption, cat and mouse dynamic a little

notes. it's been 87 years... i actually did finish writing this chapter two months ago, but i really didn't like it so i tried to go at it a few different ways, and ultimately i've just decided to post it as is (kind of a mess). but im curious to know how y'all feel about it, i really hope y'all like it! it will get better from here i promise ^^ also, dw i am working on requests (and more) currently!

taglist. @wosolipa, @syraxsbigfanfr, @jieysiee, @enchantingesme, @faeriehwa, @cowboybueckers, @everyonewatchesuconnwbb ( tysm for the support ♡ if you'd like to be added comment or send an ask! )

word count. 3.45k

los angeles, california.

this is utterly pathetic, spencer knows, but she can’t bring herself to care.

she digs her spoon further into the fudge brownie ice cream, scooping up a hefty chunk before shamelessly shoveling it into her mouth. she doesn’t care if any of it drips onto and stains this designer–italian–whatever sofa, either. after surviving what officially has been the worst year of her life— publicly humiliated, cheated on, and, surprise! the other woman is your best friend— she feels she’s earned the right to spend her couple days of downtime wallowing.

she’s halfway through her pint of ben & jerry’s and a few hours into a buffy the vampire slayer binge–watch when her phone buzzes against her leg.

leela 🫶 : sis get up u gotta see this leela 🫶 : it’s about you 💀

the notification sound chimes again, followed by a link. spencer narrows her eyes, already prepared to see another brain–dead take on her personal life or completely made up blind item when she clicks on it.

it’s a tiktok, some promo thing the dallas wings did with their players ahead of the season. “this or that: music edition”, the colorful text on the screen reads. whoever’s behind the camera goes up to several of the players, asking them to choose between different artists— drake or kendrick, taylor or beyoncé, that kind of thing. spencer’s brain is already half–way checked out before she hears:

“okay, spencer mckenzie or taissa rey?”

because of course. just messy.

spencer told her self she wouldn’t engage with content comparing her and her former best friend anymore— it’s stupid, self–destructive, and just bad for her brain— but it’s honestly still vindicating to see so many of the players pick her. she actually feels her chest tighten, a little. she’d been so caught up in negative headlines and the drama of it all, she almost forgot that there are people that still like her. still choose her.

and then the video cuts to her.

paige bueckers.

national champion, recent uconn alum, dallas wings star, ridiculously hot paige bueckers. of course, spencer’s seen her before— years ago at her dad’s camps when she would tag along, at games when she still had the time to drop in and catch them in person, all over her for you page in what has to have been hundreds of unabashedly thirsty edits more recently. and if one or two of said edits happen to be saved in her favorites folder, that’s between her and tiktok hq.

she looks good in this video, too, with her hair pulled back into a low bun and blue eyes catching the lighting in the gym just right, lips already curved in a half–smirk before she hears the question. her toned arms are on full display in her wings practice jersey, biceps inadvertently flexing as her arms cross over her chest.

for some reason, spencer finds herself holding her breath as she awaits the blonde’s answer, hand suspended mid–air, still holding a spoonful of ice cream.

but paige doesn’t even hesitate before going: “taissa, easy.” she nods definitively. “that spencer song is lowkey overrated.”

the video is onto the next topic before spencer can even fully register it.

she stares at her phone screen, blinking dumbly. sits up. rewinds. watches it again.

and again.

“overrated?” she mutters aloud.

her phone buzzes again. leela, of course.

leela 🫶 : like ??? leela 🫶 : does she need that... leela 🫶 : why's she kinda fine tho 🤫

spencer snorts and taps on the little text bubble icon, opening the comment section. she’s curious, is all. she can’t be the only one sensing the shade in that answer.

most are from fangirls thirsting and keyboard–smashing over how good paige looks in the video, but there are a few in between those coming to spencer’s defense. flopissa over spencer is crazy, one says. paige’s taste in music is usually elite what happened here, reads another.

she keeps scrolling, further and further down, until she’s wading into the comment section abyssal zone. the ones that have barely and likes and poor grammar.

and then she gets a stupid idea.

spencer : would it be messy if i like said something leela 🫶 : girl yes leela 🫶 : do it 👀

that’s all the encouragement spencer needs to switch back to tiktok and start typing.

she doesn’t give herself the time to overthink it. her thumbs flit across the screen, writing out the first thing that comes to mind:

@spencermk_official ✓ : damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she hits send.

there’s a brief moment of silence— her show is still playing in the background, buffy’s in the middle of chasing down some vampire— before she lets out a groan and flops backwards into the cushions. that’s nearly eight months of counseling down the drain, for one measly comment.

she doesn’t know, yet, if she regrets it.

it even doesn’t matter, because within seconds, her phone is buzzing again. she flips it over, watching as a flurry of notifications begin to take up her lockscreen, hundreds of likes and replies already.

CLOCK IT.

“uconn solidarity” IM SCREAMINGGG

not paige getting a notice before azzi and caroline 😭😭

pls paige don't have internet...

oop! @paigebueckers

she can’t help it— the corners of her mouth twitch up into a little smile.

is this petty? absolutely. is she being messy for no reason? well, yes.

but it’s also really fun. and spencer can’t remember the last time she truly found anything fun.

dallas, texas.

the sun is doing the absolute most today.

paige yanks her car door open and tosses her duffel bag and sneakers into the back seat with a huff. sweat’s already beading on her skin, rendering her post–practice shower pointless.

of all the things she expected she’d miss about connecticut, she didn’t think the cold would be one of them. this texas heat is on a whole other level.

she swipes the back of her hand across her forehead and shuts the back door, sighing in relief when she slides into the driver’s seat and the air conditioning hits her skin. she can’t remember the last time a practice left her feeling this spent in college. she just sits there for a second, basking in the cool air, letting herself melt into the seat.

limbs still feeling like jelly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, hoping that her friends back in storrs or drew, even if it’s just him bugging her about sending him money for v–bucks again, texted while she was in practice.

instead, the second she turns off do not disturb mode, she’s hit with what has to be hundreds of notifications from socials, all unfurling onto her screen at once— tags, replies, reposts. her eyebrows furrow, and she clicks on the first one she sees.

it’s one of the videos from media day, cropped to just her quick answer and posted by a women’s basketball update page on twitter. paige snorts. this is what’s blowing up? she scrolls a little further. a screenshot.

damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she stares at it for a second. then laughs— half–surprised, half–impressed.

okay. she got her there.

paige wasn’t really thinking about whether or not spencer’s music was actually good— or any of the tabloid drama that went down last summer, for that matter— when she gave her answer. just that azzi was obsessed with her album when it first dropped, and played it so much it drove paige crazy. it took her weeks to get that “i don’t want him anyway, girl, take him” hook out of her head.

maybe ‘overrated’ was a little harsh. and, okay— in the moment it may have slipped her mind that spencer’s dad is literally a husky legend. but in her defense, she didn’t think that she would even see the tiktok, let alone actually say something.

now, the internet’s in chaos. on twitter, her mentions are full of her own fans teasing her for getting “clocked” or accounts with display names like spencer’s cupcake telling her to “stay mad, jobless”. on tiktok, there’s already memes and edits being made. she opens safari, and fucking tmz has just posted an article with a crazy sensational headline about it.

paige just can’t go out like this.

her fingers are already moving, pressing the ‘+’ icon to draft a new tweet. spencer’s image is vivid in her mind— bronze skin, hazel eyes, long honey blonde hair, an insane body— as she types. it doesn’t take her long to come up with something at all.

@paigebueckers1 ✓: my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

tweet sent. a grin tugs at paige’s lips.

instantly, the replies come rolling in.

PLOT TWIST?!

oh she wants that cookie so effing bad 😭😭

can’t even judge bc if spencer’s fine ass acknowledged me i’d try to slide too

ur taste in women >>> ur taste in music

flirting on main with paul mckenzie’s daughter… if this works y’all gotta get married in gampel with geno officiating or smth

paige chuckles softly as she reads a few of them, before shaking her head and tossing her phone into the passenger seat.

there, she thinks, as she starts her car. solidarity restored.

spencer doesn’t even have twitter installed on her phone. it was the one app she felt she could live without after returning to social media from her months–long break last year, due to the overwhelming toxicity at the time. the thing about twitter, though, is that it’s toxic all the time; she was more than happy to continue paying someone else to deal with that.

however, she’s quick to re–download it after receiving texts from both leela and her manager at the exact same time, urging her to check the app immediately.

conveniently, the tweet is the first thing to pop up on her timeline right under the for you tab— literally, in this case.

my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

spencer’s been in the public eye since she was in diapers. she was only three when cameras were being shoved into her face while she sat courtside in her mother’s lap at heat games, sixteen when she signed her first record deal. she’s no stranger to drama— in fact, after last summer, she considers herself to be a well–versed expert on the matter.

but never has anyone responded by flirting.

she doesn’t like the way it’s making her feel. she’s supposed to be cooking up an instagram story with her riaa record plaques posed conveniently in the background, not smiling uncontrollably at her phone and blushing like an idiot.

what the hell does spencer even say to that? despite the persistent tingling in her stomach, she can’t just fold.

looking at the replies, though, the fans are obviously eating it up. the tweet is nearing fifty thousand likes, and they’re all tagging spencer, encouraging it. they’ve even started calling them ‘spaige’.

she’s not going on a date with paige bueckers, but it can’t hurt to play along.

bottom lip tugged between her teeth, she taps the quote retweet button, typing out her reply.

@spencermckenzie ✓: stream greedy and i’ll think abt it

it’s the first activity on her page that wasn’t obviously scheduled by pr since last august. the fans swarm it within seconds, racking up double the amount of likes on paige’s initial tweet in only a fraction of the time.

she refreshes the tweet a few times, reading the replies and giggling at the ones that are actually funny, but stops herself when she realizes that there’s a specific reply she’s waiting on.

ugh. she needs to get a grip.

she clicks her phone screen off and sits it face down on the countertop. what was she even doing before this— right. skincare. she was getting ready for bed, doing her nightly skincare routine in her master bathroom.

looking at herself in the large mirror now, her cheeks are annoyingly rosy. she runs the tap, hoping that splashing her face with cold water will make the flush subside quicker and snap her out of whatever this is. she distracts herself, taking extra time lathering her fingertips in her expensive korean moisturizer and massaging it into her skin.

as soon as she’s done, though, spencer’s mind is wandering right back to blonde hair and blue eyes and that voice saying her name, even if it was to be rude. her hands are still wet as she grabs her phone, checking that dastardly app.

⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: anything for you, ma ⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: what sides you like?

attached to the reply is a video: paige, with glasses on, sitting in her car. spencer’s vocals and the melody she wrote play from the speakers— “greedy”, loud and clear.

it’s less then a minute of paige dancing along, shoulders bouncing, flashing the camera a crooked little grin.

it’s so stupid. everything— the video, the dancing, the petname. yet, a giggle still bubbles up out of spencer. simply being hot is one thing, but funny and devastatingly cute, too? that’s just not fair.

spencer’s going to leave it at this, she swears. she absolutely has to, before she makes a horny fool of herself for the whole world to see.

⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: hmmm… ⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: surprise me

one week later.

“did you see spencer’s look tonight?”

“ugh, yes. too good. i need her stylist’s number, like, yesterday.”

“i need a pic with her, my followers would die.”

paige’s head turns before she can stop herself. she doesn’t even know the two girls talking a couple seats down from her at the bar— influencers or models, if she had to guess just by looking at them— but now, the drink she just ordered is the last thing on her mind.

spencer’s here?

“your drink,” the bartender says, sliding her a dirty shirley temple— her second of the night.

paige nods her thanks, still half–distracted, taking the drink and turning to scan the crowd. the venue is packed with all these famous l.a. people, practically thumping with the bass of the music coming from the dj booth. she almost didn’t stay for the afterparty of the event since her flight back to dallas is so early, but in the end couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go out. azzi would call her irresponsible, but thank god for her discernment now, right?

paige has been meaning to talk to spencer since their little twitter back–and–forth, but the girl is impossible to get in touch with. she’d tried dm–ing, but all of spencer’s socials are set to mutuals–only, and she’s yet to follow paige back anywhere (ouch). tonight might be her only chance to shoot her shot— for real, this time.

she sips slowly, eyes combing the room. no spencer.

so, she asks around. not directly, but enough. mentions her name casually in a conversation with a stylist, brings her up when greeting a fellow athlete. eventually, someone tips their head toward the back— “saw her out on the balcony a while ago, with that leela girl.”

paige doesn’t know who leela is, but she vaguely recognizes the name— one of those tiktok or instagram get–ready–with–me girls with an insane amount of followers, or maybe an actress?

drink still in hand, paige makes her way through the crowd, sidestepping photographers and pr people and models trying to get her attention. the balcony doors are open, letting in warm california night air, and when she steps out—

there spencer is. leaning against the railing, laughing softly at something a dark–haired girl— leela, paige realizes— just said, her profile sharp in the soft glow of the skyline behind her. hair styled in loose waves and flowing down her back, collarbones on display, so beautiful that it makes paige’s pulse jump just a little.

she clears her throat. “spencer?”

spencer turns around at the sound of her name, lips parting slightly in surprise. the wind toys with a few strands of her honey–blonde hair as her expression flickers— recognition, confusion, amusement— before she settles into something that looks like guarded curiosity.

“oh,” she says, drawing the word out ever so slightly. “paige. hey.”

leela gives paige a once–over, then glances over at spencer, eyebrows raised like she can already sense the tension between them. “oh my gosh, is that doechii?” she says, suddenly, leaning dramatically to look into the party through the doors. definitely an influencer, paige deduces— there’s no way this girl acts professionally. “i’m gonna go talk to doechii— bye, spence!”

she turns to mouth text me to spencer and then she’s gone, returning to the party before spencer can protest. left alone, there’s a pause where paige and spencer are just looking at each other, before they both crack up at the absurdity of her friend’s exit.

“you’re hard to find, y’know,” paige is still smiling as she speaks, taking leela’s empty place beside spencer, her drink resting against the iron railing.

“didn’t know i had a stalker on the loose looking,” spencer says, quizzical. “aren’t you in season? what the hell are you doing in l.a.?” she asks, tilting her head.

“stalker is crazy,” paige laughs. “but yeah. still in the pre–season, technically. the event fit into my schedule, though, so i thought why not?” she shrugs. really, paige knows as soon as the pictures from tonight hit the internet, the tweets are all going to be how she isn’t actually dedicated to the game, which is why such and such is the better player— blah, blah, blah.

spencer nods, like that makes sense to her. “i’m guessing you didn’t track me down just to tell me my music sucks to my face, then?” she teases.

“nahhh. ion wanna get boo’d out of here,” paige quips, unfazed. “what’re you doing out here, anyways? not feeling the party?”

spencer makes a soft sound, gaze drifting out over the balcony, at the cityscape. “yeah, you could put it like that,” she says. “not really my thing lately.”

“well, for what it’s worth, you look great.”

those girls from the bar weren’t exaggerating. spencer is unreal, wearing a body–hugging black satin and velvet mini–dress, chunky gold jewelry, her skin glowy and shimmering in the city lights. paige lets her eyes roam, especially slow over her breasts that are pushed up by the dress— because damn— before she stops, reminding herself that staring is rude.

paige had somewhat gone on a deep dive last week, skimming spencer’s wikipedia page and scrolling through her instagram, but she swears not even the highest quality pictures online do justice to how gorgeous this girl is in person.

spencer raises a perfectly manicured brow. “no ‘ma’ this time?”

paige is a taken slightly aback at the mention of her tweets, but quickly recovers. she leans in, lowering her voice, “you look great, ma.”

spencer seems satisfied with that, if the way her eyes glint is any proof. “thanks. you look…” she pauses, eyes flicking over paige’s face, taking in her sharp cheek bones and blue eyes, the subtle gloss on her lips, the way her top is only partly buttoned, showing a sliver of her chest and the silver chains adorning her neck. “alright.”

paige huffs a quiet laugh. “shit, i’ll take it.”

“okay, fine. you look really good.” spencer smiles back, voice soft.

paige can’t stop smiling, even though her cheeks are starting to hurt. there’s this soft, fuzzy warmth blooming in her chest, stupid and sweet and an entirely too much over an interaction with someone she’s only just met.

“so, your friend,” paige says, feigning nonchalance, leaning against the railing. “y’all close?”

“leela? yeah. we’ve been friends for years.”

paige nods, pretending to focus on her drink, swirling the pink–ish red liquid around the glass. “cool, cool.”

sipping her drink, spencer smirks. “why? you jealous?”

paige breaks out into a grin. “a little. hard not to be when she gets to have you out here all to herself, looking like this.” she’s unabashed in the way she lets her eyes take in spencer’s form this time.

spencer rolls her eyes, and even though she obviously tries to fight it, she can’t help but break into a smile, shaking her head. there’s a pause where paige can tell the girl is pondering something until she finally speaks, “you know… you still owe me chick–fil–a.”

“i do,” paige intones playfully. “you tryna ditch?”

“there’s one a few blocks away,” spencer says all too casually. “we could probably walk.”

paige’s eyebrows shoot up. “wait, you’re serious?”

“mm–hmm,” she hums. “unless you wanna stay and party. i’m heading out either way.”

paige doesn’t have to be told twice.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Klaus Mikaelson x sister! reader? She's his twin. Just incest. Perhaps some angst because they didn't realize their feelings were not unrequited and they've been in love for all this time and they uses to sleep with people ressembling the other. Some smut would be fire ❤️‍🔥

Thanks!!

1000 Years of Look-a-Likes -Klaus x Twin Sister

Klaus overhears his sister in her bedroom with some frat guy and he hates it like he always does-except this time is different…this time he hears his Twin sister call out his name…

Anyone that really knows me will tell you I Love writing KlausxTwin sister smut.

Warning:Incest Fic

@kennedyweagle @autisticadult @xtwistedchaosx @gl-06 @writer-ann-artist @perla434 @jayyeahthatsme @elaenormikaelson1922

Quite a few people were waiting a long time for this (which I’m sorry for but I wasn’t going to publish this until it was right) so I hope you love it-Leave me a comment and let me know your thoughts

Fic Moodboard

Klaus was sat in the loveseat with a glass of bourbon on the table beside him, completely untouched. He had been staring at the fireplace for the last 2 hours just trying to process what he had heard.

He had come home early from a date, well…a drop dead sexy women he had met at the bar they had both been in. It was only now as he sat in his study that he realized how much that beautiful women had looked like Y/n.

Klaus loved his sister, everyone did, but he loved her the most and he made sure everyone knew it! She was his twin, His Person, the only one who ever truly understood him and in 1000 years of this life he had always made sure no one could ever hurt her…he loved her too much.

She loved him too. She was the only person whose love Klaus never once doubted in their thousand years of undead life…now however…he wondered if he was all wrong about how much she loves him…?

He had come home to loud screams of ecstasy and he had always hated this. Walking into the house to find Y/n had brought home someone for her bed. She wasn’t Rebekah (thank the Gods), she didn’t love any of them, but he had always hated hearing these strange men bring his sister pleasure-pleasure he knew he could bring her so much better! Ever since they had been teenagers he’d had feelings for his sister and he believes probably before that-before he really knew what sexual feelings were he still wanted to spend every moment of his life with her. He remembered when they were young and had seen their older brother Elijah kissing a girl that he’d had a crush on-Klaus had insisted that they be each others first kiss. He never forgot that moment that he felt his lips brush against hers and it felt so right even though he knew that their father would kill him if anyone ever found out. He never let any other boys near her-anyone willing to even try to court her was scared away instantly. It had gotten him beaten more than once by Mikael who wanted to marry Y/n off to one of the wealthier families and get a large amount of money for her but Klaus never allowed it. He couldn’t lose her-Not Her.

Now however, 1000 years later he is sat here still feeling the same ways, having spent all this time dreaming of her, bringing home women that looked like her and pretending but eventually the fantasy was always over…until now that is.

As he walked into his home earlier that night and passed his sisters room slowly he swore he heard his name. He froze, thinking he had been caught for listening to his lovely sisters perfect soft sounds that he had planned to use tonight to get himself off and pretend she was taking care of him like his twin always had in every way except the carnal way he’d always needed.

The name came once again but louder this time. His sister was saying his name…did she need him or…

‘Oh God Niklaus! Yes! Harder! Please, Please, harder?!’ She was begging him…she was riding the cock of some idiot she had picked up and she was pretending that it was him! Him with his hands all over her soft flesh, him with his mouth biting love marks into her breasts while she rides his cock!

His twin sister was imagining him the same way he imagined her, desperate to believe that the women who looked so much like his sister felt like she did too. Imagined it was her hands touching him, her breasts he was kissing, her pussy he was fucking his cock into and though the dream was wonderful, it was always so short lived…but now he knows that she wants him too.

He sank his fangs into his lower lip as he shoved his hand into his jeans, finding his stiff cock and being unable to hold back the whimper as he touched it. His cock had never once gotten harder faster than it did right now. Klaus could hear her breath and he timed his strokes with her, imagining her looking down at him as she rode him, his hips thrusting up into her and loving her desperate whines.

‘Please? So close Nik, fuck-‘ the disappointed whine that came from her throat a moment later was a sound he vowed that he would never hear again. This Asshole gets his hands on her, she allows him to touch her glorious body and he can’t even finish her off?! His cock was weeping, desperate for release as he listened at the door.

‘Fuck, you’re amazing! Never felt a tighter cunt-‘

‘Clearly…’ Klaus tried to keep his chuckle inside and he just barely did.

‘Give me 5 minutes and we can go again.’ Klaus was instantly ready to rip the door off the hinges when he said that but in his twins typical fashion he didn’t have to.

‘I don’t think so Brian-‘

‘It’s Brandon…’

‘And maybe someday when you make a girl cum, she’ll remember it. Get out.’ She growled and he had to restrain himself from walking into the room and ripping the idiot apart…no…no, Klaus had a better plan.

‘Seriously? I let you call me a different name in bed, the least you could do is go for round 2 you fucking bitch!’ He snapped. Klaus could feel his sisters annoyance as he moved to the other side of the door so the apparent frat guy wouldn’t see him as Klaus followed him down the stairs and grabbed his mouth, dragging him down into the basement.

Seeing Y/n later that evening was difficult as she interrupted his thought in the loveseat. Knowing that she wants him in the same way he has craved her their entire lives is beyond painful but he didn’t say a word.

‘Are you hungry Nikky?’ She asked him as she stood from the couch to go to the kitchen.

‘Not for food.’ He mumbled as his eyes trailed down her charcoal babydoll dress, her perfect legs exposed to his eyes-only 6 inches of fabric kept her panties hidden from him and he was determined to get rid of every inch of fabric touching her tonight.

‘Okay, I’ll get you a blood-bag.’ She smiled and he adored her sweet naïveté. Since their very beginning Klaus had always protected Y/n’s innocence, she was perfect and sweet, his twin sister that was his to protect and love. Y/n had always depended on him and looking back on their human lives, honestly it didn’t shock him that she was in love with him-he’d kept all of the boys away from her and told her that the only man that would ever love her would be him…he was in love with her, of course he’s going to make her dependent on him. How she had hidden it for so long though…that he didn’t understand.

She had a dark side, of course, she’s a Hybrid, but she saw the beauty in everything around her unlike her family and Klaus would kill everyone on the planet if it meant keeping Y/n her sweet little self.

‘I’m going to watch a movie. Why don’t you come and join me?’ Klaus offered, knowing his sweet girl always wants to be with him.

‘That sounds like fun!’ She grinned, skipping ahead of him with her juice and 2 blood bags. ‘Are you coming?’ She called back as he just stood there, watching her skirt flow as she moved, giving him several glances at her pretty pink panties. Klaus followed along, staying behind her so that he could peek up her skirt as they walked up the stairs, leaning forward and discreetly taking in the smell of her-his cock hardening even more at her sweet scent filling his nose.

She snuggled up into his side on his bed as he put on the horror movie, knowing she loves them and always enjoys hiding her face in his chest during them. After a few minutes he moved his arm to circle her waist, resting his fingers on her belly and waiting a few minutes until a jump scare to hold her tightly as she hid her face, his grip tightening and his hand now resting on her breast. He couldn’t wait more than a moment to move his hand and feel how perfect she was in his grip. She looked like she was about to say something when something jumped out again and she shrieked, hiding her face in his neck and allowing him to pull her body onto his lap.

‘N-Nik-‘

‘It’s alright Princess, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me, you’re always safe with me.’ He promised, tucking her hair behind her ear as she looked up at him. ‘Always.’ With that he leaned his head down and pressed his lips to hers for the first time since their human years. She hesitated only a moment before pressing her lips to his and moving to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand squeezed her waist before trailing up her body but as his tongue peeked from his lips to touch hers she gasped, pulling back and looking up at him.

‘We can’t-Nik, you’re-‘

‘I’m what? Your brother…Are you sure that matters to you?’ He asked disbelievingly and her eyes widened.

‘I don’t know what you mean-‘

‘I mean I heard you calling that frat idiot that you brought home earlier my name. You were begging for me-and how could I deny you? My perfect little sister, the love of my life? Let me have you baby, you know you want me to make you mine-you’re mine in every other way possible, now you’ll give me your perfect body as well.’ Klaus didn’t hesitate before pressing his lips back to Y/n’s, his hands trailing down her waist and finding the bottom of her dress just so he could rip the fabric up her body, presenting himself with her lace bra and panties as he removed the tattered dress. ‘God, you’re fucking gorgeous! Don’t you worry Princess, I won’t leave you needy like that fucking asshole did.’ He swore as he yanked his Henley over his head to expose his body to her. ‘Your big brother is gonna take such good care of you…’ He pressed his lips to hers quickly before grabbing hold of her panties and tearing them off to reveal her cunt to his eyes. ‘Fuck! Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen Princess…are you dripping like this all for me?’ The soft whimper she let out was adorable as she nodded her head and he took hold of her thighs to spread them apart as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her clit. Her hips jumped up as he did prompting his chuckle before he licked his tongue up her slit for the first time. ‘Fucking Hell! Why did we wait 1000 years for this?! God Princess, you’re fucking delicious!’ He swore as he began eating her pussy like a man possessed, his cock rock hard and throbbing as he tasted her.

Y/n was shocked by her brothers actions but she thoroughly enjoyed it. Her fingers quickly found his hair and held onto his curls as he ate her out. Y/n had dreamed of Niklaus doing this a million times in her life, pictured it being him over and over when she found someone that looked like him to give her a fun time but nothing could ever live up to the real thing and that was instantly clear. ‘Fuck! Yes! Don’t stop! Pl-Please Nik-Please?’ She cried, lifting her hips and tugging on his hair to get him exactly where she wanted before it was made clear how much he didn’t like that.

Klaus growled, his hand pressing down on her hip and pinning her lower body so that she could no longer move. He could tell his sister was used to being the strong one and now she wasn’t sure what to do. All she could do was let Klaus do as he wanted-not only was he the older twin but he was a male that had been turned into a vampire first. He would always be stronger than her-even if it wasn’t by leaps and bounds she would never beat him and she knew it.

‘Oh Fuck! Nik! Nik I-Oh God!’ Klaus immediately knew that he would never tire of hearing his sisters sweet cries.

‘You taste like Heaven Princess, I’m going to eat this pussy every fucking day!’ He kissed his way up from her pussy, ripping her bra off along the way and she was dazed as he kissed her neck. ‘I’m in charge now Baby, don’t you ever dare think otherwise, got that?’ She whined, pulling him closer before he had his hand around her throat. ‘Now, you can keep pushing at me and I will just use you for my own pleasure until I’m satisfied.’ Her eyes widened and she stopped squirming underneath him at his threat, knowing that he wasn’t joking. ‘That’s a good girl. Now, if you want to continue being good I will make you scream until your voice is gone and you pass out on my cock…I know you want to be my good girl baby. Just relax and let me have you.’ He urged her, meeting her eyes and holding her jaw to look at him as he pushes his cock into her tight hole, loving how her eyes dilate and her mouth falls open. ‘That’s right-fuck! Just where I was always meant to be. Your body was made for me.’ He swore, leaning down and kissing her, pulling her thighs around his waist tightly and rocking into her body steadily as he continues kissing her.

‘Always wanted to feel you on top of me.’ She mumbled against his lips, whining as he thrusts up particularly hard.

‘I’m sorry baby-Ah! I should have just fucked you a long time ago…Fuck!’ She was deliciously tight around his cock and he never wanted to stop rutting into her now that he’s started. ‘I’m never going to stop now Y/n-not fucking ever! Your brother is going to fuck your pretty little cunt for the rest of eternity!’

‘Never! Never Stop! Please Nikky?! N-Need your cock! Always needed you!’ She begged and Klaus knew that he would never get enough of his twin sister begging for his cock-the cock that he has jerked off with her in mind what must have been millions of times in their lifetime now.

‘How long have you been desperate for my cock, Y/n? Tell your brother!’ He demanded, slowing his pace to just barely giving her any pressure.

‘W-We were-Ah! Oh…don’t stop!’ He had no intention of stopping, however he would have his answer if she ever wanted to cum-prompting the warning growl as he thrust up painfully hard and gripped her throat in one hand firmly to pin her in place as his other hand was on her cunt, his fingers slowly teasing her clit as he waited expectantly and she knew it. ‘S-Sixteen! We were sixteen-Please?! Harder!’

‘Ah-Ah-Ah! What happened at sixteen, hmm? You hid this from me for 1000 years, I need to know-‘

‘And you didn’t?!’ She snapped, his head tilting as he growled. ‘You didn’t tell me either-how long have you wanted this? How many men have I fucked in our lives? Less than 100-and my twin brother the man whore fucked every woman in sight! What was I supposed to say?!’ His growl ceased as she snapped at him, knowing she was right.

‘I’ve always wanted you sister-always…I couldn’t risk losing you…I’m so sorry that I hurt you.’ He swore, leaning down and kissing her with as much love as he could show her, resting his forehead against hers.

‘Will it be just me from now on then? Because if it’s not then you can get off of me n-ughh!’ She choked as his hand squeezed down on her throat.

‘Don’t even start behaving like a brat-you’re mine now! If you even think about letting any other man anywhere near my pussy again I will strap you to this bed for the next 100 years!’ He warned, still rocking into her tenderly-feeling her pussy clench down on him as she came. He gasped, keeping himself from finishing as he felt her pussy squeezing him so perfectly and he was determined to see it happen again as he watched her eyes squeeze shut. ‘Such a perfect-tight little cunt! Fuck! You’re it for me Y/n-all I’ve wanted all my life and now that I have you I will never let go again-now answer me Princess! Sixteen…’

Her face flushed as she thought about it and he was even more invested in learning the answer. ‘I saw Elijah and Tatia together at the creek…she was riding him and I wanted to make you feel as good as she was making him feel-then you two started fighting over her-‘

‘We never fought over her!’ Klaus cut her off harshly, not willing to allow his precious sister to think for even a second that he ever had a thing for her. ‘Elijah caught me watching you bathe and he knew-he tried to find me another girl because he knew that father would have killed me-and he would have! He would have slit my throat if he knew how I watched you-how I lusted for you-how I held you against me and rutted against you at night…do you still want to make me feel good, Princess?’ He asked and she nodded instantly, whining as she clung to him tightly, Klaus turning them over so that he laid against the pillows and he set her to sit on his cock, Y/n taking him as deeply as he could shove himself. ‘Ride me Princess, move these slutty little hips!’ He demanded, smacking her ass hard and she did as he said, bouncing on him at an instantly almost inhuman pace. ‘Oh Fuck! Perfect little cunt! Gonna fill you so full of me! Is that what you want Princess, you want your slutty little hole stuffed full of your brothers jizz?’

‘Yes! Yes Nikky! Please?! Want to be full of you forever-wanted to give you babies!’ She admitted as she rode him harder and that sentence had his cock filling his twin with everything he could-the idea of filling his sister with his babies being a fantasy he never expected from her. ‘Oh Fuck! Yes! Niklaus-Fuck!’

Klaus’ face dug into her neck as he finished, his sister still squeezing his cock like crazy in the ends of her own orgasm as he rested his hand on her flat stomach. ‘You would have been so beautiful with my babies in your belly-I would have fucked you full of my babies over and over again! Such perfect little babies you would’ve given me, so precious just like their Momma.’

He didn’t pull out of her, not willing to leave her body yet when he rolled them over and snuggled into her as he had done a million times, only this time finally having his cock buried into her as he’s always dreamed of. ‘Tell me you’ll still be here when I wake up, Nikky?’

‘I’m never leaving you again Princess-the next thousand years will consist of nothing but this! We’re gonna make up for lost time, my love…sleep…you’re going to need it because your brother is gonna be fucking you All. Night. Long!’ He laughed, holding Y/n to him tightly and allowing himself to finally rest-his cock still buried inside of her body exactly where it belongs.

Klaus M. Masterlist

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Wrapped in pink

This idea came from this post thank you so much @askii-your-girly for letting me write this idea <3

A/N: gif isn't mine and this was written on my phone in the app so it might be messy 😅

Superman's weakness was Kryptonite but Clark’s weakness was always you.

You could always, somehow, get that man to say yes no matter what the situation was. That's how his Sundays ended up being scheduled as self-care days with headbands and face masks and takeout and a week's worth of ranting/gossiping being thrown at him. It's how he ended up watching movies like A Walk to Remember and The Fault in Our Stars, which he could totally handle, and totally not cry during, but its also how he agreed to watch The Exorcist and Halloween...movies he could totally not handle.

So really...it shouldn't be a surprise when he agreed to a pink bow being tied around him. Granted he was, and still is, confused by why it's tied around him.

"Babyyyy" you practically sang as you twirled the ribbon between your fingers. "I need your help with something my love." He was there in seconds. "How may I help darling?" If you werent so focused on the task at hand you would've teased him for saying may, noting the lack of teasing he knew this must've been serious.

"So there's this trend... It's so simple you don't even have to do a thing!" You presented the pink ribbon to him, "Let me tie this around you?" You ask a bit more timidly suddenly feeling silly about the whole thing. Clark nodded but then tilted his head like a lost puppy, "Wait isn't that a bit small? That won't go around me babydoll."

"But it will go around this..." you trailed off as you wrapped it around his bicep. "Oh." He mumbled before blushing, "Oh! Um...why? Why are we tying my bicep up?" He asked bright red as he watched you tie the neatest bow with the pink velvet fabric.

"Well it's a trend. People are showing off their big strong boyfriends and I don't know...it's cute." You shrugged, "its like my mark on you."

Clark felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of having your mark on him. Gosh your mark...on him...

"I'll never take it off." He says it completely seriously, making you laugh. "You can take it off after I take a few pictures Super I don't mind." Your assurance is met with a stern disagreement. "No way! You marked me darling this isn't coming off until you take it off."

However, his heart ached at the idea of you taking this silly little bow off of him. He let you take your pictures but then the house phone rang and he went off to answer it. Hours went by before you noticed the pink ribbon still wrapped around your boyfriend.

"Clark! Seriously you never took it off?" He shook his head, "I told you I wouldn't...But I honestly forgot it was there." His confession made you look at him in disbelief. "You're telling me...you were flying around in your suit and a pink ribbon all night? You-you fought that weird creature thing with that still on?" There was a bit of silence before he eventually said..."Well yeah."

You always knew you could get Clark to agree to almost anything but this...this really solidified the fact that Clark Kent, Superman, would do whatever you asked him to do.

Tagging:

@nomajdetective

@disillusioniary

@poltergeistsidekick

[starlostjisung]

from the coast with love

chapter three: a disaster in a fun way

wc: 6k

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the office buzzes faintly in the background, fingers tapping keys, your boss on the phone and the occasional burst of laughter from your coworkers.

not minho, of course.

you two sit across from each other in a war zone of passive-aggressive silence.

minho works in silence, drafting questions for your job the next day, his mind already polishing the front page of the newspaper. he mutters questions under his breath, testing out the words to see if they would get praised or torn to shreds.

you scroll through an old photo batch with a level of concentration that would have been reserved for surgeries or battle missions. your desk is littered with memory cards, photos stacked in small boxes and an untouched cup of coffee that is already cold.

you can feel minho glancing up ocasionally, but you let him be, not wanting to lose track of what you were doing.

“you missed focus on that shot”, minho suddenly tells you

you don’t even blink, “no, i didn’t. you just don’t know how to take photos properly”

minho snorts at you, “right, sorry, i forgot you invented photography”

“and i forgot you think writing a thousand words makes you shakespeare”, you interrupt him.

there is a tense pause between you. you glare at each other for a beat too long and then, you both go back to your screens.

click. clack. sip. the rhythm of your first day together in the office.

and you have one year to go.

by the end of the day, the newsroom has emptied out almost completely. only mr. park, minho and you are in the office.

you shove your laptop into your backpack with a little more force than necessary, like it had personally offended you.

minho is still sitting in his desk, writing the final questions of tomorrow’s interview. he’s typing loudly, like trying to make sure that you know he is still there.

like you could even forget.

you stop and look at him, his eyes not moving from the screen.

“do you usually type that loudly on purpose or is your ego trying to send a morse code message?”

minho doesn’t even look at you when he replies, “sorry, did i disturb your ritual of slamming things into your bag like an angry raccoon?”

“i’m multitasking”, you reply nonchalantly, “packing and trying not to hit you with my tripod”

he stops writing and looks at you. you both stay there, looking at each other, deadlocked by pure mutual dislike.

finally, you turn around and walk toward the door.

minho starts packing and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “i give it five days before you ask for one of my allegedly morse code messages”

you don’t stop walking, “i’d rather almost hit someone with my car, oh wait… i already did!”

minho lets out a humorless laugh, “have a magical night, leclerc”

“you too, shakespeare”

the door shuts behind you.

neither of you said goodbye.

the warm lightning of the café welcomes you as you step inside, the late afternoon casting a golden shade across the floor.

it is cozy. and loud. the boys never really understood the concept of “indoor voice”.

“look who finally decided to show up!”, says changbin from behind the counter.

“she’s late, but fashionably late”, adds seungmin, while pilling dishes next to changbin.

you roll your eyes and walk towards a stool that’s in front of the counter.

“guys, you will not believe who is the new journalist of my newspaper”, you tell them once you sit down.

han leans on the counter, arching an eyebrow, “if it’s your evil twin or a cult leader, we already had both of those covered”

“no”, you hit his shoulder and he yelps, “it’s the boy! the one i nearly ran over with my car the other day”

there is a beat of stunned silence, all of them staring at you with eyes open wide.

and then, they explode.

han lets out a wheeze and nearly falls off his stool. seungmin claps his hands to his face like he is physically trying to contain his joy. changbin almost drops a glass.

“you’re kidding”, changbin says, an incredulous look on his face.

“i wish”, you then bump your forehead against the counter, while letting out a sigh.

seungmin bumps changbin’s shoulder with his, “journalism just got a lot more entertaining”

you huff before you raise your head and look at them again, “mr. park has assigned us the music festival. we have to cover that. we start tomorrow”

“you’re screwed”, changbin says while he gives you your usual order.

han starts grinning like a madman, “i give it two weeks before you’re either best friends or making out in the storage room”

“absolutely not”, you say firmly, while pointing a finger at him, “there will be no… whatever that was”

“sure, sure”, han says turning away from you, “just don’t run him over again, that’s illegal”

you groan and drop your head into your hands, while your so-called friends continue laughing at you.

you wonder if minho is still in the office or if he has gone home already. you will see him tomorrow again, in some more than twelve hours. you realise that you’re thinking about him so you shake your head, as if doing that would keep him away from your thoughts.

you’re going to need something stronger than coffee.

the event space is already packed when you arrive. people walking from one place to another, speakers testing their mics, neighbours waiting outside trying to see something - or someone famous.

you spot minho immediately. he is already talking to the festival’s rep when he sees you and ends his conversation, walking towards you.

“you’re late”, he says once you’re next to each other.

“i’m early”, you shot back, “you’re just aggressively punctual, like a parking ticket”

“oh, so you know about driving?”, he offers you a tight, fake smile.

the festival’s rep walks towards you both, “we’ll begin in 10 minutes, you can go to the stage area now”

you both nod and follow him.

you set your camera up near the front. minho follows you and stands right in front of your camera, directly in your line of sight.

“yah! could you not block the stage?”, you ask him while crossing your arms.

he turns around and looks at you. he opens his mouth to reply something back to you but decides against it, so he closes his mouth and moves to your right side, your camera not covered anymore.

you prepare everything when you hear him tell you, “just don’t take my photo, though. i know what my likeness is worth”

“don’t worry. i have high standards when it comes to my subjects”, you don’t even look at him when he snaps his neck and looks at you with an upset look on his face.

you both stay like that, silently annoyed and ten inches apart until someone takes the mic and introduces the lineup. you snap a few photos while minho takes notes.

the press conference starts, and minho starts asking the questions he had prepared the day before.

annoying as he was, they were good questions.

he is clever and bright. questions sharp and voice steady. he doesn’t hesitate.

he’s irritatingly competent.

you continue snapping a few shots. minho watches you from the corner of his eye.

for once, you aren’t arguing with him, you’re just working, completely absorbed. every shot looked deliberate and precise.

he hated to admit it, but you weren’t just good.

you were damn good.

when the press conference finishes, the crowd begins to disperse.

minho turns to you and says, “i’ll need your best shots by four, so we don’t have to stay late today”

you blink, “do i look like your assistant or something?”

“no”, he says while he walks away from you, “you look like someone who needs to work on her time management”

you scowl and follow him, “and you look like someone who practices insults in the mirror”

a forced smile makes its way to his face and he turns to look at you, “i’m glad to see that we’re bonding”

you huff and walk toward the backstage area, to continue taking photos. as much as you hated being there with him, you had a job to do.

and so did he.

the worst part? this was only the beginning.

mr. park had been extremely happy with how the news about the music festival turned out. saying you two made one of the greatest teams he had ever seen.

you two couldn’t disagree more.

you assumed that you two would work together again when the festival took place at the end of the summer and that you would go back to normal - not working alongside minho you mean.

how wrong you were.

mr. park put you two together for another assignment.

and then another.

and another one.

until he told you both that you would be working together the whole time minho worked there.

together.

the two of you.

for a year.

you wanted to scream into a void. you felt a mix of dread and frustration. like all of it was a bad joke that wouldn’t end.

four weeks in.

eight assignments together.

and somehow, none of you had quitted or committed a felony.

yet.

you are crouched behind some bikes outside the community center, lining up a shot of the neighbourhood cleanup volunteers.

you are a bit frustrated because everything is awful. the lightning is not good enough. the wind keeps blowing dust and other things into your frame. and minho - who should be gathering quotes - is leaning against the wall just looking at you, like he had all the time in the world.

you lower your camera before looking at him, “are you going to interview someone or are you going to write based on vibes?”

“i’m just observing”, he says, arms crossed while he looks at you, “you wouldn’t understand, it’s a journalist thing”

you huff and raise your camera, snapping a photo of him just to spite him, “don’t worry, i’ll crop you out”

“try. that was my good side”

you roll your eyes and start walking towards the community center. once you’re closer, you set your camera again, focusing on the frame of the picture and making sure it is the way you want it to be.

you don’t notice minho watching you from behind you.

he watches how your expression shifts when you are focused, how you concentrate without even thinking. like the camera is an extension of you.

he catches himself thinking about you. too much. so he shakes his head while he closes his eyes and moves towards the car.

he needs some distance from you at the moment.

back at the office, he walks behind you without stopping, but he leaves some notes on your desk, beside your coffee.

“for your captions work”, he says while he sits in his chair

you glance at him and then at the paper. his handwriting is annoyingly clean.

“i didn’t know you could write full sentences”, you say while looking at his notes.

he looks at you while he moves in his chair, swivelling slightly in his chair, “i didn’t know you knew how to take decent photos”

you stare at him.

he stares back.

none of you smile.

but for the first time, the silence that follows isn’t defensive.

it’s just… loaded.

he turns back to his screen, starting to type the notes that he had written before in the community center.

you turn to your screen as well, seeing the shots you had taken earlier.

you choose the one that you think suits better for the cover. you crop it and edit it a bit.

you decide to add minho’s quote underneath your photo, even though you don’t have to do that. not necessarily.

but it works.

unfortunately.

minho wakes up early that morning. earlier than usual that is. his alarm hadn’t gone off yet but something about the air entering his room nudged him up and out of bed.

he gets ready and leaves his house, deciding to have breakfast outside this morning. he sees some of his neighbours on the street. it’s still early, but the chaos of the small town has already started.

he walks slowly, he’s in no rush.

halfway to the office, a little café catches his eye. he pauses, then decides to go in.

the café smells like espresso and butter. it is dimly lit with bulbs strung along the ceiling.

he glances around, then walks up to the counter and slides onto one of the stools.

behind the counter, two men are chatting while prepping cups and trays. the owners, minho assumes.

“morning”, one of them says when he notices minho, “what would you like to order?”

minho replies with his order and picks up his phone while they prepare it. he replies to some emails that he had as well as some messages.

the taller man brings him his order, “you work around here?, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you before”

“yes, i just started”, minho replies, keeping it vague - it felt too early for a full explanation.

“where?”, the man continued.

minho tries to disguise his sigh, “at the newspaper, i’m the new sub-editor”

there is a beat of silence.

the men behind the counter freeze and look at each other.

“no way”, minho hears the shorter one saying before they start laughing in hysterics.

he glances up and looks at them, a frown on his face. he doesn’t understand what’s going on, why they are laughing.

the men are shaking their heads with open amusement.

“so you’re that guy”, the taller one says.

minho raises an eyebrow, “sorry?”

the two of them exchange a look, both clearly enjoying some private joke.

“nothing”, the shorter man said, biting his lip like he was trying not to laugh again, “just… small world”

“very small”, the taller one added, failing at keeping a straight face, “welcome to the neighbourhood, man”

minho looks between them, still not understanding what’s happening, “okay…”

as they walk off, minho sees both of them whispering to each other, chuckling under their breath.

minho sips his coffee slowly, still trying to figure out what was so funny, when he hears the door swung open.

you step in, with your camera slung over your shoulder and you walk towards the counter and sit in one of the stools.

you turn around for a moment and see minho there, sipping his coffee.

he hadn’t noticed you were there.

“please don’t tell me you came here just to mock me”, you say to him, turning your body to look his way.

he turns his head when he hears your voice. he nearly chokes on his coffee.

he leaves his cup on the counter, “i could say the same”

“what are you doing here?”

“what do you normally do in a café?”

“no, i mean, here, in this café”

he gazes at you intently, tilting his head as if trying to understand you.

changbin and seungmin are looking at you like you came straight out of a movie, “the famous duo reunites”

you turn to look at them and rub the frustration out of your face, “you two should eat some popcorn or something”

minho adds two and two together at that moment, “you know each other, that’s why you were laughing before”

changbin only smiles while he gives you your coffee.

“so what now?”, minho hears you saying, “you’re taking my breakfast spot now?”

minho chuckles, “i was just trying something new. maybe i could try not to be your biggest pain this week”

you snort, “good luck with that”

minho glances sideways, “you know, you’re friendlier without millions of pictures in front of you”

you don’t miss a beat, “and you’re a lot less smug without your pen and notes”

changbin and seungmin exchange amused looks. seungmin leans an elbow on the counter, close to you, “do you two ever talk like normal people trying not to go for each other’s throats?”

“we do”, you say while grabbing your food, “this is the civil version”

“you don’t want to know how the uncivil version sounds like”, minho adds.

“don’t let her fool you, she likes you”, seungmin says.

if looks could kill, he wouldn’t be there anymore.

“i like silence, minho ruins that”, you say while sipping your coffee again.

“i’m literally just sitting here, having breakfast”, minho raises both hands.

“and ruining it with your presence”, you mutter

he chuckles before he glances at the time on his phone and stands up.

“as much as i’d love to keep doing whatever this is, i’m going to go now. someone has to write the words that go with your blurry photos”

“you mean the photos that make your half-baked articles look good”

he gives you a crooked smile, “exactly”

minho turns to changbin and seungmin to pay and says before leaving, “thanks for breakfast and the entertainment”

“you’re welcome to entertain us anytime”, seunmin says, still amused at both of you.

“especially if you two keep bickering like an old married couple”, changbin adds with a laugh.

minho turns to you before leaving, “guess i will see you at the office”

“unfortunately”, you answer

he walks to the door and as it closes behind him, you turn to changbin and seungmin, who are already looking at you

“what?”

“you almost ran him over when you first met, you’re working together and now he’s sharing your morning coffee spot. that’s fate, you know”, seungmin tells you while leaning over the counter, with a smug look on his face.

you groan and take a long sip of your coffee, “no it’s not, it’s a cosmic punishment”

changbin moves closer and leans against the counter like seungmin, “do you remember when han said that you would either become best friends or you would make out in the storage room?”, he pauses to look at you, “i agree with him”

you groan and drop your head to the counter with a soft thunk, “stop wedding-planning in your heads, it’s annoying”

“we didn’t plan a wedding”, he continues, “just a sarcastic enemies-to-lovers scenery”

you groan louder.

seungmin pats you on your back, “you’re glowing with rage. it’s adorable”

you raise your head to look at him, “stop talking”

both of your friends start laughing at you again when they turn to continue with their tasks.

you already regretted every life choice that led you to introduce minho to them in the first place.

a few days pass. you’re still at your desks, facing each other.

eye rolls across the monitors, snide comments passed like notes in class.

nothing major has happened. but something is… different.

the silences between you aren’t as sharp anymore. they linger. they hold less tension.

minho still makes sarcastic comments under his breath. you still mutter about his annoying keyboard clacking. but none of you bite the way you used to.

the jabs are familiar now, almost… easy.

sometimes you catch minho watching you edit a photo, his eyes going from his notes to your hands. interested in what you’re doing.

like he wants to ask you a question, but he never quite does.

you notice things too. the way his lips move when he mumbles while he writes. how his voice drops when he’s reading something serious.

there’s still friction between you two, sure. he rolls his eyes when you push back on copy. you threaten to unplug his laptop at least once a day.

it has become a routine.

a routine that, somehow, you both stick to.

you don’t laugh together, not yet. but you don’t snap, either. well, you don’t snap as much. and when he drops a stupid one-liner just to get a reaction out of you, you shake your head, maybe even smirk, and keep editing.

that’s how it is now.

still bickering. still competitive. still pretending you don’t like working together.

but maybe you liked it now.

today, most of the lights are off now. only minho and you in the office. you’re finishing the last round of photo selects, when you hear someone entering the office.

“you still alive in there?”, you hear hyunjin asking you.

you look at him, “barely”

minho glances up from his desk, not recognising the person who has just walked to your desk and is standing close to you.

is he your boyfriend? not that he minds, he doesn’t care about that.

it’s just that, well, you’ve never mentioned having one.

“it seems like you live here sometimes”, hyunjin tells you.

you lean back in your chair, “well, they haven’t figured out how to make me leave yet”

minho glances from you to your cousin and then back to his screen. he says nothing.

but hyunjin notices him, “i see someone else survived the late shift and has been captured here with you”

you sigh, waving vaguely in his direction, “right. minho, this is hyunjin, my cousin. hyunjin, this is minho, my new pain in the ass and our new sub-editor”

minho looks over again, giving a small nod, “hi”

so it’s her cousin, not her boyfriend. not that i care, minho thinks.

“hi”, hyunjin says, eyeing him with curiosity, “i didn’t know you had coworkers who were real people”

“i’m still not convinced he is”, you reply

minho raises an eyebrow, unfazed, “that’s rich coming from someone who treats her camera like it’s a person”

hyunjin points his finger jokingly at him, “don’t talk about cameras like that, they have feelings”

minho looks puzzled.

you snort before you say, “hyunjin also works in photography, he has a photography studio”

“it runs in the family”, he says looking at you.

minho nods his head before he turns towards his screen again.

“we’re all heading to the café”, hyunjin tells you, “dinner with the rest of the boys. you’re coming, right?”

you nod before replying, “yeah just, give me two minutes”

hyunjin turns towards minho, “you should come too, we’ve got extra seats”

he hesitates before answering, “no, i’m good, but thank you though”

hyunjin raises an eyebrow, “come on, it’s food. you eat, right? you don’t only work i assume”

minho shakes his head, “it’s okay, i will let you guys enjoy your-“

“he’s not coming”, you cut in, already standing up with your things in your bag, “he’s too busy being broody and mysterious”

minho looks at you and then clears his throat, “you know what? i’ll go”

you stop and look at him, “seriously?”

he gives you a look that fakes complete innocence, “i wouldn’t want to miss the chance to bond with your extended family”

you narrow you eyes, “you’re literally coming just to piss me off”

he shrugs, “that too”

hyunjin looks between you two, “is this flirting?”

“no”, you both say at the same time.

hyunjin raises his hands and turns towards the door to leave.

the three of you head out together. minho falls into step beside you.

too close, on purpose.

but he doesn’t say a word.

and you try not to smile.

too much.

the café is louder than usual when you arrive. voices overlapping, plates clinking, chairs scraping across the floor.

your tables have been pushed close to the counter, so you can still talk with changbin and seungmin while they work.

hyunjin goes in first, but the second you walk in, changbin and seungmin spot you, and then they spot him.

minho.

seungmin grins way too wide, “well, well”

minho slows down behind you.

you don’t even turn around, “don’t start”, you tell both of them when you get closer to the counter, both of them just laughing at you.

minho walks slowly behind you, greeting changbin and seungmin once he’s next to you.

you introduce minho as flatly as possible, “guys, this is minho. he is the new sub-editor of the newspaper. he’s not usually this social or nice, so don’t scare him”

he gives a nod and a small smile, but you see how he’s already scanning everything, like if he were preparing for an interview.

“he’s the man that y/n almost ran over with her car”, seungmin reminds all of your friends before you sit down.

you turn to snap at him, when you hear the rest of your friends laughing.

minho just looks to the floor, a bit overwhelmed.

han, chan, felix and jeongin, all of whom didn’t know minho yet, say hi at the same time. your group of friends is the loud type, and even though minho thought they would be like that - seeing that you are also loud - it throws him for a second. hyunjin pulls over an extra chair for him to sit next to him. you take the other empty seat and sit beside felix, which puts minho right next to you.

he doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful for that.

you don’t make a big deal of it, but feel your cheeks heating up a bit. you both slide into your seats and you shoot a warning glance at your friends.

behave.

of course, they don’t behave.

throughout the night, the conversation goes on, never stopping. the usual mix of inside jokes, ridiculous retelling of old stories and just a lot of back and forths.

you jump in now and then, but you spend most of the time aware of minho sitting beside you, quiet at first but then slowly joining in when one of your friends asks him something or he wants to comment something that your friends say.

“how’s working together?”, chan asks him

you groan immediately, “don’t feed his ego, please”

minho shrugs, clearly enjoying this now, “i’m just doing my work”

you roll your eyes, “you’re unbearable”

“i’m insightful”

“annoying”

“accurate”

the rest of the boys are watching the both of you, but no one says anything yet. just a few smirks passed around the table.

at one point, changbin leans over the counter and mutters to felix, just loud enough for you to catch, “they’re kind of a disaster in a fun way, right?”

you throw your napkin at him.

changbin catches it mid-air before it hits him and just sets it calmly on the counter without saying anything, just smiling at you.

you turn to look at minho. he looks at you.

felix turns to changbin, who raises his eyebrows as if to say see what i mean?

you look away first.

dinner goes on like that. minho mostly holding his own, you pretending you don’t notice, everyone else absolutely noticing.

minho makes your friends laugh a little too easily, which is irritating.

you jab him with your elbow when he leans too far into your side. he bumps your knee under the table on purpose and says it was an accident.

and yet, somehow… it’s not terrible.

not that you’d admit it.

the last glasses are cleared. you help stack the chairs, brushing crumbs off tabletops, the way you always do when you all stay too long after closing.

the café feels warm even as the lights go out, like it’s still holding the echo of all your voices and laughter.

the door clicks behind the nine of you as you all spill out onto the sidewalk, laughing, lingering and all of you saying goodbye at the same time.

everyone’s a little full, a little tired, and a little buzzed - on wine or dessert or just the comfort of being surrounded by people who make you feel like yourself.

you glance around at your friends - arms slung over shoulders, cheeks flushed from laughing.

it’s familiar. safe.

then your eyes find minho.

he’s standing just off to the side, watching the group with a curious, half-amused expression. he’s not saying much but he looks… at ease.

and for a second you just watch him.

not because you’re waiting for him to say something or to throw another sarcastic comment your way. just because.

because you’re noticing the way the streetlight softens the edges of his usual guardedness.

because you’re realising he fits into the picture a little more easily than you thought he would.

you look away before minho can catch you staring at him.

but he already has.

he notices it, the second too long you held it. he doesn’t say anything, of course. but he clocks it and stores it away with all the other things he has noticed today.

he tells himself it’s nothing. you’ve been tolerable tonight, that’s all. less snapping, more laughing.

maybe the food helped. maybe your friends. maybe the fact that, for once, he didn’t feel like the outsider in the room.

but the truth is, he liked watching you like that. with people who clearly love you. relaxed. loud. real.

he liked the version of you that wasn’t rolled eyes and camera critiques. not that he minded that version either.

and maybe he thinks, just for a moment, that he wouldn’t hate ending more days like this. with you beside him.

not that he would say it.

so he just slides his hands into his pockets and waits until all of you say goodbye, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, trying not to look like he’s waiting for you to look at him again.

but he is.

you pull your jacket tighter and start walking home without waiting, hearing hyunjin yelling something about texting him when you get home. you wave him off and then, turn the corner.

after a few steps, you hear footsteps behind you.

you glance back to see minho.

“seriously?”, you say, “are you following me?”

minho blinks, “no?”

you stop walking. he stops too, one step behind you.

“i’m going home”, he says.

“so am i”

you stare at each other. then it clicks.

“you live close?”

he nods his head.

you narrow your eyes, “you’ve never said that”

“you’ve never asked”

you let out a huff, starting to walk again, “whatever. just don’t walk too close. people will think we’re friends”

“oh, i wouldn’t want that”, he says falling into step beside you, “paranoid much?”

you shoot him a side look, “i just figured you would slink off to your cave or wherever it is you recharge your sarcasm”

“funny”, he says, “do you write your insults ahead of time or are they all improv?

you smile without meaning to, “mostly improv. yours are probably written in that little notebook that you always carry around”

he shakes his head and taps his temple, “they’re all stored in here”

“that’s tragic”

he laughs and it’s quiet.

easy.

like you have done this all your lives.

the night is cool and quiet, the kind that settles in gently. the streets are quieter now, just distant traffic and the soft hum of the city settling for the night. the air smells faintly like rain, even though the sky is clear. it’s the kind of night that makes everything feel softer and slower, like the city’s exhaling.

you can also smell the salt, a reminder that the sea isn’t far, even if you can’t see it from here.

your footsteps echo on the pavement.

“you really didn’t have to come tonight if you didn’t want to”, you say after a minute, “you could have gone home”

“i know”

“so why did you?”

there’s a small pause. then,

“honestly? i thought i would hate it. but it was kind of nice. loud. messy. but… good”

you glance at him, surprised. he’s not looking at you, he’s just walking. hands in his pockets, quieter than usual.

“i don’t really get that a lot”, he adds, “you know… the whole table full of people thing”

that line hits harder than you expect.

he’s looking straight ahead, hands in his pockets, like he didn’t just quietly gut-punched you with a sentence.

you look forward again, but something shifts in your chest. small, but heavy. like pressure behind the ribs.

minho says it casually, like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in his voice that makes it feel like it is.

you suddenly think of how easily your friends laughed tonight, how familiar it all was - people laughing, overlapping stories, how no one ever needed to explain anything. it’s just normal to you.

and for him, it clearly… isn’t

you hadn’t thought about that - about him going home after work to silence, in a town that was still new to him, maybe skipping dinners like this because there’s no one to invite him.

you’ve always taken that kind of noise for granted.

that warmth.

that chaos.

but now, walking next to him in the quiet, it feels almost unfair.

you don’t know what to say to him. you kind of want to say sorry, but you know he’s not asking for that.

instead, you just walk a few more steps beside him and say, quietly, “yeah, well. they liked you”, you tell him.

he smirks, “i noticed”

you roll your eyes, but the edge is gone “don’t let it go to your head”

“i’ll try”

you both turn the final corner, and there’s your house. light blue walls, porch light buzzing faintly overhead.

you stop in front of it. he stops too.

neither of you say anything right away.

you’re still holding onto the last stretch of conversation like it could carry a little longer. you feel it in your chest, something loose but heavy.

the kind of weight that comes after a good night, the kind you didn’t expect to share with him of all people.

you don’t want to admit it, but you’re not quite ready to go inside.

and he’s not moving either.

minho has the same guarded look he always has, but it’s softer now. less about walls, more about waiting.

like maybe he’s not sure if he should leave or if he even wants to leave.

for a second, it feels like the street is holding its breath. the town behind you is still.

whatever this is between you two, it’s still snark and sideways comments and eye rolls. but something shifted tonight.

you both feel it, even if neither of you will admit it yet.

it’s in the way you’re standing a little too close.

in how neither of you seem eager to break the quiet.

in how the space between words feels heavier now, like there’s something just under the surface, waiting.

you both are still pretending it’s just annoyance, just a habit. but tonight, it doesn’t feel like only that.

it feels like a door opened somewhere. just a crack.

neither of you are ready to walk through it, but neither of you are ready to shut it, either.

and, if you both are honest, neither of you wants to.

not now.

not when something about tonight made it harder to look away.

you finally look at him and smile softly, “well. try not to get hit by a car on the way home”

a small smile forms on his face, “i will do my best”

you hesitate, but only for a second.

then, you say softer, “see you in the morning, minho”

“yeah”, he says, “see you”

you walk to your door, keys in hand.

just when you’re about to go in, you hear him say,

“y/n”

you pause and turn to look at him.

“thanks”, he says, “for letting me crash your night”

you shake your head, smiling softly at him, “you crashed it all on your own”

then you open the door, go inside, and leave him standing there.

still smiling to himself.

just a little.

< previous | navigation | next >

hello loves, chapter three is here!!

thank you so much for reading, feel free to comment and leave your thoughts or scream at these two idiots (i love hearing what you think) 🩷

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[redandgreyscale]

hello!!!!!! CONGRATS ON 400!!!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

may I ask for ❤️ with smth fluffy/maybe a little awkward /pos about evan exploring (w barty) where he sits on the ace spectrum/what he’s comfortable doing or not doing, if you feel like it please? :) (post-school if possible,,,,,,,,?)

thank you!!!!

Hii thanks!! I like to write this kind of stuff a lot so yup I'm doing it.

They've been together for a couple years now, anyone would say more for how stupidly in love they were acting before but hey, whatever.

The thing is, a school is not the best place to experiment new things, and Evan has wanted to test his limits for a long time now.

He's sure he doesn't want to have sex, that is a no in all shapes and forms, but he wants to participate in some way, to be helpful to Barty. He can kiss and maybe even touch his body or run his fingers through his hair. Evan wants to see, wants to hear Barty, to see if it excites him or not, Evan wants to know how he would feel in a real sexual situation and not a scenario playing on his mind.

"Are you sure about it?" Barty asks when he says what he's been thinking.

"I'm sure" Evan replies "I want to know how I would feel, and I— I want to help you, maybe, I don't know about that part"

Listen, Evan is not completely stupid about sex. He knows things, he knows how everything works and all the possibilities of what one can do and all the stuff that feels good. He has known, he's read it, he's heard friends talk about it, he's not living in a bubble.

They try it in their shared bedroom, a place he feels comfortable in, with all the curtains and doors shut, only the two of them. Barty is not ashamed to get naked, he's never been, Evan agrees to stay in his underwear. Barty has seen him naked other times but now he needs the calm that a bit of hidden skin gives him.

"Do you want to kiss?" Barty asks, and it would seem stupid if this wasn't exactly what the plan is. Ask every step, see what happens. They kiss slow and deep and Evan ends up laying in bed with Barty half on top of him, hands touching hot skin like it's the last time.

"Can I sit on top of you?" Barty asks once again. Evan thinks about it trying to gather his thoughts in the mush his brain is after the kisses.

"Will it feel good for you?"

"Yeah, and maybe for you too" Barty kisses him on the cheek. Evan isn't sure about it but this is what they're doing, testing things, he can stop it anytime he wants.

"Okay" Barty moves so his legs are on Evan's sides, but he's not sitting yet, hovering around his body not sure about touching "I want to try it" Evan assures him, and then Barty is lowering and he's— oh. Oh this is— There's a lot of contact, Barty sounds out of breath as he tries to ask the next thing and Evan doesn't even know where to put his hands, he's sure he forgot how to breathe the second Barty was on him.

It feels weird. He doesn't like acknowledging when he's horny so this is a big fucking step. Someone sitting right on him. Oh. He's not sure he likes it.

"No" he says in a panic looking right where his bodies meet. Barty fucking flees off him and kneels beside him on the bed.

"Sorry, should've started with something lighter"

So they try lighter after a moment of recomposing himself. And they keep trying, testing different things, laughing it out when something goes wrong, trying to keep the situation easy. Evan finds it fun to fake moan, he's never done it before but Barty's reaction is priceless. He likes touching Barty's torso and his back, he likes whispering in his ear, he likes it when Barty runs his fingers through his hair, it's soothing and electrifying, a lot different than when they do it in other situations.

He finds things he likes and things that are a no crossing line.

In the end he's very proud of being able to help Barty with this. And he loves Barty for helping him find his limits too.

[digital-grim]

Hello! I really liked the Cato Hadley x male reader headcanons you did, could you please write a fic for him with both angst and smut? Thank you!

Cato X Male Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, Angst and death

The two of you hurriedly slipped into a dimly lit storeroom, making sure nobody saw you enter. You took a moment to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest from the adrenaline rush. The scent of old cardboard boxes and mildew filled your nostrils as you turned towards each other. In this private, intimate moment, you forgot about everything else; your worries, fears, and doubts seemed to melt away.

Feeling desperate but also exhilarated, you closed the distance between you and Cato. His body pressed against yours, the warmth seeping through your clothing. Your hands found their way to each other's faces, pulling yourselves closer together. Your lips met in a passionate kiss, lost in the sensations that coursed through your bodies. As the kiss deepened, you felt yourself being drawn further into the moment.

As the two of you continued to explore the depths of each other's mouths, your hands wandered across each other's bodies. Fingers traced along the contours of muscles, exploring the shape of bones beneath the skin. Your hearts pounded in unison, echoing the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your tongues danced together in a tantalizing tango, each twist and turn sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. Every brush of teeth against lips, every gasp and moan exchanged only served to stoke the fire within you both.

Lost in the haze of passion, you clung to each other, your bodies moving instinctively in sync. The heat between you grew more intense with each passing second, fueling the flames of your longing.

As your heated kisses finally break apart, your hands continue to roam over each other’s bodies. Slowly but surely, your fingers start to fumble with the fastenings of your clothing. You begin with your shirts, pulling them up and off, revealing toned torsos glistening with sweat. Your chests heave with each ragged breath you take, nipples hardening under the other's gaze.

Your pants come next, zippers slowly sliding down, buttons popping open one by one. With your pants around your ankles, you step out of them, leaving nothing but your underwear standing between you and complete nakedness. You then reach for Cato, helping him out of his own clothes until he too stands bare before you.

With your inhibitions thrown aside, you moved closer, your arousal pressing against the other's bare flesh. The sensation of your hardness rubbing against Cato's ass sent shivers of anticipation coursing through your bodies. Your hand reached down to grip your throbbing length, guiding it towards the waiting entrance of Cato's tight hole.

You pushed forward, feeling the resistance of his sphincter as it reluctantly gave way to your eager member. Inch by inch, you pushed deeper inside him, groaning at the sensation of being sheathed within such a warm, wet heat. Your hips began to move, thrusting in and out of him, creating a slick sound that echoed throughout the otherwise silent room.

As you filled Cato, he let out soft moans and whimpered in pleasure, his body arching back against yours. Each movement of your hips sent waves of ecstasy rippling through his frame, causing his walls to clench around your shaft.

His hands gripped onto your shoulders tightly, nails digging into your skin as he tried to steady himself. Despite the discomfort of being stretched so thoroughly, he couldn't help but push back against you, meeting your thrusts with his own.

Cato's words were muffled by the sounds of your lovemaking, but you could hear him pleading for more, begging you not to stop. The scent of sex filled the air around you, mixing with the musk of your perspiration and adding another layer to the already intoxicating atmosphere.

As you continue to thrust into Cato, his moans become louder and more desperate, filling the small room with their music. His pleas for more are punctuated by your grunts of satisfaction, the sound of your bodies slapping together adding to the symphony of lustful noises.

"God... yes," Cato manages to gasp out between breathless moans. His grip on your shoulders tightens even further, his nails now leaving half-moon imprints on your skin. His voice is rough with desire, every word laced with longing.

"You feel so good... so fucking tight," you pant out between thrusts, leaning down to capture his lips in another searing kiss. The taste of him fills your mouth, making you throb harder inside him.

As you continue to fuck Cato, the room seems to spin around you, the world fading away until all that remains is the sensation of being buried deep within him. His tight hole clenches around your shaft, milking you with every thrust.

A wave of pleasure crashes over you, making your vision blur and your knees buckle slightly. You hold onto Cato tighter, using his body to support yourself as you ride out the orgasm. Your seed spills deep inside him, filling him with each pulse of your cock.

Panting heavily, you lean down to press a series of tender kisses along Cato's neck and shoulder, whispering words of love and devotion into his ear. The afterglow of climaxing together washes over both of you, leaving you wrapped in a blanket of contentment.

After returning to your rooms and getting a good night’s rest, the tension in the air was different. It was the morning of the Games.

The Capitol buzzed with excitement, but you felt oddly calm, steady. You were positive in your and Cato’s abilities, you had the strength, the skill, and most importantly, each other. The alliance with the Careers may not have been perfect, but for now, it was working.

Cato had been confident too… until it all went sideways.

Katniss and Rue’s clever trick had lured the Careers deep into the forest, away from their prized stash of supplies. You stayed back just far enough to see it happen, watching as the trap unraveled everything. The boy from District 3 had been left to guard the mound of goods, standing with a spear he barely knew how to use.

And then it happened, the explosion.

The fireball lit up the sky like a cruel sunrise, followed by a shockwave that echoed through the forest. Cato ran back in a panic, nearly feral with rage when he saw the destruction.

“They blew it up! Our entire stockpile! That little rat—!”

“Cato,” you hissed, grabbing his arm before he could charge off into the trees. “Think. Whoever did this had to get close. They probably died in the blast.”

“She’s still alive,” Cato snarled, eyes burning. “Katniss.”

You frowned, piecing it together. “Then that means the tribute who set the traps… the one from 3, he's dead. But the one who triggered it… she got away.”

The two of you waited, quiet and cold as the sun slipped below the treetops. You stayed near the remnants of the ruined cornucopia, both of you half-hidden in the ruins of what used to be victory. Nightfall brought a cruel calm. The arena shifted from chaos to an eerie silence, the kind that signaled a storm was coming.

“She’s out there,” Cato muttered, crouched beside you in the shadows, his knuckles white around his sword. “Laughing at us.”

“Let her laugh,” you whispered, scanning the treetops. “Because tonight? We hunt.”

Cato smirked at that, just a little. The anger still burned behind his eyes, but your voice grounded him.

The sky was still dark when you and Cato returned to the Cornucopia, both cloaked in the silence of killers and the desperation of survivors. The Feast had been announced, backpacks for each district, placed at the base of the golden horn. A trap, clearly. But you didn’t have a choice.

Your district’s pack had what you needed, what he needed. You didn't let Cato go in. He was stronger, yes, but your wounds were lighter, your speed better. You promised you'd be fast.

You lied.

As you sprinted out and seized the black backpack marked with your district number, you didn’t hear Thresh coming until it was too late. You tried to run, but the blow sent you flying, pain exploding in your ribs and chest. You hit the ground hard, your vision tunneling. The bag clung to your hand, stubborn like you.

Cato shouted your name from the side of the Cornucopia. His voice, usually full of anger and arrogance, was pure panic.

“I’m coming, hold on!”

But he was too far.

Thresh was gone. He didn’t kill you outright. Maybe because he saw the fear in your eyes. Maybe because he didn’t care. Maybe because you weren’t who he wanted.

By the time Cato got to you, the damage was done. Your shirt was soaked red, your breath hitching in shallow bursts as he fell to his knees beside you. You tried to hand him the pack, but your hand trembled too much. He took it gently and tossed it aside, focusing only on you.

“Hey, no, no, no. Stay with me,” he murmured, cradling your face with bloodied hands. “You’re fine. You’re okay, you hear me?”

Katniss was retreating through the trees, clutching her own backpack, glancing back at the scene she'd never forget.

There was Cato, the monster from District 2. The Capitol's golden boy. But he wasn’t snarling or chasing. He wasn’t shouting.

He was weeping.

“I told you we should’ve gone together,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Why the hell did you go alone? I can’t— I can’t do this without you.”

His forehead pressed against yours, trembling arms wrapped around your fading body. For a brief moment, the arena was silent. No cannon. Not yet. Just the sound of a boy not a beast, crying into the chest of the one person who ever saw more in him than muscle and violence.

“I didn’t protect you,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely. “I was supposed to protect you.”

You smiled weakly, your hand brushing his cheek.

“You did,” you whispered. “You made me… feel safe.”

And then you went still.

The cannon fired.

Cato didn’t flinch. He held you tighter, rocking slightly like a child trying to pretend the world hadn’t changed.

When he finally looked up, his eyes weren’t wild with rage like before.

They were empty. And quietly broken.

The Games had taken everything from him now.

[yikesy]

also despite everything I headcanon apollo as having to be very careful with his words, especially definitive phrases, like, every word he says Is truth (even if that truth is that he's lying rn lmao) and so every future simple statement counts as a prophecy

like, imagining bronze age apollo desperately pleading with zeus to prevent the fall of troy, that is urgent, and zeus taking it as personal attachment and arrogance and him being dramatic (making him want to go for it even more)

and apollo just standing there trying to find more ways to not say the standing of troy is the only thing between the civilization that sustains their existence and complete societal apocalypse to avoid locking them into that definitive future

[hun9rybug]

I'm sure I'm not the only one thinking this, but I genuinely believe the Big Moment for Digital Circus will be the characters discovering that they're just computerized copies of their human selves.

Whoever they used to be in the physical world uploaded a brain-scan into the computer or something and then went on living normal life, leaving a duplicate of their consciousness encoded in the circus (as opposed to real people physically entering the computer somehow or a Matrix-type situation). It would explain a lot of the quirks about how the characters work, but especially how they're able to abstract — if you're made of code you can get corrupted.

I don't think there will be a moment where someone escapes the circus and returns to the physical world. Instead I'm anticipating some kind of meta-reveal where they have to come to terms with not being 'real'.

It would be in line with the themes the show has been setting up, and would give some payoff to little moments here and there that I think are foreshadowing a big reveal.

Anyway I may be completely off target here BUT I'm excited to see what happens anyway. It's been good so far so I hope whatever happens will be narratively satisfying

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [3/5] motifs -> resurrection

It's different now. I think dying did something to him. It did something to me, too. But none of it was good.

[nrc-asteryn-crew]

A notification flashes across phone screens everywhere throughout NRC. The radio podcast, NRTea has gone live once more!

"Hello, hello, dearest listeners! And welcome to another episode of NRTea, the hottest tea party on sages island! I'm your host, Chamomile-"

"and I am Earl Grey"

"And oh boy do we have a story for you today! Take it away, Earl!"

"...alright.

As of late, there have been brambles spiralling up and encasing parts of the Ramshackle dorm. The brambles themselves seem generally harmless, as do the roses that fall from them, but if you prick yourself on the thorns, it would be quite an unpleasant sensation, so I'd suggest exercising some extra caution when visiting for now."

"Yup, yup! If you've got a friend or two living in the dorm out there, go check on em and make sure they're doing okay!"

"I know I myself must check in on my dearest companions soon..."

"Well that's it for now! We've been your hosts, Chamomile-"

"And Earl Grey,"

"And this has been NRTea. Stay thirsty, dear listeners!"

The stream continues on for a bit before cutting off, though.

"Hey... James?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know how Yuna has been locking up lately and stuff? Says she's been super sick recently."

"Mhm... It's quite concerning, if I am being honest. I haven't seen her for a while..."

"...I wonder if Yuna is alright. I hope she doesn't get hurt with all those brambles."

"...Me too, Lewis. Me too."

(✨YUNA OVERBLOT STUFF YAHOO!!!

-✨mod, @night-raven-miscellany. Technically James and Lewis, too, but I haven't been adding them fhdjfj)

Kiyuu stared down at her phone with a frown as the podcast ended. She didn't say anything, prompting Aros to speak up from behind her.

"...Lucky you haven't been over there for a while, isn't it?"

He spoke, giving Kiyuu a faint smile, leaning in just a little closer while dabbing a makeup brush into the eyeshadow pallette in his hand, before applying it, making slightly quicker movements than previously, already being able to tell what Kiyuu was thinking.

They both knew the signs by now from even just a glance. With the context the podcast had accidentlly given... Something bad was about to happen. That much they could tell.

His expression morphed back into a frown as he watched how Kiyuu's face seemed to go through a cycle of conflicting emotions, confirming what he'd thought.

"...Yuuto's close by, though. And he definitely won't hesitate to head straight for Ramshackle once he suspects something's happening..."

There was more silence, only disturbed by the quiet sounds of rummaging through makeup and supplies from Aros. They'd been in the middle of testing out some makeup samples Aros had been sent for a promotion when they'd decided to tune into NRTea's podcast in the background.

"...Would you like me to quickly finish applying your makeup before we go?"

Aros offered, picking up an eyelash curler, and tilting Kiyuu's head up gently with his pointer finger.

"But-"

"Ah- Let me finish now. If you're worried about time, I'll change up our plan, do something quick, yet effective, instead. Don't stress out more than you need to. It won't do you any good."

"Mmh... Okay then. I'd- really like that. Thank you..."

Kiyuu conceeded softly, a silent exchange of gratitude from Kiyuu between them, Aros nodding in response, expression neutral as he continued.

"...Heh. I bet he's real excited right now. I worry a lot for him when he does this sort of thing, y'know. Just doing whatever he wants with no consideration to anyone else's feelings..."

Kiyuu mumbled, an underlying bitterness that she never quite felt wholeheartedly in her voice.

"That's just how he is. The only thing for us to do now is help them both out, hm?"

"Ah- right..! Yuna, I heard their name was, I think... I hope they're alright..."

"As do I."

Aro's commented as he stood, reaching instinctively for his hand mirror, handing it to Kiyuu as he hastily, yet still neatly, tidied up his supplies.

"Satisfactory?"

He asked, turning his head around to gauge Kiyuu's opinion.

"Yeah! More than, for sure."

Kiyuu agreed, handing back the mirror. She felt a little better now, the familiar feeling of her makeup calming her nerves ever so slightly.

After a few short moments she stood, hastily reaching to fix up her hair into a more practical fashion.

"Okay! Okay. Let's go! We shouldn't waste anymore time."

She announced, projecting bounds more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps we'll even arrive before anything too disastrous occurs on either party's end..."

Aros responded. Though somehow, they both doubted that much of a miricle would happen for them today...

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

it’s nice to have a friend (pt. 1)

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x GN!Reader

Type: Mini Fic - Fluff-ish??

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Cursing, maybe a little bit ooc Hobie since it’s been months, a few halfhearted attempts at his accent and then I just gave up whoops

A/N: wrote this while having the worst cramps of my life last month and only finished it now 👍 idk I just felt like cussing out the world at that point so that might explain the excessive swearing 😭

Tap tap tap.

You were just about dropping off to sleep when you heard those light knocks on the window. Probably just a clumsy bird.

Tap tap tap tap.

The knocks grew more insistent, more familiar - a pattern of sorts. You heaved a long, mildly annoyed sigh and got up to open the window.

It was not, in fact, an annoying pigeon. It was Spider-Punk in the flesh. Or as you knew him, your absolute dumbass of a best friend.

“It’s 3am in the fucking morning,” You waved your hand at the pitch-darkness outside, giving him the most formidable glare you could muster. “What do you want?”

“Hello, sunshine!” Hobie hopped inside, pulled off his mask, and gave you a completely unfazed grin. “Nice to see you too. Stop glaring at me! What, I can’t see my best friend whenever I want?”

“It is 3am in the fucking morning,” You repeated, pointing helpfully at the clock on your bedside table, though you had to press your lips together to squash a smile. Good grief, did his little cross between a smirk and a smile have to be so contagious?

“But I can’t sleep, and clearly you can’t sleep, and I missed you, so let’s go!”

“You saw me barely six hours ago,” You deadpanned, already pulling yourself to your feet and grabbing your coat from where it lay thrown across the the bedside table. “Drama queen.”

“Me? A drama queen? Nah, I’ll show you drama.” He flopped melodramatically onto the floor, grabbing your ankle and pretending to die. He looked ridiculous, like a lanky stick-bug-fish hybrid that crawled onto land and starting flapping about.

“Hobie, get up!” You gave a little huff, reaching a hand down to yank him upwards. “Okay, fine, let’s go wherever it is you want to go.”

“Yay! Can we go to the roof?”

“Sure, we can take the fire esca- HOBIE WHAT THE FUCK NOT AGAIN!” Before you could even take a step towards your bedroom door, he had grabbed you around the middle and leaped out the window. Your stomach dropped as he let you both plummet almost to the ground before shooting a web to the railing that ran the length of the roof and extended a little bit over. You both shot up like a rocket and he angled you in such a way that your landing would be much gentler than his.

“The next time you do that I’m going to throw up on you,” You warned him once you got the air back in your lungs (after a little bit of wheezing).

“That’s what you said last time. Besides, ‘s like a free amusement park ride! Honestly, I’m so generous, you don’t even have to pay,” He chuckled softly, brushing past you to sit at the edge of the roof.

“Sometimes I don’t even know why I put up with you,” You muttered, carefully navigating around the looser tiles on the roof to go and sit next to him.

The atmosphere was silent, not peaceful exactly but just still for the moment. Factories in the distance were still chugging out thick smog that floated up to join the suffocating clumps in slowly strangling the city. The alleyways were dark save for a few slivers of moonlight that managed to cut through the pitch-blackness of the backstreets.

Perfect time for a philosophical conversation, right?

“Do you ever wish that that spider hadn’t bitten you?”

Hobie looked at you in surprise, his eyebrows raising slightly. He looked back over the city, leaning back on his palms. “Well… sometimes. What I mean is… sometimes I just wish I didn’t have to do this, y’know? But it’s better me than some pig. One of those bastards as Spider-Man would be a fuckin’ nightmare. For everyone who sees through Osborn’s bullshit.”

You nodded, satisfied with his answer. Truth be told, you didn’t understand much of what he said - it was 3am, it had been a long day, and the words just didn’t register in your tired brain. You closed your eyes for a few minutes, leaning on Hobie. It wasn’t very comfortable, since not only did you have to avoid impaling yourself on the small spikes on his vest, but his shoulder was also pretty bony under the fabric.

“Tired?” He turned his head to look down at you, eyes soft and sweet and filled with something you couldn’t quite put a name to right now, perhaps because of the state of your consciousness.

You rolled your eyes, having still not fully pushed away the remaining traces of grumpiness that lingered from your rude awakening. “Thanks to the dumbass who woke me up at some unholy hour.”

“Come on, you know you wouldn’t have slept anyway. At least this way you have some company.”

You opened your mouth to say something back but slowly shut it upon realising that he was right. Absolutely insufferable.

You just snorted and closed your eyes, savouring the moment as best as you can. You loved quiet moments like these, where you could ask anything and get an honest answer instead of having to mince your words — maybe you liked them more than you should, but it was fairly harmless, right?

Marriage could end in divorce, couples could break up, and young love really wasn’t a constant. You couldn’t expect something so intoxicating to retain its magic against the test of time.

So it was better to take that fierce rush of whatever it was that you were feeling and label it as platonic love. Because strong platonic love, when it was returned, was benign and beautiful and all-encompassing, all at once.

“Oi, don’t fall asleep here. Still with me?”

You felt a light touch of ridiculously cold fingers against your forehead and jolted fully awake.

“Asshole,” You complained, batting away his ice blocks for hands. “Have you been sitting and stewing in a fridge for a few hours?”

Hobie snickered at your annoyed frown and chose that moment to break into a grin, reaching into his pockets. “Oh, that reminds me, I made us matching bracelets!”

He held out two bracelets, ridiculously tiny in comparison to his fingers. They were both composed of random beads, staples, half-broken bottle caps and bits of coloured string threaded onto a loop of fishing twine. The loud, mismatched colours practically vibrated off of them in shockwaves like some sort of sonic boom of Hobie-ness.

In short, they were absolutely perfect. There was nothing that he could’ve given you that would remind you more of him. All sleepiness was momentarily forgotten as you took one of them, holding it up to examine it in whatever moonlight managed to cut through the clouds.

You gave him a smile, slipping it onto your wrist carefully. “It’s beautiful, Hobes. Thank you.”

“Ah, we’re back with the nicknames! There it is! Good to know I didn’t actually make a mistake waking you up.” His tone was lighthearted and teasing, but his smile had turned into one of affection as he watched your reaction to his gift.

There it was again. You’d seen it a few times recently, and it had been silently eating at you no matter how much you tried to dismiss it as simple friendship.

Nothing more than a tiny little flash of that puzzling something in his eyes, but something that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and not just in a way that someone would feel about their best friend. Something that gave you the courage to finally break free from the voice in your head whispering about everything that could go wrong — although that might have been because of your horrendous lack of sleep and the tiredness that was tinging each of your thoughts with just a little bit of delirium.

Screw keeping it platonic.

“Hobie,” You began, and something in your tone must have sounded different because he trained his eyes on you, his head cocking to the side slightly. You faltered slightly, trying to think of something to say. But before you could find a way to put your exhausted, confused mess of thoughts into words properly, he winced and his face scrunched up in the way it always did whenever his spider-sense went off.

“I’m sorry, I gotta…” Hobie gestured vaguely down at the alleyways, an apology practically written on his face. You nodded, ignoring the hollow pit of disappointment forming in your stomach.

“Yeah, you should go. I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” He agreed, already fishing through his vest pockets and digging out his mask. He paused to give you a cheeky grin before slipping the fabric over his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick a more pleasant time to drop in.”

“That’s what you said last time!” You called after him as he leaped off the building, disappearing down into the roads winding around, into and throughout the city. You stayed where you were, hugging your knees to your chest as you stared at the ever-shifting skyline. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course something came up right as you had finally mustered up the courage to say something… and yet, it felt as though he was almost expecting it. Like he wanted you to say it.

You scoffed at the absurdity of your train of thought, looping around and around hopefully like a broken clockwork toy. All wishful thinking, perhaps? Then again, maybe not. You pushed yourself to your feet, pushing open the fire escape and beginning to make your way back to your apartment. You almost missed the terrifying rush of adrenaline that accompanied one of Hobie’s daredevil manoeuvres in and out of windows on the fifth floors of buildings. Almost.

You got into bed again and switched off the light, pausing to look out of the still-open window. Oh, well...

You moved to close it, pulling down the pane of glass and latching it at the bottom.

Maybe next time.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 (not sure if i’m missing anybody else, it’s been a while 😭)

[witchcraftingboop]

Me, genuinely disgusted and shocked: What do you mean? Why would your baby get your husband's last name? Is he gonna carry it for nine months??

[v4mpyinred]

MORE Akijun angst time, but it's mostly Akihiko angst because i love projecting my awful attachment issues onto Akihiko and making him suffer in general <33

I love the idea of Akihiko being so scared of his feelings for Junpei once he realizes he has them. After all, Akihiko has lost everyone else close to him, so what's stopping Junpei from being a part of that same fate? Shoot, Akihiko already watched Junpei die (before Chidori saved him, of course). It could happen again, and the last thing Aki would want is to seal such a fate for Junpei, all because of his own stupid feelings...

It sucks because Junpei is pretty affectionate and clingy, so i can imagine Aki hurting as Junpei tries to get closer to him. But he lets Junpei in anyway, because Akihiko doesn't strike me as the avoidant type.

In fact, I think Akihiko would be fall into the anxious attachment type (projection), even if he tries to bury it and act like he's fine. I really like the idea of Aki having some kind of separation anxiety, and him being so damn worried about Junpei's wellbeing all the time. When Junpei doesn't answer his calls (cuz he's busy or...actually this is junpei his phone is prolly just dead LOL) or is late to something, it drives Akihiko crazy. Same for if Junpei is sick or hurt. Aki hurts too. Especially when he can't heal Junpei and can only just watch. It reminds Akihiko of all the times he couldn't help others in his life.

However, Aki tries soooo hard not to be as controlling and overprotective with Junpei like he was with Shinji. After all, he's done holding onto the pain of the past, and feeling all guilty or worried over things out of his control. He's had his character development, i won't erase that.

But Aki's only human..and it's so hard to feel fine when Akihiko couldn't live with himself if something happened to Junpei. Especially after he's lost pretty much everyone, and it seems that's the path destined for his loved ones. It's so hard to not have those "what if's...", even if Aki has no reason to suspect anything bad is going to happen. He promised he'd protect everyone and that includes Junpei.

In the end, though, Junpei is always there for Akihiko. All of Akihiko's crippling worries seem to wash away when he opens his eyes to Junpei sleeping peacefully next to him. Or when Akihiko comes back from a morning jog and notices the breakfast and lovely note written for him sitting on the table...I think I've mentioned Junpei comforting Akihiko when he has nightmares/flashbacks. Well, I think Junpei would do more too! Like reassuring Akihiko when his worries get the best of him, making sure to text Aki before he gets too busy to respond, and overall giving Aki all the love and hugs he deserves.

Akihiko is so used to feeling so lost and out of control, especially when it comes to those around him. But I think Junpei would truly heal the side of Akihiko that still hurts, and he'd show Aki that he's never alone🥲

[demigod-of-the-agni]

I BEAT TAMIL WORDLE EVERYONE CHEER FOR ME !!!!

I AM A GENIUS PLEASE CLAP AND GIVE ME HUGS AND KISSES PLEASE

words below T-T

tha-m-bi (little brother)

a-k-kaa (older sister)

i-d-li (idli, like the fucking food)

i-ra-vu (night)

i-ru-l (darkness)

thank you idli for saving my life, if it weren't for you i would have typed up something like "kuruvi" over and over and over

[septembersung]