#i think about this speech daily

[avnasace]

(mild spoilers: captain america brave new world)

"you can feed a million people with a phone call. but the question is, who is in the room with you when you're making those decisions? is it the people you're gonna impact? or is it just more people like you?".

for me this is the moment that probably led bucky to where he is now. "steve gave people something to believe in, you give people something to aspire to."

[apocalyptichearts]

“my anger has grown teeth and no muzzle can contain its bite.”

she’s so so important to me; there are no words in any language that can fathom how much.

credits — unknown || emilie autumn, the asylum for wayward victorian girls || marguerite duras, yann andréa steiner (archipelago books, 2006) || anne carson, euripides || boyish, japanese breakfast || hilary mantel, wolf hall || ashe vernon, not a girl

[subbyp]

another thing opla really does well is highlight what a stupid plan it was for Zeff to try to get the kid he adopted for, among other things, being too damn stubborn to die to discard his misplaced guilt and start his own life by….being a crappy boss

[grandwretch]

I cannot believe they're bringing the 1776 commission back. in the year of our lord Ken Burns' documentary? after they got lambasted in their last term by almost every colonial historian in the nation? they're like hold up let me try and lie to these kids again real quick before they learn the truth in november. I need trump to die and go to hell for what he's done to solidify the american revolution as a symbol for nationalism and white supremacy alone.

[heartshattering]

///

Idk it's just sad that I made a list of "productive" shit I wanted to do before my voice call today and now all I'm thinking about is how I wish I could s-h lol

I took a med to calm down my panic (as prescribed, not abusing or misusing anything but I just don't like taking more meds than I have to during the daytime since I'm already trying to taper down on how much medication I take for sleep at nighttime) and I'm not going to hurt myself but my mom isn't leaving me alone, good thing the intensity of my emotions has started to dull down a bit but fuck

[steampoweredwerehog]

I admire your candidness

Yes.

It’s time for Knight Posting

When mages keep creating homuncului out of dead knights, they’re eventually gonna become their own whole species, & someone’s gotta take care of ‘em. That’s where the Knightrearers come in!

Knight Bite Ratings based on this

[spock-adoodledoo]

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i'm so rusty

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' late night moments with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: this is just sleepy fluff <3 some of the boys get kind of emotional.

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: happy binnie day!! <3 to this day, these are some of my favorite hcs i've ever written so i hope you enjoy! (early morning moments with them right here <3)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - 2:34 am

“Do you think Berry misses me sometimes?” He mumbles into your lap, voice full of sleep as you gently massage his scalp. Looking down at him, your eyes soften when he hugs your middle and hides his face in your stomach which prompts your other hand to begin tracing his features softly.

“Of course, she does, baby.” Chan almost purrs in response and your heart melts at the sight, managing to contain the sudden urge to squish his cheeks together. “Remember how excited she was the last time you visited? She was jumping, running around you and never left your side the whole time you were there.”

A moment passes and then two with no response from your boyfriend and that’s when you realize, by his even breathing, that he finally fell asleep.

You smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead, whispering a sincere I love you in his ear, not stopping your massage.

Sleeps like this, in your lap, until you’re sure he’s asleep for good before you slowly move him into a more comfortable position and wrap his whole body in a blanket burrito.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - 11:59 pm

“Hug me, I’m cold!”

You hear him groan before he turns over to face you, grumbling under his breath as he envelopes your body in a big hug and begins to squeeze the life out of you. All out of love, of course.

“Better now?” “Minho, I can’t breathe!”

Doesn’t let go but does tilt your head up to look into your eyes and the love you see as you stare back almost has you in tears. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his lips and that’s when you manage to loosen his grip by wiggling into his arms, wasting no time as you begin to plant open-mouthed kisses all over his face.

His smile widens until giggles escape him, loving the way your lips feel on his skin as he lets you do whatever you want until you’re satisfied. When you finally reach his lips but don’t linger for as long as he’d like, instead kissing them repeatedly while also giggling, he takes matters into his own hands and kisses you deeply while still keeping the initial softness of your previous ones.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - 3:47 am

You toss and turn in the sheets for what feels like the millionth time before finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “Binnie, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” The response comes instantly and you sit up on your elbows to find him staring at the ceiling, visibly exhausted. You frown, scooting closer to hug him by the middle and rest your chin on his chest.

“Everything okay?”

Your soft voice prompts him to let it all out, to rant about work and his daily struggles at a fast pace that you can barely keep up with. When his voice quivers, you look up and plant comforting kisses on his neck and jaw, one hand gently massaging his chest through his nightshirt.

When he’s done and his speech slows down, Changbin moves to hide his face in your hair, muscular arms wrapping around your body to bring you closer, almost like he wanted to morph your bodies together. Being one with the love of your life sounded great right now – to be able to take all of his pain and discomfort so that he’ll always be happy and healthy was something you dreamt about often. Unfortunately, until that was possible, you hoped from the bottom of your heart that what you’re able to do right now is enough.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - 1:08 am

“Forget worms, would you still love me if I was a deadly shark?”

Hyunjin looks up from his phone, flabbergasted, just to find you already looking at him. He’s silent, waiting for you to elaborate but when you don’t, he sighs and gives in. “Darling, what the hell are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes, cuddling closer as you place your head in the crock of his neck to inhale his comforting scent. His arms pull you closer instantly, phone long forgotten. “This hypothetical situation, Jinnie, is critical for our relationship. Please take it seriously.”

Is confused the whole time as you ramble on and on about your ‘hypothetical situation’ that at some point, having had enough, he just turns his back to you and gets comfortable on his other side.

When you follow him and throw a leg over his body, continuing on while drawing patterns onto his back, he swiftly turns around to hover over you, pinning you to the mattress. Your eyes meet and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you until your dream is shattered as he begins tickling you mercilessly instead. A tickle war starts that leaves you both breathless and laughing well into the night.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - 1:56 am

“When you’re away and I miss you, I spray this pillow with your cologne and cuddle it as I would cuddle you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly as you speak against his lips, the lingering sadness in your tone pulling at his heartstrings in an unpleasant way. You’re face to face, staring lovingly at each other while talking in hushed voices about everything that comes to mind.

He knows that at this time during the night, he gets all soft and mushy but he wasn’t expecting to cry this soon. You were so good to him, his own angel on earth that would wait for him for as long as it was needed. You deserved so much better.

Gently cupping your cheek, you lean into his touch and close your eyes in contentment, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry, baby.”

His voice is shaky so without a word, you cuddle closer, burying your head in his chest and holding him tighter while also kissing his covered chest. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be silly, Ji. Your love makes all this waiting around worth it every single time.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - 4:02 am

“Wait, what? She said that to you?” Felix asks, voice loud in disbelief as the hand that was combing through your hair stops momentarily.

You nod, looking up at him from where you’re resting your head, on his abs, the bare skin warm and soft under your touch. “Yes! I have receipts, hold on.”

As you scramble out of bed to get your phone from where it's charging, Felix can’t help but smile as his eyes are completely focused on you and nothing else. He always thought you were the most beautiful like this – bare-faced, with your hair slightly messy and missing that furrow between your brows that appeared during the day.

Vulnerable and oh-so cuddly during the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning you sometimes spent with him, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun rose again to announce another new day.

When you came back to bed, Felix was resting with his back against the headboard and the position allowed him to pull you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you showed him your phone. It was the domesticity he always craved for which he hoped would never end. That you and him like this never ended.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - 12:32 am

Taking another peek at the bedside clock, you can’t help but sigh as the red digits glare at you, almost mockingly. You’ve been in bed for hours now and you’re still as awake as you were back then too. It was infuriating, and you were this close to actually crying in frustration.

Almost as if sensing your low mood, Seungmin turns on his side to face you. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and bury your head in the warm pillow. “I can’t sleep, Minnie. Will you sing to me, please?”

His arms come around you to bring your back to his chest, successfully luring you into being the little spoon, which to be honest, you didn’t mind one bit right now. He places a kiss on your cheek, and with one hand softly massaging your hip, he starts humming. Not a lullaby, but one of the group’s title tracks.

When you glare at him over your shoulder, he grins and stifles a chuckle before starting to sing a proper lullaby. Just as suspected – his dreamy voice does have magical powers and you’re asleep in less than five minutes. Or maybe it's the way he holds you so closely and the occasional kiss on the top of your head that does the trick. Either way, you have to let Felix know asap. He owes you 20$.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - 11:45 pm

“Blanket thief.” He complains, however, there’s no real malice in his tone as you roll around into a blanket burrito and leave him completely exposed to all the monsters that come out at night, laughing loudly.

You don’t see him, but he rolls his eyes, trying to appear annoyed as he hides his growing smile. “Come here, baby, let’s share.”

When you shake your head no, still giggling in your pillow, Jeongin takes matters into his own hands, literally, and lifts you up by the waist to trap you into his tight embrace, which causes you to shriek and laugh again. He soon joins in and your laughter fills the tiny room as you begin wrestling for the blanket.

“Come on, be reasonable, there’s enough blanket for the both of us.” “No.” “Y/n.” “But Jeongin, the monsters – “ ,“I’ll beat them up! Now, come here!”

Somehow, he manages to convince you to share and you fall asleep cuddling while watching youtube videos, with his soft voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But during the night, he still ends up uncovered and because he’s petty, he pretends to fall out of bed and says that the monsters got to him because of you and your selfish nature he can’t help but still love so much!

[3hks]

How to Write a CHARMING Villain

Everyone loves a good villain, and they especially love a charming one. If you want to write an antagonist who's both evil yet irresistible, look no further!

1. Show Their "Kindness"

Kindness? Wait, I thought you said we're writing a villain today.

Yup, I mean it--make your antagonist appear kind. Realistically, someone who's polite and friendly is often considered more attractive than someone who's rude and judgmental, so make them kind. It doesn't have to be honest kindness, but you want your readers to doubt the malevolence of your character, if that makes sense.

You can show this kindness through small, daily actions; they don't have to have a lot of impact on the story. Something simple like leaving a big tip, granting a minion a vacation, letting someone go first in the line, and holding open the door all contribute to this image.

2. Smooth Talker

Effective communication is everything. If your villain is eloquent, they seem more capable and intelligent! However, if you're looking to expand further, explore what they can do with their speech.

Does everyone pay attention when they start speaking? Are they able to calmly resolve conflicts verbally? Are they really persuasive? Do they speak elegantly?

Show the effects of their communication skills!

3. Good leader

Make them a good leader. Make them consider how their subordinates might feel. Make them choose good decisions. Perhaps they give their workers days off when they need it. Perhaps they engage with their followers often. Perhaps they're more down-to-earth.

A solid leader looks respectable while a poor one looks ridiculous.

4. Intelligent + Logic

I say this all the time, but make your villains smart, make them logical, make your readers understand where they're coming from. Some of the best antagonists I've ever seen are not the ones that seem excessively evil or unhinged, but rather the ones that seem logical in their actions. And knowing that they're well-aware of their actions and the consequences makes things that much scarier.

if you want a charming villain, you have to start with someone who is competent.

5. Conflicting Moments

At the end of the day, your character is still the antagonist. Yes, they might appear kind, but that's not going to last forever. There will be times when they act unnecessary cruel, and that's okay.

Your audience might be unsettled and confused from the whiplash, and that's okay. Don't force your character into being someone else to satisfy the readers. Embrace the difference.

6. Backstory

Backstories matter for all different types of reasons. From establishing the basis to one's goals, morals, and values to providing the foundation for their character, an effective backstory can do a lot.

However, I want to specifically talk about how the backstory demonstrates someone overcoming their obstacles. If they made it to the present, then they really defied all odds to be here, and honestly? That's admirable (and attractive), no matter what kind of person they turn out to be.

Now, if you're thinking "what if I don't give the antagonist a painful backstory?", I'll address that real quick. You don't have to give them a super depressing past, but there will always be pain and hurt in their past, even if it isn't something "lifechanging" or there 24/7. There is no such thing as a perfect, happy past.

CONCLUSION

To quickly conclude, a charming villain is often not one who appears visibly evil, but one who appears compassionate, intelligent, well-spoken, and acts like a good leader.

Happy writing~

3hks :)

[hanniescookie]

💄gorgeous - yjh

—⁠☆ you're not used to how gorgeous your boyfriend is without any makeup.

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre/warnings - idol au, fluff, romance, kissing, skinship, use of petnames, lipstick marks, mildly suggestive, cursing, reader's height and weight are subtly mentioned, bare faced beautiful jeonghan from hxw concert

wc - 876

A/N - my husband came home today once again, looking all beautiful and i haven't been able to stop thinking about how beautiful he is bare-faced. so yeah, happy reading 🤍 also @seokminfilm ily, here's finally my jeonghan drabble!!

On a daily basis, Jeonghan is gorgeous.

You've known that ever since you first laid eyes on him years ago, and you've noticed it in all the times you've seen him perform on stage—face dolled up and hair neatly styled.

You're used to it. What you can't get used to ever since he has enlisted is his bare face.

It's not like you've never seen him like that either. With how busy Jeonghan always was in his idol life, the only times you ever saw him bare faced was before he went to sleep and right after he woke up next to you.

But now something feels different.

He goes out with no makeup on, he comes home the same way. You see him bare faced all the time, and you can't really remember the last time you saw even a swish of lipgloss on him.

That's what you can't get used to.

It drives you remotely insane that he still manages to look prettier than most human beings.

You try to look away from your screen, but the more pictures you see of him from the concert, the more you're convinced that you indeed stopped a war in your past life because there was no way you managed to land such an angel.

You don't even notice the sound of the door being shut and footsteps marching towards your bedroom—you’re lost.

“Why are you still all dressed up? I thought you'd have been snoring by now,” you hear his voice before you see him standing in front of the night stand, unhooking his watch.

There he is in all his glory, looking exactly like he does on your screen—except real and more beautiful. You don't even get the time to answer him when he's bending forward, peeking in your phone and chuckling in disbelief. “You're really watching me like a fan? I came home to you, baby. Come, kiss me instead.”

Although you feel flustered, you take his hand and pull him to sit beside you. Jeonghan sure is a man—weighs twelve kilograms more than you and is at least six inches taller—but he's as malleable as jelly so you don't really struggle.

“Woah,” he plops down beside you, looking up with the world's mirth in his eyes. “You really wanna kiss me that bad?”

You shut him up with a firm press of your lips to his, pulling his cap off in the process. His hair has grown now, enough for your knuckles to disappear in the black locks.

To his disappointment, you pull away sooner than he wanted you to, and stare at the stain your lipstick has left on his lips. Suddenly, you want to see more of it on his bare, beautiful skin.

“Hannie,” you whisper, watching him look up in your dazed eyes questioningly. You smile, your red lipstick slightly smudged but still very intact. “You're becoming too beautiful for my heart.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you on top of him. “What do you mean becoming? Have I always not been beautiful?”

You roll your eyes at his self centered speech, your thumb softly caressing his bottom lip right where your lipstick has stained. Slowly, you lean down to place a longer kiss on his chin, testing to see if your lipstick is still capable of leaving a mark.

He only tilts his head to give you more access, his eyes blinking slowly in a daze. You don't even have time to be proud of having that effect on him, because the mark that glitters on his chin makes you want to devour him.

You smile, and attack him with kisses that leave marks of your lipstick all around his face and neck. He giggles throughout, and the sound becomes the sole reason why you don't plan to stop at all.

Once you're both breathless, you stop, letting your face fall in his chest. He breathes in sync with you, his giggles slowly dispersing and rotting your mood. You want to kiss him again just to hear his laughter again.

“Are you slightly possessed today? What did they feed you at work?” He asks, absentmindedly running his fingers in your hair. You sigh, lifting your head up to look at the masterpiece you've created.

Jeonghan looks perfect, bathed in your kisses that are dark on his face but progressively become lighter towards his chest. You know your lipstick is probably all smudged around your mouth, but you don't give a flying fuck about that.

Right now, the sight makes you want to ruin him. You nod, looking in his amused eyes. “Yes I think I'm possessed.”

He laughs, shaking his head and pulling yours closer to him, joining your foreheads together. “Nope. I just think you're in love with me.”

You melt into him, pressing a kiss on his soft nose. “That’s right but just so you know, I would've marked you up even if I wasn't in love with you. You're just that gorgeous.”

Jeonghan flips you over, smirking as his lips ghost over your mouth. “Now let me show you how gorgeous you are.”

You think he's definitely more gorgeous than you are, but you don't stop him from showing you anyway.

[honeybunnyale]

Can I request accidental pregnancy after a one night stand with Superman but reader want nothing to do with him and wants to raise the child on her own but she works at the planet so Clark is trying everything he can to help her <3

Clark's Baby Daddy Chronicles l C.K.

w.c: 8.3k 

t.w.: Smut, P in V, Oral f receiving, sub/dom headspaces mentioned, brief Daddy kink, Pregnancy, lots of fluff, lots of angst, lots of silliness, Reader does not like Superheroes, Clark is just a sweet man trying to take care of his babies, lil grumpy x sunshine vibe, descriptions of pregnancy and discomfort that comes with it

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I loved this! <3 Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ only!

Summary: Clark ensures he could be part of the baby's life and yours. 

Month Four: Nausea

You hated being coddled. A group dinner was turned into a love fest, just for you. 

It was suffocating being around people who had baby fever, especially when they weren’t dealing with pregnancy themselves. You depart from the table, gaining the courage to order some food. You hear a metal chair scrape irritatingly across the ground. 

You knew exactly who had followed behind you. 

You stand in line with your hands in your pockets, you briefly think about how you needed new trousers, they were getting a little tight on your stomach. You loosen your belt, allowing more room for the soft swell. 

The atmosphere was mellow, lights dim and verging on yellow in the trendy new spot near the Daily Planet building. Fake plants collecting dust were scattered around the restaurant. 

Clark’s arm bumps against yours as the server takes their sweet time taking orders. You check the time on your watch, they had a whole speech, the line was unnecessarily long. You catch his eye, lingering over your hands lightly cradling your stomach, thumbs hanging on to your belt loops. 

You put them down to your sides self consciously.  

The options were rather limited, gourmet deep dish, gourmet chicken tenders, gourmet burgers, gourmet deli sandwiches. You settle for a chicken Caesar salad, Clark butts in with his own order of a double cheeseburger with fries before the cashier could ask if you wanted anything else. 

The total was given, and Clark pressed his card against the screen before you could even reach into your pocket for your wallet. 

Your arms are crossed lazily as you balance yourself against the counter near the pickup area. Clark has his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground beside you. He told you to wait at the table with the rest of your coworkers, but you refused. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say lowly. He gives you a tight-lipped smile. He waves a dismissive hand. 

“Pfft. No big deal.” 

His cheeks were rosy with a light blush as he avoided your gaze. You sigh, you didn’t really want the pity or extra attention. 

Much less from him. He was the most annoying coddler of them all. 

He takes the tray of food back to the table, walking a step behind you. Everyone turns to see you walk over. You hold back a snort as Lois awkwardly pulls back a chair for you. 

Everyone eats and chats, sometimes the conversation is directed to you, asking indirect questions about your pregnancy. 

How are you feeling? Seeing anyone? Have you set up a registry? 

You were four months along, you were just barely showing underneath your loose clothes. But months before, everyone figured out your gestational status. 

Maybe it was because you were more irritable. You think it was because of the way you stormed out of an editor meeting mid way through to puke your guts out in the bathroom nearby. 

Clark had always been the most attentive. He even confirmed it in front of everyone. Steve invited the newsroom out for drinks, you agreed. 

Clark narrowed his eyes at you, everyone gathered near the entrance to the Planet, dividing up and waiting for Ubers. Lois was nudging your shoulder, challenging you to a drinking game. 

“Aren’t you pregnant?” Clark blurts out. 

You were about to tell Lois that you weren’t going to drink, hoping she would catch the hint as you pressed a hand to your stomach. You froze in place, blinking as everyone turned to you. 

The casual drinks turned into a celebration. Everyone wishing the new mother a healthy pregnancy. You’d smiled through grit teeth as everyone made a ruckus at the bar and toasted to you. 

Clark would never forget your glare. You didn’t speak to him directly for a week. Your dry emails scalded him. 

The conversation is focused on something else now, you pick at the pieces of parmesan cheese left in your bowl. It was really good. Your lips are downturned in a small frown. You should have gotten something more filling. Your stomach growls lightly, imperceptibly. 

Clark shifts the tray of his fries in your direction, his attention directed at the conversation as Jimmy tells a story of a date he recently went on, his hand flinging every which way as he dramatizes the woman. 

You cautiously take some of his fries, dipping them into the ketchup he had poured out on the tray. 

Clark glances in your direction, sending you a soft smile, mouthing a ‘you ok?’ from across the table. You nod and his eyes twinkle. His smile widens for a second. 

Your cheeks sting from the heat rising within them. 

…

Month Five: Development

Whenever you look through the maternity section, your brain shuts off. You leave the site or leave the store entirely. 

They were just so boring. You liked your style, you thought your bump looked cute when you wore a tank top and cargo pants. But a lot of your usual attire didn’t fit anymore. 

You think the baby’s a big one, judging by the look on your doctor's face, when she told you the growth was super healthy for 19 weeks. 

The adjective makes you gag. Superman gives you a super baby. You sigh, your folder landing on your desk a little too forcefully as you scoot the chair out from under the desk. 

You sit down and unzip your fly, finally allowing yourself to take a deep breath, the soft swell of your belly starting to rest against your lap. Your shirts ride up and your pants were held on by a hair tie you borrowed from someone when you just couldn’t zip up your jeans again. 

A cup lands on your desk, a smoothie cup. You sigh. Clark says it’s a good source of nutrients, all natural sugars and all of that other healthy bs. They were also extremely good, no matter how hard you try to find anything negative to say. 

Clark was behaving like a mother hen, but most of the time you couldn't be bothered to push him and his attention away.

He waits by your desk as you take a sip, as he usually does to ensure your satisfaction. 

You wince lightly. It tasted greener than usual. You smack your lips as you try to decipher if it was spinach or kale.

He extends a hand towards the smoothie, fingers bending repeatedly in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“I could get you another one,” he says softly, humorously. 

You hold the cup tightly, pulling it closer to your chest. Gosh you were so cute. He knew how sensitive you were with smells and tastes now. 

He changed his cologne after he gave you a side hug goodbye one night and you flinched. 

It was right after taking you home, like he does most days. 

It was strange how he stays as late as you now. He must be busier than usual. Certainly not waiting for you to pack up so he could offer you a ride or anything. 

“I’ll deal,” you mumble, taking the straw and taking another sip. He lifts his hand in a sign of surrender, and he makes his way to his desk a couple of cubicles away.

You could see him in his cubicle because of his broad shoulders. Your hands twirl the straw absentmindedly, watching him clumsily organize his workspace.

You lean back against your chair, rolling it back to see his face more clearly over the desk shields. 

He could feel your stare, the way you analyze him. He misses being able to tease you about your cold gaze.

He could hear you gulp. He could tell you liked this flavor. Some weird name like caterpillar fruit salad or something. 

“Thank you.” 

He lifts his head, glancing around the room. He almost wants to point at his chest to see if you were speaking to him. 

You snort. His face turns red as he watches your lips spread into an amused smile. 

You lift the cup, tapping against the side.

“Thank you, Clark.” 

He smiles bashfully. Ducking his head as he waves you off. He sits down and you smile to yourself as you scoot closer to your keyboard.

A hand meets your shoulder, you jump. Your hands are pressed to your chest. 

“When are you going to take that white boy home?” 

You’re appalled. You make a sharp noise from the back of your throat, utterly appalled. Catherine Grant looks at you with a craze you haven’t seen before. 

You pull her in closer, into the cubicle space. She moves your papers and sits on your desk, bending down to hear your whisper. 

“It’s not like that.” 

She scoffs. She looks at your desk, finding one of Clark’s notes on an article draft you were working on, he quite literally drew a smiley face and heart on a post-it. She scoffs again.

Cat was smart as a whip. She knew everything about everything. You couldn’t disagree with her more in this regard. 

“It’s not,” you affirm. She gives you a look. The man was already clingy, helpful, and kind, sure. But if you would have asked him to jump off a cliff, he’d do it with a running start. 

“He’s just nice. I’m literally pregnant."

She bites her fingernail, shaking her head. 

“Pregnant and single,” she corrects.

She shimmies in her seat, wiggling her brows. 

“Milky tits, a fat ass, c’mon. That would not stop a straight man with half a brain.” 

Unfortunately, most men had even less than a third of a brain. You cross your arms. She stands at your glare, making her way back to her desk.

“I hear wedding bells in your future, babe,” she whispers harshly right next to your ear. 

She passes by Clark’s desk and makes a motion of eating from a plate with a fork behind his back. 

…

The newsroom was nearly empty, but you could hear typing ahead of you. You slowly peek to the side from your desk, Clark was ever so diligent at his desk. 

The glow of the computer monitor reflects off of his glasses. You slowly inch away from the edge and refocus on your work. 

He wonders when you’d start to pack the hell up and actually go home. He didn’t even think his fingers were capable of cramping up. But they did from being on the keyboard for so long.

He could see you, two desks away from him. His vision makes you easily visible. The fetus snugly cradled in your belly. 

It makes him smile softly. He overheard you tell someone the baby was the size of a mango today. That was adorable. 

He just wished he could go to appointments and shopping with you. He sighs, focusing back on his screen. Maybe get some kissing in too. 

You don’t open your balcony door, there’s an excessive pile of leaves and dust on the ground and over the patio chairs. 

You don’t even go out there anymore. 

He was frustrated, but he understood. He used to joke that you had the same mentality as Lex Luthor who has progressively become an opposing voice to the conversation on Metahuman intervention and conflicts. 

He understood your point. Superheroes could turn at any point. A bad day, a missed calculation could end up in so much destruction. And it already has. 

But Superman was starting to show you how you and many others didn’t have to worry. There will always be a prevalence of good people. 

It all fell apart. 

He visited every night the week you found out you were pregnant, looking into your bedroom with X-ray vision, and watching as you retook pregnancy test after pregnancy test. 

He’d watched you cry, he’d watched you zone out into your ceiling fan, even watched you as you slept, still sniffling. 

You were scared. He was too. 

“Holy shit- Clark.” 

He sits up at your voice, his thoughts disappearing, replaced with a spike of anxiety rising through his throat. 

Your chair rolls loudly as you push away from your desk. 

He stands, almost knocking down his cubicle along with his chair as he rushes to your side. He kneels to your level. He looks over your body.

“What, what, what, what?” he asks in a panicked frenzy. 

Your stare at your bump, eyes wide and flickering. As if waiting for something to rip through your skin and maul your face. 

You yelp again, cupping your stomach in panic. He grips your desk chair, swerving it to the side to have you face him, his body between your legs. 

His eyes squint lightly as he stares at your stomach. He doesn’t find anything wrong. The baby was curled in the amniotic sac, heartbeat stable. 

A tiny leg twitches and he flinches. He takes a deep breath in.

“Kicking,” you sigh softly, astonished. It felt like flutters, you pressed a hand to the side, where you felt the movement. 

You take his hand and place it to where the kicks are prominent. His hands shake, his palm smoothing over the fabric of your shirt. Clark’s hand was large. So warm. You just realized how close he was to you. His fingers glide underneath the waistband of your trousers, thumb rubbing the kicked spot tenderly. 

It was so intimate, you swore his eyes were glistening with welling tears. He exhales shakily, adjusting his glasses and sweeping a hand across his curls as you let go of his hand. 

His eyes land over your pelvis and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat as he stands. His cheeks turned pink. You glance down and you curse at yourself. Your panties were on full display, zipper wide open. You needed new pants. 

…

It was a cool night, you zip up your jacket quickly and clutch the strap of your bag as you hop out of Clark’s car, he comes out of the driver's side and stares at you, opening and closing his mouth, wanting to say something.

It was cold, you wanted to get inside. 

“Clark-” you start, wanting to thank him for the ride.

“I want to take you out to dinner.”

Your mouth shuts and your breath stutters. He stands up straighter amidst the silence. 

“I mean- can I take you out to dinner- may I?” 

…

“He asked you out?” 

You nod. 

“I think he has a fetish,” you say calmly as you hold up a onesie and feel the texture of the fabric. It was so soft, you pouted at the cute baby elephant design. 

Lois looks concerned by your statement. She pushes down the onesie in your hand so that you drop it back into the pile of baby clothes already in your shopping cart. 

She lifts a brow and crosses her arms. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

You shrug, pushing the cart to the maternity aisle. Lois follows, lifting up clothes, allowing you to either nod or wince before it either goes into the cart or is left behind.

“Well, he just likes you. He always has,” she says carefully. You attempt to recall instances where you felt his interest before your pregnancy. You guess you just didn’t notice. 

“Since when?” you ask. 

“The moment he walked into the Planet and saw you almost put your fist in Jimmy's stomach for stealing your story.” 

You purse your lips and shake your head. Lois sighs. 

You bought some pants and shirts for work, a dress, pjs and underwear. Lois also chipped in and bought some onesies, claiming that as godmother she needed to provide early. 

You grumbled at the self-appointment. 

Being on your feet had you winded, your soles ached. You sip on your lemon water, taking a break from shopping as you take lunch. Lois swirls the straw in her drink. 

Everyone was too afraid to ask you questions. No one knew you were seeing anyone. Many were theorizing the baby was Clark’s but given by the way you spoke about him, it seemed unlikely.

“So, do you know who the father is? I mean has he offered to be there for the baby?” 

She avoids your gaze as she asks, looking to the side as if the topic didn’t interest her as much as it did. You look off into the distance and let out a long, heavy sigh. 

“Remember that interview I did about five months ago?” 

It took her a moment. She startles you as she leans over the table. She cups your face and makes you turn your head. Your lips pursed, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock.

“Superman?!” 

…

Month Zero: Conception

“You’re so annoying,” you grit out. 

“That’s not what you said the night before, or the night before, or the night before…” 

You grip onto his shoulders tightly. His suit was on the floor, each piece making a trail to your kitchen. Your ass slid against your kitchen island as he pumped into you. 

You kiss him harshly, teeth clinking, lips bruising and leaving him breathless. Your thighs spread as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

His hand twists your shirt at the small of your back as he thrusts in a steady rhythm, the fabric tightens around your torso and highlights every dip and curve. His hips slam onto your pelvis, making your body jiggle with each beat. 

“S-shut up-“ you stutter. 

He came to you at this point. Your work relationship strong due to his punctuality. 

He’d arrive at your apartment's balcony, wait there as you got your recorder, your pen, and your notebook ready. 

You’d open your sliding door, dressed professionally in your pajamas. He’d step in with his hands intertwined and in front of him. His cape would caress your bare legs, like a breeze in the summer night. 

You came at him with tough questions. He’d get heated, you’d shift in your seat. He always smelled your arousal. 

And you’d always spread your legs for him the second he confronted you, stepping between them as you sat on your couch, his cock covered in Kryptonian fabric straining in your direction, willing you to touch. 

You wouldn’t publish the interviews. So, he’d come back to try again. 

He carries you to your bed, despite your growls and barks, you really didn’t bite. He could feel you soften underneath him as he drills into your tight wet hole over and over again. 

Your nails dig into his skin, barely leaving a mark, if only light red lines on his back as you took his cock throughout the night. 

You’re left a panting mess, lower belly painted in white, a path leading to your pussy, his seed dripping from your folds.

He had left a 50-dollar bill on your dresser. He didn’t pull out quick enough. An honest mistake when your walls got so tight he didn’t even want to move. 

He was going to come back the next day, probably check if you took a morning after pill, if not tease you about your frequent forgetfulness due to stress. 

That was the plan, until he was accused of attempting to conquer the world and build a harem. 

Your balcony was locked, blinds closed shut. You never answered despite his soft knocks. You didn’t trust superheroes, he knew this well. 

He broke what little faith you had in him, and it wasn’t even his fault. 

…

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing out as you finish your recount of events. It gave you a headache whenever you thought about Superman for too long. He just recently stopped knocking at your balcony door, about the same time Clark asked you to dinner. 

Lois nods along. Oh Clark. He was going to be a father. Out of wedlock no less, she wonders what the midwestern farm boy thinks of that. Her lips purse. 

He’s too open minded to be thinking of that type of stuff. She doesn’t approve of his “plan”. She wonders what you would say when you realized. Because you will realize. 

The baby has potential super strength and might have laser beams shooting out of its eyes, but the child’s will also have an uncanny appearance to Clark Kent. 

“What did you say to Clark?” 

You look down at your plate of lunch, picking at the pieces of food with your fork. Lois sips her lemonade as you mutter.

“I said yes.” 

She almost spits out her drink from laughter. Clark is so screwed. 

…

Month Six: Libido highs 

You were so soft. Softer than a rose petal. He could tell you liked being cared for, pampered. But you just didn’t open up. 

He could tell by the way your heart fluttered each time he got you something sweet from the cafe next door. When he would bring you fresh flowers to decorate your desk each week. 

He loved taking care of you, taking you home, asking about your day especially when you had difficulty expressing yourself with anything other than irritation. 

A compromise was made as you started dating. A subconscious compromise. He’d take you home right after seven at the latest. Straight home. He’d come in and make you dinner, maybe even let you help. 

Then he’d be on his merry way home.

You’d relax and work on your laptop, snug as a bug, freshly showered, and in your pajamas for the night, an oversized shirt and sleep shorts. 

You were doing just that tonight, watching reality tv, a hand absentmindedly rubbing over your belly as you zoned out. 

But something was different. Your energy finally increased over the past week or so. You move as if your center of gravity wasn’t shifted completely. Like a lioness on the prowl. You turn to stare at him as if he were prey, hands tight against the back of the couch.

You had acted this way the whole day, eyes following him as he made his way through meetings, calls, errands. 

“Can you stay the night?” you ask, your head resting on your arms, resting on the back of the couch as you watch him wash the dishes from your kitchen. You bite your lip as his tank top was visible over his dress shirt. You imagine this was how it felt to see a girl's bra through her shirt. 

You smile innocently as his eyes roam over the way you're on your knees on top of the couch. He shifts and faces the sink, willing his growing boner to soothe over. The shirt was loose over your shoulders, exposing your collarbones. You weren’t wearing a bra, apparent by the lack of a strap. 

“Y-yeah,” he clears his throat, his voice cracked. 

You haven’t had sex with Clark. But Clark remembers the feel of your body in hyper detail. He shivers as you make your way over to him, pressing your front to his back as you reach over to the cupboards.

Your belly presses against him, he straightens his back. His hands squeeze the sponge in his hand and he closes his eyes, almost in prayer. 

Your hand meets his side as you reach for a mug and your tea bags. He gets them for you, glancing briefly to see the way you rest a hand on top of your belly, fingers highlighting the curve of your breasts by pressing the fabric of your shirt underneath them. 

The more your pregnancy progresses the more he wants to tear apart a room, maybe even your clothes. How dare you walk around the editing room with a shirt that pronounces your bump and the breasts that rest atop it, pants that show off your thickening hips and juicy ass. 

He grips the sponge so hard it almost rips from the pressure. He wants to touch your soft tits so bad. 

“They’re throwing a baby shower for me next week. Wanted to know if you’re coming with me.” 

He pauses briefly at the invitation. He wasn’t just invited as a guest. He was invited to go with you. As your partner. He fights a grin of elation. 

Your water heater boils loudly. You press a hand to his back, rubbing up and down. You could feel his back muscles. You bite your lip as they flex under your touch. 

He turns. 

“I’d love to go with you.”

You smile softly, genuinely. He dries his hands with a rag, takes your hand and presses a soft kiss against it. 

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly. 

He nods. His hand squeezes yours as you swing it lightly between your bodies. 

“You don’t have to. I’m not trying to ask anything of you,” you rush out. 

He takes a step towards you, you avoid his pointed gaze. You were asking so much more than a baby shower. 

“What if I want to?” 

You take a step, bringing your intertwined hands to the side of your bump.

“You want this?” 

He bends down to meet your gaze, willing you to meet his eyes. He cups your face gently, tapping your chin with his thumb when you couldn’t quite look up at him. 

Your eyes were red, slowly welling with tears. Frustration, anxiety, fear. He cups the side of your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your skin. 

“I want this and more.” 

You sigh in relief, arms winding over his shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his flannel as he kisses your cheek and pulls you close into his warm embrace. 

…

You sit on the couch behind him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling it back as he types in his laptop, grumbling about the red line highlighting underneath proper nouns. 

Your legs were spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders as he sat on the carpet facing the tv. 

He was in a shirt and sweatpants. Some of your most oversized clothing items you had on hand. They were form fitting, luckily. 

You fight the urge to pounce on him. You didn’t think he could be so large. Tall, yes of course. But muscular and shaped like a Greek God? 

Who would have known. Then again, he is from a farm. He must know a thing or two about working with his hands.

His kisses have gotten even more adventurous. The tension is sticky and dewy. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. At least you hoped he did so that he could follow through. 

You peed yourself in the morning, after rushing to work and having missed your alarm. The kid kicked harder and harder each day, your organs losing space inside of your body. A hit to your bladder was imminent. 

Clark had watched you straighten up from your chair to stand stiffly, hand on your back to handle the weight. You were 26 weeks along, just about to get into your third trimester. 

You were waddling to the restroom and he was pretty sure you weren’t waddling the night before as he left you at your apartment door. You texted him SOS. 

He had to look through your desk drawers for spare undies. He pulled them out of your drawer to shove in his pocket quickly. They were maternity panties, the ones that stretched over your belly. 

He was flustered as he made his way to the bathroom, looking behind him after barging in to the women’s. 

He held the underwear between his fingers as he handed them to you, snickering under his breath about granny panties. You pinched his side and used a stall to change. 

“You could have asked Lois,” he mentions, completely embarrassed from being inside the women’s bathroom. Even if the door was locked and no one could enter. 

“You're my boyfriend, I don’t want her to see my intimates,” you retort behind the stall. 

The word repeated in his head over and over again. He couldn’t not think about the casual way you said it. He felt his pants tighten, he grinned as you came out of the bathroom. He was your boyfriend, and you were his pregnant girlfriend carrying his big baby that just made you pee your pants.  

He came up behind you and pressed himself against your back. The proximity surprised you, his hands cupped your belly, adjusting the stretchy strap of your maternity trousers lower and lower until it bundled up on your waist. 

His fingers press underneath your belly, inching closer to your cunt. 

“What-” 

He kisses you as you turn your head, holding you in place as his lips moved languidly over yours, his hands wandered, softly at first, resting on your bump but it quickly evolved into passionate fondling. 

He cupped your breast, squeezing as you leaned further into him and lifted a hand to caress over the back of his head. The other hand pressed against your hip, pressing you against him to grind on you. 

You felt his hot erection press against your ass, you arched your back to press your mound against the bulge. 

The knock at the door didn’t soften him, but his groping slowed to a pause. He caresses over your belly, his head buried between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. 

They knock again. 

“Clark, we need to go.”

He growled, kissing a path to your jaw and shocking you from his possessive hold. His glasses were skewed as he unwillingly pulled away.

He was flushed as he made his way out of the women’s bathroom behind you. Cat stared at you pointedly as you avoided her gaze. She gave a wry laugh as Clark said a quiet ‘excuse me’.

You couldn’t focus the rest of the work day, and now as he sits on the floor of your apartment between your knees, you couldn’t help but feel frustrated. 

Your hands travel, smoothing over his shoulders, then over his biceps, squeezing the mass until it hardens with a flex. 

He turns his head, the side of his face meeting your bump. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. You tip his head so that you could meet your lips with his. 

He must be shy. The bastard. 

In his own head, he was thinking if you’d find his body familiar if things continued. He’s visibly nervous. He’s had time to think over the possibility of you somehow remembering the shape and size of his dick from months before.

You shift in your seat. You stick your tongue in his mouth and moan. He suddenly forgets about all of his worries. He turns his body, departing from your lips and kneeling in front of you. 

You lean forward to peck his lips.

You wince as your feet meet the ground. He stops, parting from your lips, like a dog straightening up from a rustle in the bush. He’s been noticing you wincing a lot lately. 

“What is it?” he asks softly, cupping your cheek.

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again. He pulls away. You whine from the back of your throat and you surprise yourself with the noise. 

He bites back a smirk. His chest rumbles with satisfaction at your neediness. 

“Tell me what’s hurting.” 

You groan and slump against the cushion. You lift your foot. Your usual heels didn’t fit anymore, you had to wear sandals. It's been like this for a couple of days now. You could barely bend down to see your toes. 

He pushes his laptop off to the side and takes your feet to his lap. His thumb presses against the arch of your feet, a tingle shoots through your leg and to your center. His touch was firm yet gentle. 

Your head lolled against the cushion, and you sank deeper into the softness of your couch. You groan as he presses and kneads your foot. You didn’t even notice one of his hands started rubbing up your calf and to your inner thigh. 

Your eyes are closed, your leg twitches in a short burst of pleasure as he continues. 

He kisses up your leg. You sit up but he pushes you back down against the couch, palm right up against your mound and cupping your belly. 

His fingers on the sole of your foot continue to massage into your muscle.

“Let me take care of you. Hm?” he says, mouth parted as he played with the waistband of your shorts. 

You gush. 

“So good,” he hums against you, tongue flattening over your folds. You cup his head against you pressing his face deeper. You roll your hips. 

The lower half of his face was covered in your arousal as he pulled back. He kisses your inner thigh as you lift yourself up on your elbows. 

“You taste so good. So sweet.”

Your leg twitches, breath stuttering. You internally squeal. You want to grab your throw pillow and shove your face in it to bite and scream. His eyes narrow and his eyes flicker from your chest, your heart pumping erratically, to your cunt. 

He grips your hands pushing them against the cushions as you attempt to reach for his head as he dives in again, you moan out at the strength he displayed. Sweet, shy Clark, holding you down as he ate your pussy like a man starved, not caring for the breathy whines of overstimulation that vibrated through the walls as he pressed the tip of his tongue around the rim of your hole. 

Clark loved your attitude. He loved being able to turn you into putty in his hands. He’s sure you didn’t even realize as he maneuvered you onto the bed, over his body. 

You were somewhere else, somewhere not quite away but never quite conscious enough to retort or scowl or take the control you so desperately required at work, in public with your colleagues. 

Even Superman got you fucked out and stupid, despite your skepticism and cold demeanor. 

You were always so warm when he had you like this, underneath him, his cock impaling you, his mouth licking over your skin. 

He situated you on his lap, your eyelids were threatening to close completely, and you had lost all of your words. He took your clothes off of your body, hands wandering and squeezing, your hips, your ass, your breasts. His lips praised you as he brought you to ecstasy over and over again with his tongue, fingers, and cock.

“Good girl.” 

Your hips stutter, your eyes widen. You look at him as if he held the world in his hands. Putty in his hands. You bounce on his cock, his hand lightly holds your throat, the other playing with your sensitive nipples, squeezing your swollen flesh. 

“Fucking me so good, my good girl.” 

You lean forward, your round stomach pressing against his. You kiss over his neck, although due to the deep thrusts from below, you often paused just to moan out. You close your eyes tightly as he lifts his hips up into you. 

You lose your inhibitions completely to a place he’s never taken you before. 

“Daddy,” you blurt out, word coming out as he thrusted and his cock punched the breath from your lungs. 

He pauses, he makes you sit up straight again. He teases you, failing to hide his smirk at your completely petrified face. He was a daddy, technically. 

“Fuck, I don’t-” you press a hand to your mouth in shock, your eyes were teary from pleasure, you were shaking. 

He sits up against the headboard, taking your hands away from your face and kissing your lips softly and slowly. He cups the back of your head, keeping you in place as he moves your hips back and forth, plunging you onto his cock like a sex doll. 

He uses your body, you break the kisses to moan, to bite your lip and attempt to contain yourself. That won’t do. 

“Who’s your daddy?” 

You try to say it, you try to answer him but your shyness prevents you. You bite your tongue, pursing your lips as your face scrunches as if you were in pain. He cups your belly, he kisses down your jaw, coaxing you to let go. 

“You’re so stubborn. Who’s your daddy?” he repeats, his pace quickens. You let go with tears in your eyes, you babble your answer repeatedly into the air. 

“Fu-You. You, Clark, You, You, You.”  

He makes you repeat yourself all night. 

…

He was so peaceful asleep, his arm was holding you close by the waist, his face shoved in the pillows, hair a complete mess. He snores a little. 

Your finger caresses his cheek lightly, he takes a deep breath in, his eyes fluttering open. It was eleven. You both slept in. 

Your stomach growls and he looks pulls you closer, his face gently resting against your breasts.

You didn’t really like being cuddled in bed. There wasn’t enough space to spread out, your body was too hot during the night and now with your pregnancy, the discomfort made it hard to sleep. 

You melt into his touch, burying your nose into his hair and smelling your shampoo and a hint of salty musk. 

He kisses up your neck, to your lips, making you groan as he attempts to use his tongue to open your mouth. 

“Morning breath,” you mumble self-consciously, keeping your lips pursed as you speak groggily. He hums pressing a kiss to your temple, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m making you breakfast. You two hungry gals need to eat.” 

You don’t say anything as he sits up, you stare at him as if he grew a second head. How did he know? You’ve barely asked your obstetrician for the gender the day before after being so indecisive for months. 

Maybe you mentioned it. The confusion is excused as pregnancy brain. 

He knows his way around your kitchen, your apartment in general. As if he lived there himself. He serves you from your favorite plate, turns on the tv in the background as you talk because you hated the silence between each shift in conversation topic. 

You hated yogurt but you let him feed you a scoop of his. 

He had a lot of his things here you notice, some snacks he likes, a Smallville sweater he left. The crib he built, the stuffed cow he bought the baby, up as decoration against your spare bedroom’s window because “it’s a safety hazard to have stuffed animals and thick blankets in the crib, y'know". 

“How are you feeling?” 

You're ripped away from your inner thoughts. He rests his hand on your stomach. You nod. 

“No heartburn?”  

You shake your head. He lifts your feet to his lap, massaging the swelling around your ankle. You feed him the rest of the food on your plate, he always serves you too much. 

“No bleeding gums?” 

Your disturbed expression tells him no. He laughs and you stuff a piece of toast in his mouth. 

He was treating you like his baby momma, as if the child growing in your womb was his. But you had to admit, you could see him as a father to your baby. Some part of you already did. 

Your chest feels heavy. You sigh. You have to tell him who the father is. One of these days. 

…

Month 8.5: Labor 

Maternity leave just started, albeit later than usual due to your stubbornness. He hated seeing you in so much discomfort. 

You were mentally done with pregnancy at 35 weeks. It was uncomfortable to sit, to lay down, to eat, to shower, to just be. 

The final straw was when you started leaking. You were one of the lucky ones to express colostrum. Some cheesy and outdated “mommy” blogs called it liquid gold, stating that the milk was a blessing. 

Your blessing made two large wet spots in the middle of lunch, your coworkers avoiding looking you in the eye for the rest of the day as a result. 

You had cried that night, completely humiliated. You were leaking all day and Clark couldn’t help but think that this was all his fault. And it was. 

That was the final straw. You stayed home. 

You were sitting on your couch, staring at the ceiling in deep anger. 

“I hate him,” you mutter. Clark leans over the back of the couch and rests his head against your shoulder.

“Who are we hating today?” 

You shake your head. You’ve been anxious to tell him. He knows the man, they talk for interviews all of the time. You think they were friends. 

You sigh. 

“The man who did this to me.” 

He says nothing but a short “oh.” and kisses the side of your head. You blink up at the ceiling, having expected him to ask clarifying questions. 

He pats the side of your belly, like he would a dog that would bound up to him at the park whenever you wanted to walk outside.

He chuckles at the sound it made, like a hollow watermelon. You grip his hand tightly, head turning slowly to glare. 

You stand, wobbly, pressing a hand to your back to steady yourself. 

“Are you not going to ask?” you ask accusingly. His visible confusion makes you even more upset. You turn the corner.

“What do you mean?” 

You scoff. He was a journalist. You’d think he’d be better at asking questions, that he’d yearn to learn the truth, to know more. 

His lack of interest on the topic of the biological father wasn’t going to be healthy in the long run. 

“You’ve never asked, Clark.” 

Your hormones were getting more rampant, more irregular. You went through emotions quickly. Having a metahuman baby would surely make the effects even more intense. You scowl. 

“Asked what?” 

You groan lightly, you cross your arms. He was too calm, too genuine. It made you pause. Why did he fit into the father role so perfectly? He never seemed concerned at the prospect of his newish girlfriend having a baby from another man. 

“About the father.” 

He shrugs. He swallows thickly and smooths his hair back. 

“Do you want me to ask?” 

You nod. 

“You have to know. In case…” 

You drift off, your voice trembling. What if he doesn’t want a metahuman baby? What if it’s too much? What if the child looks too much like his buddy? 

“You have to know,” you say with finality. He sits down on the loveseat, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, facing him. His lips twitch, as if he found the situation funny. 

You huff. 

“What- how do you want me to ask? Serious, casual, w-what?” he stutters wittily. You stare at him, unblinking. He nods, pursing his lips at your eyes full of scold.

“Who is the father?” 

You swallow thickly. He mimics the action. His leg bounces, ready to hear you say what he already knew. 

“Superman.” 

His lips twitch, your hands were wringing in your lap with nerves. You look down at your feet, as they shift against the carpet. 

He chuckles. He stands.

“Superman?” 

You scoff at his tone. His voice was filled with disbelief. He kisses your cheek sweetly, rubbing a hand over your belly before standing up straighter.

“Ok.” 

He swallows so thickly that he almost chokes on his tongue as he goes back to the kitchen. His face pales as he faces away from you. 

He was panicking. What will happen once that curly dark-haired baby comes out looking exactly like Clark Kent. Will you shrug it off as coincidence? Should he tell you the truth before you figured out Clark and Superman were one in the same?  

He chopped some fruit, dwelling in the silence that followed his dismissal. He hears the couch shift, you stand, determined. 

“You don’t believe me,” you state. He avoids your gaze. He chops up a mango for you to snack on. He shrugs. 

“You don’t think your buddy Superman could ever be an absent father?” you spit out. His hands tighten. He places the knife against the cutting board softly. He was about to retort a sharp no. 

Because Superman was not an absent father. 

You huff heavily through your nose at his silence. Your body starts to shake with frustration. 

“Why don’t you call him up.  Ask him.” 

He says your name slowly.

“You get an interview from him any other day, I'm sure you could get him alone to ask about child support.” 

He turns to face you, your eyes hardened. You turn to your balcony, throwing your hands out. You ignore the slight pressure on your belly. It must be a strong kick. 

“You know what? I’ll call him right now.” 

You open the sliding doors roughly. 

“Superman!” 

He follows you outside. He feels his chest ache as he looks around. A sense of nostalgia from stepping into your balcony. 

“Superman!” you shout again, a tad bit louder. Clark stands behind you. The sounds outside were deafening, you didn’t think you would be able to hear yourself from the street below 

“What are you doing-“ 

You cut him off, holding a finger up as if his voice was disturbing your call. 

“He said he would answer my call no matter where he is, what he’s doing, he could hear me.” 

He does. He hears you perfectly well. Superman wasn’t going to come. He looks at you softly, you shout a few more times. Annoyance builds within you, sadness festering with it. 

You clutch your belly with a hand, you wince, the pressure around your bump becoming more prominent. You felt your heart in your throat, you groaned at the tightness. Clark jumps to action, hand moving to cup your bump and ask you what was wrong. 

You clutch the balcony’s thin metal railing as you lean away from him. Petty and still upset. 

He notices the creak coming from the rusty bars. He sees the way it bends forward from your weight.  You pushed away from him and suddenly you were weightless. 

You yell out as your feet slip from the ledge. 

He holds you up by the waist, another hand cupping your head. You stare at him, terrified to fall. Your chest rises and falls, you wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly.

You hear the fence clash against the street below. 

A pressure releases from your center, it felt like you pissed yourself, but your bladder wasn’t squeezed by the baby’s kick. Your pajama pants dampen. 

He was floating, the soles of his shoes lightly brushing the walls of the building. His curls flop forward as you stare up at him.

Your yell was so loud he flinched. 

“Hospital!” 

…

Month 6: Family Road trip

She babbles from the back of the car. You could see her from the mirror you set up in front of her seat, biting into the teething toy Clark froze a while ago as he drove. 

The drive from Metropolis to Kansas was almost 6 hours long. It was like a family road trip, even though you’re sure she wouldn’t remember a thing about her travels along the state. 

Clark has his hand on your thigh, resting there. You place your hand on top of his and he glances in your direction, giving your leg a squeeze. 

Driving back to Kansas was annoying, admittedly, but after groveling at your doorstep or whenever you dropped off his Dolly at his apartment, he finally managed to make you agree to seeing him again.

He couldn’t fly you both to Kansas, no matter how much he attempts to convince you to climb on his back. 

The car parks right outside the Kent household. He takes little Martha Dorothy, Dorothy mostly your silly little suggestion for a middle name because Kansas, out of the car seat and into his arms. He coos at her, mimicking her slight fussiness from the hot humid air she was blasted with as the doors opened. 

She was so small in his arms, she leaned against his shoulder. Clark blew on her face lightly, providing a cool breeze. She sleeps as he rubs her back in circles. 

Martha and Jonathan Kent greet you all with open arms. 

…

Martha was in Clark’s old crib, she slept peacefully, Clark rubbing her belly as she snoozed. 

“She liked the cows,” he says almost in a whisper. You looked over at him and could see the adorable way he was crouched over the wooden crib, his hulking form watching the teeny tiny half human dream of candy clouds and rainbows probably. 

You hum, crossing the room and pressing against his back, arms winding around him and palms sliding over his chest. 

He’s been begging for you back for months, ever since Dolly was born. You press your face in his neck. His flannel smelled like him. Not like smoke and dust from debris like Superman. Not like printer ink and that expensive coffee that he gets from around the corner. 

He smelled like plain old Clark, hot chocolate and firewood. 

“I really want to marry you.” 

He touches your hand, playing with your fingers. He wasn’t nervous as he told you this. He was surprisingly calm, and his voice was steady. He tips his head lightly to glance at you. 

You were surprisingly not freaked the hell out. 

“Not right now, though, obviously.” 

You nod, snorting at his clarification. You peck his cheek, smoothing back his hair. 

“Obviously, yeah.” 

You watch the baby settle into deep sleep. She had Clark's hair and his eyes, a slightly darker shade. You wonder if you would have ever realized the similarities. 

You tsk. You definitely would have. 

—-----------------

Hope you enjoyed anon! This was fun and silly to write. I’ve never written about some of the smut aspects. lol I'm exploring. 

Requests will be closing soon (a day or so) because I’m about to move into my new apartment soon and start the semester and lowkey I gotta lock in for senior year. I need that honor chord twins. 😔

Chubby Clark request soon! 😝

Taglist:

@aphroditesblunt @animegamerfox @twizzlelutz

-Alejandra 💋🐇

[nylqnder]

BUTTERFINGERS WILL SMITH

pairing: fem!reader x will smith

summary: will's quiet protectiveness over you begins to make you feel as though he's more than a friend.

warnings: will getting injured, friends to lovers, reader being a butterfingers/clumsy, bit of language

wc: 2.89k

notes: i can't get over will just automatically protecting you from things and just knowing you're going to bump your head or drop something.

Will had silently taken on the role of guardian against your own clumsiness.

As he got to know you, Will observed your accident-prone habits — the way you would unknowingly leave cabinet doors open at forehead level, how your phone always seemed to be on the verge of slipping from your grasp, and the countless times you misjudged the distance between your toe and the corner of the coffee table. He adapted in subtle, almost imperceptible ways, weaving his quiet vigilance into the rhythm of daily life.

At first, it was little things. He’d casually nudge a cup away from the table’s edge when you weren’t looking or intercept your phone mid-fall with reflexes so swift it seemed like a coincidence. If you were carrying too many things at once, he’d wordlessly take the heavier items from your hands before you had the chance to protest — or inevitably drop something.

Over time, his protective instincts became second nature. He walked slightly ahead of you when you were distracted, steering you gently away from uneven pavement or sudden steps. He started keeping a steadying hand near your back when you climbed stairs, ready to catch you if your balance faltered. Whenever you cooked, he subtly repositioned knives and hot pans out of your unknowing danger zone, and if you reached for something on a high shelf, he was already there, retrieving it before you had the chance to teeter on your tiptoes precariously

Even his speech patterns adjusted. A soft “watch your step” would precede any tricky curb, and a quiet “careful” would slip from his lips whenever you absentmindedly swung your arms too close to a fragile object. He never made a big deal out of it, never teased or sighed in exasperation. He simply adapted — anticipating, adjusting, protecting.

And perhaps the most telling thing of all was how effortless it became for him. As if watching over you wasn’t a responsibility, but rather something as natural as breathing.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Will was observant by nature, careful in a way that contrasted your absentminded chaos, so his small interventions felt like an extension of who he was rather than something particular to you. But then, you began to notice — really notice.

Like the way he always positioned himself between you and the street when you walked together, his body a quiet barrier against the rush of passing cars. Or the way he would always get the door for you, seeing as you always get it wrong — pulling it when it’s a push, or pushing it when it’s a pull, which always resulted in you smacking into the door.

It wasn’t just his actions, but the way they made you feel. Safe. Not in the dramatic, swept-off-your-feet kind of way, but in the quiet, steady assurance that came with knowing someone was looking out for you — not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

And that was the thing about Will. He never laughed when you tripped over nothing or sighed when you dropped your phone for the millionth time, resulting in a new crack on your screen. He didn’t roll his eyes when you forgot where you put your keys for the third time in a day. Instead, he’d hand them to you with a soft “found them,” and a small, knowing smile that never held an ounce of exasperation.

The realization crept in slowly, unfurling in the space between his gestures and your awareness of them. You started looking forward to the little moments — the quiet steadiness of his presence, the way he never made you feel like a burden, never made your clumsiness into a punchline.

And then, one evening, it hit you.

Will and Macklin were set to go to a Warriors game, but last minute the younger Shark bailed on him in favour of a date. Will, not wanting to skip the game, asked you if you wanted to come. Basketball was never your chosen sport of interest, but you knew how badly Will wanted to go, so you agreed.

You were sitting in front of your vanity, curling wand in hand, rushing to finish your hair. Will was standing next to you, arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he huffed dramatically. “How long does it take to curl hair? I mean, we’re gonna miss tip-off at this rate.”

“Relax, we have plenty of time,” you said distractedly. For Will, it was like it happened in slow motion. He watched as your hand went to grab the curling iron, only to be reaching for the barrel instead of the handle. His hand darted in before yours, grabbing the barrel and pulling it out of your grasp.

Will only realized what he had done when it was too late, the burning sensation seeping into his skin. His face contorted in pain as he pulled his hand back sharply, letting out a sharp, involuntary scream. You turned in alarm, dropping the curling wand onto the vanity as you watched him clutch his hand, the raw redness already starting to form across his palm.

“What the hell, Will?” you shouted, the surprise and panic evident in your voice. You stood up, your hands trembling as you instinctively reached for his hand, wanting to help but not sure how. “Why the fuck did you grab my curling wand?”

He grimaced, his teeth gritted, but he managed a strained chuckle, his voice laced with guilt. “You were about to burn yourself,” he said simply as if that explained everything.

You blinked, momentarily stunned. You hadn’t even realized what had happened until he had grabbed the hot barrel. You’d been so caught up in finishing your hair, your mind swirling with thoughts of getting to the game, that you hadn’t even noticed your near mishap.

“You saw that?” you asked, your voice softer now, the edge of anger replaced with surprise. “You noticed I was about to—?”

He winced, clearly trying to mask the pain, but there was a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Of course I did,” he said quietly. “You do that a lot. Always rushing, not paying attention.” He gave a small shake of his head, looking almost apologetic. “I don’t know. It just… it’s instinct, I guess.”

You stared at him, trying to process his words. Will had always been observant, but this was something else entirely — a silent, steady vigilance that you’d never fully understood. He’d always been there, quietly anticipating your missteps, but you hadn’t realized just how much of it was rooted in a kind of protective instinct.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his expression, the way he held his injured hand close to his body, still trying to hide his discomfort for your sake.

You guided him carefully toward the kitchen, your heart pounding with a mixture of concern and confusion. He let you lead him, his steps slow as he held his injured hand away from his body like it was too fragile to touch anything. Once you reached the sink, you turned on the cold water, the rush of it filling the air.

Will stood beside you, watching you with a calmness that made your chest tighten with guilt. You helped him ease his hand under the water, the cold liquid hissing as it met the burn. He flinched for just a second, but then the chill seemed to soothe him, and he let out a soft breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment.

You reached over to gently hold his wrist, guiding it more carefully into the stream of water. The contact was subtle but felt significant—your fingers wrapping around his, steadying him as the water washed away the heat. There was an odd intimacy to the moment, something quietly tender in the way you were taking care of him, something that made your heart thud louder than it had any right to.

“How did you know?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual as you glanced at him, your eyes searching for answers. “How did you know I was going to grab the barrel?”

Will didn’t immediately respond, his gaze still focused on his hand, the water dripping off his fingers. He shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint, almost apologetic smile. “I just saw it coming,” he said, his voice low. “You were distracted, reaching for something hot. I… I could just tell.”

His gaze flickered toward you then, catching your eyes for the briefest of moments. “You’ve got a tendency to forget, y’know,” he added.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, a laugh escaping you that was both incredulous and full of affection. “You always seem to notice these things. It’s like you’re… watching me.”

Will’s expression shifted, something unspoken flashing in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just staring down at his hand under the water. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, but you could feel the weight of his silence. It wasn’t just concern you were sensing now; it was something deeper, something that made your heart flutter uncertainly in your chest.

“Why do you always notice?” you pressed gently, not quite sure where the question was leading but needing to understand. “It’s like you’re always one step ahead, always catching things before I do.”

Will’s shoulders shifted under the weight of your question, and he let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. “I don’t know,” he said after a beat, his words almost too soft to catch. “I guess… I guess I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

There it was. The reason behind the actions that had always seemed so natural to him, so effortless. Will was watching, not just because he could, but because he cared. It wasn’t just observation — it was protection. He had quietly, unknowingly taken on the role of your guardian in a way that you had never even noticed.

He cared.

The weight of that simple, unspoken confession made your stomach flip, but before you could fully process it, something impulsive and raw surged up inside you. You closed the distance between you and Will, your heart racing with an intensity that felt as though it could pull you apart. In an instant, before either of you could think it through, you kissed him.

The shock hit both of you at the same time — his breath catching in his throat as your lips met his, both of you stilling for a moment, like the world had suddenly paused. The soft warmth of his mouth against yours was everything you didn’t expect but everything you needed. And just as quickly, the fear of what you’d just done flooded in.

You pulled away, wide-eyed, the breath between you ragged. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—what the hell was that?” you stammered, a forced chuckle leaving your lips. Your face heated up as you scrambled to explain. “I—I don’t know what came over me. You just… I don’t know. I just—” You trailed off, unable to form the words to explain how his quiet care had wrapped itself around you, how you felt like the luckiest person alive just to be near him, to have him protect you without ever making you feel like a burden.

“I—I was just so touched, Will. By everything you’ve done, the way you look out for me. You’re—” Your voice faltered, the words feeling clumsy as you tried to express what you were feeling. “You’re one of the only people who doesn’t make fun of me for being so… clumsy. For being me.”

You stared down at your hands, suddenly embarrassed by the vulnerability of the confession.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft sound of your breathing, mingled with the sound of the water still running. Then, before you could continue apologizing or retreating into a wave of mortification, Will cut you off.

He leaned forward, dipping his head down so his lips could brush against yours again. The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, but quickly deepened, and all the awkwardness from before melted away. His hand found its way to your cheek, his fingers warm and sure as they cupped your face, the gesture filled with a softness that made your chest ache.

You both pulled away again, your breath mingling together in the small gap of space that remained between you two. The air was thick, not with tension, but with the words that had yet to be said.

His voice was low and slightly rough as he spoke, the words a whisper that seemed to settle between the two of you, making everything feel incredibly intimate. “I don’t know why I do it,” he said, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheek as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of you. “But every time I see you about to get hurt — whether it's something big or small — there’s this… this urge to protect you. To make sure you’re okay. It’s just… instinct, I guess, like you said.” He paused, his eyes flickering over your face, searching, before his gaze softened. “But it’s more than that. It’s not just about keeping you safe. It’s about… caring.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his confession, and for a moment, you were speechless. You had always known there was something different about the way Will looked after you, but hearing it from him, in his own words, made it all the more real.

“Will…” you started, your voice trembling just slightly, unsure if your own feelings could measure up to the tenderness he was offering. You took a deep breath before continuing. “I—I care about you too. More than I’ve ever let myself admit.” Your hands found their way to his shirt, the fabric beneath your fingers grounding you in the present. “The way you protect me, it’s not just that you’re looking out for me. It’s that… it’s that you make me feel seen. You make me feel like I’m not… a nuisance. Like you actually want to be here. I’ve never felt that way with anyone else.”

There was a pause, just long enough for your words to hang in the air between you. Will’s gaze softened, his uninjured hand leaving your cheek to rest over yours, gently prying your fingers away from his shirt only to intertwine them with his own.

“You’re not a nuisance,” he said, his voice steady, but his eyes held something deeper, something more raw. “I want to be here, with you. Not just for your clumsiness, not just to catch you when you fall. But because…” He swallowed, the words suddenly feeling heavier on his tongue. “Because I’ve been falling for you too. And I don’t want to stop.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your chest tightened with a mix of relief and disbelief. All of the moments — the small gestures, the quiet care — suddenly made sense. Will had been there, not just as your protector, but as someone who had quietly, unknowingly, built a foundation for something more.

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same,” you whispered, your voice vulnerable. “I thought maybe I was just… someone you looked after. But I want this too, Will. I want… us. If you’re still okay with that.”

Will’s smile was soft and sincere, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter. He gently cupped your face again, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before speaking again.

“I’m more than okay with that,” he said, his voice steady, now filled with a quiet confidence.

You looked up at him, leaning in to connect your lips once again. But just as the kiss deepened, Will’s hand moved instinctively, like it had so many times before, to cup your face. Only this time, something was different. The faint sting of his burn flared as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your cheek, and he pulled back with a sharp inhale, wincing slightly.

“Fuck, that still hurts.” he hissed, his hand withdrawing from your face. Will shook his hand as if that would make the pain magically fall away.

“Who’s the clumsy one now?” you said, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of your lips, trying to break any remaining tension between you two.

Will chuckled, though the pain in his hand still lingered. His eyes softened, a quiet amusement flickering across his features as he met your gaze. “Guess it’s me,” he said, his voice light, yet full of affection.

You couldn’t help but smile back, the warmth between you both settling into something easy and comfortable. The air that had once been thick with unspoken words now felt clear and open. The kiss, the confessions — everything was still fresh, but it was right, in a way that neither of you could deny.

“I think we should get to that game before either of us ends up more injured than we already are,” you teased, a playful spark in your eyes.

Will grinned, his usual protective instinct settling back in as he offered you his good hand. “Let's go,” he said, squeezing your hand.

And as you both walked out the door together, the world felt a little less dangerous.

[eternallyei]

smut, men x reader

Thinking about men who consider themselves your best friend until the moment they get horny.

Spending their precious time with you, laughing and talking about whatsoever, living his peaceful and lovely life before they catch themselves staring.

They get randomly flustered at the thought of you figuring out their thoughts while you just lay there on his little room’s bed, yapping as usual.

Cheeks flushing red as they close their eyes to suppress the lewd images of them stuffing you full of their dick, cum dripping out of your hole to wet the sheets. He shakes his head.

“hey.. you listening?”

“I- Oh.. yeah yeah, I’m sorry..”

He nods, adjusting back on his chair, his calloused hands join over his cock in an attempt to hide the aching boner growing in his boxer.

He always tend to get lost in the thoughts of feeling your hole clench and spasm around his length.

Denial and fight is his daily routine around you, he just can’t resist you but you’re just friends, best friends at most, right.. ?

God, if only you knew how hard he tries to fight the urge to moan your name when you’re on a call with him. Because yes, you spend your whole life together, it’s all the more hard to think about anything else but you.

He loves listening to your voice but it’s so hard to contain himself for so long that barely even ten minutes after you get on the call, he mutes himself. Lowering his sweatpants and boxer, his cock twitching in his hand when you sigh or innocently whine about your day.

If only he could have at least a taste of you, his gaze eating you up from the moment they leave your eyes and roam over the sight of you. You and the way you speak, while your whole body explains every senses that were awakened when the story happened.

How your lips curl into syllables through your speech, your neck looking oh-so markable along the way your adam’s apple moves when you gulp down the saliva all those words have been building. All that saliva that should be dripping down your chin as he fills your sweet talkative mouth up.

It’s not his fault if your clothes tighten so well around your curves, it shows everything yet not enough of what he needs to see. His heart screaming to rip everything off you and taste you.. and feel you.. and.. fill you.

“Hey, are you okay ? your pant’s wet..”

Maybe staring at you for too long wasn’t a good idea, he knows. But who could’ve believed he could cum just by looking at your sweet and lovely figure..

— CHŌSO caleb Gale Jinshi ARMIN kyo BOKUTO —

— AND ANY OF YOUR FAVS ♡

this has been left in my drafts for a while and it is time for it to be aired so i hope you guys like it~

likes, rb and comments are appreciated, thank you lovelies ♡

@eternallyei. please do not copy/translate/use as your own.

[never-rxne]

─── modern au sevika: silly domestic headcanons

content warnings: none. just fluff. as promised :)

"i'll give you my love, don't think i could love you any more than this i like you, i like you so much god, i think i really love you why are you so handsome? i'm nervous how can i deserve this person who listens to me? it's you this is how i adore you." (G)I-DLE, "Give Me Your (주세요)".

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   sevika’s love language: being annoying. when she gets comfortable enough around you she’s basically like the eldest brother in an asian household who got into a top college so he gets the asshole pass. gets especially annoying when she wants attention but you’re preoccupied. motions to tip your bottle up as you’re drinking from it. randomly takes your book, flips through it, puts the bookmark in another place, then hands it back without a word. flicks you on the forehead, never hard enough to hurt, but when you get fed up and whine that it does, she’ll laugh and suddenly pull you close to plant a hard kiss where she flicked. also ruffles your hair aggressively as she passes by. if you protest about it she looks back with a raised eyebrow and the most innocent expression on her face that it just makes you laugh.

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   goes through your camera roll after a trip and insists that she took any photo that came out well even when she clearly did not. you both fully know who actually took the picture (you) but she starts these petty arguments purely to mess with you. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   when she gets sick you cook her favorite foods for her and she’ll follow you around the kitchen wrapped in a blanket, criticizing every choice you make in spices. 

“why don’t you just go lie down?”

“if you don’t add the cumin the curry will taste wrong.” 

“sevika, go lie down.” 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   good at lifting but terrible with cardio, she gets winded after like 15 minutes. you started forcing her out of the house for daily walks through the park to build her stamina. grumbles but will go along without complaint if you promise to pay for the gelato on the way back home.  

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  will watch comedy movies without a twitch of the mouth but cackles at the most unfunny parts of horror/drama movies. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  has a sixth sense when it comes to keeping you out of danger. covers the edge of a table with her hand to keep you from banging your head. grabs you by the shirt and yanks you back before you walk into the street in front of a car. it's second nature for her. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  has the maddening habit of whistling anything she heard on the radio the day before. you don’t need to turn on 106.7 Light FM to know what classical track was playing because she’s been whistling the William Tell overture for the past hour while she fixes the sink in the kitchen. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  sometimes has dreams about something vaguely mean you did and sulks for the whole morning about it. it won’t even be a seriously bad dream—it would be something small, like you ignoring her when she tried to talk to you or the tone of your voice was irritable and it hurt her feelings. in the dream. refuses to tell you until like a week later when she mentions it in an offhand voice.

“THAT'S why you didn’t want the coffee i made that morning? are you serious?-”

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  incapable of giving compliments. her brain does not work that way. every sweet thing she wants to say to you gets lost in translation from her thoughts to her speech and she’ll end up saying something that would sound like a backhanded compliment at best, a downright insult at worst. you’ve gotten used to it though. when she says you look like a hairless cave rat you know she means you look so adorable she wants to put you in her pocket and carry you around. when she says you look like you just survived a train wreck you know she means she’s worried about how tired you are and wants you to rest. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  almost never initiates physical affection in the day (her pride won’t allow it) but in her sleep she refuses to let go of you. if you wriggle away from her unconsciously she’ll take it as a personal affront, and just pull you closer. even the hot summer weather won’t stop her from using you as her teddy bear. just keep the fan on and throw the blankets to the floor, she needs to feel your pulse beat against her skin to be able to fall asleep. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  your contact on her phone is just your full name without a profile picture. her contact on your phone is “hubby 💞” and her pfp is a ridiculously goofy 0.5 pic of her looking up at you that you took standing on the chair while fixing a lightbulb in the living room. she told you to delete it. of course it's the first thing you see when she calls you. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  she walks around a lot when she’s on a call with her parents. paces around the room absent-mindedly picking things up and putting them down in a different place. her voice changes when she’s speaking hindi. it gets softer, the edge in her voice when she speaks english is gone. you can always tell when she’s speaking to her father—her tone is more subdued, she keeps her eyes down, and for just a moment the uncertain young girl she once was is revealed in her expression. when she gets off the phone she goes back to what she was doing before, but she’s quieter than usual, lost in thought, her mood subtly darkened. when she calls her mother, on the other hand, you hear your name come up a lot in the conversation. sometimes she throws a glance at you across the room, and winks.

end note: the dash of angst at the end couldn't be avoided i'm sorry i'm sorry also sorry i didnt have the time to make this longer but... ~sevika fluff for the soul

[astradyke]

ngl phil's love for WAD is genuinely what makes me feel so crazy insane because WAD is like the solo show that dan temporarily left phil for to do on his own that is like... dan saving his own life repeatedly every single performance of it. it is SO vulnerable as a show concept. and phil (notorious guy who doesn't cry the easiest) crying at WAD consistently and also having so much loud love of it (like all of dan is leaving me is just... that) is like. i don't know. ppl talk a lot (as they should) about how important it is that dan, having fallen for phil at age 18 and committed to him for the rest of his life, having those years where it's just him exploring ... and i think its just so beautiful that phil was like very on board with that. and just like, obviously missed dan (very very much) but was so excited for him to explore. can we ft or are u oot. etc. ugh .

sit n draw up the comparisons between dan's speech abt phil in BIG and all the times phil talked about dan's solo work in the hiatus . "this was someone who genuinely liked me... it is so lucky to just find someone you can be that compatible with. and for anyone who has [dealt with the kind of self hatred i've experienced], one person accepting you can [make all the difference]" brackets because of paraphrasing i forgot the exact quote but. I sleep on these quotes because my life is continually ruined by "for the first time since i was a tiny child i actually felt safe" which is like the most life changing thing i have ever heard and also devastating but anyway like. Phil accepting Dan at age 18 and then at age 28 and then at age 33 and all the gaps in between. genuinely liking Dan when he was an emo guy on formspring, from when he was making storytime and vaguely edgy content on YouTube, from when he was doing Dystopia Daily and We're All Doomed, and now post hiatus like. Srry ive been on such a "phil is a loverboy" kick but we need to talk abt this so much. oh i have another thought but it goes into a diff post this is so long

[bookinit02]

i really do think there’s a huge disconnect on here w/ people who have never used tiktok as to what it actually is and who actually uses it. the number of people i’ve seen call it a “teen dancing app” is actually insane. it has not been a teen dancing app since i was in high school, around 2016 - 2020. the main communities i saw on a daily basis were 1) black history/anti-racism educators, 2) high school & college teachers sharing in-classroom strategies and frustrations with the education system, 3) local/state political leaders giving real-time updates on behind-the-scenes government decisions, & 4) community activism & leadership. like tiktok is an adult platform. almost every person i interacted with was my age or older. and yes it completely depends on your fyp and how you interact with the app, yes there’s still teenagers and dance videos and literally anything else you can think of. but these communities of adults aren’t insubstantial at all, they have literally millions of interactions on a daily basis. there’s about a million other types of communities that i could name just off the top of my head, because the range of users was SO diverse and thriving. it’s a long-distance community tool, just like any other social media—and honestly much better than any other social media, because it relies primarily on the kindness of strangers. i saw at least 5-10 videos today of queer people in rural areas panicking because they don’t have any access to queer community on any other platform or in real life. and before i end this i do want to say i think tiktok is coming back, i think this is a highly orchestrated political move, etc., but i do know it won’t ever be exactly the same. people are panicking about free speech violations because tiktok was a place where people fucking SPEAK. i have never seen mass mobilization and communication in this same way for as long as i’ve been alive. it is the people’s app, not just a silly teenage thing. if you’re not on tiktok and never have been, please stop talking about it like you know anything at all😭