sweetnspiceneverythingnice

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

“Everything will be alright, sweetheart.”

Clark Kent x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, mentions of a dog passing away, but nothing graphic. No use of Y/N. Just a blank line.

A/N: Hey everyone! This isn’t a request, I’m sorry. This is a very self divulging comfort fanfiction. A dog I was close to passed away a few days ago, and I’ve been really sad. So what better way to cope than writing about Superman? :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silence in your room is unbearable.

Well, minus the silent sniffles and cries you let out into your suddenly very welcoming pillow.

You try to remain quiet, as crying, to you, was an inconvenience. But this was a completely different story.

In your hand, you squeeze onto the collar of a dog very important to you. A dog you had seen just two days ago. Older, but still wagging its tail as you walked back into your apartment from a long day of articles and interviews.

Looking at the collar hurts, but what hurts more is the empty dog bed sat in the corner of your bedroom, lacking any warm presence.

Just the thought has even more silent cries come from you, the soft pillow muffling them as they come out.

You had been too deep into your emotions, however, to hear the sound of your bedroom door click open- gentle footsteps approaching your bed.

Until a soft voice enters your ear.

“____? Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

You sit up with a gasp, instantly recognizing the gentle farm boy voice of the man you had been avoiding for the last few days.

“Clark?” You sniffle, wiping the stream of tears off of your cheeks. “How did you get in here..? I locked the door.“

In a quick answer, he pulls out a key from his slacks, holding it up with a confused expression.

“Key under the rug. Remember?” He smiles, throwing the key onto your side table as he moves to sit in front of you. The bed creaking from the added pressure.

Clark was always a large man. He was Superman, after all.

“Right.” You nod, bringing a pillow up to your chest, knees holding it in place as your head falls upon the plush.

“So..” He looks at you, bringing a large hand up to caress your knee. “Wanna tell me what’s up? You look down in the dumps, my love.”

You frown, looking away as you instantly feel tears reform in the eyes you had just whiped.

“Sweetie? C’mon, don’t hide from me.” He moves closer to you, resting so that he was sat right next to you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other turning your chin to face him.

The sight made his heart churn.

You, bawling your eyes out in dead silence.

“It’s… It’s my dog. She..” You turn to the empty bed in the corner of your room, trying not to sob at the sight. “She was put down on Sunday.” You sigh, resting your head on Clark’s toned (but very comfortable) chest.

You feel his chest tighten as he releases a empathetic sigh, instantly bringing you closer.

“Crud, I’m so sorry, ____.” He holds you tight, allowing you to release your emotions. You hesitate, but you eventually give in, as you always do.

After a few moments of silent comfort, Clark runs his hand up and down your back, before speaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why you weren’t talking at work? Why you avoided everyone? Me?”

The man of steel was also the man of many questions.

“Clark, I’m sorry.” You sigh, adjusting so you’re facing up with your back pressed against his chest. “You know how I am with emotional stuff. I’m shit at it.”

“Language,” He playfully scolds, but nods. “You aren’t bad at it, you just struggle with being vulnerable. Which takes time.”

He kisses the top of your head- the two of you staring at the bed, the bed where previously your beloved pet would rest.

“I’m never washing that bed again.” You disregard his previous statement, feeling as though such a conversation would be better for another time. “She was such a good dog. I’m.. I’m gonna miss her, Clark.” You turn to rest in his chest, the sight of the empty bed breaking your hearts into thousands of tiny pieces.

Clark hums, wrapping both arms around your figure as he lays on the bed with you on top of him

You would normally push off of him, mumbling about your ‘weight’, but right now, you didn’t care.

“I know, babe. I know.” He kisses your tears away, not letting a single one go unnoticed. “I know how hard loss is. Believe me,” He frowns. “Golly, It’s hard. But y’know what I do when I get down about it?”

When you don’t respond, he takes the chance to answer.

“I think about them watching me, Y’know? It won’t be the same with them gone, physically. But they’ll always be with you right-“ He playfully nudges the spot just above your heart with his nose, you giggling at the feeling. “-Here.”

You nod, whiping any stray tears off your face.

“Yeah, that could help, I guess.”

“You guess?” He tuts. “No, I need a ‘It will help.’” He scolds.

You sigh, crossing your arms over his chest as you lay upon him.

“Fine. It will help.”

The smile he gives you could genuinely light up a room- even pay the electric bill.

“That’s my girl.” He kisses you on your cheek, whiping the tear marks off your face.

“Everything will be alright, sweetheart.” He gives you the softest look you’ve ever seen from a man, as he continues. “It may not be the same, but I know you’ll come out of this stronger, as you always do.”

You smile, this time, tears of happiness pouring from your sockets.

Clark, as per usual, panics, thinking he did something wrong.

“Fudge! Did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry, I can be such a jerk!-“

“Clark, no.” You reassure him calmly. “You really helped. These are tears of, I don’t know? Love?”

Clark shuts up, suddenly blushing and stammering with his words.

“You- tears of- what?”

You chuckle, leaning up to plant a sweet kiss on his own lips. A kiss he happily returns

While the loss of your pet broke your heart into pieces, Clark was there to bandage your heart back up.

Just as Superman would do. Your Superman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Hello! Can you do a Hetalia Axis and Allies reaction to someone who doesn’t believe the fem! reader actually has a food allergy and believes she is just ‘being picky’ and makes her eat that food that she is allergic to without her noticing.

~Axis and Allies accidentally poisoning reader~

A/N: I love this request. Anyways, my fbi agent thinks I’m a freak for the stuff I had to research 🫩 enjoy! (Try to)

Warnings: Allergy attacks, and nasty ahh bodily fluids 😭

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

Axis

~

Italy

-When he finds out you’re allergic to pasta, he actually cries.

-Well, not the actual dish. Just the tomato sauce and its ingredients.

“Bella, no! How can you enjoy pasta without tomato sauce?! It’s a staple!” He sobs into your tummy as you awkwardly pat his head.

“Uhh, Feli.” You giggle, awkwardly. “I can have pasta- but with different sauce.”

-At that, he stops sobbing. And he sits up with a sly grin.

“Oh, you’re right! I’ll be back!”

-He was gone faster than the speed of light, and was back before you could blink.

“Here! Its pasta- but I replaced the tomato sauce with Alfredo sauce! Enjoy!”

-You coo, and thank him. Not noticing the strange pink tint of the supposed Alfredo sauce.

-After a few bites, you feel your skin begin to get unusually itchy.

-You look down, and there’s a rash.

“Feli, what did you?-“ You begin to scratch your arms, but you don’t panic. Instead, you walk off to your room, finding your EpiPen and using it.

-Meanwhile, Feliciano is on the couch about to cry.

-He didn’t mean to poison you! Honest!

“Bella! Please, forgive me! I would never hurt you intentionally. I thought you were playing cruel prank!” He whines in his little accent.

“You’re sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“No, bella please!” He whines as you make him grab his pillow and move to the couch.

“I deserve this.”

Germany

-Actually begins to tweak out when you say you can’t have pork.

-How will you have bratwurst? He loved to cook that for dinner!

“What.. What do you mean you can’t have pork?”

-Basically, he becomes the ‘tf you mean nuh uh?’ Audio.

“Ludwig, it means I’m aller-“ You try to explain, becoming the walking ‘🫩’ face. But he doesn’t listen.

-He walks off before you can finish, mumbling to himself in incoherent words.

-You laugh at his little tantrum.

-That is, until he comes back with a salad.

“Here, potato salad.” He shoves it over to you without another word.

-In reality, he had cut up tiny pieces of bratwurst

“Uh, ok?” You accept it, and the moment you take a bite your throat swells up.

-You lean over, clenching your throat as you gasp for air.

-Ludwig panics, feeling like a idiot for sneaking the bratwurst into your salad.

“Scheiße! Uh- I will call a ambulance-“

-Once you’re in the hospital, he feels guilt as he sees you resting on it with a sore throat.

“You know, I’m never letting you give me food again.

“Ja, I’m.. a nincompoop.”

Japan

-When you tell him you cannot have anything with fish, he doesn’t have a clear reaction.

-He actually just stands there like 🧍🏻

“As I was saying, I’m allergic. You know, like, if I have fish I can actually die?”

-He just stands there.

“Uh, Kiku? You alive-“

“No. You are not allergic. Just picky. I will introduce you to the world of sushi.”

-Despite your genuine complaints, he walks off. Somehow, barely a few minutes after, he comes back with a pack of sushi.

“Here.” He sets the tray down in front of you, despite you pushing it away.

-Just the scent had your eyes go blurry.

“Kiku, I really can’t have sushi. I appreciate it, but-“ He took advantage and shoved a piece into your mouth as you spoke.

-Instantly, you begin to feel nauseous.

“Pills.. side table. Get them-“ You lay on the couch, feeling your vision go blurry.

-He, in panic mode, gets your pills. And it takes a few hours before you’re fully functioning again.

“If you ever-“ You cough. “Do that again, I’m filing a restraining order.”

“I am.. so sorry. It will never happen again.”

~

Allies

~

America

-Oh, you’re lactose intolerant?

-What’s that?

-To him, it doesn’t exist. So, he doesn’t believe you.

“Uh.. just tolerate it, I guess?” He rubs the back of his neck as he laughs.

-You would normally laugh, but you were a bit pissed considering he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“Alfred. I cannot. Have. Dairy. The bathroom will become a radiation infested war zone.”

-Doesn’t listen. In fact, he forgets about it until you just so happen to mention it at a restaurant a few days after.

-In which, a evil idea occurs.

“Hey, babe!” He slides into your bedroom, handing you a burger. “I got you a burger with no dairy! Y’know, since you can’t tolerate it, or something?”

“Oh- that’s sweet! Thanks.” You take the burger, and on the first bite, you taste the cheese. Cheese which he had cut into tiny pieces.

-A loud groan emits from your stomach when you digest it.

“I.. I warned you.”

“Huh?”

-You were then in the bathroom for two hours, and the noises Alfred heard were.. traumatizing.

-After that whole thing happens, you make him clean the bathroom as punishment.

“Ugh, IT’S BEEN A DAY WHY IS IT STILL SMELLY-“I told you.” You snicker as you recline on the couch.

England

-When you tell him you’re allergic to beans, he laughs at you.

-Like, right in your face.

“Allergic to beans? You’re quite hilarious! That’s preposterous.” He wipes the tears away from the corners of his eyes.

“Speak English, and I’m not joking.” You deadpan.

-His mood changes in the blink of an eye.

“THIS IS THE QUEEN’S ENGLISH…” He storms off, muttering curses.

-You two don’t talk for a couple hours, until he comes towards your spot in the meeting room.

“Hello, love!” He dawns a suspicious smile. “As an apology for earlier, I’ve made you a sandwich. Enjoy!” He slides it right in front of you.

“Uh, right. Thanks?” You hesitate, before taking a bite.

“There’s.. there’s beans in this.” You begin to hyperventilate, Arthur almost instantly panicking as the other nations watch his ‘murder attempt’

-He rushes you out the room, and finds a EpiPen.

“Christ, I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know you were actually-“

“You know if you do that again, I’ll die on PURPOSE just to haunt you.”

“Ok.”

France

-Like England, he also laughs in your face.

-But it’s a mocking laugh- like what you said was so funny.

“Allergic to wheat? That is the funniest thing I have ever heard!” He waves you off as you silently fume with a smile.

“Not.. not a joke, Francis. I actually get the worst rashes ever. Wanna see?”

-He pats your head, making you tweak.

“Right, right! And I have one on my ass-“

“FRANCIS I’M BEING SO FOR REAL.”

-He, like America, ends up forgetting this fact- and decides to secretly feed you a ‘gluten free’ bread. (He printed a gluten free label and slapped it on the bag.)

“Enjoy! I made you Pain Perdu (French Toast).” He hands it to you as he begins to eat his own.

“Its.. gluten free, right?”

“Of course!”

-You smile, and begin to eat.

-Until you end up running to the bathroom- throwing your guts up.

“Oh- what is the matter? Are you actually allergic to bread?” He holds your hair as he gives a worried look. He hadn’t meant for this!

“You- You did this on PURPOSE?”

-You punched him hard in the gut, making him feel a FRACTION of what you felt.

“Oui… that doesn’t hurt-“ He says as he falls to the floor in tears.

Russia

-He genuinely thinks you’re playing when you tell him you ‘can’t tolerate potatoes’

“That’s.. that’s so random. Potatoes?” He asks, staring at you as if you just gave him the juiciest gossip.

-You nod, a bit embarrassed.

“I know, it’s stupid. I don’t know why-“

“Da, I see.” He hums, looking off into space as he comes up with any idea to make you TOLERATE potatoes.

-They’re a staple in Russian dishes.

-So, as he’s cooking one day, he decides to test you. So he makes Zharkoye- a stew with potato. And one you’ve never had.

“Here you go, моя любовь (my love), it’s hot!” He smiles with his eyes shut as he watches you eat.

“Hm, this tastes good, Ivan! What’s in this?”

-He smiles almost insidiously, listing the ingredients.

“Oh, yes. Meat, vegetables, potatoes.”

-You just stare at him like 😀- and the affects are immediate.

-You feel a HUGE headache kick in.

-Ivan watches as you, slowly walk over to the couch, and fall on it with a loud groan. Instantly, he regrets his little ‘test.’ So you weren’t lying, after all.

“My sun, are you-“ You interrupt him. “You better take care of this.” You hiss.

-He does, giving you pills and rubbing your head which is on his lap as he apologizes in his own weird way.

“Honestly, it was just a little test! If I knew you were telling the truth, I would have just made you borscht-“

“Borscht has potatoes, Ivan. Are you trying to kill me?”

“No-“ He flinches when you poke him in the side. “It was supposed to be funny joke!” He whines like a defeated child.

China

“You are NOT allergic to Sesame oil! Its impossible!” He yells as he grips onto your shoulders.

-Yes, you had a sesame oil allergy. Among others.

“Yao, can’t you just make something without sesame oil? Like tea?”

“No! Sesame oil is important in my cooking! I can’t just.. not use it?” He groans, marching towards the kitchen.

-You sigh, slouching over on your table as you mutter.

-He was cooking Chinese food, particularly Dumpings.

-And when they were done, he called you into the kitchen.

“Try it!” He puts a piece of the chicken in your mouth before he finishes speaking. “Cooked with sesame oil, because I doubt you’re really allergic-“

-You then throw the food out into a trash can as you gag.

“IT’S NOT GROSS, RIGHT?!” He cries.

“I’m ALLERGIC to SESAME OIL.” You cry out as you feel your throat swell and become itchy.

-He panics, finding a nearby EpiPen in the drawer as he injects you with it.

-Once you’re feeling a bit better, you scold the CRAP out of him.

“Next time I tell you I’m allergic- listen! I could have died!” You clench your fists as he just sits on the couch with his head bowed.

“And I’m stealing your panda for the week.”

“NOT PANDA.”

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Yuri is yuryinging

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

This is so them

New stoopid meme out of the oven

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

flashbang that billionaire

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Hi! Saw your requests are open so I thought I would come begging on my knees!

Pls pls pls plsssssss write something for Godbrand from castlevania

idk if it is a oneshot or headcanons or legit anything I AM BEING STARVED!!!!

I lowkey think it would be really cool to see Godbrand dating a really really fem!reader who wears like lots of pink bows and pretty dresses and loves doing her makeup but also like loves to write in her little diary with the blood of her enemies or even send out threatening letters written in a glitter gel pen.

I would legit just be happy with anything tho! please please please (in sabrina carpenter's voice) give me some Godbrand content!

~ @fanfics-and-shlt

~Godbrand with Hyperfem!Scary Reader~

A/N: Hiii!! Wow, I am SO sorry this took so long?! I’m slowly working on requests one by one! Anyways, I LOVE GODBRAND my underrated KING. He’s so funny. I hope you enjoy bb!

Warnings: profanity(it’s Godbrand) and mentions of murder and gore, but nothing graphic!

-When Godbrand first sees you, let’s say it’s while Dracula is about to destroy the world in his castle.

-Doesn’t think you’re a vampire at first, with how colorful you are in your lace corset and laced veil.

“What’s a peculiar pink-lovin’ lass like you doin’ in a edgy arse castle as this?” He asks as he approaches you.

-It shocks the others, because honeslty he usually approached women for SEX.

-You giggle, which he finds adorable at first. Until you respond-

“I’m here to claim the heads of my enemies and use their blood as ink! :D”

-He just stares baffled as you continue to giggle in your airy voice, walking away as he just stands there like D:

-He notices the way you carry yourself as ladylike and feminine. The way you sit, walk, talk, and act. And he’s honestly all over it!

-He finds it funny how you have a very demented side.

-One time he did in fact walk in on you writing in your white journal with the blood of ‘vampire hunters.’ As you claimed.

“What the bloody- FUCK?! Literally, might I add?” He stands in your doorway with another D: expression as he just… stares.

-You giggle, tapping some of the blood with your pinky and bringing it to your mouth.

“It’s edible ink, too! Want a taste, brandy?”

-Usually, he would jump someone for calling him that- but since it’s you, it’s a major exception.

-You’re also a major exception in the fact that he lets you do his hair and put bows in his long ass beard:

-He loves you that much.

-Is also HEAVILY turned on when he sees you during battle.

-You grab a man by the shoulders and rip his head off with a lovely smile? Honey he’s BRICKED.

-You guys go on lots of adventures together (which mostly end up in you two slaughtering a village for dinner) where you go on lovely little picnics and frolic!

-Overall, he’s obsessed with you and you are obsessed with him. A real power couple!!

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Real, some of them lowkey just feel it’s a sick fetish. When they’re done right it’s pretty good tho 😗

yes im a virgin and yes i hate virgin!reader stories with my whole heart

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Oh my GAEDJDJSND

Piano Fingers

Alternatively: Clark Kent and his big ass hands

MDNI 18+

He feels so good, he always does. You swear his fingers alone are bigger than a few of the guys you’ve slept with. The first time you told him that Clark made you cum three times with just his hand.

From Afternoon Delight (A Very Professional Lunch Break)

Word Count: drabble, 1-1.5k (god forbid I write something long form)

Warnings: size kink!! fingering, reader has a personality and is implied to be shorter than Clark, nothing descriptive other than that though, cursing, mentions of Clark Kent’s gargantuan cock, mentions of cockwarming, overstim if you squint, 🤞 <- keep this in mind

Clark Kent x Fem! Reader (no use of y/n)

Clark is a big man.

You (and his tailor) know this with certainty.

The first thing that you ever noticed about Clark was his height, towering over everyone he passed on his morning commute. The ache you felt in the back of neck after every conversation you had with him.

You still remember the first time you really noticed it though, it was a hopelessly mundane moment, you were flirting with him at the coffee station, and your eyes just happened to drift down and clock how his hips ended just where the counter-top began. You're only human, it's not your fault your first thought was about how easily he could fuck you while you sat on it.

You couldn't look him in the eye the rest of the day.

Your size difference became even more obvious after you started dating.

"You know when I was a kid, my Ma signed me up for piano lessons." Clark says, his voice casual, like he's not knuckle deep in your cunt. Clark is sprawled on the couch beneath you, looking pretty as ever. His lips glossy and swollen from your kisses. You had done all the typical third date things, nice dinner, pretty dress, prettier lingerie underneath. He'd walked you home, taken up your entire door way and acted like he wasn't silently begging to come inside.

You were less patient, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling his lips onto yours.

You can hardly breathe, his finger curling inside as he speaks. "Really?" you ask, voice breathy. You knew his hands were big, you'd seen them hold his phone and make it look like a toy, watched with fascination as he struggled to hold the little teacups they gave you at the Chinese restaurant (first date).

Looking at his hands was a lot different than having them inside you.

You had rolled eyes when he talked about preparing you. ‘Not a virgin Clark’ you’d murmured against his lips.

Clark had hummed, pulling back to bag those pretty lashes you. ‘Gonna feel like, unless you let me open you up.’ He argued.

You scoffed, reaching for his belt but Clark grabbed your wrist. He fixed you with a look, or more accurately a warning. Then he dragged your hand down past his belt and planted it firmly on his bulge.

Oh.

‘Can I please finger you?’ Clark asks, his blue swimming with want. You could drown in them.

You swallow, trying to save face. ‘Yeah.’ You croak, voice cracking.

Which brings you to now. “I wasn’t into it.” Clark explains. His thumb is working your clit in slow circles, helping ease his finger out to the tip and then side it back down until he reaches the knuckle. “But one of ladies in town got it into head, kept telling her I had piano hands.”

“What does that even mean?” You ask, fighting back a moan, doing your best to seem unaffected. Your body betrays you, a gush of wetness seeping down and drenching Clark’s palm.

“You’re so wet baby.” He coos, sliding another finger in. “Means I have big hands.” He continues, “Long fingers.” He curls them, for emphasis of course.

“Fuck.” You gasp. You feel yourself clenching, your hands gripping his shoulders and feeling nothing but steel, absolutely no give.

Clark makes a shushing noise, his thumb picking up pace and he drags his fingers in and out, over and over. His lips plant wet kisses along your neck, sucking on your pulse point as you whine.

He’s deeper inside you than you’ve ever been able to get with your own fingers, deeper than any of your exes ever reached. Forget about length, they’re thick too. You make a note to ask him about his ring size later, for reference.

“I got you, it’s okay.” Clark whispers into your mouth, his fingers picking up speed, his thumb increasing its pressure.

You already feel like jello, between his lips, and his fingers, and the coil pulling tighter and tighter in your stomach you didn’t stand a chance.

“Clark.” You moan, then force yourself to swallow the next one “If these are your fingers-” you gasp as he curls his fingers, as if on cue. Your thighs twitch around his hand, your train of thought completely lost.

Clark hums, his eyes are reverent, his free hand reaches up and cups your face, catching it as you try tuck into his neck. “What was your question pretty girl?” He asks, guiding your head so your forehead rests against his.

Despite the fact that it’s your world getting wrecked, Clark’s forehead is sweaty, his eyes glistening as they study your every reaction. You whimper, hips frantically grinding down onto his fingers. Clark curls them again.

“How big is your dick?” You pant.

Clark chuckles, and then because he can, he twists his fingers together inside you and thrusts them again.

“Let go baby.” He tells you, and you nod, your stomach burning with pleasure, so close. “Let go and I’ll show you.” He promises.

With one more hard pass over your clit, Clark is catapulting you over the edge. His fingers still wrapped together inside you as you squeeze him like a vice. He can’t wait to feel it again when he’s inside you.

In the meantime he helps you ride it out, letting your head fall into the nook between his neck and shoulder. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, your thighs clenched tighter than tight around his wrist.

After what feels like an eternity, you stop shaking, your breathing finally levels out. “Oh my god.” You groan into his neck.

Clark presses a to the side of your head, his dry hand stroking your hair. The other is still inside you. “That’a girl.” He whispers.

You squeeze his fingers, body reacting before you can tell it not too. The fucker smirks, surely filing that reaction away for later.

You kiss him, hard, hoping to distract, to finally get your hands, or better yet you, around what you want.

Clark groans into the kiss, matching your force with fervor. His tongue dances alongside yours, tracing the top of your mouth, doing his best to swallow you whole.

Then his fingers start again.

“Clark.” You protest, pulling away.

Clark tries to follow you, leaning off the couch and chasing your lips. You manage to stay just out of reach. “What?” He asks.

You pout, but grind down onto his hand nonetheless. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.” You whine.

Clark doesn’t answer, instead he takes the opportunity to unbuckle his belt (one handed- after all the other one is still busy). He only unzips enough to free himself.

You watch, for once silent, as stare at it. Clark once again takes your wrist, and this time he wraps your hand around him.

Once again, Clark Kent has made you feel oh so small.

He doesn’t break eye contact, but he makes a noise low in his throat that has you gushing around his hand again, for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Okay you can finger me a little more.” You submit, “If you really want.”

authors note: look at the scenes of him holding a phone and tell me I’m WRONG, anyway idk how I feel about this one so everyone tell me their thoughts! I insist

masterlist

love you! say it back <3

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Is this my sign to write for Clark Kent. GUYS?

♡₊˚ 🥞 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓯𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓽 ☕₊˚♡

a continuation of my smutty drabble — filth ahead 🤭

Warnings: 18+ only,smut, fingering, clit play, morning sex energy, a very needy reader, Clark being cocky and patient, overstimulation, dirty talk, domestic fluff edges, Martha Kent nearly catching you in the act 👀

Clark’s lips curve against your throat, the smile almost smug as his fingers slide under your shirt and over the warm curve of your waist.

“Oh really, baby?” he murmurs, the words edged with that Kansas drawl that always makes you weak. “I had you wrapped around me all night, and you still couldn’t wait for more this morning?”

You gasp, heat flooding your face. “Did I say that out loud?!”

His chuckle is low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. The pad of his thumb dips lower, brushing the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you can feel that infuriating patience in him—like he’s savoring how restless you are.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he teases, rolling you onto your back with ridiculous ease. His body covers yours, the bed creaking softly under his weight, and then his mouth claims yours—all teeth and hunger.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, pulling him closer. When his hand finally slips between your thighs, you spread them without thought. He doesn’t go for where you need him most—he’s back to taking his sweet time, and the contrast is driving you crazy.

His palm cups you through your shorts first, pressing slow, steady circles against your clit until your hips twitch up to meet him on their own, your brain able to focus on nothing but his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips dragging along your jaw. He strokes over you lazily, the friction maddening. “Already soaked for me, sweetheart… and we haven’t even had breakfast.”

Your whimper earns you a firmer grind of his palm, and you feel your aching core pulse in response. He uses his middle knuckle to rub up and down your slit through the fabric, catching on that sensitive spot with each pass until you’re clinging to him.

When your whimpers turn to whispered pleas, he slips his fingers under the waistband and brushes over your sensitive skin. His fingertips find bare, slick heat, and both of your breaths hitch. He keeps up the same slow circles, teasing your clit until your thighs are shaking.

“Shh,” he whispers against your lips, even as his hips nudge forward—his cock straining through the fabric of his underwear, begging you to touch.

“Gotta keep quiet for me. Think you can do that?”

You nod, desperate.

Only then does he slide his index finger into you, slow, testing your soreness from the night before. The tiny moan that escapes when he curls it into your sweet spot is swallowed by his kiss. He pulls back just enough to look down at you, lips parted, eyes glassy, mouth open around a sharp inhale. The sight makes his cock throb.

“Mmm… there’s my needy girl. You ready for more?”

A second finger joins the first, the searing ache making you clench around him. His other arm braces behind you, hand cupping the back of your neck as he starts to work you open with deep, deliberate thrusts of his hand. His palm slaps against your wetness, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room.

The pace never falters. The pleasure builds too fast, and you’re both trembling with the effort to stay quiet. Your nails bite into his shoulders; he bites back a groan at how quickly you’re unraveling for him. Lips brushing your temple, he feels you tighten around him.

You’re right there, teetering. “Ohhh, god, I’m gonna—”

“Clark! Breakfast!” Martha’s voice calls from downstairs.

He freezes, forehead dropping to yours as you both fight for breath. Then that slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Guess we’d better make it quick, sweetheart.”

to be continued…

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Hello! I saw your work and decided to make a request. Do you mind AU? The thing is, I wanted to make a request about Douma from my AU.

In my AU, he is a slayer. His level of strength and skill is that of a Hashira, but he is not a Hashira himself (he was offered the opportunity to become a Hashira, but he refused). He uses Ice Breathing. He is a very calm, gentle, and relaxed person, but he has a great intellect (yes, he can feel emotions in this AU). However, he keeps some of his emotions under control through regular meditation. Douma always goes on missions alone, never accepting help from anyone. No one knows about his origins or why he decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps. He has been asked many times, but he has consistently avoided answering these questions (in this AU, he left his cult).

And a little bit of my headcanons. His hands are cool to the touch. But they're not exactly icy. Sometimes you can feel a pleasant coolness coming from him. Douma can track demons by their emotions (similar to how Tanjiro can distinguish others by their scent and Zenitsu by their sound). He's a VERY bad joke (and it annoys others). It's extremely difficult to anger Douma, and he doesn't care what others think or say about him.

In this work, I would like Fem!Reader to try to find out why Douma joined the slayers, and why he always acts alone, since she is his close friend (yes, he also hides details of his life from her). Although he has reasons in my AU, I want to let your imagination run wild.

That's all for now. If you have any questions or need any help, please don't hesitate to contact me! Thank you so much and have a nice day!

~Behind Those Rainbow Eyes~

Demon slayer! Douma x Fem! Slayer Reader

A/N: Omg hi! Wow, this was such a detailed request- but I loved every minute of it?! I love au’s so much, and I HAD to write this one! It’s pretty long, sorry about that :’) but it was so fun to write. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Blood, affairs, mentions of killing demons. Nothing crazy :)

Douma was certainly a interesting man. Well, at least, you believed so. Before you actually got to know him, of course.

He was well known in the demon slayer corps- a friendly face, if you will. No one had anything negative to say about him. He was always so calm, gentle, and kind. Even in battle as he ruthlessly killed many types of demons- pitying them as he sliced off their heads with his luxurious golden fans, the lovely gold stained with the heinous crimson of a demon.

A strong, feared slayer. Hashira level, offered by none other than Kagaya Ubuyashiki. But for some reason unbeknownst to you and the other Hashira, he refused.

You remember it clear as day, every word spoken between the two.

~

“Douma-San. A beloved child of mine,” Ubuyashiki spoke with such grace and in a gentile tone, as he usually did. Interesting how the head of a corps meant to destroy demons would have such a angel of a leader. “You have proven yourself worthy many-a-time. Killing not one- but two upper ranks.”

You and the other Hashira sit behind Douma, listening eagerly. It was not common for a slayer to be offered the position of a pillar, often happening every three-four years. Despite this, you watch happily as your now friend- sits a few inches in front of you with a laid back expression upon his pale face.

“Yes, Oyakata-Sama. I am overjoyed to hear that from you. Thank you.” He makes an attempt to bow down, but Ubuyashiki stops him with a simple hand in his direction.

“No need for that, my child. Rise, and hear my words.”

Douma does, without a falter.

“You have proven yourself as a strong slayer. Which is why- as of today, I offer you the position of the Ice Hashira.”

You cup a hand over your mouth, as you look at the other Hashira near you. Them being calm as they watched. You then turn your attention back to Douma, who you had noticed was clenching the fabric of his uniform with a very calm face.

But his words would shock you, and the others, to the very core.

“While I appreciate the offer, Oyakata-Sama,” He pauses, bowing down- smile never fading. “I must refuse.”

The room was silent, minus the few gasps and murmurs, mostly from Mitsuri. It wasn’t long before Douma had headed out the main mansion, heading to his own, you assumed.

~

Since that day, many speculations began to storm around Douma. Nothing negative, only the usual skepticism on why he refused the Oyakata-Sama, calling him rude for such an act.

But Douma never cared. Well, that was what you took from your conversation with him a few days after the controversial meeting.

~

“Douma-San!” You approach him with a smile, steps faltering when he turns to stare at you with a ‘hm?’ noise. When he notices you, he smiles as he waves back.

“Ah, hello!” He approaches you, giving you a signature hug he usually used to greet you, Rengoku, and Mitsuri. Sometimes Shinobu, but she would usually slap him right after.

But his touch was always cold as death.

He, of course, blamed it on his so called anemia.

“Oh dear, didn’t I tell you to just call me ‘Douma’? How I loathe the honorifics.” He shuts his eyes as he whips out one of his golden fans, fanning himself with such dramatics.

“Right, apologies. Not used to that yet.” You awkwardly laugh, rubbing the back of your head with a hand. “Anyways, walk with me? I wanted to catch up.”

He accepts, without a complaint. As usual.

“Oh, how I love nature. I pity the demons who cannot see the sun! Such a lovely sight, wouldn’t you agree?” He taps the top of your head with his fan as he goes on about his love of nature.

But you had other things in mind.

“Douma..” You pause, stopping mid walk as you gaze at the cobblestone ground. He turns to you, once more as he looks at you with curious eyes.

“Why did you.. why did you refuse to become a pillar?”

You cannot see it, but you can almost feel Douma’s breath go sharp.

Their is a pregnant silence, as all you can hear is the chipper of birds and the sound of the small waterfall nearby. Before Douma speaks,

“You don’t ask small, do you? Well-“

“Do you know what people have been saying?” You sit down on a nearby stone bench, resting your hands on your lap as you recall the gossip. “They’re saying you’re weak. That you have too much pity for demons-“

“Darling, I-“

“Don’t ‘darling’ me. You can’t just… refuse such an offer! Douma, we could have become a team. I know you always hunt alone, but-“

“____.”

The use of your name sent shivers down your spine. Douma was never mean, never spoke in sharp tongue, but he did have his moments of occasional seriousness. Which didn’t happen often. He wasn’t easy to annoy- or anger. But whenever he seemed irritated, it sent a chill up your spine.

You backed down, although with a grumble.

It’s almost like a switch goes off in him, as his serious face turns into one of glee as he approaches your spot on the bench, taking you by surprise as he kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his own icey ones as he smiles at you.

“Thank you,” He starts, patting your hand. “I know what people have been saying. Much of it petty nonsense. But they can say whatever they want- it doesn’t bother me!”

There it was again- the tone that he always used to shoo away any worries people had regarding him.

How annoying, you thought. No, you wouldn’t let him off this easy.

“I know, Douma. But I hate hearing their lies- you’re my closest friend! I just think you should stand up for yourself-“

“How cute.” He interrupts your vent, placing a hand on your head as he stands up. “Always worrying about little old me. I appreciate it!”

“But-“

“I’m glad we could have this conversation. Now!” He extends a hand out for you, you accepting hesitantly. “What do you say we get some udon? I’m starved!”

Udon was the last thing you could care about, but you would do anything to make Douma satisfied. So, you nod.

“Yeah, sounds great..”

~

You would give anything to delve into Douma’s mysterious brain.

You knew, under those beautiful eyes, he was hiding something.

He had to have become a demon slayer for a reason, right? Perhaps his family was slaughtered- and it left his traumatized and unable to talk about it. The usual stories of most of the slayers, anyways.

Your curiosity would eventually lead you to ‘secretly’ watching the tall slayer. Following him as silent as you possibly could be.

You would catch him at specific times of the day meditating in the comfort of his own mansion, muttering sutras and small mantras. But you could never quite hear the words.

Until your ‘secretive’ stalking would be caught by yours truly.

~

“Hm, you can come out now, dear.” He keeps his hands clasped together and his eyes shut as he speaks, you frozen in terror at how intuitive he was.

A great Hashira, he would’ve been. If he accepted the offer.

“Uh, right. Sorry. I’ll leave-“

Just before you could shuffle away and scream into your pillow, he stops you.

“How rude.” He pouts, putting out the incense and candles with a blow of cold air. “You stalk me, but refuse my kind offer? Come on now, don’t act all shy all of a sudden!” He turns to you, a calm smile on his face.

‘As per usual’ You think to yourself.

“…Right.” You make your way into the room, taking a seat next to him on the matching Zabuton. He always preferred to do things alone, even prayer, it seemed.

It made you feel sympathetic. You knew something was going on in the depths of his mind- he was just impossible to read.

“So, why have you been following me?” He asks, removing the prayer beads from around his slender hands. Something he and Himejima enjoyed bonding over.

You hesitate, unsure if you should even give your honest answer. But Douma had always valued honesty. Often mock scolding you if you dared tell the whitest lie.

So, with a breath of shakey air, you explain yourself.

“I don’t understand you.”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn to stare at you, but his eyes are wide open as he smiles. His gaze focused on the Buddha figure just ahead.

“Well,” You begin, hands shaking as you clamped them together upon your lap. “You’re just so secretive. I worry about you, Y’know.” You blush as you speak. Not because you’re embarassed, but because of how sappy it sounded. But it was true. You wanted him to be able to talk to you.

He let so many people come to him, so why couldn’t he do the same?

He chuckles once more, but you noticed the slightest pop of a vein from his forehead.

“You really are such a sweetheart! I can assure you, though, I’m perfectly fine. See?” He flashes you a toothy smile, his pearly whites on display as he grins.

But it was so obvious just how fake the smile was.

And it has your blood boil.

“Don’t give me that!” You hiss, hands gripping the pants of your uniform as you stare back at him, eyebrows furrowed in irritation.

“Give you what? I’m not giving you anything!” He laughs, holding up his empty hands. There he went again, making terrible jokes to leave a ‘messy’ situation. But you wouldn’t let him this time.

“No! Stop. I’m so tired of this. Douma,” You run a hand through your hair, exhausted from his antics.

“____, really. You need to relax. Nothing is-“

He’s taken aback when you slam your hands on the shrine in front of you, almost in disbelief.

“You mustn’t do that! This is a holy place-“ He lectures, but you don’t care.

You were worried about your friend. And he couldn’t even see that.

“Douma, please. What are you hiding from me?”

“Darling, I think it’s best we finish this conversation now.”

“No.” You don’t budge, reaching to grab his bicep firmly- as if you were begging him to be open. You feel his muscle tighten as you hold him, you staring at him. “I won’t let you out of it this time, Douma.”

“____, I’m serious.” He tenses up, gripping onto the prayer beads so tight you were sure they would explode in his grip.

“So am I.” You lower your tone, relentlessly trying to get closure. “I just need to know-“ You squeeze his shoulder, his tension becoming worse each second.

“____-“

“What happened before you- ah!”

It wasn’t long before he had shoved you to the ground, him standing above you with a gaze you never would’ve thought to see from him.

Anger.

Contrasting with the pastels of his iris.

But before you can speak, he snaps out of it with a small gasp- supposedly realizing what he had done.

“____, I’m so sorry- I’ll.. I shall see myself out.”

He was gone as quick as a candle burning out, you kneeling on the floor as you stare at where he once sat next to you- bewilderment all over your face.

Never, not once in your friendship, had Douma acted in such a way.

And it scared you.

~

It had been weeks since the event. You and Douma opting to avoid eachother- even during important meetings.

It was strange, considering you two would always talk. Even if it was just once.

Everyday you went without seeing him, it got lonelier.

Sure, you had the other Hashira, but you weren’t as close to them as you were with the Ice Breather.

He filled a void in you, one which you couldn’t explain.

You would catch him in the corner of your eye- staring at you occasionally but instantly looking away when he realizes you noticed. But it never creeped you out.

If anything, you just craved his presence.

And the longer you are without it, the more regret you feel. Regret for pushing him away.

Until, one evening.

~

You were sitting upon the balcony of your chambers- holding a warm cup of tea as you gaze up at the night sky. Such solace and darkness, matching the way you felt.

You had dried tear stains running down your cheeks, you not even bothering to wipe them away. There was no point, you were alone in the room.

Or so you thought.

You heard shuffling behind your figure, the all too familiar sound of the shoji sliding shut, before a voice spoke. One you missed dearly.

“It’s a lovely night, is it not?”

You, despite your excitement, don’t turn around. Instead, you grip the tea as you take a quick sip- before replying with a solemn tone.

“Yes, it is.” You agree, the warm tea doing nothing to soothe the building anxiety in your core.

There is a long pause, before you feel his presence shift from behind you- to suddenly right next to you.

“Y’know, I thought you’d be more excited to see me!” He pouts, adjusting himself so one leg hung off the railing while the other was bended towards his chest. “What’s with the depressing vibes, hm? You can tell me!”

You scoff, to which he takes offense.

“No, Douma. I don’t want to.”

“Light of my life, Fire of my heart-“ You cringe as he grabs your hand. “Is this about our little break? I apologize. I wanted to give you space!” He reaches for your hand, but you move it away, much to his dismay.

“Is my ‘story’ really so important to you?”

His sudden vocal change has you stiffen, but you make no move to speak.

But you do respond with a small nod.

You hear him inhale, before exhaling with a shakey breath.

“I see.” He leans back, laying on the wooden floor with his arms stretched behind his head as his calf crosses over his knee. “I suppose, since you must know, I can tell you.”

“Really?! I- well, I don’t want you to feel pressured-“

“Hm, right. Because you totally weren’t pressuring me a few weeks ago, you silly girl.”

He was joking, hut the words sting you in a more painful way than you would have hoped. You remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s not something I like to talk about. Not even to my closest allies.” He looks at you, as an example. “But, in simple terms, I was raised in a cult.”

You look at him, bewildered.

Out of all the backstories you had imagined, that was not what you would have thought of.

“Yes, I know. It sounds ridiculous!” He laughs at the thought himself, readjusting himself so he was on his side and leaning on his arm. “But it’s true. It was called the ‘Eternal Paradise Faith’. It was rather dumb.”

You remain silent. This was his story to tell, after all.

“Long story short, I was born into this cult. Not as a follower, but as the son of the founders. My mother and.. father.” He hesitated saying the last word, as though some ancient curse would erupt just from the utterance.

“My ‘parents’ if you can even call them that, were fanatics. They assumed because I happened to be born with heterochromia and pale hair that I was a god. Who also ‘heard the voice of god.’ Like that makes sense.”

You snicker at the thought, but clamp a hand over your mouth as to not seem disrespectful. But he simply waved it off with a laugh.

“No, you can laugh! They were idiotic, those two.” He smirks, before continuing. “Where was I? Ah, yes. They decided to make me, a five year old boy head of said cult.”

Wow, it just kept getting worse and worse.

“They believed that since I heard ‘God’s voice’, I should be able to grant fully grown adults advice. Do you know how many times adult men came to me- a child, asking what to do if their wives were committing infidelity?”

He brings a hand to his chest as his eyes widen in disbelief. You join in, your hand over your heart as you listen.

“But, it was either disappoint my parents and followers, or give ‘hope’. Of course, a child would pick their family’s approval, it’s only natural.”

The air was heavy after this, you nodding along to him, not knowing whether to respond or not. But he lightened the mood by speaking.

“It gets worse, by the way.”

It couldn’t possibly, you frown.

“My father was a very lustful man. Always seeking the company of women on his bed. One night, my mother just so happened to catch him.” His usually steady breath hitches, the jugular vein in his neck pulsing as he pauses. “She killed him that night. Before taking the knife to her neck.”

You gasp, looking at Douma with empathetic eyes.

For someone who was always so calm, you would have never expected such a story.

You don’t say anything, neither does he. A silence fills the room, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. It’s one of a silent understanding and sympathy.

“You want to know what’s worse?”

You remain silent.

“I walked in on the scene. But all that bothered me was the mess and smell of blood.” He frowns, as if admitting that was humiliating. “But I was a child. A child raised listening to the complaints of adults. What else would they have expected?”

You can’t help but reach out to him, your hand resting on his shoulder with a slight squeeze.

“Douma, I am so sorry. That’s terrible.” You frown, doing your best to comfort him. He smiles at your attempt, patting your hand.

“It’s alright,” He hums. “My parents weren’t good people. So I don’t think about it much.”

Douma pats the empty floor next to him, inviting you to rest on the wooden floor next to him. You do, adjusting yourself so your eyes stared into his own, opalescent ones.

“How did you..” You pause, unsure if you should even ask. You had basically accidentally pressured him into telling you his story, and you felt terribly guilty about it. But Douma seemed to know what you were about to ask.

“Escape?” His smile falters, turning into a neutral expression. “It took a long time. I was only 20 when I left.”

Your eyes widen, shocked.

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. Some people died, you know.”

He said it so naturally, as if that was just a normal day for Douma.

“It’s- well, it’s rather hard to talk about, and-“

“Douma,” You hush him, watching as his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You don’t have to tell me. I won’t force you.”

The silence grows longer, the two of you just staring into each others eyes in comfort. Before Douma gives you a rare smile. One you would see once in a lifetime.

A smile, a genuine one with no forceful act.

Douma, and he was real.

“Thank you, ____.” His voice is lowered an octave as he shuts his eyes, his lovely smile rested on his face as he relaxes. “Someday, I’ll tell you the rest. But for now-“ He reaches over to you, pouncing onto your form as he begins to tackle your sides. “Let’s do something fun! I hate being so serious.”

You yelp, him basically wrestling you into the floor as you make attempts to tickle his sides.

No use, as he was never ticklish.

“Alright, alright! Let’s get a late night snack.” You surrender, laughing as you raise your arms. He claps, helping you up as you make your way out your chambers.

“Lovely! What are you feeling?”

“Sakura mochi?”

He smiles, agreeing as he begins to talk his head off his shoulders.

As the two of you walk, you begin to discover the true him.

The one hidden behind those rainbow eyes.

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

GYA DAMNNN

those eyes

♡ Douma x innocent angel!reader

♡ cw: descriptions of sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, Douma being a complete liar, dominant Douma, Douma being a JERK, creampies? creampies, slight degradation & humiliation, loss of virginity, basically sexxxx.

♡ Douma is known for being cunning, so no figure he was able to fool you~

Keep reading

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

in love

The Way He Loves Me

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: You spent your whole life believing no one could fall in love with you as you are. Between hurtful comments and awkward silences, you learned to hide behind your work. But a change of desks at the Daily Planet placed Clark Kent right in front of you… and changed everything you thought you knew about love.

Warnings: Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, slow burn, soft!Clark Kent, supportive relationship, mild teasing, love confession.

WC: 3,900words approx.

════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════

"Tall girls hardly ever find a man who loves their height," your family used to say. They repeated it at Christmas dinners, at family gatherings, every time you arrived alone while the others came with a partner. It wasn’t like you were a tower—you barely reached 1.70—but compared to the other women in your family, you stood out. Only the men were taller than you.

Of course, your mother said it wasn’t just because of that. That the problem was your weight. "No one will fall in love with a woman that wide," she would say, without lowering her voice. Those were comments that stuck in your stomach. Sometimes they made you stop eating. Other times, they triggered an anxious, uncontrollable hunger, as if something inside you wanted to fill a deeper void.

You took refuge in work. Your desk was your shield. You pretended nothing was happening, that no one would notice you—and that was fine. You had already accepted it. It was easier than thinking something could change. You even got used to your friends avoiding posting photos with you. "We don’t match," they would say between laughs. Or they simply asked you to be the one taking the picture. You were always the one left at the table when the guys asked your friends to dance. And you… well, you had work to finish.

And you were good at what you did. So good that one day they moved your spot. From being in the back of the Daily Planet, you were moved to the desk right in front of Clark Kent.

Clark Kent. The star reporter who, according to everyone, had direct access to Superman. His appearance didn’t surprise you: tall, much taller than you. Maybe about twenty centimeters, you thought, though you avoided looking at him too much. You didn’t want to seem like a stalker or make him uncomfortable. So you limited yourself to the necessary: replying to his greetings politely and going back to your work. After all, he greeted everyone with that same warm smile. It wasn’t special with you.

"I have no idea," murmured Jimmy, flipping through your article with a frown. "Although… I know. Clark."

"Jimmy, no—" you said quickly, feeling your stomach clench. But he had already raised his voice.

"Clark!" he called, waving the article like a flag.

You sighed. Asking for his help had been a terrible idea.

"There. Clark will help you. I’m a mess with this, he’s better than me," Jimmy said with a satisfied smile, as if he had just made a brilliant move.

Clark turned toward you two, coffee in one hand and the other free. He looked at you, waiting for you to approach. You did, with short, nervous steps.

"It’s not necessary, really," you said quietly, not quite sure where to look.

"No problem," he replied with a soft smile, taking your article. He held it in one hand while taking a sip of his coffee. Then he frowned slightly, focused.

"I see… the problem’s here, right?" He pointed to two paragraphs that didn’t connect well. You nodded.

"You could do something like this," he said slowly, pointing at the lines. "Try ending this paragraph with an idea that prepares the reader for the next one. Something that works as a bridge. For example…"

Clark looked up at you, as if asking permission to write directly on the article. You nodded without saying a word.

"You could end this line with a question. Something that invites the reader to continue. Then, in the next paragraph, you answer that question from another angle. That way the reader doesn’t feel the change so abruptly."

"Oh… right," you whispered, taking notes. "I hadn’t thought of that."

"Well, it’s because… you asked Jimmy," he said with an amused smile. You looked at him, he held your gaze, and you just nodded, about to thank him and leave.

But then he spoke again, lowering his voice slightly:

"Why him?"

You blinked, confused.

"What?"

Clark cleared his throat, nervous.

"I mean… I’m right in front of you, and you went all the way over there to ask Jimmy. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me."

"You seemed busy," you answered honestly.

"I wasn’t… I was at the coffee machine. Didn’t you see me?"

You shook your head softly.

"Well… thanks, Clark," you said quickly, nerves climbing up your spine. You turned to go back to your seat.

"Do you have plans after work?"

You stopped. Looked at him, confused.

"Me?"

Clark nodded, a little more insecure this time.

"I get it…" you said with a nervous smile. "You want me to bring one of my friends as a thank-you for correcting me?"

He frowned, not understanding.

"No… well, no. I mean… if you want to bring someone, that’s fine, of course… but I was actually thinking of… going out. You and me. A date," he added awkwardly, as if each word cost him, smiling with that shy gesture you had never seen on him before.

You felt your heart race. It was your first time. The first gaze fixed only on you. You looked at him, hardly believing what had just happened.

"Yes," you said softly, almost breathless. "I mean… I don’t have plans."

Clark seemed relieved, as if he had been holding his breath.

"Perfect. They just opened a restaurant nearby… I think you’ll like it. How about having dinner there?"

"Yes, of course," you replied, with a smile that stayed with you for the rest of the day.

And that was how Clark won you over. He stole your heart effortlessly, with that first kiss that was not only unexpected, but so warm and sweet it left you breathless. You looked up at him, your lips still brushing his.

That was the reason why you were now in your apartment, sharing the same couch, as if time had stopped.

You were leaning against one of the cushions, your legs comfortably stretched out over his thighs. You kissed in silence, while the movie kept playing in the background. When he pulled away from you, Clark looked at you with flushed cheeks, smiled tenderly, and then let himself fall against your chest, slowly caressing your thighs. You, with a small smile, began to tangle your fingers in his curls, feeling a peace as rare as it was precious.

“So… when will I meet your parents?” Clark whispered, without lifting his gaze.

“I don’t know…” you replied nervously, and he noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, completely ignoring the movie. The only thing he cared about was you.

“Well… the first thing they’ll probably say is to open your eyes, that there are plenty of other girls with a better body than mine,” you said, faking a smile that didn’t quite work. You knew those kinds of comments didn’t sit well with him. Not because he didn’t understand your insecurities, but because he hated seeing you use them to hurt yourself.

Clark lifted his head and looked at you with a tenderness so deep it hurt.

“I know, Clark,” you said before he could speak, but you didn’t stop him entirely.

“I don’t care about that,” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice low but firm. “And if you knew everything I love about you… you’d never doubt again. You have no idea how much I admire this body of yours, how it feels to hold it, touch it, see it move when you walk. To me, it’s perfect. To me… you’re perfect.”

His fingers sought your face, gently holding you by the chin, guiding your gaze toward his.

“You don’t see how beautiful you are to me,” he murmured, then smiled sweetly. “If you still can’t love your body… let me show you every night why you should.”

And then he kissed you, slow, as if he wanted to prove with his lips everything he had just told you in words.

You smiled in the middle of the kiss, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Clark, please… it seems like the movie is fueling your dirty ideas,” you teased, trying to hide how deeply he had moved you. He blushed immediately, hiding his face in your chest while you wrapped your arms around him, laughing between caresses.

Then he said it.

“I love you.”

Just like that. Suddenly. As if the truth had been waiting for the exact moment to come out.

You froze. The laughter stopped on your lips, and you felt something inside you open without resistance. He looked up, visibly embarrassed.

“Did I mess up?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, with a sigh you had been holding for years.

“No. It’s just that… I never imagined someone would love me like this,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just as I am. With this big body I always thought no one would want.”

Clark’s brow furrowed slightly, and you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“But you do. You love me… without me having to change anything. And I… I love you too, Clark.”

He kissed you once more, slower, longer. And something inside you settled, as if you had finally come home.

“Then don’t think about it anymore,” he whispered against your lips. “Because I’ll be the only man in your life. You don’t need anyone else.”

And then he rested against your chest again, turning his attention back to the movie as if nothing had happened, while you held him, smiling, feeling that love —that love you always thought wasn’t meant for you— had finally found you.

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

I need more of Giyu being a father please I beg you 🙏 (btw love your work take care of yourself ❤️)

~Giyuu as a Father Headcanons~

A/N: Hiii my love! Thank you so much, I hope you are doing well, too! Oh my god this is an amazing ask- I HAD to write it! Also sorry if I’ve been slow with requests, I’ve been very busy recently :( I’ll work on more reqs tmrw!

Warnings: None! Fluffy fluff :)

-The second after you give birth to your child, he’s a nervous wreck.

-So many questions and worries run through this man’s head.

-What if he drops the baby while holding it? What if his arm is shakey? What if your child hates him?

-You quickly soothe him, pecking him on the cheek as you hand over your child

-When his arm grabs the baby, he’s shakey, but instantly has the worst case of baby fever

-Is obsessed with your child. Thinks they’re the most perfect baby in the universe!

-He will take a while to get used to it- but he adjusts to his new father role.

-Enjoys buying the baby clothes. Doesn’t know why, he just finds seeing them in onesies adorable

-Does, in fact, witness your child’s first words

-yes, words

-The words being ‘mama’ and ‘papa’

-You rarely see it, but giyuu actually begins to tear up. You join in too

-Hates diaper duty. He actually threw up one time just from the stench. You filmed it.

-I feel like giyuu would also just spoil the child the older they get.

-If you have a girl, that’s his princess. He’s spoiling her with little skirts, dolls, or honestly whatever toy she wants. He doesn’t judge if she wants girl toys

-If you have a boy, that’s his little soldier! (Hypothetically) he would buy him matching father-son sets and buy him toy katanas :) or also whatever toy he likes

-When the temper tantrum age starts, he looks like the gif above.

-Does NOT tolerate that.

-While he does spoil and love the hell out of your child, he is strict with punishments.

-Like taking away their favorite toys for a month.

-You have to calm him down with that.

“Giyuu, they’re two years old. Maybe that’s a bit harsh?”

“It’s not. Actions have consequences.” He says as he locks up their child’s beloved toy in the safe.

-He has a safe, don’t ask why.

-When puberty hits, he’s awkward but will not hesitate to teach your child about the problems of growing up.

-However, he doesn’t tolerate the ‘teenage angst’

-You joke they get their angsty side from him.

-He just startes at you like ‘haha real funny’ 😐

-Overall, he’s a good father! He gets awkward, but he loves his kid to death! And you, ofc :)

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

hihi could u write a fluff Paul x reader where Paul is free for a day and so he spends the day cuddling with you and trying to keep you with him in bed, he’s very clingy

“Hold Me Tight.”

Paul McCartney x f! Reader

Warnings: None! Fluff attack :)

A/N: Hi love! Thank you sooo much for this adorable request. I love Paul so much omg the THINGS I could do to this man if given the chance. I hope you enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being the wife of a Beatle was no easy feat.

Some women claimed it must be so easy, having the most beloved men of the century wrapped around your finger- along with a very expensive wedding ring.

And while yes- it had its moments of pure bliss, it wasn’t 100% always that way.

Paul, your husband, was often out a lot. Whether it be for recording new singles, writing for new albums, or live performances- he was very busy.

So of course, when you have the chance- you take advantage of him having a free day in your shared flat. Him holding you from your waist as you nuzzle into his hold.

It wasn’t really common knowledge to the world, but James Paul McCartney really enjoyed to cuddle you.

“Love,” You mumble, bringing up your hand to hold his cheek. “I have to use the loo.”

“No.” He groans, usual soft voice having become slurred and mumbled. “C’mon, five more minutes, yeah?” His grip tightens around your waist. You chuckle, but struggle out his hold.

It was almost becoming a wrestling match.

“Paulie, c’mon. I don’t want to tinkle all over the bed.” You say, laughing as he basically fights you so that he can have you all to himself.

“So what if you piss?” He pulls you so you’re facing downwards, face buried into his chest as he sighs in satisfaction. “The beds can be cleaned, love.”

“Ew,” You groan, hitting your head with such dramatics on his chest. “You sound like John. My Paul would never say something so disgusting.”

At that, Paul laughs, seeming to have finally awoken from his sleepy state.

“We are mates, aren’t we?” His laugh dies down, as he relaxes his arms just a tad around you. “Of course he’s going to have some influence on lil’ old me.” He flutters his eyelashes. The eyelashes you found so beautiful.

“Yeah, I suppose.” You sigh, finally letting your body go limp. Until you noticed just how loose his own arms were around you.

Taking advantage, you quickly tickle his sides- his arms jumping up from the sudden sensation, as you quickly leap out of his vice like grip.

Paul glares at you, before holding up his fist in a mocking way.

“I will have my revenge, love.” He jokes before falling back onto the plush comforters below.

“Alright, Macca.” You tease as you stretch, walking out of your room. “When I get back, you can ‘hold me tight’ for as long as you want, sound good?”

“Sound it is,” He agrees, before his eyes widen at the realization. “‘Ey, that’s my song-“

Before he can finish, you were already out the room. Paul sighs dreamily, resting his head upon his palm as he eagerly awaits for your return.

“Clever bird.” He mutters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Hey! I love your work sm, and I was wondering if you’d be open to a Douma one-shot (smut/suggestive)?

I had this idea where obviously Douma canniconaly emotionless so in this au he thinks he’s incapable of love or emotions, but then he sees the reader talking to another (male) cult member who’s a little too touchy — and he suddenly spirals through all the stages of jealousy.

He doesn’t understand why he’s so upset until it explodes into angry, possessive sex (not forced, just heated and intense). Thought it’d be fun to explore that unraveling side of him 👀💕

Totally no pressure though!

“Eyes on me, Darling.”

Douma x fem! Cult member! reader

A/N: oh my god, thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing :’) and this request made me go feral. I LOVEE writing for Douma he’s such an interesting character! I hope this is to your liking, as I was blushing while writing this omgg

Warnings: Smut! Filthy filthy smut! Vaginal fingering, oral (m! Receiving), possessive p in v sex, serious Douma (for once wowww), creampie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Douma had never understood emotions, that much was obvious. Ever since he was a child, the very idea of emotions was as foreign to him as a different language.

But it was a language he would attempt to recreate.

Often shedding false tears while listening to his oh so loyal followers complain about their pathetic lives. He would be a actor, the world being his stage.

Something interesting happened when he met you, though. A sweet little follower he enjoyed to occasionally have walks with and enjoy intimate encounters with.

And whenever you laughed, he couldn’t help but clutch his chest as he felt a very strange sensation.

His heart, perhaps? No. Impossible! Demons did not have a heartbeat. Even if they did, his would beat for no one.

He doesn’t believe that much would change over the course of his long, demonic life.

Every day was the same. Eat, help, listen, and eat again.

And this fateful day, to him, was no different. He was simply walking down the long halls of his large temple, greeting followers who worshipped the very ground he walked on with that familiar smile.

A façade, but one he rarely lost.

All was well, neutral, until he saw you.

Well, it wasn’t seeing you that had him pause. No, rather it was who you were talking with.

Some pathetic, younger man who was just tongue tied and all too eager to hold you by the waist as he talks to you, much to the lord founder’s chagrin.

He initially ignores it, not wanting to experience the strange sensation bubbling in his stomach.

Until he hears what the filth dares speak to you.

“Come to the festival with me, tomorrow? A pretty girl like you deserves to be treated right.”

Douma feels his veins suddenly pop out in every location on his body.

Which confused him. Why should he care that you had caught the attention of some pathetic man? He shouldn’t. He never should. He never felt this way, not once in his long, immortal life.

Feeling. What even was it? Something stupid, unnecessary, he believed.

Until he once again, he overhears you- this time replying to the man.

“I would love to.”

At that, Douma’s eye twitched as his smile shakes. He had to keep up his ‘graceful’ appearance, or all the followers would crowd over him in worry.

He contemplates leaving, not caring enough to bother with all this sappy ‘feelings’ stuff. Until he sees the man grab you with such confidence.

Oh, Douma wouldn’t have that. Not at all.

So, he swiftly approaches, the two of you not even noticing his intimidating presence. Until he speaks.

“Hmm, Akio-San, was it?” He places a large, clawed hand on the man’s shoulder, eyes shut as he gives a ‘warm’ smile. But anyone could tell, something was off. It was almost uncanny.

“Oh!” Akio jumps when he feels the hand on his shoulder, before bowing quickly. “Yes, my lord! It is Akio. What did you need?”

Douma remains still, smile never once faltering, before he speaks. His tone wavering just the slightest.

“Go on and help in the kitchen, yes? Make yourself useful.” His tone was so warm- contrast to the cold words he hissed.

“Oh-“ Akio almost refuses, but gulps when he feels Douma’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “O-Of course, my lord! Right away.” He was off, running down the halls with his tail between his legs.

The silence in the air is loud, before Douma turns to you- eyes wide with a unreadable expression.

“You,” He walks past you, the cloth of his black haori brushing against your arm. “Wait for me in my chambers.”

You nod, almost instantly feeling the excitement course through your veins.

~

It wasn’t long now, before Douma entered his chambers, you sitting on his luxurious bed with your hands folded, patiently.

You learned to be patient with Douma.

You hear some shuffling, before small footsteps approach the bed, then he himself- sitting in front of you.

“You know, my dear.” He runs a clawed hand down your soft locks, you humming at the sensation. “I consider myself to be a very patient man.” You nod, having no reason to disagree with him.

But it feels like whiplash when his once soft caresses on your hair turns into a sudden yank, you yelping when his tone darkens.

“But my patience does run thin, believe it or not.”

All of the sudden, you were shoved to your knees on the Cedar wood floor, rubbing the back of your head with a groan. His pull was harsh.

“My lord- what have I done wrong?”

“Silence.” He commands with a sharp voice, keeping his spot on the silk bedding below him.

You refuse. You needed to know why he was acting so different. Out of the many times you had been intimate, he had never acted such a cold way towards you.

“My lord, please pardon my disobedience. I simply want to know what I’ve done to offend you.” You crawl towards him, resting your head upon his firm lap. He stiffens, pausing for a moment- before pushing you away.

“You know, if you won’t listen, I could find a use for that adorable little mouth of yours.” His tone returns to normal all of the sudden, him bringing up his pointer and thumb to his chin- as if deep in thought.

“Hmm, yes! I will use your mouth.” He smiles, hand coming to grip your scalp as he drags you to kneel between his spread legs.

“Make yourself useful, dear.” He mumbles, eyes gesturing towards his belt.

You happily do so, hands shakily coming up to unbuckle the white belt holding his hakama up.

He hums, admiring the sight of you- all too eager to please your lord after rudely making him feel.

But to his dismay, you take too long!

“Do hurry up, you have lost my patience.” He pouts, but lightens up when you quicken your pace. And once the belt is off, he removes it from around his waist- folding it off to the side of his hip as he leans back.

“Go on, I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

You gulp, your face warm as you respond.

“Yes, Lord Douma.”

You quickly made work to unzip the zipper, all too eager to reveal his arousal underneath. And once the zipper is lowered, you gulp at the sight before you.

His long, thick, erect length, leaking with precum already. You’ve seen it before, but you don’t believe he had ever been so aroused so quickly.

“What are you waiting for?” His milky voice interrupts your inner thoughts- bringing his hand up to push your head towards his dick. “Go on, suck. Since you want to be a little whore.”

You can’t even reply, before his cock was shoved in your warm, awaiting mouth. Him already beginning to bob your head up and down with reckless abandon.

You slap your hands on his thighs, tapping them quickly as to beg him for a break.

“Already?” He doesn’t even moan, keeping your head steady with his hand. “You don’t deserve a break. Flirting with another man right in front of me.” He hisses, never ceasing the grip on your scalp.

You moan, his words having a certain affect on you between your legs. He had never acted like this. You took him as the type who wouldn’t care if you were to hang out with another man.

Douma himself didn’t even understand it. He shouldn’t give a damn. But here he was, stuffing his cock down your throat all because another man dared to ask you to go on a little ‘date’. How pathetic.

He felt pathetic. And it was all your fault.

He groans, suddenly yanking you off of his hardness as he lifts you up onto the bed, throwing you upon it as he makes haste in removing your simple kimono.

Once the pesky fabric was removed, his hand comes up to squeeze your breasts, eyes wide as he frowns.

“I really don’t think you even deserve foreplay.” He sighs, leaning down to suck on your sensitive breasts with a moan. He lifts his head up with a ‘pop’. “But considering your lord is so generous, I suppose you can have this.”

You stutter out a response, breath shakey as you speak.

“Have.. have what- ah!”

His fingers prod at your leaking entrance, once more not giving you a minute to prepare yourself. He smirks at how drenched you are, finding it almost pitiful.

“So wet. Why? Because of me, or..” He pauses. “Him?” The words come out with vice as he begins to thrust his fingers in and out with ease.

When you don’t reply, he slaps your cunt. You yelling from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Answer, little whore.”

“You! Ah! Lord Douma, it’s always you.” You whimper, feeling his nails scrape your insides- careful as to not scratch you despite you deserving it.

“Good. That’s right.” He removes his fingers, much to your dismay. You whine at the loss.

“I was so close, why?” You cry out, hips thrusting up as if your body was begging for anything.

He laughs, but it’s not his usual, carefree one. This one is darker, almost mocking you.

“You don’t deserve that, not yet.” He sheds the rest of his clothing, flipping you over by your hips so that your ass was up in the air. Him leaning forward to speak into your ear. “Not until I say so.”

Then, he finally inserts himself into you, like a sword sliding into its scabbard.

You moan at the feeling, Douma letting out his own moans at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. Your insides forming around him, as usual.

“So warm, so tight!” He sighs out, hands coming to rest at your waist. “Too bad I have to fuck you raw. A shame, truly!”

He began thrusting his hips at a inhumane level, you squealing at the feeling.

“Tell- ah, tell me,” He speaks between gutteral moans, reaching up to grip your neck from behind as he nuzzles his face into your hair. “Who do you belong to?”

For some reason, the question has you blush as you hide your face into the silky pillow below. Him tutting as he lifts your head back up, it turned to the side as he makes direct eye contact with you between thrusts.

“Don’t be like that. This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t decided to be a little Harlot right in front of my.. ah! Own eyes-“ He buries himself deep inside of you, not bothering to hide his own noises of pleasure. “So, answer. Who do you belong to?”

You almost scream, the pleasure becoming intense as your whole body shakes from his inhumanely fast thrusts.

“You. I belong to you!”

“Ah, there’s my good girl. I knew you were obedient.” He shakily praises, never ceasing the constant rhythm of his hips. “Are you ever going to- fuck-“ He rarely curses, so it takes you by surprise. “Talk to Akio or any other man ever again?”

“No, no! Never-“ Your hands reach behind you to shakily grip his hips. “Never again.. Douma.”

His name sounded so good coming from your lips. No other man’s name would ever come out of them ever again after tonight.

He would make sure of this.

“That’s.. that’s right.” He nods, nuzzling his nose into your hair, enjoying the scent.

“You know, since you’re mine.. I might as well give you my seed.” He licks the back of your neck, right above the beginning of your spinal chord- goosebumps running down your skin.

“Yes- please.” You groan into the pillow, feeling his own movements become shakey.

He was close.

And so were you, your walls clenching tightly around his shaft as he continuously thrusts in and out.

“What’s this? Going to come?” He hums, cooing at you as if you were suffering. “Hold it.”

“What? I- ah!” He suddenly flips you around, so that you were in missionary. “Lord Douma, please- make me yours. Please-“ You beg, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Oh, make you his he would!

So, he continues to thrust, it feeling like ages before he finally gives you the greenlight to come. But when he does- you lose it.

“Go ahead,” He leans into your ear. “Come for me.”

You whimper, legs shakily squeezing around his hips as your walls flutter around him, his mouth widening in a smirk as you squirm.

And a moment later, he himself releases- deep inside of you. You feel every drop deep inside of you as he moans into your neck.

Once he finishes, you can’t help but blush. It was all so sudden, and new. He hadn’t ever acted such a way before.

You turn your head, avoiding his gaze, but he doesn’t accept it.

From now on, he wanted your attention all to himself.

“Eyes on me, darling.”

He turns your face by the chin, smiling down at you as your chest heaves up and down. Just one round, and you were already exhausted. In his eyes, a look you have certainly seen before- but never in him.

Pure admiration.

Your gaze matches his own, and the eye contact is very intimate as his opalescent eyes stare into your own, beautiful ones.

Before he speaks up.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up!” He grabs you by your wrists, yanking you up without any care of the groan you let out.

“Oh,” He looks at you, almost forgetting a very important detail. “If you talk to Akio again, his head will be on my shelf. Clear?” He smiles as he pats your head.

“Uh-“ You hesitate, but agree. “Clear.”

“Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sweetnspiceneverythingnice]

Can I request Hetalia Axis and Allies falling in love with a kind and sweet female reader?

~Hetalia characters with a sweet fem! Reader~

A/N: Hiii my love! Augh, I’ve been WAITING for a hetalia request. I just got out of work so I was all to eager to write this! I love Russia sm 😭

Characters: Italy, Germany, Japan, America, England, France, Russia and China!

Warnings: none :)

Axis:

~

Italy

-He finds you adorable!

-Thinks you’re the female version of him fr

“Ahhh! You’re adorable! Lets make pasta together, yeah?” He smiles as he drags you out of the BORING meeting room.

-You two do end up making pasta together!

-And that turns into something so wholesome and cute :’)

-Loves seeing how kind you are to others!

-Will spoil you! He doesn’t look like it, but he has lots of money I feel he would use on you!

-Is a house husband. Does all the chores. Gets genuinely sad when he sees you trying to do chores.

“Nooo! Bella, that is my job!” He cries as he grabs the dishes from you.

Germany

-Wouldn’t know how to approach you!

-Would be holding back a blush after you make the first move, acting all sweet and caring towards him.

-We all know how easily flustered bro can get-

-Eventually, he asks you out for a beer- though a huge red blush on his face.

-Instantly regrets it after finding out you don’t drink beer. He feels like such a nincompoop.

“Scheiße! Forgive me… I did not know.”

-You calm him down with a smile, and eventually he takes you to a nice German cafe downtown.

-Loves hearing your soft voice, it’s so different from his own.

-Also enjoys to take care of you, but will GLADLY rest his head on your tummy as you run your hand through his blonde locks.

“Ja.. feels gut, mein liebe.”

Japan

-Would admire you quietly.

-He finds the way you carry yourself with such respect incredible.

-No one in the damn meeting room acted such a nice way.

-You were nice to everyone, even England who was such a grumpy old man!

-So, he approaches you and asks you for tea :)

“Would you.. do me the pleasure of having tea at my home?”

-You happily say yes.

-Eventually, you two become a official pair, and he becomes so much more open with you.

-Loves loves LOVES to hug you. A sweet person equals sweet hugs, he believes.

“You are so warm, so sweet. Never change.”

~

Allies

~

America

-He finds you incredibly adorable.

-Doesn’t shy away from telling you that the first day he meets you!

“Like, dudette! You are so nice- wanna hang?”

-He’s a very open guy, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask anyone out.

-Becomes interested when he sees you being nice to Russia, of all countries

-You guys go to McDonald’s!

-Will get a 40 pc chicken nugget meal to share with you!

-Loves your personality, finding it great how you two contrast!

“You’re pretty cool! Wanna like.. be my girl?” He winks at you.

England

-He finds you peculiar.

-Initially finds your kindness fake at first, used to people using kindness to get their way.

-But when you approach him for a business question, he actually sees how genuine you are!

-Brings scones for you after that.

-And you eat them, and when you don’t gag? Oh, he’s all over you now, bb.

“You.. you enjoy my scones? Really??” He has a shocked face as he sweats.

-Takes you to visit famous sights in England :)

-He loves how polite you are!

“You’re truly an angel, love.”

France

-What a cute girl you are!

-Ok. We all know how this man acts.

-So he doesn’t shy away in flirting with you in front of EVERYONE.

“What is a beautiful lady like you doing in a nasty place like this?” He asks as he leans over you.

-Is surprised when you DON’T slap him, and instead laugh and.. thank him?

-Now he wants to get to know you.

-Often leaves roses on your seat, to which you accept with a blush.

-Gets jealous when he sees you being nice to England. Disgusting black sheep, he thinks.

-But he doesn’t push you about it.

-Wants all your attention on him.

“You are my favorite girl, Mon amour. Don’t forget it.”

Russia

-Oh, what a cute little thing you are!

-Is his first thought, as he creepily watches you from his own seat.

-Actually becomes obsessed when you’re nice to him.

-People usually avoid him, my bb :(

-So expect him to approach you, though shyly.

“Ah, sunflower. I would like to be asking for a hug?” He stretches out his arms, hesitantly.

-You happily accept, and he’s in shock!

-Falls in love with you, like genuinely.

-You guys have little at home movie dates, with hot cocoa and fluffy blankets.

-LOVES to cuddle you.

-Does get jealous when you’re nice to literally any other person, only thinking he’s deserving of you attention.

“подсолнечник, I believe I am the only one worthy of your attention, hm?”

China

-Loves you so MUCH.

-He thinks you’re like a real life version of hello kitty, looks and personality.

-Brings you his ‘Chinese tasty treats’ literally every meeting, slapping America’s hand away when he DARES to grab the snacks.

“NO! These are for her only, fatass!”

-Likes to take walks with you on your breaks, enjoying your voice.

-He WILL brush your hair, finding it soft and sweet, like you.

-If he sees any other nation (France) flirting with you, he WILL hit said nation (France) with his frying pan that he brings everywhere for some reason.

-When you reprimand him for this, he whines.

“Aya! But he was making filthy moves on you! I couldn’t allow that!”

-You two hold hands under the meeting table JKEJFKWJDKD I love

-my otp

“亲爱的, I love you so much. My sweet girl!”