triciawritesstuff

[triciawritesstuff]

warnings -> jimmy olsen x fem!reader, a hint of jealousy, no superman (2025) spoilers!

clark is infuriatingly perfect. he's tall, broad, too sweet for his own good, charming, and jimmy is sick of it.

not that he's actually sick of clark—the guy's his best friend—but he's sick of the way clark has been effortlessly stealing your attention since you've started working at the daily planet.

you're always bantering with him and laughing at his jokes, getting into silly hypothetical debates about metahumans and discussing aliens. and when jimmy rolls around to join the conversation—because he likes talking about that stuff, dammit—you go quiet every time, without fail.

clark gives you this look every time, like he knows something jimmy doesn't. it drives him up the wall.

"want some coffee, clark?" he hears you ask from your desk—which is conveniently situated right next to clark's, because of course it is.

"uh, yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

jimmy looks over to see you taking clark's mug with a smile that makes his heart do something funny in his chest. he frowns and turns back to his computer, his own mug long empty on his desk.

what's the harm in getting coffee for himself, too?

so he follows after you to the break room, mug in hand.

"how's that new article going?" he asks, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "shit- sorry, i didn't mean to scare you."

"no, no, you didn't." the coffee maker clicks and whirs as it spits out a fresh pot. "it's, um, fine."

"right, yeah." jimmy rocks back on his heels. "clark mentioned that you might need some pictures of the justice gang fight downtown. i have a few that just need editing." he actually overheard you and clark talking about it earlier, but he's not willing to admit to eavesdropping, honestly.

he can't admit that he's that obsessed.

then the coffee maker beeps, and you're racing to pour out two cups. "oh, sure. that'd be great." you're gone before he can get a word in edgewise.

"i'll just email those to you, then!" he calls after you.

despite all the sugar he puts in his own coffee, it still goes bitter on his tongue when he walks back to his desk to see you and clark giggling like schoolgirls. your eyes meet jimmy's for just a moment, and his heart stutters.

clark looks over his shoulder at him and then back to you and prods your shoulder playfully. you swat his hand away and mutter something to him with a roll of your eyes.

moment officially ruined.

god, this whole "crushing on his coworker" thing is getting old fast, and you've only been here for a month.

he spends the rest of his day editing those photos for you, making sure that they look as good as possible. he picks out the clearest ones he has of the fight and the aftermath—he got one with that mr. terrific guy and all his tech that he's particularly proud of.

"man, how do you do it?" jimmy asks, after you head out for the day.

"do what?" clark spins around in his chair and furrows his brow.

"seriously?" and clark has the gall to shrug. "it's like every girl here fawns over you."

"they aren't fawning over me, jimmy." clark gestures to two of the interns who are very much staring at jimmy. he waves awkwardly back, and they giggle.

"yeah, but the new girl is."

"is not."

"is too!"

"i promise you, she is not." clark spins around in his chair to face his desk again with a roll of his eyes.

"then explain all of the giggling and the lingering looks and the coffee!" jimmy gestures exasperatedly at the mug on clark's desk. "she doesn't get me coffee."

"maybe she's just quieter than the interns," clark says with a shrug.

"yeah, quieter with me, not you."

clark looks at him like he's said something ridiculous and sighs. "maybe it's for the best that you're a photographer and not an investigative journalist."

"what's that supposed to mean?" jimmy crosses his arms defensively.

"c'mon, i didn't mean it like that. just-" clark pauses, like he's trying to find the right words. "you're not asking the right questions, is all."

"not the right-" then it dawns on him with all the subtlety of a brick being flung against his skull. "oh."

"yeah, oh." clark laughs then, and shuts his laptop. he makes quick work of packing his things up while jimmy stands by his desk, visibly buffering.

-

okay, so maybe jimmy is awkward the next morning. maybe he fumbles around the coffee maker for a little longer than strictly necessary in the hopes that you'll walk into the break room. maybe he looks at you for a little longer than strictly necessary, waiting for his shot.

clark is very obviously trying to hold back his laughter when he catches jimmy doing it, and lois does the same—betrayal of the century. he seriously told her, too?

you, on the other hand, seem entirely unaware. you wave politely to jimmy, thank him for the pictures, and continue on your day, business as usual.

this might just be worse than believing you were into clark.

because now he's caught off guard, has had the rug pulled from under him, and he figures it's best not to ask you out in front of the entire office.

but he wants to, dammit. he's itching to talk to you, to make you laugh, to take you out for dinner—or lunch, or to the movies. he'll take anything, really.

he finally gets his shot during clark's lunch break, he rolls his chair over to your desk. the office is mostly empty, except for you, jimmy, and a handful of interns—most people are out getting lunch, really. so, it seems like a great time.

he takes great pride in the small smile you shoot him as he approaches.

"hypothetically, if you were going on a date, where would you go?" he prompts with a grin.

your smile is gone in an instant, replaced by a confused furrow of your brow. "what?"

"y'know, hypothetically."

"uh, i guess the park downtown. why?" in his own head, jimmy cheers. he loves that park.

"okay, so, you want to go there this weekend with me?"

"sorry- me?" you point to yourself like you're not sure he's actually talking to the right person, and jimmy, frankly, has never been more confused.

"yeah...?" why wouldn't it be you?

"this isn't some kind of joke, right? like, clark didn't put you up to this or anything?" he watches with a furrowed brow as you look over your shoulder for any sign of clark.

"um, no?" jimmy is lost, totally and utterly lost. why would clark put him up to this?

"this isn't, like, practice for them?" you point to the interns who have been watching the entire interaction with rapt attention.

"no, i'm pretty sure i'm asking you out."

your confusion melts back into a small, embarrassed smile. he grins back at you. "oh, then, yeah, i'd like that."

"great, i'll pick you up on saturday?"

"sounds great, jimmy." you mirror his wide grin.

he drums his hands on his legs and spins his chair back to his own desk. his heart his racing in his chest, and he can't tamp down his own smile—even when perry calls jimmy into his office to interrogate him about deadlines and photo ops.

when he sees clark laughing with you later and spots the wide-eyed look he gets when you catch him watching, something in his chest flutters. and maybe he's a little embarrassed when clark laughs even harder.

[triciawritesstuff]

lovestruck and looking out the window

pairing: clark kent x fem reader 4.6k

summary: you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

content: clark kent invents what it's like to be a gentleman time and time again. reader finds herself in trouble quite a bit lol. title from superman by tswift of course. divider from hyuneskkami ♡

Addy19 @Addison_Malii Anyone else in Arkham District hear the evacuation sirens turn on and off? Was that a test or should I be running for my life lol Mark 💸 @markusup ↳ replying to @Addison_Malii That’s what you get for living in “Arkham District” bro 💀💀💀 cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @markusup don’t speak on arkham district with metropolis in ur bio lmfao. i hope ur insurance covers ur house the next time superman drops a building on ur ass Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer superman haters can not be real. like damn do you guys hate joy happiness fun and rainbows too cait (old acc got hacked…) @batmanslawyer ↳ replying to @mightycrabjoysluvr are we forgetting the fact that he’s an ALIEN from KRYPTON? i don’t care how hot he is i will take batman over him any day Mari ♡ @mightycrabjoysluvr ↳ replying to @batmanslawyer a vigilante defender in my replies shitting on superman… i have really seen it all. bookmarking this tweet for when the police finally catch batmans ass btw

“—you want some?”

“Hm?” 

Clark sinks into the couch next to you, his weight tipping you closer in his direction. The edge of the bowl in his hand prods your side.

“You really shouldn’t hold your phone so close to your face. You’re going to wreck your vision.”

You finally look up at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know you believed in old wives’ tales.”

“It’s not a myth!” He insists. “Put your phone down. We’re putting the movie on, and I know you’re going to complain when you don’t understand what’s happening—”

“I don’t complain, you liar.”

“—but you do, and then you’re gonna beg me to rewind. But then you’re gonna fall asleep and ask me to rewind it again, but I won’t want to because I’ve rewatched the same part five times—”

“That’s never happened before,” you lie blatantly. It happened last week and he won’t stop bringing it up. You toss your phone somewhere onto his couch and ignore the look he’s giving you when you take the bowl from his hands. “You made popcorn? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Clark laughs, the sound full and warm. He drapes a throw blanket over your laps — one of yours that he stole from your apartment — and hands you the remote. “I did. You were too busy scrolling.”

“Sorry.” You make yourself comfortable on his couch, pressing yourself into his side and stretching your legs out onto the ottoman. “I was busy doing some very important things.”

“Such as?” he asks, watching you flick through his TV subscriptions. “Oh, come on. We aren’t watching that one again.”

You frown as you click past one of your favorite movies. “I was just looking at it.”

“I’m sure.”

You kick at his ankles and watch the dimples crease on his face. It’s hard not to stare too long at the way he looks in the golden lighting from the TV. The brown of his eyes seems warmer.

“Whatever,” you grumble. “You can pick. As long as it’s not that trashy zombie show you like.”

He takes the remote from you, leveling a look at you from under the frames of his glasses. “It’s not trashy.”

“We can agree to disagree, babe.”

You fight the urge to laugh. You aren’t sure Clark realizes it, but he has the same reaction to that nickname every time — he looks up at the ceiling, and then away from you as the blush creeps up his neck. It’s even easier to see when his face is lit up like this, his sweet face tinged pink.

The two of you scroll through the movie and show selections in relative silence after. You’re sitting close enough that you can nudge him in the side when you want him to skip something, and he does so with only some complaints. You make it all the way down to the romcom section before he breaks the silence. 

He coughs. Then asks, “So, what were you doing on your phone? Texting someone?”

You hum absentmindedly, inspecting the movie thumbnails. “I was reading through some Superman hate posts, actually.”

It’s not the most accurate description of what you were doing, but you say it just to get a rise out of him. Clark would never admit it, but you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s a secret Superman megafan. 

There’s a look that he gets in his eyes whenever he reads something about him. It’s hard to place, but it kind of looks like he’s a little kid again, his entire face lit up with emotion.

But if he really is as big of a fan as you think he is, you have no idea how he’s so blasé about all those interviews he gets with him. Clark Kent really is one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met.

He looks at you sideways, glancing away from the TV. “You were,” he says, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Kidding. Kinda. You know what people are like. Your friend’s famous, you know. People are going to scrutinize him no matter what he does.”

Clark clears his throat and his eyes dance back to the screen, but you know he’s only half paying attention to it now. “And you… do you agree with them? With what people say about him?

Something in his voice is odd. You sit up against the couch to look at him properly, though all you can see is his side profile. 

On the screen in front of you, he clicks past the titles the second they load, uncaring of what he’s scrolling past.

“I think Superman’s great,” you say honestly. You speak slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. The only change in expression you get is the slight twitch of his mouth. “Don’t know why people complain so much about someone who saves lives. Like, who cares if he’s from Kirpton?”

“Krypton,” he corrects.

You smile. “Right, sorry.”

The slight tension in his shoulders release. “You really think he’s great?”

“Yeah.” You slip the remote out of his hands and click play on the first movie you recognize. Surprisingly, Clark doesn’t complain. “He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us? I hear his harem has quite the waiting list.”

He laughs, tossing the blanket back over your leg where it’s exposed. “He’s not my friend, and there’s no harem. And hopefully, you won’t be meeting Superman anytime soon.”

“Why not? Don’t want to mix your friend groups?”

He nudges your side, relaxing into his cushions again. His arms cross over his chest, and you try not to focus on the way his biceps pull against the sleeves of his shirt. “No. If you ever run into Superman, it probably means you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

The two of you sit quietly with the weight of his words. Sure, he’s right, but you’re sure a totally normal Superman interaction isn’t out of the realm of possibility. 

You wonder if the superhero has a favorite coffee shop. And how he would even order from it if he did. Would he wait in line? Maybe he’d have a priority lane specifically for him on the roof.

“Wait, what?” Clark’s voice cuts into the silence. His features have scrunched up in confusion. “When did we agree on watching this?”

“It’s Saw.”

“I can see that.”

“I chose it when you were too busy talking.” 

“You sure you want to watch this one? You remember what happened when we watched The Exorcist, right?”

“The lights went out, Clark. What was I supposed to do, not scream?”

“I was sitting right next to you. Nothing was going to happen. If anything, we’d get possessed together.”

“That’s so not funny. As long as nothing supernatural happens, I’ll be good with this one, I swear.”

He blinks at you.

“I swear.”

You wake up drooling on Clark’s t-shirt. 

Thirty minutes into Saw you were holding onto his arm so tightly that he put you out of your misery and put on National Treasure instead. The last thing you can remember is Nicolas Cage asking for lemon juice before the comfort of Clark’s shoulder became too much to resist drifting off.

You untangle your legs from his to sit up properly, a different movie playing in the background. Much like you a few seconds ago, your friend is fast asleep, his head leaning against the armrest in a way that can’t be comfortable.

His glasses are askew now, resting politely on his chest. You worry about the chances of them getting squished and leave them on the side table for him to find.

It’s only then, when you’re staring at the black frames on the wood, that you realize something silly. 

You’ve never seen Clark without his glasses on. 

He often talks about how his bad eyesight is why he’s so adamant about wearing them. You’ve asked him once before about wearing contacts, and he’d said something about how he has sensitive eyes and didn’t like them much.

You don’t mind at all. He looks very gorgeous with them on, and you find it very cute how they fog up when he gets flustered enough. 

You’re grateful for the light of the TV, because it means you can still somewhat see Clark’s face. You rub the sleep from your eyes to look at him, and—

Huh. 

You wonder if it’s normal to look this different without your glasses on. Sure, they can sometimes change the size of a person’s eyes, and losing a significant feature on anyone’s face is bound to make them look a little different, but… 

Clark looks different. Still familiar, but undoubtedly different.

It’s weird. The changes are so subtle you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The differences are written clear as day on his face, but it feels impossible to put them into words. 

Is it the shape of his jaw? You don’t remember it always looking so carved, and you would know, with how often you look at him. Maybe it’s the shape of his mouth.

Something in the back of your mind twitches, like a memory begging to come to the surface. It’s a slight tension against your skull, a pressing feeling trying to nudge you in the direction of something.

You have no idea why you do it, but your hand moves without thinking. Your fingers thread through his hair, the same way you do when you tease him for looking like he’s just rolled out of bed in the morning. As you do it, the features of his face shift just so, and…

Woah. 

Clark doesn’t just look familiar. 

He looks exactly like fucking Superman.

You pull your hand away so quickly the joints in your arm protests. Clark shifts underneath you, his eyes twitching as he rouses from sleep. He pats the fabric of the couch before he feels you under his hand, and he squeezes your thigh when he does.

“You alright?” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “What’re you doin’?”

“Nothing. I just woke up.” 

The sentence is true in more ways than one. It feels like you’re seeing Clark’s face for the first time. How had you not noticed just how much he looks like the same man that saves the city for a living? 

He blinks himself awake, and it’s like your heart flips. Staring at his devastatingly long eyelashes, it’s like everything becomes ten times clearer. 

You weren’t hallucinating — he looks just like Superman. It’s uncanny.

He pats you as he sits up, still clearly in the last dregs of sleep. His words slur together when he asks you, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” your eyes search the couch for where you’d ditched your phone earlier, and you find it on the floor next to the ottoman. It’s covered in spilled popcorn from the bowl that must’ve fallen off Clark’s lap during the night. “It’s two.”

The reminder is enough to make you yawn, and you rub your eyes to clear your vision. He leans over to the side table to get the lamp, and the room is filled again with warm light.

“Geez,” Clark says. “My neck hurts like crazy. Is your back okay?”

You turn back to face him, and with the lights on you can see him a lot better. His glasses are back on, and he…

Looks absolutely nothing like Superman anymore.

You must look a little surprised, because he stops massaging the back of his neck to scan you with his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Superman without your glasses on?”

The words land awkwardly. 

Clark laughs, but it’s not real. He scrubs his hand over his jaw. “What?” 

“You…” It feels like you’ve said something you really shouldn’t have. “You just look a lot like him.”

“Oh,” he says. His hand rises to adjust where his glasses sit on his face. “That’s funny.”

If he really thinks so, you aren’t hearing much laughter from him.

You aren’t sure why he’s so unsettled at the thought. Based on the limited information you have about him, Superman kind of seems like the perfect guy. He’s kind, selfless, great with kids, and…

Oh no.

It’d been such a brief stint in your conversation — there’s no way he remembers it. It’d been a joke, albeit one wrapped in underlying truth. 

“He’s gorgeous, too. You think you could introduce us?”

Clark is one of the most rational people you know. It’s no question that he knows you were kidding about that — hell, he’d laughed — but your technical confession is enough to make embarrassment rush through your entire body.

He seems completely upended by your comparison between the two of them. You stand abruptly, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here. 

“It’s late. I should go back to my apartment.”

It’s not far. Few people in the world live closer to Clark actually, with your apartment being directly below his. When that dog he’s fostering is running around too much, you can hear his footsteps scurry above your head.

(Oddly enough, you’ve never actually seen the dog in person, and Clark refuses to tell you what his name is, but you’re pretty sure he’s real.)

The furrow Clark gets between his brows is so deep you wonder if it hurts. “You don’t want to take the bed?”

You slip your phone in your pocket and start looking for where you’d kicked off your shoes. “No, it’s okay. Your neck deserves a break from the couch,” you say, busy checking underneath the kitchen table. 

There’s nothing there. You wonder if it’d be weird to leave without them.

Clark places one of his broad hands on your lower back before he passes your shoes to you. He is so irritatingly perfect it borders on unfortunate for you.

“Thanks,” you say, quickly. You’re even faster to slip them on, uncaring of the way the heels fold uncomfortably inward. 

“Hey. Hey.” His hand encircles your wrist when you turn away from him. He’s frowning, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay? You know I don’t mind taking the couch.”

The smile that softens your expression is real. “So selfless, Clark Kent. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Thank you, though.”

He tries one last time. Glances furtively at the door, like he’s hesitant to let you go. “It’s late.”

You feel evil. It can’t be ethical to turn down Clark when he looks like this, sleep mussed and soft and a little worried about you.

“You can watch me walk to the elevator if you’d like.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he offers instead, opening his door for you and stepping out. “It’ll help me sleep better.”

Looking at him waiting for you in his pajama pants and his wrinkled shirt, you wonder how you haven’t proposed. 

But when he leans against the doorway of your apartment downstairs, smiling at you with sleep in his eyes and telling you to get some rest, you come very close to it.

Your friendship with Clark Kent kind of started the same way — with him taking you home.

The Daily Planet is a block away from your office building, a much smaller structure with just enough windows that you can watch the next world-ending threat from anywhere inside. Once, you got to watch Superman save an entire floor of people in the building across from you before some creature gutted half the skyrise.

You’ve witnessed enough extraterrestrial villains to not be too surprised when you see them on the news, or catch a glimpse of them in real life.

The one thing you didn’t expect, though, was to run into one from this planet.

It’s late when you’re walking to the metro after work. You’re barely half awake, exhausted after dealing with some data issue that had you and a few other people on cleanup duty late into the night.

You’re digging around in your purse, searching frantically for your phone. To make a bad night even worse, you come up empty.

“Shit,” you say under your breath, stopping to press your fist to your forehead. You remember it vividly, now. You’d left it on the counter when you’d cleaned up the cup of coffee you spilled when you were dead on your feet.

You let out a few more curses under your breath as you continue walking, hoping that you didn’t throw out that old alarm clock you found in your closet.

It happens a few minutes later, and it’s nothing like in the movies. There’s no anticipatory music, or a suspicious sound that makes you turn your head, or the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You’ve walked down this street countless times before, one well-lit by the street lights and store signs, and felt safe every time.

The universe gives you no warning. It only lets you make it three blocks before someone seizes your arm and tugs you into a damp, dark, Metropolis alley.

You don’t have time to scream. A hand, grimy with sweat and something else clamps hard over your mouth, muffling any sound you could’ve let out.

Your back presses into the rough brick of the alley. You recognize where you are immediately — a small deli that you and your coworker frequent. You don’t know how you’re going to tell her that you’re never coming back here ever again.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. And you’re not going to scream, or lie to me, because I will stab you.” The man’s voice is thick and gravelly, almost as sharp as the blade he presses into the give of your stomach. “Nod if you understand me.”

You jolt when he presses hard enough to nick your skin. The nod comes immediately after.

“You’re going to give me all the money in that purse of yours, and your phone. I need your phone.” 

You glance over to your purse where it sits on the pavement. It must’ve fallen when he’d pulled you into this alley.

“Take it,” you say quickly, voice wavering with stress. You aren’t going to fight with this man over chump change and your lip balm. “You can have all of it.”

He ducks down immediately to reach for the purse, and sniffs out the money quickly. He shoves the few pathetic crumpled bills into the pockets of his worn out jeans, before turning his attention back to the inside of the bag.

You swallow, glancing towards the entrance of the alley. He wouldn’t chase you if you made a run for it, would he? 

There’s a sickening crack as your stuff hits the floor, and your daydream is crushed. The man is shaking his head, pressing his hand to his forehead, mumbling to himself in hushed tones. 

You press yourself further against the wall, like the extra inch of space between you will save you.

“Your phone. I need your phone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. You know he won’t believe you. You’ve never been more scared to speak.

“Did you hear me?” His voice shakes uncontrollably, his eyes narrowed to near slits. “Your phone. I need… You have to give me your phone.”

“I don’t have it with me,” you choke out. Your hands curl protectively in front of you. “I forgot it at work.”

He turns the knife back at you, though his hand wavers. Spit flies from his mouth and onto the ground in front of you. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not lying, I swear. I swear. Please, you can take whatever I have—”

Another voice pierces the silent street, one firm and so authoritative that both of you turn to look.

The man doesn’t waste another second. He turns and flees down the dark alley, taking the few things of worth in your purse with him. You don’t feel strong enough to move until he’s completely gone from your sight.

The adrenaline crash doesn’t take long to set in. Your head feels light, like it’s filled with helium. You think that’s why you don’t notice yourself walking directly into the other person there with you.

The universe had been the reason why you’d gotten mugged, but the universe also brought Clark Kent into your life.

You had caught glimpses of him at your shared apartment all the time, your similar schedules meaning you often left for work and came back around the same time. He’d held the door open for you a few times, and you’d seen him help some of your neighbors with their groceries before. You’d always known he was nice, but you had no idea stopping crime was on his list of talents as well.

After he’d saved you from that man in the alley that night, he’d walked you back to your apartment.

He did the same the next night. And almost all of the nights after that, too.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to become close friends, and for your lives to start merging together. You’d invited him over for dinner as a thank you, and it slowly turned into a regular thing. You soon found yourself splitting your time between your apartment and his. 

You really like Clark, and can barely remember life in Metropolis without him. 

That’s probably why it feels so terrible to ignore him.

[4:29] farmboy kent: I’ll be running a little late today

[4:29] farmboy kent: White sent us out to Park Ridge and the train back is delayed. I’ll be by your building around 5:20

[4:33] you: No problem!! also no need to swing by today. my cousin invited me over to hers so i’ll be in civic city until late

The message is marked as read a few seconds after you send it, making the next few minutes agonizingly long. 

Around 4:35, Clark finally starts typing, only to delete his message. A minute later, he continues again.

[4:38] farmboy kent: Ok. Be safe

[4:39] farmboy kent: I’ll pick you up at the station later

[4:39] you: Are you okay with that? i’m not sure when i’ll get back

[4:40] farmboy kent: Of course. Text me when you know what time your train will get in

You feel like a dick pressing the thumbs up reaction on his last message. What kind of person lies to Clark Kent?

You aren’t even sure why you do it. It’s probably the lingering embarrassment from last night — it was the closest you’ve ever come to telling him how you feel about him.

So… maybe a Clark-free day is what you need. 

You can’t remember the last day you’ve spent without seeing him at least once. On your days off from work he’d come by after his shifts, and even on days that one of you were busy, you would still show up at his place to say hello.

No wonder he makes you crazy. You haven’t had a Clark Kent detox since the day you met him.

Surely all good friendships need time apart, right? You’ll just spend a day by yourself and when you see him again tomorrow, you’ll be back to normal. There won’t be any more slips where you compare him to one of the most gorgeous people you’ve ever seen, or where you tell him he’d be a great husband, or something friendship-ending like that.

It’ll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a great, much needed, neighbor-free day.

You’re buying a paperweight for Clark when a building falls on top of the Metropolis Museum of Art.

The remorse from your little white lie followed you through every second of your Clark Kent boycott, effectively ruining it. Your plan was to head down to the park and enjoy the weather, but you found yourself making a quick detour to the souvenir store inside the museum. 

You’d come here with him a few months ago, and he’d seen the paperweight and loved it. It was a little glass sphere depicting Superman flying over Metropolis, and he’d almost bought it before reading the price tag. The guilt following you around now was enough to choke a horse, and you decided that it’d make for a great apology gift. 

(Not that he was aware you were apologizing for anything.)

The crash of the building sends plumes of dust into the room, coating everything in a haze of white. The emergency sirens start their crying almost immediately, joining in what sounds like the actual crying of children on an after-school field trip. 

You cough to clear your throat and find that even the air is saturated in thick dust, the cloud becoming even worse as more debris drops from the ceiling.

The roof of the museum is clearly trying its best, but it seems like the entire structure groans in protest. One of the overhead lights hangs precariously above your head, and you take a few healthy steps back from it.

Distantly, you can see the blinking red light that marks the exit. The cashier you were talking to a second ago makes a mad dash for it, ducking under a fallen beam while she does. Hordes of people crowd by the door as everyone rushes out, eager to flee.

The sun shines through the gaping hole in the museum made by the other building, and through the light it offers, you see it on the floor— the gift you’d gotten Clark.

The little paperweight sits sadly on the tile about five feet away from you. 

If you weren’t afraid of inhaling too much dust, you would’ve groaned. There’s no way you’re abandoning the thing after all this trouble you’ve gone through to get it. 

Against your better judgement, you move further from the exit to go and pick it up.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. 

There’s a strong gust of wind and a bright flash of light, and you’re outside again. 

When your feet hit the pavement, you resist the urge to vomit. It feels like your stomach has been flipped inside out and then put back again. The dizziness makes you double over, but you’re braced by a pair of firm hands around your forearms.

You’re halfway through a mumbled thank you when you look up. 

You blink a few times to clear your vision. When nothing changes, you’re forced to wonder if you hit your head somewhere in the museum.

Standing in front of you, with his perfect hair disheveled and windswept, is Superman.

notes: theyre both losers LOL. thank u for tuning into my fic lmk if u enjoyed! :) i do have a part 2 planned bc i think clark kent deserves to be kissed

[triciawritesstuff]

YAO as Bo Chow SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[triciawritesstuff]

Thinking about girlfriend! Kang No-eul...

Also, she's reunited with her daughter because I say so.

♡ she's a yearner. Definitely laid in bed at night thinking about you. Like really hard. Have you ever heard that thing where apparently if you can't sleep, it means someone's thinking about you? Yeah, that's you both.

♡ if you didn't make the first move, she probably would never initiate anything ever.

♡ hates everyone except you.

♡ will send flowers to your workplace. Knows the language of the flowers, will communicate in secret code.

♡ sunflowers are a personal favourite to send to you. She calls you her sunflower when she's feeling particularly romantic. It's her own way of announcing her loyalty to you.

♡ you send her red carnations, of course it means devotion and affection, but also fascination. There's always something new to learn about her.

♡ her daughter loves you. She always tries her best to sit still whilst you braid her hair, giggling and trading stories.

♡ you swap clothes all the time. You might not have the same sense of style, but somehow, it will work its way in there.

♡ She let's you cut her hair, she says she doesn't trust hairdressers as much as you.

♡ will insist on paying for you. If you're getting your card out, she's death staring at you until you put it away.

♡ she will notice something catching your eye in a shop window and will make a mental note to surprise you with it later.

♡ she's a reader. She loves it when you lay your head on her chest whilst cuddling on the couch, and she's reading.

♡ you share earphones whilst waiting anywhere. If you're catching the bus, waiting for your daughter to come out for school or even also whilst she's reading.

♡ will reach out during the night to hold your hand and tell you she loves you.

♡ super dry texter, but it's so dry that it's funny and an inside joke between you.

♡ secretly likes it when you pull her closer via her belt loops to kiss her softly.

♡ likes pressing your foreheads together to gaze into your eyes. Or loves putting her head on your shoulder.

♡ she loves to lay her head in your lap whilst you run your fingers through her hair, whispering all her troubles away.

[triciawritesstuff]

i couldn’t comment on the post for some reason but your masked officer fic was sooooo good thank you!!! can’t wait for the choi mujin one

Omg my replies were turned off, and i had no idea!! I was wondering why no one ever left any comments ever, hahahaha. Thank you for letting me know!!

Also ur ideas are great, it was nice to work on it. 🫶🫶

[triciawritesstuff]

Romeo + Juliet (1996) dir. Baz Luhrmann

[triciawritesstuff]

hiii could you write somthing for park hee soon? maybe masked officer with predator prey kink, with bratty!vip’s daughter who needs to be taught a lesson?? orrr a sad/angsty smut for choi mujin, maybe about him always feeling betrayed

Hi! Im actually planning on doing both, so here's the first one, so i hope you like it :3 Do u wanna be tagged for the other one? 🫶

Commanding officer x fem!reader

Warnings: p in v sex, dry humping, creampie, outdoor sex

This is 18+ so pls no minors ty

The grass was warm underneath your feet. Your extortionate red bottom heels had been long discarded in the chase. You knew your father would be furious. Those shoes cost more than what most people would even see during their entire lifetime.

some people have more money than sense, you think.

Your silk dress, hoisted up to your knees, whips behind you in the wind as you run from the clearing into the woods.

He'd be here soon.

You'd already heard them, crackling on the radio. Something about a vip going out of bounds, needing to be brought back. Your plan was in full motion.

It's not your fault that the only real entertainment on this god forsaken island was the handsome commanding officer in charge of keeping everyone in check.

Technically speaking, you've never seen beneath that black obtrusive mask he wears, but you're dead set on him being hot. You can tell just from his posture that he knows it. From the way he speaks to the way he walks, you know it to be true.

A voice calls your name through the forest. It gets closer and closer until the man appears, standing just across from you in the clearing. A gloved hand reaches for his radio, bringing it up to his mask.

"I've found her. Over." Before turning it off with one of the dials on the top.

He takes an assertive step forward. You take one step back.

"Alright. Playtime is over. You've had your fun—" He announces, disinterest clear in his voice.

"Aww– already?" You pout. "But we've just gotten started—"  your hands clenching within your skirt, swaying it back and forth enticingly. "Cant we stay out a bit longer?"

"No. It's not safe out here. If you wanted to leave so badly then you could have spoken to the guards and organised it." His mask hiding all elements sympathy he may or may not be feeling.

"But I've got you to protect me." Your eyes shift to his rifle that's slung around his back. "Dont you wanna have some fun?" You know he can tell what you're suggesting.

You notice how his spine straightens slightly and the clench of his fingers absentmindedly as he processes your words. They are probably clouding his judgement, you imagine.

"I've been told to bring you back—" he pauses. "I'd hate to have to resort to force."

Finally, you were getting somewhere.

"Well— i suppose you'll just have to catch me then."

You feel the giggle bubbling up inside you before quickly taking another step back and bolting away, further into the undergrowth. You can tell he's immediately coming after you, heavy boots on the forest floor and the rattling of a firearm ring in your ears make this clear to you.

Tree branches pull at your dress, scratching your arms and your face, but you persist. The chase continues.

You make it a good distance through the forest before you reach another clearing, hesitating, and seeing which direction to go. Your lungs burn, and you're sure you can feel your heartbeat in every limb of your body.

A force collides into your back, knocking you straight to the ground. Before you can even attempt to get back up, the man is straddling your back and reaching up for your arms. His gloved fingers wrap round your wrists and drag them back to hold them behind your waist.

You kick your legs pathetically, dress riding up your thighs slightly, leaving you vulnerable. The cold air hitting your panties drives you even crazier.

"Fuck—" you struggle out. "I'm not some sort of criminal– let me go." You wriggle against his hold.

"Oh yeah? I thought you wanted to behave like a bad girl." He grits out. Trying to catch his breath. "I'm just treating you like one."

His authoritative voice sends heat straight to your core. You wanted nothing more than for him to just rip off this stupid incompetent dress of yours and fuck you like he means it.

"Fuck—" you gasp out. "Are you gonna punish me?" You push your hips up, pressing your ass against him. You repeat the motion, feeling a hardness growing beneath his suit, now pushing against you.

His breathing becomes heavy, "You're going to get me in trouble." He says between stuttered breaths.

"M'sorry—" you wine out desperately, face embedded into the grass in shame. "Just need it so bad." Your words melting into each other.

He leans back slightly, turning round slightly to rake his eyes up the expanse of your bare legs and your plush thighs. His gaze travels just a bit higher, seeing your exposed underwear. You can feel his eyes upon you, turning you on even more. You spread your legs slightly, encouraging him to look.

"Do the boys back home not fuck you properly?" He tuts out. Shaking his head disapprovingly.

He moves his body further back, thighs now trapping your own. Now, his bulge lies directly against your clothed heat, as he gets comfortable.

He reaches up to lift the firearm from around his strong shoulder blades and chucks it to the side somewhere in the grass next to you.

He continues to pin you down, whilst you grind against him desperately, one hand reaching up to pull his hood down. His jet-black hair is revealed to you. He pulls off his gloves, strong veiny hands trailing upwards to pull down the zipper to his suit. He shoulders it off, and your neck begins to hurt from craning it round so much.

your legs spread to accommodate him, and his thighs rest on top of yours. your knees bend, the heels of your feet pushing him closer towards you. His strong fingers drag down between your shoulder blades and down your spine. before hiking up your dress to round your waist. The warm grass beneath you is soft against your stomach.

A hand now reaches for your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side, exposing your neediness. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your tight wet hole, before sliding in easily. You both let out a gasp at the feeling.

"Fuck— it feels so good—" you moan out. "It's so big– i can't take it all—"

"Yes, you can." He speaks through gritted teeth. Pushing in to the hilt. You feel every vein and ridge scraping against your walls deep inside you.

He begins to thrust, leaning forward and pressing his chest against your back. Each time it pushes inside you, it makes you gasp out louder, drawing closer and closer to your release.

"Have I fucked you so dumb you cant speak?" He laughs out. "I think I'm prefer you this way— much more pliant and eager to please."

"Your pussy is so greedy, shes just pulling me back in— is this what you've been acting out for? Are you just pent up?"

His words make you throb around him. You grind backwards onto his dick, meeting his thrusts.

"Fuck— youre tightening around me so well. It's like you're made for this dick." He scoffs. "So warm and wet. I might just have to keep you here, on the island."

"Please—" you stutter out.

"Yeah? Do you like that idea? So i can fuck you like this whenever I please—"

He twitches inside you. He must be close.

"I'll just tell everyone you died. Stumbled off the cliff like some stupid idiot. It's a good cover-up, right?" His condescending tone cutting deep.

He continues to pound into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body begins to shake, and his hips stutter slightly. Your cunt squirts around his dick and you feel hot spurts of cum paint your walls inside you, and the feeling is euphoric.

You both lay there, trying to catch your breath.

"I think we should head back now."

[triciawritesstuff]

This might be controversial but im looking forward to squid game usa.

I have faith in David Fincher 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

[triciawritesstuff]

Player 124 x reader

Prompt: you get cold during the night so you climb into Namgyu's bed.

Warnings: allusions to sex, flirting, namgyu, fluff

The room was surprisingly cold, considering the amount of bodies that laid tossing and turning within it. You're certain that if it got any colder, you'd be able to see a mist form in front of you every time you exhaled.

You had been laying there for hours, desperately trying to wrap your thin jacket around your shaking body to comfort yourself. Your hands were tucked into your sleeves, which were firmly placed underneath your arms in an attempt to raise your temperature slightly or at least conserve what little heat you had left.

You can feel the exhaustion setting in, your entire body aching.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. You think.

You abruptly sit up, pulling the sheets back and gently placing your feet on the floor. Tiptoeing over to the bed next to you, you see player 124 resting peacefully. Clearly, not all of us are bothered by the cold.

What was his name again? Namgyu?

He stirs slightly, eyes opening for just a second.

"What the fuck—" he gasps out, notcing your silent form silhouetted by the darkness.

"You scared the crap out of me—" he hisses in a harsh whisper.

"M'sorry–" you stutter out, teeth clacking together from the cold.

"Are you cold?" He questions. "Man— i offered to cuddle with you earlier. What's with the sudden change of heart?"

"Shut up— just forget it."

Of course, he'd say something like that. What an idiot. you take a step back, preparing to return to your own bed in shame.

"I'm only joking–" an arm shoots out from under his covers, fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. He uses his other arm to lift his sheet invitingly.

"C'mon," he pulls you closer.

The mattress dips beneath your weight as you climb under the sheet, the warmth already making you feel drowsy. He drops the cover, arm reaching round you, ensuring it covers you completely.

You hesitate, wary of getting too close to him. your whole body clenches. His hand reaches for you in the void of darkness, fingers searching for your own.

"Shit— you're freezing." He whispers out, arms quickly pulling you closer and finding their home across your waist. Your legs become entangled, not sure if the temperature is rising due to namgyu's body heat or your own thoughts running wild.

"Thank you." You wisper out.

"It's no problem— beautiful girls like yourself should never be cold." You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. Breath warm on your face.

he's so ridiculous

You attempt to hide your smile against his pillow, holding in a laugh.

"Does that usually work on girls?" You bite back, quietly.

"That depends—" His hands adventure down underneath your shirt, tracing patterns on your bare skin. The cool metal of his rings against your spine startles you.

"Do you usually sleep with guys you've just met?" He laughs to himself, waiting for your reaction.

"Shut up– this isn't like that—" you blurt out, embarrassed by his choice of words.

"Mhm, yeah, sure." He nods enthusiastically. "I knew you were saving yourself for me."

"Just stop talking–" You hesitate for a moment. "Nam-su."

His face drops. All humour in the small space suddenly replaced with something else entirely. His brown eyes bore into you intensely, causing you to shut your eyes tightly.

You can tell he's still staring at you even with your eyes closed. Nevertheless, you wriggle slightly closer, placing your head against his neck, getting comfortable. His pulse is loud in your ears.

"Goodnight Nam-gyu." You whisper against his skin.

A/n i thought about making it NSFW but I wasn't sure.

[triciawritesstuff]

Player 333 x reader

Concept: You attempt to murder everyone before the final game, knowing they are plotting against you. Turns out player 333 is a bit of a light sleeper.

Warnings: NSFW content, p in v sex, dry humping, reader is female, spit, descriptions of blood, death.

This is smut so 18+ pls

The first one was the hardest. It was the point of no return. The dagger, pressed into your shaking palm by the masked man, weighed heavy. You knew what he was asking you to do. The silence speaking a thousand words.

You had your back against the wall for what felt like hours. Not daring to even close your eyes for a second. You'd heard them whispering to each other on the opposite side of the room, illuminated slightly by the golden pig that stood proud in the centre. You notice the way they intentionally stand with their backs to you, only occasionally turning back to look at your shaking body. Your grip tightened round the handle of the blade, knuckles whitening. It stayed hidden beneath the sheets, waiting.

The hushed voices soon dissipated, they nodded knowingly at each other before heading to their own beds.

You wait.

You aren't sure how much time has passed.

You wait for any signs of movement across the room.

Nothing.

You peel back the covers slowly, feet gently landing on the floor. You softly move across the room and make your way to the first bed. You look at the man's sleeping form. you're sure that you've never even noticed him in the games before. Player 322. For a moment, you wonder if this is the right thing to do.

It was you or them. In what way did they deserve to live more than yourself? You could tell what they were planning. It was definitely you next.

Your shins hit the side of the metal frame. You raise the dagger high above your head, hesitating for just a second, before slamming it down into the side of his neck. His eyes open suddenly, but you are faster. Your sweating palm quickly covers his mouth before pulling the dagger out and doing it again and again.

Before you knew it, you were heading to the last bed. Coated completely in a sticky viscous liquid, your shirt clinging to your body. You quickly reach up to your face with blood-stained fingers to try and clear your vision.

You look down at the player before you. Player 333. He'd mostly kept to himself for the majority of the games. You recall everyone witch-hunting him at the beginning over some sort of cryptocurrency. Ridiculous. He's lucky to have even made it this far in the first place. People like him don't deserve anything.

You grip the handle tightly, one knee resting on the mattress, making it dip slightly beneath your weight. He stirs, brows furrowing in his sleep. You quickly lift the dagger above him, ready to bring it down.

His eyes open quickly, trying to take the scene in before him. You bring the knife down, "fuck, what the—" he quickly reaches up for your forearms holding you above him. "What are you doing?" He spits out, holding both your arms together trying to push you off of him.

You move your other leg over, straddling him to distribute more of your bodyweight into your arms to keep pushing downwards. He continues to push back.

Your arms begin to ache. He recognises the tell-tale signs of your exhaustion and uses this as an opportunity to flip you over. His whole body weight lies on you, your thighs locked around his hips. Your arms are now stretched out above your head, and he continues to hold them now with just one hand. The other hand attempts to pry the knife from your grasp. "We can just talk this out–okay?" He pleads desperately. "Just drop the knife–" in a futile attempt to break free from his gasp, you accidentally drag your lower body closer towards him, the contact making you both immediately rethink your choices. "Fuck–" he gasps out. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

His hips stutter, meeting yours again. You both let out a sigh, neither knew you were holding. "If you wanted to fuck me so bad– you could have just asked."

You feel your heartbeat increase, heat rushing down through your veins and towards the space between your legs where he lies. You feel something hardening beneath his slacks that are now pressing against you. "Shut up–" you grit out, pretending it's not what you want.

"There's no need to be shy." His breath is light on your face. He keeps up his attempts to try get the knife from your fingers, trying to disarm you. One hand holds your wrists again whilst the other lightly touches the side of your face. "I knew you liked me." He bites his lip in between his pearlescent teeth. "I could see you starting at me–"

His fingers trace down the side of your face before travelling further down the length of your body. "Just drop the knife–" You can sense his frustration. "And I promise to make you feel good, yeah?" His hand reaches your knee, lifting your leg up and spreading you even further. He rolls his hips again, hitting you from a different angle. You're definitely soaked.

The knife clatters to the floor.

"Good girl—" he whispers softly in your ear, lips pressing against the side of your face. Open-mouth kisses are placed gently across your cheekbones and down towards your lips. You begin to get impatient, leaning forward quickly to press your lips together. It's messy and  desperate, your teeth colliding whilst your tongue traces his.

Your hips grind upwards, shamelessly, causing you both to groan again. Your arms begin to ache from still being held above your head, and you attempt to pull out of his grasp, fingers flexing desperate to hold onto something. "Not yet." He moans into your mouth. The heat is almost unbearable.

His other hand slides down your body and skillfully toys with the zipper on your slacks, undoing them. His fingers cautiously slip below your waistband, sliding between your folds. "Fuck— you're so wet— is this all for me?". He pulls away slightly, a string of saliva connecting you both to look into your eyes.

"Yes—" you gasp out, "don't tease."

He lets out a soft laugh. Before kissing you again.

His fingers do quick circles on your clit, causing your back to arch, before pressing against your centre.

"I bet I could slide right in." He pushed in two of his fingers before immediately pulling them back out. "She's begging for me."

He half-heartedly attempts to pull both your underwear and your slacks off in one motion, leaving you to help kick them off as you lift your legs.

His hands, covered in your slick, undo his zipper, and he pulls them down just far enough to release his dick from its confinement. Pumping it a couple of times before lining it up against your entrance. He hesitates. Instead he rubs it along the outside, coating it in your wetness and teasing your sensitive clit.

"Shit— just put it in already." You beg.

Suddenly, he draws back, pushing it in slowly. Taking him inch by inch. You feel the air leave your lungs. He lets go of your wrists finally, and your hands move down to tangle in his soft hair. He does a few shallow thrusts before pushing in to the hilt.

"Yeah? Do you feel that?" You can feel how deep he is inside you, filling you completely. "Is this what you needed? To be stretched out–" he pulls out almost completely before thrusting in again. You tighten around him, his words turning you on even more. "Were you really going to kill me?" He gazes into your eyes, searching for the answer. "It's okay— you were just scared, right?" He reassures himself. "You don't have to be scared anymore. We can take the money and get out of here." He mutters into your ear. "Would you like that?" One of his hands reaching for yours, entertwining your fingers. The other reaches down, rubbing your clit in tight circles. You clench down on him, tears welling in your eyes from the overstimulation and the emotional intensity of it all.

He moves slightly closer, hitting you from a different angle, dick hitting that spot just right.

"Fuck— right there–" you gasp. "I think I'm gonna–"

"It's okay— me too‐ just relax." He interrupts you, continuing to hit that same place that drives you crazy. Your body begins to shake, and you feel him twitch inside you. Hips stuttering as he releases spurts of cum deep inside you.

His body lays flat on top of you, face nestled in the crook of your neck. The lights turn back on, and the sound of classical music fills your ears. 

A/n: can u tell i get a bit bored by the end. Idk how to finish it off. Also I've never written smut so any criticism is welcomed lmao.

[triciawritesstuff]

Jung Taeju x reader

Concept: You've been in love with Jung Taeju for as long as you can remember.

Warnings: angst, mutual pining, blood, slight descriptions of injury, sort of fluff at the end, mildly suicidal reader.

A/n- i finished squid game, my choi mujin obsession came back, I rewatched my name, returned to my Taeju roots.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The plan was clear, collect the narcotics, leave. No casualties. Choi Mujin will be furious. He was adamant on not making the deal any any harder than it needed to be.

You remember arriving with Taeju, side by side. Unified. Somewhere along the way, it went wrong. The deal was off, and it was clear that they weren't going to leave without a fight. At least, hoping to dwindle some of your numbers as a warning. You really hoped that the message they were going to send didn't include Taeju at all. It was fine if you were caught in the crossfire. You were replacable. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. It was different for Jung Taeju. His life was more important, which is exactly why the honourable thing to do was ensure he didn't get hurt, even if it was at your expense. There are many ways to die, but some are better than others. To die protecting the one you love is the best death, you think.

You also remember, one of the men running at him. Serated machete in hand. You feel the air still, as if time has stopped completely. You quickly shove Taeju to the side, using your body to block the metal. Pain searing through you, the agony so intense you feel your legs becoming weak. You collapse to the ground, meeting the harsh floor beneath you.

Chaos ensues. Both parties rush towards each other, screaming wildly. Immediately, Taeju is pulled away from where you stay on the floor, snapping out of his trance, trying to recover from the events that transpired just in front of him.

----

The cement around you is covered with something viscous and sticky. a warmth penetrates through the back of your shirt, which clings desperately to your body. Your suit jacket was long discarded for increased mobility, not wanting to be restricted by the close cutting tailoring. only a white cotton shirt to act as a barrier between you and the weapon. Not that that can help you now.

Your vision is blurry, eyelids heavy, and you attempt to open them, trying to look around you half heartedly. You push up onto your forearms, ignoring the sharp blistering pain you feel in your abdomen. You scan the environment around you. corpses are littered everywhere, and the smell of blood infiltrates your sinuses. The growing pain below your ribcage pulses angrily, causing your arms to give out. Your head hits the floor again, and it occurs to you that perhaps you might actually die here. No more nights spent tirelessly sparring with Choi Mujin's most favoured right hand, Taeju. No more late evening trips to go drink soju, laughter filling the air. Nights spent pressed shoulder to shoulder, knees occasionally knocking together, neither pulling away. It would all come to an end.

Part of you considers perhaps it would be easier to just lay here, in a pool of your own blood, than be forced to kneel before Mujin and listen to him monologue about honour and rules before making you decide which part of your body you'd prefer to depart with. If it came down to it, you think you'd have to choose your face. This line of work didn't particularly have time to put it to good use anyway.

Relationships are somewhat of a delicate topic within Dongcheon. Whilst the majority of its ranks do consist of men, they are hardly what your heart really yearns for deep down. The feelings you pushed so far inside you, promising to never act on them. Romantic feelings are a weakness. People will only use it against you, and you were taught this from the beginning.

However, something inside you desperately just wanted to break the rules and throw yourself at him. To be selfish and act on your own behalf for once. You spend basically every hour of the day together. Why doesn't he reciprocate your feelings? Perhaps he was secretly seeing someone else. Personal anecdotes are often far and few between you both, but you're sure you'd have at least picked up on it somewhere.

The pain in your body subsides, and you're sure it blooms within your heart. You reach up, fingers intertwining with your tie, pulling it loose. You exhale deeply, releasing a breath you weren't even aware you were holding.  

"Get up." A voice interrupts your thoughts. You force your eyelids open, and a figure is standing above you. Silhouetted against the plethora of stars that fill your vision. Your brow furrows– trying to focus on who it is. It's him. The one who plagues your thoughts so.

He's sporting a busted lip, and blood is encrusted down the side of his face. He carries a concerned expression, and you wonder if he's injured elsewhere. Your gaze travels down his body, noticing his right arm is stretched out down towards you. You lift your arm to return the gesture, and you are startled by the warm gentleness that his fingers treat you with. He leans back, lifting you from the ground. Your arm finds its home along his shoulder blades whilst a strong arm snakes around your waist, gripping you protectively. You wince slightly against his touch. "It–hurts there." You whisper out. "Could you at least pretend to be more careful?"

"Careful?" He scoffs. "I wouldn't even have to be doing this if you hadn't moved in the way– have you thought about at least pretending to be less stupid?" He bites out. Regretting it as soon as it came out his mouth.

You tense under his grip, and you know he can feel it. He half-heartedly attempts to drag you towards one of the cars and away from the battlefield, ignoring the tiredness within his own body.

"You're right. M'sorry– I dont know -" You can feel the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. "I don't know what i was thinking." You feel foolish, head tilting  away to avoid his gaze.

"You won't tell–"

"Of course i won't." He interrupts, as if he could already sense what was going through your mind.

The reassurance calms you slightly.

You reach his black Mercedes-Benz in silence. He stumbles forward, reaching for the door for the passenger seat, propping it open for you. He gently lowers you onto the leather seat before undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up his forearms. You try to stop yourself from ogling, but you're sure that your mouth has opened slightly without even noticing.

"Lift your shirt." He breaks the silence. Which is then continued by another agonising silence as you try to decipher if what he said was just a hallucination from your exhausted state or if he was actually asking you to undress.

"What?"

"I said–" he takes a step closer, but looking away almost shyly. You'd never seen him shy. It was quite endearing. "Lift your shirt." He clears his throat. "You're hurt. Let me see."

Oh. obviously. You quickly reach down to untuck your shirt from your slacks, fiddling with the buttons. Your hands are shaking. The first button comes undone easily, but the rest seem to be proving to be a much harder task. His gaze is heavy upon you, as he watches you helplessly try to do such an easy activity.

He tuts, before quickly moving his hands toward your shirt, long, slender fingers making quick work of undoing enough buttons to move your shirt out the way, but not all of them completely. At least he was preserving your modesty to some extent, ever the gentleman.

He slowly peels the shirt away from your skin, causing you to hiss slightly.

"Shit." He mutters to himself. Reaching forward, he opens the glovebox next to you. His chest mere centre metres away from your eyes, a faint scent of aftershave and sweat fills your senses, reminding you of something more familiar. You have to resist just leaning forward slightly and resting your forehead against him.

He pulls back. "Okay, im going to wrap this round your wound—" he holds up the roll of bandage before you. "It will stop the bleeding for now– and I'll clean it properly when we get home. Okay?" His voice carries an unusual warmth to it, causing you to nod almost too eagerly. 'When we get home?' You repeat inside your mind. Was he always this concerned about your well-being? 'I'll clean it.' The way he describes it, it almost feels intimate. You're not sure if you'll even make it home when your thoughts run wild like this.

His fingers hold the edge of the bandage down, delicately wrapping it round your waist. Each time his fingers make contact with your cool skin, you're sure your temperature increases.

He finishes the job before leaning up again, resting his forearms against the door and the roof of the car. Assessing the situation and scanning your body for any other injuries. You think he must be doing it on purpose, its like he wants you to just crumble beneath him. How can you be expected to behave in these harsh conditions?

"You've been unusually quiet. What's on your mind?" He enquires, eyes searching your face for any hint of what could be troubling you. You quickly try to think of an excuse. It's not like you can admit that you are just thinking about him.

"Oh—I'm sorry about your leather seats– do you think the blood will come out?" You ask earnestly. Reminding yourself of how much blood you've lost just from the short journey to from the floor to the car with an open wound.

His face relaxes, and his brow no longer furrowed. "It doesn't matter." He says firmly. "It's only a car."

"You're more important anyway." He whispers it slightly, unsure if he wanted you to hear that part or not. It makes your heart beat faster at the prospect and warmth pools inside you.

Suddenly feeling bolder, you reach upwards, blood-stained fingers wrapping around his silk tie, pulling him down closer towards you. "Can I kiss you?" You gasp out suddenly. Years of pent-up feelings all suddenly bursting out all at once.

You both freeze, the air feeling heavy and oppressive around you.

He doesn't reply verbally, and instead, he leans in to press his forehead against yours. Strong hands find their way to rest just behind you, careful of touching anything they shouldn't. His respectfulness will drive you mad one day.

"I shouldn't—" he exhales heavily, the breath leaving his lips tickles your own. "Fuck— what have you done to me?" He whispers, as if you are both the only people left in the world.

"Let's get back first–" his arm moves back towards your own, prying your desperate fingers from his tie and lifting your hand up to his mouth. He pauses for a second before pressing a firm kiss to your bruised knuckles. "You aren't thinking straight right now." His voice is muffled due to your hand being so close to his soft lips.

He quickly pulls away, shutting the car door before you both do something you'll regret.

[triciawritesstuff]

Warm to the Touch

Content: NSFW. Nam-gyu x reader. Reader has a pussy. Nam-gyu gets cold at night and wants to share your bunk. Dirty talk, fingering, thigh humping, finger sucking. Kiiiinda public sex but no one sees (you're in the dorm) and there's no P in V. He's pretty soft, giggly, and silly. Brief mentions of canon-typical violence. I wrote the entire thing with little hearts floating all around me. Approx 1700 words.

Time didn’t mean anything inside the games. There was no daylight, no clocks. Just painted skies, the rumble of your stomach that told you it had been too long since they fed you, and the bone deep exhaustion that set in after the adrenaline had died down. 

You’d survived another game, and now you lay in your bunk at the very bottom of a stack of five, enjoying a much-needed sleep. The mattress was thin and the blanket wasn’t exactly cozy, but it may as well have been the comfiest bed in all the world simply for the fact that you had survived another day. You were that bit closer to making it out of this.

And yet, your reward was cut short. 

You found yourself being shaken, a firm hand cupping your shoulder and rapidly rocking you from side-to-side, tearing you out of your dreams and back into the harsh reality of the predicament you had found yourself in. The dorm was quiet, still lit by the golden glow of the piggy bank suspended from the ceiling. It wasn’t lights up, not yet. 

“Awh, you awake too?” a voice you immediately recognized as your ally, Nam-gyu’s whispered from the shadows beside your bed. His hand remained on your shoulder, his fingertips lifting the edge of your blanket just a fraction. “It’s kinda cold, right?”

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and squinted at him in the dark, you noticed the slight shiver in his breath, the way his hand trembled against you. It wasn’t unusual for Nam-gyu to shake, especially when he was coming down from whatever the fuck he and Thanos had gotten into to make it through the day. “You’re cold?”

“Fucking freezing. Move over,” he muttered, his features softening with an endearing tilt of his head. You didn’t need the lights on to know he was pouting, “Please?”

You knew he’d just annoy you until you gave in, so you cut your losses, shuffling over to the edge of the bed and making room for him. Well, as much room as you could– the cot was small, and as he clambered beneath the covers and settled in beside you, it quickly became apparent that there wasn’t room for him at all.

Body-to-body, face-to-face, there was hardly an inch between you. He tucked one arm beneath the pillow, propping up his head. The other hovered as he struggled to find a place for it, letting it dangle above your waist, then down to his thigh, and then up again, tucking it against his chest.

“See, isn’t that better now?” he said, his face just a few inches from yours as his dark eyes– jet black in the night– bore into yours. “I was so fucking cold up there.”

“Your feet are like ice,” you grumbled as his bare toes pressed against your shins. 

He grinned then, mischief sparking in his eyes as he tilted his foot to press his soles squarely on your warm skin. 

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you hissed, fighting off the instinct to squirm away and instead trapping his feet between your calves. “There. Go to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You closed your eyes and tried to tell yourself that this was completely normal. The fact that his breath tickled the tip of your nose was fine. That he adjusted his position so that it wasn’t just his ankles, but his calves woven between your legs didn’t mean a thing.

He sighed loudly, contentedly, his head shifting on the pillow beside you. “Mm… you’re so warm. We should do this every night, don’t you think?”

“Go to sleep, Nam-gyu.”

A quiet chuckle sounded beside you, followed by the pressure of his arm, draping across your waist. In the short time you’d come to know Nam-gyu, you’d learned that he placed great value on the concept of personal space… and being up in everybody’s. Not that you really minded. Comforts were hard to come by in the games, and there were certainly worse ways to spend the night. 

You opened your eyes to see his, intently staring, his lips pursed as though holding back a giggle. 

“Now now, Nam-gyu,” you whispered, all too aware of the people sleeping above and around you, “if you wanted to cuddle you should’ve just said.”

He sputtered, a snorting laugh bursting from him that had you clamping your hand over his mouth and trying to stifle your own with the back of your arm. 

“Shut up,” you hissed. “God, you’re so…”

So what? You weren’t quite sure. Concerning, most definitely. Terrifying, yeah… at times. You were definitely glad you were one of the ones in his good books. In fact, he’d saved your life at the expense of two others that very same day. The scarlet staining his shirt was practically pressed to your heart. 

“So…?” he continued, his teeth flashing against the pillow of his lower lip. “So what? C’mon. What am I?”

“Cute,” you settled on, enjoying the way his eyebrows shot up at that. “You know… for a pain in the ass.”

The moment the words left your mouth you regretted them. He lay there, mouth agape eyes wide, “Oh shit, for real? We flirting now?”

“Shut up.”

“We are! We’re fucking flirting. Alright, my turn, my turn,” he whispered, wriggling closer, his finger tips pressed to your lips as if to silence any protest. “You know what you are?”

You shook your head, hoping to appear nonchalant. But your pulse had certainly picked up its pace. 

“Uh-huh. You’re warm,” he said, smirking as if he’d given the smartest and suavest answer possible. God, this fucking guy. But he didn’t stop there. “You’re hot, obviously. Uh… you’re nice. Yeah. Like, out of everyone, you’re the only one who gets my name right every time. Not… like, Nam-su. Or, you know? Asshole. Motherfucker. Or Junkie or whatever.”

He chewed his lip while he waited for you to speak, while you considered your response, while you wondered just how far you were willing to take this. 

Yeah, you were flirting. And you meant it. 

“You're hot too, Nam-gyu,” you said, watching his pretty lips pull into a satisfied smile. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he giggled, covering your mouth with his palm for a moment before pulling it back. “Say it again.”

“What? That you're hot? Nam-gyu.”

“Fffuck…” he whispered, nearly moaning. Tilting his head downward, he pressed his forehead to your chin. The scent of his hair flooded your senses; sweat and blood, and the underlying aroma of him– neither offensive or pleasant but somehow weirdly comforting. Human. “You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me.”

You did. You could feel it brushing against your thigh; growing, twitching just from the sound of his name on your lips. Hard and needy. His arousal stirred yours. 

With heat pooling between your thighs, you lowered your head to whisper in his ear, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if we weren’t in here?”

Those pretty dark eyes shot up to you, his lips slightly parted around a question he seemed to consider. Any other time Nam-gyu spoke first and let his thoughts roll in a while later like an unpredictable storm, but now he was silent. And if his eyes were anything to go by as they danced across your face, his mind was racing. “Huh?”

“What would we be doing right now if we were alone? In your bed…”

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, trembling. Deep ridges appeared between his eyebrows.

“Would we be fucking?”

He nodded. His hips twitched.

“Hard and fast? Or nice and slow?”

“S-slow,” he whispered. “I’d wanna take my time with you.”

It wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and it had you burning up, heat prickling over your cheeks. “Yeah? You on top of me, hm? Pressing me into the mattress.”

“Mhm— fuck…”

“Just your dick?” you asked, adjusting your thigh for him to let him press against it. 

“Huh?”

“How would you get me off? Would you just fuck me with your cock, or—?”

“Tongue,” he ground out, “God, I wanna eat you out so fucking bad. Taste you. Have you pulling my hair while I make you cum.”

“Show me,” you said, near breathless as you lifted your hand to press your fingers against his mouth. 

He was quick to catch on, his eyes falling shut as he parted his lips to tongue and suck your fingertips. A low moan escaped him, the slow rocking of his hips becoming more incessant, more desperate. For a few moments nothing mattered but the dewy heat of his cock rutting against you, the slippery sensation of his greedy tongue flicking over your fingers and making your pussy throb. 

And then his fingers were sliding beneath the waistband of your sweats, lingering just above your clit until you bucked against his hand, making a silent demand to continue. Silent but for gasping breaths and whispered praises. He was damn good with his hands too, his long fingers stroking you deep, the cold silver of his rings pressed against your entrance, the heel of his palm massaging your engorged clit. 

Desperate, needy, Nam-gyu clung to you, shuddering in your arms as he came apart and brought you careening over the edge with him. Swallowing down your moans with slow, hungry kisses that had you forgetting where you were. In those few moments, the world was good. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, that familiar, contagious smile glimmering in the half-light. He raised his fingers to his mouth, lapping at the taste of you like he couldn’t get enough,  “Are we in love?”

You rolled your eyes and he laughed it off, but his words didn’t ring quite so hollow when he fell asleep; warm, curled up with you snoring softly against the crook of your neck, the fabric of your shirt firmly bunched in his hands like he had no intention of ever letting you go.

Thank you so much for reading. I'm slowly getting my writing mojo back and Nam-Gyu is definitely helping. If you'd like for me to write more about him please let me know! Interaction is so so appreciated so please consider reblogging or commenting if you liked it. Screencaps in header by @sombrashe <3

[triciawritesstuff]

Hi! I really enjoy your works. Can you please write some more for Jun Tae? Something really fluffy and romantic please!!

Im sorry I didn't reply to this for like 2 months. Also, im sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, anon. Is Juntae nation still alive???? I might finish the work if people want a part 2!

Seo Juntae x reader

Content: fluff, probably ooc Gotak i haven't watched weak hero in ages.

Prompt by: @fawndrip 'if you don't confess, I will, on your behalf'

"If you dont confess soon, I will, on your behalf." Gotak jokes lightly, slinging his arm around the back of Juntae's shoulders.

The boy tenses, "Please do not do that—" coming to a sudden stop in the middle of the corridor, causing a sudden burst of sounds of disapproval of the students walking behind them who narrowly avoid causing a collision into the pair. "Sorry–" he turns back to Gotak, lightly shoving him out the way and dragging him to the side. "Don't even joke about that, i'm serious." he waves his hands wildly, panic setting in.

"What if i said I wasn't joking?" His tone suddenly serious, the smile dropping from his face. "What class is she in? Was it 13B? I think we should pay her a visit." He quickly turns, dragging Juntae along with him by the sleeve.

"She's probably doesn't even like me like that." He murmers out, hands reaching upwards to adjust his glasses.

"Don't be ridiculous—" Gotak scoffs. "What woman wouldn't want you?" He says supportively. "Anyways, she's always staring at you longingly. She clearly wants you bad."

Juntae feels a warmth appearing in his cheeks, and he looks away, taking a moment to perhaps think that what he's saying might be a possibility.

"Oh! Look who it is!" He waves wildly towards a figure emerging from a busy classroom.

It's you.

It feels like the air around you stills, and you definitely feel as if you've interrupted something.

"Are you guys okay?" You question. Your gaze shifts between the pair, lingering slightly on Juntae.

"Totally, we were just looking for you, actually." Gotak announces proudly, standing up slightly straighter. His arms reach for Juntae's shoulders, pushing him towards you slightly. "Our lovely adorable friend here has something he wanted to tell you."

Your attention turns towards him, eyes meeting.

[triciawritesstuff]

You know who could have carried Jun-hee in the rope game? Hyun-ju.

[triciawritesstuff]

If they make the american squid game spin off, I want Gi-hun to hAUNT THE FUCK OUT OF THE NARRATIVE OK

and In-ho

I want him to be E V E R Y W H E R E

HE'S IN THE BREEZE

HE'S IN THE TREES

HIS FOOTSTEPS ON THE GROUND

IN-HO WILL SEE HIS FACE IN EVERY PLACE

BUT HE CAN'T CATCH HIM NOW

[triciawritesstuff]

[triciawritesstuff]

CLOSE ₊˚⊹ᰔ min su x f!reader

naked cuddling, cock warming, non game au

‘you’re all I need, every time I get a bit inside I feel it.’

min su’s breath tickled the back of your neck, quick and uneven. his body was so warm behind you, his chest pressed flush to your back, his arm tucked under your head the way it always was when he wanted to keep you close for hours.

his cock was buried deep inside you, thick and full, snug in the wet warmth of your pussy. it wasn’t about having sex. not tonight. this was your quiet little routine, something intimate and sweet that made his heart race more than anything else. just being inside you, with the occasional slow clench you didn’t even realize you were doing until he whimpered against your shoulder

you shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, and the small motion, your ass pressing tighter against his hips, your pussy gripping him just slightly harder from the angle change, pulled a trembling gasp from his lips.

“Baby…” he groaned “feel like I’m gonna cum already.”

you could feel his cock twitch inside you, the slightest tremor of his hips showing how close he was to cumming even without a single stroke. you smiled into the crook of his bicep

“You’re so sensitive” you murmured, rocking your hips just slightly back into him, and he gasped, actually gasped, a sharp quick breath “we’re not even moving.”

he let out a shaky laugh, but it quickly turned into a groan, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as he tried, tried so hard, to hold still. his cock throbbed, nestled in your pussy, his hand squeezing your waist like that might somehow help him. but he was already losing it

“Mm fuck, don’t move like that. don’t…” he whispered, his voice was more of a whine, like even saying the words made him throb harder “you feel so good, you don’t even know…”

“Tell me” you said softly, shifting again not out of cruelty, just looking for that perfect nestled angle, but you knew what you were doing, and so did he

he whimpered. his cock twitched inside you like it was begging to cum, his breath catching softly

“you’re all warm. fuck, tight and- shit I can feel everything” he panted, hips twitching once against your ass before he forced himself to hold still again

you reached back, lovingly stroking your fingers over his hip, his thigh, touching him like he was some trembling thing, and he was. he absolutely was

“I love when you stay inside me like this” you whispered, and he moaned “love how soft you get after, how you shake when you’re trying to hold it.”

“please” he hissed through his teeth, trembling all over now. his cock was aching, you could feel it, the base grinding deeper from a single unconscious buck of his hips. he was going to cum, from nothing but you being there, around him.

you clenched around him once, slowly, your pussy tightening around him in a way that made him choke on a moan

“f-fuck, I’m- baby, I’m gonna…”

and he was cumming. buried deep inside, still not thrusting at all. he let out a helpless cry muffled against your shoulder, his cock filling you up with his cum, hips twitching in small helpless motions. he didn't move, he didn’t have to. his whole body was tensing, overwhelmed by how perfect it felt to cum inside you like this

you turned your face just enough to kiss the side of his jaw, and he clung to you, breath ragged, moaning low as he kept cumming

eventually, after some long seconds, he stopped. twitching now and then inside you, his breath warm against your neck

“fuck” he whispered “I didn’t even move.”

“You never do” you teased, kissing his wrist where it lay across your chest, holding you. “And you never last.”

“Don’t need to” he murmured back, shifting even closer, cock still nestled inside you, now soaked and softening “You’re too good.”

he pressed one last kiss to the side of your neck and sighed, eyes already closed shut again, so content, so full, so undone by just being with you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི