#save me of those ugh men

[mooniehoneyrey]

(The bunny is me btw)

[nomaishuttle]

btw im putting salon trip on my list of things thatll either be christmas present 4 myself birthday present 4 myself or new apartment present 4 myself

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[ghostfacd]

IN A WORLD FULL OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. despite being in a world filled of childish boys, your boyfriend was definitely a gentleman, always putting you before him

AUTHORS NOTE. the third installment because we love tom blyth and yn avocot. I recommend reading part 1 and 2 for more context!

tomblyth “babe, do you think we’re together in every universe?” is that even a question?

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser stoppp i didn’t know youd actually take the question seriously

user1 get you a man like tom blyth bc oh my god

user2 idk what yn did to manifest him but i need her ways

user3 ugh idk what he’s doing with her lol he could do so much better

➥ user4 well someone had to say it..

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t understand how some people on the internet can be so . . . mean. Although there have been countless of fans cheering you and Tom on, it didn’t make it any less hurtful that there were still a ton who weren’t scared to be open about how much your boyfriend could do better.

It’s ironic; you think. They’re claiming they’re looking out for Tom, yet totally disregarding him and his girlfriend as human beings? Those weren’t real fans.

The reason for them hating you so much? Just for simply being with Tom. Everybody wanted him, that was your crime.

Everytime you got lost in your thoughts about this topic, Tom knew. Boyfriend instincts, he called them, but really, he was just a caring and observant person.

You tried not to break down over it, you really did, but a girl could only go on for so long before it all bursts out. Luckily, Tom pulls you right in, telling you to let it all out.

Although the world was filled with childish and hurtful beings, Tom Blyth was still who he was, a gentleman, attending to your every needs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

tomblyth really dgaf if you like my girlfriend or not cause i do and that’s all that matters

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user5 im cryinf the polaroid he has of her

user6 YES REAL MEN STAND UP FOR THEIR GFS

user7 ALL THE PICS HE HAS OF HER 🥹🥹

tomblythswife oh to be yn avocot and be loved by tom blyth

rachelzegler tell ‘em 🙊

user8 she doesn’t even comment on the posts he makes abt her, so self centered lol

➥ ynuser I’m right next to him rn?? cant say the same thing about you “lol”

➥ user9 OH SHE ATE YOU UP @/user8

tomblyth_daily here are some clips of tom talking about his relationship in his new interview! GET YOU A MAN THATS LIKE TOM BLYTH 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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user10 the way he’s so passionate when talking about her and being a good boyfriend, God I hate being single

user11 “they’re not even that cute” STFU AND GO WATCH THIS INTERVIEW CAUSE ??

user12 tom blyth said put aside your nonchalant attitudes, im looking at YOU MEN 🫵🫵

ilovetomblyth he’s so boyfriend it actually hurts

user13 yn must’ve saved a continent in her past life to be dating tom blyth omg

ynuser girls, before you have a meltdown over a boy: think of what balleona laurent would do. kiss and manipulate coriolanus!

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tomblyth you kiss and manipulate me too

➥ ynuser you’re gonna get me CANCELLED

user14 literal unbothered icon i love her

user15 if i were her id post a tiktok with that audio “he chose me he don’t want you”

iloveyn SHES SO FUNNY

lionsgate us when behind the scenes photo of balleona 😻

➥ user16 lmao stop who’s the admin of lionsgate

user17 balleona is such a bad person but oh is she hot

tomblyth she was like a shot of espresso

tagged @/ynuser

view all comments

ynuser i love u more than words can describe blyth

user18 ok who’s cutting onions

user19 GIRLS, GUYS, THEY THEMS, STOP SETTLING FOR BARE MINIMUM WHEN TOM BLYTH LITERALLY CALLED HIS GF A SHOT OF ESPRESSO, GIVES HER FLOWERS EVERYDAY, AND TALKS ABT HER ALL THE TIME IN HIS INTERVIEWS

➥ user20 YELL IT HARDER SISTER 👐👐👐

user21 this is so dark academica im inlove with u guys

user22 parentssss

rachelzegler my favorites

ynuser SNOW LANDS ON TOP LOSERS

view all comments

tomblyth yn, i love you but

➥ user23 LMFAOO when he doesn’t finish his sentence

user24 the second pic thank u yn

joshandresrivera on top of u maybe

➥ user25 IM DYING OML

user26 thank you to lionsgate for casting the most hottest villain couple ever

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : RENSUKE KUNIGAMI 

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : rensuke kunigami x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 740

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”, unedited, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : kunigami was highly requested and I’m sorry for such a long wait but I finally got the motivation to write his part!! lmk who should be interviewed next <33 ALSO if anyone has a reblog of bachira’s version pls send me the link. I never saved it before I deactivated my previous acc TT

⊹ isagi’s version | bachira’s version

Kunigami’s never been hooked up to a polygraph before. He’s never been in an interview like this before either. When the team’s PR manager introduced the idea to the team, Kunigami was rather excited for something so fun and unique. It’d definitely get them more attention and hopefully expand their fan base. Not to mention, he used to love watching those ‘answering your tweets’ interviews so he was looking forward to being on the other end of the screen this time. 

He, however, did not expect the fans to be so dirty minded. 

“Twitter user @/rensuckmyclit asks ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

He shouldn’t be so surprised, not after hearing what Isagi and Bachira had to answer but he was hoping he’d get some tame questions. How in the hell was he supposed to answer this?

It didn’t help that he could hear the two men beside him laughing at his expression, one of shock, confusion and embarrassment. But he’s made his bed and now he’s gotta lie in it or however the saying goes. 

“Yeah breeding is…nice, and uh you can’t?” his statement coming out as more of a question. 

All heads in the room turn to Milo, the polygraph examiner, curious to hear his verdict but are met with an old man frowning at his machine. “Inconclusive.”

“Maybe try saying more than just two words, idiot,” Isagi sarcastically adds as he punches his arm. 

“Don’t bother lying, Milo’ill catch ya,” Bachira adds, grinning mischievously at the ginger. 

“I’ll repeat the question for you: ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

“How are you even saying that with a straight face?!” Kunigami questions. “Ugh nevermind.…Breeding is uh…a yes for me.”

“So you’re into it?”

“Yes I’m into it,” he sighs.

“Milo?”

“Truth”

“And as for the second part of the question—god I can’t believe I’m about to say this on camera—,” Kunigami drags his hand down his face and mutters out the rest of the answer, “only Y/N gets a ‘rensuke creampie’.” He uses his free hand to form air quotes for the embarrassing term. 

“Y/N?” the interviewer questions.

“My girlfriend. Now can I get the next question before these two pass out? Megs looks like he forgot how to breathe– dammit its not that funny!” Hearing their usually collected teammate lose his temper over this only released another wave of cackles from the boys, contagious enough that even the polygraph examiner and the interviewer couldn’t hold back their chuckles. Kunigami can only huff in embarrassment as he waits for what’s next.

“Okay, okay… our next question is from twitter user @/kunigamisrightasscheekhairs.”

“What the fuck are these handles?”

“I think they’re creative,” Bachira snickers.

“They ask ‘What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been asked to sign?’”

Kunigami takes a second to reflect on all his fan interactions. Frowning, he hums in thought and just when he thinks he’s got answer he remembers an even odder instance. On the outside he looks like a fish opening and closing its mouth with nothing ever coming out until finally he sits up straighter to respond, “Someone once asked me to sign her tits.” 

“What’s the verdict Milo? Is he telling the truth?”

“Yup.”

“Well did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sign the girl’s tits.”

“I don’t need to answer that so I won’t” Kunigami smirks at Isagi feeling smart but the blue eyed man just smirks back, “Well that just makes it seem like you definitely did. I wonder if Y/N knows about this. Should I tell her?”

Isagi is met with Kunigami’s playful glare and a series of curses thrown at him, all of which will be censored out when this episode is posted on BlueTube. 

However, the room is silenced when Kunigami goes serious. He turns to the camera with a straight face, “I’m only admitting this because I don’t want any false accusations of me cheating or anything going around. Yes I signed her tits. And yes Y/N knows about it. They were her tits. And because I know one of these two idiots will ask, yes we were dating at the time.”

“All true,” the examiner confirms but one look at Kunigami’s face would be more than enough to know if he was really telling the truth. Afterall, his face was turning redder than his hair. 

taglist:  @kazuubaby @satanblessing @saiki-enthusiast @nnasv @nymphsdomain @mitzukichan18 @celestair @ilovechuuyaa @mortallytenaciouskoala @tsumu-senpai @hweartiish

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Thank U

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violenc, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bruce Wayne/Batman (Christian Bale version)

Summary: you try to thank the vigilante who saved your life.

In the same universe as Home Sweet Home

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

‘To Batman’ 

No, that sounds ridiculous. All of this is just absurd. You don’t really think this will go anywhere but you just need to get the thoughts out. After a sleepless night, you need to put it somewhere before it boils over inside of you. 

You need to thank the man who saved you. If that’s what he is. He seems inhuman with all that he does for Gotham. 

‘My hero’ 

Ugh. New page. 

‘Hi. 

You don’t know me, but you saved my life. I know I’m not the only one and I hope I’m not the only one to say thanks. That’s what this is. I know it isn’t much but I’m not sure how else to do this. 

If you don’t remember me, that’s okay. I was walking home and there was a man following me. Then two. Then three. Then you were there. 

And just as quick, you were gone and so were they. I didn’t get the chance to thank you but I got home safe. Because of you. 

Batman. My hero. 

I owe you my life. 

Stay safe. 

Just another Gotham citizen.’ 

You reread the letter and cringe. What are you doing? You’re crazy. Is this pick-me energy? 

Ugh. You just can’t get over it. Your heart races every time the scene plays out in your head. Those men, their footfalls echoing yours, getting closer and closer, penning you in as they came at you from all sides. 

Your shoulders rose as you shrunk down and braced yourself for a heedless fight. Then the sudden flapping, the crash and crunch of violence, the shadows at battle against the brick wall as you stood by helplessly. Then the silence and his grizzled command. 

‘Go home.’ 

You ran all the way there. You didn’t look back or stop. And you didn’t sleep. You couldn’t. The dregs of adrenaline are still in you. 

Fatigue finally sets in as the sun rises. You fold up the letter and slide it into and envelope. You don’t expect this to go well. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You’re in the same clothes as the night before. You feel like you’ve been frozen. That night fogs around you like a cloud. So close... it could’ve been so much worse. You could have been another news story. Another body in and alley. 

You walk down to the precinct. You stare at the doors for a while before you make yourself enter. The last time you went there, the only time, they wouldn’t even file a report about the man who sleeps outside your apartment door. He went away though... just a few days later. 

You go up to the counter. 

“Hi, erm, I need to get this to Commissioner Gordon.” You say. 

The uniformed officer doesn’t look up. He laughs.  

“It’s just a letter,” you plead. 

“Girl, you’re wasting everyone’s time right now,” the man doesn’t look away from the computer screen. 

“Please,” you hold the envelope through the little gap under the thick plastic window. 

“What’s this? A love letter?” He scoffs. 

“Joe, don’t be a dick,” another officer approaches and takes the letter. “I’ll give it to him.” 

“Oh, thank you so much,” you preen. 

“Don’t know if he’ll read it,” he mutters. 

“He just needs to look on the outside,” you point. 

He flips the envelope and reads your writing; ‘Batman, c/o Commissioner Gordon’. He tilts his head as he looks up at you. He shrugs. 

“Whatever, it’s a reason to stretch my legs,” he wiggles the letter between his fingers. “Have a good day, ma’am.” 

“Thanks, officer.” 

You turn and scurry out of the precinct. You don’t think the caped crusader will ever see that letter but at least you tried. It might not help you sleep at night, but it will be one less thing keeping you awake. 

[shitouttabuck]

the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

buck/eddie | 1.4k | t

It’s quiet and late at the station, so Eddie can very clearly hear Buck dragging his feet across the loft from the kitchen to the couch, the sound such a specific combination of distracted and perturbed he already knows to expect the little crease between his eyebrows when he finally flings himself down beside Eddie.

“Ugh,” he says, frowning at his phone as he scrolls what seems to be Instagram.

Eddie hums indulgently, not taking his eyes off the newspaper crossword he pilfered from Hen earlier.

“Ugh,” Buck says again, much more pointed and with an additional nudge to Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’m listening. What, Buck.”

“Ever since that barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s last weekend I’ve been getting the weirdest targeted ads on my Insta,” he pouts, scrolling some more.

“Weird how?” Five letter word for estrangement, ending with T.

Buck huffs and turns on the couch to face Eddie, lifting one leg up onto the cushion and folding it under himself.

“Well, May was introducing me to her college roommate—who, by the way, was giving off way more than just roommate vibes, did you notice? Like, they were acting real cozy and she kept—never mind, sorry, not the point, what I was saying was she borrowed my phone to look up something in one of those online stores, I don’t know, I guess they’re trying to decorate their apartment with a specific aesthetic? Either way, ever since then the Instagram algorithm seems to think that I want to see—” He stops scrolling, lifting his phone and thrusting it emphatically in Eddie’s face, “—shit like this.”

Eddie blinks at the proximity of the bright screen to his face, putting down his pencil to gently move Buck’s hand back a bit so he can see properly.

On the screen is an ad for… a pale blue babydoll tee with the word BRAT screenprinted across the chest in curly pink letters.

Eddie blinks again, mind blissfully empty of synapses firing until Buck says, “See? Why does my phone think this is something I would be interested in purchasing. I mean, can you imagine?”

Eddie can. Eddie can imagine. But dear God, Eddie does not want to imagine. Because now the synapses are firing like some kind of mental train derailment of catastrophic proportions, and Eddie’s mind is conjuring images of Buck, his best friend Buck, squeezed into this skin-tight cotton tee, already tailored to be snug-fitted on much smaller bodies and so nothing short of straining at every seam when met with the bulge of Buck’s biceps, the graphic logo proclaiming BRAT probably distorted across his broad, meaty chest.

“There’s more,” Buck’s telling him, scrolling again. “Like, look at this.”

He stops on a post that seems to be selling tiny red booty shorts, the words SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY emblazoned on the ass.

“I can’t wear shorts this short, my junk would fall out,” Buck grumbles to himself, scrolling once more for probably yet another advertisement whose only targeted goal is to ruin Eddie’s life, selling of wares be damned.

“I’m pretty sure those are women’s shorts,” Eddie says weakly, not thinking about Buck’s perky bubble butt clad in two-inch inseam booty shorts. Definitely not thinking about Buck disgruntledly tucking his dick so not to commit an act of public indecency—more so than the very donning of the shorts would count.

“Well, why doesn’t my algorithm know I’m a dude yet? If I’m being advertised this shit, at least let it be stuff I could plausibly buy for myself, you know?”

Eddie hums, only a little strangled. “So, you’d, uh, buy those shorts if they sold them in men’s sizes?”

Buck ignores him in favour of thrusting his phone at him again. “Look! This one and the next, keep scrolling.”

Eddie takes the phone from him, squinting at it. The first is another skin-tight babydoll tee, with the words GOOD GIRLS printed across the tits and the image of a swooping bird below.

“I don’t get it,” Eddie says, pausing over the post. “Good girls like birdwatching?”

Buck snorts, tips of his ears turning a little pink. “It’s a swallow.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. Then, “Oh.”

He scrolls to the next post as instructed. This one is a white t-shirt that says DON’T BULLY ME, I’LL CUM in red lettering, which—

“I’m either learning some—unforgettable things about you or about May, and honest to God, gun to my head, I don’t know which is worse,” he says faintly, tapping to the next post.

“Shut up, it’s not that fucking literal,” Buck grumbles, settling against the couch cushion more comfortably and watching Eddie scroll. “She was probably looking at some trendy Gen Z homeware or whatever and the algorithm saw the website and ran with it.”

“Mm, and you only started getting these ads after the barbecue? None of this is—your own digital footprint coming back to bite you in the ass?” Eddie grins as he passes a sponsored post for a vibrator brand.

“My digital footprint is not reflective of my sex life,” Buck huffs. “It’s not wrong, but it’s not—why the hell would I buy a tiny woman’s shirt that says BRAT across the chest?”

“Maybe because you—wait, it’s not wrong?” Once again, Eddie’s neurons stutter to an unexpected and horny stop. On the screen of Buck’s phone, his finger has halted over an ad for… jumbo-packs of lube, of all things. Eddie clears his throat. “Ooh, scandalous.”

“What?” Buck makes grabby hands for his phone.

Eddie passes it to him. “May really did mess up your algorithm. Also, I don’t know how I’m gonna look her in the eye at the next party.”

“Oh, uh,” Buck says, looking at the screen before turning off his phone. “No, that’s just. That’s just me, I think.”

Eddie wonders if his brain starting and stopping so frequently can result in permanent brain damage. He’s not sure he cares, because the resulting mental pictures—okay, some of that’s off-limits, always has been. Loving your best friend and respecting your best friend are not mutually exclusive, except, as it turns out, when you’re faced with the reminder that your best friend is having marathon anal sex with his—boyfriend, partner, whatever it is that Tommy is to him. Enough athletic and enthusiastic fucking to be getting ads for bulk-order lube on motherfucking Instagram.

He wonders if Tommy calls him that, calls him a brat and tells him he’s a good girl when he—

Wonders if Buck does like being bullied a little in bed—just teasing, Eddie would never—except it’s not Eddie, Eddie’s not involved in Buck’s love life, and what Eddie does need to do is shut down this line of thought before his strategically placed newspaper fails to hide that he’s half-hard at the thought of Buck in these ridiculously sexual innuendo themed women’s clothes.

“You’re not gonna finish that?” Buck nods to the folded crossword in his lap.

Eddie sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Uh. Sure.” He tilts the paper toward Buck, unwilling to hand it over completely. “Five letter for estrangement, ending in—”

“Split,” Buck says, nodding at the paper. “It’d fit with the P from apprise in ten down.”

“Oh,” Eddie peers at the crossword. “Yeah, it does. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ve, uh. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About estrangement?” Eddie asks distractedly, filling in the letters. “Four letter word for just around the corner?”

Buck fidgets beside him. “About—splitting. Specifically—me and Tommy?”

Eddie looks up at him so fast he nearly gets whiplash. His grip on the pencil falters, and it skitters across the loft floor.

“That’s—not true. We’ve already—a week or so ago. We’re still friends, don’t worry,” Buck rushes to tell him. “He just realised, like, with you and me—well, I guess he knew the whole time, but I just realised—the way that you and I—the way that it’s us—c’mon, Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie manages, hoarser than he’s heard himself before.

“Eddie.”

“What’re you saying, Buck?”

“Are you gonna make me spell it out?” Buck sighs. “If I got a pair of red booty shorts that spelled SAVE A FIRE ENGINE, RIDE A FIREFIGHTER across the ass, would that work?”

“Tommy’s a firefighter,” Eddie says weakly.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Buck mutters under his breath. “Fine, if they said SAVE A FIRE ENGINE, RIDE A FIREFIGHTER WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO BE YOUR BEST FRIEND AND PARTNER, would it work then?”

“That’s a lot of writing,” Eddie says, voice still faint. “You don’t have the real estate in the rear for all that.”

When Buck kisses him, exasperated groan crushed into Eddie’s mouth, Eddie knows this is the rest of it—the rest of knowing him entirely: real, endless, and with a convenient standing order for bulk-packaged lube without involving any nosy algorithms.

“Four letter word for just around the corner. Near. Soon. This.”

[hazelfoureyes]

The amount of times I’ve read “a doe in fall” is actually concerning. The story is so fucking good, I literally can not stop reading it. The talent you have is insane!! aaaaaaa

I have no words but I do have this obscene little image 😭🥹 ugh thank you so much. Your message really made me feel happy 💖 those feel good chemicals express shipped to my system

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

[whirlwindimagines]

‘What if we ruin it all, and love like fools’

:) I promised not to leave you guys hanging, part two to ‘Those hardest to love need it most’ This one is a little shorter, who am I kidding its still over 1000 words lol

Y’all: How many confession scenes are you going to write for Vash?

Me: Yes :)

Vash x Reader

You walk side by side with Vash, the silence is comfortable and you're thankful for that. Even after that embarrassing exchange, Vash doesn’t push and you're even more thankful for that. Vash said he got a couple of rooms for the night, a thank you from the Sheriff, you feel drained that you could probably pass out on a bench at this point. 

Passing the Saloon you spot those men again, you still want to give them a piece of your mind. You nearly jump when Vash puts his arm around your shoulders steering you away, “We’re supposed to try to stay out of trouble, remember?” His tone is light and teasing, but his grin doesn’t meet his eyes.

Frowning, you look away “That only applies to you.” you like the feeling of his arm around you, and are grateful he hasn't removed it yet. You hear Vash scoff, and he squeezes you to his side, “So it's okay for you to start all the trouble you want, but if I start it, I get a lecture.” he whines, and you laugh. 

“Well when you get into trouble, you have to rescue yourself. When I get into trouble, I know you’ll come and save me.” you say it honestly, you’re sure your face is bright red as you quicken your pace to walk ahead of him. You don't want to see the look on his face, or for him to see your flustered one. 

These whole feelings are so confusing, you're sure they’ve always been there under the surface. Vash made it so easy to care for him, to like him. He admitted he cared for you too, you were just scared. What if things didn't work out? You cared for Vash so much, and you knew you wouldn't be able to survive such heartbreak

Ugh everything was so confusing now; couldn't you go back to when you were an idiot that didn't notice any of these feelings. A gentle hand on the small of your back, startles you but you relax when you notice it's only Vash. 

He has an odd look on his face, like he's nervous or unsure. It makes you feel nervous, but you force yourself to relax. You closed your eyes and clenched your fist. 

Fuck it.

You stop walking and whirl around so you're standing in front of him, he looks startled. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out as you look into his sky-blue eyes. You feel hot all over, “Um, turn around!” You yell out, cringing at your loud volume, Vash only looks confused. 

Not stopping to think, you grab Vash by the shoulder and force him to turn so he has your back to you. You grab the back of his coat holding him in place, “I just, I can’t look at you when I say this!” you squeak out, maybe you should have just gone back to the hotel to think this over. 

But you don't want to, you don't want to waste any more time. Both of you have no idea what tomorrow could bring, so why waste time dancing around each other with awkward words and gestures when you can just skip to the good part and figure it out from there together?

And if worse comes to worse, you will just bury yourself in that hole. “Um can I say something-” “No!” you cut Vash off sharply, “erm, I mean just…” You trail off, God why did he have to make you feel so flustered all the time! 

You take a second to compose yourself, “I think I have feelings for you.” you admit tightening your hold on his jacket, “You think!?” Vash says it with a laugh, and you blush even more if that’s possible. “Okay I do you big jerk!” Vash can’t contain his laughter, while you love how it sounds it makes you more nervous.

“You know what, never mind, I take it back.” You drop his jacket and turn to leave, you’re sure you can find a nice deep hole for yourself out in the dunes. Vash doesn’t let you get to far as he grabs you and pulls you in for a hug, you try to pull away but he has got a vice grip on you “Nope! Too late! You can’t take it back now!” His cheerful voice is like music to your ears.

“Well, I know I like you.” Vash says it so softly, you're going to combust. “Thanks.”  You both freeze, you groan hiding your face in Vash’s chest, “Please pretend I didn't say that.” Could you be any more awkward?

Vash shook so much with laughter; you just closed your eyes leaning into him. Well, you figured this could have gone worse, at least your feelings were out in the open now. You felt Vash place a kiss on the top of your head, you don't melt this time or run away. You whine, “You’ve kissed me twice now”

“Oh, did you want to kiss me?” You pause, pulling back to meet Vash’s gaze, his tone was teasing but he was still being kind. You huff, he didn't want to play fair you didn't have too either. You grabbed the collar of his jacket, holding in your laugh at the little yelp he let out.

You firmly placed a kiss, on his left cheek and then his right cheek. You watched with pleasure as his whole face heated up, “Now we're even.” You said with a smirk, letting go and watched him stumble back with a laugh.

Vash looked stunned then a dopey smile came over his face, your heart began to race taking a step back as he took a step forward. You took off in a run with Vash following behind you, laughing loudly and freely as the two of you ran through the streets.  

You wouldn't mind if he did end up catching you, confident he would with those long legs of his. Maybe you would sneak that third kiss before he got the chance too. You two would still need to define just what this new relationship is, but you were content that the feelings were very mutual.

You laugh loudly when he catches you around the waist, spinning you as he does. While you embarrassed yourself a lot tonight, your glad you did if meant getting more moments like this. Vash puts you down turning you so your facing him, he looks at you softly.

Moving quickly, you grab his face squishing his cheeks together and kiss him right on the lips. Vash let’s out a startled noise, he reaches for you but you step out of reach, turning to run again knowing he will chase you each time.

“I’m winning now.” You call behind you, laughing at his stunned expression. “No fair!” He calls after you with a playful whine, running after you. Yeah this night had been more then worth it.

[idabbleincrazy]

Sapere Qualcosa a Memoria

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: M

Pairing: Clex

Word Count: 3122

Warnings: s3 au, 3x19: Memoria au, canon divergent, hurt/comfort, shower comfort, Lex knows, angst, Protective Lex, sick Clark, longing

Summary: Lex saves Clark from Summerholt and gains more memories. Memories that will change everything between the two young men forever.

A/N: This is a mix of two prompts: (1)a scene gap in Memoria between Lex breaking Clark free from the tank, and Clark up in his loft that night, (2) an au where Lex tells Clark he remembers what happened leading up to his shock therapy. Title translates to 'to know something by memory'. Written for @lexkent and @leatafandom (I may or may not be persuaded to continue this)

Squares filled: Too Weak ( @hurtcomfort-bingo ), Barely Conscious ( @badthingshappenbingo )

“Lex, help me.”

“I'm gonna get you out of there.” 

Lex watches for another fearful moment as Clark slumps back onto his side, twisting away from what remains of the meteor-laced water that gushed out around his shoes. Retrieving the discarded pipe, he smashes out the remaining glass, heedless of an undisturbed shard along the side that scrapes his hand as he reaches through to grasp onto Clark. He isn't sure how long it will be before someone is sent down here to assess the disaster and start on damage control, and he knows he needs to get Clark out of this room, out of the building, before that happens. 

Clark is barely conscious as he tugs the large-framed boy out of the memory tank, only a whimper of pain every so often letting Lex know the teen is still awake. It takes two minutes just to maneuver him those ten feet out of the tank, and away from the cold water that pools on the floor of the room. 

A shudder racks through Clark's body as Lex leads him to sit on the metal table, and Lex forces his attention away from the miles of bare skin in front of him; skin that should be tan and glowing with vitality but is instead wan and sickly, almost green as though the water had stained him. Lex looks around for Clark's clothes, finds only shreds of red cotton and faded denim. Rushing to the room he used to change during his own sessions, he grabs a few towels. A spare lab coat is salvaged on his way back to the main room, and he quickens when the blaring claxons of alarm suddenly stop. 

“Lex?” 

Clark is gripping tight to the edge of the table, knuckles white, eyes barely open as he struggles to hold himself upright. Still shivering and pale, and Lex can't remember if he's ever seen the boy this weak. It's not something that he ever wants to see again. 

“Clark, can you stand?” Lex doesn't wait for an answer before helping Clark down from the table, pushing away the flutter in his chest as his hand grips around soft flesh; flesh that he had thought would be beyond-human warm instead of clammy-cold. Bears the weight of the over-large teenager as he drapes a towel over Clark's head and hands him the other. 

Clark wobbles slightly, but straightens more as he wipes away the slightly slick residue the water always leaves behind, and Lex towels the boy's hair as dry as he can get it. The room is chilly under normal circumstances, and Lex knows from experience how much the memory tank can take out of you even if it doesn't come tumbling down around you. “We have to get out of here, Clark, before my father or Dr. Garner's staff come looking. I take it you weren't in there willingly?”

Clark grimaces and shakes his head, the movement making him groan. 

“Lex, I need - where's my clothes?”

“Looks like they cut them off you. You'll have to make do until I can get us to the penthouse.”

“N-no. Need..ugh...need to go home.”

Lex bites back the long sigh of frustration building in his throat.

“What you need, Clark, is to put this on”, he pulls the towels away and shoves the lab coat into shaky hands, “and let me get you out of here without a fight. Then you need a hot shower and some dry clothes before your body goes into shock or you catch a cold. I don't know why the treatment has affected you so badly, and I'm not going to push, but you can barely stand, and you're not even speaking in full sentences. Obviously your body and mind have gone through a great ordeal, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive three hours back to Smallville.”

Though Lex highly suspected Clark didn't arrive here in the Kent family truck. He suspected a great many things about this whole fiasco, but now was not the time for his more curious instincts. He had to make sure Clark was safely out of Lionel's clutches before he could even stop to wonder at how this mess even happened. 

Clark struggled into the lab coat, buttoning it up fully to hide his undressed state. He was still groaning every few seconds, and Lex felt his worry grow. Wrapping an arm around Clark's waist, he led them carefully back through the wreckage of the lab, back down the hall to the lobby. 

Looking around, he saw Lionel leaning against the receptionist’s desk, talking on his cell, and an EMT team just starting to trickle in through the door. 

‘I need you to act like you're alright, Clark. Just thirty seconds, okay?”

Clark must've understood, because Lex felt him straighten up against his side, pulling away minutely. Lex schooled his face with the look he always used when he needed to keep his father at bay, and hoped it was enough. Lionel looked up and caught sight of the two young men, features calm as ever as he watched the pair stride surely past him. The gleam in his eye informed Lex he wasn't fooled, but the older Luthor held his tongue. Not that Lex had really expected Lionel to challenge him on this when there were others around. Too many questions he wouldn't want to answer. 

Thirty-five seconds, and they were out the door, past the paramedics, and on their way to the parking lot. Clark slumped back against him the second they were out of view, skin even greener in the light of day. 

“Lex…”

“Just hold on, Clark. My car is right here.” Lex tightened his hold around Clark's waist and fished out the key fob with his free hand. A cursory glance around the lot confirmed the lack of dusty Ford pickups. “I'm taking you to the penthouse, you can call your parents when we get there.”

Lex bundled Clark into the small passenger seat of the Ferrari, wishing he'd taken the Mercedes if only for the extra leg room. As he closed the door on the ailing teen, anger began to replace the fear and worry that had overcome him the moment he'd seen Clark so helpless in that tank. Anger at his father, anger at Clark, for the lies, the betrayal. He started the engine and shifted into reverse, forcing himself not to squeal out of the lot in a burst of speed as he backed out of his spot and shifted back into drive. 

Clark was slumped against the door, curled in on himself, silent and still sickly green. If not for the grimace of pain on his face, Lex would've worried he'd passed out. Hands tight on the steering wheel, Lex kept his voice controlled and free of the anger burning inside.

“Why, Clark? Why did you go to my father? Why were you at Summerholt?”

“Needed”, Clark's voice was weak, cracked and hesitant, a shudder and a groan rumbling through him as he tried to straighten up in his seat. “Needed to protect you. From Lionel. Only way, Lex.”

“I can handle my father, Clark. A far sight better than you can. That's why I'm trying so hard to get those seven weeks back. Christ, look at what happened to you.” Lex felt his stomach roil at the image burned into his mind of Clark so helpless in the tank, the sight of the shreds of cloth. “He handed you right over to Garner, didn't he? What were you thinking?!”

Dead. Both of them, dead. He could flay Garner alive for daring to lay a hand on Clark. And Lionel…

The stoplight blinked to green and Lex gasped, knuckles white on the wheel as images flashed through his mind, deaf to the blaring horns sounding behind him. 

“Oh, Clark.”

Lex shook himself free of the barrage of memories, and sped through the intersection, his heart pounding in his chest at the revelation. He ignored Clark's questioning moan of his name, needing to get home, now, to get Clark bundled into the relative safety of the penthouse, into the shower to wash away what he now knew was causing his young friend's prolonged weakness. Needed to get the traces of meteor rock off him. 

Agonizing minutes later, Lex pulled into his reserved spot at the back of the LuthorCorp parking garage and killed the engine. He climbed out of the car and hurried around to help Clark out and up, barely thinking to shut the door before half-dragging the brunette over to the private elevator. Shifting Clark in and against the mirrored wall, Lex keyed in the access code and cursed the speed of the car as it rose up to the top floor. 

“Lex.”

“Shh, it's okay, Clark. It'll be okay.” God, so much made sense now. “It's okay.”

The car dinged, and the door slid open, and Lex shuffled Clark out of the elevator and through the entry room of the penthouse. Down the too-long hallway to the master bathroom. Staggering into the large, gleaming, glass and steel room. Urging Clark out of the lab coat, eyes firmly on Clark's face as he peeled down the still-damp shorts. 

Tossing the soiled materials out the door, Lex eased Clark into the glass-doored shower, leaning him back against the wall. 

“Can you manage on your own?”

“Why? Wh-what…”

“I know, Clark. I remember.” Lex ignored the soft gasp and plowed on, grip tightening on Clark's arms as the teen tried to flinch away. “You need to shower. The memory fluid, it's still on you. Can you manage?”

Clark's body answered for him, knees nearly buckling as another shudder wracked through him. Lex cursed and hurried out of his own clothes, steeling himself against the zing of arousal at the thought of being naked, with Clark, in his overly-large, perfect-for-sex, shower. Clark needed his help, Clark was hurting. Clark wasn't human, and he had let him see, and he had tried to save him. 

“I'm sorry.” The whisper was so soft, Lex almost didn't hear it, almost mistook it for another shiver of pain. “I'm so sorry.”

Lex stepped into the shower, turning the tap on and making sure the water was hot enough before maneuvering Clark in front of him. The clammy, slick feel of Clark's skin quelled any thoughts his cock may have had of mutiny, as he held the teen against his chest and directed him under the spray of water. 

“Shh, Clark, it's okay”, Lex repeated his earlier mantra, watching as the green-tinted water swirled around their feet. “I'm not mad, Clark, I'm not. We'll talk, when you're better. Right now, we need to get this stuff off you. It is what's making you sick, right? Like that day, with Edge, and the beads. Meteor rock?” 

Clark let out a quiet sob of concession, lifting his hands to scrub at himself as the effects of the Kryptonite slowly lessened. His mind was racing as it cleared, the events of the past few hours colliding into the here and now. Lex knew. Lex remembered. Oh, God. Even through the fear and pain, his body fought to register the feel of Lex, pressed up warm and smooth against his back. He knows. He knows and he's still here. Still helping me. Clark wanted to cry, felt his heart clench at the fact that Lex hadn't tossed him away, hadn't dragged him down to some cold laboratory while he was still so weak. 

Instead, he was here, his chest supporting Clark's weak frame, arms encircling him, trying to help rinse away the residue of Kryptonite that seemed to be continuously leaching out of his skin, like he had absorbed it while floating in that horrible tank. He was wrong, so wrong. Never should have gone to Lionel. 

“I'm so sorry, Lex. I…I faltered. Should have. Kept my trust. In you.” His words were stilted, quiet, his throat still so raw from screaming out his mother’s name. “I…I just wanted. To keep you safe. To keep myself safe.”

Lex turned Clark around in his grasp, realization hitting him. He found Clark's green gaze, still hazed with pain.

“He has something on you, doesn't he? What does he know, Clark?”

Clark let out a groan. Tried to look away, but Lex gripped his chin and held firm. His stomach rolled at the knowledge that under normal circumstances, it would've been impossible to restrain the teen so easily. 

“What does he know?”

“He. He knows you found out my secret. Before. Belle Reve. The security tape. Would have hurt you again to find out. Or if you remembered about his crimes.” 

Lex closed his eyes briefly, calming his rapid heart, needing to focus on Clark instead of the anger welling back up. He pulled Clark back to him, chest to chest, heedless of their nudity. Reaching out to grab a bottle of soap from its tiny alcove set into the wall, Lex let Clark sag forward, leaning on him, head on his shoulder, as he poured out a copious amount of the liquid into his hand. 

“I won't let him hurt you, Clark. Never again. He can't have your secrets, or you.” You're mine. Lex felt tentative hands rest lightly on his sides as he set the bottle aside and began lathering the soap over miles of skin. Skin that was finally starting to warm, losing its sickly tinge. “Let me keep you safe, this time.”

Clark let out a wordless, almost plaintive, keen, nose burying into the hollow of Lex's throat, another shiver running through his body. Lex reached around Clark's back, working his soapy hands over the flesh, wondering just how much of the green fluid was left for the boy's system to purge. Felt immensely grateful for the giant water heater that had been installed a few years back. 

Hands sliding from back to front, and back again, Lex cleaned Clark for a silent stretch of minutes, cataloging the slow return of the brunette's strength and vitality. Felt the surer grip of warm fingers on his waist. Bit back a gasp of surprised arousal at the twitch of Clark's cock against his hip. This close, Lex could smell the hint of Clark's typical scent, hay and apples and sunshine, beneath the lavender of the soap and the metallic tang of the meteor-water that seemed to be seeping from his pores. It was heady, and Lex fought against his body's instincts, keeping his own ardor at bay, not wanting to spook the traumatized young man in his arms. He's been through enough, he's scared and confused, and his physiological responses are not the sign you've been looking for. 

“Clark”, a whisper, head turned to nearly touch his lips to the other's ear, hands slowing their mindless trail over skin. “I need you to straighten up. We have to wash your hair.”

Clark breathed a sigh against Lex's throat, and the older man felt the brush of his lips across his skin as Clark hefted himself up. His grip didn’t loosen as he stood straight, and Lex couldn't decide if that made him happy or not. He tipped Clark's head back briefly to wet his hair thoroughly before pulling him back out of the spray. 

Letting Clark use him to keep his balance, Lex grabbed the bottle of soap again, pouring out a measure of it directly onto Clark's head. It had been over fourteen years since he'd had hair of his own to wash, and he'd never had anyone in his life he had wanted to do this for. Before Clark. He'd spent countless daydreams just imagining what it would be like, running his hands through Clark's hair, wet or dry. Never pictured it quite for this reason. With Clark still kitten-weak in front of him, not quite back to his normal tan coloring, intermittent moans of pain breathing out of him. 

Nothing for it but to do it. Lex put the soap back and reached both hands up to rub the soap into the thick, dark hair, thankful that their height difference wasn't unmanageable. It wasn't what he had imagined, the residue of the meteor-laced water having stiffened the typically luxurious locks. But it wasn't an experience to scoff at. At the first carding through of his fingers, Lex heard the moan of pain transmute into a sigh of contentment. 

Clark bent slightly at the knee, leaning his head into the touch of Lex's hands and providing better access to the rest of his hair. Lex, regrettably, let his gaze stray as he worked the hair into a sudsy lather, and nearly bit his tongue in half at the sight of Clark's rosy cock stiffening visibly under his ministrations. His own thickened despite all straining of his control. He would not take advantage.

“Lex. Feels good.” Clark turned his head slightly and Lex felt his lips graze over the inside of a wrist, his hands faltering. “Don't stop. Please.”

He just likes the feeling, Lex. It's nothing to do with you, it could be anybody's hands and he'd react the same. Just another physiological response his weakened mind can't control. Lex forced his fingers back into action, massaging the soap down to the scalp. 

By the time he had the lather thick and deep through all of Clark's hair, Lex was breathing quick and shallow, cock aching against his stomach. 

“Tip your head back.” And, thanks so much, voice, could you sound any huskier? “We need to rinse the soap out.” 

Clark leaned back, the movement thrusting his hips forward just enough to make groin to groin contact. Lex couldn't hold back the grunt of arousal as a lightning rush of desire coursed through him at the feel of Clark's cock against his own. He heard Clark's quiet gasp muffled through the water running over his head.

“Clark. Fuck. I'm sorry.” 

“No. Don't be. So long, Lex. I've wanted you for so long.”

Lex met Clark's gaze through the mini-waterfall streaming from his bangs, his fingers unconsciously falling back into action, working the soap out of the slick mop of hair. Clear green sparkled back at him, the hands on his hips squeezing briefly before sliding up higher, as full, red lips pulled into a tentative smile. Rose tinted sloping cheeks and perfectly straight nose scrunched up in hope. 

“Clark?”

“Is my hair clean yet? Cause, I feel a lot better now and I really want to kiss you.”

Blush deepened and, oh, God, how can he be so unbelievably sexy and unbearably adorable at the same time?

Lex nodded mutely, throat tight, chest hammering. 

“Good.”

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

a boy, a man, a lover, a fool, a soldier, a hero

11/28: Matching Scars RATED E Corvus asks how Soren got his scar.

“Goodnight” must have left their lips about a hundred times, but didn’t seem to constitute an actual ending to their time together for the night. If only, Corvus only whined and burrowed in further to Soren’s chest, all warm and cinnamon-y. “Cinnamon-y” was the closest he’d been able to get to putting a name on that distinct Soren scent, but he’d find a better one.

“Stay with me tonight?” Soren murmured into his hair, not even tearing his eyes away from that beautifully-leatherbound poetry book he’d been reading.

Corvus smiled against his skin. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Lemme finish this one, then I’ll start cleaning up, mkay?”

“Just this one. Or two. Or… three. Hundred.”

“Mm, no can-do. It’s only got 250.”

“Ugh.” But Corvus picked himself up and stretched an arm over his head. “I can go grab my stuff and meet back here.”

Soren sat up and took his hand. “No need. I’ve got extras.” Before he could add anything else, the blond hastily tacked on, “Head Crownguard comes with its perks. Private bathroom. So, uh, shower if you want, do whatever. My bathroom is your bathroom.”

“Shower?” Corvus echoed, wishing he was hung up on anything else Soren had just said, anything but that. “Like… together?”

“Oh! Uh, no! But, yeah, that was kinda presumptuous of me, but it wasn't me like, trying to pressure you into it or anything! We can, but we don't have to–”

Corvus ran a hand through his hair, moving it to cup the back of his head. “Soren. The world's got a future now, remember? We can take our time.”

Soren smiled and kissed him, humming happily. “You can steal one of my shirts if you want.”

“As opposed to…?”

He tilted his head. “Wearing nothing?”

Corvus flicked his chest and went to find that old, oversized then and too-small now dark green shirt with “Camp Katolis” in bold, all-capitalized white lettering he’d worn a few times, stealing it from Soren as they changed after training.

“You look good in that color,” Soren said wistfully, marking his page and taking his waist to lead him to the bathroom.

“I thought I looked good in everything.”

“You do. But especially dark green.”

“Good save.”

Soren took out his toothbrush, more well-cleaned than any other toothbrush Corvus had ever seen, and squeezed out that bubblegum-flavored pink toothpaste he always tasted of in the morning. “I think there’s one around here…” he trailed off, speech muffled as he pulled the cabinet doors open with one socked foot as Corvus looked on borderline-awkwardly.

“What, you're not gonna share your toothbrush?” he teased, but Soren's eyes widened in genuine seriousness. “I mean, we kiss all the time.”

“Dental hygiene is extremely important, Corvus,” he said gravely, and spat out the mouthful of toothpaste. He found a still-wrapped toothbrush under the sink and tapped Corvus’s nose with it, handing it over as Corvus giggled and began to brush his own teeth.

Once done brushing his teeth, Soren squirted a bit of soap onto his hand to wash his face– also weird. Corvus couldn't remember ever knowing a man who took care of himself as well as Soren– not his dad, not any of the men back at the Standing Battalion, not Oliver, not even Corvus. But a good weird.

He turned Soren's face to his before he could wash off a stray bit of soap he'd missed by his eyebrow, swiping it off with his thumb, and Soren thanked him with a quick kiss.

Corvus lingered perhaps longer than was socially acceptable, always so bad at those pesky social cues, just… admiring his boyfriend. Because he could do that. With his boyfriend. Because Soren was his boyfriend.

AO3!

[photographerstanheight]

FIRST DEAD BODY I'VE EVER SEEN...

THEY LOOK DIFFERENT IN REAL LIFE. THEY DON'T MOVE.

Hi. I'm Adam. Adam Stanheight. 26 years old. He/Him, what else do I say... I got no goddamn clue what I am. Bi? Gay? Pan? Don't give a shit. Women are cool. Men are fucking great. Like all those kinds of people. I'm that one guy, you probably know me, from that fucking bathroom shithole or whatever. It fucking sucked. ...And now I'm here. Posting on some random website I thought was interesting, plus it's full of freaks to make fun of. What will I post exactly? No fucking idea. Cats, photos I've taken, maybe some death threats to Jigsaw... By the way Jigsaw go kill yourself. Old Prick. Anyway. Do whatever. I really don't give a shit, you wanna talk? Talk. You wanna send memes? Send memes. Make sure they're fucking funny. You wanna whine to me about how sad your sorry life is? Go right ahead. I'm not a therapist so I'll probably laugh in your face.

Everyone shut the fuck up we have a fucking art fridge now this is a new addition yes I’m serious

Art 1. (Mr Millipede ily /p)

Art 2. (Aka me kissing billy its canon)

Art 3. (Smiling friends… smiling friends save me…)

Art 4. (Me and the HOMIE!!! A COUPLE OF BFFSSS!!! Unless… WHO SAID THAT!!!!)

By the way look at my cool ass cat. Her name is Mabel.

OOC UNDER THE CUT

Frowns... Hi chat... It's me... Dew... Sighs....... I have been uncovered from the depths of hell.... sad face emoji... but hi :,]

I'm sure all my mutuals will come swarming so i'm not gonna go thru the whole junk ab pronouns or whatnot ugh... he/him just in case. also don't be weird. I am an adult and yeaes ... so yeah if i see age below 18 i will nawt be doing weird 18+ stuff BITES OWN ARM OFF

But heeeeeyyyy, I'm a chainshipping, rustynailshipping and yapping FREAK so i made this to hopefully hang out w chatters... but also i wanna bother the fuck outta apprentices and other people sorry not sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Erm.. what else... my writing of Adam will be that he's trans!!!!! Omg ur transgener... That is so cool... He has top surgery but not bottom surgery,, guh... girl queen pussy boss....

AAAAnd I think I'm gonna let a bit of my chaos out so expect poootentially sooome sexual schtuffs?? Yours truly has some sillies in mind as a hypersexual loser like myself... I won't make it his whole personality tho idk :P

How did Adam get out of the trap? I don't fucking know and I am too goddamn lazy to think of it rn. I'll post tho when I actually can think , puts splinters in my eyes

Tags... lame. Whatever yapyap i'm a loser and i like 2 b fan see

|📸| ~ 𝑴𝑶𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑺. - ya boy is yapping

|📸| ~ 𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑴 𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺. - ask replies ofc

|📸| ~ 𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑺 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺. - hes talking to people waoah,...

|📸| ~ 𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑺 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺. - he's talking!!!!! just for fun

|📸| ~ 𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑷𝑯𝑺. - beginning to roleplays perhaps idk i just like to have them

anyway erm... face reveal!!!!

[arcanarix]

The Right Way - Fushiguro Toji X Reader

AO3

—

CHAPTER ONE.

Funny how one small action could change the entire trajectory of your life.

You didn’t think you were worthy of much. Especially not having some rugged, statuesque man with his signature wolfish grin practically wrapped around your finger, worshipping the ground you walk on and trailing you everywhere you went, refusing to let up or to back down.

While you would sooner leave a deep indent of your limited-edition Jimmy Choo heels square on his chiseled Adonis-like face than go on a date with him, he didn’t seem to mind the chase. In fact, it only seemed to make that dick of his harder.

All you did one evening was take an alternate route home. And look what that had cost you!

A part of you pondered why you were even complaining about this. You wanted a little excitement in your life, craved it like an addict craved their chosen substance, even, but this was not what you had in mind, and you were not the one for this man.

Especially since you knew he was far, far out of your league.

And you were not a stupid girl.

When you arrived at your apartment complex, you were stunned to find that same, persistent, damned annoying pest of a man perched on the railing of your floor, waiting for you.

“Is this any way to thank a guy for saving your life?” he called to you. “I didn’t get a name, but I found out where you live, which I suppose makes up for it.”

You were ready to fire a few insults at the guy, but you knew better. You had watched enough true crime. You did not want to be another case here.

“What do you want?”

“A name, gorgeous.”

Putting your ego aside, you told him your name. You didn’t miss how his face softened, and how your heart raced, and you wanted that to cease at that moment.

You knew nothing about this man—nothing at all!

“Now what’s yours?”

“Toji Fushiguro,” he grunted in response before landing on his feet before you.

Ugh… Show off!

Toji brushed through his jet black locks as he pondered the next steps, as if you wanted anything to do with him at all.

“Now with a proper introduction out of the way, why don’t I treat you to dinner? It took a minute to track you down after that day. A lot more effort than I expected, in fact…”

Your eyes flashed with irritation. He couldn’t be serious! First he stalked you and now he wanted to take you to fuckin’ dinner? What kind of drugs was this guy snortin’? “This how you charm all the women in your life because this isn’t working on me.”

His face appeared expressionless, devoid of caring, but he approached you, crouching to your level. The guy was so damn tall—and he was so jacked. A part of you kind of wanted to lick those muscles like he was a popsicle.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he began, tone laced in mockery. “Let me try again. I’m taking you to dinner. And then later, I’m giving you the fuck of your life. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds like a hard pass and an easy way to make any pussy shrivel up like a goddamn raisin.”

His eyes widen a bit, but he chuckled, and you were taken aback by the fact that he seemed amused by this, in some weird, twisted way.

“Been a while since I met someone with a backbone.”

“Then you must have dealt with quite a few weak fucks.”

He chuckled again.

“If only you knew who I was.”

He straightened his composure.

“If only I gave a damn about finding out,” you breathed, while enjoying the view, though you’d never let him have the satisfaction of finding out that you ever found him even remotely good-looking.

“I really hope you’re as full of bite as you are of bark, gorgeous. I have a reputation, you see.”

“Does that involve being bad at talking to women?”

His face turned bleak. “Not in the slightest. It’s completely removed from that. It had to do with those men who messed with you when you were walking home that day. Which you have yet to thank me for, might I add.”

You rolled your eyes. Oh how you hated being put on the spot like that.”

“I had it under control!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a groan. “Yes, you sure did when they all had you cornered in that deep dark alley.”

You tried to lower your defenses just a tad, but you were still irritated by this man. Just a little. You just didn’t like the situation very much, was all.

“Ugh. Fine. Thank you, O Great One. However shall I repay you?”

“Dinner. Just dinner. We can go slow.”

You perked an eyebrow. “Just moments ago, you were so certain you would swindle me into bed. Just seein’ me as another notch under your belt.”

“Or against the wall. Or in the shower,” he tacked on, punctuating each addition with emphasis.

“That’s not working,” you replied in a sing-sing voice. “I’m not that easy.”

“And I think I like that,” he winked, “Most women just fall all over me. Just at the drop of a hat. I don’t have to do anything. So this? This is a refreshing change of pace, actually.

“So… you’re commending me for having an ounce of self-respect? Now that’s just sad.”

“It is, a little bit. I have to agree. So, are you going to let me treat to dinner, or do I have to swallow my pride and get down on my knees?”

You folded your arms over your chest. “Honestly, I’m a little impressed that you are so keen on sweeping me off of my feet. Not often you find a real man like that. So… just for that, I guess I can humor you with dinner. But just dinner. The other stuff takes time, buckaroo.”

He extended his hand, smirking. “That works for me. Let’s do this the right way.”

[bloodyshadow737]

The cure? Or a curse=part•1

Masterlist of everything

Masterlist of this

Next chapter→

Matching: Rick Grimes x male reader

•English is not my first idioms so if you found something wrong I would appreciate that you notified me

•i don't know if some one already make this but I'm gonna make a series with this topic because is have so much potential, and this episode is lore for reader so if you don't want you can skip it but it give you the origin of him

Warning: mention of kidnapping, blood,

The beginning of the most traumatic experience are not in a dark corridor or a abandoned building, it begins were you don't expect

Day 1 - 0 infections

The hospital is more crown for usual, but actually in series always show you the hospital's with a lot of people on it, is not always like that. Getting the food cart around the rooms was something a little bit satisfied, you can talk with the patients and make them get better by some company especially with the old people.

Getting inside the room you found Miss Norris, already complaining with the IV because she can't handle to watch herself with it, what a drama queen you love her.

"Now now miss Norris, what I tell you about touching your IV?"

The old lady get his hands out of the IV making some complaining noises getting some laugh from you.

"Ugh! This thing is so annoying!"

Walking to her you hold his arm passing your fingers on top of his IV trying to calm her nuisance

"I know you don't want to be here and be with you granddaughter but first you need to get better, now, I know you don't like the hospital food so me and my daughter get you some pancakes"

Getting the plate in front of her you show her the pancakes you made with your daughter they are different colors ,suggest by your daughter she thinks that he hospital people need more colors in the place, so they look like a rainbow tower. Miss Norris watch this excited by eating something delicious, she grab the fork starting to eat this happy meanwhile you started to register how her doing until today.

"Mmmmm~ delicious tell you daughter that she is adorable"

"Ha ha she is, she wanted to make different flavors but we didn't have the fruits for it"

Miss Norris laugh getting alf the food and you finish to register everything.

"Well miss Norris, everything is looking good so maybe tomorrow you can leave"

She smile and move a hand to hold yours with a sweet affection

"Tanks Y/N"

Day 2 - 0 infections

It look like some police men get shot, is family and partner are in the waiting room, they look so devastated. Getting closer you get them three can of coke the kid got it excited and start drinking this with notorious anxiety, you smile to him trying to calm him.

"Don't worry kid, your papa is gonna be okey"

You tousle his hair making him smile, the mother smile grateful by your help, you watch her smiling now getting one hand in his shoulder.

"Everything is gonna be alright, the doctors are capable to save him"

The woman smile and get tne hand on top of your appreciating your words

"Tanks"

The police get fine from the operation but the men get intro a coma, the situation is horrible for the family but the important is that the men is okey. Watching him closer you get trapped a little bit by his face, it doesn't look so bad.

You get the serum to the men watching how the kid doesn't move his eyes from you, it look like the kid is looking high of you like a big brother or something.

The moment is interrupted by doctor coming in the room talking to you.

"Y/N I need to talk to you"

Nodding to her you get out of the room to her starting a talk with her.

"You seem to be doing fine in the hospital"

Weird

"Um yeah I been working here for years"

"That is not what a means, I mean by your health, you been doing okey? You been eating fine?"

Ho, is that what she mean

"I been doing okey, why you asking?"

You didn't notice that you were alone with her, if you had paid more attention maybe you could prevent everything.

A oxygen tank impact in your nape knock you out to the floor getting you unconscious

"No reason at all"

The doctor leave the tank and grab you by your legs starting to get you in a operation room.

"Tanks for offering yourself Y/N"

[atla-confessions]

“Damn right, the only person true Aang stans hate is the fucking guru (lmao plz ask me why)"

Why?

LMAO THANK YOU FOR ASKING

Anyway, The Guru is just, awful. I mean, this man really looked at a 12 year old and was like "just don't be sad dude." Like, "oh, literally everyone you knew and loved is dead? That's fine, you have a crush on a girl. That's basically the same thing." Like no, I'm sorry. Sure, I kinda understand the point of like, love evolves but NO you cannot equate his love for Katara with his love for LITERALLY EVERYTHING HE HAS EVER KNOWN.

And then the whole, "Katara or the avatar state"??? Like??? I'm sorry, every other avatar seems to be vibing with their avatar state just fine while still having earthly attachments. Roku had an attachment so hard a 100 yr war happened, but he gets to use the avatar state at free will. Almost like, oh, maybe the avatar state is something controlled through skill and not some arbitrary state of mental bliss. It really reads like Aang is just too young to be able to handle the avatar state naturally because he's, you know, a child, so the Guru is trying to force it onto him child soldier style.

And yeah, I love people who point out that there is a difference between love and attachment. You know who doesn't explain that? THE GURU. Bitch, if it took us adults a whole lot of thinking to figure out wtf he meant, (and some people are still convinced he just meant Aang shouldn't love Katara like that anymore) how the fuck did he expect a TRAUMATIZED TWELVE YEAR OLD to get it????

And like, ultimately, his lesson was wrong???? We are told point blank by Iroh, a character we know and trust for his wisdom, that the Guru was wrong???? And Aang fucking died for that shit???? WHAT WAS THE POINT

I'm so convinced everything would have gone a thousand times better without the Guru.

1. Aang wouldn't have left in the first place. No need to save Katara if he got captured with her bc hes a fuckin earthbender. 2. Even if they still ended up in the same situation in the catacombs, if he didnt use the avatar state, you know what would've happened?

They would have been captured. And then either been saved by the others or escaped on their own again. Because that's what they always do. I mean really, they had SOKKA and TOPH on the outside. You think those two wouldn't be able to figure out how to bust them out of anything???? Nobody would have had to fucking DIE. The world wouldn't think Aang was dead. So many things would've been better

But NO because the FUCKING GURU had to STICK HIS NOSE IN BUSINESS IT DOESNT FUCKING BELONG IN.

I'm so about forgiveness and love. I vibe with Aang's message so hard, but I will punt the guru across a nation any day. I can forgive genocidal maniacs, I draw the line at old men who tell 12 yr olds to completely dismiss their trauma and throw themselves into unnecessary danger smh /j

Literally what did he do? What did he contribute? Nothing but pain and misery. I liked him bc he was nice to Appa and then he went and told Aang "just stop being afraid bro" (which clearly worked so well as we see later in Daydreams and Nightmares)

Just, ugh, 0/10 worst character. I will forever be anti-guru lmao.

X

[webbo0]

Prodigal Doll

Goose Boys Mafia AU

AO3 Link

Length: 753 words (short and not sweet)

Summary: Nobody ever expected Ken to join the family business, but when he's caught in the middle of a war he knows nothing about, the other boys have to pick up the pieces.

Content/Warning: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/barely comfort

Authors Note: I don't even remember how this started lol

I think I saw those Tag Heuer photoshoot pics that look like Ken but as Six?

Anyways I have a LOT of lore ideas and a whole arc for Ken in this, but god only knows if I can actually write it ugh

Also I'm not sorry lmao

“He’s… changed”

“ Don’t say that”

“Look at him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Richard”

Gathered, the men stare at Ken.

Whenever he used to be scared, he was loud (it was a liability sometimes, all the shrieking and sobbing). But now, he’s silent. Tear stains cut clean lines through the filth and gore on his cheeks, but none fall from his eyes. Not anymore.

He’s… vacant. Not like Driver, his stare always intense, or like Julian, always lost in thought. No. He’s just. Empty.

Six and Lars are sanitizing and bandaging his wounds. Slashes on his chest, burns on his limbs, bruises scattered on every inch of available skin like a fucking Jackson Pollock, and blood from god knows who and god knows where drenching his scarily pale skin and platinum blonde hair. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all, even when Six gently murmurs that he needs to reset his shoulder. The bone grinding into place would have even the toughest of men gritting their teeth in pain, but Ken just sits there. Disconnected from the world. Lars is delicately cleaning the blood off of him, swallowing tears of his own while dabbing a warm cloth over his exposed skin. 

Ken wears nothing but a ragged pair of boxers stained with fluids nobody wants to think too hard about (just like they found him). He hasn’t said a word since they found him, but Lars finally gets a reaction out of him. He’s shakingly whispering to Ken that they need to remove his old shorts to wash him off and get him into something clean, but when his hand goes towards the waistband an explosion of movement happens. Ken bolts away from the men, scrambling to the closest wall and pressing his back to it. His voice is raw and venomous as he roars at the surrounding men.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” 

Everyone in the room freezes because Ken never curses. All eyes are on him, the torn and bloodied nails on his hands scratching at the brick wall, the bloody trail of footprints he makes, his heaving chest, and his frantic, darting, unseeing eyes. Blood drips down his inner thigh.

“I think I’m gonna be sick” 

“He needs a professional, guys, we can only do so much”

“Oh yeah, get the cops involved that’s smart”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck-”

“Everybody out.”

The room silences once again, save for some muffled sobs and Ken's rapid breath. All eyes now turn to the man who spoke, the man in charge . His white jacket is splattered with blood, and a fire rages behind his cold, blue gaze.

“... are you sure we should leave him like this?”

“Six stays, the rest of you leave. He’s in no state for visitors. Every man is allowed some dignity.”

The room empties without protest, save for Ken, Six, Driver, and Julian. Julian didn’t need to ask to stay (not that he would have). Wherever Driver goes, he goes.

“Why am I staying?”

“You have the most combat-medic training. And. You can… restrain him if you need to.”

The rage in Driver’s eyes slips, showing for a brief moment deep, soul-wrenching anguish before he clenches his gloved fists and returns to his default neutral, intense stare. 

“I expect a complete injury report once he’s patched up. Ask Julian if you need any extra supplies. I have to go deal with the rest of this shit storm.”

He turns to leave, but pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And Six?”

Six stands at attention, ready to receive orders.

“...be gentle.”

Six nods once in affirmation and Driver lets his head hang down, taking a deep breath before straightening his spine and closing the door quietly behind him. The room was now solely occupied by the three men left there.

Julian, standing and waiting by the door. Both ready to retrieve any necessary items and guarding against any poor fool that might try and interrupt them.

Six, shoulders sagged and ruffling through a medkit.

And Ken, who had slid to the floor, legs finally giving out, but the wild look in his eye still shining.

And it wasn’t until Six slowly approaches (the same way he did when he freed a wild deer from a beartrap as a kid), sinking to his knees, gently carding his hands through his blood-matted platinum hair and softly reassuring him that you’re safe now, you’re safe, we got you back that Ken starts trembling, a tear finally slipping from his eye.