#save me of those ugh men

[mooniehoneyrey]

(The bunny is me btw)

[silverselfshippingchaos]

sometimes I think too hard about her and I go "man, she looks like she'd be perfect for a vampire au"

[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. 

[ryo-kaikura]

Yandere Male CEO x Top sorta low self-esteem male reader

I had some other requests but I wasn't able to finish them 😭(it's like writer's block but on my other stories that I was planning )I'm sorry but this was quite literally stuck to my head.

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

“YOU KNOW WHAT!!?? WE'RE DONE!!”

“B-but why??? Didn't I do things that you like???”

“ What do you mean I like? U never gave me any attention, you’re even more stuck to your electronics than me.”

“But he sai-”

“I've always wondered why I even liked you, Alexander already said you don't care about me🙄😮‍💨”

“wait plea-”

“Pack up, you're leaving my house I bought with my money”

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

There it was… my romantic relationship with someone. I always knew relationships are hard but I, m/n, messed up big time. I have no house since I always saved up for our marriage… now I only have around £3 billion. Should I just change it back… it's no use since she doesn't want to marry me anymore.

*at the bank

“Hi.. I wish to change my money back to (country currency). O-oh please put it in my bank savings account”

“Very well sir”

*after booking a hotel room and going in it

Ugh, my hair is long and my body's stiff. I thought she would like a gamer boyfriend but I didn't know she wanted a rich gamer boyfriend.

Whatever… I better go and get a haircut these days. Hmmmm, the money I have, I should invest it but on what?? Oh I know, I ask Derry, he should know.

*in chat

D:Your girlfriend like ugly oily men

U:No way, you're lying

D:Hell no

Today

U: Hey Derry…

D:What's up man

U;What investment should I invest

D: How about company A I heard they're a rising

U: Okay

Weird… wasn't company A going down these days. I should just invest 100.000 on company A just in case and 900.000 on Xander enterprises.

*few days later

I've been staying at the hotel this whole time while searching for a house but my ex made it so hard since anyone that heard my name would cancel their contracts, how did I know… she told me 😅.

The only places that I would be able to buy are mansions 😭… wait a minute… it's not that expensive yay 😆.

*at the house

Huh… it's ugly 🤢. I gotta change it to a proper mansion. This looks like it doesn't scream home, it screams I'm rich so I'm gonna buy a hospital and make it my house. Guess I'll have to do some renovations… I'll call someone, I don't know how to build a house🥲.

OMG, the workers was in budget 😆. But the hotel was fully booked. Where could I stay 😭. Oh maybe Derry would let me

U: What investment should I invest

D: How about company A I heard they're a rising

U: Okay

Today

U: Hey Derry… could I stay at your place

D: Huh… why?

U: My house is being reconstructed

D: Okay

D: Here's my address

D: (Address)

U: Thanks

Thank goodness he let me. I should start going there. Oh he's home. *knock* *knock* he's really home 😁

“Hello Derry glad you allowed me to stay with you😁”

“No prob, btw I have other friends over currently”

“Oh it's fine, so am I gonna sleep on the couch or…”

“There's a guest bedroom, you could stay there. There also blah blah blah house stuff. And blah blah more stuff.”

“Okay thanks, it's already late so I'm gonna sleep😁, good night”

“Okay sleep tight”

*when you're asleep

“Isn't he your rival to getting Mila? Why invite him here, it would've been better just to let him rot”

“Nahh. He's not a threat, Mila will be mine whether she likes it or not*whispering* but I barely feel anything for her…how weird.”

“okay, ‘Derry’🤭😂”

“Shut up 😒”

*a few weeks later

I've been awake since 5 in the morning but I've been thinking because all the advice Derry gave me was useful months ago but a few weeks before, his advice has gone awry. Never mind, it's probably he has bad Intel on those things…I should tell him.

*the kitchen

Oh! There's Derry…

“aren't you tired of letting him stay here?”

Isn't that Mila's voice, why is she calling him?

“No need to worry, I'm not that mean and he's my friend, plus he doesn't have a house now, does he?”

Baby??

“Ugh, you're right, okay bye, tell me when he finally leaves.”

“Bye.”

“since my love is worried, maybe I should kick him out”

*you step into the kitchen

“Oh m/n, have you finally woke up? I've cooked some breakfast for you, eat up😊”

“Oh, okay. By the way, it seems your Intel about investment was off, since company A has just gone to bankrupt”

“Really 😯, but my friend said company A would show their wings and soar through the sky again… I'm sorry, I didn't know..”

“Oh right, Derry, do you want to hang out later today…?”

“Sure I'm free then.”

“Okay see you later”

I've been stressing about the renovations of my house but my appearance is terrible… I should get a haircut before he and I hang out.

*at the barber

“could you show me haircuts? I wanna pick which one is my favorite.”

“Okay sir.”

“I want (haircut pick)”

“Okay”

“It's done, wow sir, you're so good looking, pretty sure if I didn't have a wife, I would've turned gay for you”

“Thank for the compliment”

DERRY'S POV

Honestly, I'm still shocked after all these years they broke up… soon he'll be mine, wait ‘he’??? Wtf??? Nevermind I've probably gone crazy cause I'm tired. This evening m/n invited me to hang out. I'll humiliate him by making him meet his ex. This way she'll hate him more, he'll be embarrassed and I'll be the hero…

*that evening

Ugh, I've been waiting for 5 minutes but where is that ugly sad sack… I'll text him

Company Xander enterprises has

been growing so if you wanna invest

go to that one

Today

Hey, m/n where are you?

Beside you this past 15

Minutes

Huh?

I looked to my side and a guy was waving at me.. His style is the same as m/n but he's handsome… wait no it is him. It looked exactly like him in the past. Why is my heart beating so loudly… there's no way I didn't fall in love with Mila but him at first sight, RIGHT?!!!

“Oh hey m/n, didn't notice you there, I thought you were a creep since you were standing next to me for the past 15 minutes”

“No problem, I should call out to you..”

“Anyways, what did you plan?”

“ You know in the past, you said you like horror movies, right? So booked one for us”

“Oh, it's amazing you still remember”

*after the movie

“It was so exhilarating, don't you think so?”

“Yeah.”

Can't believe he still remembers, she doesn't even remember my favorite things while he did.

Huh why is m/n screamin my name

*CRASH*

FUCK

.

.

.

.

.

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

M/N'S POV

Noo, Derry.. I've gotta bring him to a hospital

*picked him up bridal style

Finally the hospital..

“PLEASE SIGN HIM IN, HE WAS JUST HIT BY A CAR”

seems like screaming did help since they instantly prepared a room. The car… the plate number was Mila's, I know cause I was there when she got that car 3 years ago. Fuck… I should call that friend of his… (you got the phone number when you ask in the first few days he was at the house)

*you called him over

“M/n what happened…”

“I don't know Luke, he was lost in thought and walked super fast, and when I caught up I saw a car hitting him super hard, their plate number was (Mila's plate number)”

“okay.. Could you take me to his room?”

“Oh yes.., let's go”

*at the room

“Ah… m/n did you come to pick me up for uni?”

“eh? You're an adult”

“yeah I'm 20 years old right?”

“ERM, no. Your 28 years old”

“Eh, and who's the bastard beside you”

“This is your friend Luke, you remember right?”

“No, why should I”

“M/n could you wait outside I need to speak with Derry”

*you left the room and went to get water

“How dare you use that nickname”

“Sorry boss, but why are you pretending to be amnesiac?”

“I'm testing something”

“But who hit you?”

“that fucking bitch Mila, never thought she would want to kill me”

“Wasn't it you who was blind to that and even loved her? She realized you were the one behind the ir breakup after she regrets breaking up”

“I was forcing myself… I knew I didn't actually like her… I just can't believe I like m/n.”

“So you're planning to cling to him? Plus you've been lying to him, you think he would forgive you?”

“Hah that's the easy part, all I need to do now is just make him fully believe I'm amnesiac.”

*a nurse came in and brought Alexander to a VIP room

“Did you upgrade my room?”

“No”

“Excuse me, nurse… who upgraded my room?”

“The one that brought you here, the one that carried you like a princess, here a photo(photo of m/n carrying Alexander to the hospital), I couldn't help myself, you both looked like the perfect couple”

“Luke, get me a copy of that picture, and destroy that board”

“Okay sir”

*you enter the room just as Luke was leaving

“Oh why are you leaving Luke? Anyways here's a cup of water”

“Thanks, I'll be leaving for stuff”

“Okay… how are you feeling Derry”

“You do know my name's Alexander right?”

“Huhhh, what!! I thought it was like Dexter or something… it actually makes sense.”

“anyway, I upgraded the room since you look slightly uncomfortable with the bed and room, thankfully it wasn't that expensive”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Anyway, Alexander, do you want to live with me? My house just finished renovation and I was thinking if you want to help me decorate it since I'm not that up to date 😅”

“Sure😃”

*after he got discharged and started to look live with m/n

“Thanks to you, my new house feels like home”

“No problem, btw can I come over with the secret key you keep?”

“Yeah sure, why not”

“I'll go back to my house now”

“bye 😁”

ALEXANDER’S POV

I really didn't know why is didn't realize I like him, but he should really be cautious *he's checking his phone that shows m/n's house, he put cameras in m/n's house*. I mean in the past I would put cameras where m/n would visit most often but I must truly be in denial.

Heading back I saw Mila, she was in crocodile tears… truly, why did I think I like her… she was sobbing saying shit like, I didn't mean to hit you and stuff.

I quickly head inside and locked then I start to plan my next moves

*next morning

*Alexander goes to m/n's mansion*

I started cooking while I knew he wouldn't be awake. When I heard him coming over, I started to cry.

“*sniff* ugh… I'm soo pathetic”

“Huh, Alex, why are you crying… Are you okay”

“huhuhuhu, a scary girl showed up in front of my house screaming I didn't mean to hit you, huhuhuhu I'm scared. Huhuhuhu”

“There there, who would do that, tch tch tch how crazy people are these days”

“And out of nowhere this expensive looking package showed up🥺, I'm scared to open it🥺. Help me”

“Oh okay, it seems like it's a ring. Oooh, that’s the ring I bought. I was thinking of gifts and rings came up, so this way we'll be matching 😁, you'll wear it right? 🥺”

“ah, em, o-okay.”

“great😁”

M/N'S POV

This ring looks exactly like the ring he showed me when I was asking for engagement ring ideas🥲 maybe he didn't realize it…

*BANG**BANG**BANG*

“OPEN THIS DOOR M/N”

“Huh”

*opening the door

“HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY BOYFRIEND”

“Huh? I didn't”

“Since when was I your boyfriend, pretty sure girlfriends don't hit and run the boyfriends”

“That was an accident, you should know that!!”

“M/n that's the scary women that showed in front of my house 🥺”

“I can't believe you scared a sick patient, you of all people should know that”

“Ugh🙄, I don't care, give me back my boyfriend”

“The one you said was your boyfriend just proposed to me *lifted the ring finger* that means he's not your boyfriend, now, you're just pathetic, security! Kick this women out of the property”

*you and Alex went inside

“Sorry Alex, I used you and lied to her… I mean this ring looks like an engagement ring 😅”

“No problem…but I've liked you since a long time ago, you know”

“Huh?!!!”

“So? Will you marry me?”

“Emmm, aren't you amnesiac, maybe we sho-”

“No, I'm scared you'll get stolen by somebody than so I should ask now”

“Oh, then, yes, I would like to marry you”

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

*A few years later

Life's been great since I married him and lived in my mansion, turns out he's the CEO of Xander Enterprise… and I own 20% of the company's shares from when I invested in the company.

Tho, I'm curious what is in the basement since after we married he took the basement for himself. It used to be for a wine cellar, but we made one in the kitchen.

I should check it out..

*enter the basement and turn on the light

Huh, why are there multiple pictures of Mila and other girls… is he in love with them… I mean he was probably straight… I suppose I should tell him it's fine to take mistresses

ALEX'S POV

*Alex arrive at home

“ Alex… I went to the basement”

Fuck he didn't see the rotting corpses right?

“I'm just gonna tell you this”

If he ask for a divorce I'm gonna threaten to kill myself

“If you wanna take mistresses, I'm fine with it 😔”

“Huh, what, no, definite no, I only like you.”

“You don't need to lie I say the pictures”

“How about I prove myself then😄”

“Huh???”

*after sex

“😚how was it.. My ass, can't believe you took control in an instant and did it for the whole night 🤭”

“Um😅, you just felt sooo good, it felt like you were hugging my penis 🥵”

“So you won't ask about mistresses and side pieces??”

“I won't😘”

“This is why I asked you not to go in the basement😔”

“I'm sorryyy😖, but why do you have pictures of those women”

“Those girls were nagging me to divorce you, so I destroyed their companies 😁”

“Oh, um please don't 😅”

“I'm kidding, I was just showing their flaws since they keep saying you were trash and they were perfect for me”

“OoO, okii”

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

A bit rushed 😖

[danisbrainrot]

ugh, there is just something delicious about the parallel between mistynat and jackieshauna in the first two episodes of the new season. i barely know where to start.

obviously, misty and shauna lose their best friends. they're both to blame/blame themselves for nat and jackie's death, because essentially, they killed them.

misty actively kills nat whereas shauna passively kills jackie, which shows the difference in their relationship. but at the end of the day, once they realised what they'd done, they have a similar reaction. screaming 'no' in disbelief and holding them in their arms. they refuse to believe not only their best friend is dead, but they've killed them.

OH! and they're both too late to save them. shauna is too late to save jackie from the cold and misty cries, 'it's too late' when tai asks her how to save nat. i can't believe i almost forgot this!

another obvious parallel, misty wearing nat's jacket!! we see that shauna can't seem to let go of jackie's butterfly top, treating it as a security blanket, and now in the adult timeline misty clings onto nat's jacket. both items of clothing are physical reminders of their 'best friend' that they lost.

finally, what parallel stuck out to me the most: misty and shauna became the versions of their friends they THOUGHT they were. shauna marries jeff and becomes a suburban housewife, misty dresses like nat and goes to a bar to do whisky shots and pick bar fights.

however, nat was more than an alcoholic, despite being reduced by misty to a caricature. she feels purposeless after the woods, she's broken and from what we've seen, isolated. nat barely leaves her hotel room except to do risky shit like chase the blackmailer or help shauna dispose of adam's body. the most we see her reach out is to kevyn, who she immediately pushes away when he tries to break down her walls. she's built up this alcholic, uncaring, asshole wall to keep people out.

so when misty plays her as some rough, badass femme fatale, she's demonstrating to the audience that she hardly knows nat. she only knew nat's exterior, and nothing like her true character. to put it frankly, misty never truly knew nat because nat didn't want her to. so when misty 'becomes nat' she's becoming the shallow understanding she has of her best friend.

this ties into shauna never truly understanding jackie's true character. not because jackie hid it from her, but shauna's resentment of her did. every action we see from jackie is protective of shauna—giving her valium to calm down, saving her from the plane explosion, and even 'allowing shauna to eat her.'

however, shauna can't see how much jackie loves her because of her own bitter resentment. even as a ghost jackie is seemingly punishing shauna for letting her die, but most importantly, for hating her while she was alive.

'i don't know who you are anymore shauna.'

'maybe you never did.'

if anything, it should be completely switched around. shauna doesn't know anything about jackie. shauna is projecting this mean girl persona on jackie that just isn't there.

misty is projecting this badass, gets in bar fights and tries to light men's dicks on fire persona onto nat. sure, nat has done those things, but that isn't who she is at the core. just like how being a mean girl isn't who jackie is at her core (i've gone more into depth before, here).

i love mistynat as much as the next yellowjacket fan, but we have to be honest, for the most part, nat was always cagey with misty. something happened out in the woods that made her distrust misty, and i think they're going to explore that this season. especially with the whole, misty telling shauna that nat knows where coach ben is.

both misty and shauna make up these fantasies about their best friends to connect with them after their deaths. it's just so fascinating the writer's have decided to parallel these characters, because when i think about it, misty has always been written as this desperate character, craving attention and love. . . but so has shauna.

they've been narrative foils this entire time and it took natalie dying for me to realise it.

[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.”

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you | pt3

part 1 (x) . part 2 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // lots of death ment, angstttt bro, like so much, sad gi-hun </3, a/n: sorry for the super shorter chapter next one is the finale <3 ik im changing the events of the actual show but let me live i needed a bridge to the finale!!!!!!!!! ugh i so sad its almost done already

All the mattresses had disappeared. 

All but two. 

The dormitory feels impossibly large, now. The piggy bank dangles from the ceiling with banded paper threatening to spill over the edges, mounting at the brims, hanging fat and heavy. You refuse to look at it, so it laughs at you instead. Taunts you. There may as well have been blood, bone, and souls stirring about in that tank, the money tainted with the lives of your friends, the lives of the struggling. 

There was no prize. Not anymore. 

You’d almost paired with Gi-hun for the marbles game. His hands had found you, wrapped around your arm the moment that voice overhead announced that the game would be played in pairs. His hands on you were like fish to water- knowing, promising. Housing. But then in the distance as the timer closed in you saw Il-nam crouched on his own, watching blurry bodies skate him by, seeking stronger, seeking better. You saw the former version of yourself in all of them. 

If there was a moment you’d be acutely aware of how much Gi-hun had changed you, this would be it. 

You'd spent your entire life waiting for something, someone, worth changing for.

So when Gi-hun turned towards you, those eyes full of empathetic guilt, you already knew what coming. Beat him to it, infact. 

“It’s okay. I’ll see you after, yeah?” You’d murmured despite the way this heavy weight had settled in your chest. Worry, anxiety, all because you would have to be without. 

He kissed your forehead in thanks. You lingered on it for much too long.

“You will.”

And then he was gone, reaching a hand out to to the old man and bringing him to his wobbly feet. Gi-hun was special like that. Always giving and never taking. Not even when he deserved it. You like to think he'd learned from his previous lifestyle, to be the hand that provided, and not the hand that stole.

There was a quick grasp to your hand and low and behold, 212 filled your vision. A much less pleasant view. Her shrill voice brought an ache to your temples, a burn to your skin where she grasped you tight. Sure, you needed a partner, and she knew that. Must have watched your interaction with Gi-hun like a damn vulture and swooped in the second there was room. 

There was a moment when she'd looked at you like you were her saving grace, and for just a second, you'd wondered if maybe all this exterior roughness was just a front. But then, she had to go and ruin it with her words once again.

“Who needs men anyways,” She’d harped. “If he wants to die with that old guy, so be it, huh?”

You ripped yourself away from her like you’d been scalded. She didn’t know the first thing about either of them, and you’d be damned if you would ever put your lives in the hands of hers. Even if you saw yourself in her. Even if she was just trying to survive.

But it was so hard to pity her when those comments seemed to always fill your mouth with bitter. You sought elsewhere.

And you found it- in player 068. He seemed normal enough, albeit noticeably standoffish, moving through the motions with a blank stare, enough determination on those features to bring you comfort- to fail you would be to fail himself. You remembered this sense of unease going into a new challenge blind and relying on a total stranger. 

You remembered how you nearly lost what little breakfast you were provided on the dirt floor when the game was announced. This wasn’t teams- it was rivalry. A versus match. 

Images of your friends flashed through your racing mind. You swore you would have a heart attack.

Ali and Sang-woo. Sae-Byeok and Yi-Jeong. 

Gi-hun and Il-nam.

You were crying before your own game even started. 068 didn’t question it, but you could see the way he studied you, unsure of you. Wondering just what you were doing crying in front of a fellow competitor playing games for your lives. Grief struck you before you even knew who to cry over. 

The initial impression you’d had of him was almost dead on- he was determined. But he wasn’t so closed off as you had thought him to be, that stoic face and even tone masking a much warmer person underneath. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him his name. He didn’t ask you yours, either. 

It was hard to focus on the game. Every turn a step closer to death. Every gunshot the reminder that you may never see your friends again. But, round by round, you managed. When he was on his last marble, you cried even harder. If you from just a week ago, leery eyed, shifty handed and as selfish as the dark over light, you wouldn’t understand the depth of your own sorrow. You’d won, after all. Wiped a player off the board to propel yourself, your life, your wants over his. You’d surely have been proud of yourself.

But now, you just feel like a fucking monster.

To be loved, is to be changed.

To be changed, is to suffer.

You were always good at these types of games. You thought, maybe, by letting him choose the game, it would make the pill easier to gag down. You found, however, it really didn't. From the very second the games started, when he’d made his choice and it was one you were highly familiar with, guilt had already begun to stockpile up in the warehouses of your heart. Box after box. Taking up space, filling you to the brim. 

“I used to play this with my mom,” He’d said, mind escaping to a better time even if just a moment when he’d picked. “I got pretty good at it.”

You wished he hadn’t said that. It was all you could think about when he, with shaking hands and a pale to his face, handed over his last marble. Crestfallen, hopeless. The image of him as a spirited child and soft hands playing marbles with a faceless mother made you sick to your stomach.

You said something you didn’t think would ever see the daylight of your lips. 

“I’m sorry.”

And he, with slumped shoulders and his head hung low. “I know.”

You were escorted away, and you knew deep in the bowels of your heart that you were going to hear that gunshot in your dreams. Following you, watching you. Haunting you for the rest of your life. 

However long that was, anyways. 

The room you were led to was large and bathed in pure white, absent of anything particularly eye catching. There were already people standing about, some with their heads held high, others struggling with the weight of guilt so heavy it threatened to crush you all under its umbrella. Sang-woo’s eyes found you before anyone else's, his expression strained, his red-lined eyes betraying his all-business exterior. It made it hard to breathe. 

Sae-Byeok shared the sentiment. Distant, far away. Trying to figure out how to cope now bearing the hands of cruelty towards someone worth caring about. 

Then, you saw him. Gi-hun. And his angular cheeks are soaked with tears. When his eyes meet yours, a lance of relief has you letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, but there’s no room for much else. Grief burrowed and dug it’s way in, seized the joy and ate it whole. Il-nam’s passing wasn’t an easy loss to digest. Partly because the old man had meant something to you. Mostly because Gi-hun would never forgive himself. He’d left a piece of himself lying on that dirt, counting marbles and talking with his gganbu. 

You crept to his side and took his hand in your own. All he could offer was a squeeze in return.

You could still see 068 behind your eyes. How he hadn’t been angry with you, how he watched you walk away before dropping to the ground. Never to return home, never to be found. The walls felt like they were both growing larger and also closing in. You were struggling to grapple with it all. 

Gi-hun was still back there with the old man as you were all escorted back to the dormitories where they passed out measly potatoes and water. Still back there when you’d all sat among the beds now found far and few between, picking at your meals with your bellies full on remorse. 

Gi-hun couldn’t bring himself to eat. Sae-Byeok struggled to get past the second bite. You yourself just found it easier to roll the potato around in your hands, balancing the weight of it, wondering if you could ever be forgiven. Gi-hun’s knee bumped against yours, a reminder that he was still there, even if his expression was as blank as a canvas. You needn’t ask to understand what he was thinking about, lost in it. 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, they were just people you’d met here.” Sand-woo had said, almost finished with his meager meal. Talking to himself, justifying himself, but everyone could feel it- Ali’s absence was like a solar eclipse. You followed his line of sight to 069, sitting in a heap of desolation on one of the only mattresses left. Sang-woo swallowed hard. “That man’s partner was his wife.”

You breath left you like a ghost as you took in the sight of the poor man, struck and swimming with grief. 

Gi-hun cried that night. Though it was silent, muted tears gathering at the point of his jaw before soaking into his tracksuit, you could feel his shoulder trembling with each inaudible sob. He trembled apart in your hold and you tucked him into yourself, cradled his body and kissed his forehead just as he'd taught you as if it would heal him. His fingers found you in the darkness and held tight, just as needing as how you clutched him. Your heart ached, seismic pains ringing from every nerve in your body, drawing you in despair. 

Every time you dozed off, you swore you could hear a gunshot cutting through the humidity of turmoil. You swore you’d see 068’d face. 

Maybe if you hadn’t met Gi-hun, you’d have taken all of this mess in stride like 101. You hated him- despised his cruelty and his jeers, but ultimately he went to sleep that night with a full stomach and dreaming of fat stacks of bloodied cash. Meanwhile, you stared at the ceiling and barely registered the way your stomach growled at you. It felt just. Perhaps if you’d sought help elsewhere that first day, you could sleep. 

But, you didn’t. So now, you endured. 

069’s cries did not go unnoticed, either, from his bed now entirely too cold to withstand.

It was tough to imagine the suffering, the pure guilt so true and down to it’s very root that it grew it’s sprawling limbs of misery and woe into every crevice. Under every stone, over the sky, from the tip of his nose to the soles of his heavy feet. The human body was not designed to bear such suffering. It curled in itself, emptied itself of all things good. Hollowed from the inside out. 

So much so, that when you’d found out the next morning that the man had taken his own life, you weren’t sure how there was anything left of himself to hang. 

How you take anymore of this? When there was already so little left. 

That day, you discovered that the pits of rock bottom were merely roadblocks. 

The glass bridge took everything. Taught you that even when you believed your cup had run dry of tears, there would never be an end to the bottomless waterfalls in your eyes. There would never be a suffering so consuming and total that it would simply stop there. 

Everyone had died except you and Gi-hun. 

The finalists. 

The piggy bank grinned with teeth and malice. Reminded you of what you had done. What you had witnessed, and how you had survived off the backs of your former competitors. 

You were fed and suited. Given a real meal, something you'd have fought tooth and nail for nail for back home. It tasted like despair. 

All you could see were the fleeting images of Sang-woo crashing through the glass in his desperate attempt to cross the bridge and leap to the platform as the timer ticked away the seconds of his lifespan. He’d tried to grab the bars as he went, fingers slipping off the metal and sending him plummeting to the ground. You, Sae-Byeok, and Gi-hun barely managed to jump to safety as the bridge combusted into fireworks of glass and shards, showering your fallen friend meters down below. 

You think a piece of Gi-hun fell with him. You think Gi-huns left pieces of himself everywhere, now. Back with Il-nam lying sprawled in the dirt, down in the bellows of the pit with Sang-woo mangled and broken. You’re not entirely sure how whole you are anymore, either. 

When the guards lead the way out, you had to take Gi-hun’s hand in your own just to get him moving. 

Sae-Byeok didn’t survive the walk back to the dorms after your pointless meals. One moment, she was there. Quiet as always, somber. Maybe if you’d have known she was bleeding out, you could have done something. The next moment, she was dropping like a stone, and she bled, and bled, and bled. 

There wasn’t much to remember after that. Just a blur of outcries and the desperate, pleading demands that they save her. You’d both pounded on the doors, wrenching at the knobs, begging for them to do something until you were both blue in the face and sliding down the door in exhaustion. 

No one answered, and the lights flickered out down to the same minute second as they always had. 

With no one other than Gi-hun at your side, there wasn’t reason to concern yourself with watching each other's backs. You don’t think either of you had the energy for it even if you had, running empty tanks and affliction. All you found yourself able to do was lay beside him and beg God for a different way. A different path. Anything other than the way you were headed. You’d be different, this time, you promised. You’d do right. No more stealing, or cheating, or fighting for just the scraps at the end of the table. You wouldn’t take this life for granted any longer if he just please saved you both. Pull your sorry souls from the fire and let you start anew.

His arms are wrapped around you and his face inches away. Now, truer than ever, there was nothing but him. 

Gi-hun's voice is soft. “We will both leave here. I promise you."

The red lights of the surveillance cameras blink from every corner in the darkness. 

You tried to believe him over all else.

“I’m scared.” You whispered. He kisses the top of your head. An all healing ailment. Your lower lip quivers. 

So, he kisses your nose. And then your cheek. The corner of your mouth. You found the sides of his face in the darkness like you’d done it your entire life, and you press your lips against his. His hands splay over your back, and he drags you in.

[wisteria-lodge]

why is Dramione so popular and do you think it's problematic?

I. PROBLEMATIC SHIPS

(scroll down if you just want to read about Dramione)

First thing is, I don't think any ships are problematic.

There are lots of ships I don't *like.* There are ships that squick me, or mischaracterize one of the characters in a way that annoys me, or that I think are boring. But saying something is "problematic" implies that I have an issue with it's existence, and don't think that anyone should ship it ever. And that's just not ever going to be the case for me.

Like okay. I have a really strong dislike of any relationship where Character A is "saving" or "fixing" Character B. (In my head I call them Life Coach ships.) I think that's an unhealthy dynamic that breeds resentment and also doesn't work. You can support people, but in the end they gotta fix themselves. BUT. I'm ALSO aware that fixing/saving the bad boy is power fantasy, and power fantasies are fun, and cathartic, and important. Maybe it's nice to read about Lucius Malfoy or whoever responding to that sort of attention the way you wish your father or partner responded in real life. People are messy, and complicated.

To take an extreme example, I know that some people who've been raped stay away even from sex pollen and fake dating, and others actively seek out non-con, even romanticized non-con, as a way to process and deal. Basically, I think people tend to seek out media that is good for them (or at least comforting) and backspace out of media that actively hurts them. You probably have a second of disgust where you're like, ugh that's a thing? But you're not going to read a whole Snape/Hermione fic if the premise upsets you.

I bring up Snape/Hermione because teacher/student is a huge squick of mine. Doesn't matter if they're both adults, or if it's more of an apprentice thing. It's a scenario and a power dynamic that I do not like. BUT. I understand the appeal. The premise of a lot of Snamione fics is... okay, here's this powerful, intelligent, well-dressed guy who is extremely buttoned up and repressed, who doesn't give anyone the time of day. But there's something about YOU (not your prettier friends/classmates) that gets under his skin, and now he's obsessed, wrapped around your little finger. Oh and he's damaged, so he *needs* you. That's a power fantasy. And like, irl you're generally pretty powerless as a 17 year old girl, especially when interacting with men in positions of authority.

Also, like, historically? A lot of fantasies have operated under the heading of "I know it's wrong, but I still can't resist." The fact that something is wrong, is a societal taboo, well - that's a very easy, safe way to get an adrenaline rush, and up the intensity of the fantasy situation. Even the stuff people always bring up when they talk about problematic ships - underage, incest, slavery au but it's framed like it's hot, idk. They're forbidden societal taboos for really good reasons, but I don't think it's crazy to be interested in the big red button that says DO NOT PUSH.

Like how about this. In my experience, actors who play villains tend to be the sweetest, loveliest people you've ever met in your life. And I've always wondered if it's because they kind of have to unpack all the dark, sticky, destructive, perverse parts of themselves on a fairly regular basis (and then have a good outlet for those same feelings.) Everyone has parts of themselves that are not "nice" and not "proper." I think fiction is a fantastic place to air those out.

II. DRAMIONE

I am absolutely not surprised that Dramione is so popular. First, Hermione gets shipped with everyone - for a long time she was the character everyone projected on, and while that's less the case now... she's still the most important female character, and she's a *good* character. She's intense, and goes a little extreme with the problem solving. She's good at observing people but not great with people. She misses social cues. She's compensating like crazy. That's good (relatable!) stuff.

And Draco? He slots into the worldbuilding in an interesting way, he's got a *great* backstory, he's arch and a little bit of a shit, but he's also sensitive and squeamish about violence. I also think he taps into that "oh shit I was WRONG" feeling that is such an important part of adulthood. Hermione is also just going to be the walking embodiment of that feeling for Draco, so he's going to feel some kind of interesting way about her.

I think Draco is fun to ship with any of the Golden Trio, because they've all got that martyr streak and Draco is a survivor, so they clash in interesting ways and end up balancing each other out. Draco and Hermione especially are both very politically orientated people, so they're a good ship for exploring worldbuilding, wizard world reform, or pureblood politics. I also think Hermione has a feminine, girly side that she feels a little guilty about exploring - and spending five minutes around aesthetic, fashion-conscious Draco is going to give her permission to do that. They both have a streak of practical ruthlessness that I think they would respect in each other. Draco can be... a little lazy, so passionate driven people are good for him. But then I think he would be a nice control for Hermione's workaholic tendencies. Ultimately I think they're actually very compatible.

(also like. Hermione likes quidditch players. and if her crush on Lockhart is anything to go by... she also likes pretty blonde men who dress all snappy.)

[amethystarachnid]

30. Holiday Movie Night with the Avengers (or X-Men) – The Avengers decide to have a Christmas movie marathon for the whole family. Your character is skeptical about the cheesy movies, but what happens when they get caught up in the holiday spirit?

My character is Tony Stark, please, and I'm a female reader ❤️ I was thinking that maybe they are best friends, and seeing how happy the reader is watching those movies, he'll realize he has feelings for her and in the next day he'll invite her to a date inspired in some movie scene and tell her he loves her and ask her to be his girlfriend and she'll say yes because she loves him too, and please, lots of kisses 🤭 ohh, and they can turn "watching movies" into their cute little tradition too 😊

Thank you 😊

MOVIE NIGHT & KISSES

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The living room of the Avengers compound looks like a Christmas card threw up all over it. Tony’s doing, obviously. You step inside, arms loaded with snacks—because you don’t trust Tony not to have stocked up exclusively on the weird gourmet stuff no one likes—and immediately trip over a tiny reindeer statue.

“Why?” you ask the air. Tony’s voice floats down the hallway before his actual appearance.

“Why what? Be more specific, or I’ll assume you’re asking why I’m fabulous.”

You roll your eyes and dump your cargo of chips, popcorn, and candy on the coffee table. “Why is there a deer the size of a toddler lying in wait for my ankles? It’s assault.”

Tony finally enters, grinning like he’s just pulled off a massive heist instead of, you know, redecorating. “You mean Blitzen? He’s festive. And you should really watch where you’re walking. Consider it a training exercise.”

“Blitzen,” you deadpan, already fishing around for scissors to open the snack bags. “You named the little menace Blitzen.”

“Of course, I did. What do you take me for, a savage? Anyway, what’s that—Pringles? Ugh, so pedestrian. Don’t worry, I’ve got foie gras chips in the kitchen.”

“Tony, no,” you say, cutting him off. “No one’s eating foie gras anything during movie night.”

“Fine. Keep your proletariat palate,” he huffs, but there’s no bite to it as he snags a bag of M&Ms and flops onto the couch like it’s claimed him.

The others start trickling in soon after, voices overlapping in that chaotic yet strangely comfortable way you’ve come to expect from these gatherings. Natasha is the first to spot the reindeer and gives you a knowing look.

“You trip over that thing yet?” she asks.

“Blitzen almost ended me,” you confirm, earning a snort.

“Is Tony naming inanimate objects again?” Steve asks, clearly trying and failing to hide a smile as he surveys the chaos.

“Not just naming them,” you say, gesturing at the garlands, twinkling lights, and a giant Santa hat perched on one corner of the TV. “He’s created an entire ecosystem.”

Thor, arriving last but with the biggest entrance, spots the reindeer and scoops it up like it’s an actual living thing. “What a curious creature!” he declares, cradling it as though it might respond. “May I keep it?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony says, looking horrified. “Blitzen is part of the ambiance.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway, and Tony shoots you a mock glare. “This is the respect I get from my so-called best friend? Unbelievable.”

“Your ‘best friend’ just saved movie night from foie gras chips, so I think I’ve earned the right to laugh,” you retort, throwing yourself onto the couch next to him.

The movie selection process devolves into chaos, as usual. Clint tries to sneak in a Christmas horror movie, Natasha threatens to walk out if it’s not something at least tolerable, and Steve insists on something “classic,” which somehow leads to a passionate argument over whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie.

Through it all, Tony leans closer to you, voice low. “If this debate goes on for another five minutes, I say we hijack the remote and put on Iron Man 3. Christmas and a superhero. Win-win.”

You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. “Tempting, but I don’t think your ego could survive the fallout.”

“Oh, please,” he replies, tossing an arm over the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulders, but you don’t mind. “My ego’s indestructible.”

Eventually, the group settles on a compromise: Home Alone, mostly because Thor declares he’s never seen it and everyone agrees watching his reactions will be worth it.

As the opening credits roll, Tony leans closer. “This is cozy,” he says, a bit quieter than usual. His fingers graze yours on the couch, almost hesitant.

It’s a small moment, but it feels like the beginning of something. You glance at him, catching his slight smirk and the way his eyes flick toward the screen—but not before they linger on you just a second too long.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling despite yourself. “It is.”

Kevin McCallister’s family is in full-on holiday chaos, and Thor is already narrating everything happening on screen like it’s the most thrilling battle sequence he’s ever witnessed.

“This small one is quite cunning,” Thor declares as Kevin rigs up a rudimentary alarm system using toy cars and string. “His enemies shall rue the day they underestimated him!”

“Thor, buddy,” Clint says between mouthfuls of popcorn, “we’re ten minutes in. The burglars haven’t even shown up yet.”

“Then they are fools!” Thor retorts, clutching the reindeer statue—Blitzen—to his chest like a comfort object. “He will outwit them with his warrior’s guile.”

Tony leans closer to you, and you can feel the warmth of him even before he murmurs, “You ever feel like we’re babysitting a very excitable golden retriever?”

You laugh, low and quiet. “A golden retriever with lightning powers. No pressure.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where his arm is still casually draped over the back of the couch. You don’t even notice when his fingers start to toy idly with the fabric of your sleeve.

The movie continues, and Thor’s commentary only grows more dramatic. When Kevin sets up his elaborate booby traps, Thor sits up straighter, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“A master tactician!” he declares, and when Kevin’s paint can swings down the stairs to clobber one of the burglars, Thor actually roars with laughter. “A fine blow! Truly, this child deserves to sit at the table of warriors!”

Natasha leans toward you, whispering just loud enough for you and Tony to hear. “We should tell Thor that Kevin’s real superpower is abandonment issues.”

Tony snorts into his drink, and you elbow him lightly. “Be nice,” you say, even though you’re stifling your own laughter.

The movie progresses, and somewhere between Kevin faking a party with mannequins and setting Harry’s head on fire, you start to shift closer to Tony without even realizing it. It’s not a conscious thing—you just naturally lean toward the warmth of him, especially when his arm slides from the back of the couch to drape over your shoulders.

You think it’s just Tony being Tony—he’s always been a tactile kind of guy, quick with a casual touch or a teasing nudge—but you don’t notice the way he freezes for half a second before relaxing again, his fingers brushing lightly against your upper arm.

The truth is, Tony’s barely paying attention to the movie anymore. He’s too busy fighting the sudden, overwhelming realization that he’s completely, undeniably in love with you. It hits him somewhere between Thor’s boisterous laughter and the way your hair catches the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung across the room.

He’s Tony Stark. He’s built suits that fly, survived impossible odds, and traded snark with gods—but the idea of telling you how he feels? That terrifies him.

So, instead, he lets himself have this moment. He lets himself enjoy the way you’re snuggled against his side, your head resting lightly against his shoulder, your laughter bright and unguarded as you watch the movie.

You, of course, are blissfully unaware of the internal crisis unfolding next to you. You’re too busy giggling at Thor’s indignant outrage when one of the burglars steps on a nail.

“That would never pierce true Asgardian steel!” Thor exclaims, pounding the arm of the couch for emphasis. “These mortal feet are most fragile.”

“It’s a movie, big guy,” Clint says, tossing a popcorn kernel in Thor’s direction. “You’re supposed to suspend disbelief.”

Thor catches the kernel mid-air with surprising grace and pops it into his mouth. “A strange custom,” he mutters, but he settles back down, still cradling Blitzen.

As the movie nears its climax, you shift slightly, tucking your legs up onto the couch. Without thinking, you rest your head more firmly against Tony’s shoulder, and his arm tightens around you just a fraction.

“This is nice,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, his voice softer than you’re used to hearing. “It is.”

He doesn’t look at the screen. He doesn’t need to. The way you fit against him, the way your laughter feels like the warmest part of the room—that’s all he cares about. But he’s Tony Stark, so he masks it with a quip. “Although I’m starting to feel personally attacked by how much Kevin loves duct tape.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest lightly. “If the suit fits…”

“I’ll have you know duct tape is a versatile and invaluable tool,” he says, grinning down at you. “It’s like me—underappreciated but indispensable.”

Natasha, who’s apparently been paying more attention to you two than the movie, leans over again. “You two gonna make it through the night without bickering like an old married couple, or should we set up counseling now?”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make an excellent husband, for the record.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm inexplicably. “Good to know, Tony. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his expression, something almost vulnerable, before he masks it with his usual bravado.

By the time the movie ends and Kevin’s family finally comes home, Thor is on his feet, applauding like he’s just witnessed the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time.

“A truly glorious tale!” he declares. “The boy is a hero of the highest caliber. I must share this story with the warriors of Asgard.”

Steve claps Thor on the back, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m sure they’ll love it, big guy.”

The group starts to disperse after that, everyone gathering up their plates and drinks and muttering goodnights. Tony’s still sitting with you on the couch, his arm loose around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You staying?” he asks casually, but there’s a note of something more in his voice.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He grins, and for a moment, you think there’s something different in his eyes—something softer, warmer—but then he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about stealing the good spot on the couch.

Neither of you moves, though. The others leave, the credits roll, and the room quiets, but you and Tony stay there, comfortably tangled together under the glow of the Christmas lights.

You sit at the small kitchen table in your apartment, cradling a mug of coffee and scrolling through your phone. The morning sunlight streams through the window, catching on the tiny particles of dust floating lazily in the air. It’s quiet, peaceful, a welcome contrast to the loud, boisterous chaos of movie night at the compound. You’re mid-sip when your phone buzzes with a message, and you glance down to see the sender: “Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️.”

Tony. Of course.

You smirk to yourself—he hates that nickname, which makes it all the more satisfying that it’s what you’ve saved him as. Opening the message, you find it’s short and to the point.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Hey, you free tonight?

Your eyebrows raise. Not a “good morning” or even a “hope you survived Blitzen.” Classic Tony, straight to the point. You type back quickly.

You: What’s it to you, Stark?

The response comes almost immediately.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Just answer the question, smartass.

You laugh into your coffee, shaking your head. It’s too early for this.

You: Yeah, I’m free. Why?

This time, there’s a slight pause before his next message comes through.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Good. I’m picking you up at 7. Wear something nice.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

You: Excuse me? What is this?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: It’s called dinner. People eat it.

You: Are you bribing me with food?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: No, I’m taking you to a restaurant.

You: Is this a date, Stark?

You’re joking—mostly—but the reply that pops up a moment later makes you freeze.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah.

You blink at the screen, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less earth-shattering. They don’t.

You: Seriously?

Three dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. Somewhere across town, you know Tony is staring at his phone with the same level of panic you’re feeling.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah. Seriously.

Your heart stumbles into a gallop, and you stare at the phone, the words it’s a date looping in your mind like a broken record. You’re equal parts thrilled and terrified, your stomach doing flips like it’s auditioning for the circus. You’ve always known Tony flirts with anything that moves, but this… this feels different.

You: Okay. I’ll be ready.

You don’t know how you manage to type it without your hands shaking. On the other side of the city, Tony is probably sweating bullets, wondering if he’s just ruined everything. But as you set your phone down and glance at the clock, the only thing you can think is, Oh, God. I have nothing to wear.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, you’re mentally cataloging your closet and deciding nothing in it will do. You know Tony well enough to know that when he says “wear something nice,” he doesn’t mean a cute sweater and jeans. No, he’ll have picked some ridiculously fancy place where the appetizers cost more than your electric bill.

The afternoon turns into a whirlwind of trying on every remotely elegant outfit you own. The black dress? Too basic. The navy one? No, that’s what you wore to Natasha’s birthday last year. The red one? It’s a showstopper, sure, but is it too much?

You eventually settle on a dress you haven’t worn in ages—a deep emerald green number that fits like it was tailored just for you. Pairing it with heels and some understated jewelry, you give yourself one last critical look in the mirror.

“Not bad,” you mutter to your reflection, though the butterflies in your stomach are anything but calm.

By the time 7 o’clock rolls around, you’re pacing your apartment, trying not to overthink every detail. You’ve spent the entire day replaying Tony’s text messages, dissecting every word, and now you’re a bundle of nerves.

The buzz of your phone breaks the silence, and you check it to see another message from Tin Can Man.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: I’m downstairs.

Grabbing your coat and bag, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. When you step outside, there he is, leaning casually against a sleek black car that looks like it costs more than your apartment building. He’s dressed impeccably, of course—dark suit, crisp shirt, no tie, but the top button undone just enough to scream effortless charm.

“You clean up well,�� you say, trying to sound more composed than you feel.

Tony’s gaze sweeps over you, and for a moment, he doesn’t reply. His usual smirk softens into something you can’t quite place, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You look… wow,” he says finally, and it’s so un-Tony-like that you can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stark.”

He grins, holding the car door open for you with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

As you slide into the car, you wonder if Tony’s as nervous as you are. If he is, he hides it well. But when he gets behind the wheel, you notice his grip on the steering wheel is just a little tighter than usual.

Neither of you says much during the drive, but the air is charged with something unspoken. When you arrive at the restaurant—a place so fancy it doesn’t even have a sign—you turn to Tony, arching an eyebrow.

“Subtle,” you tease, gesturing at the valet waiting to park the car.

Tony shrugs, smirking. “What can I say? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Inside, the restaurant is even more extravagant than you expected. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the soft hum of a piano drifts through the air. You’re suddenly very aware of how out of your element you feel, but Tony, ever the smooth talker, leads you to a table like he owns the place.

The evening unfolds in a blur of good food, light banter, and moments where you catch Tony looking at you with an expression that makes your cheeks warm. By the time dessert arrives, you’re no longer nervous—you’re just happy.

And maybe falling for your best friend wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

The restaurant is a swirl of elegance and opulence. You sit at a cozy, candlelit table near a window that offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The warm glow of the chandeliers dances off the pristine silverware, and the soft murmur of conversations fills the air like a melody. Across from you, Tony looks uncharacteristically calm—at least on the surface.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Stark,” you say, gesturing to the impeccably arranged plate in front of you. It’s some kind of artistically deconstructed dish that looks almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

“Outdoing myself is my specialty,” he replies with a wink, swirling the wine in his glass. But there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of nervousness he’s trying hard to hide.

The conversation flows easily as the courses arrive one by one. You talk about everything and nothing—the latest Avengers antics, your recent binge of terrible reality TV, and Tony’s latest tech project, which involves an overly ambitious plan to automate coffee-making robots.

“And how’s that working out?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, grinning. “Let’s just say I’ve destroyed two espresso machines and one microwave. But progress is progress.”

You laugh, the sound filling the small bubble the two of you have created. There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that feels comfortable and loaded at the same time. Tony’s gaze lingers on you, and you suddenly feel warm, the candlelight only adding to the effect.

“What?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Just… you look happy. I like it.”

You blink, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Tony Stark doesn’t do sentimental—not usually. But tonight, there’s something different about him, something almost vulnerable.

When dessert is served—a rich chocolate creation that looks like it belongs in a museum—Tony leans back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, “you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you reply, taking a bite of the dessert. “This is probably the fanciest dinner I’ve ever had.”

His smirk widens. “Good. Because the date hasn’t even started yet.”

You freeze mid-bite, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you mean, hasn’t started? Tony, we’re literally on a date right now.”

He stands, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover the check—because of course he doesn’t wait for the server. Extending a hand to you, he says, “Trust me, sweetheart. This was just the warm-up.”

Curiosity and excitement war in your chest as you let him lead you out of the restaurant and back to the car. Once you’re settled in, he glances at you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“Just… keep an open mind, okay?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Tony Stark, what are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, his usual confidence tinged with something you can’t quite place.

The car ride is a blur, and when he finally pulls up to your next destination, your jaw drops.

The scene before you looks like something straight out of a movie—your favorite movie, to be exact. It’s an outdoor setting, lit by dozens of string lights and lanterns. A small, charming gazebo sits in the center, surrounded by fairy lights that twinkle like stars. There’s a vintage record player set up, softly playing the theme from the movie you’ve watched more times than you can count.

“Tony…” you whisper, stepping out of the car. “How did you—”

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his posture. “You mentioned it once. Something about how you thought this was the perfect date, so… I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You turn to him, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst. “You did this for me?”

“Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted it to be… special.”

“Tony,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxes at your words, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Taking your hand, he leads you toward the gazebo, where a small table is set with two glasses of champagne.

The two of you sit, the city’s bustle far away, the moment feeling almost surreal. You’re about to tease him about being a closet romantic when he stands suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning to face you.

“Okay,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I had this whole speech planned, but it’s probably terrible, and I’m gonna screw it up, but—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, standing and moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says, his words rushing out in a way that makes your heart ache for him. “And I know I’m not exactly the easiest guy to deal with, and I probably don’t deserve you, but… I love you.”

Your breath catches.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “And I want to know if you’ll—if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, the world spinning and standing still all at once. He looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable, his usual bravado stripped away, and it’s the most honest, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yes,” you say finally, your voice soft but sure.

His eyes widen. “Yes?”

“Yes, Tony,” you repeat, stepping closer and cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Relief floods his features, and then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that,” he murmurs against your hair.

You laugh, the sound full of joy. “You should’ve said something sooner, you idiot.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his grin finally returning. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always gotta make a scene.”

And as he leans down to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the twinkling lights around you, and the overwhelming feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The night sky stretches above you in all its vast, glittering glory, each star twinkling like tiny diamonds. The air is crisp but not too cold, the kind of chill that makes snuggling up feel like the best idea ever. You and Tony are still in the gazebo, but now you’re lying on a soft blanket, tucked close together, the twinkling lights overhead mixing with the stars.

Tony’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you into his side like he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers trace light patterns along your arm, the sensation sending little shivers up your spine, though it’s not cold. It’s just him—his touch, his presence, everything about him.

You’re trying to focus on the sky, trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into how impossibly perfect this feels. The night is still, save for the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees around you, and the soft strains of the music drifting from the record player. The atmosphere feels like something out of a dream. This is a dream, right? Or maybe the best kind of reality.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice warm and full of that familiar teasing tone, “I had a whole speech planned for tonight. Thought I’d sound all suave, you know? But the second I saw you… I kinda forgot it all.”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smile. “You were going to give a speech?”

“Of course. I was gonna be all, ‘From the moment I met you, I knew you were destined to be mine,’ or something equally charming,” he replies, pretending to sound dramatic and smooth. He exaggerates the ‘destined’ part, earning a small laugh from you.

“And why didn’t you?”

Tony shrugs, giving you an exaggerated, almost childlike look. “Well, I got distracted by how ridiculously beautiful you look tonight. Didn’t really need the speech after all.”

You snort, glancing over at him. “Oh, so now you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

“I never forget,” he says, sounding more like a proud peacock than anything else. He shifts so he’s leaning over you just a little more, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I just use actions to back up my words, princess.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the teasing tone in your voice, but your heart is already doing little somersaults in your chest.

Before you can finish your thought, Tony leans in, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. It’s quick, playful, but there’s something in it—something that sends warmth spreading through you from your cheeks all the way down to your toes. You giggle, brushing your nose.

“That’s how you back up your words? With nose kisses?”

“Nope.” His lips hover just above your skin, and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

You grin, feeling giddy. “Well, you’re doing a good job of that, Stark.”

You tilt your head back, letting your hair spill out behind you like a waterfall, and your lips brush against his cheek in return. His breath hitches just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it. He turns his face toward you, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly sweet. It’s a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

He pulls back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. You stay like that for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of him being so close. There’s no rush, no need for words—just the soft rhythm of breathing, the beating of two hearts that finally seem in sync.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “What? Because I’m capable of giving you a kiss on the cheek?”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart,” Tony says, his voice suddenly softer, more vulnerable. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, and when he speaks again, there’s a tenderness in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “I’m talking about how you make me feel. How lucky I am to have you here. With me.”

You blink, heart flipping. “Tony…”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing under his breath. “I know I’m Tony Stark, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s got me totally wrapped around your finger.” He gives you a playful wink, but there’s something more genuine behind it.

“Look at you being all sentimental,” you tease, trying to hide the growing warmth in your chest.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I’m sentimental for you, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I think I could get used to it.”

You lean up to kiss him again, a little slower this time, but just as sweet. His hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get close enough. You’re pressed so tightly together that there’s no space left, no room for any doubts or anything that isn’t him. His lips move against yours, warm and eager, but he pulls back after a moment, his nose brushing against your cheek as he lets out a deep sigh.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice low and just a little breathless, “I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time, but none of them made me feel like this.”

You smile softly, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

“Oh, believe me,” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss, “you’re definitely the exception.”

This kiss is different—deeper, more hungry, like he can’t quite get enough. His hands move from your waist, sliding up your back to cradle your head, pulling you even closer. You respond eagerly, feeling the heat between you growing, but Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly serious.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?” He grins, his trademark cocky smirk returning.

“Very good overwhelmed,” you reply, laughing softly. “But you have a habit of kissing me senseless, Stark. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

He chuckles, his lips hovering near yours. “Sorry, can’t help it. You just make me so… damn happy. And I haven’t even told you how amazing you look tonight. Like, I’m seriously getting distracted just looking at you.”

You blush at the compliment, but Tony doesn’t give you much time to respond before he leans down and kisses you again, this time slower, gentler, with a lingering tenderness that makes your heart race in a different way. His lips are soft and warm, and when he pulls back, you’re both breathless, eyes fluttering open to meet each other.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” you say, your voice teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper in it now.

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m pretty sure you just made my night. I’m never letting you go, you know.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think I might be the one who’s going to keep you.”

Tony presses another kiss to your lips, this one playful, with a promise of more to come. He can’t stop himself now. He wants you—he wants you in a way that feels almost primal, like he’s not willing to let go of you, ever. You feel the same.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

As the night continues, you both stay there, tangled together on the blanket, lost in the sweetness of the moment, kissing, laughing, and just enjoying the quiet joy of being with each other. There’s no rush, no expectation—just the two of you, finally figuring out that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t need anything else. Just Tony. And maybe a few more kisses.

The Avengers Tower’s common room is buzzing with excitement as movie night rolls around again, but this time, there’s a palpable change in the air. It's been a few weeks since you and Tony officially became a couple, and everyone can feel the shift. The usual dynamic is the same—loud chatter, snacks being passed around, and the occasional argument over what movie to watch—but there's something different now, something that makes every glance between you and Tony feel a little more charged. And you know exactly what it is.

As you walk into the room, hand in hand with Tony, the team falls silent for a brief moment before an uproar of teasing starts. Steve looks up from his phone and winks. Natasha smirks. Thor chuckles, and Clint just shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. You and Tony sit down on the couch, the atmosphere now a mix of curiosity and playful mockery.

"So," Steve begins with that too-innocent expression on his face, "what are we watching tonight? Another Christmas classic?"

"Well, it is still December," Tony replies, his hand slipping to the back of your chair. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he adds in a low, teasing voice, "But we can make it even more special, you know. I was thinking of a Christmas movie marathon… just the two of us."

You glance over at him, surprised at the suggestion. It’s not like Tony to offer a quiet, cozy evening without any extra flair, but for some reason, the idea of spending the night with him like that, away from everyone else, feels… comforting. You smile, leaning toward him and resting your head on his shoulder. "I like that idea," you murmur, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

The team watches you both, exchanging amused looks, and it only takes a second for Clint to speak up.

"Guys, seriously? Are we watching a Christmas movie or just watching you two get all… lovey-dovey for two hours?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "It's like all you do now."

"Hey," Tony says, lifting an eyebrow as he shoots Clint a look. "We are on a date."

"Yeah, a date with a group of people who are very interested in your every move." Natasha’s voice is dry, but there's a playful sparkle in her eyes.

"Ugh, gross," Clint mutters, pretending to gag, but the smirk on his face betrays the fact that he's more entertained than anything else.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face at their teasing. Tony, meanwhile, seems to thrive on the attention, leaning back a little too dramatically and pulling you closer to his side.

“I’m just a lucky guy,” Tony says with that smug smile of his, squeezing your shoulder. "Do you all see what I have to deal with? She’s perfect."

"Sure, Stark, you’re the lucky one," Clint mutters, dramatically pulling out a bag of chips from the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.

“You know,” Thor says from the armchair where he’s lounging, “when a mortal finds true love, it should be celebrated. It is a noble thing, indeed!” He raises his mug of beer as if toasting you both. "May you two share many winters together in joy."

"Aw, thanks, Thor." You smile at the god of thunder, and Tony gives you a mock bow.

"Let’s just try to survive the night without any more of that emotional stuff, okay?" Steve says, giving you a wink. "We’re here to watch a movie, not get too intense."

You lean into Tony with a smile, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. But, of course, Tony has to make it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.

“Hey, don’t act like we’re not entertaining you guys. Who else is going to give you this much material to work with, huh?” He shrugs and adjusts his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Besides, we love a little public display of affection.”

“Oh, we know,” Clint says with a mock groan, covering his eyes dramatically. "We’ve seen enough PDA to last a lifetime."

"Yeah, but have you seen this?" Tony asks, his eyes glinting mischievously as he pulls you closer. Without warning, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another on the top of your head.

The room falls into an exaggerated silence as everyone stares.

“Really, Tony?” Steve raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Come on, Cap. It’s just a kiss,” you reply, though your voice is full of suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, a thousand kisses,” Clint quips from across the room, rolling his eyes. “At least they’re not making out in front of us—that would be too much.”

“Oh, don’t tempt us, Clint,” Tony smirks, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours for a beat. It’s sweet and intimate, but just teasing enough to make everyone squirm.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha finally says, throwing her hands up. “We get it. You’re in love. Just pick a movie already, or we’re going to have to find some other way to get the room’s attention.”

You both laugh, and Tony gives her a playful wink before leaning back into the couch, pulling you with him. You settle against him, your head resting on his chest, the warmth of his body comforting. It’s nice like this—cozy, familiar, and surrounded by people who you know are teasing just because they’re happy for you.

"So," Tony says, looking around the room and clearing his throat. "We decided on a Christmas movie marathon, but only if everyone can behave. If we end up with more sarcastic commentary and eye-rolls, we might have to take it to the bedroom and really make it a private affair.”

“Ugh, no, no,” Clint says, holding his hands up in mock horror. "We’ll behave. Promise."

Tony grins, clearly enjoying every second of this, before pressing the play button on the remote. The opening credits of Love Actually start to roll, and everyone immediately starts making playful comments. You can’t help but chuckle as Tony holds you a little tighter, clearly amused by the bickering happening around you.

As the movie continues, you get wrapped up in the warmth of the scene, the silly moments, and the subtle sweetness of the holiday cheer. You settle deeper into Tony’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped comfortably over your waist. His fingers gently stroke your arm as the two of you share quiet conversations during the more emotional parts of the movie. Every so often, he presses soft kisses to the top of your head, as if reminding you—and everyone else—that you belong to each other.

The teasing continues from the others, but there’s an undeniable affection in it all. They’re all happy for you both, even if it’s a little strange for them to see Tony—Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed playboy billionaire—acting like a lovesick puppy in front of the entire team.

“Man, you really went all out,” Clint says after a particularly emotional scene, turning to Tony with a raised eyebrow. “You even went for Love Actually. What’s next? A romantic comedy marathon?”

“Anything for my girl,” Tony responds easily, and the way he says it, so casually but so full of affection, makes your heart swell.

“I can’t wait to see you two try to top this next year,” Natasha says, her tone playful, though there’s a softness to it as well.

“I don’t even want to know,” Steve chimes in, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m guessing this is only the beginning, huh?”

“Hey, if I’m going all in, I’m going all in,” Tony replies, glancing down at you with that loving look that makes your heart skip. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

You smile up at him, and his expression softens just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. There’s no doubting how much he means it. And for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear as you’re surrounded by the people who feel like family—your family.

The movie goes on, the mood light and easy, and Tony’s kisses come more frequently, not because he has to, but because he simply can’t seem to stop himself. And you don’t mind one bit.

By the time the movie ends, the Avengers are sprawled around the room in varying degrees of comfort. Tony gives you one last lingering kiss before pulling away just enough to look at you with a grin.

“I think we’ve officially made movie night our tradition now,” he says with a satisfied nod.

“Definitely,” you agree, your fingers gently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “Just us… and the team watching us get all cheesy.”

“Hey, it’s our tradition,” Tony replies with a wink. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder again, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his kisses lingering on your lips, and the comforting certainty that, despite the teasing, you and Tony are exactly where you’re meant to be.

And as the Avengers disperse, still chuckling under their breaths, you know you’ve found a tradition that will be cherished for years to come—just you, Tony, and an endless amount of Christmas movies.

[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💦

[grenadehearts]

tagged by the lovely @kitkat13001

(ty for the tag it means sooo much needing positivity rn as well sooo)

1 my tumblr blog, ik it's not a big blog or anything like that (hoping to grow it!) but it means so much to be able to post my writing on this platform and have ppl actually like it?? AND comments and reblogs i giggle and kick my feet everytime someone let's me know they love my writing (hoping to make more friends on here as well) + doing commissions i love those!

2 ao3 i would literally die without ao3 + feel like this kinda goes hand in hand maybe idk but shoujo anime it's just so ugh or more mature shoujo like apothecary diaries i love, ALSOOO anime men. that's it that's the sentence i love u anime men thirst trap edits ugh save me. (long hair anime men)

3 thrifting and matcha w boba (cures me honestly)

4 hair dye i love dying my hair i can't live w out it

5 animals i love love love animals sm and my sister as well im super grateful for her and my nephew (ugh i miss him he's such a little guy) ☹️

oki going to follow the chain and tag some ppl NO pressure to do it just following the chain 🩷

also .. i hope i did this right i think

@cherieberri @skiiyoomin @crushmeeren @elssero @suksatoru

[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.”