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searidings · 2 years

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kara, to her sister, when alex says it's not okay to platonically put your tongue in your best friend's mouth: what are you a cop?

also here on ao3

In August, Kara kisses Lena to save her life.

A surfer at Locarno Beach loses control on a particularly vicious wave and his board slips free of his grasp, clocking Lena square in the back of the head where she's bobbing happily in the surf.

The next thing she knows, there's hot sand at her back and a hot body against her front. She's laid out on the beach, head spinning, ears ringing, and Kara's mouth is on top of her own.

"Breathe, Lena,” she gasps in the split second before the salty softness of her lips covers Lena's once more. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

Kara's mouth is open, and it's moving against Lena's, and it's searing and insistent and delicious as the sun beating down on them from the cloudless sky. Lena registers, slowly and with great difficulty, that the purpose of her best friend's lips upon her own in this moment is, ostensibly, mouth-to-mouth. Rescue breaths. Not a kiss.

That being said, the fact that Kara has neither pinched Lena's nose nor tipped her head back à la the accepted technique, the fact that her hands are not tilting Lena's chin up to open her airway but are instead cupping her cheeks, the fact that Lena is already breathing— none of these things seem to matter to Kara.

Her best friend's only concern in this moment appears to be the accuracy with which she can slot their mouths together again and again, the exploratory nudge of a tongue between plush lips, the salty, gritty press of their swimsuit-clad bodies on the damp sand.

This is the first time Lena has ever felt her best friend's mouth upon any part of her body. Her head pounds. Her pulse races. Her mind reels. She maybe doesn't handle it as well as she could. If Lena is still breathing in this moment, it is in spite of Kara, not because of her.

When Lena's weakly flailing fingers connect with Kara's hips, when her eyes flutter open and her chest continues very definitively rising and falling all on its own with no external assistance, a throat clears loudly above their heads.

“Kara,” Alex says tightly, a shadow against the blazing sun. “I, uh. I think you got it.”

Kara draws back at last, their mouths separating with a wet pop that sets Lena's heart racing for reasons utterly unrelated to her latest near-death experience. Strong arms lift her gently, propping her torso – wet, hot, covered only by a skimpy bikini – against Kara's chest – wet, hot, covered only by an even skimpier bikini.

“You're alright,” Kara coos against her temple, bulging arms closing protectively over Lena's stomach and ribs. “You're okay, you're alright.”

Lena is not alright. In this moment, with the memory of Kara's mouth fresh on her tongue and the indent of a surfboard fresh in the back of her skull, Lena cannot recall ever being alright in her life, not for one single second.

Kara's attention, thankfully, is not on Lena's thundering pulse or clammy hands or sapphic overload. Her attention has turned to the circle of people surrounding them, peering down with anxious eyes.

“She's okay,” Kara reports on Lena's behalf, rubbing soothingly at her hip. “She's breathing.”

“After that performance?” Nia gets out, a little strangled. “I should hope so.”

Lena feels Kara's posture tighten against her, prompting a tensing of firm forearms and biceps that her already spinning head really doesn't need right now.

“Performance?” Kara asks, slow, a challenge.

“Was that supposed to be CPR?” Brainy asks, brow furrowing. “Because I'm not sure—”

“Unless CPR stands for conspicuous passionate romance, it was no such thing,” Alex interjects firmly. She looks a little green around the gills. Lena knows the feeling.

Kara's defensive stance tightens. She tugs Lena more firmly into her lap. “I was saving her—”

“You were doing plentywith her,” Kelly mutters. Alex quirks a brown, vindicated. “I'm just not sure saving was high on the list.”

Kara's chin rises. “I'll have you know that rescue breaths—”

“She hadn't even stopped breathing!” Alex explodes. Lena tries very, very hard to disappear.

Above her head, blue eyes narrow. A plump bottom lip with which Lena is intimately familiar sticks out, Kara's pout a nautical mile wide.

“So, you're telling me a girl can't use her mouth against her best friend's mouth to save her life these days?” Kara asks her sister heatedly, full of the righteous indignation of the unjustly persecuted. “What are you, a cop?”

Alex visibly ages half a decade right there, right in front of Lena's still-hazy eyes.

“...yes?”

“You guys are unbelievable,” Kara grouches as her sister checks Lena over. Aside from a headache and lips that feel deliciously swollen and bruised – the first is Alex's professional appraisal, the second, her own – she's declared healthy as a horse. That doesn't stop Kara scooping her up into her arms as the others gather their stuff, cradling her close on the walk back to the car.

“I was being a good Samaritan,” Kara insists as she trails after the others. “Protecting people, saving people. Like I'm supposed to.”

“I'm not sure tonguing your best friend is in Supergirl's job description,” Nia mutters from the head of the group to a chorus of stifled laughter and Alex's despairing groan.

Kara's selective superhearing evidently elects to ignore the comment. “You guys have no respect for rapid first aid,” she says primly, one hand tucking Lena's head tenderly against her shoulder while the other squeezes her thigh. “If I had to, I'd give rescue breaths to any one of you.”

Alex turns so sharply on her heel that she sprays sand three feet in the air. “If that is ever what's required to save my life,” she says sharply, waving fingers encompassing the entirety of she and Kara's current entanglement, “then for the love of God, just— let me die.”

---

In September, Kara kisses her onboard a burning spaceship with one minute left to live.

Their covert mission to track down and rescue aliens trafficked into the Maaldorian slave trade had been going really, really well, right up until the point at which they'd been caught.

The slavedrivers, spooked by the discovery of Supergirl and her heavily armed backup aboard their ship, beat a hasty retreat which involves jettisoning themselves out into space in handy little escape pods and flooding the remaining inhabitants of the vessel with flammable, noxious gas.

Lena shepherds the terrified victims toward the dream portal Nia is holding open through sheer force of will, Kara and J’onn flying them through it in droves, an evacuation that cracks the sound barrier.

They're being poisoned, all of them. Lena can feel it in her lungs, a cloudy sort of tickling, fine gossamer laces tugging at the edges of her airways, tightening them, closing them completely. She can see it in the tremble of Kara's hands, the sweat on J’onn's brow, the hacking coughs Nia lets out as she struggles to maintain the portal. She can see it in the terrified faces of the Loraxans, the Starhavenites, the K'hunds; in the expressions of those who know they have only moments before death claims them as painfully as possible.

They're all being poisoned, Lena knows that. But different physiologies react differently to such toxins; some species claimed quicker, others slower. Her scientist's brain is still trying to analyse the data even as she coughs so hard she retches, ribs cracking, lungs screaming.

It's clear to her that one species out of the many on this ship is affected worse by this; succumbs faster, suffers more. It's clear to her, as her knees give out and her body crumples, that that species is human.

At least the others have gotten the rest of the victims out, she thinks as the corrugated metal of the floor rushes up to meet her. At least they won't die here as well.

Her body hits something hard and unyielding but it's not the ground, she realises at length through hacking coughs and streaming eyes. She's being held, held up by something warmer, smoother, firm yet malleable as it moulds itself around her.

Through the fog of fumes and the flicker of flames comes Kara's face, skin pale and bruised, eyes wide and panicked. Close as a whisper then closer still, as poison floods Lena's cells and sanity leaves her and all she can think is don't die with me. All she can think is never let me go.

Lena can tell from the thickness in her lungs and the utter absence of her breath that she has moments left to live. She's just about to use the last of her strength to shove Kara away from her, towards the portal, toward home and light and life, when Kara's hands leave her hips to cradle her jaw instead. When Kara leans in, and presses their mouths together.

Yes, is all Lena can think. Yes, yes, yes. If she could have chosen her last act in this life, it would have been this. To know that Kara would, too, to know that she feels the same—

Kara parts Lena's lips with her own and it's everything, it's warmth and hope and love and eternity and Lena is going die knowing that in this, at least, she wasn't alone. Kara parts Lena's lips with her own and Lena's knees, already jelly, disintegrate entirely.

Kara parts Lena's lips with her own and something cool, something bitter and metallic and vaguely oily flows between them. Kara licks in past her teeth, tongue working warm and slick, coating every inch of the inside of Lena's mouth in the substance. The strange liquid trickles down her throat, pooling in her belly, dousing the fire ignited by the tinder of Kara's kiss.

Because this is not a kiss, Lena realises as her airways slacken and clear, as oxygen reaches her desperate bronchi once more. This is not a kiss. This is an antidote.

This is not a kiss, and yet even when Lena's chest has cleared, Kara does not pull away. When every last drop of medicine has trickled down Lena's throat, when nothing is left mingling between them except breath and limbs and heat, Kara is still there.

Kara is still there, two hands buried deep in the tangle of Lena's hair, holding her steady as she licks and licks and licks, along Lena's lips, at the roof of her mouth, against her tongue.

It's long minutes, at least, minutes if not hours before they finally break apart, Lena's newly cleared lungs heaving as if her life still depends on it. Kara releases one hand from Lena's hair, the other sweeping the wild strands back from her face. Her thumb tracks the length of Lena's bottom lip; presses at the corner of her mouth. When she holds it up between them for inspection the tip is coated in a shimmering grey film.

“You have to get it all,” she hums, that same digit pushing and pushing until Lena's mouth yields to her once more, the last remnants of the antidote as acrid as Kara's thumb is sweet against her tongue. “You have to, please, I can't— you have to be okay.”

She is okay. Alex confirms it, hooking her up to wires and monitors in the med bay once they make it back to Earth. The antidote was strong enough, got to her quick enough, that she'll suffer no lasting damage from the inhalational neurotoxin the slavedrivers were sweet enough to gift them. Kara holds her hand through all of it, hooked up to wires and monitors of her own, thumb kneading tender circles against Lena's palm.

“You know, Kar,” Alex mutters as she bustles between gurneys, gaze flicking unsubtly between their flushed cheeks and swollen lips, the thin silver sheen still clinging to the pressed red of both their mouths. “I really could have given you that antidote in a bottle.”

---

In October, Kara kisses her while hovering five feet in the air, sporting a zebra-print towel as a cape and a drawn-on crayon moustache.

Esme is going through an involved and intense dress-up-play-act stage, which Kara and Lena are under strict instructions not to discourage at Auntie's Night. It's good for her creativity and development of self-expression, apparently.

Whatever it's good for, it ultimately involves Lena being cast as Rapunzel ensconced high up on a tower of chairs and cushions because she is, as her niece puts it, pretty as a princess, a statement with which Kara heartily agrees. Kara lands the role of gallant knight, taking her rolled-up-magazine sword and towel-cape very seriously. She's midway through allowing Esme to draw a thick black moustache above her upper lip when her brow furrows.

"Why does the knight have to be a man?” she asks, garbled beneath the press of Esme's tiny fingers. Her eyes flick to Lena's, high above the living room in her cushioned tower. “We're not instilling good feminist ideals in her, are we? Break free of the patriarchy, Es. Let your knight be a girl.”

Esme's tiny brow crinkles. “Girls can be knights?”

“Sure can,” Kara nods as Lena adds, “Girls can be anything they want to be.”

Esme nods happily. Kara wrinkles her lips, testing the waxy masterpiece. “It's a shame we didn't have this forward-thinking revelation before you started drawing, little bug.”

The six-year-old narrows her eyes, appraising her aunt intently. Then she straightens, grinning, a flick of her wrist the final flourish on Kara's moustachioed masterpiece. “Girls can have moustaches, too!”

So, Lena is Rapunzel, Kara her gallant knight and Esme – as per the point of the entire endeavour – gets to be the dragon prowling ferociously and adorably at Lena's feet.

There are many battles.

Many battles, involving a lot of dramatically sustained “injuries” (Kara), laughter (Lena), and impassioned growling (Esme). At long last, weary from her days on the battlefield yet emboldened by her determination to reach the princess up above, Knight Kara takes her last stand. A lot of tickling and giggling and shrieking later, Kara has her niece upside down in her arms, blowing loud raspberries all over her cheeks and belly.

“Forsooth, that I should have slayed this dragon!” she soliloquises, carefully tossing a gleeful Esme into the nest of blankets and pillows constructed for this very purpose. “And interred her bones forever at the feet of my beloved!”

“Now you climb!” Esme stage-whispers from her feathered grave.

“Now I climb!” Kara decrees, floating herself off the ground with over-exaggerated scrambling motions and great grunts of fake effort.

“Rescue the princess!” Esme instructs and Kara hauls herself up the last half-foot, floating conveniently at Lena's eye level.

“I am here to rescue you, Princess,” she manages, solemn despite the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. One hand extends in invitation.

Lena places her palm delicately in Kara's, fighting to keep her own smile from ruining the moment. “What's next, darling?”

"Now the beautiful knight saves the beautiful princess,” Esme informs them from five feet below.

“Hello, beautiful princess,” Kara whispers conspiratorially as she extracts Lena from the tottering tower of living room detritus, hovering them both in mid-air. “I'm here to save you.”

“Why, hello, brave knight,” Lena whispers back, too low for Esme to hear. “Tales of your moustachioed beauty were not unfounded.”

Kara snorts as Esme claps her hands, feet kicking gleefully in her cushion cocoon. “And now you have to live happily ever after.”

“Did you hear that, princess?” Kara asks, and her voice is lower suddenly, almost husky. “We have to.”

Lena's just opening her mouth to respond when another open mouth lands upon hers instead.

Just like each time before, the kiss is so surprising that for a moment, Lena has no idea how to react. Her muscles slacken in shock and she probably would have slipped clean out of the embrace all the way to the ground had Kara's arms not twined tight around her, one hand at her waist, the other pressing between her shoulder blades.

Kara's breathing hard, panting into her open mouth and the kiss is deep, so deep, that Lena's left powerless against it. She's just along for the ride as Kara shifts and moves against her, angling them together again and again.

When Kara pulls back only to surge forward slower this time, sweeter, pressing one, two, three soft kisses to Lena's bottom lip, all she can do is sigh.

When her dazed eyes flicker open, Kara brushes the tips of their noses together. Her crayon moustache is smudged out of recognition above her top lip, in some places faded completely.

“How was that for happily ever after?” Kara calls to their niece, her eyes never straying from Lena's.

“It was good,” Esme declares, casual and offhand as though this is something that happens every day. "Now the princess has to say thank you to the knight. ‘Cuz she gotted rescued.”

“Thank you,” Lena repeats mechanically, higher brain function snuffed out, what's left of her mental faculties residing somewhere low and useless in the cradle of the hips Kara's squeezing like she has any right to, like they're hers to do with what she will.

Kara lowers them carefully to the ground, the locked focus of their gazes never breaking once.

“Any time.”

---

In November, Kara kisses her because her lips are chapped.

They haven't talked about it. Neither of them has mentioned, not even once, the string of kiss attacks with which Kara has ambushed Lena, now numbering a resoundingly shocking three. Neither of them has mentioned their newfound intimate familiarity with the taste of the other's mouth, the press of their bodies or the pitch of their gasps.

Lena has not mentioned how distracted she's been, lately. How she'll be doing something innocuous like brushing her teeth and then she'll start thinking about what flavour of toothpaste Kara uses, whether it would complement her own, how it would taste to lick it from her skin. How she'll press her fingertips to her own lips and wish they were Kara's, how she'll absentmindedly slip a pen into her mouth and wish it was Kara's thumb. How she can't focus on much besides the fact that her gorgeous platonic best friend keeps kissing her and not saying a damn word about it.

If Kara has been having any of the same thoughts, she hasn't mentioned them either.

And now here they are, bundled up against the icy bite of the ocean breeze as they line the sea wall along with hundreds of other supporters. National City's annual marathon has been going for hours already and though the elite runners have already begun trickling by, they'll have to wait a while longer for Kelly and her team of social workers running for charity to pass their spot.

Alex has taken a cold and tired Esme to warm up in a café with some hot chocolate, leaving Kara and Lena with strict instructions not to lose their prime position near the finish line. Privately, Lena wonders if she shouldn't be taking Kara to warm up with some hot chocolate – and probably a pastry or twelve – just to stave off the pout that's taken up permanent residence on her face.

“I'm bored,” Kara complains, right on schedule, knocking her shoulder into Lena's. “I want to stay and support Kelly but, Lena, I'm just so bored. I hate standing still!”

The blonde floats herself off the ground a few inches, oblivious in her frustration. Lena grabs her by the crook of her elbow and yanks her back down.

“We can't take a break until Alex and Esme come back,” she says, repeating the same line she's used eight times already. “Once they do we can go and stretch our legs, get a snack.”

“Thank Rao,” Kara grumbles. “I'm so hungry. And it's cold. And it's so damn windy, it's making even my skin dry. My skin that can withstand bullets, Lena.”

Lena rubs her elbow in absent sympathy, eyes scanning the stream of runners for anyone she recognises.

“Do you have any moisturiser on you?” Kara asks, suddenly close enough to Lena's ear that she jumps.

“Not today. Sorry, darling.”

Kara's frown deepens. “Chapstick, even? My lips are cracking like a glacier in the spring.”

“Descriptive.” Lena roots through the pockets of her pea coat, checks her purse. “Um— no. No, I don't think I have any.”

Cool fingertips slide beneath her chin without warning, lifting her face and tilting it into the light.

“But you're wearing it,” Kara accuses. “I can see it.”

Lena swallows heavily, the fingertips against her throat bobbing with the movement. “I put it on before we left this morning,” she manages, voice only fractionally higher than normal.

Kara's eyebrows hit her hairline. “You've been wearing chapstick for five hours and it still looks that good?” she whisper-yells, tilting Lena's face this way and that. “How is it still so shiny? What the hell is it made from? Superglue?”

“Camphor and carnauba wax, mainly,” Lena answers absently, distantly, thoroughly distracted by the hot brands of Kara's fingers scorching a trail across her skin beneath the hinge of her jaw. “I— I use a highly specialised brand. It's thirty dollars a tube.”

“Thirty dollars?” Kara shrieks, eyes wide and scandalised. “Lena. Can it really be that good?”

Lena swallows again, Kara's knuckles skating her throat as she does so. “You tell m—”

And then Lena's open, thirty-dollar-chapstick-covered lips are pressed against Kara's once more.

Kara's mouth is deliciously hot in the chill of the late fall air, her tongue sweeter than any cosmetic flavouring money could buy. There's no hesitation this time, not so much as a moment of coy restraint. Kara licks straight into Lena's mouth like she's hiding a popsicle in there, hands sliding beneath the open folds of Lena's jacket to smooth over denim-clad hips.

Their bodies slot together in a way that feels dangerously close to practiced and Lena forgets about the race, forgets about the wind, forgets about the hordes of people pressing in on them from all sides. The only thing that exists in the universe, now and forever, is Kara.

Kara, lifting Lena onto her tiptoes, tilting her chin up to account for their height difference. Kara, and her gasping breath and her mouth slanting over and over against Lena's, the desperate sound that builds and builds in the back of her throat. Kara, and the taste of her, smell of her, feel of her, kissing Lena right here in the middle of the city on a windy Sunday morning in November like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Kara's mouth is slick when they eventually break apart, shiny and wet, though whether it's a result of Lena's transferred chapstick or their mingled saliva, she couldn't say.

She smacks her lips appreciatively, rubbing them together as one arm stays close around Lena's waist beneath her jacket, fingers curling in the belt loops of her jeans.

“Yeah,” Kara hums pensively just as Alex and Esme rejoin them, Kelly's charity running group appearing in the distance. “I'd say it's worth every penny.”

---

In December, Kara kisses her because she's cold.

That's it. No rescues, no requirements, no life-saving antidotes or elaborate play-acting. Lena is cold, and Kara kisses her, as if that is in any way an appropriate reaction to the situation.

The situation, naturally, is she and Kara alone in a draughty gondola halfway up a mountain on some ill-advised family ski trip that Lena had only agreed to come on in the first place on the condition that she never, not once, has to touch snow.

And yet here she is, decked out in newly purchased salopettes and an enormous down-filled jacket, shivering beneath twelve layers of fleece on her way to the top of a freezing piste all because Kara had said please.

"But you can ski,” Kara says for the twelfth time that morning, relaxed and at ease as she lounges against the plexiglass separating them from a dizzying drop. “You can, right?”

Lena, rigid as a stone in the centre of the gondola, gripping the lone safety bar with both hands, barely manages to move her jaw beyond the chattering of her teeth.

“I can ski,” she starts shakily, wiggling her frozen toes inside her boots, "the same way I can paint, and play the piano, and recite epic poems in their original Latin. Because it was something Lionel and Lillian required of me as a child. Not because I wanted to.”

Kara clicks her tongue in sympathy, crossing the gondola to pry Lena's hands off the safety rail. Her footsteps cause the carriage to sway even more than it had been already and Lena redoubles her grip, clenching her jaw.

“Sweetheart, relax,” Kara coos, gently working her gloved hands beneath each of Lena's clutching fingers in turn. “We're just going up there for the view. If you don't want to ski, we'll hop right in the gondola and come back down.”

The notion of getting back into this rickety death trap causes Lena to tense up even further. Kara shakes her head fondly, successfully releasing Lena's lethal grip on the cold metal bar and cradling her hands instead. “You need to relax your muscles to get your shivering under control.”

“It's because I'm shivering that I can't relax,” Lena shudders, teeth clicking rhythmically in her skull.

Kara's brow creases. “Are you really that cold?”

If she hadn't been so afraid of plummeting to her death, Lena would have rolled her eyes so hard she'd have fallen over. “No, I'm shivering like this for the fun of it.”

Kara clicks her tongue once more. “Oh, baby. Here.” And to Lena's horror, she unzips her own ski jacket, leaving her in nothing but a thin base layer, and tugs Lena into the gap created by her open coat.

“You'll freeze!” Lena protests instinctively even as the warmth of Kara's body registers through her many, many layers and she presses closer, eager for more.

“You know I'm only wearing this coat for appearances,” the superheated Kryptonian reminds her, coaxing Lena's frozen hands against her back and pulling the edges of her jacket around her huddled form. “I'd give it to you, but people would probably look at me weird.”

"No, this is good,” Lena hums, the contrast of stillness after the past half-hour of wracking shivers a welcome reprieve. Her numb nose hits the fleece buff at Kara's neck, pressing beneath it to the heat of her skin.

Kara flinches at the sudden cold, chuckling as she wraps her arms more securely around Lena's body.

“Better?”

Lena sighs, pulling back far enough that their gazes meet. “Better. Thank you.”

Kara's eyes glint turquoise gold in the brilliant winter sunshine, something warm and undefined tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You know, I'm not sure you are,” she breathes, eyes crinkling. “Better, I mean. Your lips are turning blue.”

Lena's brow furrows. “It's highly unlikely I'm suffering from cyanosis at this temperature,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “I really doubt—”

“No, I definitely see a blueish tinge,” Kara insists, walking Lena backwards until her shoulders hit the curved plex of the gondola's side. “We'd better get them warmed up right away.”

And Lena is a fool, a damnable, irredeemable fool, for not seeing where this was heading from the very first word to fall from Kara's lips. Lena is a damnable, irredeemable fool, for finally realising exactly where this is going, and not doing a damn thing to stop it.

When Kara's mouth closes over her own this time, it's no longer accompanied by the shock of their previous encounters. This time the kiss is warm, intimate, sweet and tender and coalescing into a distinct feeling of comfort and home that Lena really should not get from making out with her platonic best friend.

And making out they are. With no audience around them, Kara abandons her relative chastity of their previous encounters in favour of pressing Lena back hard against the glass side, the solid warmth of her body an exquisite juxtaposition to the freezing plex. Kara's thigh slips between Lena's legs and one of them moans, low and breathy. Or maybe it's both of them, or maybe it doesn't matter, because Kara's hand is smoothing down Lena's side, down and down until it reaches her thigh, hooks beneath the back of it, hitching it up around her own waist.

And then there's delicious pressure and friction even through all these goddamned layers, and then there's gloved fingers beneath the buff at Lena's neck, tugging it down. And then Kara's mouth leaves her own to skate across her jaw, down her neck to attach itself to her pulse point, sucking firm and deliberate.

“No sign of slow heart rate,” Kara pants against her skin, tongue soothing over the hickey she'd just bestowed before venturing lower, repeating the process. “S’good. Not hypothermic.”

Lena doesn't even have it within herself to scoff at the flimsy pretence because Kara's mouth is already travelling back up to her own, licking in past the clean edge of her teeth, sucking Lena's tongue into her mouth as she cants her hips sharply into Lena's pelvis.

Lena moans, then, really and properly moans, right there into her best friend's mouth in a rickety gondola on the side of a ski hill she'd never wanted to come to in the first place.

Kara grins at the sound, grins right into the kiss, slowing the frantic tempo of their kisses into something smoother, saccharine and honeyed. She keeps them pressed close, foreheads and noses and lips brushing, over and over to the steady roll of the gondola up the mountainside.

When she finally pulls back it's barely a hair's breadth, smile wide, eyes sparkling. "Look at that,” she hums, low and rumbling as they reach the top. “Your lips are back to a healthy colour. What a lucky escape.”

And then she releases Lena only to grab her hand, tugging her out of the gondola and into the blinding snow like nothing had even happened.

Well.

Maybe it's the mind-numbing cold that does it. Maybe it's the altitude, the decreased oxygen getting to her brain. Maybe it's the plain and simple fact that her best friend in the world keeps making love to her with her mouth and then seeming to forget all about it thirty seconds later.

Whatever it is, Lena's had enough.

“No,” she calls at Kara's retreating back. “No. No way. Come here.”

Kara freezes from where she'd been bending to deposit their skis, turning to face Lena with the expression of a condemned man walking to the noose.

“What was that?” Lena demands, inwardly cringing at the high, shrill tone of her own voice. “Why did you do that?”

Kara's mouth opens and closes comically. Gloved fingers clench and unclench against the tops of her thighs. “Um, your lips were turning—”

“Don't bullshit me.” Lena stalks closer, the finger she's jabbing against Kara's chest forcing the blonde backwards until she hits the snow-covered bows of a nearby pine. “Why did you kiss me just then? Why have you been kissing me for months?”

Kara's teeth dig hard against the plush of her bottom lip. “I didn't— I only—”

“Tell me the truth,” Lena says, quieter now, pleading. “Please. Tell me the truth.”

Kara's cheeks are flushed above the collar of her jacket, a mouth-watering pink against the snow at her back. “Because I wanted to,” she whispers, almost inaudible over the sounds of the slopes. “Because— because I've always wanted to.”

Lena softens like the snow moulding to the shape of their bodies, jabbing finger replaced by a gentle hand over Kara's chest, over her ribs, over her heart. “Why didn't you just say so?”

A long moment of quiet between them as snow flutters down from the boughs overhead, crystallising on the ends of their eyelashes.

“I didn't know if you'd want me to,” Kara says in the smallest voice Lena's ever heard. “I didn't know if you'd let me, without a reason.”

“Darling, if I didn't want you to kiss me, I would never have let you,” Lena breathes, reaching out, smoothing her thumbs along the proud arch of golden cheekbones. “And your reasons have always been flimsy to say the least. I mean, what was next? What else would you have come up with?”

“I was going to kiss you after dinner so I could taste your dessert,” Kara says without so much as a second of hesitation, eyes wide and sombre. “I'd already planned it out.”

Lena's mouth drops open. “No.”

Kara flashes her a close-mouthed smile. “Yep.”

Lena shakes her head. “Really?”

Pink lips purse. “Uh huh.”

“Darling.” Lena laughs then, head thrown back, snowflakes melting on the heat of her upturned cheeks. “You were really scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one.”

“I know.” Two gloved hands slide tentatively around Lena's waist, blonde eyelashes fluttering. “Does— does this mean I won't have to use it?”

“Kara,” Lena says as gently as she can manage, sliding her palms up to cup the face of the woman she loves more than her heart can possibly contain, idiotic romance plans and all. “I've been casually making out with you for half a year under the guise of the worst come-ons imaginable. We've waited long enough. What do you say we skip dinner and go straight to our own dessert?”

Kara's smile is so wide Lena could drown in it. In fact, she plans to.

“I say, your lips are looking a little blue again,” she beams, scooping Lena clean off the ground and crushing their bodies together in an embrace so tight no force in the cosmos could break them apart. “I think I'd better take another look.”

#u right anon u r right #and you know who else is right? kara. for kissing her best friend at any given opportunity #if you see me slacking on the fic im SUPPOSED to be writing no you don't <3 #when the wave of inspiration hits one must ride it as far as one can. ours it not to reason where it goes #bone apple teeth #<3 #asks #dings dot txt #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl

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despazito · 3 months

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I think the whole "palword art is all AI generated" came from an unsourced tumblr post someone spread around. I mentioned it to a couple friends when I was whinging about the game, then was like "man I should find the interview where they said that".

I haven't been able to find a single like, verifiable source about AI art in Palworld. The devs DO have an entire game that rips off a single jackbox party game, you use AI to generate art based on a prompt, one player doesn't have the prompt, you have to identify the imposter. It's buggy and hasn't been updated since March, but that's the only conclusive evidence for it.

My biggest reason im not gonna buy into the game is that three of the teams four published projects are still in early access and riddled with bugs, with a fourth set to release into early access sometime this quarter. I don't know how large the team is, their site only has the CEO listed, but given how many games die in early access I'd rather put my money towards finished projects first.

I do think the pal designs are lazy, and I did jokingly say it looked like they just AI generated a bunch of fakemon before modeling and rigging them, but that's subjective and also hater behavior on my part. You've got good opinions around it, I do think a lot of the conversation is flattened more than it should be. Too many people talking about AI and art theft, not enough talking about how changing unrelated settings completely fucks your keybinds lmao

I'll be interested to see how the project progresses, I'd genuinely love to be wrong here and have it turn into something special.

there are character designers apparently listed in the credits.

i've seen people playing it and so far it seems to run totally alright

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noodyl-blasstal · 11 months

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15 for the writing game and you fucking KNOW it's blupjeans

The prompts are from this list and I’m still taking suggestions (although they might be a bit slow!)

Object: Denim jacket with bleach-painted bone motif Emotions: Totally Chill, Nothing Can Prove Otherwise and Can’t stop humming love songs

Of course I didn’t make the playlist, that would be ridiculous. (I did in fact make the playlist. Here you go!)

“Lup, hey, hey Lup. What the fuck?” Taako lets her headphone snap back against her ear and gives her The Look that means he thinks she’s being insane. She’s not, so there.

She puts down the paintbrush and pushes her headphones down round her neck. “What?”

“Lulu, sister mine, you’re humming stupid loud, everything smells of bleach, and it’s arse o’clock. Are you good? Do I need to go find the emergency conditioning treatment again?” Taako grabs her jaw and turns her head side to side and looks for signs of crispy hair. Lup pretends to bite him but doesn’t connect, because, well, fair. It wouldn’t be the first time and it’ll probably happen again, but this time it’s different. He of little faith!

“I’m doing art, Taako.”

“Uh huh. 2am art?”

“I’m feeling creative. You can’t dictate when that happens.”

“Can I dictate that you create quietly? Taako needs to sleep.” He leans himself over her back, tucking his head onto her shoulder and Lup nuzzles him slightly with her head. She almost forgets he’s a feral goblin until he pretends to snore loudly in her ear.

“Gross, gerrof Goofus!”

“I will if you promise to stop listening to your Barry playlist while you make… whatever this is?”

Lup definitely doesn’t choke on her own spit, and if she does then that’s definitely why she was red, nothing to do with the mention of Barry’s name, thank you so much. She was nothing but incredibly normal about him. Professionally normal, in fact. Sometimes you made playlists about the guys you reaped souls with. That was super normal. Sure, she didn’t have a Kravitz playlist, but that was just because… he was her boss. It’d be weird if it was her boss, but Barry wasn’t, so it was fine.

“It’s a rad skull jacket, I’m bleach painting thank you so much, and I’m not listening to my Barry playlist!” Lup realises her mistake a minute too late as Taako cackles gleefully and swipes for her phone. Lup knocks it out of his reach and adds “...which I don’t have, and that’s why I’m not listening to it, because you can’t listen to something that doesn’t exist, Taako.” Nailed it, perfect, this was gonna be fine.

“Uh huh. Then you won’t mind showing me what you’re listening to then will you?”

Lup couldn’t show Taako her phone. For reasons. Ones unrelated to the Reap Me Baby One More time playlist she definitely wasn’t listening to and didn’t in any way relate to Barold. “No.” Oh, yeah, great, Taako was definitely going to take no for an answer, that was a thing he did, especially when he could already smell blood in the water.

He darts round her before she can knock the phone even further away. “Good luck, Goofus. It’s locked.”

Taako turns and gives her a disparaging look before removing his glasses and holds up the phone. “We’re twins, idiot.” He says as her stupid traitor phone unlocks itself. “Ooooh, interesting. Just some platonic songs. Platonically stupid for you, a classic. Love you madly… platonically; I want you to want me in a friend way though. All fine and normal.”

Lup doesn’t say anything, she grabs her brush and ignores the prickling feeling of tears building behind her eyes. It’s fine, Taako’s just teasing, he doesn’t mean anything by it. She’ll just finish painting her skull jacket and Kravitz won’t even be able to complain about denim being unprofessional because it’ll be super rad and she can say it’s a portrait of him. He’s always susceptible to flattery.

“Hey, Lulu.” Taako slots himself back over her shoulder. “You should just tell him you know? Barold’s head over heels for you.”

“Taako, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine, don’t listen to your older, wiser, more beautiful brother.”

Lup jiggles her shoulder to try and get him off, but he sticks like a limpet. Fine, fine, if he’s not going anywhere then he can at least be a pillow about it. Lup rests her head against his. “I’ll tell him one day… probably.”

“You’d better. Also, you’re making another one of these.” Taako reaches over to tug the sleeve of the jacket very gently. “I’m adding diamante.”

Lup rolls her eyes, and finishes off the design. Maybe she can text Barry and ask if he wants to go for a drink after work tomorrow? He’ll definitely know that it’s different to all the other times they’ve been for after work drinks before…

#Lup and Taako wear their matching jackets out and the rest of reaper squad gets jealous so now all four of them have matching skull denim #TAZ fic #TAZ #The Adventure Zone #Lup #Lup Tacco #Taako Tacco #Taako #Noodyl Writes

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

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♥️ Negan Smith Masterlist ♥️

This is a masterlist dedicated to things I've written about Negan Smith.

Check out my Prompt List and my Character List in my Masterpost which is pinned for more info on who I write for and some inspiration for requests.

This is a mix of headcannons, oneshots and blurbs :)

Reunite:

Summary/Request: "can u write where the reader is negan’s daughter and he sees her in the line up (the scene where negan is first introduced/glenn and abraham’s death) and they share a cute moment or something!"

What Happened:

Summary/Request: "Negan will reunite with my oc or reader in the apocalypse after not seeing each other in years the last time they saw each other was when he found out Lucille had cancer."

Loyalty:

Summary/Request: "Hello! Could you write some headcanons about being one of negan’s wives?😀

Unrelenting:

Summary/Request: "hello lovely!! can i request literally anything with negan please? i’m so glad that you love him as much as i do🥰"

Putty In Her Hands:

Summary/Request: "let’s try this again😅 negan is negan; a big, loud-mouthed, cocky bastard, but as soon as reader comes into his line of view, he’s putty in her hands. i’m talking hanging onto her every word, punishing anyone who looks at her for longer than three seconds, completely obsessed with her."

Bad Guy:

Summary/Request: "You wanted more Negan requests? What about "Just because I'm the bad guy, doesn't mean I'm a *bad guy*" when he's flirting with reader. Maybe he's trying to convince her to be with him? Maybe he forced her to be one of his wives and wants her to like him more? Idk, wherever your brain goes with this one is perfect :)"

Sugar Sugar:

Summary/Request: "i feel like the sugar daddy/ sugar baby au would suit negan really well, especially with the prompts “No one’s ever made me feel like this.”, "Are you blushing?"and "If I ask you to kiss me, to be with me, in front of all these people, will you do it?" 🥰"

Permission:

Summary/Request: "Maggie and Reader never got along for some reason Maggie blames her, so when she goes back to Alexandria (Season 10?) there's a fight because Reader is with Negan so Maggie throws a lot of shit on Reader"

Dramatic:

Summary/Request: " i was wondering if you would feel comfortable writing smut for negan? like maybe he sees the reader being a little too nice to the other saviors and he gets all jealous and possessive?"

Mean:

Summary/Request: "can i request “you’re being mean” and “did i stutter?” with negan please? spice, angst, whatever you’re feeling!!"

Only Friends:

Summary/Request: " something about reader being the only one who’s nice to and taking care of negan while he’s locked up?"

Good Girl:

Summary/Request: "could you do “are you blushing?” and “good girl, that’s it” with negan please 🤭 i just know he’d be a jerk if he ever caught you blushing haha"

Outside The Walls:

Summary/Request: "friend you’re really doing the lord’s work with this theme tonight!! can i request “come on, let’s get you cleaned up” and hey, look at me. im not going anywhere” with negan pls? (i might have a couple more but im still thinking hehe)"

Hard Time:

Summary/Request: "Hello! Anon here who requested the Negan father/ daughter request. “Freed” as in after the whole whispers thing. He walking Alexandria freely?"

I Need You:

Summary/Request: "Can you write a fic with the prompts 4 and 19?"

Nothing To Say:

Summary/Request: "hii, for your angst night could you do Negan Smith with unrequited love? preferably male reader or gender neutral. any prompt is fine :)"

#negan #negan x reader #negan smith #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fic

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finniestoncrane · 2 years

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Hello, I don’t know how many asks I’ve sent you so if it’s a lot I’m sorry I just love your content 😭

Could we may haps have the riddlers with a reader who has a fair amount of tattoos, and what they think of them? Also their reaction to seeing a little “?” Tattoo somewhere on them? If it’s too much I totally understand. 👍🏼

Riddler Headcanons: Tattooed Reader

Riddlers x GN!Tattooed!Reader absolutely omg i keep threatening to get a question mark tramp stamp and i can't tell if my husband is on board but i know eddie would be u-u and PLEASE that's not too much at all, never too much, bless you for sending me things 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: bodies and sex and kinks etc.

gotham

he's kind of put off at first, because he's an idiot. he's got himself confused about the worth of someone in direct correlation to how spoiled they might be, so piercings and tattoos aren't things he thought he was interested in. but watching you work and seeing the ink twist and change shape as your arms move really does it for him. wait until he sees how the ones on your back move too... if he spotted a little question mark tattoo on you, it would definitely seal his attraction. it's a mark of faith in his ability to truly embody the riddler.

dano

he's into it, like hardcore. he has a definite marking kink, and tattoos and piercings kind of do it for him in that sense. a permanent sign on your skin? great. you'd be totally up for biting each other and getting the tooth marks tattooed? look pop off bestie, i love that for you both. seeing your body covered in tattoos, bite marks, hickeys and his finger imprints would drive him wild you better believe this lil baddy is getting matching tattoos of his little logo with you. his is going on his bicep so he looks tough when he flexes, yours is going on your lower back or neck so he can always see it from his favourite position

unburied

oh you have tattoos? he has one, bet it's cooler *proceeds to lift up his little sweatshirt to show you the worst stick and poke question mark you've ever seen* but when you reveal your copious artworks, he's too busy trying to keep his mouth from dropping open to even be jealous. so pretty, so artistic, so hot? even if you got the question mark before you knew him for entirely unrelated reasons, he is 100% convincing himself that it's a sign of your unwavering adoration of him, that you worship him, pain in the ass

arkham

ok so his thing? tank tops. arms out, muscles greasy and sweaty. add to that the idea of the arms being covered in tattoos? hng. you'd really have him acting up. he's never got one himself, worried about the pain oddly enough. needles stress him out (thanks jon) and so he's avoided them. but getting to look at them on someone else? perfection a little question mark tattoo in honour of him? the ego boost he didn't need. get ready to have him force you to display it to everyone and anyone, regardless of the placement

telltale

tattoos are very meh. and you'd be wise to remember that too much of a good thing can be bad, or at least look bad. and no he's not still staring, it's just distracting is all, and not in a good way. no. no. as though he wasn't already unavoidably aware of your daddy issues, you're going to reveal that you're covered in ink. and how many colours has your hair been? ok that one, the little question mark? you got it for him? oh you really shouldn't have. but don't worry, he's always wanted to experiment with lasers

young justice

it's debatable that a super cool hottie with tattoos would ever talk to him, but if you did he'd be so flustered, stammering and sweating omg. get ready for a million questions too! did it hurt? what does this one mean? where else do you have them? how many do you have? do you think i'm cool enough to get one? god his little face would light up if you got a little question mark tattoo for him! blushing, speechless, unable to get out much more than a squeaky "that's cool"

capullo

he knew you had a thing for pain, and now he's questioning if you were turned on the whole time you were getting the tattoos done. would you get a tattoo of him on you? he'd like that, it would be hot. wait you should get some of those hot pin up ones too so he has something to look at while he's banging you! no WAIT you should get... that question mark tattoo is something he has specifically requested and the first time he sees it completely healed he is licking it, kissing it, biting it, sucking it. so you better have picked a good place

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shrinkthisviolet · 9 months

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20 for Iris and Caitlin?

Took this prompt as platonic, so here you go! This takes place during Barry’s coma (and features Cisco, because Iris needs someone to talk to)

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

"...she okay?"

Caitlin froze at the sound of Iris West's voice.

"What?" Cisco's voice, much to Caitlin's bemusement. Since when did Iris West want to talk to either of them about something unrelated to Barry?

"Caitlin," Iris clarified, confusing Caitlin further. "She just seems..."

Caitlin scowled, ready to burst in and give Iris a piece of her mind, professionalism be damned, but then Cisco did it for her:

"If she's not happy enough for you," he said sharply, "then—"

"No, no!" Iris said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure this wasn't easy on any of you, but...she seems like she took it especially hard. I was just worried about her but...it's none of my business. I get it."

You're right, Caitlin thought, it's not. But still, Iris's concern touched her. They barely knew each other, and yet...

Cisco sighed, perhaps sensing this. "It's not my story to tell, really. You should ask her."

Bless you, Cisco. What had Caitlin done to deserve a friend like him?

"She doesn't seem very inclined to talk to me," Iris retorted.

"Well, it's like you said. The explosion was hard on all of us...and she took it especially hard. There is a reason...but I'm her best friend, and that means I'm not gonna tell her business to just anyone. If you wanna know...ask her yourself."

"I will," Iris agreed. "Thanks, Cisco."

He smiled slightly. "Sure thing. Thank you, too. Cait doesn't have a lot of people looking out for her...she probably won't admit it, but she'll be glad for your concern."

"She deserves it," Iris said firmly. “Not just because of what she’s doing for Barry, but…just in general. Everyone deserves to be looked out for.”

And as Caitlin slipped away, acutely aware of how long she'd left Barry Allen alone...she allowed herself a small smile.

Things still sucked. They still would, for a long time, and Caitlin missed Ronnie every day. Sometimes, it felt like Ronnie had taken all of Caitlin’s warmth and hope with him when he died.

But if a near-stranger like Iris West could show Caitlin kindness...well, then maybe there was indeed still hope left in the world.

from this prompt list!

#the flash #caitlin snow #iris west #cisco ramon #iris & caitlin #lavi’s prompt fills

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zipzinz · 2 years

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Wishes

I’m doing a mix of Whumptober and Flufftober prompts this year, this one is for @flufftober - Shooting Stars.

This is set a month post finale Legend of Korra, with established Kyalin enjoying the evening.

A cool suffused the air as night fell. It was a nice change from the sweltering, unrelenting heat that had plagued the city all week. Republic City was shifting into autumn, and hopefully that was the last heat wave of the year.

Kya shivers and curses herself. She lived in the South Pole, there was no reason to get chilly after just a month spent here. She was used to temperatures below zero. It was just because of all the stone in Lin’s apartment, Kya justifies, of course Lin insisted on being able to feel everything.

Even Kya’s mom didn’t live in an igloo made entirely of ice.

The lights of Republic City only dimmed at the large scars left from Kuvira’s attack. The rebuilding couldn’t yet be seen from Lin’s balcony, but Kya knew enough from Lin that it was making good progress. It was on schedule. For now.

The door swings open, and Lin comes out and gives her a cup of tea, “Here you go, love.”

Kya leans against her, enjoying the feeling of sturdy muscles and the knowledge that Lin’s knees are healed (they aren’t perfect, but she’s no longer limping around insisting that she’s fine). “Thank you.”

She raises one hand over the steam, going through an old exercise until it forms into a heart.

“Sap.” Lin’s dry voice says next to her, but she’s smiling and presses a kiss to Kya’s cheek.

“Only for you.” Kya promises.

Lin makes the tiny grumble that always means she’s trying to act annoyed, and Kya stoops and leans a head on her shoulder, looking upwards at the dark sky. The lights of the city dim many of the stars, but there’s still the bright constellation of the kite visible.

“Look,” Kya points in disbelief at the brilliant streak across the sky, “A shooting star! Make a wish.”

Lin lets out a sigh, “Aren’t we too old for this childish nonsense?”

Kya merely raises her eyebrows.

In a softer voice Lin whispers, “There’s nothing I need to wish for.”

“Now who's the sap!” Kya laughs, her cheeks tinged with red.

“Fine!” Lin grumbles, “I want a perfect knee and hip. The construction to be finished. My staff to not schedule pointless meetings. Korra to not wreck anything this month.” Lin grunts out, listing out each wish in rapid fire. Kya can only laugh more as she continues, “President Saikhan to finally approve the budget that’s sitting on his desk. My mother to visit when one of us isn’t in mortal danger. Su to stop badgering me to go on a family vacation.” She smiles softly at Kya, “For you to be happy and healthy.”

“I love you.” It blubbers out of Kya without thought. She turns and presses a kiss to Lin’s lips. Lin responds eagerly, one of her arms pulling her closer, and the other cupping Kya’s cheek. This is home. Kya lets out a happy sigh as they break apart, both of their eyes twinkling.

“That’s good,” Lin mutters, “Would be embarrassing if this was all unrequited.”

Kya is certain her laughs can be heard throughout the city.

#flufftober2022 #day 8 #legend of korra #kyalin #lin beifong #kya ii #my writing: kyalin #my writing: legend of korra #my writing #mine

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idk-bruh-20 · 2 years

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Frequently Asked Questions

Questions:

What even is this blog?

Can I submit fic ideas?

Can I submit fic appreciations?

Can I talk to you about things unrelated to Irondad?

If I use one of the fic ideas, should I credit you?

Why don't you just write them yourself?

Where can I read the fic ideas that have been written so far?

If I like one of the fic ideas but I want to change parts of it, can I do that?

If someone else already used a fic idea, can I still use the same one?

Do you support "Starker" (romantic ship between Tony and Peter)?

What if I do? Can I reblog your posts with starker tags?

But-

Why do you keep saying you'll be too busy to post for a while, and then I see you on here again less than 24 hours later?

Anything else I should know about this blog?

Answers:

1. What even is this blog?

All things Irondad, but mostly:

Irondad fic ideas that you can use

Fic appreciations - recs for really good Irondad fics

Fanart that I like

Random thoughts about Them

2. Can I submit fic ideas?

YES PLEASE SEND ME YOUR FIC IDEAS / PROMPTS

How it works is I will respond to your ask, and then I'll also post the fic idea in the same format as the other ones and tag that it was yours.

For a list of allll the fic ideas that we've had so far, look in the tag irondad fic ideas (also linked in the tags page)

3. Can I submit fic appreciations?

YES ABSOLUTELY. TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE FICS THAT YOU'VE LOVED.

For fic appreciations, I will tag your ask directly instead of rewriting it, so feel free to include any reasons why you love that fic / why you think other people should read it / anything else you think people should know.

For a collection of my recs + the recs submitted by others, check the tag fic appreciations

4. Can I talk to you about things unrelated to Irondad?

Yes!

I am (in the tone of MJ's disgust and somewhat affection) a loser. I am not scary, I'm a complete freak. Talk to me about whatever <3

5. If I use one of the fic ideas, should I credit you?

You can if you want, but - way more importantly to me, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU'VE USED AN IDEA SO THAT I CAN READ IT!

I share these fic ideas because they are fics I want to read T-T

6. Why don't you just write them yourself?

Brain is too stupid. Nothing up there.

I'm also just not a writer. And my IRL life is :) nuts

7. Where can I read the fic ideas that have been written so far?

Check out the tag completed fic ideas!

If you want to quickly check if anyone has tried one of the ideas, here's a list of the ones that have been completed so far (that I know of).

8. If I like one of the fic ideas but I want to change parts of it, can I do that?

Yep, knock yourself out! You're the writer. Even if you change 99% of an idea but still used some inspiration from it, you can also still tell me about it if you want - chances are I'll still want to read it.

9. If someone else already used a fic idea, can I still use the same one?

YES PLEASE DO.

How many field trip fics do we have?? I will read the same storylines of these two idiots forever until I die.

10. Do you support "Starker" (romantic ship between Tony and Peter)?

NO.

11. What if I do? Can I reblog your posts with starker tags?

NOPE.

12. But-

NUH-UH. HOE DO NOT DO IT.

On this blog we do NOT support that shit. We support only the platonic father-son relationship between Tony and Peter. Any romantic version of this would be pedophilia.

Do we believe that Tony is a pedophile? No. Go elsewhere.

13. Why do you keep saying you'll be too busy to post for a while, and then I see you on here again less than 24 hours later?

My IRL life is fucked up, friends! I genuinely do not have time to post on here as much as I do. If you see me on here after I've said I need to go, assume that I'm losing sleep and should be shot on sight

14. Anything else I should know?

I think I'm funny in the tags sometimes. ✨✨

Also I will post any blog updates or announcements in the announcements page

#faq #idkb faq #is this pretentious? YEAH #but I just wanted to clear up any confusion #if you have more questions you'd like answered or if there are any common questions you think I've missed let me know #literally ignore how pretentious this is I beg of you #<3 #announcements #irondad and spiderson #iron dad and spider son

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nawilla · 1 year

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When Death Doesn’t Bring Mourning

Before the pandemic, I was involved in a local volunteer organization in a neighborhood I no longer live in (can’t afford to stay there). I was friends/acquaintances with the other volunteers and we did fundraising and made spending decisions for the cause we were helping. We have not met since before the pandemic and I honestly think the organization is going to dissolve for unrelated reasons. Most of the volunteers were senior citizens/retired, but there were a few of us in our forties.

This week I got an email from one of the officers that she had seen an obituary for a different officer. I knew the late person’s name but it had been so long since we had a meeting that I had to check my own notes to confirm she was who I thought she had been. I had been correct as to her identity though it didn’t immediately come to mind. And now I’m not sure how exactly to feel about it. Because I didn’t interact with her much, but every time I did this woman was a raging bitch.

This woman made it absolutely clear every time she did show up for a monthly meeting (once or twice a year) that we were an inconvenience to her, she had better things she could be doing, that she was carrying out her elected duties as a favor to the organization president, and that she disagreed with decisions made at meetings she never bothered to show up for. She was just entirely unpleasant, abrasive, self-important, and the self-elected authority and only proper representative of the historically ethnic minority in a community that was now much more homogenous. At one of our last meetings (after a very traumatic community event that she was understandably devastated by) she almost tearfully told us she would not be participating anymore. No one said anything to encourage her to reconsider. I wonder if we as a collective group were just grateful she opted to leave voluntarily instead of berating the rest of us for not running the organization her way or trying to use the traumatic event to wrest more control for herself.

When a previous board member passed away, we acknowledged it in the group and I reached out to other members for guidance about sending a shiva gift to the family. (Several of the board members are Jewish whereas I am not. It’s not a religious organization). I still see what I sent in my Harry & David gift list and if other members of the board passed, I would ask where to send food or flowers as appropriate. But this time I had no emotional prompt to send anything, even after I confirmed her identity. Interestingly I didn’t see any replies to the initial email so I don’t think the group is planning to acknowledge her passing as a group. And while I will likely not rejoin the group if it doesn’t disband (for reasons unrelated to this), I feel strange about not acknowledging the dead and not feeling badly about it, knowing that if this now dead woman were able to see a reaction or a non-reaction to her death, she would be bitching about it regardless of what we did or didn’t do.

I’m not looking for advice, and I know it’s in poor taste to speak ill of the dead. She was not without redeeming qualities. She was a strong advocate for the Jewish (particularly the Orthodox Jewish) community, she was clearly involved in her congregation, and she did volunteer her time to different groups. I’m sure she had people who loved her and mourned her passing. But she never learned how to do these things without being nasty about it, seemed to feel that acknowledging the larger community was a slight against her own religion, and acted as if her personal opinions and desires were the final word, even superior to her fellow Jewish board members (which led to some interesting board meetings when she didn’t attend but made her opinions known). I don’t think she saw me as lesser for not being Jewish, mainly because she seemed to think her fellow Jews weren’t good enough either. The phrase ‘holier-than-thou’ often came to mind.

I want to feel bad for her family because that is what one is supposed to do when someone you know dies, but with everything that’s been on my own plate I just can’t manage to muster up true sympathy and reach out right now, and I have to wonder if those that would mourn her would be equally abrasive if I did. If I would be found lacking and looked down on because anything I do wouldn’t have satisfied her. I’m concerned that I just don’t care, that I had mentally separated her face from her name (despite linking it in a Powerpoint once), Does this apathy make me a bad person? A defensive person? A person with better things to do than go out of my way for someone who was just unkind in all of our interactions? Am I not enough of a bigger person to find something better to say about her now that she is gone?

I know that very often bullies (and she was a bully) are the way they are because of some bad experience in their life. But as fellow volunteers we were not close enough that it merited me looking for a deeper understanding of her.

Part of me wonders how many people I know will be indifferent to my death when I’m gone. I’m not abrasive like this (her level took active effort to sustain), but I’m not a warm person either.

Perhaps at some later date I will remember something more positive about her. Perhaps there is nothing in all of our interactions that fits. I know that it is hard to lose a parent, even a scathing, emotionally abusive, and self-centered one. Maybe she is just too much like the worst side of my mother (except she presented it to the world, unlike my mother who masked it from all but family). I suspect as I continue to type this that that is why I feel like this. I’ve already mourned someone who treated me with contempt at times who was someone I loved to have sympathy for someone who treated me with contempt as a mere acquaintance. Maybe I could be a better person, but today I’m not. Maybe it’s just my brain protecting me or refusing to invest the emotional bandwidth.

I think I’ll put off being a bigger person to another day. I wish her no ill will, but I don’t wish her anything else either.

#death #lack of grief #speaking ill of the dead #volunteering

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quelsentiment · 3 years

Text

wait

#i just started watching community and i was like 'oh i wonder if there's any community x 1d fics' (i haven't found anything so far)#but then for unrelated reasons i was just looking at the list of prompts for the zouis fest and there's a community prompt!!#with zouis as troy and abed!!!#aaah that's so tempting but also no i don't have time fml #anyway if the person who submitted it is following me and sees this... love your brain pal

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sunder-soul · 3 years

Note

Can you write an X Reader story with Tom?, where Tom "falls in love" or is attracted to Reader, but she is dating someone else (a Slytherin boy maybe or... from another house) and tries to make she his even if he is rejected at first.

(Perhaps even try a more extreme approach, for example at Professor Slughorn’s party under the table while she is sitting next to him).

Can you write something fluff and smut? Thank you very much.

(sorry if I wrote something in English that is wrong...it’s not my language...I hope you understand). ★

First of all, your English is great, second of all, this prompt is amazing.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Spoken For

Summary: You’re already spoken for when Tom Riddle asks you to Slughorn’s party, but luckily (or unluckily), Tom is hardly known to give up on anything he wants so easily.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Content warning: explicit sex.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“No,” you frown, turning and striding away as quickly as you can, hoping he doesn’t follow but –

“Why not?” Tom says at once, falling in close step beside you.

“I don’t need to give you a reason to turn you down, Tom,” you mutter.

“But you have one.” His eyes are trained on your face, watching for anything he can glean.

“And why exactly do you want to go with me?” you say dryly, weaving through the students milling in the hall between classes and rather desperately hoping that he falters at the question and leaves you alone.

“You want me to list your virtues?” he asks in an equally sardonic tone and not shying away in the slightest.

Damn. The boy’s persistent. “I’m not looking for an ego boost,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised that I want you to be my date?”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps if you indulged me, the reasons would become clear,” Tom says delicately.

You shoot him a look. “Nice try.”

“You seem to have already made up your mind regardless,” he replies at once, eyes narrowing.

You exhale slowly, holding your books a little tighter. You hadn’t wanted it to get to this, but it looks like you have no other choice. “I already have a date to Slughorn’s party,” you say, frowning again.

Tom stops walking, catching your arm and making you stop, too. Your heart thrums nervously in your chest. “Who?” he asks quietly.

His expression has gone perfectly smooth, but you’re hardly fooled. It’s well known that Tom’s tenacity is rivalled only by his intolerance of failure, a combination that won him his place as the best student in your year – you can only imagine how he’s processing the fact that it hasn’t done him any favours with you. “That doesn’t concern you,” you say with deliberate sharpness, pulling your arm from his grasp.

His expression doesn’t change, his dark eyes levelled on yours with a heavy, inescapable scrutiny.

Your stomach twists with guilt and nerves in equal measure. The truth is that you’re (reluctantly) already spoken for, Axel Pembroke asked you out three months prior and you’d been on quite a few dates since. Whilst you aren’t exactly head-over-heels for the boy, your family adores him, he’s polite and innocuous, and he doesn’t seem to mind (or perhaps notice) your lukewarm feelings towards him.

Which is exactly why you’d tried to shut Tom down and get away so quickly. Intelligent and quiet, observant and shrewd, beautiful just to top it off; Tom makes you curious, you want to say yes to him, and that makes him more than a little dangerous to you.

So here you are, turning him down so abruptly that it must be fairly easy to interpret it as callousness.

“Tom,” you say quietly, “I… maybe if I wasn’t… already…”

He blinks, his attention as unrelenting as ever, but you’re suddenly wondering what people would say if it got out that you’d told him such a thing whilst dating Axel.

“I should go,” you say hastily, forcing your eyes away from him. “I hope you find another date.”

You hurry off, and thankfully this time Tom doesn’t follow.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

In retrospect, you should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.

The dinner party is a long, tedious affair made all the worse by the fact that Axel is too busy discussing the merits and flaws of the Holyhead Harpies line-up for the coming Quidditch season with the boys next to him to have spoken much more than two complete sentences to you all night. His attentiveness to you, you’re learning, is apparently extremely fickle and entirely dependent on whether or not he’s around his friends. Even worse, the seat beside you is empty and you’ve been forced to spend the evening in silence as you pick at your food at the end of the table, wishing time might pass faster.

Around seven-thirty the door to the chamber swings open and everyone looks up as Tom walks inside, dressed in smartly-fitted but simple black dress robes and looking so strikingly handsome that you catch several people at the table trade furtive glances with each other. “Apologies, Professor,” he says with a polite nod at Slughorn, “the meeting with the Headmaster ran overtime.”

“Not to worry, Tom my boy!” Slughorn says jovially, leaping to his feet and sending his napkin flying into Phoebe Minks’ soup. “Take a seat! The night is still young!”

Your blood runs hot and electric under your skin. There’s only one seat left at the table and it’s next to you.

“Of course, sir,” Tom says smoothly, eyes flicking to you with humour as he approaches.

You avert your gaze, trying (completely in vain) to catch Axel’s attention – he’s half-turned from you so as to better hear some fifth-year Gryffindor’s rundown of the previous season’s highlights and is not paying you any attention in the slightest.

“Good evening,” Tom says softly as he takes the seat beside you.

You nod silently, suddenly very preoccupied with refilling your goblet.

“Tell us about this meeting then, Tom!” Slughorn calls from the other end of the table.

“Dull affairs, I’m afraid, sir,” he says back with a good-natured drawl. “I’m due to supervise the third years on their first trip to Hogsmeade next month.”

“Oh? Nothing else?”

“No, sir,” Tom says with a razor-sharp smile, “I’m sure whatever you were discussing before my arrival was of infinitely more interest.”

Slughorn chortles but returns to his conversation with the aristocratic-looking Ravenclaw seventh-years beside him. You glance desperately at Axel. Please turn around, you will him, please turn around so that I don’t have to talk to –

“The aforementioned date, I presume,” Tom says softly.

And you can’t avoid turning to him. His elbows are resting on the table before him, slowly tilting his crystal goblet in small circles and watching the liquid shift inside. He’s not looking at you but it’s obvious where his comment is directed.

“And yet you end up beside me regardless,” you mutter.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Tom says, giving you a delicate smile.

Your eyes dart across his face suspiciously, but his smile doesn’t budge.

“Your chemistry is overwhelming,” he says smoothly, nodding at the back of Axel’s head. “I can see the appeal.”

“Stop it,” you mutter pointedly, frowning at your goblet again.

“No, I’m quite serious,” he continues, smile widening, “your rejection makes perfect sense, now, how could I possibly compete with such enamoured affections?”

“It’s not usually like this,” you say quietly, embarrassed.

“Oh?” Tom asks, lifting his goblet to his full lips and watching you closely. “Normally you’re utterly infatuated, are you?” He takes a slow sip, not looking away.

Damn him, you think angrily, wrenching your eyes off his beautiful face and feeling heat on your own. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Well, in the absence of your date’s conversation, perhaps my own might suffice as an adequate substitute,” Tom says smoothly, lowering his goblet and setting it down on the table before him.

“And what would you want to talk about?” you ask with an unmissable brush of sarcasm.

“Oh Quidditch, naturally,” he says with a smirk, glancing briefly at Axel again.

You shoot him another look but his amusement doesn’t falter. “You’re hilarious,” you drawl.

“Well what would you like to talk about?” Tom asks quietly, tilting his head and giving you a strangely penetrating look.

You blink. Something about his demeanour makes the question very easy to answer honestly. “I’d rather talk about anything other than Quidditch.”

Tom breathes a small laugh and he turns towards you. “Well in that case, I’m very well prepared to please you,” he says very smoothly, “I know next to nothing about Quidditch and I’m quite determined to keep it that way.”

You laugh too, and then get very annoyed at yourself for doing so. “This isn’t a date,” you tell him quickly, leaning in a little closer and speaking as quietly as you can.

“Of course not,” Tom replies smoothly, his lips curving into a smile as he lifts a hand to his cheekbone and leans against it thoughtfully.

“Just a conversation,” you continue very intently.

“Naturally.”

“It’s normal to converse with other people at a dinner party.”

“Utterly commonplace,” Tom smiles.

You hesitate, suddenly wondering exactly which of you you’re reassuring. “Alright,” you say slowly, lifting your goblet. “Let’s talk.”

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’re hardly surprised when he’s sitting next to you at the next Slugclub dinner party, too. And the next. In fact, Tom is mysteriously beside you at every one of Slughorn’s gatherings all term, and you’re quite certain that Axel might have drawn issue with someone talking to you so much if he’d bothered to turn around even once.

Not that he has any reason to be bothered, of course. They’re just conversations, nothing more. Maybe Tom’s dry, bitingly observant sense of humour makes you laugh more than anyone else ever has, and maybe he asks questions with direct, astute candidness that make it unavoidably obvious that he’s paying very close attention to your answers, and maybe he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life – but they’re just conversations.

“Slughorn is having another dinner this weekend,” Tom says casually as he falls into step with you in the Charms corridor.

“Is he now?” you say wryly, trying to ignore the excitement curling in your stomach.

“Go with me.”

Your smile fades and you stop walking, looking up at Tom in surprise. He stops too, his regal features settled into something serious and impenetrable as he looks back at you.

“You mean… sit together?” you ask carefully.

“No,” Tom says plainly, “I mean as my date.”

You blink, glancing around nervously. “Tom, you know that I’m going with –”

“If Pembroke paid you any less attention you could strangle Slughorn to death right on the table and he still wouldn’t stop talking to Blakeslee and Dunn about which broomsticks the Americans are using this year,” Tom interrupts, arching a brow.

“He’s my date,” you say coolly.

“He’s not your date,” Tom retorts immediately, all humour vanishing as he steps closer. “Don’t insult yourself by considering that a date.”

“I told you that we’re just having conversations, Tom,” you whisper angrily.

“Oh? Are they just conversations?” Tom breathes.

But all you can do is stare at him as the hours you’ve spent talking to him in Slughorn’s parties swim across your consciousness and you realise with mounting horror that no, no they were not just conversations. You swallow hard and look away. “I don’t want to have to turn you down again,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Then don’t,” he says bluntly, not moving away.

“Tom.”

“I know you want to choose me.”

You shoot him another look of warning. “Stop it,” you hiss.

“Stop lying to yourself,” he hisses back, leaning closer.

“I won’t throw Axel under the bus just because I have feelings for you, Tom,” you say angrily.

Tom immediately stands up straighter, triumph glittering in his eyes as he looks down at you and you realise exactly what you’ve just said. Horror washes over you in a cold wave and you turn on your heel and flee, barely paying attention to where you’re going in your haste to get away from him.

You’re already dreading the coming weekend.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You seriously consider not going until Axel starts getting suspicious as to why you’re so reluctant and you’re forced to swallow your mumbled collection of excuses, put on a nice dress, and follow him to the party. Tom looks up from where he’s sat at the far end of the table when you enter and you quickly avert your eyes as warmth erupts on your skin, giving Slughorn a very forced smile at the head of the table.

“Excellent stuff in the last match, Pembroke,” Slughorn winks, “I’ll have to have a word with Begonia Pincushion from the Wimbourne Wasps – old student of mine, you know –”

Axel immediately starts gushing in excitement and walks off without you to sit next to Slughorn, leaving you quite alone and without an open seat beside him. You blink, embarrassment filtering through your chest as the other party-goers awkwardly look between you and Axel – now so engrossed in his conversation with Slughorn that he hasn’t even noticed the whole room staring at you standing by yourself.

“There’s a spare seat here, if you’d like,” a Hufflepuff girl you don’t know offers quickly, smiling at you as she gestures at the chair beside her.

Your eyes drift unbidden to Tom at the end of the table and find him already looking at you, composed and inscrutable. His group of Slytherin fanboys fill the seats around him, but there’s a space. There’s a space on his right. You don’t think for a second that it’s just by chance.

“Thank you,” you say to the Hufflepuff girl, feeling brazenly reckless, “that’s very kind, but I think I’m spoken for.”

And you resolutely turn and make your way over to Tom, ignoring the way his lips slowly curl into a knowing smile as you approach, the way the other Slytherin boys immediately turn away and fall into deep conversation with each other, they way they don’t look at either you or Tom again.

Tom turns to you as you sit down, lightly resting his head against his hand the same way he had the very first time you’d talked to him, his expression somewhere between satisfied and amused. “Hello,” he says dryly.

“Don’t push it,” you mutter, seizing a goblet and filling it.

He breathes a laugh. “Did I just witness the final straw?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you frown, glancing down the table where Axel still hasn’t noticed your absence.

Tom’s amusement slowly fades as he looks at you, his own brow furrowing. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

Your eyes flash to his, something thrumming unignorably in your chest. You nod and force yourself to take a sip of your drink.

“You look beautiful.”

You blink, something fragile fluttering in your chest as your face floods with heat as you stare at his calm, attentive expression, his posture unmoved.

“Am I allowed to say that now?” he asks smoothly, smirking slightly.

“I think that counts as pushing it,” you mumble, knowing he’s bound to have noticed your blush as you look away.

“You’ll have to tell me when I cross the line,” he says softly.

“You’re relentless.”

“I am,” he smiles, lifting his goblet.

You try to smother your own smile with very dubious success, having to hide it behind a sip of your drink instead.

“So,” Tom says a good two hours later, setting down his empty goblet, “I think it only fair that you give me a definitive answer, all things considered.”

“An answer?” you echo, arching a brow.

“Are you going to be my date?” he asks lightly, looking at you.

You falter, eyes darting to Axel at the front of the table. Most of the dinner guests are a little tipsy on the heavy wine Slughorn always serves, and loud, boisterous conversation fills the room – though nothing can drown out Axel’s brazen lack of acknowledgement that you’ve been sitting with Tom all evening. “I… don’t know…” you say, frowning.

“You’re not seriously going to consider him after this, are you?” Tom says at once, leaning towards you with a dangerously sharp look in his dark eyes.

“What do you want me to do, Tom?” you breathe. “Our families get on, he’s not horrible to me –”

“He’s not horrible to you,” Tom repeats, scathingly unimpressed.

“I have no good reason to end things with him!”

Tom’s eyes flash and his hand is suddenly on your thigh under the table, his fingers pressing hard into your skin and your heart just about stops. “No good reason,” he echoes softly, gripping you tighter. “Is that true?”

“Tom,” you whisper, frozen in place.

“Is it?” he asks silkily.

You can barely breathe. Tom’s grip is loosening but not to let you go – his hand is moving, agonisingly slowly, relentlessly, sliding up your leg. “Tom,” you say again, barely audible.

“Have I crossed the line?” he whispers, his palm pushing up your dress as it slides higher up your thigh.

When you don’t reply, Tom’s lips curve into a smile and he turns quite casually back to his plate, hand still on your thigh under the table as he reaches forward and lifts his goblet. “You did agree to tell me if I did,” he says softly, his fingers grazing up the inside of your leg and making you supress a shiver.

And you beg yourself to tell him to stop, to ask him to take his hand away, but heat is flooding your stomach and his hand is warm and firm on your skin, and there’s a burning look in his eyes when he glances at you that makes something between excitement and desire spark in every part of your body.

Tom’s hand moves higher and you lean your elbows on the table in front of you, staring unseeing at your plate as his fingers brush the hollow where your leg meets your hip.

“Are you going to choose?” he asks quietly, watching you.

You look up across the table in fear that someone, anyone might have noticed – but no one is paying you any attention in the slightest, the rambunctious conversation drowning out Tom’s words and the wine blurring their awareness of everything else.

Tom lifts his goblet, his eyes fixed on your face. “Tell me to stop,” he says softly, sliding his fingers across your underwear and making you grit your teeth to stop yourself from reacting.

“Tom,” you try again, barely audible.

“Tell me.”

His fingers are playing with the top of your underwear, and you look over at him, arousal and fear and nerves and excitement tearing in your chest. Tom’s eyes are alight with amusement, his attention still on your face as he smiles, brings his goblet to his lips for a slow sip that you watch him take, captivated.

You grit your teeth again and say nothing.

Tom’s smile grows and suddenly his hand is gone. You blink, cheeks flooding with sudden embarrassment and dread at what has just occurred, wondering if he’ll tell people what you’d let him do, wondering if he’d done it all just to mess with you –

“Make your choice,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back in his chair very languidly.

“You’re seriously trying to seduce me?” you manage to say under your breath.

“It appears to be working,” he smirks, glancing at you.

Your blush returns and Tom’s eyes roam your cheeks looking very pleased with the reaction, when he suddenly stands. “Some music, perhaps, sir?” he asks Slughorn with an unaffected smile.

Slughorn is delighted by the suggestion (of course he is), and in mere minutes the dinner party is milling around the room in small groups of conversation, reedy music blaring loudly from a large golden gramophone by the fireplace.

“Axel,” you say quickly, approaching him where he’s talking to three other boys you don’t know very well.

“Oh – haven’t seen you much tonight,” he says casually, glancing at you.

“No – listen, do you want to dance?” you offer, nodding at the small group of other couples a few feet away. Please say yes, please say yes, please give me a single reason to choose you, please do something –

“I’m in the middle of something,” Axel says distractedly, turning back to the three boys, “maybe later.”

He’s already back in conversation before you can reply. You stare at him, your disappointment almost as potent as your absolute absence of surprise.

A hand around your wrist makes you jump, and you wheel around to find Tom already insistently leading you towards the back of the room. “What are you –”

But Tom just casts one last look over the party before he tugs you into a very small, shadowed alcove behind a large wooden column out of sight and pushes you hard against the wall. “You’re going to have to be very quiet, can you do that?” he asks softly, resting a forearm on the wall above your head as his other hand slides up your leg again – though this time the touch is anything but slow.

“Tom,” you gasp, looking back out of the alcove – but no one is there. No one can see you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers again as he leans down. Your breath catches in your throat and suddenly Tom’s lips are pressed against your neck and his hand is sliding teasingly along the band of your underwear again. Anything you might have said dies in your throat.

“Go on,” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

“Tom,” you breathe again, your hands lifting without conscious thought and lacing around his neck.

You hear his little laugh, feel it brush warm across your neck, and he’s pulling your underwear down, and with a touch that feels like fire he slides his fingers against you. Your moan barely slips out from between your lips before Tom’s arm drops from the wall above you and his hand presses firmly over your mouth. “Didn’t I say to be quiet?” he tells you softly, but his fingers are stroking at you and you can barely breathe, your eyes closing tightly as dizziness and pleasure storm in your body.

You hold onto his arm just to stay grounded, his hand over your mouth stifling the noises threatening to escape as his fingers send pleasure coiling low in your core, his lips teasing your neck and making heat spread tingling across your skin.

Tom lifts his head and looks down at you breathing hard beneath his hand, his fingers making you shift with pleasure. “Can you be quiet for me?” he murmurs.

You nod. You would have agreed to anything he’d asked you in that moment.

Tom’s hand vanishes from your mouth and he’s kissing you, soft lips, tongue hot against yours, and you’re dizzy and delirious, kissing him back without thinking, without caring about anything else –

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your mouth, “legs spread for me, so wet for me –”

“Tom,” you moan, whisper-quiet.

“Say it again,” he commands softly.

“Tom.”

He kisses you hard again and you feel the pleasure in your gut start to build and build. “There,” Tom murmurs, pulling back, “there it is. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

“I…”

“Ask me for it,” he says softly.

“Tom, please –”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You look up at him. Tom looks back with his burning dark eyes, his hand cupping your jaw and pulling your closer to his lips barely breath away from yours as his fingers keep building the smouldering pleasure in your core. “Tell me,” he whispers.

And you nod.

“Say it.”

“I…”

His fingers slow against you and your head falls back against the wall in frustration, your eyes falling shut.

“I want you to say it,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to his again.

You look up at him, and for a second you just stare, watch his eyes drag across your face, drinking in your expression. You try to focus, try to ignore the achingly slow caress of his fingers between your legs, the pleasure right out of your grasp, the dark heat in Tom’s eyes that’s making you crave giving in, making you wonder why you’ve been resisting at all.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

Tom’s lips curve into his most dangerous smile as he leans back in, kissing you very softly as his fingers press a little harder, as you breathe harder, your arms wrapping around his neck again and he’s not slowing down anymore and you’re right on the edge, feeling yourself start to tip –

“You’re mine,” Tom says softly, and it breaks over you so hard that his hand smothers your mouth again, holding you tightly as you shift and writhe beneath his touch, unable to stop the moans.

Somehow, no one notices the two of you slipping back to the main party, no one comments on it, and for the first time, you’re glad that Axel pays you less than no attention because your absence passed him by entirely without detection.

“Time to go?” Axel asks you near ten o’clock, shrugging his coat on.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your date, Pembroke,” Tom says smoothly from where he’s standing beside you.

Axel blinks at him, and you expect that a similar expression is on your own face, too. “Excuse me?” Axel says disbelievingly.

“Perhaps you might be more attentive, next time,” Tom continues casually, offering you his arm. “Very rude of you to ignore someone for weeks on end, you know, and that unpleasantness when you arrived tonight… shameful…”

You don’t hesitate before slipping your arm through Tom’s, and he immediately gives you a heated, knowing look that makes you smile up at him reflexively.

Axel’s gobsmacked gaze turns to you. “Are you serious?”

You shrug lightly, feeling strangely empowered.

“Goodnight, Pembroke,” Tom says very pleasantly, stepping towards the door and leading you with him. “Do find a new date to the next gathering, won’t you? Mine is spoken for.”

2K notes · View notes

urimaginespimp · 3 years

Text

How You Get The Girl (This Love Final Part)

Bucky x Reader (elemental witch)

Set on TFATWS last episode

Note: Thank you to everyone that's tuned in, gave feedbacks, and liked/reblogged. I had to so much fun writing these! After this I’ll be working on oneshots completely unrelated to this story of several prompts.

We got a new Cap!

Previous Part: Untouchable

Marvel Masterlist

--------

“I’m serious, Shuri. I am over him.” you groaned as Shuri won’t wipe off the smug, disbelieving look on her face.

“Sure, Jan.” She replied getting up to continue on what’s she’s working on.

“Hey, I know that reference!”

“I’m just saying... Seven years of pinning over the guy – which five of it was when he was practically dead, by the way – and you’re telling me it took one confrontation for you to get over him.” She shrugged.

Some of the Dora Milaje were also in the lab, and you haven’t been vocal about it, but you didn’t miss the knowing looks they’ve been exchanging every time Bucky was brought in the conversation.

“Well, it would really be nice if you’re being supportive right now.” you sulked in your seat. Yeah, who were you kidding. Maybe you’re not completely, completely over him, but now you’re sorting to the fake it ‘til you make it method and so far, you’re doing well.

“Okay, fine. Want me to set you up with someone? My brother has some contacts around the world and I think with some buttering up he’d consider setting you up to bachelor royalties.” She wiggled her brows at you.

“May I suggest the Prince of Brunei? The internet says he’s looking for a wife.” One of the ladies snickered, making the others hum in approval.

“T’Challa knows him?” this piqued your interest. “He’s pretty hot.”

“Well make up your mind. It’ll take me a few business days of persuading my brother.” She raised her brows at you.

“It wouldn’t hurt to start dating. I’ll think about it first.” you muttered, missing how Shuri winked at the other ladies in the room. Ayo had told her in private about Bucky’s little confession to Zemo, and the princess has a few tricks up her sleeve to speed up the matchmaking process.

“I’m only staying for a few days more. It’s been a few weeks and Val’s been complaining from lack of sleep.” She’s been taking over your nightly escapades, and it’s starting to irritate her to be surrounded with so much booze but not being able to indulge.

Just then, Okoye enters the lab. “Check the news. There’s a live coverage of a hostage in New York. Sam and White Wolf are on it.”

--------

Bucky was looking over proudly as Sam was talking to the Senator.

Seeing Sam now walking over to him, he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I uh was texting and all I heard was um a black guy in stars and stripes.”

They both chuckled, now walking side by side. “Nice job, Cap.”

“Thanks.”

--------

He’s done it. He told Yori the truth. Though now that might have been the end of their friendship, he knew the old man deserves the closure for his son.

Now back in his apartment, he took the notebook Steve once owned from his pocket, and opened it to the page where his list is. Looking over it, he saw that the only name left uncrossed is yours.

Just then, his phone pinged twice. One message was from Sam, and the other one from Shuri.

Sam’s read:

I wasn’t kidding when I told you

back on the boat that I’d get the

younger ones here to give you a

crash course on romance.

Check your email.

He rolled his eyes and opened the one from Shuri.

Y/N’s explained everything to us.

We saw you save those people,

White Wolf. Wakand is proud of you.

Brother says you’re welcome to

visit anytime. Take care!

p.s.

It’s good to know Y/N and you are

are on good terms. It finally allowed me

to set her up with one of the princes

mother’s been pestering me about. One less

off of mother’s list for me.

“Damn it, Shuri.” he groaned, reading the last part over and over again. He had to move fast. Heading over to his email, he opened the one from Sam.

The subject says:

21st century romance for reformed dummies.

There was an attached 60-second video. Clicking on it, he chuckled when Sam’s voice started booming behind the camera, where it showed two young girls and one boy, all around below 10 years of age.

“Okay, I gathered you here today because a cyborg friend of mine is need of help. I already filled you in the details necessary earlier, and all you have to do now is give him quick tips. Remember, talk slow.”

The boy on the middle spoke up. “Is she an avenger?”

“Not important, but yes. It’s the one with similar powers to an avatar.” Sam answered, followed by the two girls saying they know which one, and the boy to mutter ‘damn it I always had a crush on her...’

“Okay the first step would obviously be to say sorry.” the girl on the right said directly to the camera.

“Oh! Extra points if you do it standing like a ghost outside her door and it’s about to rain.” the other girl from the left perked up.

“I said he’s a cyborg, not a weatherman.” Sam commented, still behind the camera.

“Say you were afraid to tell her what you want.” the first girl spoke again.

“Six months is a long time to be afraid, man.” the boy in the middle spoke up this time.

“Try years.” Sam muttered.

“Then you say you want her for worse or for better!” The cheery girl exclaimed once again.

“You’ve been playing too many fake weddings, but yes, that could work.” Sam told her, making her beam, showing a missing tooth.

“Tell her you could wait forever and ever.” the boy added.

“I mean he’s already old enough to be your great grandpa but go on I guess.” Sam was snickering, causing the camera to slightly shake.

“Remind her of how it used to be. That is if he was good to her.” the more mature girl was pointing out. “Saying you’ll put her heart back together could also work.” she smiled, and the other one fake swooned on where she was standing.

“She’s right!” she exclaimed, while boy nods and says “that’s how it works.” at the same time.

Now turning the camera, Sam was now in frame.

“And that’s how you get the girl, Barnes. Straight from the local’s experts. Don’t fuck it up.”

And three voices scolded him for saying a bad word as the clip ends.

--------

It didn’t take long for him to take a flight straight to Norway where New Asgard was. This time without the aid of Zemo’s jet, he had to find the means to travel from the airport, while trying to calm his nerves.

As if the universe was on his side, a couple claiming to be heading back to Asgard allowed him to hitch a ride with them.

Now on the backseat, he tried to make small talk.

“So, uh, how are you guys settling in the planet?” he asked.

The lady on the passenger seat turned to face him with a smile. “It wasn’t easy, really. But the princess went out of her way to educate us about life here on Midgard. She’s so good at it, you’d forget she hasn’t even been living here a decade.”

He smiled. They claim you as their princess despite only being adopted by Thor. He recalls how you once rambled about being scared that they’d be indifferent towards you once Thor brings you to Asgard, one of the reasons you’ve been making up excuses to go with him.

“Why, would you look at that. We’re just in time before it starts raining.” The man driving commented.

Peeking through the window, sure enough, the sky was getting darker.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he muttered. He might just take the little girl’s advice after all.

After getting out of the couple’s car, he ran straight to where he remembers your home was, just in time when Val just got out of your house.

“Hi. I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Bucky.” He greeted extending his ahand to her which she took. A skeptical look on her face.

“Call me Val. I’m sorry what are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to Y/N, please.” He answered truthfully.

“Well it’s about night time so she’s getting dolled up.” She answered

“I know, I know, it’s for her date. But that’s why I’m here.”

Val raised a brow, confused about what date he was getting all bummed about when you were only getting ready to go back to looking out for people out and about at night. But then it dawned to her that maybe this was some of your friend’s doing.

“Y-yes... the date.” She decided to play along, holding back a smirk. Just then, rain started slowly pouring, along with thunder. “Well shit, I have to help some folks get their kids back inside their homes now. You’re free to knock on her door.” She excused herself.

His own clothes were starting to get drenched when he finally knocked on your door.

No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Now footsteps were heard coming to the door, and the knob turned as you opened it.

“Damn it, Val, the door’s not even lo-” You stopped talking, surprised at the figure that greeted you.

“Bucky... are you insane? Don’t just stand there, come in it’s raining hard.” he urged him to get in and closed the door behind you.

Facing each other, he was taking you in. Val wasn’t lying when she said you were getting ready for your date. He can’t believe he was already getting jealous of a faceless punk.

“So uh... what brings you here?” You decided to break the ice, fidgeting where you stood, still barefoot as it looked like you were gonna have to stay at home if it was going to rain this hard all night.

“Don’t go on the date.” he pleaded, confusing you.

“What?”

“Please don’t go on the date.” He repeated, now walking towards you.

There is no date, but now you were wondering why he’s telling you not to.

“Why?”

“I love you.” he answered without missing a beat, now stepping closer to you. Instead of the reaction he was hoping for, you scoffed and took a step back.

“Don’t pull a Laurie on me.” you replied, a frown etched on your face. He was confused.

“A Laurie?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen enough adaptations of Little Women to know that you’re pulling a Laurie on me.” You spat as a matter of fact. “You’re being really mean, stop it.” you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“What? I- I haven’t even thought of that reference!” he defends himself, cheeks reddening from embarrassment. “Amy was gonna get married, Y/N.”

“Oh then by all means, feel free to come back just after he proposes.”

“W- We’re getting sidetracked here, doll. I came here hoping there still an ounce of you that loves me. Please don’t tell me you’ve completely moved on from me.”

“What, like it’s hard?” you replied. It surprised you when his brows shot up from recognition of that line.

“Now you’re pulling an Elle Woods on me!” he pointed at you in an accusatory manner.

“Don’t point that finger at me, Barnes. How was I even supposed to know you’ve seen that movie?” you rolled your eyes, walking past him.

“I watched all the movies you told me about back in Wakanda.” he spoke up, making you stop in your tracks to face him again.

“Yeah, that’s right. I watched every movie, I listened to every song, read every book you recommended, and visited every internet site you once said I might like. I was always listening even when I made it seem like I wasn’t.”

You stared at him for a second looking for any indication that he was lying. Recovering from the mild shock, you pursed your lips. “I hope you know the Porn site was a joke. Sam did it to Steve once and I just thought it was hilarious.”

His mouth twitched. Walking over to you once more he stopped when he was only a step away, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m really sorry, Doll. I know it’s bold of me to even ask you, but please give me the chance to make it up to you. And I don’t care if it’s me that has to wait for you this time. Take all the time you need, just please don’t go on that date.”

“Bucky, there was never a date. I have no idea what date you were referring this entire time.” you confessed, making him bring his hands to his face and groan, muttering Damn it, Shuri.

Hearing Shuri’s name, you put two and two together. “Is this about Shuri trying to set me up with a prince?” he nodded as answer. “Well, I did tell her I was gonna think about it.”

He removed his hands away from his face. “Please say no.” He whispered. “I’d tell you what the kids told me what to say if I have to.”

“What kids?”

“Sam got a bunch of kids on video to teach me how to win you back. I’ve already stood under the rain outside your door just like what one of the girls suggested.” Judging from the grin on your face, he was now regretting even mentioning them.

“Well go on, then.” you urged. “Let me see how much you’ve learned.”

“The first time I saw you at the airport, I got so distracted looking at you just casually sitting on top if the ramps while we were preparing to fight. That wink you sent me that day is still engraved in my mind by the way. Then I was so taken back when you bluntly told me you’re attracted to me. I-”

“I don’t think the kids taught you to remind me of my attempts to flirt with you.” You cut him off, embarrassed at the memory. He chuckled at your expression.

“Okay, okay.” he took a deep breath.

“I think I started catching feelings for you the moment they woke me up from my cryosleep and you were there to be the first one to welcome me back. I didn’t think you were still gonna be there like you told me. But you were there, beaming at me like a ray of sunshine. All my years under HYDRA, every time I was woken up, I was only ever treated as an asset. But you welcomed me like I was a friend.” his eyes were starting to get glassy with tears, as he tried not to choke up.

“And then every time you were near, or even when I’d get a whiff of your perfume, I’d start feeling all warm inside and my entire body would be at ease, knowing you were an arm's reach from me. You were the last one I saw as I disintegrated from the blip, and you were the first one I sought out the moment we came back.” he was surprised when you reached forward to wipe away a tear he didn’t even realize had run down his cheek.

“I lied when I said I made a mistake kissing you. It was the first thing I wanted to do the moment I saw you again. But something inside me was always telling me that all I could ever be is someone grateful for your kindness. That it was impossible for the universe to even grant me someone like you after everything I’ve done." He let out a breath before continuing.

"But it was also you, Steve, Sam, and heck – even Zemo– that made me realize that I am worthy of a chance. And I’m sorry it had to take you telling me you were moving on, to have the courage to accept and take the chance that has been long offered to me by the world." He took your hand and gave the back of it a small kiss.

"I love you, Y/N.” Now it was him that had to wipe away your tears away. “Please don’t cry, doll. That wasn’t-”

“Just fucking kiss me already, James.” you laughed, in between sniffles.

He grinned down before you. “You’re my angel with a potty mouth, and I love you.” he whispered, leaning down.

“I love you too."

---------

You and Bucky were out with the Wilsons on their community's afternoon barbeque.

Sarah and you got along with ease, and she was telling you all about their old family business when Bucky hugged you from behind.

"Sorry to interrup, ladies, but I have to show you something Y/N." he said, kissing your cheek.

"Ew, man. I still can't believe your old ass has a girlfriend." Sam commented beside Sarah who was laughing

"You do know I'm older than him, right?" you chuckled.

"I know, but you don't look it." he replied, causing Bucky to flip him off.

Excusing yourself, both of you walked by the docs.

"What's up, old man?" you grinned at him.

"You know what, doll. Most couples would have endearing nicknames for each other."

"I'll call you something sweet once you tell me what that thing you call me when we're alone means."

"What, мое солнце?"

"Yeah, that one! Tell me or else I'll keep calling you ridiculous ones." you threatened, trying not to smile.

"Anyway, мое солнце, I just wanted to show you a text I got from Shuri."

I am yet to have any news that you

manned up and told Y/N you love her,

White Wolf. I was joking before, but now

I really might set her up on a date.

You both chuckled at Shuri's threat.

"I got this." you pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialled her number. You placed it on loud speaker once she picked up.

"Y/N! So nice of you to call."

"Hey, Shuri! Listen..." you feigned seriousness in your voice before releasing a deep breath. "I'm finally over Mr. Smokey eye. I think I'm ready to go on that date now." Bucky was playfully glaring at you for the nickname.

There was dead silence from the other side of the line for a second. "Oh! About that... uh turns out he already has a girlfriend. Planning to propose soon, I heard. Oops!"

"Well that's a bummer. How about the other bachelor royalties your family's friends with? I recently found an article with a list. I can send you one right now. Preferably ones that don't look much like blue-eyed grandpa." you grinned at him as he rolled his eyes. He knows what you were trying to get him to do.

"Uh... turns out my brother isn't that friendly after all." She let out an awkward laugh. "Hasn't Barnes contact you at all?" you could hear the frustration in her voice.

"Oh, that discount prophet, I haven-"

"It means my sun." He finally caved, rolling his eyes.

"What?" you asked him, immidiately forgetting that Shuri was still on.

"WHAT?" she screamed through the phone after a second.

"мое солнце means my sun." he grinned at you.

"Is that Barnes with you?! Hellooo?!!!"

"Talk to you later, princess." you turned off the call when she was about to protest. Facing him again, you stepped closer and put your arms around his shoulders, both of you sharing a grin.

"I love you, мое солнце."

"I love you too, minn stjarna."

"You gonna tell me what that means?"

"You wish."

fin.

--------

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit @tanyaherondale @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @eliwinchester-barnes @ebxny27 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @fadingdreamersportsmaker @drama-queen-aa

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shipskicksandgiggles · 3 years

Note

11 with whatever pairing you want. Maybe a little hurt/comfort if you're feeling it?

!!! okay hello how are we feeling about Harley with glasses??? good?? good.

prompt: “Can you stay with me?” (from this list)

Read Love is Blind here on ao3

~~~

He bolted upright. His chest was heaving, and he could feel a sob building. It was dark. He couldn’t see. Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was-

“Hey,” someone whispered.

Harley flinched.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just me.” The owner of the voice reached over and turned the lamp on his bedside table on.

He still couldn’t see.

Why couldn’t he see?

A pair of hands slipped his glasses on for him. “There’s my Clark Kent. Better?”

Peter came into focus slowly.

“‘M not Clark Kent,” Harley mumbled. “What’re you doing here?” His voice felt rough like he’d been screaming.

“JARVIS was concerned about your vital signs.”

“Then why wasn’t Tony notified?”

“He’s been awake for 3 days and is locked in his room until he sleeps. Plus JARVIS figured you’d respond better to me than anyone else.”

“That and if I’d punched you when I woke up, it wouldn’t have done too much damage.”

His brow furrowed. “Why would you punch me?”

“Reflex. It’s happened before. Someone wakes me up from a nightmare and I just-” he bumped Peter’s arm weakly. “Abbie’s been on the receiving end once or twice. Bruises heal in what? Twenty minutes for you? It wouldn’t be as big of a deal.”

“You had a nightmare?”

Harley clammed up. Instead of answering, he shoved off his covers and moved to get up.

Peter grabbed his wrist. “Hey, you can talk to me.”

“Just give me a minute.” Harley freed his arm and walked to the bathroom so he could splash cold water on his face.

Once he emerged, he took in Peter who was sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Peter in his pajamas before, but this felt different somehow.

He patted the comforter, and Harley sat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” he asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“The nightmare.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Harley said with a shrug.

“Harley,” Peter sighed softly. He reached out and held his hands.

He didn’t push him away, but that didn’t mean he was giving in either. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing.”

“Peter, seriously, it’s stupid. Let it go.”

“You think nightmares are stupid?”

“I think my nightmares are stupid,” Harley corrected.

“Why’s that?”

“Because there’s no reason I should have nightmares.”

“Everyone has nightmares,” Peter said like he was an idiot. Which he probably was, but still.

“Well yeah, but- I mean I shouldn’t- There's not-” he struggled to find the words.

“Harley, I want you to be honest with me. Why don’t you think you should have nightmares?”

He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, three times before he hung his head. “Nothing I’ve ever done really lends itself to having nightmares I should be scared of,” he muttered.

“That’s what I thought you were going to say.” Peter sighed. “Look at me.”

Harley did.

“Who was kidnapped by and stood up to someone infected with Extremis when he was 12?”

“I was,” Harley answered.

“Who was openly gay in Tennessee with unsupportive family?”

“I was.”

“And who, pray tell, lives in Stark Tower, surrounded by literal superheroes, in the city that has the highest rate of being attacked by mad scientists and aliens on the entire planet?”

“I do,” he said tiredly.

“I think you’re entitled to some nightmares once in a while,” Peter told him. He began rubbing circles into Harley’s hand as he spoke. “I have nightmares too, you know.”

“Of course you do,” Harley scoffed.

Peter waved him off. “Jackass. I have nightmares unrelated to Spider-Man.”

“Fine,” Harley conceded. “What are your nightmares about?”

“Losing people. Some go down like my parents, unexpectedly and too far away for me to say goodbye. Others go out like my uncle Ben, bleeding out next to me, and I can’t do anything to help. It’s always people I care about. May, Tony, sometimes you,” he glanced up at Harley, and he felt his heart stutter. “New York City is filled to the brim with people who’ve been a part of things they don’t know how to process.”

“Welcome home,” Harley said dryly. “We’re all a little fucked up here.”

He stared at Harley expectantly, and his shoulders sagged.

“So, back when I came out to my mom the first time, back when I thought I was bi, when I still thought there was a sliver of a chance that I could like women, she told me to choose one or the other. That liking both was greedy. Then I- then I chose.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “She really didn’t like my answer. She screamed at me about how she sacrificed everything for me, that she got me the best education, that I was too smart for this, too good of a kid.”

Harley drew in a shuttery breath. “When I dream, her face changes. It’s usually someone I trust. Tony or Rhodey are most common, but I got Sam once, Natasha too. Those hurt like a bitch. It’s worse when it’s you.”

Peter winced and squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I would never,” he swore.

“I know.” Harley smiled softly. “It’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s fire, or water, or both. Being pinned down and not being able to breathe because I’d inhale one of the two.”

“And tonight?”

“I was in the lab. Alone. I don’t know where you were, but I had your suit in my hands, the same way Tony trusted me with his armor when I was a kid. I was just tinkering, fixing something I guess, and the lights went out. The emergency lights don’t come on, JARVIS won’t respond, and I’m just sitting there with your mask still in my hands. Then the eyes light up. Your voice filters through. It’s you, what you’re saying at that moment.”

“What do I say, Harley?” Peter whispered.

“You’re asking Tony about homework. Some math problem that didn’t click the first time. Tony explains it to you, but asks why you didn’t go to me first. Aren’t I in that class? And you laugh. You laugh and say something along the lines of ‘If I wanted a lecture on the basis of the entire subject, I’d google it.’”

Peter tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

He closed his eyes. “Do you ever think I’m a bit… much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, am I too intense? I know I talk a lot, and I can go a little overboard if I’m excited…” he trailed off.

“That’s not fair, I do the same thing. Unless you think I’m annoying too?” Peter looked at him warily.

His eyes widened. “No! I think it’s fantastic when you do it!” He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

“Hey.” Peter tilted his chin up and brushed a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “We’re all a little bit of a mess here,” he parodied, and Harley snorted. “You know I would never talk about you behind your back unless I thought something was wrong, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Are you gonna be able to get back to sleep?”

Harley shook his head. “Never been able to before.” He paused before hesitantly asking a question. “Can you stay with me?”

Peter smiled, and for a second, Harley thought he was going to mean toward and kiss him, and his heart nearly stopped. Instead, he reached for the remote on Harley’s bedside table.

“I’ll stay, but we’re watching something brainless because I probably will fall back asleep,” Peter said. “I’m thinking a Gravity Falls marathon.”

“But what about How it’s Made?” Harley whined. “Please?”

“Fine. Only because you had a nightmare,” Peter teased. “Don’t get used to me letting you have your way.”

“Oh hush, you liar. You let me have my way because you care about me, you said so yourself.”

It only occurred to Harley that he might have said something wrong when Peter froze.

“Or it’s because of the nightmare,” he backpedaled quickly. “That’s all, no caring about anyone involved.”

Peter still didn’t say anything, and Harley began to fear the worst.

“Look, I’m just quoting you, and you know-”

“Shhh, shh I know. But um, we should talk.”

Harley’s eyes snapped to Peter’s. “About what? If you’re that sold on Gravity Falls we can watch it, it doesn’t matter.”

He shook his head. “I… maybe I should just go back to my own room.”

Before he could leave, Harley caught his wrist. “Hey, I’m asking you to stay. What’s a matter?”

“Nothing, but in case it isn’t nothing, I should probably leave.”

“Is this Spider-Man saying “it’s probably nothing,” or your dumbass overthinking things?” As much as Harley thought he knew what was going on, with Peter he could never be too sure.

“Just me,” Peter answered.

“Then please stay. Being around you helps. Really convinces me that you’re not going to talk shit about me behind my back,” he joked to try and lighten the mood.

He tugged Peter closer, but he didn’t anticipate Peter tripping over his own feet and pitching into him. Thankfully, neither boy was severely injured. Peter caught himself on Harley’s shoulders and one of his knees landed on the bed.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” Peter answered breathlessly. “I almost crushed you.”

“Please, you’re not that heavy.” Harley guided Peter’s other knee up so he was more stable. “I was going to suggest cuddling anyways if you’re up for it.”

“I guess I can stay and cuddle,” Peter ceded. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

Instead of answering, Harley flipped them so Peter was lying flat on his back.

Peter let out a punched out noise as the wind was knocked out of him. “Holy shit.”

“JARVIS, queue How It’s Made please,” Harley said, staring down at Peter.

His head was framed by his baby blue pillow case and dark hair that contrasted perfectly and created a picture reminiscent of something you might see in a museum. In short, he was gorgeous.

“Um, what?”

Harley paled as he realized he must have said at least part of that out loud, but he couldn’t back out now. “You’re gorgeous.”

Peter’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed nervously. “Okay, I think you need to go back to sleep. You’re being really weird.”

He flopped down so he was curled up against him. “Maybe so, but you’re still handsome.”

“Whatever you say, genius” He adjusted so that he would be able to sleep even if Harley most likely wouldn’t.

“Not a genius,” Harley argued.

“Nope, if I’m handsome, you’re a genius.”

“We’d make one hell of a couple.”

The words were out of Harley’s mouth before he could think, and he immediately concealed his blush in Peter’s collarbone, but Peter had other plans. He forced Harley’s head up, and stared him in the eye.

“Come again?”

Harley couldn’t seem to make the words happen, so he did the next best thing: he kissed him.

As much as he wanted to say it was romantic as hell, but he’d be lying. He surged upwards and nearly knocked the glasses off his own face with the intensity of the kiss.

Laughing, Peter pushed him back and removed his glasses for him. “And suddenly you’re Superman.”

“Not Superman either, you giant dork.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re right.” He put the glasses back on. “I like you better as Clark.”

“I like you better this way too.”

“What?” Peter scrunched up his nose in the way Harley knew he was confused.

“I can see you with my glasses on.”

The snort Peter let out was enough to make his whole body contort. “Oh my god. That was awful.”

“It’s the truth,” Harley insisted. “I’m basically blind.”

“You don’t need to see to kiss me.”

He felt his heart nearly stop. “Oh you want to? I mean this is okay?” he asked, suddenly shy.

Peter ducked to kiss him again, gentler this time. “I mean, I do care about you after all.” He leaned over Harley to shut off the lamp, but the room was still lit by the screen projected onto the wall.

Harley pulled Peter even closer to him and sighed happily. “JARVIS, hit play please.”

#harley keener #peter parker #parkner #harley keener x peter parker #fluff #fluff and hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #cw past homophobia #nightmares #sarah tag #prompts

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