clarksnumber1whore

[clarksnumber1whore]

someone please give Lex Luther a hug. I swear he wouldn’t be evil if someone just hugged him.

[clarksnumber1whore]

Watching smallville 1x1, five minutes in and three people are already dead? Lmao

[clarksnumber1whore]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[clarksnumber1whore]

You belong with me. 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤

Letter on my site :)

[clarksnumber1whore]

Every time spotify goes down I feel like a sleeper cell spy, trapped in enemy territory, whose just had their only line of communication to their superiors destroyed.

[clarksnumber1whore]

Yes your honour I did bite his bicep. It was big and yummy and in my face

[clarksnumber1whore]

GUYS ONE OF THE CEDRIC FICS THAT IVE HAD SAVED ON MY WATTPAD SINCE 2017 WAS JUST UPDATED. WAR IS OVER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

[clarksnumber1whore]

✭ Morning Glory.ᐟ - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warnings: usual Jason angst. Mentions of dissatisfaction towards his post-resurrection body. Potentially poor writing. No gender specific terms in this as far as I can tell, but the reader will be portrayed with fem characteristics if this becomes anything.

AN: Kind of a dabble/blurb, kind of maybe the prequel to a short little fic (?). If you see grammar or spelling mistakes, no you didn't <3

Jason Todd who's known you for longer than he's known himself. Before Bruce and his tires, before the crowbar and the pit, before he became an oversized child stumbling through adult life. He's know your smile and your laughter since he's known the sky is blue. Known your soft edges and kind hands since he's known how to walk.

Jason Todd who's been pathetically in love with you longer then he's known the word 'love'. Never said a word or made a move, for fear of losing you to his childish whims. Who spends every minute you'll give him watching the light bounce off of your cheeks. Who spends every minute you'll give him yearning for a second more.

Jason Todd who never believes he's good enough for you. Even when he was protecting you from being bullied on the playground. Even when he was Robin, and he had a purpose. Even when he spent his nights saving lives and washing the stains off of Gothem's streets. Even when his hands were clean and his eyes still sparkled; he never felt like he could be good to you. Good for you.

Jason Todd who claws his way out of his own grave and immediately thinks of you. Jason Todd who sees the withered bouquet of Morning Glory's rotting atop his tomb stone and concludes that you must have moved on with your life by now. Who concludes, after coming to shaky terms with the reanimated corpse he has become, that you're better off thinking he's dead.

Jason Todd who doesn't hear the wails and sobs your neighbour's complain about every night. Who doesn't know the only time you leave said apartment is for work. Who doesn't know you can't even make yourself drink water, let alone make your way to his grave. Who won't allow himself to go within a mile of your apartment. Who wouldn't know what to do with himseld if he saw you'd moved on. Who knows you were never technically his, but knows your were his all the same.

Jason Todd who eventually finds his way to your fire escape in a fit of desperation induced delusion. Who convinces himself that if he can just see that you've moved on, that you've healed from him, he might be able to stop thinking about every second of every goddamn day.

Jason Todd who really doesn't know what to do with himself when he peers through an uncharacteristically dirty window and sees you lying on a rug, staring aimlessly at the cieling. The couch is a foot away. It wouldn't take much effort to get to it, but for some reason you're on the hard tiles, splayed out like you're dead. His heart actually stops untill he spies the even rise and fall of your chest.

But his concern doesn't die down. His eyes stay trained on your unmoving figure for hours as he stares at you, staring at your cieling. Five hours later you roll over onto your side, facing him, and close your eyes slowly, falling asleep right there. His eyebrows furrow, and as badly as he wants to find a way in and lay you down on a proper bed, he knows he can't.

He remembers the countless afternoons you two would spent stowed away in the far corners of that bookstore, giggling over whatever book you'd gotten your hands on that day. Remembers that you'd both promised to get jobs there in highschool, so you could still be there together every day, and get payed for it.

Jason Todd who stands there for three more hours, watching the rise of your chest as you slept. Who watches you wake up slowly to an alarm playing on your phone, lying a few feet away, also on the floor. Who watches as you owly trudge through your apartment, dressing for work with so little enthusiasm he'd think you're the reanimated corpse if he didn't know better. Who watches you leave without eating and frowns, a younger voice flooding his mind. A younger version of you proclaiming breakfast was your favorite time of the day, proclaiming that anyone who missed it was setting themselves up for failure. Who watches you walk twelve blocks to a rundown bookstore only a mile away from crime alley. Who physically chokes on his tears and heaves when he remembers.

Jason Todd who slowly realizes that you most definitely have not healed form him. Who realises you're still mourning the boy he used to be. A gloved hand reaches for the tarnished brass handle, but the metal burns as he heaves in a breath. He can't do this to you. He can't force you to reconcile what he has become. You'll heal one day. Hopefully one day soon. But if he were to boulder his way back into your life, he would be promising you more than he could ever give again. He'd be dragging you right back to the start of the cycle of grief.

Jason Todd who throws up in his mouth a little when he imagines his cold, blood stained hands touching your skin. Who feels lightheaded at the image of his burly, Frankenstein-esque body next to yours. Who never stopped seeing a corpse every time he looks in the mirror. Never stopped feeling like he was going to wake up in a morgue or a casket once again.

Jason Todd who slowly releases the doorknob and takes a shaky step back, the first tear he's let form in years slipping down his cheek as he turns and walks back the way he came. Reminds himseld of every reason he isn't good enough for you over and over in his mind the whole walk back to his nearest, shitty safe house. Who lays his head between his knees and sobs in a way that makes him feel like a little boy again, aching for you touch against his skin. Your laugh. Your soothing tone when he felt anxious. Your terrible homemade cookies; the ones he'd have to choke down while giving you his most supporting smile.

Jason Todd, who feels like a wayfinder who has lost their most important star in the night sky. Who doesn't know where to go when you aren't leading him, hand in hand.

[clarksnumber1whore]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[clarksnumber1whore]

Every time I see a big tall guy I just think damn I need that

[clarksnumber1whore]

i think if james potter turned around to me and told me i was pretty i’d pass out. just hit the deck like a ton of bricks. my head hit the wall, BOOM.

[clarksnumber1whore]

BOYS NIGHT, 15th March, Senate! bring your own booze! remember what happens in the senate stays in the senate ;). BOYS NIGHT BOYS NIGHT BOYS NIGHT

[clarksnumber1whore]

I was so excited for the We Were Liars TV show untill I realised what exactly I'm going to have to relive and now I'm fucking TERRIFIED

[clarksnumber1whore]

sometimes all the girls on here seem like bffs and I feel like an intruder

[clarksnumber1whore]

tim drake x reader

you hit him over the head with a mallet over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over over and over again. he makes cartoon squeaker toy sounds.

taglist: @redsupulse @twinkimpulse @royaltypocalypse @writing-pocalypse @stan-pocalypse @vamp-pocalypse @adore-delano-bitch

hope you guys like my first attempt at writing tim !!! this is for you anon <3

[clarksnumber1whore]

☆Hello there, handsome.ᐟ - Clark Kent/Superman

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, drinking, falling from a height, mild injuries.

AN: edited.

Blurb: Meeting Clark Kent, or more accurately, Superman, wasn't something you'd put on your bingo card for the new year. Toppling off a seventy story balcony and into a pair of steel arms hadn't been on your bingo card either.

The New Year's party had been enticing for two reasons.

One; free food. Living in Metropolis didn't come cheap. Living in Metropolis on a student income, while studying full-time, didn't exactly make things easier. You’d swap corner store ramen packets for rich people's finger foods any day of the week.

Secondly; free alcohol. Being someone who liked to go out frequently hadn't been a problem in your small hometown, where the bouncers knew you by name and the drinks often cost a pretty smile or a dollar. Metropolis and its bars, which always seemed to have egregious entry fees and drinks that cost more than you made in an hour, had quickly started killing your social life. You didn't even want to imagine the prices the clubs in this damn city would charge for New Year's. House parties like these, with free booze and no one manning the door, were perfect for you and your friends.

Not perfect? The six-inch stilettos you'd pulled out from the depths of your matchbox-sized closet in a moment of pure madness. Usually, the feel of your feet slowly losing blood flow would be enough for them to be chucked back to where they collected dust. However, this party felt a bit fancier than the ones hosted on campus or in the party districts. And so, they’d been put on for the next nine, miserable, hours.

Hour four, and you were seriously regretting all the choices made. A few shots in, you looked to the balcony and saw a chair blissfully empty, the lack of people crowding around making it the perfect place to sit down and slip off your shoes.

You left your phone with your friend and found a new drink, before walking toward the balcony doors, wincing at the pain in your feet. Maybe it was said pain or the rush of tequila through your veins that had you looking straight ahead as you walked, or perhaps it was pure stupidity.

The door slid open, revealing a balcony so miniscule it fit one chair, seat parallel with the railing. The pathetic excuse of a balcony made you giggle as you stepped out, laughter suddenly turning into a stifled yell as the pointed tip of your shoe caught on the door track.

The next few seconds feel like a bad parody of that one Sex and the City episode where that girl tumbles from the window. You remember it.

The short railing hits your ribs as you list forward, toppling straight off the balcony. You probably should have been screaming, didn't even know why you weren't. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that, as you passed the fiftieth-floor windows, you were convinced this was some sort of hallucination. Close your eyes and this would all go away. No way you just fell out of a goddamn glorified window? Right?

Wrong.

The wind, which had just been ripping through your hair as you free-fell, was slammed from your lungs as you hit something hard as steel. It sure didn't seem like the concrete floor you'd been expecting to greet with a splat. Sure didn't seem like a human body could survive a seventy-story fall. Your mind lags, but the fact that you'd continued descending had you opening your eyes. Bright, shining, cerulean blue eyes greet yours as you blink rapidly, wholly confused by the situation you've managed to find yourself in.

"Why hello there, handsome."

He laughs, a deep rumble of sound that has you smiling despite the near-death experience you've found yourself in. "Can I ask why you're free-falling through the sky ma'am?"

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you giggle, a drunken, bright bubble of sound that makes Clark's chest constrict to the point of pain as he sets foot on the ground. He doesn't let you down just yet, allowing a moment for the adrenaline to make its way through your system. His eyes scan you for any serious injuries as you laugh at yourself. 

"I fell off a damn balcony, can you believe that? Stupid shoes are out for my blood tonight." At that, you look down at your feet, grimacing as the pain begins to flair in your right ankle. No bruising has developed in the few minutes since you twisted it, but you can already see slight swelling. The reminder of your tumble makes the pain in your ribs flair, a bolt of pain shooting down your side when you try to raise a hand to the aggravated injury.

Clark, in turn, cringes at the sound of broken ribs popping, only able to imagine what that must feel like. He follows his gaze down to your ankle and his lips twist with a feeling he can’t place as he watches the swelling increase. "You alright there? I should probably take you to the Emergency room, those ribs aren’t sounding too good." 

You sigh, already feeling the brunt of your medical bill, but do nod your agreement. "Yeah, it’s starting to hurt like a bitch.”

Despite your insistence that you can walk on your ankle, he carries you a few blocks down to the nearest Emergency room, insisting you don't put any further pressure or strain on the injury. The nurses are, to their credit, only slightly stupefied by who you’ve now realised is Superman carrying you bridal style toward the front desk. A wheelchair is brought out while you wait for the doctor, and you’re mildly surprised when the man of steel himself takes the handles and directs you to the waiting room, taking a seat next to you.

“You don’t have to feel obligated to sit here, you know. I’m sure you’re plenty busy saving us all from ourselves, especially on New Year's.”

The smile he gives you makes your legs go weak, even as you sit, the slight impression of dimples only worsening his nuclear effect. “I’m good right here. Besides, Metropolis will survive without me for a few hours. Even Superman needs a break.”

The arrival of a doctor distracts you from responding or flushing bright red. 

Four hours and seven X-rays of your ribs and ankle later, Clark helps you adjust the crutches you’ll use when your ribs are less abused to the correct height, collecting the billing information you’ll have to deal with tomorrow from the admin desk. Despite more protests of wasting his time, he pushes your wheelchair all thirty blocks back to your graduate housing for you, refusing to let you feel guilty.

When you’ve made it home, he helps you through the door and onto your small couch, smiling that stupidly handsome smile every time your cat rubs against his legs.

“And you’re sure your friends will be home in the morning? You’ll be able to do everything you need to?”

At this point, you’ve gotten comfortable enough with the superhero to laugh at his mothering, “Yes, I promise I’ll have my live-in nurses as soon as the drunkards wake up. I also promise to avoid any balconies for all time.” His small chuckles warms you up quicker than the A/C now turned to eighty.

He only leaves once he’s propped you up with three hundred pillows, ensured the binding around your ribs isn’t uncomfortable, fetched a glass of water, and given you a small slip of white paper with just a phone number and the letter C written in scrawled script, making you promise to call if you ever need help again.

The smile pasted to your face only grows when you call the hospital a few hours later and learn your bill was completely covered by an anonymous donor.

[clarksnumber1whore]

☆✧ Ash falling like snow.ᐟ - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem stoner!reader

Warnings: Mentions of weed?? Pure fluff.

AN: is this good? idk. but I'm posting it lol.

This was where he often found you after a long day; wrapped in blankets on the fire escape, just your face sticking out as smoke curled up and around you. He stood behind the dusty window, and simply watched for a minute, bewitched by the sheer beauty of the moment. One hand lifting from the faux fur to tap your joint against the metal railing, tufts of grey ash falling like snow, illuminated by the few streetlights still functioning.

You didn't even flinch as the window slid open, old rusted hinges in desperate need of grease squeaking through the - rare - silent night. A shift of your head and those gorgeous, shimmering eyes were on his, a slightly loopy, wide smile on your face.

"Joining me, handsome? Or are you just gonna watch me like a creeper?"

His cheeks dust with red at the pet name, and being caught watching you. He sits down next to you, ruffling your hair affectionately as he holds out a hand for the joint. "You like when I creep, pretty girl."

You, for your part, are just as enraptured by him, eyes tracking his every movement. The way his fingers wrap around the filter, the way his lips wrap around the filter. He takes a deep drag and leans his head back, blowing the smoke up into the air. Never in your direction. His jaw, illuminated by the light, flexes as he breathes in again. The drop in his shoulders isn't immediate, but it is quick. You're always glad to see his posture settle into something more civilian, something less like he's got a gun pointed at his head 24/7.

His fingers ghost over yours and before you can simply link them, he puts the joint to your lips, lifting you into his lap once you've got it secure. You're smiling as you take your next hit. Before you can blow it away his lips are on yours, smoke curling around your faces as he runs a finger over your jaw, smirking slightly when he feels goose bumps spring up in the wake of his touch.