#and the second they went on their system to try and figure out why the charges were there

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[sttoru]

ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden ☹️☹️

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called ‘brat, woman, little one’ — ig this is a bit early in their relationship

“i’ve arrived, my lord,” you announce your presence once you step into sukuna’s quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your system—the knowledge that you’re safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.

sukuna turns his head to look at you while he’s laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isn’t anything unusual for you. he always does that.

“tch. took ya long enough,” the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, “when i order y’ to come, you’re supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.”

you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. “my apologies,” you mutter. you can’t tell him why you’re late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because you’re scared of what his reaction would be.

before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didn’t seem to be the smartest move. it wasn’t long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.

of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. that’s when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.

if it weren’t for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.

“oi,” sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories aside—ignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.

“i’m sorry, my lord,” you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that he’s going to see the wound on your skin.

you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.

“. . .i’m giving y’ three seconds of my time,” sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him what’s on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. “spit it out,” he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say what’s wrong.

you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you don’t want to tell him—even though you know you’re obligated to.

denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.

“fuckin’ brat,” the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadn’t treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.

there’s tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukuna’s grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults he’ll throw at you—how he’ll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.

“look up at me,” his voice rings out in a firm tone. you don’t want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.

sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesn’t want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isn’t needed. however, he can’t deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.

sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.

“who did this to you?” he asks, voice strained like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when he’s in that kind of mood, you know he’s not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.

will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?

you’re scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, he’ll probably call you weak and stupid as well. it’s a lose-lose situation, you conclude.

you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.

“m-miko,” her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that there’s no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.

“ah,” you then realise that he doesn’t know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesn’t find them worthy enough to remember.

however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your name—only yours. it makes you feel special.

you try to describe the concubine you’ve tussled with, “s-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyes—“

sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who that’s supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.

“uraume!”

his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.

sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.

the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.

you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sake—to the point that he’s ready to turn the entire area upside down—is somehow thrilling. though, you can’t help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.

someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.

you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. it’s like they immediately connect the dots.

“treat her in my quarters. don’t let her leave until i come back,” sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. he’s staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.

he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression you’re making. he lowers his head to your level so you’d be face to face.

“and you,” his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukuna’s hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, “i’ll deal with your ass later, yeah? i’ll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.”

that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you won’t be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. “understood,” you reply in a squeaky voice. you don’t have the guts to disobey him—he’s already out to kill someone and you don’t want to be the next victim.

sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubines’ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage that’s about to be unleashed.

you feel slightly puzzled. you didn’t expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.

instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesn’t care about what could happen to a human like you.

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Wraith wrecked havoc like no other.

He was loved and hated by the masses. Defended by Gotham regardless of what they felt of him. A figure in the underworld that hunted down those who moved to harm one of their kin and executed anyone who laid their hands in the weak—children.

The first explosion had been explained by the scattering papers and the anonymous posts of an organization who went after children with malicious intent. Blatant evidence that had people rallying to the GCPD to demand for justice. It was glorious and horrific—especially once they found out that it was Wraith who tossed the Joker into the harbor.

The Bats, by all means, attempt to find him. Figure him out, at least. But the man was a mystery. It was worse considering the majority of Gotham were eagerly telling the Bats to fuck off whenever they tried to hunt down Wraith. The only thing they ever got out of him was that his second in command—Phantom—was the nicer one between them. If you wanted civil negotiations, try and look for Phantom instead.

As much as they wanted to go directly to Wraith, this was their best shot. Their only shot.

"Had any luck finding Phantom?" Dick's hand rested on Tim's shoulder, trying to support his clearly tired brother. Tim was a little to determined, kinda desperate to find this guy.

"Nothing. Their names are trigger words." Tim clicked his tongue, "It's fucking up the system. Remember Ghostmaker's ghostnet? Any attempts makes you want to shut off your systems because of how encrypted they could get."

"Searching up their names gave the Batcomputer a virus?!" Steph gawked, leaning over Tim and staring at the computer. They could all tell he was wary, trying not to type in certain words to keep the damn tech sage from that mania.

"Wraith and Phantom are either metas with technology altering powers..." Barbara hums, "Or they have someone else doing this. Imagine them having their own version of the calculator... But worse and more annoying."

"So our new crime lord has a hacker... That has given the Batcomputer a virus." Dick slowly said, "And is still operating without us finding out."

"Hood and Robin are out trying to find Phantom." Barbara points to the two dots hurriedly moving through crime alley. "Hopefully they find him."

"Any news on Wraith?"

"His latest stint involved tearing down one of Black Mask's operations. Several bodies were found in the harbor."

"Why the harbor?"

"It's his MO, I think. It's always the harbor where he dumps the bodies."

Tim frowns, "Like it's his trash can.... For bodies."

"Hasn't the harbor always been the body trash can of Gotham?" Steph sighs, before turning away to stare at Cass who was training in the simulators again.

Dick glared at her for the comment but once again looked back to the screen.

"Hopefully they find Phantom soon... before Wraith drops more bodies."

Phantom was the nicer of the two—claimes by many people who told them Wraith was a little on the quieter side. No one truly knew but he was quieter than a lot of them.

Crime Alley was Red Hood's territory, everyone knew that. But apparently, Wraith has been operating in the same area from time to time. Mainly to return kids to the alley (freshly claimed by that flaiming white symbol). But Wraith did so quietly. They checked in from time to time to see if the kids were alright.

To be specific...

Phantom came to visit to see if the children they had returned and claimed were safe. Often coming with resources that he mainly reserved for the kids.

"Found him." Jason muttered, voice distorted through the modulator as he narrowed his eyes at the young man dressed in monochrome colors. His binoculars zeroed on the young man with white (seriously??) boots and gloves. The rest of his outfit was black, with a jacket still in monochrome colors. Jason frowned at the hood that covered his head.

"Let's go, Hood. Nightwing and father wants—"

"Stay out of it, Robin." Hood instantly growled. Jason has never felt so territorial before but this guy was in his territory—doing good, keeping the kids safe, marking them so no one tried going after them. "Phantom is Wraith's lieutenant. We don't need to make an enemy of the nicer one and piss of the one who ordered the explosion."

"I can handle him!"

"You'll piss him off!"

Robin scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you won't? Phantom clearly is fond of children and I am a child—"

"With katanas. You're a murderous child. Wraith and Phantom claim children who are in danger. Not the danger." Jason scoffed, while Damian opted to look utterly smug at the statement.

"Stay here." Jason drops down from the building.

He, unfortunately, didn't account for Phantom pulling out a sword from nowhere and immediately pointing it at Jason. The kids behind the man were quick hide behind him, cowering in fear until the recognition sets in their eyes.

"Wait! That's the Red Hood!" A girl yells, standing between them. Stupid but very brave. "He's one of the good ones!"

Phantom, who wore a mask that covered half his face yet showed his eyes, immediately lowered his sword once the girl was between them.

Jason froze, unable to tear his gaze away from Lazarus eyes—no... That shade of green was much purer than the pits... Phantom narrowed his eyes at Jason, before turning back to the girl. "You go and take care of your little sister, yeah? If your mom forgets to feed you again, tell her I'll give her a visit."

The girl nods, but she whirled around and gave Jason the nastiest glare an 8-year-old could give. "You hurt mr. Phantom and I'll tell Wraith!" She pointed an accusing finger at him, frowning before she gives Phantom a quick hug and makes a run for it with the other kids.

Soon enough, they're left alone... Staring at one another.

"I was wondering when one of you Bats would finally find me." Phantom hums, sliding his hand over the hilt of his sword.

Jason warily watched it disappear from sight. Okay. Possible meta, definitely has powers. "You're a hard man to find, Phantom."

"Not for you, I guess. I come and go into your haunt to check in on the kids every week." Phantom laughs, tilting his head.

Jason could see snow white hair from under the hood, making him shudder as the deathly green eyes are brought back to his attention.

"Every week, huh?" Jason clicked his tongue. "I'll cut to the chase. Your boss's stint—" he swore that Phantom twitched "—pissed of the big Bat. He ain't happy tnag Wraith is bombing up buildings and killing people."

Phantom visibly rolled his eyes, "Too bad then. Wraith's pretty direct when it comes to this shit. Trafficking and pimping kids make him murderous but the fact that those bastards were killing them and selling their organs? He's damn genocidal at this point. Can't say I disagree with that."

Jason... Well... Jason can't argue with that. If he found out that some bastards were doing that to kids, he'd go ballistic too. But Bruce didn't agree with these methods and was rather reproachful about it. But Wraith wasn't going to back down. This wasn't a normal rogue that had felt fear of the Batman and his brood before. To be honest, Jason thinks he's pretty ballsy.

"I don't disagree with that shit either. But Batman ain't going to let him off the hook after that stunt." Jason warned, grunting as he spoke through the modulator. The pits were flaring up again. But not malicious, not murderous. It was curious as it warmed his chest and practically urged him to get closer to Phantom.

"Yes, well... Piece of advice—Wraith is willing to blow up an entire district if it meant keeping others safe. And besides, your rogues know not to mess with him. Not after the Joker." He didn't actually see Phantom's face but he's pretty sure that the bastard was grinning.

"So he really did it."

"If it makes you feel any better, the Joker might as well be cursing him from the afterlife. It was an accident." Phantom shrugged.

An accident, Jason breathed out. Holy fuck, that would have been humiliating for the Joker. His death. An accident. Unintentional and he still died, his body dumped into the harbor.

"Anyways, tell Batsy not to mess with the kids. I know he doesn't, but he let the Joker live, so..." Phantom gave him a thumbs up, "Make sure to not cross pass with Wraith or else you'll end up in the harbor."

Jason gawked, watching as Phantom slipped into the shadows and promptly disappeared. Meta. Definitely a meta.

"Hood, report." Batman's voice rang through the comms.

"Red Hood," he grunts, "Wraith sure as hell doesn't like you, old man. And Phantom might be the nice one but he might as well be as stabby as Robin."

"I agree with Hood. He has wonderful posture, father!" Robin spoke, sounding impressed and smug.

The little shit.

"Technus, stop bullying Oracle." Dan groaned once he caught the ghost tampering with the net... Again.

The crime lord turned towards Danny, who melted out of the shadows again. Technus was blabbering about pesky bats and birds before Dante clocked his younger brother's apprehension. He looked....annoyed and concerned.

"I talked to Red Hood."

"YOU WHAT?!"

"Fun fact! He's a revenant!"

"THE FUCK YOU MEAN THE OTHER CRIME LORD IS A REVENAN?!"

"A very sexy looking one."

He was going to punch Danny. He was going to fucking punch Danny.

(Danny was not punched.)

"He said that Batman's pissy about you blowing up shit." Danny shrugged, shaking his head before floating over to the energy drinks and coffees by Dan's desk. "Good news though! I told him he'd end up in the harbor if he ever tried anything with us."

Dan gawked, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! You want to make the bats our enemies?"

"No! I'm commiting to our crime family bit!"

"We're not a crime family!"

"Tell that to Ellie. She's already got herself a new suit and everything."

Dan threw his hands up in the air, groaning at the insanity that was his younger siblings. Dear ancients, he was praying that Jazz wouldn't find out about the shit they've done in Gotham. She'd give them the worst tongue lashing the world has ever experienced if she did. Thank God she was in Yale right now.

"Ooh! A crime family, you say?" Technus grinned, floating closer to Danny who lounged in Dan's chair. (Get the fuck away from my crime lord throne, Danny! The leather is expensive!)

"That is perfect! The others have decided to migrate here, did you know? It's been quite... Boring back in Amity." Technus snickered.

Fuck. No.

"I bet my trust from Vlad that Johnny, Kitty, and Ember are already on their way." Danny cackled, "That'd be nice. Elle's been itching to steal Johnny's bike again."

"Splendid! We shall wreck havoc upon Gotham and exact justice that the Bats cannot give the people!" And like a supervillain, Danny cackled as he stood on Dan's desk, laughing maniacally.

(Just outside, the Wraith's goons peaked into the room and saw the insanity that was the nice lieutenant's villainy.)

Meanwhile, in the distance, the laughter of Johnny 13 and Kitty rang through the streets of Gotham.

Part 3 | Masterpost

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 2

(I was originally going to keep this as just a little prompt, but your support meant the world to me. So here it is! Part 2 💚)

Read Part 1 | Part 3 💚

The battle unfolded in front of you, the xenomorph looking like it had the upper hand. The yautja had no armor, no weapons, but it was fighting back hard, using its talons to stab at the xeno and shove it away.

When the xenomorph finally had the yautja pinned to the floor, its inner jaw (something you’d studied countless times and always found horrifying) extended out of its mouth. That’s when you thought: this is your chance to run.

You bolted out of the lab, smacking your hand against the panel to shut the door behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to. You just searched desperately for someone, anyone, (preferably human) who could help you.

That’s when the worst realization hit you: everyone was gone. They must’ve evacuated the moment the yautja escaped.

At the end of the corridor, you saw blood. Red blood. There had been a fight. But it wasn’t the yautja’s, otherwise the floor would be painted in that neon green you’d come to recognize so well.

You ran, lungs burning, mind blank, trying to think of anything -anything- that could help you survive. But panic had a grip on your brain, and you couldn’t think fast enough.

The facility was still under lockdown, but then… the doors started opening. All of them. At once. You knew you had only minutes before something worse found you, something that had already taken out the guards at the far end of the base.

You forced yourself to take a breath and closed your eyes. One image came to mind: the most secure room in the entire facility. The place the yautja had been held. It wouldn’t go back there, no way.

You remembered exactly where the room was and sprinted toward it, hoping you could get inside and lock it before it was too late.

You turned left down another corridor… more red stains. More blood. You couldn’t understand how the yautja had escaped and managed to injure so many people on the way out.

No bodies, though. Maybe they’d gotten away, wounded, but alive.

The door to the room stood open, like every other door. You tried not to think too hard about why the alarms had stopped or why everything was unlocked.

Had the yautja figured out the system? Or had the situation been “contained”?

You didn’t care. You rushed inside and went straight for the glass chamber where the yautja had been kept unconscious.

You knew how strong that thing was, nothing could break it. Not even another alien.

The chamber door was open. You slipped inside and sealed it behind you.

It was small, you couldn’t fully sit down if you tried. It had been designed to hold the yautja upright, strapped at the back.

The only problem now was that you were completely visible. If anything walked in, you were a glowing target in a glass box. No cover, nowhere to hide.

Still, the door was locked. You could feel the humid air around you, engineered to mimic the yautja’s natural environment.

You waited. And waited.

Then… movement. A shadow crossed the lab’s entrance. You froze.

You knew how silent these creatures were, perfect hunters. No footsteps. No sound. You’d always found their stealth fascinating. Studying the yautja had taught you that much.

Over the last few months, you’d gotten familiar with this specific specimen. You were certain it was male. But you still referred to it as “the yautja”. The last thing you wanted was to start feeling attached.

The growing shadow at the doorway snapped you out of your thoughts. You crouched down again, trying to make yourself small. Hoping (somehow) it wouldn’t see you.

But how could it not? You were in a damn glass chamber!

The yautja stepped into the room. Its movements were slow, calculated. Silent as always.

Then you saw it, green blood dripping from its left shoulder. The xenomorph must’ve gotten in a bite after all.

For a second, you felt a strange kind of relief. You weren’t dealing with a xenomorph anymore, you were facing something that at least recognized you.

The yautja turned its head. Looked at you. Then looked away…

Just… ignored you. Like you weren’t a threat. Or worth bothering with.

And honestly, that was fine by you. Even if it wanted to get to you, it couldn’t break through the glass.

Probably.

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On, ch4, p1

masterpost

Despite Tim making a phone number for Alvin and having permission for him to message Danny, Alvin was proving elusive. Tim wasn’t entirely sure why; he’d never really tried to interact with the other alters of his system like this before. He hadn’t even thought of himself as a system before, not exactly.

After his date with Danny, Tim had hesitantly, nervously brought it up to his therapist. He had been worried that he might be infantilized because of it or, worse, she would suggest that he be put on medication to try and get rid of the other parts of him. Luckily, there had been none of that. She had asked a lot of questions, including if next time she could speak with either Caroline or Alvin, and had promised to send him some research to read. Most of her focus was about how he was coping with this revelation and what they could do to make it easier for him.

It had actually been, well, therapeutic.

Go figure.

Something else that she had suggested was to give Caroline and Alvin time ‘out’, or fronting. She expressed some concern that not allowing those parts of himself to be realized could keep him from settling himself in other aspects. Which… made sense. Since Alvin was proving a no show in all ways, Tim decided to focus on Caroline. Besides, she was the one who started this revelation in motion.

To that end he had both a bottle of white wine that he chilled before setting on the counter next to several take out menu options. There was also a box of fancy chocolates; a variety of flavored truffles. Tim didn’t actually know what Caroline would like for those, but he’d made his best guess. (He could always eat the rest.) Last of all, there was a little self-care package with a face mask, mani and pedicure items, and a bath bomb.

Going with the only way that he knew to pull out Caroline for sure, he headed to the bathroom, pulled out the bag of make-up, and carefully applied some lipstick. Subtle eyeshadow, mascara, Tim could feel Caroline ‘waking up’ and himself being pulled back. It was like when he’d stayed up too late and the heavy pull of sleep was grabbing at him. Instead of fighting it—something he would normally do if he was going to be on mission and needed to retain details—Tim let the change happen.

Caroline pressed her lips together, setting the lipstick a little more firmly in place. It was a lighter color than she might prefer, but it wasn’t unattractive on her. She covered up the bags under her eyes a little (Tim really needed more sleep) and added a bit of highlighting before she called the look done. It was just enough to make her feel right, which is what mattered.

She stripped off Tim’s boring clothing, tossed it towards the hamper, and went hunting for her own things. As she clasped her bra behind her, she let out a soft breath of air. It was a relief to have it on. It made it easier to look at herself in the mirror or think about what to wear. Still having a poor selection, she ended up in an old pair of Tim’s exercise shorts (which were short enough due to Tim having grown a bit) and one of Alvin’s large t-shirts.

Wandering out to main living space, the sight of the gifts that Tim had left made her smile. It was sweet of him, really. She had to hunt for a corkscrew first, but soon had the wine open and was pouring herself a generous glass. She corked the bottle and put it back in the fridge for now.

Glass of wine in hand, she put the chocolates carefully in her self-care basket and took the whole thing over to the couch. She had to give that to Tim, his couch was wonderful. She stretched out as she found something mindless to put on while she enjoyed the wine and chocolate. When she got up to get herself a second glass of wine, she put in a food order. It was a bit of a wait for the sushi to come, but she was looking forward to getting to just sit and enjoy the food. Maybe she would even enjoy it the bath and really relax.

Since it would be some time until food, Caroline sat down to paint her nails. Her previous efforts were were gone, picked off absently by Tim, but there were still little flecks that she cleaned off. She had just started on applying the new color to her toenails, toes carefully spread by the little foam things, when there was a knock at the door. Surprised yet pleas that her food was earlier than expected, she carefully hopped up off the couch and duck walked over to the door.

It wasn’t her food.

Well, there was food, but it was being held in the hands of one Dick Grayson.

There was a flash of surprise across his face that he worked to hide quickly behind one of his sunny smiles. “Hey, Tim! It’s been a while since we talked, so I thought I’d stop by with tacos from that place you really like!”

Translation: Tim has been out of contact for too long and how his big brother was worried.

Caroline expected to feel Tim stirring and rising up to take charge. But he wasn’t. He was so tucked away that she didn’t even think he was aware that his brother had come to visit.

Well, fuck.

“So,” Dick said, drawing the word out, “can I come in?”

“Yes, right,” Caroline said—mumbled really—and backed up to let Dick in through the door.

Dick headed right for the kitchen island, setting down the plastic bags and pulling them open. “So… playing around with a new look, Tim?”

It was an out. She could try and pretend that was it. That she was Tim. She could even brush it off as doing some undercover work soon for one of Tim’s friends and practicing his look so that it would be just right. It was a Tim enough thing to do.

It would work.

And Dick would go away never knowing she was there.

“Tim?”

Caroline snapped her head up. She took a breath and forced herself to uncross her arms and stop curling in on herself. “Sorry, what?”

“Just… are you okay? You know you can talk to me about stuff, right Tim?”

“Caroline.”

Well, fuck.

She crossed her arms again. Her freshly painted nails tapped in a sharp staccato against her arm. The emerald green flashed in the lights. Resisting the urge to fidget further, she looked out the window and the beautiful view that Tim’s apartment had.

It was easier than looking at Dick.

“Okay,” Dick said slowly, carefully. Like he thought Tim—she—might run. “Is that what you’d rather be called now? Or… at least right now? You know it’s okay if you’re trans, right? It won’t change your place with the family.”

Caroline shook her head. If only it was that simple. Tim wasn’t… was she even? She had always been a she, since as long as she had existed, but Tim’s body, this body wasn’t…

“Hey, Tim, come on, you’re worrying me here baby bird,” Dick said. Caroline heard him come over towards her, but didn’t look up at him until he put his hands gently on her arms. “Talk to me, Tim.”

Caroline searched Tim’s brother’s eyes. Still unsure what to do. What if she was too much? He wouldn’t hate Tim, but he could still hate her.

“Caroline.” She at least wanted to be called her own damn name.

“Caroline,” Dick said in that same gentle tone. “Talk to me, Caroline.”

“DID, or OSSD,” the words slipped free without her permission, tumbling out from that place she hid herself in like a wound that was finally allowed to bleed. “That stands for other specified dissociative disorder. It’s Caroline because I’m not Tim right now. He’s, hum, retreated? He’s giving me a night out. His—our? The therapist that we see thought that it might be good for us if we did that some, so he’s more away than normal and—I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m one of his Alters. There’s also Alvin but he’s not around as much. I don’t think he really cares to be.”

“Okay… okay Caroline. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, but did as Dick asked. As much as she hated to admit it, it did help. She hated that she needed the help. She wasn’t supposed to panic like that. Caroline was always supposed to be calm, know what to say, and be in control of the room.

But this was Dick.

This was their Tim’s family.

This was harder.

“That’s good, Caroline,” Dick said, smiling a little quirk of a smile. “Now, is it okay if I give you a hug?”

What? “Yes?”

As soon as she agreed, Dick pulled her into a hug. She just about melted into it. Slowly and uncertainly, Caroline wrapped her arms around Dick and hugged him back. It was odd. (It was wonderful.)

“…I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged before,” Caroline admitted in a whisper.

“Well, we’re going to have to fix that!” Dick chirped. “No little sister of mine is going without hugs.”

“Little sister?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re part of Tim,” Dick said as he pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, “so, I guess I just thought that would mean you’re my little sister?”

“Oh.”

“If you hate that thought—”

“No! No,” she said, the repeat more firm. She took a breath and stepped back. She needed the room to think. “I think that I rather like that idea. Or I will, but only if you think though that no one else will mind. I don’t want to cause problems between Tim and his family.”

“It’s your family too.”

“Can it be when no one knows I’ve been around?”

“Even then,” Dick said instantly and confidently. He squeezed her arms lightly. “Think how many people we’ve added to our family? You’re just, officially, going to be another one added.”

“That… can we wait on that?” Caroline asked. She hated the waver in her voice. “I don’t think that I’m ready for the whole family to know. It’s still new for me to be so in charge like this. Tim is normally right there, watching and able to assume control when the mission is over or there’s no further need for me.”

“There doesn’t need to be a need.”

A smile tugged at Caroline’s lips. It was cute how adamant Dick was about that. Wrong, but cute.

“Well… for right now, we have tacos to enjoy and sushi on the way. We could… sit and eat and talk? Tim bought me a lovely bottle of white if you’d like a glass?” Caroline offered with an uncertain hope fluttering in her chest.

Dick grinned. “Yeah? You’re okay with me crashing your relax night?”

“I’d in fact love it.”

[vxnuslogy]

– jealous charms.

pairing: wise x gn!reader

premise: when jealous, wise had an interesting habit of trying to outdo whoever caught your attention. he needn't worry though, he'll still be your favorite forever.

– warnings: none

– author's note: another filler fic until i finish that one sunday fic that i've been marinating for 2 days now. | ~1.7k words.

“master, is it safe to conclude that you’re jealous of miss grace howards from belobog industries? you’ve been awfully engrossed in trying to replicate her creation for [name].”

a loud clatter echoed in the room as the pair of pliers in wise’s hand suddenly dropped to his work table. your head darts to wise’s hunched figure. his back was awfully straight and shoulders tensed as you raised an amused brow at him when he stood up from his seat and marched his way to fairy. muttering quiet curses as the bangboo on your lap tilted its head at him.

“is that why you’ve been glaring at her whenever we visit the construction site?” you questioned with a teasing tone. wise swiveled his head to your direction and narrowed his gentle eyes at you but you only let out an amused snort. he looked more like a wet cat than a big shot proxy with the way his cheeks burned red all the way to the tips of his ears. the color could probably rival the red tassel earring you gave him last year on chinese new years.

“firstly, i am not jealous–”

“i would beg to differ, master.”

“second!” wise turned to fairy, a hand to his hip while the other ran down his face, voice raising slightly as he tried to rid off the flustered tint on his cheeks. “if i were to be jealous of someone, it wouldn’t be grace.”

“will mister anton from belobog industries be the next candidate?” the ai quipped at him making the gray haired boy groan in frustration.

a laugh rippled from your chest as wise pouted and begrudgingly went back to his work station. but not before narrowing his eyes one last time at a glowing blue eyeball (?) that was fairy.

“aww wise it’s okay,” you gently place the bangboo down on the floor and make your way to wise. trying your hardest to take a peek at whatever he’s been working on. or at least get confirmation that he was actually making what you thought he was making. “everyone gets jealous sometimes.”

wise didn’t appreciate your teasing remark because he rolled his eyes at you and threw a piece of paper at your face. “seeing as though you’re not doing anything, do me a favor and pick up some more films for the store.”

it was your turn to pout. “jealousy doesn’t suit you at all, wise.”

with a sigh, you reluctantly left the room when he raised a brow at you with a smirk tugging at his lips. you hated how such a small quirk up of his lips melted all of your teasing. but then again, when it comes to anything related to wise you didn’t put up too much of a fight, no matter what it was.

– –

wise was not jealous. he repeatedly reminded himself of those words like a broken record. reciting it like a mantra in his head as he continued to bend and break the pieces of metal in front of him.

“master, now that the subject of your affection is gone, will you finally admit to being jealous?”

fairy’s words sent a shiver down his spine, silently thanking belle and you for going out to the arcade and prolonging your inevitable return even more. if either one of you heard fairy, he wouldn’t be able to live it down. a defeated sigh left his lips when he dropped his tools and buried his head in his arms.

“fairy, please just shut up.” wise’s voice was no more than a muffled plea as fairy continued to torment him.

“but all the data i’ve collected all share the same conclusion: you are jealous master.”

wise turned his head to their hdd system that glowed blue as fairy’s avatar floated. “okay so maybe i am a little jealous.” 

“but why, master?” wise felt an oncoming headache approach as fairy listed out the reason why he shouldn’t be jealous. “hollow raider [name] has made it clear on many occasions that they favor you the most. their sudden interest in miss grace howards cannot compare to their interest in you.”

wise knew that but it still didn’t feel right to him. with a groan he dropped his head back on the desk, his free hand coming to inspect the silver band he’s been working on for the past few weeks. “you’re making me feel stupid here, fairy.” an uncharacteristic pout graced his lips when he remembered how your eyes shined like bright diamonds when grace showed you her newest invention.

“it’ll help you in the hollows!” she had proudly proclaimed. and ever since that day, you’ve been wearing the bracelet that doubled as a tracker for both your health and your position to every mission you took on. wise felt the pricks of jealousy whenever you praised the older woman with a dazzling grin and an excited “it was very helpful!”

“i’m also helpful.” he muttered to no one in particular. 

“of course you are! you’re my proxy after all.”

wise felt his heart lurch out his chest as he hurried hid the band inside his hand when you appeared in the room. like a deer caught in headlights, he stiffly smiled at you. “w-when did you get back…?” he cooly asked, or at least he hoped it sounded cool enough for you to brush off whatever you heard.

with your hands behind your back, you stalked your way to his desk. “just a moment ago. belle is shelving all the new films now.” you lean in closer to wise’s space, trying for the second time to catch a glimpse at whatever it was he was working on. a tentative smile forming on your face when you ask him, “will you finally show me what you’re making? i won’t laugh, i promise.”

you certainly wouldn’t laugh, but you would tease him relentlessly. a final sigh escaped him as he leaned back on his seat and opened up the hand that hid his creation. “it’s… really nothing.” his voice was unusually timid when you walked over to his desk and took a peak. being in such close proximity with you has his poor heart and mind swimming. you wore perfume today and it was all wise could think about as you gingerly pick up the silver band.

“you need to give yourself more credit, wise.” 

this wasn’t good. if you continued to look at him like that he would surely melt into a puddle, and that would be incredibly embarrassing. a smile broke out from your face as you unclipped grace’s wristband and put wise’s creation on your wrist.

“does it have any functions?” wise has always enjoyed your curious nature. sure, it got you in trouble most of the time, but he found it incredibly endearing. he shook his head and opened up the closest drawer and pulled out a matching band several sizes smaller. “not any advanced ones, not yet at least.”

wise stood up from his seat and picked up the bangboo peacefully dozing off in one of the corners. taking its small arm gently, he slid the band over and glowed a soft white. the same thing happened to the one you wore and wise swore he felt his heart skip a few beats when you looked at him with big eyes filled with wonder.

“but it can accurately track your ether aptitude and send me an emergency message when you’re reaching your limit,” picking up the bangboo in his arms, wise made his way back to his desk and placed the little creature on it. “it’s still a work in progress, but i hope it’ll eventually be able to map out full hollows without much trouble.” 

your silence made wise nervous. you were never this quiet and he didn’t dare to look at you. that is until he felt a pair of arms wrap around his head and the scent of your perfume invading his senses. his breath started to quicken as you nuzzled your face into his hair, hands resting on his shoulders. wise felt his entire body tingle when your chuckle vibrated through his entire body and left a fuzzy feeling in his chest, a swarm of freed butterflies fluttering inside his stomach when you pulled away. warm hands holding both of his cheeks that were no doubt burning a bright red.

“did you make this for me?” wise didn’t like the way your eyes crinkled into amused crescents. “or did you just want to outstage miss grace?” he heard your laugh ring out when he turned his head to the side and murmured a soft maybe into your palm.

“god you’re so cute you know that?” a wide smile spread across your face as you smothered the boy into another hug. “don’t worry, no one could ever replace my proxy.”

wise wasn’t a physically affectionate person, not by a lot at least. but right now when he feels your laughter so close to his heart, he can’t help but wish to stay in your embrace. his arms slowly snaked to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, wanting to hug you like how your skin hugs the bones that make up your entirety. how lovely it must be to live inside your heart, to feel every beat pulsing through him as he listens to your heartbeat. slightly erratic but still calm, so unlike his that was beating so rapidly he feared it might escape his ribs and offer itself to you. 

“maybe i was a little jealous.” he didn’t know what urged him to say that but the laughter it stole from you made him smile like a fool. wise would stay jealous forever if you would hug him like this every time to assure him that he was still your favorite form of protection.

“thank you for always caring about me, wise.” there was such vulnerability in your voice that made wise tremble in your hold. all he could offer was a hum as he buried his head further into your chest making you chuckle. if only you knew the lengths he would go to just to keep you glued to his side, away from all harm and danger.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[taintandviolent]

Le coup de foudre ; Gambit x Reader

summary: THIS IS PART 3 OF THE TACO TUESDAY SERIES! PART ONE HERE / PART TWO HERE! Reader is suffering, big time. She wants Remy, but he hasn't called. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.1K | some angst to start things off, smut with some plot (we've got an established relationship, huzzah), French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), shower sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n, and some fluff at the end, because I went and broke y'all's hearts in the last chapter.

a/n: praying that the gambit fandom hasn't completely died out.... i'm so sorry this took me so long. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The first day is the hardest. 

The first day is the hardest because by 1:30 PM, you realize that you’re in love with Remy Lebeau. You cry on the couch he kissed you on. Why are you crying? Because you can’t remember the last time you’ve been in love with someone, and you know what comes with love. None of it is good. 

The second day sucks too because you go to work, and come home to an apartment that, for the first time since you’ve lived there, really felt empty. There’s nowhere you can sit that he hasn’t touched. His memory lingers everywhere and try as you might, you can’t escape it. You aren’t sure you want to, either, which is troubling in and of itself. 

By the third day, your heart is aching, but it’s a dull ache. Something like anger has started to roil in your system, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t called, or stopped by. You can justify it by saying that you don’t know what mutant superheroes go through or what their daily life looks like, but you’re still sour that there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end. 

Day four comes and goes, and nothing changes. You’re still sad. You’re still angry. But most of all, you’re still lonely. 

Day five… however. Day five comes, you’ve cycled through all the stages of grief and landed somewhere on the spectrum of desperation. 

So, after work, you march across the hall to Wade’s, and knock three times in a little melody. After a few moments, the door flies open, revealing a very casual looking Wade. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and grey sweats. You avert your eyes from his groin, out of respect. 

“Wade,” you stammer, scratching a non-existent itch on your arm. “Hey.”

“Pookie! How nice of you to stop by. Blind Al and I were just about to partake in some Colombian party powder, care to join us?” 

Your pupils dilate. Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell. “Uh… no. No, I’m good.” 

You shift uneasily. You aren’t sure how to start this, so you just blurt whatever comes out. 

“Wade… um. Look, I’m sorry to ask this of you. I just…. I can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t seem like the type to ghost someone, and I just… I really want to talk to him.” 

“You want Gambit’s number?”

You perk up, relieved that you didn’t have to ask the question yourself. Wade was more perceptive than you thought. 

“Y-yeah, if you have it.” 

“I don’t. Womp-womp. But I gave him yours.” 

“Oh…” A beat. “...wait. How did you get my number?” 

“Remember that package that was misdelivered?” 

“No….” 

“Yikes. Well, I do. It had your name and phone number on it. I figured it’d be useful to have so…” He taps the side of his head.

“Why did you… did he ask for it?” 

“Boy, did he.” 

You frown, feeling an overwhelming flurry of emotions. On one hand, he’s had your number and hasn’t called. On the other hand, he wanted your number. But he hadn’t done a damn thing with it. Your shoulders sink, unconsciously. 

“Oh, sweet cheeks. Someone play some Cigarettes After Sex, this is getting emotional.” Wade mock frowns, looking off to the left for a moment before his eyes dart back to you. “He’s probably saving lives or something heroic. Undisclosed mutant drama.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, choosing to ignore his weird commentary. “I appreciate it.” 

“What’re you gonna’ do now? Cue the depressed drinking montage.” 

“That’s a great idea, actually…” 

“No, no… let’s not.” 

You interject with a finger in his face. “Yeah, let’s.” 

“If you’re going to do that, let’s do it inside. C’mon.”  Wade doesn’t give you a moment to reject him, and plants both of his hands on your shoulders, yanking you forward. 

Turns out, Wade does have alcohol. He makes you a drink, something that tastes like whiskey. Maybe it's your whiskey, left over. You bring the glass to your lips, sucking the liquid down. It’s strong, but you aren’t complaining. 

“Oooohohoh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Heart eyes and all that mushy-gushy shit?”

You throw a glare his way, and take another sip. The liquor burns better than any remark you could’ve come up with.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s that Southern charm he’s got. Handsome, slick, and he can do magic tricks.” His eyes widen, excitedly. “How could you not fall in love with him?”

“Wade, you’re not helping.” 

“Sure I am,” he retorts. 

You take a seat on Wade’s couch, looking distraught. You’re thankful that Blind Al is in fact… blind because she can’t see the way that the tears are welling up in your eyes. You look at the chairs that you two sat on, flirting with each other.

“Oh,” Wade says, looking somewhat surprised. “Oh no.”

“She cryin’?” Blind Al asks. Great, she’s perceptive. You swallow back a sob, and bring the glass to your lips again. 

“Almost… almost… c’mon, give us a cinematic, single tear.” 

You shake your head and suck it up as best you can. You don’t want acknowledgement, that’ll only make it worse, possibly sending you into a fit of sobs. You don’t even know why you’re so upset – it’s not like he told you he never wanted to see you again. He just hadn’t… well, done anything and that was somehow worse.

“Je-sus…!” Wade says suddenly, leaning over to angrily look through the peephole. He stays there for a moment, before leaning back, a sly smile on his face. 

And that’s when you hear the dull thudding that has Wade’s attention. It sounds like a knock – a heavy handed one. 

You straighten your spine, curious. 

“Oh, this is too perfect.” He says under his breath, before taking one step towards you. “Save the waterworks, your Cajun Prince has returned.” 

You set the glass on the floor and scramble off the couch, practically on all fours as you run towards the door, pushing Wade out of the way. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole for only a split second, you get a visual. Hurriedly, you twist the knob and throw the door open, wanting to rip it off its hinges. It bumps into the wall behind it, and your breath rushes out.  

Remy stands there, facing your door, his fist raised to knock again. He has a duffel bag on his shoulder, which slides off the second he hears your voice. 

“Remy?” you call, your voice quivering slightly. He turns abruptly, his coat flaring out behind him. He’s wearing armor now, and looks like he’s just come back from something serious.

“Chere? What’re you –” 

You don’t need to answer again, instead, just run across the hall, rushing into his arms. Your body hits him so hard that you let out a little vocalization, a delicate oomph, as you compress yourself to him. He immediately responds by wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around the back of your head, hand petting your hair gently. 

He smells like blood, sweat and ash, but you nuzzle your cheek into the rigid plate of his purple chestplate anyway, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso in a desperate hug. 

After a moment, you pull away, just enough to look up at him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with such an adoration that you can’t help but clench your stomach. He looks like he missed you as much as you missed him. 

“Is this your superhero outfit?” Your fingers stroke the ridges in his cowl, admiring it. Slowly, they trail down the length of it, and begin to make their way over his smooth chestplate. 

He laughs, looking down at you. “ ‘Spose so.”

“I like it.” 

Two smiles later, he pulls you in for a bruising kiss, lifting you up off the ground slightly. You’re on your tiptoes again, smashing your lips against his and tasting him as hungrily as you did the first time – if not hungrier. There’s something extremely erotic about kissing a costumed hero, something to do with uniforms and all that, you assume, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild at the feeling of his armor against you. This time, you don’t try to suppress anything and give into the feeling of it all. 

Someone sighs dreamily behind you and Remy breaks the kiss to look knowingly over the top of your head. Wade is leaning against his door frame, hands clasped in front of his chest. Short of having hearts bursting over his head, he’s silently gushing, his brows pulled together in a sappy expression, with a dorky smile curling around his lips.

“Oh, c’mon! Just a peek? Where’s your sense of fan service?!” 

“No, Wade.” Remy croons, opening your door and pulling you in with him. He shuts the door with one hand.

“Now before we get to the good stuff, I wanna’ wash this day offa’ me.” 

You nod your head, understanding, and reach for his hand. The bathroom is adjacent to your bedroom, so you lead him down the hall.

You flick on the light; it’s all dark tile and cool tones. You head to the sizable shower, and open the glass door, leaning in just enough to turn the knob. The water splashes to life, and steam fills the bathroom quickly. 

Watching Remy undress himself is like a strip tease that has you biting your lip. He’s determinate and meticulous, like he knows you’re watching. The jacket and armor pieces come off first, and get set on the edge of the bathroom counter. Then comes the shirt, revealing that delicious torso again, the one that you’ve been longing to run your hands over for almost a week. He quickly unzips his pants and drags them down his legs before setting them atop the rest of the items. The briefs are last – the perfect ending to reveal his heavy, flaccid cock before he turns, and walks into the shower. He’s got a perfect ass, too; muscular and round. You’re pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of it. The water splashes against the roundness of his freckled shoulders, spattering against the muscle and onto the tile. 

“Chere, c’mere…” He reaches for your hand, pulling it inside the shower. 

“Wait, wait,” you laugh, and retract your hand. “I’m not coming in there fully dressed.” 

“Then get naked, mon amour. We know we done been waitin’ long enough to feel each other again.” 

You pull your shirt over your head, and reach around back to undo your bra. Your jean shorts are next, joining the pile on the floor.

The water is warm, but Remy’s naked body is even warmer. 

There’s a beautiful, tender familiarity in the way you touch each other, coupled with a hunger that can only be fueled by absence. He hasn’t had you in days, you haven’t had him; the desire has reached a boiling point, and needs to be expelled. He presses you against the tile of the shower, watching as the water pitter-patters against your skin, over your decollete, over your breasts and down the gentle curve of your stomach. He leans down and kisses the hollow of your throat, his hands cupping your hips forcefully.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“I missed you too… maybe more.” 

“Ooh, doubt that.” 

As his fingers trail along your body with an air of ownership, Remy kisses your wet shoulders, nipping at the warm, slick flesh. Despite the heat, you shiver. He has a real knack for making your body shudder. Your knees feel like jell-o, so you wrap your hands around his strong neck, interlacing your fingers behind it for some support. 

His fingers dip down between your legs and teasingly splay out over your folds. His middle finger slips between them, glossing over your center, and slides all the way down, teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. Everything is wet, but he can feel the slickness that meets his finger. His cock twitches against your thigh. 

“‘Dat’s my girl,” he says, low. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘dis way too much.” His hand cups your cunt, as if to punctuate his sentence and you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You shift, forcing more friction against his wet palm, the warm water pooling between your legs. “The thought of you been distractin’ me. You a dangerous woman, cher…” 

“I’m dangerous? Says the guy who has fucked me in every room, on almost every surface in my apartment…” 

Remy chuckles and the sound fills your heart. There it is again – that unyielding feeling of adoration. You’re horny as all get out, but somehow, you still have the capacity to swoon over tiny things like his laugh. This isn’t you, this isn’t what you’re used to. Frustrated, you bump your head against the tile, letting out a small groan. 

He notices this, and brings his other hand – still leaving one situated between your legs – up behind your head. 

“What’re you doin’? What’s wrong, chere?”

“Nothing...” you huff, looking over at the shower head. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him yet… you’d rather have him rearrange your guts and not think about the feelings. 

He smirks, devilishly, like he already knows. If he does, he’s not letting you off the hook. 

“Guess I just gon’ have to fuck it outta’ you, huh?” 

You avert your gaze back to him, pupils dilating. You know him well enough now that he means what says.  

With that, he places a kiss on your forehead, and turns his body towards the stream of water. He begins washing himself, and you watch as the suds slowly trail down the ample curve of his back. You reach forward, spreading them over the indentation of his spine, washing him gently. 

“Hoo, the way you touch me…” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear it. 

The shower is intimate and everything is mutual, cue the montage. For the… what? Tenth time that week? You realize that you're in way too deep with Remy. Way too deep, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. 

Drying his feet off on the mat and allowing you space to do the same, Gambit then pulls a towel from the rack, and wraps it around your naked body. The droplets absorb into the fibers, and you’re a little less drippy. Well, your body is. The hungry, whining void between your legs isn’t. 

When Gambit turns, you catch a glimpse of his half-hard cock and blush. Even though you’ve fucked it, sucked it and everything else, the sight of is still enough to send butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

He can’t get you to the bedroom fast enough. His hands are on your hips, directing you towards the bed and you let out a little vocalization, much to his delight. 

“C’mere, mon ami… get up on ‘dat bed.” 

You obey. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this for almost a week now. 

Before he has a chance to stop you, you’re reaching forward to take his cock in your hand. It’s heavy and hot and the feeling of it against your palm makes you clench painfully, twinging with heat. You take your time in stroking him to full hardness, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip and smearing the pre-cum down his veiny length. 

Once he’s there, he’s like a freight train. Unstoppable and panting hard. He fucks you hard over the edge of the bed, hard enough to make your breasts bounce back and forth with each bullying thrust, withdrawing it to the tip and bottoming out each time. Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of bodies slapping together, flesh against flesh. 

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Ain’t no place for secrets up in here.”

“It’s not important – uuhhh!” Another thrust, deep as he can go. 

“Cher,” he growls and thrusts again. “I ain’t gonna’ let you cum ‘till you tell me.” 

“No,” you moan, bringing your hands to your tits as they move. “Please, I’m so close, we can — uhhh god!”

He’s relentless. 

“Fuck, fuck-fuck, oh my god…!” 

With a slick pop, he pulls his cock all the way out. You lift your head up, gazing distraught between your legs; he’s centimeters away from you. The tip is red, glistening and angry as it twitches up, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Tell me, cher, or you ain’t gonna’ get ‘dis cock again.” He bucks his hips forward, dragging the fat, wet tip against your swollen cunt. You cry out at the sensation, your clit buzzing with electricity. Despite all that, he doesn’t penetrate you again, and you whimper at the empty sensation. Every time you try to move your hips to get his cock to slip in again, he pulls back just enough to put distance between you two. You whine through gritted teeth. 

“Okay!” 

He presses the head of his cock against your clit. Waiting. Patiently. So patiently. For a moment, you marvel at the control he has considering that his cock looks red and angry, aching to empty itself inside of you. 

“Fine. I think…” You pause to catch your breath. “I think I love you.” 

Remy closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the sound of you saying it. He’d wanted to say it to you at breakfast, and he’d wanted to say it before he left. 

“Mm.” 

“Mm?”

“Mmm-mm. ‘Dat’s what I wanted to hear, chere. An’ it sounds so good comin’ outta’ ‘dat mouth of yours.”

He lines the cockhead up, and bottoms out with another word. He’s said enough, apparently. When he takes hold of your hips, lifting them up slightly to give himself a deeper angle, you wrap your hands around your sheets until the fibers squeak. Your nails dig into the fabric, nearly puncturing holes in them. It’s only a few more earth-shattering thrusts before you cum, and before he fills you with white hot heat, the two of you calling and moaning each other’s names in ecstasy. 

After softening inside of you, which is somehow extremely sweet, he withdraws himself from your cunt, and uses the sheet to clean up the mess that leaks out. He carefully lifts you up onto the bed fully, and then crawls next to you, nestling into the same space he did last night. 

It’s like he never left. 

“I really do, you know. I love you. I know we just met and fucked and that’s all, but I love you.”

“You keep sayin’ ‘dat’s all’ as if what we have is somethin’ casual, cher. You’re gonna’ hurt Remy’s feelings if you keep ‘dat up. So, knock it off, ah?” 

“It’s… it’s not casual?” 

He shakes his head. “I love you too, mon coeur. I have since I first saw you…” 

You hum happily, and nuzzle yourself against his bare chest. “I finally understand that French phrase I learned… C’etait le coup de foudre?” (It was love at first sight.)

“Oui… oui.” 

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m about to combine my religion posting with my socialist posting for a second.

I’ve never tried to hide on this blog that I’m fairly religious. My faith is a big part of my life. I’m not here to convert anybody but I’m not interested in hiding that aspect of myself either.

Anyways I’ve been thinking about what I want from my life and wealth and how that relates to Christianity and the kind of economic system I live in.

Because in many ways pure capitalism and Christianity are kind of opposed if you really think about it. Any form of hoarding wealth and Christianity are opposed to each other if you really think about it. Yet it’s also been used as a reason to hoard wealth.

Jesus often spoke against hoarding wealth. He encouraged tax collectors to only collect what was due and not skim extra off the top. He said a poor person who gives a little money has given more than a rich person who gives a lot. He said it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than enter the kingdom of heaven. And I’ve heard interpretations that that “eye of the needle” thing was actually in reference to a kind of very small door in city walls or something but point is, it’s difficult.

Then you get the invention of something like prosperity gospel. The idea that if you’re doing well it’s because you’re blessed. You get politicians working for the rich or who themselves are rich making a show of being pious while also harming the poor.

So I’ve been rattling this around in my brain. The culturally dominant religion in the western world teaches against the hoarding of wealth. Yet that same culture also puts the wealthy up on a pedestal and protects them.

I watched this video once about this guy who personally decided to donate half of his earthly wealth to charity because of his Christian faith. He wasn’t trying to tell other people they should do this. Just talking about his own spiritual journey and why he decided to do that. He sold half of his possessions, sold his house and downsized, really went through the wringer figuring out what’s really actually important to him and this guy wasn’t even particularly wealthy. He was maybe middle class. This was a huge sacrifice he made.

I’ve been tossing around in my brain how the same belief system could could create both that guy and prosperity gospel.

We get stories all the time about how the real treasure was the friends we made along the way, right? About letting go, about being happy with less, about sharing, about the dangers of greed. Sometimes we even get those stories from the organizations and people looking to hoard more and more. Disney comes to mind. The real treasure is family. And also all this money we made off of toy sales.

I feel like society is trying to push us towards a very specific definition of “success” while also wrestling with the reality that even if you aren’t Christian you live in a society with Christian ideals and one of those big Christian ideals is supposed to be charity. Not hoarding wealth at the expense of others.

Like this idea of being happy with just enough is supposed to be a message for the rich, right? Yet it seems to have been twisted around the other way. If you’re sick it’s your fault, you didn’t try hard enough, you didn’t rise and grind hard enough. Even though Jesus helped those who were suffering whether their suffering was their own fault or not, and often he rejected the notion that a person’s suffering was their own fault.

I know the answer to this disconnect is that the rich can afford to twist the narrative in their favor. That religion is a tool that can be used for both great good and great harm.

It’s still frustrating though. That I feel like I’m socialist partially because of my faith but those same messages that inspire people who aren’t even that well off to give away half of their earthly possessions are used as an excuse by others to justify bleeding the poor dry.

It’s something I’ve been sitting with when it comes to what I want with my life. It’s a cliche I guess in some Christian circles that you shouldn’t want what society wants but I’m starting to think that’s true. At least to some extent. I think I don’t want success by society’s definition of it. God asks you to not hoard your wealth. God instructs you to make time for rest. Yet society has told you to climb that ladder of success and never rest, never sleep until you get there.

Yeah, I think I’m going to rest. I think I reject the idea that success needs to involve money. I think that hoarding wealth is bad. And you don’t need to be Christian to think those things obviously but my faith leads me at least to these conclusions. However it hasn’t lead everyone to them, clearly. It’s a contradiction of values we all have to live with for now, unfortunately. Hopefully one day we can all live out the things we preach but for now that day seems very far away.

[screqmsqueen]

You Never Said Stay – Part 2 ( read part 1)

Setting: Avengers Tower, Living Room. Late night.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

probably no part 3 for this, sorry!

The Tower was always too quiet after a mission.

You could still hear the aftermath in the walls—the muffled hum of the air system, the occasional groan of the metal infrastructure adjusting to night. But mostly, it was silence. The kind that didn’t comfort you. The kind that let your thoughts echo too loudly in your head.

Sleep had already rejected you. So you moved without thinking, bare feet brushing against cold floors as you walked the familiar halls. No real destination—just a vague pull, the way a tide pulls things that are already half-drowning.

You stopped at the edge of the living room before you even realized why.

And there he was.

Bucky. On the couch. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted together. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, his jacket folded over the armrest. The metal arm caught the soft lamp light and flickered with gold undertones. He wasn’t watching anything. The TV was off. So was the world.

He didn’t look at you when you walked in.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the doorframe, before your voice slipped out—quiet, but clear.

“Figured you’d be out of here by now.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smile. Just said, “Didn’t feel right.”

You stepped in slowly, crossing to the couch. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed your approach.

You didn’t sit right next to him. Just close enough that the cushion dipped with your weight. A small thing. But it felt like something.

“You didn’t look at me” you said softly. “When I hit the ground. You didn’t even look.”

His jaw flexed. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Not defensive. Just tired.

“I thought you were dead” he said. “And if I looked at you and it was true… I wouldn’t have come back from that.”

You watched him for a second. The vulnerability in his voice wasn’t practiced. It was quiet. Unearned. Almost unwilling.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I did” he said, and then looked at you, really looked. “I do.”

The room went still.

Not heavy like before. Just… still.

You exhaled, leaning back against the cushions.

“I don’t throw myself in front of people for fun, Barnes.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t do it to make you owe me anything.”

“I know.”

Silence again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was weightless. Careful.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you to say something,” you admitted. “Not because I need it. Just… because I didn’t want to feel like it was one-sided.”

“It’s not” he said, and his voice cracked a little on it. “It’s not one-sided.”

You looked at him then. His hands. His eyes. The parts of him he tried to hide, even now.

“I get it” you said. “You’ve lost people. Been through hell. Trust isn’t easy.”

He nodded once. Just barely.

“But I’m not asking you to promise anything” you added. “I’m not trying to hold you hostage with what happened.”

That made him blink. He looked down at his hands, exhaled through his nose.

“I don’t want to go” he said quietly.

You turned your head toward him.

“I didn’t ask you to stay” you said. “Not really.”

“No” he said. “But you didn’t want me to leave, either.”

You let the moment hang.

Let it settle into your bones, soft and slow.

Then, you leaned your good shoulder slightly toward him. Close enough that your arms brushed. He didn’t pull away. You felt the tension leave him, just a bit.

“You’re allowed to stay,” you said. “You don’t have to be anything other than here.”

“I don’t know how to do this” he said.

“You don’t have to know. You just have to try.”

He looked over at you again. Eyes softer now. Still tired. Still carrying too much. But open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Maybe ever.

“I’m scared I’ll mess it up” he said.

“You will” you replied. “We both will.”

That made him breathe out a laugh. Quiet. Real.

“I don’t know what this is” he said.

“Neither do I” you admitted. “But I know I don’t want to keep pretending there’s nothing here.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just looked down at the space between you.

Then, slow—tentative—he reached over and brushed his fingers against yours. Just enough that you felt it. That grounding pressure of touch.

You turned your hand slightly. Let your pinky hook with his. Not grabbing, not holding.

Just… meeting halfway.

And that was enough.

No promises. No dramatic declarations.

Just him, staying.

And for once, that was the ending you wanted.

[vinnyvamppp]

hmmm okay. for ur consideration… fem!reader x atom eve. maybe reader making a move during those 5 years where mark travelled back in time when nobody thought he was gonna come back? or maybe something set in season 2 when eve is trying to get over mark? anything works, i’ve just been considering the concept for a while.

Atomic Heart

Note: I would've done season two, but there's not enough drama for me, so we went with the former. Also, if this story seems familiar, it's because it is. It's been repackaged and repurposed bc we can't have nice things.

Warnings: Smut, Pussy Eating, Fingering, Tribbing, Improper Use of Powers, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Power Play & Restraints (Consentual), Mentions of Invincible, Mutual Pining & Emotional Angst, Alien Technology, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Synopsis: With Mark gone for five years, and Eve's lips ghosting promises against your skin, you realize... it was time to take his place.

Atom Eve/Samantha Eve Wilkins x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,555 (I LOVE HER)

Mark left.

At first, it was just a mission. Then, it became a choice. And after five long years, it felt like a ghost story—whispers of a man who had once been here, who had once held her, who had once promised he would always return.

But he didn’t.

And you had to watch Eve bear the weight of that absence alone. She had been so hopeful at first. So certain that he would come back before she even began to show. But the weeks stretched into months, and soon, that hope had nowhere left to go—so it settled in her hands, in her breath, in the quiet way she held herself together.

And then, there was the baby.

You never meant to love her. Or maybe you did. Maybe it was impossible not to. Maybe it started the first time Eve took your hand and pressed it against her belly, laughing softly as the child stirred beneath your palm. Maybe it was in the way she’d look at you when she was too exhausted to stand, silently trusting you to be the one to hold her steady. Maybe it was in every midnight conversation, every fleeting moment where she let herself lean against you, warmth sinking into warmth, two people filling the spaces Mark left behind.

Maybe love had never been a decision at all. Maybe it had always been inevitable.

When Mark finally returned, standing there with his wide, hopeful eyes, expecting to pick up where he left off— Eve didn’t run to him. She just sat there, arms folded over her chest, a fortress of quiet resentment and exhaustion. And when she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t angry. It was just tired. “I thought you were dead. Welcome home, Mark. I’m glad you’re alive, but… I don’t want to see you again. We’re through.” And when Mark flinched—when he realized, too late, what he had done— you gazed with pity from afar as tears pearled against his waterline. Eve simply watched, having already grieved their lost love.

You weren’t sure if it was anger or protectiveness that burned in your chest. It didn’t matter because you had already chosen your side.

The first time you met Samantha Eve Wilkins, she was floating midair, casually reconstructing a crumbling building with nothing but a flick of her wrist and a furrow of concentration. The second time? She was gritting through an awkward explanation about why she’d recreated alien bondage tech.

“I—okay, so—hear me out.” Eve held up her hands defensively, hovering over her workbench where the sleek golden cuffs rested. “It’s not like I meant to make them for, you know, that.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word, and you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, pretending to ignore the way her pink energy flickered anxiously around her hands. “So, you accidentally reverse-engineered Flaxan tech that forces two people to move in perfect sync?”

Eve bit her lip, eyes rolling within their sockets. “Well, yeah, technically. I mean, I saw them years ago during the invasion, and I thought, wow, that’s an insanely advanced neural-link system, and then I just… y’know, figured it out.” She was talking fast now, rambling through it like it was basic knowledge. “And then I may have tested them, maybe realized they could be used for, um… more personal applications, and now I can’t turn them off without—”

Your heart skipped. “Without what?” Her pink energy flared, and she let out a tiny, guilty laugh. “…Without you helping me.” You blinked. “Helping you how, exactly?” Eve winced, tapping the metal cuff. “Soooo, funny thing,” she started. “The cuffs are already linked. To me.” There was a beat of silence before a strange warmth bloomed over your skin—a slow, pulling sensation in your chest, like gravity had shifted just slightly.

Eve sucked in a breath at the same time you did. “Oh,” she whispered. Your fingers twitched. So did hers. “…Eve.” Your voice came out slower, weighted, as your limbs suddenly moved in tandem with hers—so naturally, so fluidly, that it was unsettling. “What exactly did you do?”

Her pink energy crackled around her fingertips as she attempted to shift back, only for your own body to mimic her perfectly. Her breath hitched when you both stumbled forward at the same time, chest-to-chest now, your movements completely bound to hers.

She groaned. “Okay, fine. Maybe I got a little carried away. But it’s still Mark’s fault because if he hadn’t just abandoned me for half a decade, I wouldn’t have thrown myself into stupid projects like this just to stop thinking about him.”

You felt it then—that flicker of resentment, buried under layers of frustration and exhaustion. Because Mark didn’t just leave her; he left their daughter. And now that he was back? She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him. Your chest tightened. Eve had always been strong, stubborn, and selfless. But this? This wasn’t just about Mark. This was about her. About everything she’d sacrificed, about how much she deserved to be wanted, to be chosen.

You exhaled sharply. Her head tilted, puffy lips stretching into a smile. “...It sounds really bad when you stare like that,” she muttered. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. Of course, Atom Eve—the literal genius with the power to reshape reality—would get herself into this mess.

But, as you both shifted in place, feeling every tiny movement in perfect sync, a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the cuffs. Eve was watching you now, hazel eyes soft, smile growing. “Guess we should figure out how to undo this before we spend the rest of our lives moving in sync.”

You let out a laugh. “Oh? You don’t want to be stuck with me forever?” Eve hesitated. Her gaze flicked to yours—and for the briefest second, she didn’t look like she minded at all. Then, quick as a spark, she cleared her throat, masking her flustered expression behind a teasing smirk. “I mean,” she mused, “if I had to be stuck with someone, at least you’re cute.”

She surges forward, gripping the front of your shirt as her lips crash against yours. It’s desperate, claiming five years of longing condensed into a single moment. She pours all of it into you—the anger, the loneliness, the quiet ache of missing something she never should have had to miss.

You gasp, caught off guard but not unwilling, never unwilling. You part your lips, exhaling softly against her, letting yourself melt into the heat of her body, the strength of her presence. Your hands move instinctively to her waist, gripping her like you’re afraid she might disappear—as if you don’t realize she’s the one who’s been afraid all this time.

Eve tightens her hold on you, lips parting just slightly, just enough to steal another breath from you, another piece of you. “I could hold you like this forever. Don’t tempt me.” She teased, her warmth spreading throughout like a river. “You talk a big game, Wilkins. Let’s see if you can back it up.” You reply, watching her hands move to your clothing, slow and deliberate. A warm pink glow pulses at her fingertips, and before you can react, the fabric dissolves—thread by thread unraveling into nothing. A teasing reminder of her control—of the night's possibilities.

A slow heat spreads through your skin as the devices hum to life, a gentle caress disguised as technology. Eve guides you to the bed, her hands firm but patient as she presses you down. She was gorgeous, hair splayed across her shoulders as she peered through lidded eyes. She leans in, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re mine tonight. Every breath, every shiver—it’s all for me.” She murmured, her fingertips skimming your skin, tracing slow patterns, savoring every inch of contact. You can feel it in the way she touches you—the ownership, the reverence, the want. “I love it when you act smug.” Your voice is rough with anticipation as you grow restless.

"Mm," she groans, amusement flickering in her eyes. Every little movement, every tiny reaction—there’s no hiding from her, from either of you. A mutual blush creeps up your necks, but Eve only smiles wider, proud and pleased. The space grows suffocating as her lips trail down your neck, her tongue tracing patterns over your collarbone. Impatience gnaws at your bones. Every second stretches unbearably long.

Your hands move abruptly, flipping her onto the mattress as you settle between her thighs.

Squeezing the supple flesh, you feel the heat pooling between her legs, worsening with each passing moment. Lips ghost over her inner thigh, teasing, taunting—deliberately avoiding where she craves you most. A strangled sigh escapes her. Your tongue finally traces over her folds, fingers parting her deftly as you explore her warmth. A fire curls in her stomach, spreading outward, leaving her trembling beneath your touch. An arousal she hadn’t felt in a long time doused her body in a cold chill that hardened the soft peaks against her chest.

The sensation is overwhelming—every touch, every flick, every slow, torturous suck sends waves of pleasure through both of you. You feel a mirroring ache between your own thighs, as if you’re tasting yourself in her pleasure. Slowly, teasingly, your tongue drags from bottom to top. She tastes sweet and tangy, like honey and musk, and you can’t get enough. You circle her clit with the tip of your tongue, teasing the sensitive bud before dipping lower, dipping down to thrust into her tight cunt. 

Her velvety ridges attempt to squeeze your fingers, each stroke leaving her walls fluttering and sucking you in for more. "You look a little flustered, Eve. Something on your mind?"

Eve moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair as her hips rock against your face. You smile against her, the vibrations making her shudder. Your tongue moves in concert with your fingers, plunging deep while your lips suckle gently around her clit. A faint groan slips past your lips as she flexes her fingers, your hips to careen into the touch with a faint groan. You feel the way her body responds, her intoxicating juices soaking your chin, her thighs trembling against your ears. Your breath syncs with hers, building, climbing—both of you wound so tightly you can barely stand it. The silk sheets rustle beneath you, the sound mixing with breathy, desperate moans as you both struggle to stay quiet, to keep from waking Eve’s daughter.

"Don't stop," she whimpers, voice breaking, thighs clamping down as she teeters on the edge. "I’m gonna come—fuck, I’m gonna—"

You double your efforts, your tongue moving faster, your fingers curling inside her, stroking that perfect spot. She comes with a sharp gasp, body shuddering, hips bucking into your mouth as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. You don’t let up, lapping at her, drawing out every last aftershock until she’s a boneless, gasping mess beneath you.

"I hate how much I need you right now," she says through ragged breaths. "If I were you, I wouldn’t move. Unless you want me to make you." She continued, her hands already moving to reposition you. As much as you wished to argue, the thought was enticing. She had you beneath her, legs pushed up and spread wide as your knees met your shoulders. And like a sought puzzle, she squatted herself atop you, using your ankles as an anchor before her labia slotted against yours perfectly.

She grinds slowly at first, teasing herself, teasing you—hips rolling in hypnotic, measured strokes, building heat between you until it’s unbearable. It’s mind-numbing. Every brush of her clit against yours sends tingles racing down your spine, your skin burning where she touches. She leans forward, her breasts pressing against your chest, the frantic slip of her skin reddening your areolas from friction. Her breathing becomes ragged, matching the rhythm of her hips. She looks down at you, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and endearment. The sight of her, flushed and sweaty, her body glistening with effort, is maddening. You can feel her wetness coating you, the slickness making the movements smoother as she glides against you. She changes the angle slightly, her clit grinding away, rolling her hips just so— and your vision whites out. Every sensation—her warmth, her strength, the weight of her body pressed against your—became yours, looping back between you in an endless circuit of sensation. You could feel her stimulation too, the way it crackled through her nerves, feeding into your own until you didn’t know where you ended and she began. You feel her need as if it’s your own, the way she trembles, the way her body begs for more.

Suddenly, a bright pink light fills the room, blinding you momentarily. You blink rapidly, trying to adjust your vision as the light fades, revealing Eve's eyes glowing with the same pink hue. She doesn't pause her movements, her body continuing to rock against yours, but her hands move to her sides, and you hear a soft humming sound. As your vision clears, you see that her hands are crafting something in the air, the pink light coalescing into a solid form. She molds it with her fingers, shaping it into a double-sided dildo. The toy glows with an otherworldly energy, its surface shifting and changing as if it's alive. “I can feel you trembling. I like it.”

With an eager smirk, she reaches down, her hand still glowing with the pink light. She guides the toy between your legs, and you gasp as it slides inside you. The cool, smooth surface bulbs against your G-spot. She takes it in with a slow, shaky movement, her eyes watching as your limbs stiffen with a choked sob. The sight of her impaled on the same toy that's inside you is incredibly erotic. So much so that you became dizzy. She leaned down, your lips meeting gingerly as she mumbled weakly, her insides twitching as she pistoned her hips downwards.

Eve's movements become more urgent, her breath coming in short gasps. The dildo shifts inside you, the angles and pressures changing with every movement. The phantom touches start slow, featherlight strokes dragging over your skin, but then—then they grip, squeeze, pull. The feel is exhilarating as it traces over your features leaving your hairs standing on edge. You can feel her, through the toy, her muscles clenching and releasing in sync with yours. The room fills with the sound of your combined moans, the wet, slapping noise of your bodies meeting, and the soft hum of the glowing dildo.

The throbbing continues, her clit grinding against yours, the dildo filling you both. The dual stimulation grows too much, and the pleasure becomes almost unbearable. "Touch me. Please.” Her only plea snapped your attention into place. Reaching up, you rolled a nipple between your fingers, the pad of your thumb smoothing over the sensitive peak, watching as her eyes rolled into her skull. You can feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling in your belly, ready to snap. Eve senses it, her eyes screwing shut as she increases the pace, her hips moving faster.

As your orgasm hits, your body convulses, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Eve rides it out with you, her own body shaking as she reaches her climax. The dildo seems to pulse with your combined energy, the pink light flashing brightly before fading away. Eve collapses onto you, her body slick with sweat, the toy slowly dissolving in the air. The room is filled with the scent of sex and the sound of your combined breathing, slowly returning to normal.

She exhales, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before settling beside you, her forehead resting against yours. There’s something vulnerable in the way she looks at you now, something unguarded like she’s finally allowing herself to want this—to want you. "I didn’t think I could have this again," she admits softly, almost to herself.

You reach for her hand, fingers threading together as you squeeze gently. "You never lost it." Her lips part, as if she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Not when you look at her like that—not when you’re still here. She sighs instead, curling into your warmth, pressing her body against yours like she’s afraid of letting go.

Beyond the door, the world is still waiting. Responsibilities, regrets, unspoken fears—but not tonight. Tonight, Eve stays in your arms. And for the first time in years, she doesn’t feel alone.

A/N: My girl deserves better in every universe. THIS WAS PROOFREAD SO EXCUSE RANDOM EDITS LMFAO.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[hello-eden]

Missing

Tim was missing

Tim has been missing for over 5 months now. This wouldn't be a usual concern for them if he had said he was going. After the whole going off the rails searching for Bruce when everyone thought he was dead and ending up blowing up League of assassin bases thing, Everyone decided it was best that there was a check-in. Gotham Vigilantes used the same system for the missions as the Justice League but after everything went on they decided to make their own.

They had a log on the bat computer for longer missions so people know where they're going. The check-in is usually once every 2 weeks if it's a deep cover Mission with trackers on at all times, but there has been nothing from Tim. 

Everyone didn't really notice at first Tim left at a very busy time. Tim texted regularly in the first week and kept up with everything that was going on, that most of them thought he was still in Gotham.

When everyone noticed he wasn't there they thought it was just a regular mission, but when Babs needed him to double check something on a case file and realized he wasn't on the roster for no contact missions she started to get worried.

Apparently the last time anyone had seen him was when he was in the bat cave for a drug screening after a very bad scarecrow attack. His trackers were offline. All of his emergency buttons and trackers were sending a signal even if it was not trackable.

The most worrying part was the silence. usually they would hear some whisper if they'd been captured or God forbid if he was dead but there was nothing. Everyone tried to use every contact that they could think of but no one could find anything.

until now 

Every single tracker on Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. It took barely a minute for everyone to start dispatching themselves to find him. Jason and Cass were the ones that were chosen to go. Tim ended up in an abandoned Laboratory. Everything they could find on the building in the paperwork was said to be abandoned just before building was finished. the second they saw the building in person you could tell that was wrong. it was definitely abandoned now but it looked like the people left in a rush. the people working there probably left a day or two ago. The dust barely just started to form.

When they looked on the trackers he looked to be in the basement level. As they walked through the building it was like every floor looked like it had been copy and pasted. Every room had white walls so it was easy to see the splatters of blood in the hallway leading to the room they were looking for. They were very concerned. The blood had specs of green that seemed to be luminescent even though the blood was dried. they feared for the worst.

Jason opened the door and looked inside with Cass not far behind.  The room had white walls like the rest of the building but instead of the normal White/ yellow headlights from the rest of the rooms they were bright Blue. There was blood just like the hallway even down to the luminescing green specs.  The room had two chairs on the side farthest from the door and a bed in the furthest corner. Tim was laying on the bed and looked to be staring at the ceiling. He had made no move to interact with them even as they got closer.

 “Replacement” Jason whispered to Tim once he was by the bed. When Tim didn't respond he grabbed his rest to feel a pulse.

Even though it looked like he was breathing it could be his mind playing a trick on him. Jason needed to feel his pulse.

Jason felt the pulse, it was slow but it was there. Jason looked over to Cass and said ”he's alive all right”. 

Relief very clearly in his tone. Cass's shoulders relaxed only a little after hearing that.

They looked him over trying to figure out why he wasn't responding. His heartbeat was slow like he was asleep but Tim was a light sleeper unless he was knocked out or drugged he usually woke up the second someone touched him.

he didn't look to be hooked up to any machinery and the place had been abandoned for at least the day before they arrived. he wasn't even wearing his vigilante outfit, he was in civilians clothes.

Once they realized they were getting nowhere with this they looked around the room as it was becoming clear they couldn't wake him up nor was he an immediate Danger.  They decided to look around only the rooms near the one that Tim was contained in to make sure that there weren't other people there as that floor seemed to be a containment unit.

Jason decided to look in the other rooms while the Cass stayed in Tim's in case he woke up.  As Jason left to search, he looked around the room. she ended up finding Tim's bag underneath the bed pushed to the furthest corner away from the door.

Cass sat down on the floor with her back leaning on the side of the chair.  She searched through the bag.  The more she looked through the more confused she got.

She couldn't find Tim's phone neither civilian nor hero. She couldn't find his laptop but she did find a tablet that she knew Tim hadn't had before. she would question if this was Tim's bag if not for the wallet and ID she found in the front pocket.

She found small things like a package of tissues, a water bottle, chapstick and some of Stephanie's hair ties. Cass could tell that they were Stephanie's due to the fact they were all purple.

She found a hidden Pocket as she was looking through the lining of the bag. It looked to be a syringe filled with glowing green liquid. The same green that seems to be in the blood from the hallway. In the same pocket there seems to be a folded file with medical scans stuffed in between. As Cass went through the bag there was one question that had been on her mind since the beginning.

 Why was Tim here?

[moonmunson]

don't worry baby

summary: you and wally figure out how to keep touching, you spend a day with him at the pool, your mom is putting the pieces together, and she's not happy about it.

wc: 8.4k

cw: gn!alive!plussize!reader, pool scene™, soft smut (? idk, they make out), wally's 40 year reunion, slight angst bc reader has an argument with their mom

don't go breaking my heart: pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5

masterlist

“Wally, this is stupid. And I look ridiculous.” 

You’re standing on the football field, sunset washing the AstroTurf in a golden glow, wearing random pads and a helmet he’d found for you in the locker room. There are gym mats laid out behind you, and Wally stands in front of you, knees bent and getting ready to move. 

After you’d gotten over the shock of actually being able to hold hands, confusion set in. Why were you not able to touch before, but you could now? How long would it last, and what had you done differently? 

The connection held strong for a while, long enough for you to memorize the feeling of your hand in his, before it flickered and cut out. It was jarring, holding his hand one second and in the next, feeling it fade away before it went through your own. 

Even though your touches so far had been soft, Wally figured he could cheat the system. Run at you, hard and fast, and the force of it would knock you into each other. You don’t know how he convinced you to do this - his logic is flawed, and even if it works, it doesn’t prove anything, doesn’t help you to figure out the why, but he’d looked up at you with his big brown eyes, and before you knew it, you were standing in the field freezing your ass off. 

“It’s not stupid, it’s gonna work, and you look fine. More than fine, actually - this is a good look on you.” 

“How do you know it’s gonna work?” Your hands are on your hips, and though you know he can’t see your face through the helmet, you look more than unenthused. 

“I don’t, but won’t it be fun if it does?” 

“Does getting tackled to the ground feel like a fun first date idea to you?” 

He stands then, straightening his knees and lowering his arms from their ready-to-go position he’d held them in a moment before. He tilts his head ever so slightly, a smile creeping up slowly on his face. It is so easy to get him to blush. 

“Is this a date?” 

“I don’t know, Wally,” you take the helmet off, hold it by your side, “You’re the one that put fairy lights and blankets and pillows everywhere so we could watch a movie together. And then we held hands. And now you’re trying to tackle me.”

“Well one of those things is not at all the same as the other two, but fair point. Now shut up and put the helmet back on, we're doing this.” 

You sigh, retaking the position Wally had coached you through. You bend your knees, keep your stance wide, neck straight and head forward. Wally shuffles his feet a few times, does a little hop that you can only describe as bunny-like, and takes off running. 

Though he’d told you not to, the urge to close your eyes is overwhelming. As he gets nearer to you, you can feel your heart pounding in your throat.

It’s almost anticlimactic, the way he soars through you. The force of it does knock you over, but the feeling of him going to grasp at you only to literally go through your body leaves you feeling colder than before. 

Your butt lands on the gym mats behind you, a soft oof leaving you from the impact of it. With nothing to stop Wally’s fall, he goes a bit further, hitting the ground behind the mats and rolling to slow his fall on the grass. 

It’s quiet for a second, as the two of you process what just happened. You thought he might be angry, or disappointed, but instead he just laughs. It makes you laugh, and before you know it, you’ve both dissolved into a fit. He’s still clutching his stomach as he crawls over to you, shuffling on his knees toward the mats. 

“That was kinda stupid, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, kinda,” you wipe a stray tear that had fallen during the outburst, “but it was kinda fun, too.” 

He sighs, leftover giggles still making their way out, “I just don’t understand why sometimes we can touch and other times we can’t. It doesn’t make any sense to me.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense to me either, Wally. If I could fix it, I would.” 

“I know, it’s not your fault.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead back into their usual position atop his head. You follow the movement with your eyes, and trail them down to stare at him. You don’t know how you ever thought you’d be satisfied just looking at him from a distance. 

He’s beautiful. You follow the curve of his cheek, the ridge of his nose to his cupid’s bow, you stare at his pretty pink mouth and wonder what it would feel like on yours. 

“Do I really look that good today?” 

“What?” 

You’re broken from your reverie, and Wally is smirking at you. 

“You were staring, so I probably look really good today. Is it the sweat? Is it making me glow?” He brings his hands up under his chin, rests it on the back of them, and tilts his head. It makes you giggle, and you tilt your head to mirror him. 

“Yeah, actually, it really ties your whole look together.”

“Oh hush,” he drops his hands, straightens his head, and goes to stand up, “thank you for trying this with me, I know it was kinda silly.” 

“Hey, anything is possible. We don’t know how this works so I don’t think anything is a stupid idea. Maybe a little stupid, but,” Wally scoffs at you playfully, “not so stupid that I wouldn't try it if you asked me to.” 

As you say it, you know it to be true. You would do anything he asked you to. The admiration you feel for him, the inspiration you get from the giddiness he exudes at any given moment, it makes your chest ache. 

It feels more than usual - charged, like a current running under your skin, the static you feel when a limb falls asleep, almost. The confusion on your face shows, and Wally crouches down to your level on the mats. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just,” you look down at your hands, then back up to Wally, “something feels different.” 

“Good different?” 

You nod, and motion for him to take a few steps back. Moving your hand up and out towards him, your voice is shaky when you ask, “Gimme a hand?” 

Wally doesn’t verbally respond - face uncharacteristically serious as he steps forward to reach out and grab you. His hand slides into yours, lukewarm but solid, and he pulls you from your spot on the mat and into his arms. They wrap around you, safe and secure, and when you wrap your own around him, he sighs into your ear, eyes closed and embracing each other in the middle of the field. 

In his embrace, all you can focus on is the fact that you’re touching, mind racing to figure out what exactly made it possible. A spark of an idea in your head, half formed and needing editing, you pull back from Wally, eyes wide and smile wider. 

“We need to keep doing this.” 

“Hugging? I agree.” He goes to pull you back to his body, but you stay firm, hands on his shoulders, chest parted from his.

“No, well yes, but -” you shake your head, “We couldn’t touch each other five minutes ago, but we can now. Something changed in that five minutes, and we need to figure out what. Run experiments or something, I don’t know.” 

“Experiments?” 

“No more tackling,” you giggle, and Wally sighs - disappointed, “We know that doesn’t work, but I can go home and make a list.”

“Okay,” he nods, head bobbing and smile forming to match yours, “But can we just hug for now though? And you can go all Einstein on me later?” 

This time, he does pull you back into him. You don’t know how long you stand like that, and when you part, the sun has made its descent, and the moon is the only thing shedding light on the two of you. 

After a while, Wally walks you to the boundary of the school, holding your hand the whole way. When you step off the curb and start the journey to your car, you look back every so often until you’re unable to see him anymore. 

-

You spend Sunday locked in your room, scribbling ideas and questions into a blank notebook you had tucked away on your bookshelf. By Monday, you’re barreling into school, looking for Wally, and when you find him, you make him follow you to your tree by the field. 

You haven’t spoken yet, except to say “good morning,” and “follow me,” and he watches you with amused and concerned eyes as you frantically flip through your full pages. 

“You’re skipping first period?” He asks, ducking his head down to try to take your attention from the notebook in front of you. 

“Yeah, this is important,” you whip your head up to look at him, turning the notebook around to show him what you’ve written, “I think I figured it out.” 

He nods, taking the notebook from you and urging you to continue.  

“So, when we try to touch, it usually doesn’t work, except for the other day on the field. Before that, it’s been accidental, or seemingly unrelated to anything, right?” You don’t wait for him to nod before starting to rant again, “Wrong. It is connected to something, but we just didn’t realize it. What were we talking about the first time when our hands actually touched?” 

“My death, right?” 

“Yes! And what about in the film room?” 

“My mom,” his eyebrows furrowed - indicative of slow understanding, not necessarily confusion, “And on the field after? Is it connected to the kinds of stuff we talk about?” 

“That’s what I thought at first, but we’ve had heavy conversations before that and nothing happened. So I was trying to figure out what else it could be, and I think it’s tied to our emotional connection. On the field when you went to tackle me, I trusted you but I was scared. Like, really scared. And then after, when we were laughing and I was looking at you, I felt safe, and hopeful, and I think that’s what made me feel like I could touch you again.” 

“And it worked.” 

“It worked,” you nod, parroting him, “What about you? How have you felt before?”

“I’ve talked about my death so many times before that it doesn’t feel like something that happened to me, if that makes sense,” you nod, “So I wasn’t really all there when we talked about it. And then I looked over at you, and you were crying, and it started to feel more real to me. Like it happened, and I was allowed to be upset about it.”

“What about after the movie?” 

He looks away from the notebook, eyes moving over the morning dew still clinging to the grass. 

“That one was hard. I’ve never really let myself be mad at my mom, I’ve always just been disappointed in myself on her behalf, y’know? But the movie really got me thinking. And after it was over, I felt like I could let it out, talk to you about it, and you’d understand - and you did, and it felt so freeing.” 

“This is my version of going all Einstein on you, by the way,” You lean over to flip to a page full of questions on it, and point to them, “We need to get to know each other better, like on a deeper level, and then maybe we’ll be able to touch more. Plus, it’ll give you the opportunity to talk about things and work them out with someone new, instead of just going over the same shit with the same people.” 

“Okay,” he hands the notebook back to you, “Where do we start?” 

You smile at him, and get to work. 

Over the next few days, you spend any and all free time you have in between classes, or lunch, or during study hall sitting with Wally and actually getting to know him. Not the picture of him your mom had painted for you, or the assumptions made about him by the rest of the student body. Not the version of him that is defined by the way that he died, but the truth of who he was when he was alive, and who he is now. 

Not all of it is fun; he talks at length about what it was like to be a white teenage boy in the 80s, how often he stood by and watched as people in lower social statuses than him were mistreated, bullied, and how he never helped them. He talks about his secret love for curating mixtapes, how much he misses body shots. 

He learns about you, too. How you’re a gigantic d&d playing nerd, how you spend most of your free time glued to your laptop watching movies and tv shows. He finds it especially interesting hearing you talk about how you figured out you could see ghosts. 

You tell him about your grandma’s passing, how you’d seen her essentially stand up from her body, waving to you on her way out the door. That she’d seemed lighter, calmer - happy, almost, as she walked toward something you couldn’t see and faded into the distance. 

As your feelings grow, so does your ability to touch Wally for extended periods of time. It takes concentration - focusing on the positive ways you make each other feel, but it does get marginally easier. By the end of the week, after hours spent playing 20 questions and Never Have I Ever, you feel like you really know him, and you’ve let him know you in turn. 

- 

As March transitions into April, and the biting chill in the air is soothed into something warmer, your relationship with Wally continues to flourish. Like spring flowers, the feelings in your chest blossom, filling the space in between your ribs with something colorful and bright. 

But with the school year winding down, final exams and graduation grow near. Not just looming in the distance anymore, a vague notion of grades and graduation caps thrown in the air, but a real, tangible deadline. An end date to your time at Split River High, and, by extension, an end date to whatever is happening with you and Wally. 

You try your best not to think about it - avoidance comes easy to you - and it’s even easier to take Wally up on his offer to hangout when you should be at home studying instead. It’s not his fault he’s confined to the school grounds, and though in a perfect world you’d be able to do normal teenager shit with him, that’s not the case. 

He shows up at your locker on a Friday, scaring the shit out of you when you close it to see him standing there, like he’d appeared out of thin air. 

“Jumpy today?”

You sigh apologetically, swing your backpack onto your shoulder and slip an airpod into your ear so you don’t look batshit insane in front of everyone at their lockers.  

“What’s up?”

“So I was thinking,” he walks next to you in the hallway, “I know you have much more important shit to do, but I miss you, and I think you should hang out with me on Saturday.”

“Wally I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” you tuck yourself into a less occupied space in the hallway, angling your head up to look at him, “I really need to study and in the best way possible, you’re really distracting.” 

“It’s my good looks and my devastating charm, right?” 

“Yeah,” you whine, softly banging the back of your head against the wall behind you, “You’re too pretty, I won’t get anything done.” 

He laughs, halfheartedly teasing but softening into something sweet, and he goes to rub your shoulder. The touches between you lately are becoming more common, a sure sign that your emotional connection theory had been correct. He’s still not as warm as you, but he stands as solid as any other person. 

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he says, fingers running down your arm to hold onto your hand, “I wanna help you, but maybe a break would be good for you too. Please? I miss you.” 

How are you supposed to say no to him? You push off from the wall, hand still holding his, and pull him to walk beside you in the hallway - not caring if your slightly extended arm looks weird or out of place. 

“Fine, I guess I can come in tomorrow,” you say it like it’s a hardship, an inconvenience, but you both know that’s a lie, “A break would probably help me. And studying is hard anyways, most of the time I just end up thinking about you and your stupid face.”

“Stupid face?” he uses his non-occupied hand to bring it up to his cheek, affronted, “I can’t believe you.” 

He laughs, detaching his hand from yours and moving to throw his arm around your shoulder. As the hallways clear, and you walk together, giggling and tucked under his arm, you think for a moment about what it would be like to actually be with him. If he were alive, if you were born earlier, if the world was different and you didn’t have to hide him away. 

-

The walk from your car to the school is decidedly less miserable now that it’s getting warmer. 

Wally is waiting for you by the bus stop again, propped against it like last time. He’s without his letterman jacket today, opting to have his arms showing through the cut holes in what used to be a full sweatshirt. The sun is out, and though he’s partially covered by the overhang, it still shines through his black hair. 

He smiles at you, greeting you with his arms outstretched, making grabby hands and prompting you to sprint over the boundary of the school and into his embrace. The sun beating down on him slightly warms his body, a nice change from the tepid temperature of your usual hugs. You stay there for a few minutes, before pulling back and directing his hand into yours. 

It flickers, but holds steady as he leads you around the back and onto the field. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” 

“We’re playing with balls.” He laughs at your wide-eyed expression, and when you round the corner and make your way onto the field, you hum, confused. By the benches, there’s a rack of footballs, probably taken from the backroom of the gym.  

“Why are there so many?”

“Well,” Wally drops your hand, goes over to the rack and grabs one, throwing it up in the air and catching it on its way down, “I figure you’re not gonna be the best at this, so instead of running around the field going after stray balls for hours, it’s just easier to have a bunch of them.” He shrugs, picks one of them up, tossing it to you and laughing when you fumble with it and it falls to the ground. 

You chuckle - indignant - but don’t correct him, because he isn’t wrong. You’ve never claimed to be athletically inclined. Wally walks back over to you, picking up the ball and handing it to you. Your hands brush as he passes it, and he curls his fingers around yours, helping you hold it correctly. 

“Is there a reason we’re doing this?” 

“Nah, not really, I just thought it would be fun. Get you out of your own head, y’know? Go stand over there,” Wally takes the ball back, points at a spot a few feet away. You laugh, shake your head, and actually manage to catch the ball when he lobs it in your direction. 

“Good! Throw the ball back.” 

The rest of the morning into the afternoon is spent just like that. Throwing a football back and forth until the sun is high in the sky, sweat is trickling down the nape of your neck, and you’re begging Wally for a break. 

“C’mon, I know where we can go.” 

Wally grabs your hand, dragging you through the gym, into the locker room and through the double doors leading to the pool. The main lights are off, leaving the room illuminated by the soft blue glow of the underwater bulbs. You laugh, surprised, and bring your hands up to cover your eyes when he goes to take his shirt and sweats off. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” You hear his footsteps echoing, soft padding of his feet on the tile stopping in front of you, “Wanna go swimming?” 

You don’t put up much of a fight when his hands, soft and sure, grab your wrists to pull them from your face. Cracking an eye open slightly, you’re met with the sight of his bare chest. Just like on his face and arms, the rest of him is smattered with moles and freckles, and you connect them with your line of sight. 

He doesn’t stay in front of you for very long though, gently dropping your arms and stepping back. 

“But I didn’t bring anything to change into,” You shake your head, quietly laughing when he brings out the puppy dog eyes, “Don’t look at me like that, Clark.” 

“Look at you like what? You don’t need anything to change into if you just take off your clothes.”

“Is that what this is about? You just wanted to get me out of my clothes?” It’s flirtier than you mean it to be, toeing the line of the PG rating the we’re slightly more than friends but we haven’t done anything about it yet relationship you’ve had so far. And you can always count on Wally to up the ante. 

“Yeah, you caught me,” he says, deadpan, “I lured you here, seduced you by standing on the field throwing footballs for four hours, all because I thought I could get you to go skinny dipping with me.” 

“See, when you say it like that, I only think you’re half-joking.” 

He rolls his eyes, but it’s clear there’s no malice behind it. 

“You’re stalling. Do you want me to turn around? Would that help?” 

When you nod, wordless and shy and chin tucked to your chest, Wally smiles at you. It’s soft, his brown eyes twinkling from the pool lights reflected in them. He turns around, true to his word, and the only sounds in the room are your breathing and your clothes hitting the floor. 

You whisper that it’s okay to look now, arms wrapped around your midsection, underwear-clad and self-conscious under the weight of Wally’s gaze. To his credit, he keeps his eyes on yours, not letting them trail any further down. 

“So, are we doing this or not, Wally?” 

He stalks towards you, glints of mischief in his eyes, and though you’d trust him with your life, it makes you nervous. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming fast and shallow, made worse when Wally picks you up and jumps in the pool with you in his arms. You hit the water at lightning speed, feet kicking the bottom and rocketing yourself back up. It takes you a minute to right yourself, pushing your hair back from your face and spluttering. 

“I am going to kill you!” You splash in his direction, his laughs echoing off the tile surrounding the pool. 

“Can’t kill me, already dead, remember?” He swims over to you, wavy black hair plastered to his forehead, golden chain and pendant glittering under the water. 

“I could probably figure out how to kill you a second time,” You squeal when he takes you into his arms, hands respectfully placed high on your back and waist. 

“I believe it.” 

You don’t say anything in response - curling your head forward to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder. You just stand there for a minute, calmed by the sound his breaths in your ear. 

“You know, for a second there, I seriously thought I crossed over,” He breaks the silence, nodding at you when you pull back to look at him. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” He smiles at you, tucking a stray wet strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m just really happy.”

“I’m glad,” You giggle, pausing for a moment as a question forms in your head, “Would you? If you had the choice?” 

“What, cross over?” He looks off into the water when you nod, “I’m not sure. There’s only been one other ghost that did it - her name was Dawn. She kinda just disappeared one day, like she didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. I don’t wanna go out like that.”

“Do you know how she was able to do it?”

“Nah, not really,” He shakes his head, bringing his eyes back to yours, “We figured something just clicked for her. We felt it when it happened - there was this weird ringing, and all the lights got really bright for a few seconds, and we just knew.” 

“What do you think you’re missing, if you don’t mind me asking? Like what do you still need to work through?” 

“Why?” He laughs, “You wanna get rid of me?” 

“No,” You reach out, fiddling with the pendant attached to Wally’s necklace, “Just curious.” 

“I’m not sure. There’s a lot of shit I didn’t get to do before I died, and I think it’s harder on me than I say it is. Didn’t get to go to Prom, didn’t graduate, shit like that. I don’t go anywhere near the football field when they do the graduation ceremonies, I just can’t watch it.” 

It makes sense, Wally’s avoidance of the thing he couldn’t do when he was alive. It makes you sad, picturing him, forty years in a row of staying inside all day as the other kids move on to their next phase of life. You’d stay inside too, if it were you. You hum, thoughtful noise lilting through the air around you. 

“I’ll tell you what though,” He cups your cheek in his palm, sliding his thumb over the fullest part of it, “Wherever I’m going, I seriously doubt it gets better than this.” 

He smiles then, tilts your head back ever so slightly, and brings his face closer to yours - lips hovering, waiting for you. His eyes close, long dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him the rest of the way into you. 

The first brush of your lips against his is feather soft, his bottom lip slotted in between yours. When he goes to pull away, you tighten your hold on him, a whine slipping from your throat.

Hungrier than before, he exhales, breaths hot and hitting your cheeks, hands wandering down the expanse of your back - the contact making you shiver. It lights up in your stomach, dizzying and all consuming.

You could stay like this forever, you think, as his hands trail down, stopping above the waistband of your underwear. The touch burns hot on your lower back, and you arch into him. 

The water echoes around you, quiet splashes with every movement. You feel weightless, wrapping your legs around Wally’s waist and pulling softly at his hair. His hands slide further down, holding you up by your thighs and under your knees. Your lips part, an invitation, and he accepts graciously, nipping at your bottom lip and tugging at it with his teeth. 

You return the favor, hands moving from their locked position around his neck and trailing down the length of his chest. When he pulls his mouth from yours, chuckling softly at the way you follow him, he nudges your head to the side, and brings his lips to the space between your neck and shoulder, a mirror image of the way you’d had your own face there a few minutes ago. 

You know he can feel your heartbeat racing under his lips, a hummingbird trapped in your chest, and you whine again when he latches on, tongue peeking out as he sucks a mark into your skin. The pace slows after that, his arms coming back up to wrap around your waist, soft pecks left on the spot where he’d been so harsh a moment ago. 

You pull away, softly grabbing Wally’s cheeks and righting him so your faces are in front of each other, lightheaded and reeling, and you rest your forehead against his - breathing heavily, open mouth near to his. 

“Was that,” As he talks, his lips still brush against yours, “Was that okay? Too much?” 

“Not too much,” You shake your head, a breathless chuckle, “That was perfect.” 

You share a few more soft kisses before he eventually lets go of you, playfully splashing you when you protest, and you splash at him in turn, making it an all out water war. You spend the rest of the day like that, fingers and toes pruning from being in the water for so long, floating on your backs together, weightless and relaxed. 

You know it’s time to go when you peel your eyes open to see the sun going down through the skylight in the ceiling. Wally helps you out, hand resting on your lower back before he jogs over to the basket full of towels. It’s domestic, almost, the way he wraps one around your shoulders and rubs them, wordlessly, like he’s done it a million times before. 

When you get back into your clothes, hair still wet and jeans sticking to your thighs, he pokes at your neck, the mark he left still red and aching. 

“I wanna apologize for that but it looks good on you,” He coos when you wince at his touch, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” You shrug, sitting down on one of the foldout chairs by the pool, putting your shoes on, “I kinda liked it.” 

-

Wally walks you to the bus stop, as far as he can go, but grabs you by the waist and holds you there as he leans against the glass. You stand there with him for a bit, stuck in the cycle of trading a few soft pecks, pulling away from him, and giving back in when he whines and says he doesn’t want you to go yet. 

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, when you’re finally able to put real distance between you, “Not even 48 hours from now. I think you’ll survive.” 

“You don’t know that, baby,” the pet name is new, sending sparks through your core when his voice drops, “I might wither away while you’re gone.”

“You better be here when I get back, Clark. No withering.” you turn to walk away, laugh tearing from your throat when he calls out to you again. 

“Hey, wait!” 

“What, Wally?” you giggle, still slowly walking backwards a few paces from the boundary of the school. 

“Do you want to go to Prom with me?” his smile is wide, cheeks flushed and eyes hopeful. 

You stop moving, melting under the warmth of his gaze. The urge to run back over to him is overwhelming, and it wins out without much pushback from you. His arms encircle you when you cross the curb, nodding into his chest as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. 

He convinces you to stay for another few hours, basking in the setting sun under your tree, soft lips brushing against yours. 

-

When you get home, your mom is waiting for you in the kitchen. 

You’d missed dinner; the evidence of it in tupperwares and dishes in the sink. She doesn’t seem mad, but turns around, eyebrows scrunched in concern. 

“Where were you? I was getting worried,” she says, rounding the island to meet you halfway. 

You don’t want to lie.

“I was studying with a friend, I’m sorry I didn’t text.” 

“That’s okay,” she comes over to you, eyes scanning your still flushed appearance, and pausing on your neck. Her eyes widen a fraction, sly grin pulling the corners of her mouth up. She reaches out her hand, poking at the hickey Wally gave you, “Get a lot of studying done? Or was this more of a half-work half-play situation?” 

You grumble, embarrassed, and turn to go to your room, mortified laugh leaving you when she says, “Oh come on! Give me the juicy details, let me live vicariously through you!” 

She follows you, stopping in your doorway as you throw your backpack on the floor. You’re checking the mark in the mirror on your wall, covering it with your hand when she knocks on the doorframe. 

“Are they hot? Whoever gave you that?” 

You roll your eyes, making eye contact with her through the mirror before turning around and plopping down on your bed. 

“He’s very hot, yes. Do you have any other questions? Or can I start getting ready for bed?” 

“Does this mean you’re going to prom? Has he asked you yet? Or are you gonna do the angsty teen thing where you like, go on a date but very specifically don’t go to prom because it’s for people who peak in highschool?” she’s all smiles, playful and teasing, and it makes you chuckle. 

“He asked me today, actually,” you say softly, corners of your mouth curling up, “I said I’d go with him.”

“This is so exciting! I remember my prom, but mostly I remember the hotel room Randy Warner took me to afterwards.” 

“Oh, gross, Mom,” you shudder, though a laugh peeks out in spite of yourself, “That is entirely too much information.” 

She shrugs, and turns to leave before pausing and looking back. 

“I’m happy for you, I am. Are you being safe?” 

It’s a loaded question. 

Looking at Wally, speaking to Wally, making out with Wally all fall under the umbrella of ‘Things I Promised My Mom I’d Never Do.’ Safety, in this case, is subjective. The way she’s implying safety is easy to answer - today is the furthest you’ve gone with him, and you’re not even entirely sure if sex is possible, or if it’s something you’d want to do. 

Your heart, though? Or your mind? That’s where it gets tricky. Images of Wally flash through your head; him on the field, in the library, the feeling of his hands on you in the pool, and something in your chest falters, thrumming under the weight of impending loss. Borrowed grief from the future. 

“Yeah,” you nod, attempting to assuage her worries, “I’m being safe. I promise.” 

-

The library is uncharacteristically loud today. The usual low murmur of students reading and talking has been replaced by cater waiters, a dj setting up on the stage at the back of the room, and volunteers organizing place cards - a job that had been delegated to you.

You’d signed up for the setup for Split River High’s Class of ‘84 reunion long before you’d actually spoken to Wally; it’s your mom’s forty year reunion, and she thought it’d be fun for you to be there with her, even if it was just as a volunteer. 

It’s technically Wally’s reunion too. 

It’ll be hard to navigate, having your mom and Wally in the same room. It doesn’t sound difficult on paper - you just can’t talk to Wally, you can’t look at him or acknowledge his presence. You wouldn’t be able to, anyway, with his other ghostly friends being in attendance. 

They’d been in here earlier with him, laughing and dancing to David Bowie. It was sweet, seeing them with him. Wally had told you about the dance a few days prior. Forty years of boredom and access to vinyls that the library kept in the back had led to traditions, and though his friends roll their eyes and pretend to hate it, they dance with him at every reunion without fail. 

You’re standing in front of the table with the name cards, organizing them according to the list you’d been given when you feel someone press up against you. It’s not hard to tell that it’s Wally. 

It’s a test of your resilience, feeling him so close to you and not turning around. Wally teases, fingers touching yours as he tries to rearrange the placement of a couple that had a gnarly breakup that year. You snort when the cards revert back to their original position, and he giggles in return.

It’s most likely the only acknowledgment of each other you’ll get for the rest of the day - as much as you want to, you can’t afford to be seen talking to the air. 

When everything is perfect, and guests start trickling into the room, bathed in blues and purples from the lights set up above the stage area, you find your mom and sit with her and her friends. They’re nice, asking you questions about what your plans are after graduation, telling you stories about the kinds of things your mom got up to when she was in high school. 

You’re laughing, smiling at your mom when a woman takes the stage, mic in hand. 

“Can everyone hear me? First of all, thank you so much for coming to the 1984 class reunion -” 

“Woo! Class of ‘84!” 

Your head whips to the side, and you see Wally, Charley, and the kid from your ceramics class. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him not actively doing pottery, and your mouth quirks up in amused confusion.  Wally’s changed since you saw him last - a blue shirt under a white suit, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It’s very Miami Vice, but it works on him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Your mom nudges your shoulder with hers, eyes following your line of sight but unable to see what you see. 

You nod, turning back to the woman on the stage. You don’t catch her furrowed brows, her gaze fixated on you. 

“Forty years, can you believe that? Before we get too tipsy, I’d like to take a moment to honor those who couldn’t be here with us today,” The projector screen turns on, a slideshow showing pictures of the people who’d recently passed,  “And now, a moment of silence for our 1983 homecoming king, Wally Clark. A shining star taken from us way too soon.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when Wally’s picture comes up. It makes you feel sick. You can’t imagine what it’s like, to be at every high school reunion as a ghost. To see the evidence of your death in other people’s aging faces, to hear them talk about their spouses, their kids. To know you’ll never have that.  

He looked so happy - alive. The smile he wears is familiar to you, having seen it so many times over the past month and a half, but the picture evidence of it feels different. Sadder, like you know you shouldn’t know what it feels like to have that smile directed your way. 

You’re broken from your train of thought by a voice a table over from you. 

“...sat on the lid and laughed for hours. And Captain Homecoming never did anything to try and stop them,” It comes from two men sitting next to each other, the speaker drinking a glass of red wine, “Can’t imagine what they would’ve done if I’d actually come out.” 

You exhale, directing your eyes to Wally and Charley at the opposite end of that table. They’re talking, and it seems tense. Charley is trying to brush him off, though you can’t hear what they’re saying. He walks away, leaving Wally solitary in the middle of the room. His eyes find yours, eyebrows turned upwards, like he’s asking you what to do. 

It’s subtle, the face you make in return, and you hope it conveys what you mean to say. 

I’m sorry. Give him some space, and then go find him. 

He nods, and turns to go after his friend. 

- 

The rest of the night passes without issue, for the most part. You mingle with your mom, joining her on 

the dance floor during her favorite hits, grabbing hors d'oeuvres from trays and sneaking sips of her wine. 

“Hey, I’m gonna use the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit, and then we can go?” You nearly shout to your mom over the sound of the music, and wait for her nod before you turn to leave. 

The hallways are empty when you step outside the library, the music and chatter from inside quieting down once you’re a few steps away. You haven’t seen Wally or Charley for a while, and you hope they’re okay, that they’re talking. There’s no excuse for Wally’s past behavior, and however Charley feels about it, he’s well within his rights to do so. You just hope it’s clear how much Wally has grown. 

You’re still thinking about it when you finish up in the bathroom, jumping slightly when you open the door to see Wally walking back towards the library. 

“Hey!” You whisper, smiling wide when he turns around to see you there. 

“Hey yourself!” He whispers back, and it makes the both of you giggle. He walks over to you, hands in his pants pockets. 

“This is a good look on you, by the way,” You pat at his chest, “Very on theme.” 

“Thanks! I stole it from the costume department.” He’s all smiles, honey brown eyes twinkling under the fluorescents. 

“How are you? Did you find Charley?” 

“Yeah,” He sighs, “We’re all good.” 

“Good,” You laugh, “That’s good.” You pause, reaching for one of his arms and pulling his hand from his pocket and into yours, “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to talk today. I’ve missed you.” 

“That’s okay,” He runs his thumb over your knuckles, “We’ve been busy. You look really pretty too, by the way,” You hadn’t noticed him gently pushing you backwards until you’re pressed up against the wall. Your head tilts back, soft giggle leaving you when he says, “I can’t stop thinking about that day at the pool, y’know.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” He brings his free hand up, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, “It just plays on a loop in my head all the time now.” 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” You pout, and his thumb moves to pluck at your bottom lip. 

“Not bad. Really, really good, actually.” 

He brings his face down, closer to yours, and you can feel his breath hit your cheeks. It feels like time stops when you’re with him. You’re not paying attention to anything - the music from the library is all but silenced, the click of heels in the hallway doesn’t reach your ears.

You’re just waiting for him to make a move, to close the gap and put you both out of your misery. You close your eyes, feel the slight brush of his lips against yours. 

“Honey? What are you still doing out here?” 

Your eyes snap open, finding your mom a few paces away by the library doors. She’s holding your things, confusion covering her face. She looks at you, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the empty hallway - like she’s looking for something she knows isn’t there. 

You’re so fucked. 

It takes a second for you to get your bearings, blood running cold and pulse picking up, thumping in your chest and ears. You know you can’t look at Wally. He inhales, a sharp, guarded thing, exhaling an “Oh, shit,” under his breath on its way out. 

“Nothing, I was just…” You brush past him, dropping his hand and not looking back as you make your way over to your mother, “It was really loud in there. I just needed a break. You ready to go?” 

She hesitates, eyes still directed at the air behind you where you know Wally is, before she nods and hands you your things. 

The drive home is extremely tense. Neither of you say anything for most of it, your mom only sighing when she pulls into the driveway. You don’t know how much of your interaction with Wally she saw, if she saw any of it or was able to put together what was happening.

You try to imagine what she would’ve seen - you, back against the wall, head leaned back and eyes closed. It’s entirely possible you just looked like you were resting, right?

You can’t ask her about it either - you’d basically be admitting to something you hadn’t even been accused of. The silence is deafening, and you exit the car to go inside. You hover in the living room, waiting to see if she says anything to you. 

“Mom?”

She’s quiet as she puts her coat on the rack, moving into the kitchen and leaning against the island. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?” 

Your stomach drops at her question, mind racing a million miles an hour to come up with some sort of answer. It’s vague enough, the way she phrased it, but you hear the true meaning. Have you been talking to Wally Clark? 

It’s like standing on a tightrope. A breeze from either direction could knock you off, sending you careening into a bottomless pit.

If you tell the truth, solidifying your relationship with Wally, making it real by telling someone else, it won’t belong to you anymore. It won’t be just yours - and you’ll have to face the consequences. If you lie, you jeopardize the relationship you have with your mom. Founded on truth and trust, it’ll start to crack. 

“No.” You shake your head, eyes cast towards the floor, stepping off the rope and into the wind. The end result is the same, anyways. Falling towards an end you can’t see yet. 

“Are you sure that’s the answer you wanna go with?” Her arms are crossed over her chest, breathing steady and gaze unwavering. You nod, and she sighs again, shaking her head ever so slightly. “Look,” She says, “You don’t wanna tell me the truth, and that’s fine. So what I’m gonna do,” She brings a hand up to her chest, fingers splayed out, “Is lay it out for you. If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, if you’re seeing who I think you’re seeing, it’s a mistake.” 

You open your mouth, poised to push back, but she beats you to it. 

“It’s a mistake. Of epic proportions. Have you thought this through at all? Have you thought about what it’ll do to you when you graduate next month and you can never see him again?” She drops her hands to her sides. She doesn’t sound mad, only worried. You don’t notice the tears until they’re falling in quick succession - fast, one right after the other. It’s your admission of guilt. “And what about Wally?”

Your breath shudders as she speaks his name, shoulders rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. 

“You can’t keep doing this. Prolonging the inevitable, giving him hope where there is none. It’s not fair to either of you - it’s cruel. You should know better. I thought I taught you better.” 

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to…” You’ve never felt smaller, shrinking under the weight of your mother’s palpable disappointment. 

“An accident?” Her voice raises, skirting the edge of genuinely yelling at you, “You’re talking to Wally Clark, and he got close enough to give you a hickey. How could that possibly be accidental?” 

You flinch, the implication of your stupidity and carelessness hitting you like a ton of bricks. You raise your head, making eye contact with your mom for the first time since entering your home. The guilt is still clear on your face, but there’s a hint of defiance there, too. 

“You don’t understand,” you say, “You could never understand.” 

“Then explain it to me,” your mom presses. 

“He saw me. He saw me. I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t ask for this to happen. I ran away from him that first time, and he made me see him.”

“And every time after that? You made the conscious decision to keep it up.” 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? To be the only person that sees them? He followed me to class the next day, mom. He kept talking, he wouldn't stop talking, and he was so fucking funny, and I-” You break, sobs tearing from your throat, breath catching and near-suffocating you. 

Your mom’s voice is uncharacteristically cold when it meets your ears. 

“I’ve been getting notices about your absences and tardies for weeks at this point. Your grades are falling, your test scores are abysmal, your teachers are getting worried. I’ve been worried, too, but I tried to let it go because I thought you were finally having a normal teenage experience, but nothing about what you’ve been doing is normal. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, because I know you, and I know you’re smarter than this.  

“From now on, I want you in your car and driving home immediately after the school bell rings. You will not skip your classes. You will not leave this house on the weekends to sneak away to school, you will be under this roof studying your ass off because you will graduate on time. Do I make myself clear?”

You nod, and with nothing left to say, ultimatum issued and tongue lashing over, your mom exits the room, brushing past you without looking back. You don’t know how long you stand there, tears trailing down your face, before you’re able to pull yourself together enough to make it to your room. 

Rest doesn’t come easy that night - you spend hours tossing and turning, restless, and when you finally do fall asleep, you’re plagued by visions that leave you more drained than you were before you went to bed. Flashes of your memories with Wally, coated in a dream-like haze, play alongside your mom’s voice in the back of your head - apathetic, detached, echoing with disappointment. 

a/n: i am SO sorry it took me so long to update this 😭 school has been crazy, i got really sick and lost the motivation for it for a bit but i'm back!!! this was originally going to be much longer, but i decided to split it into two so you don't have to read a 12k word fic LMFAO. part four still needs some editing and extra writing but i promise there will not be another month gap in between this one and the next one, since it's mostly fully written

also, don't forget to like and reblog if you feel so inclined :)

taglist: @whoopsyeahokay @preparedfruit @lov3bug @awenthealchemist @aquaalanah @calpurnia2002 @badbishsblog @kravitzwhore @fallout-girl219

[sirenontheloose]

LOCKER CONFRONTATION

Unexpected moments, unforgettable memories.

GENRE: fluff

flashback

Megan was never great at expressing herself. In fact, she was downright terrible at it. But that had never stopped her from doing things her way, that too when it came to asking her crush out. When she spotted Y/N at her locker, carefully arranging her books in alphabetical order while muttering something about “optimal organization systems,” Megan figured this was her moment.

Y/N, lost in her own little world, didn’t notice Megan until a shadow loomed over her. Turning around, she was met with Megan standing way too close, arms crossed, and glaring down at her like she was about to confiscate her lunch money.

Y/N froze. Her brain immediately went into overdrive. Why is Megan here? Megan was practically a school celebrity, though for reasons Y/N wasn’t entirely sure were good ones, and now she was standing inches away, looking like she had something important to say.

“The café across the street has good chocolate cake,” Megan announced, her voice calm but carrying a strange intensity that made Y/N’s stomach do a backflip.

Y/N blinked, completely lost. “What?” she asked, hoping for a shred of context.

Instead of doing just that, Megan leaned in and slammed her hand against the locker beside Y/N’s head. The sound was so loud it could’ve possibly woken the dead to life. Students in the hallway scattered like pigeons, leaving Y/N to flinch and clutch her notebook like it was a holy relic, hoping it would save her life if anything happened.

“Tomorrow. After school. Be there,” Megan said, her tone firm and unyielding, her gaze locked on Y/N like she was issuing a military command.

Y/N’s brain officially shut down. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweaty, and her mouth decided to betray her completely. Words spilled out in a panicked jumble.

“Sure? I mean, uh, okay? Wait, what? I don’t…”

Megan nodded like she’d just successfully closed a business deal. “Good. Don’t forget. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she tried to form a coherent response. “Wait, I… I’m not sure I…”

But Megan wasn’t listening. She stood her ground, her intense presence practically pinning Y/N in place. It was too much. Y/N did the only thing she could think of, so she ran for her life with books in hands, she sprinted down the hallway like her life depended on it.

Megan watched her flee, tilting her head slightly. A small frown tugged at her lips as she muttered, “Weird… but she nodded. That’s a yes,” nodding to herself.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

You sighed and tossed your phone onto the other side of your bed, wondering if Sophia might actually be right about Megan. Then again, Sophia usually knows best, so maybe it was worth trusting her this time too. What’s the worst that could happen, right?

the next day

Y/N’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she stepped into the café. The balloons and rose petals scattered across the floor were indeed, something. She almost tripped over herself when she saw Megan approaching, holding a bouquet of sunflowers, her favorite flower. Megan gazed at her with a soft smile, clearly relieved that Y/N had actually shown up. “For you,” she said gently, handing over the bouquet. “And I know you love chocolate cake, but I ordered a bit of everything, just in case.” 

Y/N nearly collapsed in laughter, clutching her stomach as she tried to process the fact that she’d been bracing for a fight, only for Megan to show up with sunflowers and deserts. She stared at Megan for a solid five seconds, making sure she wasn’t imagining things, before finally accepting the bouquet with a stunned, “Thank you.” All of this unfolded in just two minutes, but it felt like a whole comedy show.

Megan stood there, looking a little lost, but before she could ask what was going on, Y/N beat her to it.

“I thought we were about to have a duel here,” Y/N said with a teasing laugh, still trying to catch her breath.

Megan blinked, totally confused. “Why would I do that?” She was sure she’d never threatened Y/N in any way.

Y/N gave her an exaggerated ‘really?’ look, then scoffed playfully. “You slammed your hand against the locker, stared at me, and said, ‘Tomorrow, after school, be there.’”

Megan’s face turned a deep shade of red as she muttered, “That was me asking you out on a date.”

Y/N grinned, shaking her head. “Yeah, can’t believe that was you flirting,” she said, chuckling softly, still amused by the whole thing.

THE END

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

a/n - trying these smau apps, pretty sure I'm failing, but thanks for reading anyway😭

[thatfandomslut]

Puppy Love

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: there is so much fluff in here that it's crazy, also a puppy is in here so prepare your hearts for a lot of love

Request:

Can I request a Regina George x Fem!reader for Renee rapp? Please anything I'm like in a dry desert with no water, please feed the homosexuals. Thanks so much!

Mean Girls requests are open.

Regina narrowed her eyes at the puppy that was taking (Y/n)'s attention. It was a golden retriever puppy that (Y/n) named Apollo. He was cute, and Regina could admit that. However, it sucked (Y/n)'s attention away entirely from her and to this dog. Regina knew this jealousy was petty and dumb, but Apollo was becoming a problem for Regina. For example, just moments before now, she and (Y/n) had been making out, but when Apollo came crying to the door, scratching on it, (Y/n) was up in seconds. Now, instead of (Y/n) holding her close, she was cradling a puppy who would never truly appreciate her.

"Wait," Cady said, formulating everything Regina was telling the group. (Y/n) hadn't joined them yet because she was too busy showing one of their classmates pictures she had taken of Apollo. "So, let me get this straight. You are jealous of Apollo? Her incredibly adorable golden retriever puppy? I'm not sure I understand why."

Regina's eyes narrowed at Cady when she said this, causing Cady's eyes to look anywhere but towards Regina. Even if the clique system had officially been brought down by the exposure of the Burn Book, Regina was scary. "You don't understand, Cady. I have lost a lot of make-out time because he will come pawing at the door. When we study at her place, it turns into a session where I study and she plays with Apollo. He's not even that cute." Regina stuck up her nose, knowing what she was saying was out of anger. She knew that Apollo was incredibly cute, and at first, so were all of (Y/n)'s interactions with him.

(Y/n) approached the group with a wide smile on her face, kissing Regina's cheek as she sat down. "Hey, everyone," she greeted, not catching on to how everyone but Regina avoided her eye. A tell-tell sign that they were talking about her, but (Y/n) was absolutely oblivious. "Does anyone want to see this video I got of Apollo at his puppy training class yesterday? The teacher said he was her best student. She said he was 'paw-some.'" (Y/n) said with a bright smile, not noticing Regina roll her eyes. Cady was the first to look over, excited to see Apollo, Karen followed, and then the rest of the group was awe-ing over how cute Apollo was. Regina was seething.

"Are you still coming over, princess?" (Y/n) looked over at Regina with a smile, but it quickly dropped when she saw Regina's expression. She looked sour as she stared at her now cold cheese fries in front of her. (Y/n) was trying to figure out if she had that same expression when she sat down earlier, or if she had just missed it. She was hoping that whatever it was, Regina wasn't mad at her. "Hey, Regina, what's wrong, babe? You look upset about something. Is there anything I can help with?"

Regina resisted the urge to say anything that she might regret late. Instead, she kissed (Y/n) with a soft smile. "No, love, just thinking. I'll definitely get over it though. Yes, I will see you later today." Regina promised, and the group looked around at each other quietly. The bell rang, and the group split up. Regina had dropped (Y/n) off at her class, and then she went with Gretchen to their shared math class. "I should've said, the problem is she loves her dog more than me," Regina grumbled to Gretchen, who decided it was best to say nothing. She didn't want to contribute to Regina's anger.

After school, (Y/n) was playing with Regina's hair when she heard the familiar pawing at her door. "There's Apollo, I'm going to let him in." (Y/n) kissed her girlfriend before letting the puppy in. "I'm going to use the bathroom fast, too. Do you think you can watch him?" (Y/n) questioned as she brought the dog over to Regina. The puppy squirmed excitedly as he was placed in front of Regina, running up to her and licking her on the face. (Y/n) patted his head before taking her momentary leave.

"Stop it, stop it," Regina held Apollo away from her as she examined him with a sneer. Letting out a little bark, he attempted to lick Regina again, even if he was at a far distance. Regina didn't realize at first that she smiled at that, but when she did; she looked around quickly to make sure nobody witnessed it. She let go of Apollo and the puppy came bounding over to her, curling up to her side as he allowed her to scratch behind his ear. "Okay, I think I'm starting to get it now… You are kind of cute, I guess."

(Y/n) grinned when she came back to the room, happy to see Regina finally warming up to her puppy. She knew she was struggling to share the attention when she came over, but puppies need a lot of attention, too. "Look at these two cuties," she took a picture before lying beside Regina, Apollo resting in the middle. "I'm glad you seem to like him. I thought you couldn't stand him. I was beginning to get worried you might be jealous of him or something." (Y/n) said, addressing how she would never want to make Regina feel that way,

Regina shook her head, hiding the lie between her teeth. "What, no? I was never jealous of Apollo, He's a cute puppy." Regina said simply, hoping she didn't give herself away too easily.

Her comment made (Y/n)'s brow raise, but she said nothing, not wanting to accuse Regina of not telling the truth. Instead, she planted a kiss on Regina's lips. "And you are my cute girlfriend. I love that you love Apollo." (Y/n) said happily, snuggling Regina and Apollo. She couldn't wait to make that picture of Regina snuggled up to Apollo her screensaver later.

[wthphe1n]

Margins and Misbehavior

Pairing: Vinny Hong x fem!reader x Yoo Wooin

Genre: Fluff, Flirty Banter, Bookworm Chaos, Light Rivalry

Rating: T+

TW: suggestive dialogue, Wooin being Wooin™, Vinny being tired™

A/N: This is a love triangle where no one wins but the reader. Ok so lemme just say this real quick — this idea popped into my head late jan to early feb like literal scenes were playing out in my mind and it was actually the first time i ever thought of something 3p-ish back then. I even went and requested a bot from a creator for this exact thing lol. Now that its come back to haunt me, i figured why not write it out as a lil fic.supercchilllvibes, just something to reread when you’re cryin.

Note! ; its got a bit of AU action goin on — university AU all 3 of them go to the same uni but diff faculties. just for the vibes reader’s a pharmacy student, wooin’s in business, and vinny’s an engineering boy no stress, just chaos and fluff from our three lil menaces 

(@kuchisabishiiiii @dzvelinaskebiyars @shintaru @zyart-jpg @sylith )

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Distractions and Dirty Minds

The library smells like ink, paper and possibility. Your favorite kind of quiet.

You’re tucked into your usual corner, a thick biology textbook spread across your lap. The chapter heading reads, “Human Reproductive System,” in bold letters that scream louder than you wish they would.

You try to ignore it. You’re only reading it because there’s a quiz coming up. You swear.

Still, it’s hard to focus when every diagram on the page makes your face feel suspiciously warm.

And just when you think it can’t get worse—

“Our little cutie kitten~~… What are you reading?~”

The purr breaks through the silence like a scandal, and a second later, a chin lands on your shoulder, followed by the softest exhale against your ear.

You jump a little. “Wooin!”

Wooin Yoo hums in mock innocence, arms wrapping around your shoulders as if you’re the day’s catch. He peeks at your book and pauses. You can literally feel the smirk spread across his face.

“Ahhh… ‘The Human Reproductive System.’”

He says it louder than necessary. Much louder.

Vinny, who’s been quietly sitting beside you, flips a page of his book—something about training regimens, from the looks of it. He doesn’t even glance up.

“Wooin, stop it. You’re bothering her.”

But his voice is tight. Annoyed. Dangerous, even.

Wooin grins wider and tightens his hold just a little. “Oh, I’m very bothered, thank you. These diagrams are so detailed.”

You close the book with a dramatic snap.

“I’m studying,” you say, though your ears are burning, “for science.”

Wooin leans forward, lips dangerously close to your cheek. “Want me to tutor you? I’ve got… hands-on experience.”

Vinny finally looks up, leveling Wooin with a glare that could split a chalkboard in half.

“If you don’t get off her in the next five seconds, I swear I’ll throw this chair at you.”

Wooin raises his hands in surrender, backing off with a chuckle. “Relax, Mad Dog. I’m just appreciating good educational material.”

He slides into the chair on your other side, slouching like he owns the place.

Vinny returns to his book, though his grip on the edge is noticeably tighter.

You sigh, half-amused, half-exhausted. “Can’t we just study like normal people?”

Vinny doesn’t look at you, but his ears are faintly pink. “That depends. Do normal people read about reproductive systems with snakes breathing down their necks?”

Wooin gasps. “You wound me. And I wasn’t breathing down her neck—I was reading over her shoulder. Intimately.”

You glance between the two of them, already sensing the rising heat.

This is your life: wedged between two smartasses who can out-bike anyone on campus—but can’t go five minutes without bickering like divorced parents fighting for custody.

And yet, deep down, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because even if Wooin flirts too much, and Vinny glares too hard, they’re still your boys.

Your chaotic, brainy, exhausting boys.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Library, same table. One chapter too far.

You’re seated between two timebombs in hoodies—again. It’s early, the university day hasn’t officially started, and the library is quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat.

Too bad it’s beating too fast.

Vinny is on your left, slouched low in his chair, hoodie sleeves tugged over his knuckles, eyes glued to the textbook with a frown like it insulted his mother.

Wooin is on your right, sprawled out like the table belongs to him, his chin resting lazily in his palm as he watches you, not the text.

Your page?

Chapter 5: Human Reproduction.

Unfortunately.

“…You sure you’re reading that right, sweetheart?” Wooin’s voice is a low drawl, dragging your gaze away from the neat diagram of the male reproductive system. He taps a finger on the page. “You gotta really understand the… structure. You know. Form. Function. Movement.”

You blink up at him innocently, twirling your pen.

“I understand it just fine.”

He smirks. “Mm. But there’s so much more to it than what a textbook tells you.”

Vinny doesn’t even look up.

“What the hell does that mean,” he mutters, deadpan.

Wooin’s smile grows, wicked and sharp. “I’m just saying—” he leans in, eyes flickering to the drawing of the vas deferens like it’s about to do something. “Some people learn better… hands-on. Especially with complex systems like this.”

“Wooin—” you whisper in disbelief, giggling despite yourself.

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “Biology’s a physical science. Body mechanics, fluid dynamics… stamina. I could give a private tutorial.”

Vinny’s hand curls into a fist over the edge of the table.

You don’t notice. You’re too busy trying not to combust from embarrassment.

“Would it kill you to be normal?” Vinny says coldly, still not looking at either of you. “She doesn’t need your perv-brained commentary. She needs peace.”

Wooin shrugs. “Just trying to help. Some people memorize better when they have a… visual model.”

Vinny looks up now, slow and loaded.

“Say one more word about models, and I’ll turn you into one for the hospital poster on internal bleeding.”

“Ooo,” Wooin grins. “So protective. You sure you’re just here to study?”

You try to cut in, cheeks red. “Can we please not fight over—over fallopian tubes?”

“Technically,” Wooin murmurs, his tone dipping far too low for your sanity, “those aren’t the most interesting part of the female system. There’s a whole… pleasure-centered design to consider. Nerve clusters. Muscle contractions. You wouldn’t believe how complex—”

Vinny slams the textbook shut.

“We’re studying math.”

You flinch, blinking up at him.

“But I have bio homework—”

“Math. Now.” His voice is clipped, and his ears are pink. “Wooin’s not qualified to explain anything that requires a conscience or a brain.”

“I passed anatomy with an A,” Wooin adds smugly.

Vinny throws him a glare that could level small buildings.

“Then? Guess they graded on extra credit. You probably asked to demonstrate the units with your shirt off.”

“Only when asked politely.” Wooin winks. “You wanna ask?”

“I want you to get hit by a bus.”

You clear your throat softly, clutching your pencil like it’s the only lifeline you have left.

“I think I’ll just… finish this chapter on my own.”

Both boys pause.

Wooin watches you sweetly. “You sure? My services are always open.”

Vinny exhales. “You are a service.”

And in that instant, the air feels heavier. Tighter.

You glance between them—Vinny, glowering in his hoodie, biting back rage like it’s sugarless gum. Wooin, grinning like he’s winning even when he’s bleeding pride. And you, the poor adorable academic squished between chaos and madness… with nothing but a reproductive diagram and an increasingly hot face.

Maybe next time… you’ll study in the bathroom.

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