#flower friend ;; (jeremiah) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adelheidvonschicksal · 7 months ago

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Don't you agree we need more A/B/O for love and deep space?

Omegaverse Scenarios with the Boys

Content warning: Omegaverse, jealousy, marking, scenting, fluff, mild sexual content, no pronouns, MORE ABO! MORE ABO!

Original Post

“You’re back.”

You whip your head around to see Xavier standing at the balcony door, looking serene as ever in the mid-morning light. The soft look the sunlight gives him brings a smile to your face. However, it quickly strains and breaks, collapsing into a frown as Xavier steps out onto the deck. There’s nothing scary about his demeanor; he seems calm as usual but there’s a subtle tension in the air that fogs heavy from him.

Wordlessly, Xavier scans you up and down, focusing on…something. You’re not sure what he’s searching for, but you suspect he’s found it when his forehead creases and his voice drops.

“Did you visit Philos while you were out?"

"How'd you guess?"

"You smell like Jeremiah,” Xavier concludes coldly, which causes you to hold on tighter to the little packet of plant food clutched between your hands. “What were the two of you doing?” he follows up; this time he fixes his face and flashes you that sweet smile.

You’re smart enough to not be fooled by the innocent expression he puts on whenever he tries to pry information out of you. However, you have nothing to hide and answer honestly.

“My friend has been sick, so I wanted to send her some flowers.”

“Is that all?”

"I also got plant food for the strawberries," you add, flashing the green packet of nutrients.

"That's not what I meant."

Your suspicion tipped off, you raise your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Xavier closes in on you, each step making your heart pound as he boxes you in between himself and one of the large ceramic pots homing the strawberry plant. Raising your hands to your chest, your knuckles brush against the tassels of his hoodie as you try to make some space between the two of you. It's clear you have no room to run, and a part of you isn't sure you want to escape.

Xavier reaches out to you; his hand sweeps under the collar of your black turtleneck, sending jolts through your body when his fingertips hit the sore bruise in the soft junction of your neck. The way he immediately finds that tender target reminds you of the way he hunts down wanderers with precision, persistence, and unfortunately, pinpoint accuracy. Despite the severe shivers being coerced in your soul, it doesn’t frighten you as he traces around your scent gland.

“You’re practically shaking,” he mumbles, gripping the neck of your shirt and giving a gentle tug, exposing your bond mark. “Are you cold?”

“No," you answer immediately, watching his snooping hand from your periphery, "and don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not,” he says with a shake of his head as he continues to fumble with your clothing. “I was just wondering why you were so covered up.”

“There’s no reason,” you breathe out, distracted by the fierce concentration reflecting from dark pools of blue so different from the soft glimpses and angelic gazes he normally shares with you. They strike you so deeply, peering through you so sharply that memories from how the mark was made begin to flash through your mind, fumbling any other excuses you might have said.

“None at all?” he comments, making your face warm. “If the mark hurts, it’s nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Then, why are you covering it up?” he asks; this game of cat and mouse quickly unravels when he brings up, “Did you not want Jeremiah to see it?”

“That’s not it,” you deny with a sigh, pushing his hand away.

You never understand how Xavier can be so jealous. Jeremiah is a friend to both of you; he has been for centuries from your understanding. Even if there was some point in those decades that Jeremiah possibly had feelings for you stronger than friendship, you didn’t hold those same feelings for him. You only desired to be bonded with one person, the one standing in front of you. Even when he was being a needlessly jealous dummy.

“It has nothing to do with him.”

“Do you not like the way it looks?” He questions instead, his demeanor softening only slightly with regret. With a slight blush, Xavier pouts and rubs the back of his neck. “I admit I was a little out of it when I did it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it! It’s pretty,” you finally yell, which causes him to clamp his mouth shut enough for you to explain better. “This is the first time anyone made a bond mark on me, and it’s a little embarrassing cause then everyone knows, we’re um…” you start to lose your concentration when he looms over you. You take a sudden step back, stopping only when the pot behind you threatens to fall over when you bump it. “Doing things…together.”

Chest aching, you hope your explanation is satisfactory. You never want to make him insecure but the idea of people knowing intimate details of your love life makes you sheepish.

“So, you don’t want him to know.”

“Xavier, did you not listen to what I said?”

“I did but isn’t what you said still a roundabout way of saying you’re hiding it?” He teases with a small laugh. There’s a pleased curve in the smile on his face and a shimmering light like stardust in his eyes; unbeknownst to you, that’s from knowing he’s the first and only one to ever mark you. How proud he would be if everyone was aware of that fact. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by something so natural. Everyone, especially him, should know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

You open your mouth to protest but you’re interrupted by him grabbing your wrist in one hand to prevent you from squirming away as he hooks a finger into your turtleneck. Pulling your collar, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your bond mark then higher up to nip the soft flesh under your earlobe, higher until he's breathing into your ear.

"I'll fix it," he murmurs and kisses your neck again and again until all you can make sense of is the heat blooming along your throat with each touch of his lips.

His kisses lack his normal gentleness; they’re filled instead with a desire that makes your knees shake and buckle. You’d fallen if he hadn’t held you closer, squeezed you to him like letting go would be the end of him, as if he finds joy in feeling the aftershocks of your fluttering heart against your ribcage.

“Xavier, what are you-you-ah."

You desperately hold in the moan that builds up in your chest as he continues to bite into your skin and the sound of his kisses fills your ear smooch by smooch. Xavier chuckles against your flesh.

“Relax. I’m not going to do anything bad to you. I’m simply making a few minor adjustments to your first mark." He hums, tongue sliding along your neck to mark its target. “I think this is a good spot,” he whispers before sinking his teeth into your pulse.

It burns in a searingly blinding way, and your eyes roll up when he sucks onto your bite-broken skin. He doesn't stop until he manages to ring out a strangled moan from your throat. He cements his work with another swipe of his tongue then pulls away to admire it.

He paints that innocent smile back on his face as he locks his eyes with yours. His voice is light and airy like a weight is off his shoulders when the fresh mark peeks from your turtleneck. "This time I gave you a mark you can’t hide."

It’s another day at the arcade and another day Zayne watches you spend an exorbitant amount of money winning a plushie you could’ve easily ordered cheaper online. The Tinkle Toy you win this time is cuter than the normal fare at least. It’s a bright candy streamer rainbow, with smiling pink cotton candy clouds.

“I did it!” you cheer and hold out your prize to him in search of his approval. He congratulates you on your well-earned victory. With a smiling face, you push the toy closer to him rather than hug it to your chest in your normal possessive manner.

“What is it?”

You wave the toy back and forth. “You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

In truth, Zayne knows exactly what you want, and it makes his neck hot under the collar. He presses his pointer finger to the bridge of his glasses and pushes them further up his nose as an excuse to avoid your slowly narrowing gaze. Your previously cheerful smile flattens into a stern line and your tone becomes more demanding.

“Zayne,” you repeat ominously, like a parent scolding their child for not finishing their chores. Somehow, it always works to earn his attention, and he briefly glances over the toy again; it looks much less cute this time, the carefully stitched smiles now a mocking grin.

Zayne examines his surroundings: the kids running around the overly decorated and gaudy arcade, the bored and drowsy-eyed employees behind the gift counter, the many older siblings and parents trying to win tickets for the little ones, and, well, you, glaring him down. That look tells him you’re not going to be willing to let this go despite how crowded the arcade has become in your short time here.

“You want me to scent your toy for you?” he questions, adding for emphasis, “Right here?”

“Rainbow Candy can’t join the other plushies in the nest without being christened by the leader.” Poking out your lip, you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. It doesn’t move him enough to give in, not until your eyes start to gloss like stained glass and you softly plead, “Please, Dr. Zayne.”

Ice quickly breaks and chips in the mildest bit of sunlight, dissolving into warm puddles, and it’s just like that when Zayne finally breaks and melts at the smallest insistence from you. Grabbing the toy, Zayne quickly shoves it against his throat, ignoring how plush the toy feels against the underside of his chin. He trails it up and down the column of his neck, swiping it one final time under his chin. It’s a simple motion, done quickly and precisely to efficiently cover the toy in his scent in the least amount of time possible, yet it still feels so inappropriate to do here under your watchful, yearning gaze threatening to make his body stiff.

As he feels his limit about to be broken, he hands the rainbow back to your waiting arms.

“Is this satisfactory?”

You squeeze onto the toy as if someone could snatch it away. You press your face against it, smelling deeply, and when you look up at him from under your brow it’s with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever witnessed.

“Your best work yet, Dr. Zayne. Good job!” you giggle, and he has half a mind to pinch your cheek and wipe that childish grin off your face. “Now, I’ll have something to remember you by while you’re at work today.”

“Is that why you demand I scent all your toys?” he asks, and you nod slowly.

“You’re always so busy that I hardly get to see you outside of the hospital, so when I get lonely I just cuddle with these guys,” you confess. You press your nose deeper into one of the garishly pink cotton candy clouds; this time when your eyes waver like watery skies, it isn’t to sway him. “When the teddies smell like you, it’s like I’m holding a piece of you too.”

Those words connect everything that has ever happened between the two of you together, stringing the moments like a red line of fate. Despite the words I love you never leaving your lips, it excites the same effect that can make a sane man an idiot, an effect not even Zayne is immune to when you so innocently and freely express your feelings to him.

It’s a skill he struggles with; though for you and your happiness, he’s willing to give in and let loose the restrained mask he wears on his face as he listens to the one person he’s longed for all this time admit that they get lonely without him beside them.

“I think scenting you before my shift would be more comforting,” he offers; the adoration glowing in your irises makes him weak enough to stroke your forehead with the back of his hand. There’s a little whimper muffled into your plushie while your forehead feels hot to touch before your face falls into shock and your eyes dart around the room, like his before. As sweet and innocent as you can be, you can also be very easy to read. “You’re thinking inappropriately.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

Zayne gently pokes your forehead to clear your head of the improper thoughts running through it causing you to whine and rub the spot, which only reminds him how you’re much, much cuter than any plushie.

You hold in a giggle as Rafayel shoves his face against the crook of your neck. Since you came over to his studio, he hasn’t been able to tear himself away from you, which left you sitting on the couch, covered in little splotches of dried paint, trying to discern why he feels the need to drag his hands down your arm and audibly sniff your hair.

His breath is heavy and ragged as he sucks in a breath, or rather your scent, and continues to trace up your skin until his finger can finally sink into the collar of your button-up. “Did you do something different today? New lotion? Bath Soap?”

“I did what I normally do every day.”

Rafayel groans against your skin again. You haven’t seen him hot and bothered, face soaked and flushing red with fever, since his last ebb day, which already happened earlier this year.

“Are you sure?” His lips on your skin feel so familiar that your body is immediately on edge and reacting to every stuttered exhale he makes whenever your leg so much as brushes against him. He sinks closer to you, removing any space in between your bodies. “You smell delectable.”

“Rafayel?”

“I just want a taste.”

“Rafayel, are you rutting?”

“No, I’m not,” he groans, laps your shoulder without any care for the fabric covering it, then pricks his canines against vulnerable, pulsing skin. You can tell he’s about to lose it when he pops the first button on your shirt, not even paying attention to the way his nails draw across your upper chest. “I’m just…admiring you…there’s nothing wrong with that.”

There’s a whimper melting from his mouth when you press your hand to his chest and push away. Your confidence is quickly rising thanks to the pitiful expression on his face, highlighted by parted, puffy lips and wide violet-pink eyes fogged with hazy lustful clouds.

“I charge by the hour for appearances.”

Rafayel huffs lightly in response. Something about him is different today; something that your experience tells you is due to the rut he fails to explain away. He misses the usual flare he has, the coy seduction that he uses to draw you in. He trades it for brute force, spurred by the mind-numbing need to have this fire in him quenched inside of you as he grips your wrist and forces you closer to him.

“Just send any charges directly to the studio,” he pants out in desperation between sporadic breaths. His voice hitches, forming a short gasp when you grip his chin and focus his sights back on you. He follows so readily at any touch you offer him no matter how rough. Your mind was becoming fuzzy with how much power you have when he’s like this.

“I only take payments in kisses, but I’ll be sure to let Thomas know.”

There’s a moment where his eyes narrow, perhaps in frustration, before they drop and lock on your mouth; specifically, he's memorized by the motion of your tongue glancing across your lips. Rafayel is only consumed with thoughts of how gravely he wants to be the one wetting them despite doing so hundreds of times before. His body wildly craves yours like the months before he was graced with a taste of you, or maybe this yearning is because he knows exactly how it feels to be touched by you as you are now. Rafayel isn't sure which it is anymore, the lines fade and blur, becoming harder to trace by the second. It hurts being this vulnerable, his body uncontrolled by himself, but if you’re his mate then there isn’t anything to fear, at least not this time.

“On second thought, I really should settle my own debts.”

“Are you sure you can afford it?”

“I’ll gladly pay you with interest, darling,” he barely manages to force out in his last single coherent thought. “Now, let me taste you already.”

Rafayel leans closer, aiming for your lips, but is stopped by your nail dragging up the center of his neck, unhindered by the thick gulp he takes to stop his heart from jumping into his throat. You creep your finger up his chin, stopping at the point to force his head up and eyes to lock with yours. The smile on your face is torturous, the look in your eyes out to kill as your lips purse and part to form one simple word,

“Beg.”

The arrogant smirk on your face says you know he will; Rafayel knows he will; anything for a small taste to quench this thirst built in him since eternity for you, but he also knows he’ll have you in his trap instead very soon.

#xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #xavier smut #rafayel smut #zayne fluff #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fluff #omegaverse #tw:omegaverse #adelssmut #notsfw

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taraandtarot · 8 days ago

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I've got some new blooms! They're on your desk. Get to work safe ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Gasp! Oh, Jer-Bear, you shouldn’t have!

Mums are in season right now, aren’t they?? They’re such a beautiful red… Should I look up what that color means in flower language, Mr. Florist? 🥰 And with roses, to boot!

I’ll be popping these in a vase the second I can find one! Captain Andrew is already raising his eyebrow at me all knowingly, hehehe.~

#tara talks ;; (ic post)#flower friend ;; (jeremiah)#jeremiah x tara #((CUUUUUTE))#Taramiah

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taraandtarot · 6 months ago

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Oh my… 😍🥰

I got pretty lucky, didn’t I?

@jeremiahofphilo

☀️ mornin' sunshine ♡

rough little piece bc i am unwell. he makes me unwell.

#flower friend ;; (jeremiah)#jeremiah x tara #((she is swooooooooning.))#tara talks ;; (ic post)

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mvltisstuff · 1 year ago

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Could i request for a Conrad fisher X reader where reader has a younger sibling who gives her a hard time and her parents favour her younger sibling more. It's the reader's bday on the same day as belly's and her family doesn't get her anything and they don't bother with an excuse either and say they don't really care abt her so it doesn't matter. So Conrad comforts her later and if u don't mind u could include some smut at the end?

(this is my situation rn lololol but without Conrad to comfort me😭)

matilda - c.f

summary: request

conrad fisher x reader

a/n: i’m so sorry love, sorry this is a few days late but you are so loved and appreciated no matter what, hope this makes you happy today <3

it’s been a recurring theme for most of y/n’s life. the overheard quotes about the older sibling had eventually become a reality. they didn’t even wait for y/n to try and live up to them. instead, they just accepted that their daughter wasn’t as good as the rest of their children.

as upsetting as it is, kids experience it too much. y/n experiences it every day, so when she realized it wasn’t normal, that’s when it started to hurt more every year.

this day was supposed to be different. she was so excited, turning 18 and finally being an adult. free of her parents if she wanted to be. she thought that maybe, just maybe, her parents would think of her for a day, and make it about it. alas, the second she woke up and walked into the kitchen, y/n’s hopes were shut down.

“y/n, can you take y/b/n to practice? i’m going out with sharon today,” her mom said, barely even looking at her.

“uh, i’m leaving in a bit, remember?” she speaks, trying to sound as polite as possible. “the fishers invited me over for today.”

“hon, we get it,” her dad talks next, peering up over his glasses and newspaper of the town. “but, to some point, it’s just another day. just do what your mother asked.”

y/n looks at her little siblings at the table, messing around and receiving no repercussions. she still remembers when that was her. playing with her parents, happier than she ever was again. she loves her siblings to death, but she loves herself, too. y/n deserves more than she’s been given, so she confides. she drives her brother to whatever practice, wishing him luck as he whispers a happy birthday, then jumping out of the car to see his friends.

she’s already dressed up for the party for belly. the fishers had welcomed her with open arms, even having decorations and sweets for her on the table. everyone figured she’d have something going on at home, but oh, they were so wrong. she didn’t receive a single birthday message from the people who gave her life, so did it matter? even if she didn’t believe it, at least the fishers knew she was worth it. she was dressed in one of her best outfits, a simple dress with small flowers printed over. she had small wedges and her hair was done neatly. she felt pretty, she is pretty.

she walked into the house, belly hearing the door open first. she skips toward, engulfing y/n in a huge hug. “y/n!” she squeals. “happy birthday!”

“oh, belly! happy birthday to you, you look so cute!”

“are you kidding? your man’s gonna go wild when he sees you!” she whispers, making y/n blush toward the end.

“belly, stop!” she nudges. “he’s not my man… yet.”

they giggle together before moving back into the kitchen where y/n greets susannah and laurel, along with the rest of the boys. conrad stands up first, in a heartbeat. he walks over, almost lifting y/n off the ground in a hug.

“hey! happy birthday!” he tells her, excitedly as he pulls away. jeremiah comes piling in next, saying his words to the person he considers a sister.

“didn’t y/m/n have anything planned?” susannah asked from the pure kindness in her heart.

“oh,” y/n mutters. “we, uh, we did something yesterday.”

conrad can tell when y/n lies. he can read her like a book at this point. he’s spent so long fanboying over her that he knows what she’s feeling. when she’s sad, excited, pissed, he knows. it pulls at his heart when he can sense the disappointment in her voice. he starts to get more alarmed with every drink she takes throughout the day. she’s not even a big drinker, never really taking an offer. now he’s positive somethings wrong.

if y/n’s parents didn’t care about her, they don’t care if she drinks, right? she’s with her friends, she’s allowed to. plus. it’ll take the edge off of the internal wounds her parents have left her with. her feelings on the whole matter start to disintegrate for a while, until belly’s cake comes out and is handed to her. it’s so nicely done, perfect detail and so much love. they put time into her cake and party, and y/n can’t help the jealousy rising up. she vividly remembers every one of her younger siblings birthdays. all of them having their friends and a party, while y/n was just locked in her room on her birthday. the presents and the cheesy grins from everyone were overwhelming every year. she couldn’t help but think about what it could be like with her real family. maybe they could love her as much as she deserves, but in reality, they won’t. they can, but they chose not to, which hurts even more.

y/n stumbles around on the balcony, around people while carefully savoring every last drop of whatever is in her can. she’s probably had too many, but she doesn’t care. it’s almost like it’s reversed itself now. she watches belly open all of her presents and receive hugs and kisses, and the lump in her throat becomes thicker. she thinks of the alcohol as her enemy now, just bringing back the thoughts in her sober mind.

it’s not until everyone hears the clicking of y/n’s heels on the pavement that they notice her walking away. her hand is swiping away the loose tears and everyone looks at conrad. if there’s anyone y/n wants to see, it’s him. they’ve been in love for so long, it’s almost painful to watch. as she walks away, blurry vision from the alcohol and the tears, she tries to grab another can from the box before a hand stops her.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” conrad says, gently taking it out of her hand and landing it back in the box.

“oh, great. more fuckin’ judgment,” she retorts, making conrad’s face contort.

“hey, what’s going on? you’ve been off all day.”

“i am, perfectly fine,” y/n slurs. conrad places a hand on her shoulder, and takes them to sit on the steps. his arm is wrapped around her, the other one gripping her hand.

“i know you’re not. it’s ok to not be ok,” he looks at her nose scrunch and her cheeks turn red again. “hey, hey, don’t cry, you’re alright.”

“no,” she weeps out, putting her head in her hands. “i’m a mess! i don’t know what to do, i cant make it any better and i’ve been trying for 14 fucking years!”

“hold on,” he keeps his voice low. “what do you mean?”

“my parents don’t give a shit. they haven’t since y/b/n was born and they didn’t even bother about me anymore,” conrad pulls her into his arms, leaning back as her teardrops soak into his shirt. “i didn’t do anything for this, and belly’s being loved unconditionally without having to fight for it. and i feel like a bitch getting upset over it but-“

“absolutely not. don’t say that ever again. you don’t deserve anything they’re giving you. anything they’ve said to you is a fucking lie. i know who you are. you’re the most perfect, beautiful person i’ve ever met, inside and out. you don’t have to prove anything to them, because they don’t deserve your amazingness,” he speaks to her. it’s nothing but the truth, and nothing he would ever hesitate to say. “and i will spend forever trying to prove to you that you’re nothing but beautiful a beautiful person.”

y/n looks up at him, only bursting into more tears as he laughs a bit. “oh, my god, conrad. i love you, so much. i know i’m drunk but i mean it more than anything.” she’s felt nothing like she does now. she’s never had someone accept her so quickly and with so much appreciation. she feels like she can do nothing but cry and just love on him.

“i’m glad,” he begins again. “because i love you, too. no matter what your parents say or do. they don’t define you.”

and in this moment, for the first time in a long time, y/n knows someone loves her. and he’s not just saying it for comfort. she doesn’t need her parents to be loved. if they can’t do that, there will forever be someone out there who loves her just as much. she knows she’s enough, and that’s enough.

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 9 months ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐇 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑺𝒐 𝒊𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔...

╰┈➤ ❝ jeremiah x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : angst, friends with benefits, forbidden love/"we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, hints at friendship betrayal, the pain hits more if you've read main story ch8 and xavier's myth ch5, kissing and making out, mentions of nipple play, mentions of oral (f and m receiving), fingering, clit play, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cumshot, dirty talk, praise, cursing, use of nicknames "pretty" "princess" "milady/my lady", lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 4.5k

an : LOOK. BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING. before you "roxie... what—" me !!!!! writing for him is probably a one-time thing, but listen. he's CUTE!!! and if he's cute, i will write for him...!!!!! (sorry, xavier)

You didn't really know when it started.

After all, what were the odds for you to be strolling around long enough, just to chance across this quaint little flower shop that would eventually became part of your every being?

He'd been arranging some flowers out in the front when you first saw him, light brown, curly hair shining with a gleam under the sunlight. He was humming some kind of tune—it wasn't one you particularly knew, and yet, oddly enough, it was one you found familiar, in ways you couldn't really describe.

In retrospect, the flowers were pretty. Pastel colors blending in with limes and greens, a splash of vibrancy against a largely black exterior. Blues and yellows seemed to be predominant amongst the hues, almost tiny and star-like—a galaxy of flowers, you remember thinking.

And something about it had you easily magnetized.

"Hi!" You'd walked up to him without really thinking; lamely telling yourself in your head, that, hey, maybe your apartment could use some extra decorating...!

(It didn't, but now that you'd approached the florist like this, you felt compelled to at least buy something.)

Jeremiah, however, had been completely spooked by your sudden appearance. One look at you, and his eyes went wide and his humming immediately ceased—you could have sworn a hint of recognition had passed in his eyes, but it was gone before you could truly make out what it was that you saw.

"W-whoah!" he'd laughed, hints of both nervousness and awkwardness glaringly obvious to you—and any busybody that happened to be passing by, for that matter. "Uh!? Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone so, um... Early?"

You could feel it was a feeble excuse.

Sure, it had been your day off, and sure, maybe it was odd for you to be out and about in the morning at all—but it hadn't been that early. You almost wanted to say something about it out loud... but something in you told you to cut him some slack.

Instead, you'd offered a smile.

"No, I'm sorry. Are you not open yet? You have some beautiful flowers, and I couldn't help but want to look at them a little..."

It was amusing to you how easy his expressions were to read. They had changed seamlessly from bewilderment to joy, and he instantly gestured inside. "Oh! We are open! Wow, maybe I'm just really distracted this morning, haha! But hey, thanks, I'm actually pretty proud if them myself. Though I get some help from a friend in taking care of them, I think they're pretty too..."

You'd known from the start that he was quite the talker, but as a smile played on your lips, you thought that you didn't really mind so much, anyway.

He looked cute, and his voice was just as cute.

But the store, you later realized, would take your breath away in an instant.

The inside was just as majestic as the outside. You found that despite the fact that it looked rather small from a distance, its exterior was actually quite misleading. The inside was beautiful—a floor and a loft worth of flowers, and, you could spot all the way in the back, a door that seemed to be leading out into a garden.

And was that... a greenhouse?!

He had probably noticed the awe on your face when you stepped in, and couldn't help but chuckle. "You like?" he grinned, obvious pride twinkling in his eyes.

"Well... yeah! I can't belive I haven't found this place before. Don't you get a lot of customers?"

"Hmm... Sometimes. Depends on the day, really. But as it goes, if you know the place, then you know, right? Welcome to Philo!"

He turned momentarily before offering you a single yellow blossom, its petals unfurling like puffs in your hand.

You eyed it curiously.

"This, is...?"

"It's a zinnia flower. I thought its colour matched your eyes a little, so think of it as something to keep you company while you look around!"

That day, you picked out a lovely bouquet of little blue periwinkles, and learned that his name was Jeremiah.

From then on, you would chance upon him more, and more, and more—taking the occasional detour whenever you were free, or even timing your lunch breaks enough so to at least be able to catch a glimpse. For the flowers, of course, you would tell yourself, because each visit, Jeremiah would give you a single stem. "On the house!" he would say, and you would smile.

The first day you met, he'd given you a yellow zinnia.

The second day you met, he'd given you a sunflower.

The third day you met, he'd given you a white camellia.

And the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth, and onwards—a single flower, handed over with a dismissive excuse of it going with your hair, or your outfit, or your smile—most often accompanied by a nonchalant remark on how pretty you looked.

Sometimes, after that, you'd talk a little. He would ask you about your day, and you would ask him about his day... You've even learned, by now, the things that he liked. Flowers, a given, but also literature—poetry. Though he remarked that lately he hadn't gotten around to reading anything, he's always been quite fond of them.

You found that these little tidbits made him feel less... mysterious, in a sense, and more real. It went without saying that the more you went over to visit, the longer you'd stay—the longer you'd stay, the louder your heart would beat.

In the end, it wouldn't take long before you realized it yourself, but you were no longer going to Philo for simply... the flowers.

And on one particular night, having made it just in time for closing hours, things had started taking a different turn.

...That night had started off innocent.

Cheerful greetings, cheerful chatter—now, you'd grown accustomed to telling him all about how your day or how your week had gone, and then you would never fail to fluster at the way he'd listen to you so attentively. His eyes, you realized, were almost as bright as the sun—honey-brown like his hair, with specks and glimmers of sapphire when the light hit just right enough. If anything else, you thought that a sunflower suited him better than it did you—the cheerful bounce in his curls, and the way his laugh would tinkle in the air and send butterflies into your stomach without even trying.

Perhaps, down bad was an understatement for you.

But no matter how close you had gotten to this boy, you couldn't help but feel as if there was an unknown barrier between the two of you.

That night, Jeremiah gave you a rose.

Cleaned of its thorns, and as pure and pristine as all the other white flowers he'd housed in his store—he tucked it behind your ear, and his gaze softened in a way that you had never seen before.

The air between you was heavy.

But neither of you would make a definitive move.

"Hey, so how are the flowers all doing?" He broke the silence, but his eyes remained steely on yours.

"I'm... taking care of them like I promised to. I still have that bouquet, and I still have all of the other ones you gave me..."

"Hmm." A smile played at his lips, and then he began to list the recent flowers he'd given to you, for the past couple of weeks of your sporadic visits—

"Let's see. Azalea, petunia, iris, lily... a yellow tulip, some lavender—" He stopped, and amusement shone in his eyes. "Hey, don't tell me you're keeping them all in one vase! And with the others, too? That won't make for a pretty bouquet, you know, the colours will all just clash too much!"

You watched as he laughed, but your eyes only furrowed. "What do you mean? I don't have a greenhouse like you do! Might I remind you that I live in an apartment?!"

"I know, I know! But... You didn't really have to keep them..."

"Why not? They're from you..."

Jeremiah's gaze softened.

And then, again, came that same, pensive silence.

And again, you felt like you were drawn to him.

You couldn't have known why.

Despite whatever butterflies and giddiness he'd often bring upon you, it wasn't as if you'd spent all that much time with him—perhaps, you'd try to visit every week if you could, but that was it, wasn't it? A small chat, a few glances... a flower, and then a wave goodbye—

Yet here you were, like a moth to a flame.

"Penny for your thoughts, milady?" he mumbled out as if to bring you out of your reverie, but it almost seemed to you that he was having the same trepidations.

And that nickname.

He would call you by it often—it fell from his lips almost naturally, and then onto your ears equally as naturally. You've always liked the sound of it, reveling in the way he would treat you so sweetly like this, smiling to yourself at the way his eyes would squint in joy whenever he said it.

But, in this situation....

...Closer.

You chanced it, this feeling, and leaned in.

Jeremiah drew in a shaky breath... but he didn't move.

Instead, his eyes—so telling, his eyes—would move downwards over your face, before settling onto your lips.

"...'Miah," you whispered, and you saw him gulp at the nickname. "Can I kiss you?"

Moths, near a flame, never end well. Surely they don't.

But Jeremiah, despite knowing that, had never been happier to oblige.

That night, was the first night he had kissed you. The first time that both of you had given into the thrumming of temptation always in the air; the first time he had you pressed against his counter, hands roaming fondly over your body, kissing you almost as if his life depended on it.

And from that night forward, things changed substantially.

Weekly visits turned to daily—nightly. Chancing upon closing hours became more planned and deliberate, and then the situation would be the same. Lips crashing upon lips, fingers gripping tightly onto fistfuls of hair, the soft resounding of hushed moans into each others mouths.

You no longer remembered when he started becoming more daring, either. When he started sliding his hands underneath your top, when he started kissing at your neck, fingers rubbing your nipples fondly... You don't remember when you made it into his bedroom, having him trace his hands over your thighs, pushing you apart, fingers slipping into your cunt and sliding through your folds in a way that had you absolutely speechless. Or, neither could you remember how on some nights, he had his head between your legs—licking, and sucking, and eating you out, waves of pleasure coarsing through your veins like never before.

No, at this point, you really didn't remember—how many times your night had been filled with him, how many times you would come all over his mouth—his fingers—

How many times you'd moaned his name.

Perhaps, you thought, it might have been the same for him. Your hands, pumping his cock with fervor, tongue swirling around his tip, drinking up ever last drop of cum he would offer you. You knew, by now, that he loved it when your fingers fell through his hair, stroking fondly at his curled tresses, or digging into his scalp as a testament to your passion.

And yet, you'd never gone further.

Each night, you would see a hint of regret flash in his eyes, and though he would hold you, and kiss you, and do everything to ensure you would sleep soundly right beside him...

The ambiguity of your relationship was clear.

The nights would be for pleasure, but there would be nothing more.

No professions of love, no promises of commitment...

Perhaps, the butterflies you'd always felt around him, had also simmered down to nothing but racing heartbeats in anticipation of his touch.

"Does that feel good, pretty?"

Now, Jeremiah had his fingers in your pussy, drinking up the lust in your eyes, watching the way your mouth would hang open in breathless pants.

"Mhm... 'Miah... 'Miah, you're so good..."

He smiled up at you, thumb grazing over your clit, sighing when your head fell back with another moan.

"Staying quiet really was never your strong suit, huh? I love having you like this. You're so, pretty for me, my lady... So pretty..."

"M-Mia—aahn—"

He leaned up to kiss you, his lips feeling home on yours, your back arching to meet the thrust of his fingers.

"You're adorble," he mumbled, lightly onto your lips when he pulled back. "Really adorable. So adorable, damn, I'm so lucky."

Another moan from your mouth, and you tensed beneath him. "C-close!" you cried, "M'gonna— gonna cum!"

"Mhm? Real close, huh, pretty?"

His finger brushed on the spongy spot in your walls, and your high came crashing immediately.

"'Miah! Oh, fuck—'Miah, 'Miah— Jeremiah—"

You groaned as he rode out your orgasm, his fingers slowly pulling out of you, drenched in your slick, and you trembled beneath him with pleasure.

"'Miah..."

"Aww... Now I'm hard for you again..." He almost whined as he pressed against you, the feeling of his bare cock on your folds making you hiss in pleasure.

"Should I..." you panted, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. "Do you want me to suck you off again?"

Your offer came out genuinely, and you propped yourself up on your elbows as if to prepare yourself—but he shook his head, guiding you back down. Jeremiah smiled and placed kisses all over your face, rolling over to lay down next of you as if to make a point. "No need, princess. We've done enough for tonight, right?"

You expected this.

Jeremiah never went too far; always keeping your activities to a minimum, always shaking his head when you asked for more. His self control was impeccable—but it was ironic, almost, considering that these activities had already very much become a nightly adventure.

But you pouted.

Instinctively, you reached out a hand for him to hold; "Why do you hold yourself back when you're with me?"

"What do you mean?"

You could at scoffed at the obviously feigned innocence on his face when he turned to look at you.

"This. You won't let this go... further. Like there's—there's something stopping you, or..." You paused, and squeezed his hand "Jeremiah, what... are we? What are we doing?"

It was a question you'd never dared to ask, but one that you had always felt burning in the back of your mind.

He didn't answer immediately.

You probed him further.

"Even when we're like this, it's almost like... You're still so far away from me. I just... I want to understand where this is all coming from, because, 'Miah, I think I—"

"Don't..."

His voice, interrupting you, was twinged with guilt. He shifted closer enough to cradle you into his chest.

"We're just... We're friends, right? Who just... fool around, from time to time..."

The more words fell out of his mouth, the more he seemed to sound... regretful.

You looked up at him with a searching gaze. "Is that why you'll never really go further than this? Because we're... friends."

He nodded, slowly.

But something wasn't sitting right with you.

It was almost as if he knew something; as if he was hiding something so desperately from you that it was taking every ounce of his being not to give in and tell you everything.

"'Miah..."

"...Ah, fuck—please. Not that nickname, not right now..."

You couldn't understand the pain in his voice.

"...Jeremiah, then."

He looked at you, chewing on the inside of his lower lip, and his eyes held a glimmer of something you couldn't quite understand.

"Do you... Want this, Jeremiah? Is it... Is it not enjoyable for you? If— If you don't want to anymore, then we could just—"

"N-no! It is! God, it is! You're so perfect for me, princ—" the nickname caught in his throat, and he gulped. "Y-you... You always feel so good. I more than want it, I love doing this with you—!"

"Then why are you so sad?"

Your words hung in the air, the silence that followed laying thick with a mix of your emotions. It was almost like he took a moment to process the truth of what you'd said, and then he looked away, gaze flitting to the bedsheets, grip tight around your arms.

"'Miah..."

"No, don't... I— Please. Please, I just—I want you so bad. To have you beneath me—to fuck you, to make love to you... You don't even know how much. And even more than that, I... The more we do this, the more I realize that I don’t want to just fool around with you..."

"Then why don't you? Jeremiah... all this time, I—"

"You're not mine."

You paused. His voice came out barely a whisper, and though he refused to look at you, you could make out the tiny glistening of tears in his eyes.

"What... What do you mean?"

"You... You belong to someone else—"

"No, I don't! I don't have any other man in my life, 'Miah, you know this—"

"But you should!"

"...What? What are you saying?"

He finally looked at you, moving you onto your back once more, clear, pure conflict in his eyes, even as he leaned down to nip at your jawline. His hot, warm breaths were against your skin once more. Immediately you felt your hair raise up, all manner of thoughts seeping through your mind in an instant, desire stirring inside of you—

"'M-Miah..." You drew in a sharp breath. "W-wait, you're not— not making any sense, what's going on...?"

"I can't—I'm not—I'm not supposed to be doing this with you..." His voice shook, but he rolled his hips against yours, and you had to let out a gasp. "I'm not, but I... God, you're just so tempting..."

"I don't... U-understa—ah, shit—!"

"Wh- What's your... call..." Jeremiah let out a shaky breath near your ear, his eyes pleading, his cock resting neatly between your folds, the heat of his touch sending your mind into overdrive. "You— Is it okay? Can I put it in? You... Y-you said..."

Oh...

You swallowed thickly, melting under the intensity in his eyes, failing to hold back a whimper at the way he was sliding against you.

"Yes," you breathed, immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I said yes... I still say yes..."

His hips stuttered at your words, and you could see him grit his teeth as he bit back a loud moan. "O- once. Just once. Once, and I'll pull out, I promise... Just once, let me be inside you..."

Despite the fact that you had already given him consent, he seemed almost as if he was reassuring himself more than you. It didn't sit right with you—something was wrong, and you knew it. Jeremiah wasn't drunk, to have been possibly saying this while not in his right mind, but, this... this was...

What was holding him back?

You, being in such a situation where you understood nothing, didn't know what to do.

Should you stop him...?

Something in your mind was screaming at you to tell him to calm down; what if he didn't truly want this?

But his cock was rubbing so nicely into your clit. You could feel the pool of arousal gather within seconds of him rutting against you, and how—how could you think?

If this were up to you, you've wanted this for so long.

And he was asking you...

He was asking you if he could finally put it inside of you...

You shuddered at the thought, your walls clenching around nothing.

Fuck.

"You can take me, 'Miah," you whispered, breath shaking. You steeled yourself to keep from bucking your hips upwards. "But you have to promise me... Promise me, promise me, that you won't end up regretting it..."

Something flashed in his eyes.

Uncertainty, perhaps—

Jeremiah let out ragged pants, but for a moment, he didn't speak.

Ah...

You moved your hand slowly, trailing his skin before resting to cup his cheek.

"...Do you truly want this, Jeremiah?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Fuck, yes..."

"Okay. I want this, but I'm not forcing you. You have my consent, but I... I want yours."

He sighed, and leaned into your touch, something like a hopeless resignation now made clear in his eyes. He was like a deer in the headlights, almost—so embrolled in whatever internal conflict was at the forefront of his mind, that you almost pitied him. With a pout, you kissed him, slowly, softly, and he lay his forehead to meet yours.

"What if," he whispered, "there was... someone out there, who's loved you all this time?"

"...'Miah?"

"What if... What if I'm stealing you from him? What if it was never supposed to be this way? I just... I feel like... You were never supposed to be mine to hold..."

It wasn't something you could understand at a surface level. You knew that there was more to it—things he couldn't say out loud, and things he couldn't make you understand no matter how hard he tried to.

So you sighed.

"Well, 'Miah, I haven't met him, whoever he is."

"But you hav—"

"The point is that I'm here, now, with you. And, if... If, it makes you feel better, then..." You swallowed your pride, swallowed all the feelings you might have grown for him through your time together, swallowed all hope that you could ever have a normal relationship with him. "We're just... friends, right? Fooling around, like you said. Just... like we've always been doing."

Your heart buzzed, numb, almost.

The look in his eyes told you he didn't believe you; almost as if he'd known, all this time, that you've fallen in love with him, very likely just as he had with you—

But you didn't pay it any mind.

If nothing else, you didn't want to lose what you had now.

It was okay, like this.

You could live with it.

Maybe.

All things considered, your words seemed to bring him to relax just a little bit, and he nuzzled your nose, the fondness in his eyes resurfacing and drowning out any remaining traces of guilt. "Okay," he nodded, "you're right. Of course. We're just... fooling around. Friends, just... fooling around."

It was a false sense of security.

Somehow, the both of you knew it deep in your hearts that you were lying to yourselves.

But it didn't matter, right?

Not when the first push of his tip through your walls had you gasping your air, not when the feel of his length moving right into your cunt felt so perfect—so right. And along with you, Jeremiah let out quiet whimpers, sinking into you slowly, slipping in inch by inch, allowing the both of you to savor this very feeling.

"Holy shit," he cursed, breathless, gritting his teeth as he looked at you almost pleadingly—"How can you feel so good?"

By now he'd bottomed out and your bodies were flush against each other, feeling the echoing of your heartbeats in sync, heavy pants filling the equally weighty silence that followed. Leaning forward slightly, he moved to rest both of your legs on his shoulders, and you couldn't help but moan at the way the slight adjustment had him shifting deeper within you.

"'M-Miah—"

"Fuck, can I... Can I move?" He placed a chaste kiss on the skin of your calf, before letting his hands fall down to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle, his eyes still searching yours almost expectantly.

"Please..."

You could have melted at the way he smiled at you.

And then Jeremiah wasted no time in pulling out, before slowly easing back in. The way your name fell from his lips in a drawn-out moan had you tingling, and you held him tight against you, eyes closing at the way he stretched you out.

He felt so... warm. So safe.

Each of his thrusts were thoughtful, intentional; slow, but long and deep.

Filling.

"S'good, Miah..." you whispered, latching your hands onto his soft curls. "You fit so well..."

"I know... haah... I can't believe we're—I think I'll ruin you for him—"

You didn't dare dwell on his words and only clenched around him at a particularly deep thrust, having the both of you moan in synchrony.

"Fuck! My lady, please— g-go easy on me...!"

"Y-you're the one w-who's so deep—ah—!"

You pulled at his hair, feeling the way the sensitive head of his cock would delightfully brush against your most delicate spot. Your eyes clouded with want, raking your nails over his scalp, shuddering at the way he would moan and moan, on and on about the pleasure of your heat.

"Mhm... so good, 'Miah, s'perfect..." You moaned in tandem with him, whispering praises, matching his thrusts with every movement of your hips. It was too much, almost, even though all he was doing was thrusting into you, doe-like, unfocused eyes transfixed upon your face.

If you weren't lying to yourself, you were inclined to think that he, too, mirrored your exact thoughts.

"Princess... Fuck, my princess..."

Ah. That nickname.

The way his cock would twitch inside you at the mere sound of this nickname from his lips had you gasping, and you wondered, truly, why it had him so worked up. This wasn't the first time you'd seen him so attached to it—but you adored it; you reveled in the way he would use it on you.

"S-say it again," you breathed, heart racing at the wet sounds of your pussy with each of his thrusts, every roll of his hips pushing him so deep inside of you, gliding against that spongy spot. You could barely hold back your moans anymore, words turning into broken, unintelligible whimpers.

"You..." Jeremiah closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, and you felt lightheaded at the image of it in front of you. "Y-you... You like it? When I call you princess?"

Another whine escaped from your lips, and you continue to coax him, pleading him, praising him—anything to get him to bring you closer to your high.

And he listened.

"Fuck, princess— princess, princess, princess— my princess, my pretty, pretty princess—"

Your eyes rolled back as he picked up his pace, precise with his thrusts as the bed rocked steadily beneath you. Cries and moans spilled from your lips, your hands falling to twist into his sheets.

Perfect.

He was perfect.

You'd barely started grinding your hips upwards to meet his thrusts, and then your body was tensing with pleasure

"'M-Miah!" Your fingers raked down to his back, gripping tightly when he hissed into your ear. "M'cumming, 'Miah! M'gonn— I'll—!"

He thrust hard and deep inside of your cunt, and you trembled, crying out his name, mouth falling open—

Jeremiah buried his face into your neck as he pulled out of you, spilling his load all over your chest, broken chants of your name.

"I—fuck—shit—" He whined into your skin, barely lifting himself enough to relax your positions, crawling back over to give you the sweetest of kisses.

"Jeremiah..." You stroked his cheek once more, gently, lost in the way that his eyes would look at you with so much adoration that your heart could beat right out of your chest.

"I..." he started, a pout forming at his lips. "I'm sorry, my lady..."

He didn't explain why, but he didn't need to.

You could see it in his eyes.

His eyes, his ever expressive eyes, holding so much warmth and so much love—

He loved you.

Even though you had dared to reach this illusion of mutual agreement, even if you'd promised yourselves only just a short while ago that this wouldn't happen.

That it couldn't happen.

And you closed your eyes.

"I know," you whispered.

I love you, too.

Your words would remain unsaid.

⁺₊ / an: flower language is cute and the flowers mentioned here represent things like compliments/love/growing attraction! the zinnia symbolises welcoming back a missing friend! because jeremiah would totally flirt via flowers... haha... florist, right....... did i just make myself more attached to him? 4.5k wordcount says yes!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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uselesseaweedbrain · 1 month ago

Text

Supercorptober - Leaves

Kara landed on Earth in autumn, on a carpet of crimson, dying leaves, creating a crater the size of which that forest had scarcely known.

Kara exited the pod then, making sure the air was breathable, even though the pod's system had assured her it would be.

The air was warm and fresh, the wind a slight breeze, and as she stood on wobbly legs, Kara relished in the caress of the wind on her skin for the first time in years, settling on this welcoming, healthy, foreign soil.

The trees had not yet lost all their foliage, and the sky was peppered with flashes of vibrant oranges, glowing yellows, poignant reds, interspersed with branches nearly bare.

Kara had arrived in autumn, at the end of a cycle that was culminating in ruddy orange and flaming red - colours once a reassurance and a manifestation of Rao, but no more.

Red, for Kara, then, had long since become a cruel and permanent reminder of a planet imploding.

****************************

When Kal-El happened, another let-down, another cutting disappointment, Kara had raged in anger and despair.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t, that Kal, Krypton’s last hope and final descendent, should be stolen from Kara before she'd even gotten to him.

But thus it was, Kal - Clark - had been moulded to earthly customs, never to be returned, unwilling to acknowledge his Kryptonian heritage or his Kryptonian cousin, and- there. Kara was well and truly alone - guilty of failing her only assigned task, guilty of having let Krypton die, guilty of being alive when so many others - all the others - were dead.

Of course. Kara had thought bitterly. Of course another thing in my care wilted and died. Krypton’s last hope, vanished into thin air, and now I am all we have left.

But Kara knew how heavy Krypton could be to bear, and-

Maybe it's a good thing I couldn't raise Kal. A good thing that I didn't touch him, didn't teach him, didn't contaminate him with our dying culture - my dying culture, Kara amends in her mind, mine - let him live free of my burden and Krypton's curse.

Kara was alone in her culture and alone in her family and alone on this planet, and all around, scarlet leaves rustled and dried.

********

When Jeremiah disappeared, never to be seen again, it was winter. The leaves were well and truly dead, decomposed, gone with the wind or burned on a pyre, the trees were bare and Kara found it fitting.

***********

When spring happened, and Alex softened, and Kara made a friend, finally finding her footing on this strange planet, Kara started believing again. In Rao. In the dance of the sun and the stars, in the push and pull of the tide, in the balance of life and death - the leaves had grown back.

Now Kara was surrounded with blooming life everywhere, glowing greens, dewy petals and burgeoning flowers, delicate and strong as they braved the wind and the rain to come out and live.

The plants lived without directions or agenda or specific care.

The flowers bloomed and blossomed because it was time, because the sun and the heat and the sap had ordered them to, and because they could, and Kara observed the phenomenon with desperate fascination.

*********

When Kara interviewed Lena Luthor in the fall, she'd already seen forty-eight earthly seasons. She had grieved, and grown through them, yet most of her relations to them remained unchanged.

Kara still fell into a meditative state during autumn, reciting prayers to Rao in her head, afraid to say them out loud and set them free, lest they never came back to her, and she lost yet another part of her decaying self.

She still despised winter, a stark reminder of death and loss and emptiness, her grief palpable and her guilt crushing.

The feeling of spring remained bittersweet, clad in awe but tied down with fear and resentment, that flowers would never bloom again on Krypton. That her people - her leaders, her parents - had made sure of that.

Summer was by far the easiest season of them all, comforting in its heat and nostalgic in its vermillion sunsets, still brimming with life as if holding its breath before the storm.

Summer, unlike fall, wasn't already shedding its dead weight, preparing to survive at all costs, doing exactly what it would take with no second thoughts.

Summer, unlike fall, wasn't calculating and pragmatic, utilitarian in its approach and cynical in its realisation.

Summer wasn't like spring, either, young and green and naive and too ready to live or die trying.

No. Summer was running on the edge of a cliff fast approaching, choosing not to look and believing it would make it.

Summer was reasonable hope and measured expectations, wrapped in exuberance for life and faith in the future.

When Kara followed Clark Kent in Lena Luthor's office, summer was ending. The trees were starting to shed, and Kara was slipping into her personal refuge, every year more afraid that her last remnants of Krypton would fade into dust and scatter.

When Kara walked in, trailing behind Clark, she was thinking of her suit and her life and her limits - and how long she would last if she were to give up the latter for the benefit of the first. How she was, once again, allowing higher-ups to dictate her calling and orient her actions, and how, soon, she would become her parents, too entwined in the web of power and duty to put their foot down.

Kara had seen aliens be roughed up and mistreated. She'd seen many, arrested for petty theft or clumsy property destruction, walk into a cell and never come out. She'd seen selective justice, and she'd seen Jeremiah walk out of their house into the DEO, and vanish without a trace.

Kara had seen and she had heard and she had executed orders still.

And now there she was, too, following her cousin in his reporter footsteps and investigating a woman who had done nothing but be her brother's sister.

And, Rao, how Kara knew about poisoned legacies and irreparable debts.

Lena Luthor walked ahead of them both, preceding them into the room with the rhythmic click-clack of her heels on the marble floors.

"There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I wasn't aboard the Venture yesterday”, she dove in, and Kara was impressed by the steadiness of her voice, the firmness of her tone and the constant pace of her heart.

"It was an emergency, regarding planning for a ceremony I'm holding tomorrow. I'm renaming my family's company, and I had to cancel", she elaborated.

Her back was turned as she poured herself a glass from her water jug, carrying it back to her desk.

Clark looked skeptical and Lena seemed aware.

"Lucky", Clark called her.

Lena laughed and Kara wanted to laugh with her. She didn't believe in luck.

Neither did Clark, when it came to a Luthor.

"Lucky was Superman saving the day", Lena deflected, and Kara smirked internally.

Clark's fake laugh rung out for a few seconds.

"Not something one would expect a Luthor to say."

Kara didn't like the accusation - wanted, somehow, to deflect and protect this woman that she'd barely just met. But Kara hadn't ever been well-spoken or at ease on Earth, her confidence sapped by the need for secrecy and the initial language barrier.

So what she ended up saying was:

"Ah- uh- Supergirl was there too!"

Lena's attention was on her all of a sudden, and:

"And who are you exactly?”, she inquired with, maybe, a trace of genuine endearment.

"Um- I'm Kara Danvers." A second lie, a second half-truth, one more erasure of herself. "I'm not with the Daily Planet. I'm with CatCo magazine, sort of?"

An additional misstep, that Lena, of course, picked up on.

"That's a publication not known for its hard hitting journalism. More like 'high waisted jeans, yes or no'."

Kara shifted uneasily, and, thankfully, Lena didn't push further.

The CEO had sat down at her desk, and she was finally facing them.

"Can we just- speed this interview along? Just ask what you want to ask, Mr. Kent. Did I have anything to do with the Venture explosion."

"Did you?" Clark shot back.

"You wouldn't be asking me if my last name was Smith."

"Oh, but it's not. It's Luthor."

Kara recoiled at the barbed statement. Now Clark wanted to wield family ties as weapons? After giving up his Kryptonian legacy without a second thought? After dropping off his only living blood relative before even getting to know her?

Lena, unfazed, leaned back in her leather chair.

"Some steel under that Kansas tweed," she remarked playfully, a barely noticeable edge in her voice.

"It wasn't always." Lena stated next.

She looked at Kara, then. Not the way others had, with friendly condescension or lofty endearment.

No.

Lena, as she unraveled her family's history, her adoption, her attachment to Lex and her grief at his madness, her vow to rebuild her legacy as her own, Lena was staring at Kara and seeing her.

"I'm just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family. Do you understand that?"

Lena's tone had switched from defensive to soft the second she'd laid her eyes on Kara, and-

"Yes." Kara responded reflexively.

Clark looked at her in shock.

But Lena had seen her and her office was clean and her lipstick was crimson and her eyes were the colour of spring.

And, right then, spring didn't seem so naive anymore.

********

#supercorp fanfic #supergirl #kara danvers #kara zor el #supergirledit #supercorp #supercorptober #leaves #supercorptober2024 #supercorptober 2024 #karlena #lena luthor #kara x lena

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taraandtarot · 7 months ago

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*giggles. He’s too cute for her to be annoyed.*

Start over from where? Here?

*She kisses his cheek again.*

Or maybe this one?

*And then the other cheek, setting down the deck*

You gotta feel something by now, don’tcha?

K,.... May have had too much Philosian alcohol......

#jeremiah x tara #((Taramiah???))#Flower Friend ;; (Jeremiah)#Tara Talks ;; (IC Post)

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raven-dor · 3 months ago

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there he goes

In which conrad fisher makes up with his best friend, and she realizes that she has feelings for him

PAIRING: conrad fisher x reader, jeremiah fisher x PLATONIC!reader, isabel conklin x PLATONIC!reader, steven conklin x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: allusions to a past argument, heartbreaking fluff, angst, one-sided crush, underage drinking, loneliness

WORD COUNT: 1,832

AN: this is an excerpt from a WIP on wattpad!! just wanted to get a feel and see if anyone would be interested in this even being published<3

Laurel laughed at the spread on the kitchen counter. "I thought we were keeping dinner simple."

"It's Belly's sweet 16. Is Connie done shucking the corn?"

Y/N shrugged, filling up the vases for the flowers. "I don't think so."

Susannah sighed. "Can you go check for me?"

She nodded. "Sure." She pushed open the kitchen door and walked slowly down the steps to the landing. Conrad looked up, smiling lightly.

"Your mom sent me down here to see if you're almost done shucking the corn." She looked behind him, noticing that there were only three left. "I'll let her know." She turned back around, walking back up the steps.

Conrad called out. "Y/N/N..."

She stopped but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

"I- I'm sorry." She took another step up the stairs, a hand wrapping around her wrist. Her breath hitched, and he slowly turned her around. She tried to look anywhere but his eyes. He had always made her break when she looked into his eyes. "Y/N/N, look at me, please."

"I can't." She shook her head. "You know I can't."

"Y/N/N..."

She shook her head, turning back around. "We can talk later, Conrad."

"I'm sorry, Y/N/N. For everything." He stood at the bottom of the steps, watching as she turned around. "I'm sorry for everything."

She sighed. "Why are you being so mean?"

He shook his head. "I'm not being mean-"

She walked down, meeting him at the bottom. "I don't mean right now. I meant in general. Trust me, I get it. You're dealing with a lot." She looked up at him delicately. "But why did you do that?"

He reached his hand out, grabbing hers, studying the way her fingers looked. "I just- I didn't want to hurt you more. Because I was-"

"That's what I'm here for." She smiled. "Not for you to hurt, of course-"

He nodded. "I got it. I'll never hurt you again."

She laughed, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Don't make promises that you can't keep."

A voice coughed, and she jumped, pulling out of Conrad's reach. "I- I'm going back inside." She rushed up the stairs, through the kitchen, and onto her bed.

She grabbed her pillow, screaming into it. "What is happening to me?"

Y/N settled into her seat, grabbing a lobster and some salad. Since Cam was now sitting in her normal spot, she was placed in between Susannah and Conrad, not that she minded. Conrad's leg nudged hers, laughing at her flower crown.

"You look-"

"So Cam!" Jeremiah interrupted the comforting chaos that had erupted, the table quieting. "You mind if I call you Cam Cameron?"

Cam laughed. "Yeah, man. Feel free, that's funny."

Susannah smiled. "I'm glad you're here, Cameron. I know your mom, Denise, from the club."

"Thank you so much for having me, Susannah! My mom says hi."

Laurel walked in, handing out her homemade miyeok-guk.

"Cam, have you ever had miyeok-guk before? It's a Korean birthday tradition."

He shook his head, grabbing the bowl from her. "No, it looks so good, though. Thank you."

"Belly told me you're vegetarian, so I didn't put any meat in it."

Cam smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Laurel, geez."

Jeremiah interrupted again. "Why don't you eat meat, Cam Cameron?"

"Uh, the meat industry is like the number one contributor to global warming. And I just like animals."

Jeremiah tilted his head. "Hm."

Taylor grinned, looking down the table. "Just don't come for my leather jacket."

Steven muttered. "I'm pretty sure you mean pleather."

Jeremiah laughed. "Ooh!"

Taylor flipped him off, the boys laughing at her actions.

"You know, Belly eats meat. So, you let her kiss you with those lips?"

She groaned, shaking her head. "Guys..."

Cameron shook his head. "No, I don't judge people for eating meat. It's just a personal choice. I don't care."

"So you don't mind if her lips touch a dead animal, and then those dead animal lips touch your lips, right?"

Belly smiled tightly, kicking Jeremiah under the table. He winced.

"I don't mind at all. Um, in fact..." He leaned over, kissing Belly lightly. Y/N smiled. It was nice to see he wasn't giving in to the bullying. Or teasing, as Jeremiah and Steven called it.

The boys started gagging, and Y/N glared at them. "Can you not? I'm trying to eat. I don't need gagging noises in the background."

Jeremiah smiled guiltily. Steven spoke up this time. "I'm sorry, I just don't understand why anybody would want to kiss somebody who once fully shat in a bathtub."

Y/N sat down her fork, glaring at the younger boy. "Really, Steven? We're trying to eat here." Conrad laughed.

Belly glared at her brother. "I was like two years old."

Steven's face contorted. "Two, more like six."

Laurel stared at her son, signaling him to stop. "Shut up, Steven."

Taylor sat forward. "I remember when I visited last summer, and you and you," She pointed at the Fisher boys. "Dared him to pee in the fireplace, and you stunk up the entire house for days. Do you remember that?"

Y/N laughed, holding her stomach. "God, that was horrible."

Steven sighed. "We were drunk. We were drunk."

Belly rolled her eyes. "On like half a White Claw." She laughed, looking over at Taylor. "You know, I'm thinking maybe we should go to Nicole's party."

Conrad looked down at his plate, playing with his food. Y/N cleared her throat. "You okay, Connie?"

He nodded, but she could tell that he didn't love the idea of everyone being there. Or maybe it was the idea of Belly and Nicole being in the same room.

Either way, her stomach was twisting, too. Just for different reasons.

Y/N tried to contain her laughter as Steven and Jeremiah screamed the lyrics to "We Are Never Getting Back Together." They had quite literally only been in the car for five minutes before Steven snatched the phone from Jeremiah's hands and put on Taylor Swift.

They pulled up to the house, parking on the side of the driveway. Steven whipped around, glaring playfully at the two in the back. "Do not ever tell Belly I did that."

"Sure, Steven." She grinned, holding up her crossed fingers. "Promise."

Conrad laughed, shutting the car door. "No promises, man."

Y/N laughed alongside him, humming. "Wonder if Belly's here yet."

Conrad shrugged, pulling her towards the kitchen. "I need a drink."

Y/N sighed, following silently. His shoulders were tense, and he was constantly looking over his shoulder. She just hoped that-

"Conrad!"

And there was Nicole. She looked gorgeous and Y/N... well she felt underdressed now. Nicole turned towards the girl, smiling just as wide. "Hey Y/N, cute top."

She was so nice. Y/N took a quick sip of her beer, smiling. "Thank you. Pacsun."

Nicole nodded, looking engaged, but Y/N knew she wanted time with Conrad. She smiled again and walked backward. "I'm gonna go find Jere."

Conrad tilted his head. "We just got here. Give me two seconds, and then I'll come with you."

"No! I mean..." She laughed awkwardly. "It's fine. I have to talk to him about something anyway. I'll see you in a bit."

She stumbled through the crowd, almost smiling at who she ran into. "Taylor, hey!"

Taylor smiled blankly, glaring at her drink. "I met Nicole."

She laughed, looking out at the crowd of drunk teenagers. "Not a fan?"

"I—" she huffed. I know we aren't that close, Y/N, but can I tell you something?"

She nodded quickly.

"I feel like I'm losing her. Belly."

She sighed, facing Taylor. "You're not going to lose her. You're best friends. She'll always need you. Besides, Nicole is just doing her 'big sister' duties. She's not going to steal her. I don't think anyone could do that." She stared back at the crowd. "Trust me."

Taylor hummed, and they stood in silence for what seemed like forever. Y/N huffed, looking over at the younger girl. "I'm going to go find Belly. You want to come with?"

Taylor shook her head, and Y/N walked away towards the foyer. "So Nicole, you and Conrad a thing or what?"

She stopped, listening in on their conversation. "I think or what."

"Wait, you live with him. You should know what he's up to. Has he been hanging out with other girls this summer?"

"Just Y/N, but you know them. Two peas in a pod."

Her heart dropped. God, she really didn't want people even thinking that she and- She stormed through the foyer and dodged past Conrad, who was talking to some other locals from Cousins. His voice definitely called her name, but she ignored him and grabbed a bottle of vodka.

There had to be an empty room with access to the roof somewhere.

It felt like it had been hours since she had found this spot, sitting securely on a spot on the roof that had a perfect view of the moon.

She used to look at the moon with her dad. She used to look at the moon with-

"Y/N/N?" She almost scoffed, not even bothering to look towards the window. "What are you doing up here? We've been looking-"

"No, you haven't."

"What do you mean no we haven't?"

"I mean, no, you haven't. I've been up here for like two hours, Conrad."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't- I'm sorry. I just need to be alone, okay?" She lay down, staring at the stars once more. "Just leave me alone."

Silence followed, and she assumed that he had left, but when she heard the window close and his steps grew closer, she fought the smile that was forming on her face. He lay next to her. "We haven't done this in a while."

"Connie..."

"Y/N..."

"You don't need to lay next to me just to make me feel better."

"Can't I just lay next to my best friend?"

Her stomach twisted, and she told herself it was from the copious amounts of alcohol that she had ingested. "How's Nicole?"

His voice sounded careful. "She's fine."

"Just fine?" She turned her head, looking at his side profile. He was- "She was talking about you."

"Yeah?"

She hummed, still staring at him. "She likes you a lot."

"That's good."

"Yeah." She turned back to the stars. "You ever think we're too close?"

He laughed, like actually laughed. "No, I don't. Do you?"

"Sometimes."

His smile fell, and it was his turn to look at her. "Why's that?"

"I don't think your girlfriends appreciate it very much. Me being your best friend."

"Nicole's not my girlfriend, and even if she were, she'd have to get used to you." He nudged her and scooted closer. "You're my best friend."

"I know." She closed her eyes, her heart shattering into a million pieces. "I know I'm your best friend, Connie. You're mine too."

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #x reader #fanfiction #tsitp fanfiction #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #literature

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iheartyouyou · 1 year ago

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SWEETHEART | Jeremiah Fisher

Summary: After your parents file for a divorce, you’re forced to move in with your mom’s friend until the divorce is finalized. You wished you could stay with your dad and your friends, but when you meet Jeremiah Fisher, that changes. And now you’re wanting to stay in the Cousins. Too bad things don’t last forever.

Word Count:

Part: 8

previous part series masterlist

Authors Note: I don’t know why but I can’t tag some people even though I’m spelling their users right. I’m sorry for that, I have no idea how to fix it. Anyway, thank you for all the love and support from the other parts! <3 I also apologize for grammar or spelling mistakes, I tried to proofread but I’m not sure if I got everything.

You chug the rest of your beer, rolling your eyes at the obnoxious scene in front of you.

“Tell me more! Tell me more…” Jeremiah’s and Cam’s voice fades the more you walk away, turning the corner to find the nearest bathroom.

Noticing the long line that probably hasn’t moved in 10 minutes you make your way upstairs.

After your little pity party earlier, Conrad arrived. It was strange for him to be here since he’s been all “moody and quiet” as Belly would put it, but it made sense since Nicole was here.

“Hey, you see Jere anywhere?” He asks you, looking at you for split second before looking around the yard.

You cross your arms over your chest, “Probably in one of the rooms hooking up with someone.”

Conrad looks at you, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “That’s Jere. If you see him, can you tell him I’m staying the night here?”

You purse your lips, really wanting to be petty and say something along the lines of “oh he’s probably going to be staying the night at his one night stands place as well” but you decide against it.

“Sure.”

Conrad thanks you, entering the house.

Staring at the liquid inside of your red cup, you realize you shouldn’t be outside because you were avoiding Jeremiah and Taylor. You should go in there, make new friends and have fun.

You bounced your leg up and down, anxiously.

Screw it. You probably look like some weird loner out here. Even Conrad’s inside and he’s supposed to be the anti-social one.

And after many drinks and socializing with many people, you somehow ended up in the living room where karaoke was going on. Leaving almost immediately after Jeremiah and Cam started singing their hearts out.

You made no effort in trying to tell Jeremiah what Conrad said. You avoided him all night, the moment he walked in the same room, you walked out.

Placing your cup somewhere, which most likely will never be found, you make a beeline straight to the stairs.

You may have had a little too much to drink that night as it took all your strength to not eat shit on the stairs. Finally making it up there, you try every door only to be met by some random couple either in the midst of making out or ripping each others clothes off.

“Sorry.” You say loud enough for the third couple you walked in on to hear. You close the door, your eyes drifting to the last door at the end of the hallway.

Oh please be a couple free zone.

If not, you can just wait in line. Or find a bush outside.

You hold your breath as you peek your head in, grinning as there was no couple on the bed. Just a flower crown.

You walked in, slamming the door behind you and flinching hard when you heard the two gasps coming from beside you.

“Ew, what the hell you guys! You couldn’t have done that in the car?” You complain, throwing your flower crown next to Taylor’s that was on the bed.

Steven and Taylor were frozen in horror, staring at you with wide eyes.

You scrunch your face up in disgust, walking by them to get to the bathroom. “Wha—“

“Oh my god!” Belly shrieks, pointing at the two in disbelief.

Before Belly could even confront the two, Steven dashed out of there.

“Steven—“ Taylor starts, trying to grab his arm before he could leave but he already did.

“You’re hooking up with my brother?”

“I swear, It just happened!” Taylor excuses, shrugging as she look between you and Belly.

Belly makes a face, “Wha- What you got bored? He’s dating someone! You know, someone he actually likes.”

Taylor scoffs, pointing to herself. “You’re saying he couldn’t like someone like me?”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying—“

“Ohhh, shittt! Steven has a girlfriend!” You say out loud, finally putting two together.

Belly spins to look at you, her eyes narrowed. “What? Did you know? Jesus— how long have you guys been hooking up?”

“I just got here! Like a second before you, maybe half a second before you…” You say, starting to ramble before Belly cuts you off.

“This could get so messy, Steven, he’s taking her to the deb ball and all those girls are her friends!”

Taylor rolls her eyes, “Oh my god! I’m so sick of hearing about this fucking deb ball. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Taylor looks her up and down, using her hands to elaborate.

“Why? Because I’m not just going along with everything you wanna do? Is that why you threw yourself at my brother? So, that… you can get back at me?”

“Y’know, you act so innocent Belly. Like you’re the victim.” Taylor hisses.

“Victim?” Belly repeats.

“I think you’re the self absorbed one, Belly. How do you not know I’ve had a crush on Steven for years. If you weren’t so obsessed with Conrad—“

“What is wrong with you? People are going to hear!”

“Who cares! There’s more than one story happening here but you seem to only care about the one where you’re the main character.”

There’s a pause before Belly excuses herself, rushing out of the room.

You stand there awkwardly, watching Taylor pace the room as she buries her face into her hands.

“Starting fights with everybody tonight, huh?” You sarcastically say, stopping when Taylor looks up to glare at you.

“Mind your own fucking business.” She snaps, snatching her flower crown off the bed before storming off.

You shrug to yourself, rushing to the bathroom.

“Okay but think about this… what if we are all dead but we just don’t know it? Like when we die, will we know when we are dead? Will it just be a void or what?” Your new friend slurs, explaining with his hands to prove a point.

You nod quickly, “That makes so much sense! I wonder if I’m dead.”

“I wonder if I am too.”

There was a pause before the two of you broke into fits of laughter, snorting and not giving a damn since pretty much everybody in this household was drunk.

“I wonder if vodka and apple juice taste good.” You ramble, putting your finger to your chin as if you were thinking.

Whatever his name is scoffs dramatically, shaking his head way too fast. He stops, looking like he was going to puke before going back to normal. “Y’know what’s good? The cherry mountain dew and vodka. That shit is chefs kiss. You ever see Gordon Ramsey?”

“Gordon Ramsey? Oh. my. gosh. Like JonBenét Ramsey?”

“No, that’s different. I’m talking about the old guy.”

You think for a moment, taking a sip of whatever you had in your cup before responding. “Oh the british guy.”

“I think he is! You know how to talk in a british accent?” He speaks in a accent, raising his eyebrows up and down.

You had no idea what his name was. But you bumped into him on accident and the two of you just started talking. Who would’ve known you guys would have a lot in common?

“Yes, hello sir.” You speak in a terrible accent that wasn’t even british, frowning as the guy broke into a laugh.

You flinch at the sudden weight around your shoulders, turning to look at the one and only, Jeremiah Fisher.

“Heyy look, it’s playboy!” You chirp, shrugging his arm off you.

Jeremiah ignores your comment, doing some dumb handshake with your new friend who now wasn’t your new friend because apparently he knew Jeremiah.

“Oh great.” You mumble, drinking the rest of your drink.

They make some small chat while you awkwardly stand there, swaying on your feet as you thought of ways to get out of there.

I’m gonna go use the bathroom!

I’m gonna go find a drink!

I’m out of here!

Adios!

“Oh right, I came over here to take this little fire cracker home.” Jeremiah announces, pinching one of your cheeks teasingly. You smack his hand away, glaring at him.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?” The guy asks, hopeful.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah.”

He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, hesitating, “You, uh, you think I could get your number or something?”

Your eyes widen, your cheeks burning. Oh god, did he just ask you for your number? You heard that right? Right?

“Ye—“ You start, already searching your pockets for your phone before you get cut off.

“It’s actually been a crazy day, think we’re just gonna call it a night. Let’s go, Y/N.” Jeremiah states, staring at you expectantly.

You glare at him, sending an apologetic look to your new friend. “Whatever. See you around.” You managed to say before Jeremiah led you through the house and to his car.

Jeremiah opens the door to the backseat, impatiently waiting for you to get in.

You don’t. You just stand there.

“You couldn’t have waited till after I gave him my number? You’re such a cockblock.” You complain, looking back at the house.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. “He’s a player anyways! You wouldn’t have been the only girl on his phone.”

You scoff, sarcastically smiling at him. “Says you!”

He groans, letting go of the door to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just get in the car, Y/N. I’m tired.”

“I’m tired.” You mock, begrudgingly getting into the car. You reach out to close the car door before Jeremiah could.

You look through the window and watch as he stood there for a moment, seemingly contemplating on something before walking back to the house.

You waited until you couldn’t see him anymore to kick the seat in front of you out of anger, which was barely a kick as your leg felt way too heavy to even move. Same thing with the rest of your body.

Stupid Jeremiah.

Always ruining everything. Ruined Belly’s dinner for you, ruined the party for you, what else is he going to ruin?

It’s funny how fast he changed from the moment you met him to now. When you first met him, it was like, it was too good to be true. He was practically a golden retriever just in human form. Everything about him was perfect, everything. His hair, his eyes, his lips, oh dammit, why didn’t you kiss those lips—

You stop, holding your breath in realization.

Did you have a crush on him?

Pfft, why would you, have a crush on Jeremiah Fisher?

But I mean, who wouldn’t?

No. Stop it.

The car door opens, making you jump.

Jeremiah tosses a napkin at you, “There. You happy?” He closes the door before you could even react.

You pick up the napkin, flipping it over to see the number written in pen ink. You feel guilty.

Both the driver and passenger doors open, causing your eyebrows to furrow. Isn’t Conrad staying the night? Didn’t Taylor leave with Cam and Belly?

“Taylor, you better not crash my car.” Jeremiah complains from the passenger seat.

God dammit.

“Relax, Jeremy. I’m actually a excellent driver. Plus, I’m not the one who chugged a beer in under a minute for what? 5 dollars?” Taylor giggles, starting the car. She moves her seat forward along with fixing the rearview mirror.

“Hey— it’s money. You would’ve done the same!” He says defensively.

You don’t bother with putting your seat belt on, too exhausted. Leaning your head against the door, you close your heavy eyes. Their argument fades into the background, your head pounding.

“THAT’S TOO CLOSE!” You jolt awake, scanning your surroundings before realizing you were still in the car. Jeremiah and Taylor still in the front seats, arguing.

You rub the side of your face that was against the car door, looking out the window to see that you guys were outside of the familiar beach house.

“Gosh, you’re so dramatic!” You hear Taylor say, putting the car in reverse before slamming on the breaks. The breaks sends you forward, not enough to hurt you but enough to fully wake you up.

“Excellent driver” my ass.

Jeremiah sarcastically groans, “I’m never letting you drive again.”

“Good! Your car smells anyway.” Was the last thing you heard before the two of them exited the vehicle, their argument being muffled.

You looked around the backseat, searching for your phone along with the napkin. You spot them on the floor, snatching the both of them and shoving the napkin in your pocket.

You squint your eyes as the light from your phone nearly blinded you, checking the time and missed messages from earlier.

Belly

Left early 11:25

Jeremiah said he would give you a ride 11:25

Perfect for some alone time if you know what I mean 😏 11:26

Oh yeah how should I ask Cam to the deb? Do you think he would want to go with me? 11:28

Smiling, you shake your head. You type out a quick response but before you could send it the car door opens, revealing Jeremiah.

He holds the door open, rubbing his eyes before motioning for you to come out. He holds out his hand. You take it, shoving your phone into your pocket.

Silently, he wraps his arm around your waist before closing the door. He helps you into the house, then up the stairs and to your bed room.

He finally let’s go, sitting you down on the bed.

Crouching down to your level, he scans your face. “Are you wearing makeup?”

You realize how close he is, your breath hitching. You looked into his eyes, those eyes, getting lost for a moment.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod.

“Where’s your makeup remover?”

You point to the vanity. He gets up, unzipping your makeup bag before he stops. He holds up wipes, “This?”

“Yeah.” You muster out. Your heartbeat quickens as he comes back, stopping to crouch in front of you.

You reach your hand out to grab the wipes but he stops you, grabbing your chin with his other hand and softly pressing the wipe to your face to get rid of the makeup.

Your cheeks heat up at the gesture, feeling the cold wipe on your face as you dropped your hand. He takes his time, making sure to get everywhere.

He tosses the wipes in the trash can, going back to his crouching position to take off your shoes. You don’t stop him, your whole body felt like it was burning. You’ve never felt like this.

It felt like you were going to explode. Or puke. You didn’t know if it was because there were too many butterflies in your stomach and they needed a way out or just the alcohol you had tonight.

“Your hands looks better.” He mumbles, grabbing your hand to examine it. He flips it over a few times before letting it.

You stare at your hand the bruises looking more of a yellow-greenish color, “It’s pretty sore though.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t break.”

“What, after you guys ditched me?”

He’s quiet, frowning. “I came back for you.”

“Pfft, because you knew your mom would kill you if you didn’t.” You say, dropping your hand into your lap.

“I came back for you, not because of my mom.” He affirms, making eye contact with you so you could know he was telling the truth. You break it, your cheeks feeling hot.

There was silence for a moment but he breaks it, suggesting that you should lay down. You agree laying down as he shimmies the comforter out from underneath you. He tucks you in and fixes your pillows, making sure you were comfortable before he wishes you goodnight, leaving.

“Jere?”

He stops, turning back around to look down at you in concern.

“You okay? You need anything?”

You shake your head, staring at him. “No… I just…”

You felt so weird. So tingly. You were exploding with so many different emotions. You’ve had crushes before, silly crushes… but this was different.

You wanted to tell him. But, was it too late? What if Taylor was right? Would he really just hook up with you to leave you the next day?

“Thanks.” You finally settle on saying, facing away from him. You bury your face into the covers, mentally cursing at yourself but also just wanting to sleep.

He doesn’t respond.

And before you know it, he’s gone.

Taglist: @mindflay3r @lexi-2004 @buckys2thicc @agoodmansaid @jeremiahfisherslover @yourfavoritefangirl @leslienjazzy @natsgaygf @justkayleighhere @puptails @simp4jackharlow @yobabygirlally @whenmypartysover @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @medusaslilsister @maexxc @siriuslysmoking @nowimyurdaisy @totallynotkaibiased @eevee0722 @theyallhaveluv4lyricb @wh0reforstefansalvatore @pariahsparadise @angelbabyyy99 @lillygwenstacy @buckysh0e @nctma15 @ashlenxx @yeosxxx @elcpsstuff @historygeekqueen @ilovemen2much @picturethosesmiles @kristen-walker28 @dassah2022 @inkedfeatherz

#tsitp x you #tsitp x reader #tsitp imagine #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher fluff #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher fanfic #jeremiah fisher x you #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #belly conklin #conrad fisher

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 2 months ago

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All About Xavier

Age: Unknown. (In 2033, he claims to be 23 years old. But other interactions with his friends/acquaintances suggest the truth of off by at least 200 years)

Evol: Light

Astrological sign: Libra

Birthday: October 16th

Height: 6 ft. 1

Occupation: Deepspace Hunter

Workplace: Unknown

Residence: Building 9, Unit 602, 309 Garden South Street

Details:

Known for having unusual sleeping habits/patterns

Canonically terrible at cooking when it involves fire or electrical appliances. Often burns things.

Has children's chewable calcium tablets at his house because he likes the way they taste

Wears "Meteor" brand shoes

In 2033, he worked for Bloomshore District's Evol Special Task Force, on Team 013

His Evol Special Task Force designation number was ST-0110

Previously, the Captain of the Order of Lightseekers

Crash landed on earth on Traceback II with Jeremiah

Notable Character Connections:

Evol Special Task Force, Team 013

Arthur: Captain of Team 013

Tommy: Member of Team 013

Luke: Member of Team 013

Backtrackers

Jeremiah: owner of Philo flower shop.

Noah: former member of the Backtrackers. Fell in love with Bella from Sweetie's Cake Shop.

Unknown Connection

Ulysses: Frank/Frankie's father. Mentioned being "fooled" by Xavier in the past.

Frank/Frankie: a 7 yr old boy who was doing a paper about hunters

Isaiah: former acquaintance referred to as a "traitor"

"Scary-looking old man with beard": the man behind the counter at a bookstore Xavier and Frank/Frankie visit. He smiles at them. Frankie notes he speaks to Xavier like they're old friends

Speculation and Theories:

Jeremiah and Noah are the same person:

They both have an established/known dislike for Earth food

They both reference Traceback II, the Backtrackers, and refer to Xavier as their "Captain"

They both speak of a connection to Bella and Sweetie's Cake Shop

They are both known to have dealings in new identities, assuming them and providing them to others

#love and deepspace #lads linkon city #linkon city #lads #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier #lads characters #love and deepspace characters #speculations and theories #lads theories #love and deepspace theories

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taraandtarot · 7 months ago

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Eep!

I-I-I-I…!!

Everyone is being so nice to me today, my head is spinning!

W-well, if I end up buying this… Will you put it on me, Jeremiah?

Whimsigothic bracelet made by Faeriesjewels

#Flower Friend ;; (Jeremiah)#tara talks ;; (ic post)

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toms-cherry-trees · 2 years ago

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Congrats on 1.5k, Mars!! 🥳

Here's my gif submission for you - maybe something fluffy here with our love, Tommy? 💙

Thank you so much!

I am SO sorry this took so long! Life moves too fast and I do too slow :( I hope this fluff meets the expectations because I went out of my comfort zone to write pure fluff with no dash of angst for angsty Tommy

Mars 1.5K Celebration

The One || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: None really, just Tommy being possessive but in a funny/romantic way and a bit cheeky

Everything is a haze. The autumnal wind pricking your cheeks like fine pins, the rustle of the dried autumn leaves swirling around your feet. Church bells echo far away in the distance, or so it seems, for you cannot hear anything above the thumping in your ears. An unpleasant heat crawls up your spine and settles inside your head, your face blazing as the wooden doors swing open and the gazes of a hundred people or more turn in your direction. All eyes, all attention on you, the quiet noises of the hall come to an abrupt halt upon your arrival. The smiles are on every face; they had all been waiting for you.

After all, you are the bride.

The church is packed; you can only guess who half the guests are. Your entire extended family only makes up a quarter of those seated inside, and the groom’s family is no more than a handful of people sitting in the first rows. Even adding friends and acquaintances, you still can only wonder why there are so many people inside. But everyone smiles at you like they have known you your entire life. You try to smile back, despite your face being barely visible under the exquisite embroiders of the long veil.

Suddenly, you swing from not being able to feel anything to feeling it all in an overpowering wave. The diadem you wear is too heavy, burdening down the crown of your head and promising a most marvellous headache for later in the evening. Your feet keep catching on the hem of the gown; your grip around your father’s arm tightens, terrified of the meagre possibility of tripping and faceplating in the aisle. You are positive one of your earrings is ready to fall, despite feeling the tight bite of the clasp secured on your earlobe.

However, it all fades into nothingness the moment you focus your gaze upon the altar. Tommy stands there, dashing in his suit with a corsage of lilies of the valley pinned upon his breast, matching the dainty white flowers from your bouquet, mixed with softly coloured carnations. Arthur stands at his side as best man, a cheeky smirk upon his lips as he leans closer to Tommy to whisper something in his ear, both sets of blue eyes locked on you.

And then the groom smiles.

He actually smiles, an event so rare one ought to write the date down to never forget such an occurrence. He actually seems to be attempting to hold back, biting his lower lip tight to avoid his mouth from breaking into a full grin. But the closer you come, the harder it becomes for him to hold it back. He stares at your approaching figure like he has just won the biggest prize in the lottery and is just waiting for it to be delivered to his eager hands.

The moment you are by his side, he lifts your veil and throws it back. Tommy has half a mind to tell Jeremiah to skip the paraphernalia and just go straight to the pivotal moment. Not even bother to ask if anyone opposes the union; that person would find themselves filled with lead in an alley before the end of the day.

“I am glad to see you came, Mrs Shelby” His warm breath caresses your ear, and even though your eyes are fixed on the priest, you know he is smirking.

“I am not yet Mrs. Shelby sir. I still have time to change my mind. That is why I have the car with engine running around the corner”

Your cheekiness is met with a playful tap of his shoe against your heel “I’d love to see you try to get away from me, love” While the ceremony progresses, he keeps his arm around you, not caring that it is not proper. After all, Tommy had never been one to care for appropriateness and he is not going to start now, now with his little wife so close to being his forever. When Jeremiah asks the crowd if anyone opposes the union, Arthur takes a step forward and points his finger at the masses, as if daring a soul to open their mouth. But no such trouble arises and at last, comes the moment your heart has been in somersaults for.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride”

People dance and glide across the dancefloor, glasses of champagne and whiskey coming and going at a dizzying pace. The most formal instances of the celebration had been left behind and the guests are now letting loose. Arthur has his tie around his head and it's being spun in place by John and Finn, just like little children playing ‘pin the tail’, although this seems more of a ‘plunk the drunk’. Ada is engaged deep in conversation with two other women, and whatever it is she is saying, the listeners seem to agree wholeheartedly with her. Polly is dancing with one of your uncles, and you presume by the look in her eyes that their night might end upstairs.

You sit next to Tommy, his arm lazily thrown over your shoulders while you feed him bites of cake. For you he endured all the silly things, like cutting the cake together, drinking champagne with your arms linked, and he held your hand tight during the speeches to keep himself from tossing a piece of bread at John’s head. He let himself be paraded like a prop for your happiness, and now he relishes on one of those sweet moments where there are only you two and everything else is just background noise.

“I am glad to see you did not run away, Mrs Shelby” He brushes his thumb down the line of your jaw, tickling your skin in a most marvellous way. The smile makes it to your lips without you noticing; you’ve smiled so often that evening you are positive your cheeks will be numb tomorrow.

“Hm, well yes. I decided that I wanted to try out what you had to offer” Your hand cups his cheek, delicate touch of your fingertips against his sharp cheekbone making him lean into your touch instinctively, his head tilted in the right angle to press his forehead to yours “Besides, the getaway car ran out of petrol”

“If it had not, I would have sent John out to put nails in the tires” His index lifts your chin, the gentle yet firm gesture ensuring you do not shy away from his gaze “You see, once something is mine, I never let it go, even if it tries to escape me” He leans in for a kiss, but you stop it with a gentle touch of your fingertip on his lips

“You see, I am yours now. But that does not mean you get to slack” Your hooded gaze fixates on his lips, still parted and ready for that kiss “You have to do a very good job to keep your wife…fulfilled. Isn’t that what they say? Happy wife, happy life?”

His strong arm falls from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you close so abruptly that even your chair drags across the floor. “Well Mrs Shelby, how about we go upstairs so I can show you how much of a good job I can do to keep you full and filled?”

#marsie writes #mars 1.5k celebration #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby blurb

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