#going ape over all these replies

[homunculus-argument]

The chili plant made a deal with their God to only be consumed by things that could spread its seeds and fly. The chili received capsaicin, making itself painful to eat for mammals, but not birds, and all was well for the chili.

Then the human shows up, tastes it, and likes the pain. So now there's this flightless fucking mammal eating the chili. Like not even a fruit bat or anything, a flightless fucking mammal chomping on the chili.

What the fucking shit, God, cried the chili, I specifically requested the opposite of this.

Now hold on, wait a moment, replied the God who talks to plants but has no idea what the fuck these apes are going to do next. It might be something cool.

And in a flash of a second, in barely fraction of the time that chili took to develop capsaicin, the humans went from walking across land bridges and rowing little boats across small waters, into building ships that could cross oceans. More humans tasted the chili, and liked the pain. They took the seeds with them, and planted it elsewhere.

See? They spread the seeds.

They're still not flying, said the chili, still feeling insulted and betrayed.

But before the conversation was over, the humans were still not done fucking around and nowhere close to finding out. The ships became machines, and another machine was invented, capable of flight. Now, not only were the humans farming chili on continents far too far away for any of the birds that originally ate it could dream of flying, but the chili flew with them to lands where it could possibly not grow, so that humans over there could also eat it and enjoy the pain.

You see? They spread your seeds and fly.

It doesn't count as keeping a promise if you only manage it by a fucking accident, said the chili, still somewhat insulted. But nonetheless, the chili thrived.

[hederasgarden]

Under the Influence - Part 1

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to a drug that forces you to grapple with its unforeseen consequences. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, biting, angst and other untagged themes.  A/N: Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for holding my hand through this and Becca for beta’ing!

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Henry Cavill Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet. The usual hum of activity in the bullpen is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. You may have indulged in a daydream or two about Clark just like this, but none of them ever involved so much paperwork.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He offers you a wiry smile that you return, struck once again by just how handsome he looks. He makes it all too easy to have a crush on him, even though you know it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands. 

Despite shedding his suit jacket earlier, and the way his tie is slightly askew, he still manages to look annoyingly chipper despite the late hour. You lean back to pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. 

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall. 

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so heavily redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration, resting your forehead on your arms until Clark returns, bringing the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee with him. 

You accept the mug with a smile but quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Bet you're regretting volunteering for this assignment now,” Clark says. 

“Not for a moment,” you reply. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the cluttered table strewn with file boxes and paper.  “It really has,” he agrees. 

When Perry called for a volunteer from the pool of junior editors to help with an expose on Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the opportunity and not just because Clark was the writer assigned to the story. Most of your days were spent copyediting stories and arguing about AP style. You were just itching for some hands-on research experience, although neither of you expected the thread Clark pulled to unravel so quickly or so thoroughly. 

What started as an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings rapidly evolved into something far more unsettling. Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their drugs had horrible side effects, particularly the latter which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Based on the sheer number of boxes they sent it was clear the company hoped to overwhelm you with an avalanche of data and make it difficult to find what you needed. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met. If anyone was going to get to the bottom of the story it was him. 

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs. 

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging your feet on the carpet. Clark pulls you to the edge of the room, and you lean into him, desperately trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers twitching and spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You stare at him, bewildered. “Why would the dust be in there?”

“I don’t know. But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Do you feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. 

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip.

You step away from him, feeling your body buzz with embarrassment. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you even realize it. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right — the powder could be affecting you. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there a protocol for dealing with mysterious powders?” It’s difficult to think straight when your body feels like a furnace. “Clark?” You question.

His nostrils flare but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time seems to progress in strange lurches and lulls as you wait for Clark to return. You’re not sure how long he’s gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating — a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The last thing you want to do is reveal your stupid little crush on him.

“God, it’s hot,” you muttered, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. You wish you could strip off your dress and melt into the floor. 

“Here.” Clark’s voice is closer than you expect.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your lower back but let him turn you around to face him. He presses a glass of cool water to your lips, and you grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish your mouth feels dry and your throat itches. 

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them, but Clark stops you with a gentle hand on yours. Embarrassment rushes under your skin, and you draw back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug.”

“Why aren’t you affected?” You question. “You seem fine.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says almost absently only to freeze a second later. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. “The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

Your hand falls limply to your side as you watch him. Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack. A dark red flush creeps up his cheeks, making the skin around his eyes glow faintly. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Clark barely takes a step towards the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Oh,” you whimper, terrified as your mind recalls the adverse event report for the truth serum with perfect clarity. 

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. He kneels in front of you and his expression mirrors your anguish.

“Clark….”

“I know,” he says quietly. His hands hover at your shoulder for a moment before he finally helps turn you on your back.

None of this feels real; it’s like a twisted wish gone wrong.

“Help me, please,” you cry, the words escaping in broken sobs. You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind, fueling your terror. You don’t want to die.

Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pain in your core pulses and builds. The ache in the body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill. 

“Please.” Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. 

“I’m going to help you.” He says, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you. Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined this. 

When another cramp leaves you panting and desperate you grit out a pained, “Yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, gently but firmly pulling your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark pins you to the floor easily. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up to expose your simple black underwear. The sight seems to transfix him and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own. 

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head his glasses fall down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you sob. “Fuck me, please.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the part that's still you, is horrified by your words. You’ve never spoken to anyone like that, let alone a colleague or the man you have a crush on. But you know with a terrifying certainty that if he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll both die. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction. 

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp, throwing your head back as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans and his thumb moves faster. 

“More, oh god I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside. 

The stretch of them both burns but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. Your orgasm is almost painful and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel. 

When it passes you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

“Clark.” You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…” 

You can’t even force yourself to say it now that you’re back in your right mind. Clark shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, and he looks pained. 

“We should —” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him. 

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You push at his shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. His hands travel up and down your sides and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire. 

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy and gasping for breath.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants and you look up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but without your permission, you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. It’s red and weeping. Your cunt aches, and you toss your head side to side, trying to dispel the pain. 

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up between your thighs. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, god, it hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from Clark’s lips and brings you back to the moment. “You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleed into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him. 

Above you, his handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it. 

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of desperate pleas spills from your lips. 

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrap over tender flesh and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. Guilt and horror fill your body like sand, weighing you down. 

Clark groans and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips has turned painful and your insides feel raw. You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t even seem to notice, hitching your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. 

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” Then his teeth sink into your neck and he finally stills. 

Tears leak from the corner of your eyes as your breath comes in short little sobs, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, slipping out of you with a quiet exhale. You can’t stifle your whimper of pain and his gaze jumps to you. For a moment you stare at each other and the silence is deafening. Then he passes a trembling hand over his lips and rocks back, moving to his feet in a fluid motion. He turns from you to tuck himself away and runs a hand through his curls. 

You sit up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest while you hold the fabric of your dress together in an attempt to give yourself some dignity. It’s almost laughable after what just happened. Clark says your name and you stare at his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it and he pulls you to your feet. When he drops his jacket over your shoulders you feel a swell of gratitude. You let him guide you to a chair, wincing when you sit. Everything feels raw and tender. 

He clears his throat. “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say numbly. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

You want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but the words catch in your throat. All you get out is his name. Nothing about this is okay. How could it be? 

You wait together, Clark standing half a step ahead of you while you stare at his broad shoulders, lost in thought. He’s the one to greet the men and women in hazmat suits. You don’t catch everything he says, but his eyes drift back to you as he speaks. Before long, you’re separated, and the last image you hold onto is his hair tousled from your fingers and his wrinkled, untucked shirt.

From there, everything becomes a blur; moments merge into a disjointed sequence — being herded into a decontamination shower, the uncomfortable scratch of paper scrubs against your sensitive skin, a distressing medical exam, and then the questions. Endless questions bring back the haze of disjointed memories you’re struggling to process.

By the time you’re allowed to leave, the first rays of light filter through the windows of the bullpen. You watch the soft golden glow and listen to the faint chirping of birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as it always does, but you feel disconnected from it all until you step into the elevator and turn to find Clark standing there.

He halts the doors from closing, his sad, mournful eyes meeting yours. A powerful wave of emotion rises in your throat as the weight of his guilt and your embarrassment settles inside you like a stone. There’s so much you want to say, so much that needs to be said, but it’s overshadowed by a deep ache in your chest. You feel so lost and unsure, terrified about what lies ahead that tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. 

Clark exhales softly and steps back, but just before the doors close, he whispers your name. In that moment, everything else fades away — it’s just you, him, and all the unspoken words that linger between you.

Then, he’s gone and you’re left utterly alone. 

���

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[justabigassnerd]

Reunion

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 5,766

Warnings - inaccurate medical, military, and police scenes, sexist comments, mentions of domestic abuse, gun violence, blood, swearing, teeny bit of angst

Summary - years after the last time Tim Bradford had seen you, you turn up at Mid-Wilshire as his rookie

A/N - hey y'all! so so sorry it's been a while with no fics. I truly have no excuse and I hope the wait was worth it. this was an anon request so I truly hope this was worth the wait and I did your idea justice. I won't ramble but as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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Most people who worked with Tim Bradford knew about his past in the military. They knew he had served on two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. But they didn’t know about you and the friendship he had with you. You had served under Tim’s command on both deployments and had been his clear favourite of the whole regiment, but after an event, the two of you ended up parting ways against your own wishes and left Tim believing he was destined not to have nice things.

That was until one fateful day when you stepped into the Mid-Wilshire station.

You had arrived bright and early ready for roll call. You had just completed your time at the police academy and now you were reporting for duty on your first day of being a rookie. Upon entering, you got directions to the locker room and made your way to your allocated locker to change into your uniform before making your way out to the rec room and sitting in the front row with the other rookie. You recognised the older rookie from your time in the academy but your paths hadn’t really crossed often. You used the opportunity to get to know your fellow rookie while the room filled up before Sergeant Grey stood at the front of the room to begin the roll call. After he had gone through the normal briefings for the day, Grey turned his attention to you and the other rookie sat in the front row.

“As you can see we have two new rookies. If you could please stand up and introduce yourself and then I’ll assign you to your training officers.” Grey says as you both nod, bracing your hands on the table in front of you and easing yourself to your feet.

“I’m y/n l/n. It’s nice to meet you all.” You say, briefly surveying the room yet somehow missing Tim’s presence entirely and his reaction to realising it was you. Tim watched you quietly, unable to believe that after all these years of no communication, he was finally seeing you again. All attention then landed on the other rookie who introduced himself as Larry Macer, excitedly explaining how Officer John Nolan had inspired him to join the LAPD despite his age but as he rambled on excitedly, his hand moved to his gun belt and accidentally set his gun off, sending the bullet through the window and narrowly missing an officer who was walking by. After the situation had been calmed, Sergeant Grey turned to you.

“Officer l/n, your training officer is Officer Bradford. Go and get acquainted. Officer Macer? My office. Everyone else is dismissed.” Grey says, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention to Larry, missing how your eyes widened before you looked over your shoulder, locking eyes with Tim who offers you the faintest of smiles and a nod before you turn back around, offering a sympathetic smile to Larry before joining the rest of the officers in getting up from your seat and making your way to where Tim was waiting for you by the door, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” You say softly, not knowing how else to start a conversation after so long.

“Hi,” Tim replies, regarding you with a soft look you haven’t seen in years. As you go to open your mouth to say something to you, he cut you off.

“You should go and get the war bags, I’ll meet you by the shop. We can talk later.” Tim says quietly, making you nod as you go to get the things you need before you start patrol. As you wait, you’re approached by a female officer who smiles and introduces herself as Lucy Chen.

“I see you have Tim as your training officer. If you need someone to talk to after your patrol with him I’ll happily talk with you. He used to be my training officer so I can understand the frustrations that come with training under him.” Lucy says, making your eyebrows furrow slightly, you weren’t ready to spill that you already knew and had worked with Tim in the past but Lucy was describing someone who didn’t sound like Tim at all. Sure Tim had been strict when he needed to be but you couldn’t imagine needing to rant to someone about it.

“Is he that bad?” You ask innocently as you wait to get your bags.

“He has this tendency to give his rookies these ‘Tim Tests’ and it basically forms his whole opinion of you. He doesn’t even give you a warning he just does them. He didn’t even let me drive for the longest time. If it feels like he’s getting too much you can always talk to me.” Lucy offers kindly after explaining what she had to endure.

“Well thank you, Lucy. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need someone to talk to.” You say with a smile as you take the bags handed to you, nodding at Lucy before you head over to where Tim is waiting for you.

“You ready?” Tim asks, arms folded across his chest as you nod, adjusting the bags on your shoulders. Tim then leads you out to where the shop is, explaining certain components as you take in the sight of the vehicle, listening to every word he says. Once Tim told you everything he told every rookie, he looked at you with a smile.

“You drive,” Tim says, tossing you the keys as you catch them quickly, a look of shock covering your face. After what Lucy had said you hadn’t expected Tim to allow you to drive already.

“Thank you.” You mumble softly, loading the bags into the trunk of the shop before making your way to the driver's seat, climbing into it and starting the engine while Tim climbs into the passenger seat. As you begin your patrol, you can sense Tim’s slight awkwardness but he was trying to act normal.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Tim asks quietly as you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes.

“Tim, I’m not sure this is the time to have this conversation.” You say, feeling bad that you’re cutting the conversation off before it can even start but you knew that you and Tim needed to sit down if you were going to have a conversation about how long it had been since you last spoke.

“You’re right. We can talk properly on our lunch break.” Tim agrees with a nod, realising that you were right and that he needs to focus on teaching you and not let his emotions get in the way.

“I have missed you.” You then say softly, smiling briefly as you look over at Tim who smiles back.

“I’ve missed you too.” Tim then says before focusing his attention on his surroundings. You continue to drive around until you hear a call come through on the radio regarding a report of loud noise coming from a house that had neighbours both suspicious and annoyed. You accepted the report since you were in the area and made your way to the house. As you pull up outside the house, Tim quickly questions you on the protocol of how to approach this situation and judging by Tim’s smile, you had got the answer right when you replied. With confidence that you know the protocol, Tim nods and gets out of the shop.

“I’ll take the lead on this one, just to get you used to these types of calls,” Tim says as you then get out of the vehicle. You join Tim by his side and follow him to where one of the neighbours has been waiting for your arrival.

“Thank you for getting here so quickly, officers. They’ve been so loud and it’s not only disturbing the neighbourhood but I’m concerned about what’s happening in there.” The lady says quickly, rambling as you pull out your notebook, beginning to make notes as she talks, making sure you get her name as well.

“Okay, we’ll check it out, ma’am. You can go back inside now.” You say with a polite smile, gesturing for the woman to head back into her own house so you don’t have to worry about her getting involved in any altercations if the reported neighbours turn violent. After the lady goes back inside, you and Tim approach the door, hearing faint shouts inside. You and Tim exchange a glance before Tim lifts his hand to knock on the door, silencing the yells as you both wait for the door to be opened. Soon enough, a burly man opens the door, arms folded across his chest as if he is trying to intimidate you and Tim with his muscles.

“Hello, I’m Officer Bradford, this is Officer l/n. We got reports of some loud noise and your neighbours had complained. Is everything okay?” Tim asks, introducing both himself and you before explaining why you’d turned up at his front door.

“Everything’s fine. Just watching a football game you know how it is right Officer?” The man says to Tim with a forced laugh. Tim nodded slightly, his eyes flicking over the man's shoulder as you both caught a glimpse of someone moving behind him.

“Is there anyone else in the house we can talk to?” You ask, acting as if you hadn’t noticed the movement behind him and focused back on him as he shakes his head.

“Just me.” The man says as you see more movement coming from behind him.

“I’m sorry. I keep seeing something moving behind you. Is there someone else?” You ask again and the man whips around to see who you are talking about before turning back to you with a faux smile.

“Oh, that’s no one.” He insists.

“Well, I’d like to ask them a couple of questions if that’s alright.” You say, glancing over his shoulder once more, missing how his expression shifted.

“It’s no one so you don’t need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You just stick to standing there looking pretty, sweetheart. That’s all you women officers are good for anyway.” At his words, you clenched your jaw, unable to believe what he just said to you.

“Alright, who’s in the house?” Tim asks, ready to step forward but before he can, the man lashes out, shoving you aggressively and sending you stumbling back, your hip slamming strongly onto the wooden bannister on the porch steps making you wince as a strong wave of pain shoots through your hip. Tim was quick to grab the man before he could make a run for it, quickly pinning him to the floor and pulling his hands behind his back, reading him his rights as he handcuffed him.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, looking up at you with worried eyes when he sees you holding your hip with a pained expression.

“No, I’m not. Get off me!” The man grumbles, attempting to wiggle out from under where Tim’s knee was digging into his back.

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you. y/n, are you alright?” Tim says, at first directed to the man squirming before returning his attention to you.

“I’m fine.” You reply, your words slightly forced as you straighten up, trying to hide a wince at the movement.

“Go and check the house while I load this asshole into the shop. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tim says, getting up and hauling the man to his feet and leading him to the shop as you carefully pull your gun from your holster as the pain begins to fade.

“LAPD, is there anyone in here?” You call out as you enter the house, your hands steadying on your gun as you glance around the rooms, continuing to call out as you walk around.

“I’m coming out.” You hear a timid voice say and you wait as a woman exits one of the rooms you hadn’t checked yet. As she stepped closer you could see her bruising eye and the drying blood on her lips.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Come here so I can check you out.” You encourage gently, returning your gun to your holster and gently encouraging the woman over and leading her to the kitchen so you could wet some kitchen roll and gently wipe the blood away from her lip.

“Is Kevin-?” She starts tearily, choking on her words as you shush her gently.

“Hey, let’s not worry about him right now. What’s your name?” You ask quietly, changing the subject to try and calm her down.

“Diana.” She sniffles, a tear slipping down her cheek as you throw the bloodied paper towel in the nearest bin you can find.

“That’s a lovely name. I’m y/n.” You say gently introducing yourself to Diana with a soft smile.

“What’s going to happen?” Diana then asks fearfully, looking around as if Kevin was going to appear out of nowhere.

“I’m going to call for someone to come and help you and then my training officer and I are going to take Kevin to the station.” You explain carefully, watching as Diana wipes at her eyes, wincing as she rubs against the bruising. You take a second to step away from Diana, radioing for an ambulance and additional officers to head to the hospital with Diana to get statements and make sure she’s okay. You quickly get a response and you take Diana out to sit on the porch steps while you wait for the other officers and the ambulance to arrive. Soon enough, Lucy and another officer arrive, approaching when you wave them over. You get up from the porch steps, telling Diana to stay put while you get Lucy up to date.

“What’s happened? Is everything okay?” Lucy asks as you approach them.

“Tim and I got a report of yelling from this house and from the looks of things the man Tim’s loaded up into our shop had gotten physical with Diana. I’ve called for an ambulance just to get her checked over because I don’t know if she’s hit her head or anything and if it’s okay I’d feel better leaving her with some other officers to take any statements while Tim and I get that asshat back to the station.” You explain watching as both of them nod.

“You got it,” Lucy says, smiling softly as she glances over at Diana who is wiping her eyes.

“Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself yet. I’m Jackson West.” Jackson introduces himself quickly, shaking your hand as you smile, introducing yourself in return.

“How’s it been with Tim so far?” Lucy asks, her eyes flicking over to Tim who is leaning against the shop, arms folded as he watches the interaction carefully.

“It’s been fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You say with a smile.

“Really?” Jackson asks incredulously, thinking back to when he had a patrol with Tim.

“y/n! Let’s go!” Your conversation is cut short by Tim calling out to you.

“I’m coming!” You reply, bidding a quick goodbye to Lucy and Jackson before crossing to where Tim is waiting for you. You approach Tim with a smile, your smile faltering when you see Tim’s concerned expression.

“I know I asked you earlier but are you okay? I saw you wincing after he pushed you.” Tim asks, concerned.

“I’m fine. It’s just where… well you know. We can talk about it later.” You say, nodding to assure Tim that you are okay.

“You good to drive?” Tim then asks.

“Yep.” You say as Tim nods, gesturing for you to get behind the wheel as he rounds the car to get in the passenger seat.

“Is he seriously letting her drive?” Lucy asks, looking over at Jackson to confirm they are seeing the same thing.

“Looks like it,” Jackson says, sparing a brief glance over at the shop before focusing his attention back on Diana.

“He never let me drive,” Lucy grumbles, watching as your shop pulls away and begins to drive off, leaving Lucy and Jackson to handle everything while you head back to the station.

It only takes you half an hour to get back to the station, but the whole time you had to put up with Kevin and his abundance of sexist comments he continually aimed at you. He was even undeterred by Tim’s threats to tape his mouth shut and by the time you reached the station, you were ready to be rid of him. Once you had processed him, you shoved him in the nearest cell.

“Aw come on sweetheart. You’re so uptight about nothing.” Kevin says, a cocky smirk on his face as you roll your eyes shutting the cell door on him and heading over to Tim.

“You handled that well,” Tim states, his smile small and supportive as you nod.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with sexist assholes. You knew that though.” You say, receiving a nod as both you and Tim remember the ways some other soldiers had treated you.

“Look, let’s patrol a little more and then we can grab some lunch. Sound good?” Tim says, clearing his throat and gesturing with his head for you to follow him which you do so with a small smile. You follow Tim back out to your shop, both of you climbing into the vehicle and continuing your patrol. The patrol was relatively calm, you pulled over a few reckless drivers and stopped a car theft before it could even happen. By the time your lunch break rolled around your stomach was growling and desperate for food. You decided to head out to the food trucks near the station and you and Tim both ordered your food, as you reached to get your money, Tim quickly pulled out his wallet and paid for both meals.

“Tim, you didn’t need to do that!” You exclaim with a disbelieving laugh, slapping his arm as his jaw drops in mock shock.

“I wanted to.” He replies as he receives his change, putting it in his wallet before returning his wallet to his pocket.

“What a gentleman. Buying me lunch on my first shift.” You tease, finally finding the courage to slip back into the familiar dynamic you and Tim had shared back in your military days.

“What can I say?” Tim shrugs jokingly as you laugh.

“Oh, so he’s buying her lunch now?” Lucy complains, watching you and Tim from across the space.

“Lucy, it’s probably not that deep,” Jackson says, trying to reassure his best friend that she’s reading too much into everything.

“No, he let her drive. She’s not complained to me about a Tim Test. He bought her lunch. And, he’s smiling.” Lucy says, listing the various things she’s noticed from the morning alone.

“Okay, so what? Do you want Tim to go around traumatising every rookie he teaches? Maybe he was tough on you because he knew you could handle it.” Jackson says, stabbing his food with his fork as he offers a reason as to why Tim was acting differently.

“No, there’s something going on between them. I’m going to figure it out because Tim Bradford doesn’t smile and here he is acting like the total opposite of himself.” Lucy says, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair as she watches you and Tim collect your food and cross to a vacant table.

“So, what have you been doing since the Army?” Tim asks curiously, beginning to dig into his food as you shrug.

“I kinda jumped from job to job. Tried a couple of different office jobs for a while but you know me I can’t sit still for anything so I needed to get into a more active job and well here we are now.” You explain, thinking back to the various jobs you had before finding yourself a job in the police force.

“I am still so sorry about what happened back on that tour.” Tim apologises, his eyes portraying every ounce of guilt he was feeling.

“Tim, you have nothing to apologise for. It wasn’t your fault.” You say, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“I was your Sergeant. It was my job to look after you all. And out of everyone, I let you down the most.” Tim argues, watching as you shake your head, the conversation feeling all too familiar.

“You’re also the reason I’m still alive. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” You emphasise, getting a sudden burst of courage to reach across the table and squeeze Tim’s hand as both of you remember that day.

“How much longer did they say we’d be out here?” You ask, walking alongside Tim as your squadron patrols the perimeter outside the base you were currently living in.

“A couple more months? I don’t know we’re mostly playing it by ear right now.” Tim replies, his eyes flicking around as he surveys the area.

“Well, I suppose it’s not awful. It means I get to spend more time with you.” You say with a joking wink as Tim scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes at your comment.

“I suppose being stuck with you for a few more months isn’t the worst thing in the world.” Tim muses, cocking an eyebrow as you gasp with a smile, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“I’m a delight to be around and you know it.” You brag, looking at Tim as he lets out a soft sigh and shrugs lightly.

“You’re definitely not the worst of the bunch I’ll give you that.” Tim then says.

“You can admit it. I know I’m your favourite. Come on, I won’t tell the others. Promise.” You say, glancing around and noticing that none of the of the others were in earshot. But before Tim could even open his mouth to respond a gunshot rang out, the bullet embedding itself in your hip. You turned to Tim with a look of terror he had never seen from you before and soon enough another bullet hit your shoulder, sending you to the floor.

“Get down!” Tim yells out to his other soldiers, all of them diving behind cover as Tim pulls you behind cover with him, instantly analysing your wounds and bracing a hand over each wound, pressing down as you cry out in pain.

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll get you out of here.” Tim says reassuringly, hearing more bullets flying and ducking down over you, shielding you from any potential harm. Tim then digs around in his various pockets and pouches and manages to find some gauze that he holds on each of your wounds, apologising again as you whimper.

“T-Tim…” You try, only to be gently shushed by Tim.

“Don’t try to talk. I got you, okay? I’ve got to make sure my favourite gets back alive, right?” Tim jokes weakly, laughing as tears begin to well in his eyes. You let out a weak chuckle of your own, instantly regretting your actions as you wince at the pain. Tim was vaguely aware of people yelling and more bullets firing but his sole focus was on getting you to safety. As the gunfire begins to quieten down, a vehicle pulls up alongside Tim and medical personnel leap out, loading you onto a stretcher as you groan in pain and as Tim goes to follow them, he’s stopped.

“Sergeant Bradford. We’ve got it from here, focus on the rest of your squadron.” They say, stopping Tim in his tracks as he’s brought back to the reality that the rest of his squadron was also there.

“Are you all okay?” Tim asks, crossing to everyone as they begin to make their way back to base, even more vigilant than they were earlier.

“All good, Sarge.” 

“Can’t believe those assholes shot y/n.” Tim gets a variety of responses from his squadron as he ushers them back to the base, not wanting to risk the safety of his squadron any further. The moment, they all made it back to the base, Tim turned to his squadron.

“Okay guys, take some time to decompress. I’ll come and check in with you all when I can.” Tim says, getting nods from everyone as they disperse. Tim then turns and heads in the direction of the medical area on base.

“Is y/n l/n here?” Tim asks the first medic he finds, thankful that it was the medic both you and him were familiar with.

“Yes. I think they’ve just finishing up with treating her. She should recover well but we’re worried about the placement of one of the bullets. She may need to be flown back home.” Mark explains, folding his arms as he explains the situation.

“Shit.” Tim sighs, bowing his head in shame as the seriousness of the situation sinks in.

“I’ll go and check on her and if everything’s all sorted you can see her,” Mark says with a soft smile before heading back to check in on you. Tim waits awkwardly for a moment, anxiously beginning to pace as a way to try and control his anxieties as best he can. As he paced, Tim made the fatal mistake of looking down at his hands where his gloves were stained with your blood, a reminder of what had just transpired. He pulled them off in a hurry, shoving them as deep into his pockets as he could as if that would make them disappear. Just as Tim shoved his gloves away, Mark returned.

“You can go and check on her.” As soon as those words leave Mark’s mouth, Tim makes his way back to where you were lying on a bed, smiling weakly at him.

“Hey, Sarge.” You mumble, eyes half closed as you look at Tim.

“Oh, now I’m ‘Sarge’?” Tim says jokingly as he eases himself down into a nearby seat.

“Hey, I’ve been shot I think I can call you whatever I want.” You joke, laughing softly which makes you wince at the pain.

“How are you feeling?” Tim then asks softly.

“Like I got shot.” You say, attempting another joke as Tim watches you with an unimpressed expression.

“Funny,” Tim replies dryly.

“Aw come on, I’m hilarious.” You say, attempting to bring a smile to Tim’s face.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Tim says seriously, making your smile falter.

“I am sorry. I should’ve paid more attention to what was going on around us.” You admit, your gaze flicking to the bed as Tim lets out a soft sigh, softening at your dejected expression.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the Sergeant it was my responsibility to watch out for all of you and I let you down.” Tim argues as you sigh.

“Tim…” You start, not knowing what else you could say to convince him that he wasn’t to blame for what happened.

“Have they said what’s happening with you?” Tim then asks, changing the subject slightly.

“They’re… they’re sending me back home. Apparently, the bullet that hit me first is pretty embedded in my hip and there’s not much they can do about it out here. They don’t think I’ll be able to come back.” You say, tears already beginning to well in your eyes.

“Like come back to active duty? I’ll be able to see you on base back home.” Tim asks, confused as to why you were so visibly upset.

“No, Tim.” You say quietly and that makes Tim realise what you meant.

“Oh…” He mumbles, his gaze flicking to the floor. He now understood that you meant that you had a high chance of getting medically discharged completely with your injury.

“I can come and visit you when I’m back stateside.” Tim offers, smiling lightly as you nod.

“I’d like that.” You say with a soft smile.

Despite that offer. You never saw Tim again. Until you joined Mid-Wilshire.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts of the past by Tim sighing lightly, shaking his head and withdrawing his hand from underneath yours, feeling unworthy of the affection you were showing him.

“I still feel awful. I said I’d come and see you once I came home and I never did.” Tim says, watching as you shrug.

“I didn’t exactly reach out either. I’m just as much to blame.” You say with a soft laugh, knowing that you could’ve easily reached out to Tim.

“But I said I’d visit you. You got discharged from the Army and I didn’t even try hard enough to contact you.” Tim insists.

“I didn’t exactly make myself easy to find.” You argue back, knowing that after you were fully discharged from the Army you practically hid away for the rest of your recovery, moping about the career you had lost.

“It seems like the world didn’t want us apart for too long though. It got me assigned here, didn’t it?” You then say, brightening as you think of the good that has come out of this.

“That is true,” Tim admits with a soft laugh, nodding in agreement. The two of you then spend the rest of your lunch break talking and catching up on the things you’d missed out on over the years you hadn’t seen each other. As you finish telling Tim about a story from your time at the academy, Tim checks his watch and notices the time.

“We should head back out on patrol. I’ll throw the trash out, you can wait by the shop.” Tim says, already beginning to pick up all the wrappers and packaging before you can even protest and even when you went to try and object, Tim gave you a look that shut you up before you could say a word.

“Alright.” You sigh, getting up from your chair and heading over to the parked vehicle while Tim heads over to the bin.

“Okay, Tim. What is up with you and y/n?” Lucy demands, approaching Tim and folding her arms as he raises an eyebrow.

“And what makes you think you have any right to demand that information from me?” Tim asks, an authoritarian tone slipping into his voice as he talks.

“I’m not a rookie anymore and I’m curious. You’re treating her so much better than you ever treated me.” Lucy states, watching Tim carefully.

“It’s none of your business.” Tim then says, rolling his eyes as Lucy sighs heavily.

“Please.” Lucy pleads, making Tim exhale strongly.

“Fine. I used to be y/n’s Sergeant in the Army. We haven’t seen each other in years and I know how she learns best so I’m going to teach her in a way that’ll be effective to her.” Tim says, frustrated that he’s being forced to explain himself but he knew it would get Lucy off his back and he knew that he could trust her to not spread it around. At least not too much.

“Oh…” Lucy starts.

“I taught you the way that I did because I knew it would be effective. I wasn’t an asshole for the sake of it.” Tim explains further, feeling bad that Lucy felt he was being harsh for the sake of it. He knew Lucy was a capable police officer so his harsh method had been because he knew she could do it.

“Right… I’m sorry for acting like that I was just expecting you to act the way I was used to and when you didn’t I guess it threw me off.” Lucy stammers, stumbling over her words as she apologises.

“It’s okay, Chen. Just don’t go blurting it around everywhere. I need to go back on patrol so I’m trusting you.” Tim says, forgiving Lucy for her outburst. After bidding each other a quick goodbye, Tim makes his way back over to where you were waiting by the shop and you go back out on patrol.

The rest of your patrol went relatively smoothly. You got called out for various calls and your confidence began to grow with each different call you worked on and by the end of your shift, you felt like you had a successful shift. As you got back to the station and exited the shop, you turned to Tim with a smile.

“How did I do?” You ask, looking at Tim and trying to gauge his reaction, reminding him of when he first became Sergeant and had spent time overseeing his squadron’s training and you had asked him how you’d done after practising some shooting.

“You did great,” Tim replied, exactly the same way he had done years ago when you had shown off your shooting ability.

“I can’t believe I’ve finished my first shift.” You mumble, unable to believe that your first shift was over. You had worked so hard since your injury to get into a good enough condition to be able to maintain working in such a demanding job like the LAPD and you had proved to yourself that you could do it.

After returning the war bags, you and Tim head into the locker room to get back into your civvies. When you leave, you bump into Tim once more as you head out to the car park.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim.” You whisper softly, smiling at him which he reciprocates. Tim’s eyebrows furrow for a moment in thought and before you could ask him what was wrong, he speaks up.

“Do you want a grab a drink with me? My treat.” Tim says in a moment of bravery, his question taking you aback for a moment before a smile breaks out across your face.

“How can I say no to you?” You reply, making Tim’s eyes widen before a large smile breaks out on his face.

“Great! Give me your number and I’ll text you where to meet me.” Tim says, and you nod, pulling out your phone and giving Tim your number. Once you have each other’s numbers you prepare to head your separate ways to get ready before heading to the bar.

“I’ll see you later, Tim.” You say before you begin to walk away, unable to contain the smile that remains on your face as you make your way back to your car.

Yes, it had been years since you last saw Tim Bradford. But he still owned your heart like he had never left. And you couldn’t be mad at him about it for a second.

Tim Tags (comment or ask to be added):

@callsigns-haze

[delilahsturniolo]

CAN YOU PLEASEEE WRITE SOMETHING WITH loser!nerd!matt 🙏🙏🙏🙏

ballad of a homeschooled girl ⋆📝₊˚⊹♡

(smut, sub&switch!matt, riding, more.)

sweat fell from the tip of matt’s nose, his glasses fogging up slightly as he threw his head back, your hips grinded against his clothed length slowly. he was supposed to be helping you study for your AP english exam, but you just couldn’t help but get distracted by his charming looks.

the way his black framed glasses perfectly fit on his face like a puzzle piece, his soft brunette hair falling over his forehead delicately. his hands gripped your waist tighter, he let out a soft groan at your hip movements.

“f—feels so good baby…makin’ me feel so good..” he lightly moaned, his words only seemed to arouse you more as you created a wet patch on his pants. “yeah? you think you can take it?” you teased, your manicured hand traveling from his hair down to his cock, that longed to be touched.

“yes—yes please!” he pleaded, you continued to grind against him, watching him whimper and whine beneath you, begging you for more as you teasingly stroked his hard length, you leaned in and gently connected your lips to his.

the kiss muffled his complaints and moans, he placed a hand on the side of your neck, deepening the kiss as he moaned into your mouth desperately, longing for more. he needed you, he needed you inside him. matt whined at the loss of contact as you pulled away.

you smirked, knowing what he wanted. “use your words matt, tell me what you want baby.” you encouraged, pushing his glasses up on his face.

“need you, ma, need to feel you inside me.” matt replied, helping you slide your skirt off as you helped him unbuckle his belt and slip his jeans off. matt whimpered as you bounced against his bare dick, the pleasure overwhelming him.

“such a good boy for me..” you praised, matt looked up at you on his lap. he held your hips, helping you grind against him. “gettin’ tired?” he chuckled. you rolled your eyes at him, but gasping as he grabbed your waist, flipping you both over so that he was now on top. he reached underneath your laced bra, feeling and squeezing your boobs, his thumbs slowly circling your hard nipples.

“you’re a bad girl, y’know. teasin’ me while i’m trying to help you study? how are you gonna pass that exam without me, hm?” he questioned, a dominance you rarely ever see from him beginning to shine.

your breath hitched as he reached into your underwear, running his finger against your wet folds before plunging his thumb into you, circling your clit slowly but teasingly, just as you were doing to him before.

all you knew, was that you weren’t going to be able to study. it was for sure going to be a longggg night.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[kisseobie]

jasmine

pairing: non idol jongseob x fem!reader

genre: fluff

a saccharine summer evening spent at your favorite nail parlor is so much sweeter when you’re accompanied by a boy made out of star-shaped tangerines 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

tags: established relationship, reader is slightly anxious, the sweetest boyfie seob, reader is sooo girly, slightly suggestive if you squint, jongseob thinks ur the prettiest girl in the world, usage of petnames (baby, princess, etc..), yall are so in love it’s sick, no smut in this but mdni pls

a/n: haiii everyone ^_^ so i haven’t written self inserts in years but i desperately crave more jongseob fics (as u can see from my last post lol) sooooo here i am!! this is very self indulgent but if i like how this goes i mighttttt start taking piwon requests :p please be kind as i haven’t written in a veryyyy long time… anyways enjoy 𓇼⋆｡˚

listening to: jasmine - dpr live ♪

“they have to soak off my previous set before they get started so you really don’t have to stay with me here if you don’t want to seob.. it’s gonna be 2 hours at least.”

you shyly inform him as you begin to retrieve your phone from your back pocket to search for your appointment confirmation email as the pair of you come to a gentle halt in front of the entrance of your favorite nail salon. you pause before entering, turning to face towards him as the salty breeze of the nearby boardwalk cards through jongseob’s copper colored hair, a sight that makes you swoon. “you sure you won’t be bored?” you ask shyly, and jongseob gives you a toothy grin in return, eyes crinkling softly as he tilts his head towards the sliding doors of the salon, a sweet and silent reply to your hesitance that speaks, “i’m never bored when i’m with you”. he slowly lifts his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your cheek, all whilst interlacing his fingers with your slightly smaller ones as you both make your way into the salon.

you somehow find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

it’s been just short of a year since kim jongseob first approached you, fidgeting with the fabric of his favorite hoodie and swaying back and forth on his heels to ease his nerves as he asked you for your number. the sweet boy expected for you to kindly let him down (partly because you had never spoken to him a day in your life, and partly because of the gorillaz logo on his apparel), but to his astonishment, you simply punched your number into his keypad, and one text reading: “hi :)” led to a plethora of late night conversations, hushed giggles shared in his bedroom, and coffee flavored kisses in the mornings (much to his roomates’ dismay).

he’s wearing that same hoodie this evening too.

the domesticity of your blooming relationship is new, but never unwelcome, so it didn’t surprise you when he asked to accompany you when you were cuddled up with him a few nights ago, haphazardly mentioning that you were planning to get a new set of acrylics soon. seob had been paying for your previous sets despite your constant disapproval, but this was his first time going with you to a booking, and it felt oddly intimate, like you were starting to enter a more serious stage of your relationship.

jongseob’s reassurance allows you to let go of your irrational fear of him dying of boredom during your appointment, and with that, you two carry onto your seven o’clock session.

“girl, that’s your man? that’s the one you were telling me about?”

are the first words that leave your nail tech’s lips as as you settle down into her usual station, setting your purse to the side, straightening your jean skirt, and adjusting your bra strap as you question the surprise written all over her face. you had spent countless of sessions with her discussing your relationship with jongseob, her even being there for the details of your distant crush on him prior to you being asked out. always the persistent type, she had been practically begging for you to bring him around these last few appointments, mentioning something about “taking a good look” at the boy who had swiftly stolen your heart.

your tech must have noticed the slight blush of embarrassment appearing on your cheeks, because she jumped to clarifying her previous statement with, “i don’t mean that in a bad way babe! he’s definitely very attractive, i was just surprised you were so shy in approaching him is all.” at these words you tilted your head a bit, only more confused about the implications of what she was attempting to tell you.

“y/n, he was staring at you the entire time you were checking in like he’d hang the stars and moon for you if you’d ask. he had that dopey lovesick look and everything. he’s obviously smitten, you have literally nothing to worry about.” she relays to you with amusement as she dips your fingertips in acetone.

you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in and quietly giggle. “really? okay i’m really glad you said that, he’s been so sweet to pay for all of my sets without me even asking him to and i was just so worried that he’d hate me forever if he got bored sitting here. i think i’m just not used to doing simple chores with him rather than elaborately planned dates” you whisper to her. you then take a peek at your boyfriend’s comfortable form lounging on one of the hot pink seats of the salon, his nintendo switch clad in one hand, and his cheek pressing against the other. you notice he only has his left airpod in, just in case you needed to call for him. your heart melts at the sight, and you finally turn your full attention back to your tech, now removing your old set of nails.

as you wait patiently in your chair you begin to lightly sway your head to the song playing on a distant salon speaker, one that your boyfriend coincidentally has on repeat each time your with him nowadays. “it’s called jasmine, it reminds me of you.” is what you remember him telling you one morning, when you woke up for the first time in his bed, wired headphones connecting you both as the dpr live track overtook the cozy atmosphere.

every now and then you and seob glance at each other from across the salon, to which you both begin breaking out into big smiles and rosy cheeks. your nail technician carries on with replicating the reference nails you showed her to a T, but not without silently noting the heart eyes you and jongseob shoot at each other everytime your eyes happen to lock. this time, he mischievously motions for you to glance at your phone, a quiet “ding!” from your cell grasping both you and your tech’s attention.

[seobie ᥫ᭡]: you look so pretty right now baby, i’m so excited to feel your nails in my hair later lol

[seobie ᥫ᭡]: and maybe scratching my back too ;)

[seobie ᥫ᭡]: omg that was so embarrassing im so sorry please look away plead im so bad at this fuck

you look away from your screen embarrassingly fast, flustered and avoiding any eye contact with both your loser boyfriend (who is wallowing in his own embarrassment) and the woman now raising her eyebrows in front of you as she waits for your nails to cure under the uv lamp.

she is so making fun of you for that next time.

“andddd we’re done! just go wash your hands and your boyfriend can pay at the desk. he looks like he’s gonna flip if he isn’t holding you in some way in the next two minutes and i really don’t need to witness that.” she exclaims, not without exaggeratedly rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

you begin to fully assess your fresh new set of acrylics, now topped off with a sparkly clear coat. your nail tech even added some oil to your cuticles to try and make up for months of self-inflicted damage. after a minute of observing, you hum in approval, deducing happily that your boyfriend is going to love the colors you chose: tangerine with hints of cherry red to subtly match with his hair.

“perfect, just like always. thank you so much!” you say while handing her a generous tip, to which she holds out her hand in refusal and shakes her head. “no tip today, just go spend some time with him, i’m so happy for you y/n, seriously.” she replies kindly. you give her a hug to say thanks and tuck the cash back into your purse, turning and making your way towards the chair your boyfriend is currently occupying as he watches you with a warm smile, hands crossed in front of his chest as he holds back a laugh.

“what’s so funny?” you question as you approach him slowly.

“i called her beforehand and sent her a tip for you, i knew you were gonna try to pay somehow.” he giggles as he stands up. you scoff, but deep down you know you should have known he would outsmart you like this.

“i can’t believe you! i’ve told you a hundred times before that i don’t want you to spend your money on me!” you try to reason with him, to which he cuts your frustration off with a simple “who’s going to take care of you then, princess? now show me your nails!” he says as he hovers his hands in front of him, a signal for you to follow suit so he can observe the result of the previous two hours of work.

you decide to drop the subject for now and let excitement take over once again at his request, bouncing up and down whilst placing your hands atop of his palms, not allowing him to speak before you explain that “they match your hair, see? i asked her to do orange and red ombre!! and i know you love stars so i also asked her to add little golden star studs on my pinky nails! what do you think babe?” you half squeal out at him, clearly awaiting his approval.

“you did this for me?” he asks.

you deflate a little, dreading the small chance that your next words will result in an underwhleming reaction from him. “well yeah, sorry if it’s weird, i just wanted to do something nice since you offered to accompany me even though you would just be sitting in your chair for two hou—” he cuts off your anxious rambling with a strong kiss to your lips, followed by both of his palms covering the sides of your face to pull you impossibly closer. you gasp from the sudden movement, and just as you close your eyes to reciprocate, your boyfriend pulls back to show you the prettiest smile you have ever seen on his face.

“i guess you like them.” you sheepishly respond, holding back a smile equally as large.

he just replies by peppering your tanned skin with tangerine flavored kisses, each peck accompanied with the words “i love you, i love you so much”.

you and jongseob finally step out of the salon hand in hand, the cool air blowing onto your faces as you squeeze your interlocked fingers. jongseob presses on the pedestrian call button with one hand as you both anticipate the streetlamp to shift to green. you fill the comfortable silence with giggles and the occasional kiss to the cheek the entire commute to the subway, uncaring of prolonged glances from onlookers. words are only spoken an hour later when you’ve finally enter the warmth of his (and practically your) bedroom. jongseob turns towards you this time, clearly not as timid as he was hours before, smirking while pronouncing,

“in case you were still wondering, that offer from my text earlier still stands…”

it’s your turn to roll your eyes and shut him up, tugging him roughly towards you with the front of his stupid hoodie as your mouths connect with an urgency you’ve never felt before, the pair of you hurriedly falling on top of his bed as your nails make contact with his scalp.

𓇼⋆｡˚

in the quiet of the night, considered by some as early hours of the morning, jongseob holds your bare frame tightly against his own as he strokes his hand along your freckled back. your warm breaths tuck into the small crevices of his chest as your tangerine tinted nails draw hearts lightly into his skin, and with that, the two of you gradually lull into a peaceful slumber, but not before you look up at him and whisper,

“i did it for you.”

a/n: mwahahahahahahahaha it’s finally out.. thank u for being patient!! it was honestly so motivating to see that despite the fact that so many people had never read my writing before, their love for jongseob made them crave this fic soooo much LMFAOO we all are so down bad for this man it’s a bit insane. anyways like i said i haven’t written for years so this was short and a little choppy but i tried my best and hopefully i’ll get better with time ^_^ anyways i’ll be finishing up my next fic soon and then i’ll start working on requests!! thank u for reading, it means a lot to me <3

please do not repost my writing!

tags:

@chuuswifereal @angelcbf @lakoya @zendieya-8 @bambispostsblog @saturnh0ney @theyluvsosa @youresolivlie @woozixo @www90kitsch @sirenla @ihatewreckingballmains @curiousgworge @haileyyey @khfviq @highkeyadumbasslmao @lovebunnys-world @astro-doll-the-star @kyokopi @meowmeowjang @imma-penguin1 @sophia-is-tiny

ᥫ᭡

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

NorthShore Nowheres part 1

part 2 || part 3

|| Poly!plastics x fem!reader (bit of Cady x fem!reader) (btw I myself am poly)

|| Warnings: loosely follows the movie musical, with reader being Aaron (slight dialogue changes to fit Y/N), light swearing

|| Summary: you're the leader of the NorthShore Nowheres biker gang/clique. The plastics take an interest in you, but so has Cady...

Requested by Anon!

Requests open!

~~~

The sound of your motorcycle filled the parking lot as you zipped through and parked in your usual spot, taking your helmet off and twisting your head slightly in a way that fixed your hair. For the plastics, who had been watching you from the side steps of the school, time seemed to play in slow motion. Watching as you flick your hair and get off your bike. Your walk radiating pure confidence. The girls shared a look with one another.

"We're all in agreement?" Regina asked her girlfriends, who nodded and looked back at you. Watching as you walked past them, heading up the steps and giving the school's polycue a wink.

You sat in AP Calculus. Not listening to a word Ms Norbury was saying as she stood at the front, hands on her hips and looking out at the rows of students. You simply folded a paper airplane and tossed it at some random kid next to you, making another stifle a laugh as you smirked. The student swatted the paper plane away.

"Y/N L/N." Ms Norbury gave you that signature warning look, which made you roll your eyes and she continued on with her lecture," Chapter one! Limits and their properties. What the heck are limits, you say? If I write out the equation..."

You started zoning out, hand on your chin and elbow on your desk as you stared at the board blankly.

"The limit equals 3." A voice from behind you spoke up, pulling you from your day dreams.

"That's right." Ms Norbury said, sounding surprised. " Let's try another one. Find the value for K for which the following limit exists."

"K equals -3." The girl says again.

"Damn, girl!" Some mathlete kid piped up.

You looked behind at the girl and smirked," Wow. Are you trying to make the rest of us look like dumbasses?"

"No- I'm- I'm not- trying to it's just sort of happening..." She replied, stuttering as she stared at you. Adorable. You laughed.

"Oh? Is that how it is? Okay. Well..." You leaned a little closer," challenge accepted."

You turned around, looking down at your paper with a sigh. The new girl on your mind. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out your pen then gently trailed your hand through your hair as you began working on your paper. Why did you sign up for AP Cal? This class was going to kill you.

Behind you, you heard something fall to the ground and looked to see Cady's pen. You bent down and picked it up, handing it to her with a smile before looking at the board again. You could have sworn you heard music coming from somewhere...

~~~

After school, you were outside with some of your biker gang. Just chatting and hanging out as you fidgeted with your phone. You happened to notice Cady watching you and gave her a small wave. Then turned your attention towards your gang again; when Cady almost got hit by the bus, your eyes widening slightly. You debated going to check on her. But she said that she was okay. Which made you sigh with relief from where you stood a bit away.

~~~

The following day, you and your gang sat at your usual lunchtable. Rough housing with each other, laughing and spreading gossip as you usually do. You glanced over at the plastics table, watching as Regina got up and walked away.

Karen and Gretchen were talking with Cady. "So, have you seen any guys you think are cute yet?" Karen asked.

"Oh, um- not a guy- but well actually there's this girl in my Calculus class." Cady responded.

"Ohhh, a senior! Who is it?" Gretchen replied.

"Ah, Y/N L/N." Cady replied, Karen and Gretchen shared a panicked look.

"You can't like Y/N L/N!" Gretchen said quickly.

"No, no bad, danger." The danger Karen said was loud enough to get your attention, you glanced at them in confusion then rolled your eyes and focused on your group again. Getting shoved by one of your friends who you playfully shoved back and smirked at.

"We're after her so you can't have her." Gretchen states, looking over at you and your gang's table," Crushes are off limits for friends that's just like the rules of feminism."

One of your friends in your gang wrapped an arm around you and started filming a TikTok. Instinctively you winked at the camera then laughed slightly and looked at your friend, who's name was Julia. But no one called her that, pretty much everyone referred to her as Jules. "Jules, girlie. What weird trend are you hoping on now?" You asked with your usual charming smile. Two things you had a reputation for. Being a bad girl. And then your charm, even if you weren't overly popular people still loved you. You just weren't Apex Predator worthy. Possibly like whatever was a few chains down from that, though.

"That one silent review trend. Featuring you." Jules pointed at you and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Definitely tag me in that." She nodded and you gave her shoulder a gentle pat.

~~~

At the end of the day, you and your gang hanged out at your usual bench. With you sprawled out across it and Jules laying across you. You guys were close friends, though there were rumours you were a thing. One of your friends made a joke and you laughed, though it was cut short as the plastics walked over. Regina with her arms folded, Gretchen and Karen following behind.

Regina's intimidation was enough to scare Jules off you (and the rest of your gang). They excused themselves as you sat up, watching the three in confusion. Once again you swore you heard music... with faint jungle sounds?

"Something I can do for you?" You folded your arms, a little annoyed Regina scared off your friends.

"You. Us." Regina gestures to herself, Gretchen and Karen," Date to the movies Friday night. Wear something nice." She looks you up and down, you glance at your baggy jeans and leather jacket before looking at Regina again.

"Is this you inviting me into your polycue?" If you're being honest, you have wanted them for a while. You just didn't want to risk making a fool of yourself. Regina's gaze tells you everything you need to know, so you nod." Alright. Friday night."

Regina smiles and walks over, kissing your cheek before looking towards Cady who had been watching. She beckons Cady over and then walks away from you. Gretchen and Karen linking arms as they giggle, Gretchen sending you a wink. Your face flushes and you look away, making a mental note to be extra careful. The last thing you wanted to do was piss off all three.

~~~

Feedback is welcomed! Probably going to make this a 3 part story (maybe longer depending), each part being about a half an hour chunk of the movie with extra bits added in between. Just so this doesn't become overly long, yk?

[shwaesar]

Halfway

Caesar X Reader Oneshot (SFW)

Summary: Apes grow and age a lot faster than humans. Caesar had noticed it on more than one occasion; his adoptive father had hardly changed at all while he lived through his adolescent years, and his father had seemed to have always been an elderly man. Now that he has another human taking such a special role in his life, he feels the need to educate himself on the subject.

TW: Mentions of Death and Age Differences (THIS IS A LOT MORE ANGSTY THAT ORIGINALLY PLANNED IM SORRY IT JUST KINDA HAPPENED)

"We are... similar. In age." Caesar spoke meditatively, watching from his seat in your shared nest as you disrobed for the night. You never stripped fully, not if you could help it. Even with the chimp's warm, fur covered body beside you, your skin was much too sensitive to be left bare to the elements while sleeping, especially when summer still had yet to settle over the woods in its entirety. Your outer layers were removed one by one and placed in a pile, on a makeshift table of stone. A thick jacket. A sweater. Your jeans, too, were set aside in favour of changing into some sweatpants. They were much too big for you, and a makeshift belt of twine synched the waistband to keep them from falling down your legs, but he could tell you treasured the item of clothing for its comfortability and didn't feel the need to interrogate you about it. "But you... call me old. Why?"

The question wasn't asked in an accusatory manner, but it still took you off guard. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught his eyes raking up and down your form, taking in the intricacies of your anatomy. Compared to that of apes, yours was certainly odd. Longer legs, shorter arms, more space between your hip bones and ribcage.. It had always fascinated him - the ways you were different, both physically and internally - and you supposed that was the reason behind this topic of discussion. He'd taken note of how you aged in a way that didn't mirror him, and wanted to understand it.

"Because you are old." You replied teasingly at first, earning a huff of amusement that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You know.. what I mean. If I am old, are you not... also old?"

A hand was extended towards you beckoningly when you finally approached. Kicking off your boots, they were left at the foot of the nest as you clambered into it and situated yourself next to your mate, in the juncture beneath his shoulder. His muzzle was pressed absentmindedly into your hair, allowing him to inhale your scent as you mulled over your next words.

"Well... to apes I probably am, sure." Conceding, at least partially, your fingers rose to thread into his beard. Like most of his fur, the outer layer was coarse and rough, but got softer the closer it was to his leathery skin. When you first met, it was a dark, earthy brown that turned to a muted blonde in the right lighting. Now though, discoloured streaks had began showing up here and there, making his more advanced aging all the more apparent. "But you won't catch me going grey anytime soon. Im still pretty young in human years."

"Human years.." he repeated the phrase skeptically, prompting you to wave your free hand to dismiss it.

"Figure of speech-my point is... even though we're around the same age, we're at opposite ends of our lives, y'know? Humans-we live a long time, so we grow up slowly. Cornelius is just over two years old, but a human baby would still be learning how to walk at that point." You couldn't remember for sure if that was accurate, but it sounded right. It had been a long time since a human baby was born intentionally, and even longer since you'd seen one, so you could only make an educated guess. "And Blue Eyes-you told me he just became an adult, right? Do you know how old he is exactly?"

Caesar paused at that. His eyes wandered up to the thatched ceiling above you as he did the math in his head - something he was by no means amazing at, but had enjoyed learning. Apes understood the concept of years, but didn't often use numbers as humans did. They measured time in the passing of seasons, and an apes age would be equated to their physical development rather than the length of time they'd been alive for. This made calculating the specifics a bit tricky, although it didn't stop him from eventually giving you an answer.

"He-.... will be 8, once the cold months return." He nodded self-assuringly. "Won't be long.. before he starts thinking, about having his own children." And as he continued, his chest puffed out proudly. Being able to see his son become a father himself was something he'd never have believed possible, when he was Blue Eyes' age. When he really thought about it, he wouldn't have even believed it if someone told him he would become a father. But before he could linger on it-

"I'm closer to Blue Eyes than I am to you. In terms of... maturity."

That made him falter. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head to look at you again, the cogs in his mind turning to make sense of what you'd just told him. In truth, maturity probably wasn't the right word to use, but you couldn't think of an alternative that he'd be familiar with. What you meant was that you were at a similar stage of life to Blue Eyes, and thankfully, that's how he also interpreted it. Still, it left him contemplative.

"..... I am.... approaching the halfway, of my life. After, I will be.. closer to death, than birth. Ape death-natural death-happens when... when we are in our 30's, most often. Not always, but-" swallowing the rising lump that had formed in his throat, he forced himself to relax again. Caesar was no stranger to mortality, he'd bore witness to many deaths and births alike. He knew he would die at some point, knew what it meant to die, and had long since accepted the fact that it would one day come for him. Your mortality, on the other hand..

You shifted in his embrace, draping an arm across his midsection to stroke absentmindedly at his sternum. He was a closed book in many regards, but as his mate, you'd become familiar enough with his body language and facial expressions to read him in ways others couldn't. It was something he found both a blessing and a curse, as he was essentially forced to share his burdens with you, regardless of whether he wanted them known. And of coarse, it didn't help that his emotions ran high whenever you were the subject plaguing him, making his rising discomfort all the more noticeable.

He continued.

"Humans... you are children for such a long time. Adults, even longer. Your halfway will be.." Then, however, he trailed off. Again, sensing his mood turning, you took his hand and brought his palm to your lips, kissing it affectionately. In turn, he reacted without even thinking about it, letting his fingers cup your jaw as his thumb stroked your cheek. ".... long after I am... gone.."

"..... I know."

"I am... sorry.."

"Sorry..?"

"For-... for making you mine. Without considering all this, first." A pang of guilt struck his gut, making him take a slow breath to steady himself. "You are... so, so precious to me, my love.. and I have forsaken you... to a lifetime of grief, once... I have passed.." Another breath, this one slightly shaken. Holding you more tightly, he grit his teeth and let a wave of self-hatred wash over him. How selfish he was, for indulging in you so thoroughly. How cruel, to leave you without his care and protection for such a long expanse of your existence. To only be a part of that existence for a fraction of its length, intertwining with you in ways that would bond you forever, while forever would be something he couldn't share in. His eyes grew distant and glassy, before he blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up.

In actuality, it was something you'd considered quite a lot, even if only to yourself. The thought of growing old without Caesar at your side was one you'd had to come to terms with early on, for both your peace of mind and his, with regards to how much you intended to invest emotionally in him. That emotional investment wasn't something you really had any control over, of coarse, but it was something you could make... easier on yourself. Ultimately though, you'd come to the conclusion that the sting of inevitable loss was worth it. You would love him without restraint, and continue to love him, even when he was no longer able to love you back. Because moments like this; cuddled up next to him in your nest, basking in his presence and warmth, hearing his voice speak to you so tenderly, with such care and adoration... you might never have them otherwise. And you treasured each and every one.

His hand was still cradling your face. With a loose squeeze, you interlocked your fingers between his own and proceeded to press your lips to his knuckles one by one. It was such a human thing, kisses.. the soft delicacy of lips on rough, coarse flesh was yet another point of interest to Caesar. There was a time when apes in captivity had picked up a vague mimicry of it from humans, but with such large mouths and less controlled facial muscles, it had never managed to be quite as romantic as the original. With the development of their own customs and culture, the borrowed gesture was eventually abandoned in favour of one they made for themselves. One the two of you partook in quite regularly, in fact.

But while pressing his temple to yours was an intimate, loving act, your kisses were something else entirely. They were almost like a religious experience, as you graced him with a kind of touch not really meant for him, almost worshiping his physical form in a way that wordlessly declared your attraction, your devotion..

Yes. Kisses were, undoubtedly, a very human thing.

But that's why he liked them so much. Because only you, only his human, could ever love him in such a manner.

"I forgive you."

[tori111777]

FRIGHT AND FURY 8

Part 8, Part 9

Summary: A dagger lays before you (ifykyk)

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Spoilers, all that

Parings: Caracalla x wife!reader

“You did this!” You ran right up to the Emperor Geta and yelled in his face. It was a bold move of you considering the circumstances of the moment.

It was far past when the sun had set over Rome and the mob outside of the palace was growing more anxious every second as their beloved hero, the general was killed.

Around him, the guards stiffened, hands tightening around their weapons, but Geta made no move to signal them. He merely regarded you with a detached amusement, as if your fury was an amusing distraction from the chaos outside.

“There was nothing else to do. He and his bitch were plotting to kill us. If I’d let him live-“ He was cut off by his brother. “Don’t you hear them? They’re calling for our heads!”

Macrinus tried to poor some wine and offered it to Geta. But you weren’t having any of it tonight. “Go.” You snapped at him as, feeling like your father in that moment, he nodded and left. “Who brought this on us? Who?!” Your husband was begging for answers that you knew he had the answer to.

“Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have every other-“ No one was able to get their words in this conversation as Dondus started to squeal restlessly on Caracallas shoulder. “Keep the ape still!” Geta yelled, angrier than ever.

Caracalla flinched, “Beware how you speak of Dondus!” The two brothers were arguing once more, it was nothing new and you have seen it a million times before. It also wasn’t helping that your husband sickness was getting worse. “Come.” You grabbed his hand and let him get up from the couch. “Let your brother calm down.”

You led your husband away from the tense confrontation, your grip firm on his hand as you guided him to a quieter corner of the room. His face was flushed with anger and exhaustion, the sickness that had plagued him worsening with each passing day. "I understand your anger, but fighting with Geta... it only makes things worse."

Caracalla’s eyes flickered with a mixture of fury and helplessness. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice was hoarse. "But he’s always undermining me. You saw how he spoke to me just now. He thinks I'm weak. The people think I’m weak. And the Praetorians—"

"They are loyal to the throne, not to just your brother," you interrupted gently, cutting off the spiral of doubt before it could take hold. "People have always seen Geta as the better brother," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now. "The people love him. They always have."

“You are the emperor.” You reminded him.

Dondus was restless on his shoulder. “Nothing was ever mine. Everything was ‘ours’ always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to try to deprive me of air.” He spoke. You gave him a confused look, “and you remembered that?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.” He said. The childhood rivalry that had shaped their relationship was no secret to you, but hearing it from Caracalla’s lips… “Do you think he still wants to take everything from you?” you asked softly, your thumb gently tracing the back of his hand, as if to anchor him to the present.

“He already has.” Caracalla replied. The bitterness in Caracalla’s voice hung heavy in the air, a silent accusation that was both painful and true. You knew the weight of his words, the torment that had been building up in him for years.

You felt the heat of his anger radiating off him, but also the helplessness that always followed such intensity. It’s almost as his feelings transferred to you. Angry and helplessness. “Caracalla,” you murmured softly, your thumb still tracing the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe him, "you are the emperor. You are the one who holds Rome’s future in your hands. Geta cannot take that from you."

“We had a future but you had to ruin it!” You can always see when the sickness increases within his mind. His eyes started to get somewhat cloudy and you tried your best to not take it to heart but you did, you always did. Dondus had now leaped away from his shoulder and onto the table carefully, avoiding the vases and dagger to pick at more nuts.

You move your hand from his and held his face. “We can always try again.” You tried the best you could to keep it together. He leaned into your hands, seeking something that felt like comfort amidst the chaos in his mind. "I’m not like Geta," he muttered after a long pause, a deep sadness creeping into his voice. "He’s... he’s everything the people want. Everything I’m not."

You shook your head slowly, your fingers brushing through his hair as you gently coaxed him to face you again. Your eyes shifted over to the table Dondus was at now that she started to make a fuss, she could also sense the shift in the air. You felt the cold wind on your hands as Caracalla pulled away and picked up the monkey.

“I never asked for this,” he whispered, almost to himself, but you heard it nonetheless. The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord within you. Together, you stood in the silence, the room filled with nothing but the sound of Dondus softly chattering, and the quiet assurance that, for the moment, the storm inside Caracalla had calmed, even if just a little.

He left without saying a word, leaving you standing there alone in the night. Your eyes lingered on his figured until he was out of sight. The noise from the mob outside, eventually stopped and everything was so very still.

You started to think and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling a chill. Thinking of your wedding day, a couple months ago, even Lucilla’s words, and Geta.

He always seemed to be the problem. Every time you had to deal with Caracalla’s sickness the main point was always Geta. Your eyes flickered to the dagger on the table.

You looked back at the floor,

and back to the table.

“Is this dagger which I see before me…” You mumbled to yourself and trailed off into your thoughts. The dagger on the table gleamed in the dim light. It seemed to glow with the light of Rome itself. The Roman dream.

You walked slowly, your heart beating a little faster as your hand hovered over it.

Pulling back as you heard a bell go off, back to reality. Looking around the room, you were the only one there. Slowly looking back to the dagger as you turned your head. “Will this bring me to Olympus itself?”

Quick to grab the glistening metal. “Or Tartarus?” Whispering in the moonlight.

You moved back hastily ingot the other room before, where you saw Geta staring out the window behind the curtains. Geta turned at the sound of your footsteps, his gaze flicking quickly from the window to you. You had the dagger close to your side but it was dark enough and you knew he could not see it.

Geta’s eyes were fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable—cold, calculating, as always. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with suspicion. He knew you far too well, even in the dim light, and there was no hiding your unease. He could sense it.

Nor did you think about what would happen next. Within a second your hand was about to come down on his face when Geta caught your hand. “You’ve gone too far!” He cried out. "How many times do I have to watch him suffer... while you sit back and wait for him to fail?" Not caring for what he was saying.

“Are you mad?” Geta’s eyes were wide with fear. Nothing could touch you in this moment though. “You’ve both been lost for so long. Can’t you see that? You are just like him and you hate it! Cursed twins flames. You are the wander of this place!”

You acted on the force and drove the dagger up instead of down, it cut him right over his face and he clutched his face. His words were laced with both fury and desperation. “You bitch!” He yelled and stumbled back. He was bleeding all over, going down his clothes and onto the floor. The room seemed to freeze around you, your breath quick and shallow, heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t think twice and bent down to plunged the knife into his throat, his blood spraying all over you. The anger that had built up in you over the weeks, the months of watching this family torn apart by rivalry, by sickness, by betrayal, it drowned out everything else.

You had always known it would come to this and then it was done.

You sat there for a second. You thought you might start crying or feel some remorse but yet you didn’t. The cold marble floor felt warm as the blood soaked around you as well.

Standing up and looking at the mess you made. You blinked and turned away. For it did not bother to care you, after all you are just like your father.

You stepped away from Geta’s body, moving past the bloodstained floor and into the adjoining room. The cold air that greeted you was a stark contrast to the heat that still simmered beneath your skin. You closed the door behind you, the soft click of the lock the only sound breaking the stillness.

You thought for a minute to go to Lucilla’s room like how you always did. But you couldn’t do that now, could you? She is not your friend and certainly not your mother. Instead you headed to bed like a lost wander in the night.

Not even the god and goddess of Mars and Venus, intertwined could save you now.

[sophrosynesworld]

Red, White, and You

**Warning:** I'm at a party right now, writing fanfiction on a random girl's couch. This is absolutely not canon Bakugo, but I felt like writing something sappy. The liquor has me inspired. Happy birthday America. 🦅🎆

“So, this is an American thing?” Katsuki asks, curiosity mixed with skepticism in his voice.

I tug on his hand as we walk down the trail. The sound of crickets fills the air, lightning bugs illuminate our path.

“Every year,” I reply, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re going to love this.” He steps over a fallen tree, and before helping me across

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he teases, his smirk barely visible in the moonlight. The trees begin to slowly thin, and soon we step into a clearing with city lights flickering below, the view before us breathtaking.

A few other families are there, children running past us with sparklers. Katsuki guides me close to the edge and sets our blanket down.

“Seriously, what are we doing here?” he presses, helping me sit.

“Nope, still a surprise,” I say, grinning.

We don't talk long before bursts of color fill the sky. Fireworks flare out, sparkle, and create shapes over the city.

“Holy Shit!” Katsuki's eyes go wide, his mouth slightly open as he watches. Each pop makes him jump a little, but excitement soon overtakes any apprehension.

“Do you like it, Kats?” I ask, leaning my head against his shoulder. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer.

“This is the best day of my life.” His free hand lightly traces down my face before and kissing me, his lips warm and eager against mine. I push away and point to a massive explosion of red and gold fanning out to our left.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, eyes glued to the sky. “This is amazing!”

We stay there for a good 45 minutes, pointing out our favorites and taking videos. To my surprise, Katsuki absolutely loses it when he sees a little kid shooting a roman candle into the air. He practically shoves me off him to show the child his own “human-sized roman candles.”

“Katsuki, this is America. Please stop running up to random children. Parents will shoot you here.” I scold him.

“But look at this!” he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he sends a small burst of energy into the air. “ Mine are so much cooler than those!”

He sets off his own explosions, laughing maniacally. Nearby parents give us wary looks, but Katsuki’s quirk has quickly caught the attention of their children. Small screams of excitement fill the air as they run closer to look.

“He’s actually a pro hero in Japan.” I reassure the parents. “He’s just very passionate.”

They give me an uncertain look, but don’t stop their children from climbing all over him like a jungle gym. Katsuki pretending to be some sort of …ape?

As the fireworks show winds down, I let them play while I pack up our things and wait patiently. Suki tries his best to fight them off, but 6 little bodies work together to push him over.

After a few minutes, Suki runs back up to me, sweat pouring off of his body as he tries to engulf me into a hug. I fake gag before evading his grip.

“You’re so sweaty!” I squeal, the smell of caramel burning into the air as I run back down the trail. Katsuki is still buzzing with energy, happy to chase after me like prey. It doesn’t take him long to catch me, picking me up, and covering me in his sweat.

“Katsuki! You’re so gross!”

“I can’t believe how amazing that was,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome, Kats”. I force myself to not roll my eyes. “I’m glad you had fun.”

He stops suddenly, turning me around to face him.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he says, his tone turning serious. “I know I’m not always the easiest person to be around, but you… you make everything better.”

“Katsuki…” I start, but he holds up a hand.

“Let me finish. I don’t say this enough, but I love you. And I don’t want to ever take that for granted.”

I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “I love you too.”

He pulls me into a tight hug, and we stand there for a moment, just holding each other under the night sky.

Don’t drink and drive! Happy Firework Day to those who don’t celebrate and Happy 4th to those who do!

[into-f0lkl0re]

Paige bueckers x reader

warnings: nsfw and my horrendous spelling and grammar inaccuracies (my ap lang teacher would be so disappointed)

not spell checked (i typed this whole thing on my phone( yes i have a computer) )

i hope yall like it

~I don’t got a single problem with provocative~

she had on a mini black skirt with ripped shear tights and doc martins

a yellow lacy tube top with stars in orange and red thread embroidered through out the top little tattoos littered her arms. an outline of a moon on her shoulder. A bow on her upper left arm, a bouquet of flowers above her elbow on her right. tiny stars coated both of her forearms. she was perfect.

~See the bodies, how they burn, it’s just the way it is~

A couple of minutes ago paige was trying to come up with some sort of excuse to tell her teammates why she had to leave this random club but then she spotted her. dancing with who paige assumed were her friends. one hand held a clear plastic cup with translucent light green liquid with a salted rim. paige felt her cheeks heat up. was it always this hot in here? paige forgot why she wanted to leave in the first place.

~ Smoky, dark, crowded room, I need nothing Under pink light in June. I was so cool, but then, all of a sudden You saw me look at you~

The room was filled with intoxicated college students trying to have a night off from the stress of their lives. today had been the last day of finals. school was officially out for the summer. everyone presumably celebrating.

“you’re staring” a voice whispered in paige’s ear

paige jumped almost spilling her drink

nika laughed patting paige’s back

“you’ve been staring at that poor girl for almost 8 minutes”

“is it that obvious?”

“yes extremely” a new voice replies

paige looks down and sees kk laughing with ice

“keep looking at her with that face and your eyes are gonna get stuck like that”

“fuck off”

“oh shit, paige she’s looking at you”

Nika elbows paige’s side.

paige turns and makes eye contact with the golden girl herself

~I burn for you and you don’t even know my name. If you’d asked me to i’d give up everything~

Paige felt her chest contract as the girl leaves the dance floor walking past paige and making her way to the bar while briefly making eye contact again and smiling. once the girl was at the bar she looked back at paige and laughed.

“stop standing there gaping like a god damn fish and go over there dumb ass” ice pushed paige towards the bar

~To be close to you pull the trigger on the gun i have you when we met~

“i’m paige” she almost shouts because of the deafening volume of the music

“i know who you are. Im pretty sure everyone at uconn knows who you are” y/n laughs

“can i buy you a drink?”

“ you don’t even know my name and you’re trying to buy me a drink? you move fast”

“ well what’s your name?”

“y/n and i like dirty shirley’s”

~I wanna be close to you. break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight just let me be close to you~

“so what’s your major?”

“art history”

“oh what do you wanna do with that”

“i have no fucking clue”

paige laughs leaning her head against the bar holding her chest

“ok what about you? what’s your major?”

“uhm-human development and family sciences”

“ wow that sounds important. what do you want to do with that?”

paige lets out another laugh than sighs

“uh hopefully nothing i really wanna go pro”

“hey uh listen do you wanna maybe get out of here?”

“you read my mind”

~And now your mouth is moving, cinematic timing You pull me in and touch my neck, and now I'm dying~

barely making it through the threshold of paige’s apartment before her lips are on y/ns. tugging on her small tube top for dear life. paige blindly moves them towards her bedroom. they hit a couple walls on the way to their final destination. paige pushes her down on the bed before climbing over y/ns body and reconnecting their lips groaning into her mouth.

~You should be mine for life, I'll be signing

Every dotted line

Chemical override, ultraviolet

You could be mine tonight~

clothes long forgotten. two bodies grasping at each other letting out high pitched sighs and moans. paige’s hands are everywhere. groping her chest, paige slowly makes her way down y/ns body leaving a trail of love bites. taking her sweet time teasing, nipping and kissing at y/ns thighs.

“paige” y/n exhales

“say my name again” paige says again before sucking on her clit

“oh-god paige-please don’t stop”

“don’t worry ma i’m not stopping anytime soon.”

~ and i burn for you and you don’t even know my name

if you asked me to id give up everything to be close to you

break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight

just let me be~

this was not a request i just thought this would be fun because i have been listening to secret of us on repeat for the past 48 hours

i’m working on an actual request a kk arnold x reader fic which i’m excited for. that should be out soon. i also wanna do a kate martin fic inspired by risk. send requests my way and ideas🙏

big forehead kisses 💕

-faye

[writing-mlm]

Hey pookie, can I please request a Damian x male reader where they're enemies/rivals to lovers? Like both of them are the top students in their college and they tried to top the other by getting a better grade and showing it off to the other?

(can I please have soft damian too? Please 🙏)

Summa Cum shut the fuck up [D.W]

Summary: Stanford was your dream and some rich kid wasn't going to stop that, but damn those party lights make him look really nice. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.2k a/n: ngl in the first draft the roommate died and it was so left-field field I had to rewrite the whole thing

Summa Cum Lade and Valedictorian, that was the only option. 

Having been your high school valedictorian, gotten into the national honor society, and taking every single AP class you could all four years just for a chance at being at the top. Over seventy applications across the U.S. and every single one had a large accepted letter attached to it. It was your moment— Stanford was yours. 

You’d taken out loans for whatever your scholarships didn’t cover, like your meal plan and housing. But it didn't matter, you were prepared for anything and everything. Nothing was about to come between you and that number-one spot. 

Until you saw Damian Wayne. 

He lived across from you with your roommate's best friend, Jaime Reyes. But the two were painfully different and Jaime would more often than not hang out in the common area just to get away from their suffocating dorm. As such, their dorm door was painfully barren in the hallway filled with decorated doors. Not that Jaime didn’t try, it’s just Wayne would take it down as soon as he noticed. Not to mention Wayne had a thing for glaring at anyone who dared to knock on his door. Never mind that Jaime had been making friends left and right. 

You didn’t care at first, why should you? Some rich kid who doesn’t want anyone to steal his valuables. It’s whatever, not like it’s going to affect you. 

Until it did. 

The two of you happened to have most of the same classes, being the same major and all. And at first, you didn’t pay any mind to him, he was just another one of the kids in the sea of students until the first marking period came around. 

And his name was above yours. 

You remembered staring at your screen, looking at the 99.7% right below the 99.8%. It was the first time since elementary school that you had come in second. It made this feeling bubble up and you nearly had a breakdown. That feeling was pure hatred. This— this stupid rich boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth was not about to take away your goal. 

“Looks like you got competition,” Jaime had laughed from his dorm. You’d only heard it because you needed some fresh air before you tried to scoop your brain out. 

“The gap won’t be as small next time,” Wayne replied as Jaime opened the door. The two of you made eye contact while Jaime awkwardly tried to excuse himself to the bathroom. 

You’d be damned if you let some rich kid who probably bought their way in be better than you. 

You spent all of your free time at the school library or in the common area at night, studying and memorizing. Homework and projects were done in record time and you absolutely used the most out-of-office hours with your professors. All of whom were confused as to why their top student was coming in without needing any actual help. 

Test after test, you saw that the top two students were you and him. Your first finals were tough though. You probably averaged an hour's worth of sleep that entire week and drowned yourself in whatever textbooks or worksheets you could to prepare yourself. 

“(L/n),” Wayne greeted you as the two of you were in line at the TSA. Break officially started the next day but due to your finals being done, you got to leave earlier. 

“Wayne.” It’s a little surprising seeing the son of a billionaire fly commercial, let alone with Spirit Airlines but to each their own. You didn’t care enough to give it another thought. His eyes wander over you and he quietly hums. It doesn’t look like you’ve packed anything other than clothes and toiletries. And your electronics. 

He isn’t stupid. He knows you’re overworking yourself to be the best in school. He knows you obsessively check over the dean's list, that you probably have an alarm to make it a point to never drop below the number one spot for the freshmen. Overall, you rank three, which you’ll take. There are smarter people than you, just not anyone in your year. 

A part of him wanted to relax a bit, and make himself get a few questions wrong to ensure you remain in that number one spot. Maybe then you’ll ease up on yourself and not look like a zombie every single day. But he can’t bring himself to. It feels like pity and Damian Wayne doesn’t do pity. 

Besides, he’s never had someone to go head to head with him who wasn’t almost a decade older than him. To him, this rivalry was fun. To you, it was a means to an end. You felt that deep within you, you needed to beat him. If you weren’t willing to sacrifice your time and energy for that then what was the point in high school of isolating yourself? 

As the line moves up, you cover a yawn by rolling your neck. This stupid red-eye flight is worse than any final you’ve taken. 

You’re beyond tired and you’re sure your expression displayed nothing but that but you were counting on that nap in the flight to fix that. 

Thankfully, there’s not much of a wait as you’re at your gate less than half an hour later, checking in. 

“Oh,” The man at the desk pauses as he scans your ticket. You panic a little, did you get the dates wrong? The time? The location. Shit, maybe those hours of lost sleep had gotten to you. “You’ve been upgraded from economy to first class. Enjoy your flight.” He smiles and hands you back the ticket. You thank him and take your seat, silently happy you were going to sleep in first class. 

—

Returning to Stanford from winter break, you were happy to be back. You felt wasted— almost hollow not studying at home, as if nothing else mattered except studying. But your family didn’t let you get much studying in, after four months apart they missed you. A lot. And you went back to where your family was from to visit them instead of going home so you were never given a moment of

solace unless you were asleep. Your siblings and your extended family were always around you, asking you about college, how they’d seen your grades, and how exciting it was that you were in such a huge school. 

It also felt a little weird without having Wayne there. In a weird sort of way, you missed glancing at his results to see if he got higher than you. To share those smug glances as you passed each other to the showers. Like it or not, he’d become a staple in your day-to-day life on campus. 

You found yourself daydreaming about him being there as your family had parties and celebrations for various reasons. The holidays, your return home, and two birthdays happened in those two months you were away from campus. And they were sad to see you go for another four months. 

Of course, you returned with a bunch of gifts and mementos from your family. 

Wayne noticed it first, he saw you return to your dorm actually looking human. He’d gotten so used to the eyebags and the pain medications you’d take because the headaches were getting too bad, and the early signs of hand tremors you tried to shake off. A part of him was glad you were taken care of during the break, he’d seen a lot of people break down in Gotham for less and just hoped he didn’t have to deal with that at Stanford. 

Maybe he just didn’t want that to happen to you. 

But he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, he watches as you fall into the same pattern. And no one around you seems to give a shit that you’re basically slowly killing yourself. He resents Frankie in a way, as a roommate and a friend of yours, he has the most power in that situation to force some sense into you. Instead, he jokes and laughs at your state, unaware of how damaging it truly is. 

“All that studying won’t help you much, (L/n).” Wayne says as he walks past you the second week back from break, two textbooks tucked under his arm and a cup of water in his hand. You glare at him but only for a moment before going back to reading. For some reason, you can’t really focus knowing he’s around you. Somewhere, probably watching you. Hearing him sit a table away, you check the time for the first time that night. 

4:34 am

What was he doing up so late? Normally, you had the common area to yourself at this time. No one in their right mind would be awake at 4:30. Maybe he was feeling the stress of the new classes, too. Or maybe Jaime was snoring too loudly and he figured since he was awake he should study, too. 

Either way, he wasn’t going to take away from your study time. He already occupied a space in your mind against your will. And that was more than enough. 

Feeling a yawn crawling its way up your throat you swallow it back down and reach for your cup of energy drink mixed with coffee when you feel something hit your neck. You can’t tell what though, as the second you feel it, you’re out like a light. You do feel a hand save your head from hitting the hard table, though. But it was the last thing you remembered from that night. 

—

“You’re finally awake!” Frankie, your roommate, greets you as he walks into your dorm with a slushie and cupcake in hand. You’re sitting, blinking at the floor trying to remember how you ended up in your room. 

“Did I start sleepwalking?” You croak out, your mouth dry and throat tight. Frankie only grins and sits on his bed, watching as your face scrunches at the pain. “God, did you leave the window open again?” Blinking over to the window, you see it wide open and groan, throwing yourself back down to the bed. 

“Wanna head down and grab lunch? It ends in like twenty,” He asks, grabbing his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “Nineteen minutes until lunch is over.” So it’s almost three. You’d slept most of the day but it was a Friday so you didn’t have any classes. You didn’t miss any classes, thank god. 

Then again, you could’ve been studying. 

“I’m good,” Standing up, you crack your back and sigh. Not that you’d admit it, but you needed that nap. “Gotta shower and study.” Frankie frowns, watching as you collect your stuff before leaving the dorm. As you leave, he sees Wayne exiting his room and the two of them make eye contact. He shakes his head and Wayne turns to watch as you leave before nodding to him and leaving. 

Frankie frowns as he watches you leave. You’re stumbling and still trying to shake the sleep off, unaware that your left pants leg was halfway up your thigh and the right one was somehow twisted around. He grumbles and rushes to catch up to Wayne. 

Half an hour later and you’re inside the library. There’s one seat you’ve always sat at and you’re glad to see it’s empty; seeing as you’d be spending most of the day there. 

Setting your stuff on the table that’s pressed against the wall and diving back into where you left off the night before. It’s perfect in the library, there’s hardly anyone inside and the temperature finally isn’t bone freezing or blistering hot. Your headphones are on and there’s no one around, so you’re free of any possible distractions. Not to mention not tired after your ten-hour nap. 

About twenty minutes into studying, you can feel someone behind you; staring. But it’s probably the librarian so you don’t pay it any mind and continue on with your work. The feeling stays for another minute or so, and it’s making you a little uneasy, the Liberian would’ve moved on by that point. Hell, you’ve moved on to your ten-page essay, having enough of reading from the illegal copy of the textbook you downloaded. 

Maybe you should just turn around. It’s probably someone asking for the wifi password. 

Another minute passed and suddenly a slight shadow was cast over your laptop. You can see the outline of the person and go to groan when Wayne sets a cup of your favorite drink and lunch down to your left. It effectively shuts you up, halting the annoyed groan you were fixing to let out. 

A nice gesture from him? That’s… strangely nice. 

“Thank you…?” Sliding the headphones off, you turn to see him but he’s already walking away. Weird. Looking at the food, you almost— almost smile seeing that the food had those protective films covering it. The film was covered in a thin layer of condensation, having been hot but lunch had since ended. Had he been looking for you all that time? 

There’s also a note on it. Grabbing it, you flip it over to read it. 

You need to eat and maintain a good sleep schedule to remain at the top. 

That’s all it says, but that’s all you need. The paper can wait and you basically know all the material by heart already. A break couldn’t hurt. 

—

“A hundred and two. Suck my dick, Wayne!” You grin, slapping your test down in front of him before he can pack his things up. He looks at the paper and then at you. His eyes flicker to the extra credit questions he didn’t have time to finish and it only makes you smile harder. 

“(L/n),” He greets with faux enthusiasm. His eyes flicker across your body in one motion that makes it look as if he is looking down at the paper again. “Don’t let it go to your head.” He’s reluctant to show you his score but you had seen the giant red 98 from three seats behind him. 

“Just let me know if you need a tutor,” Taking the paper back you wiggle it in his face one last time before leaving him alone and you hear him scoff as you walk off to your next class. 

It’s mid-February now and while California doesn’t get as cold as the more Northern states, it is a little chilly especially now that it’s started to rain. 

There’s not much wind, surprisingly enough, so you’re able to keep your umbrella stable as you wait for the campus bus to arrive. While you’re waiting, listening to some music and enjoying the clouds as they roll by, Wayne walks over. He doesn’t say anything, but he stands next to you. 

His hood is wet and he doesn’t have an umbrella, but he’s far from affected by it. You guess Gotham is normally colder than SanFran, plus you heard it rains a lot there. Actual acid rain. But you doubt that. 

“If this is you asking for me to tutor you…” He glares at you and then rolls his eyes. 

“I’m the last person on this campus in need of a tutor.” He snips, his posture getting a little straighter as he speaks. 

“And the only person who needs an umbrella.” You chide. He doesn’t argue that fact and you look down the road. The bus isn’t even in sight, and he’ll probably catch a cold if he doesn’t get dry soon. But if he’s sick he can’t do well— no, you need him at his best. Winning because your opponent cannot put their best foot forward isn’t winning.

That’s probably why he’d given you the food. 

Internally, you sigh and step closer to him. Just enough that the both of you are covered by the umbrella. 

“Thanks,” He mutters, pulling his wet hood down. The red Stanford hoodie is absolutely drenched but it’ll dry soon. Hopefully faster than the cold bus. His hair is a little wet, too. You never noticed the curl to his hair before. It looks nice. You hum and scroll on your phone with your free hand. 

“By the way,” He starts after five minutes of silence between the two of you. “I got a hundred on Professor Guetta’s exam.” The two of you have that professor, but not at the same time. Gritting your teeth, you have half a mind to move your umbrella but decide against it. 

“Don’t let it go to your ego, Wayne.” You’d gotten a 98, never mind the fact that you overslept and missed a good ten minutes and never got to finish the exam. 

“Never, (L/n).” He hums as the bus finally pulls up. 

Shutting the umbrella, you all but push past him to get inside and away from him. Never mind the fact that you can hear him snickering quietly. 

—

“99.” Wayne shows you his paper before you can even stand up. You stare at the paper and sigh. The two of you had been having this feud for two years now. One might think that as juniors in college, you’d give it a rest, maybe finally relax and actually put this… academic one-upping a rest. And you almost did. 

But going into junior year you learned who your roommate was. Somehow, by some stupid chance, Wayne had managed to be your roommate until senior year. And sure, you could ask to be transferred to a different room but it’s about the principal. If you ask to be moved then he won. And he wasn’t about to win against you— at anything. Which is why you always wake up at five in the morning. Thirty minutes before he does. It used to be later in the day, but he started waking up earlier just to spite you. 

And you’re too prideful to let that happen. 

“Same,” Showing him your paper, he grabs it and flips through both of them. You watch, trying to find the question the two of you had gotten wrong. Apparently, it was the same question. It makes you feel a little better, knowing it was probably an advanced question meant to trick students. 

He hands you the test back and you stand up. 

“Won’t happen again, though.” You say as you slip the paper into your bag. He watches and cringes— don’t you have a folder for fucks sake?

“Because I’ll get better marks than you, yes.” He adds and you suck your teeth, looking up at him. 

“Just worry about making sure your pretty face doesn’t get wrinkles, Wayne.” You tease and catch up to Frankie and Jaime at the door. They actually still lived on the same floor as the two of you, so you hung out whenever you weren’t studying. Which, admittedly, was less these days. Sometime during finals freshman year, you’d overworked yourself to the point of almost developing hypertension. 

Frankie greets you first, offering you one of the donuts he’d stolen from his job. Jaime waves, his mouth too filled with his own donut to say anything. 

“Some of us are heading to that secret tunnel under the south side of campus,” Frankie explains as the three of you walk to the courtyard for your hour-long gap. Wayne has a class, though. So he doesn’t join— not that he ever would, but sometimes Jaime offers. “Caddie, that Kappa Alpha Theta girl who’s majoring in political science—“

“Your ex-girlfriend,” You add and he huffs. 

“That too. She managed to get access to that tunnel and is planning a party. Booze provided. Friday night.”

“I dunno,” You frown, using your jacket as a blanket to lay your head on. “I got a pretty shit grade for the last test in Jenkins class and I gotta study.” The two sigh loudly and you roll your eyes. 

“You gotta study every single day!” Frankie reminds you, holding his phone above your face so you can see Caddie’s Instagram story. “One little party won’t hurt.” Looking at Jaime, you see

him pleading and let out a grumbled “Fine.” that the boys cheered at. 

“What did you get anyway?” Jaime asks once they stop cheering. 

“Lemme guess,” Frankie grins. “You finally got a 60?” You’d actually kill yourself. 

“No,” Rolling your eyes, you stare at a cloud that’s shaped oddly like a dog shitting. “I got a 90.”

“I fucking hate you.”

—

Friday rolls around and Frankie all but breaks your door down as you’re getting some last-minute work done. Nothing major, just some homework you’d been putting off and finally got to it with your downtime. 

“Does your incessant knocking ever work?” Wayne asks when he opens the door after two minutes of the knocking. He doesn’t say anything but it reminds him of his brothers. He’d been doing the same, but you recognized his work as some work you’d completed the week prior. What a slacker. 

“Not really,” He laughs, shuts your notebook, and tosses it to your bed. “Let’s go! Jaime has the car.” 

“You’re going to that party in the run-down tunnel?” Wayne raises an eyebrow as you rise from your chair, twisting your back to get out any cracks. He’d noticed your outfit from your normal loungewear but didn’t think anything of it. “Yeah, wanna come?” Frankie grins and checks the time. “We got time to wait for you, if you want.” While you hope he doesn’t, you sort of want him to. Maybe it’s so you both will lose time that could’ve been spent doing work, maybe it’s so you can have someone you know won’t do anything stupid at the party there. Maybe you just enjoy being around him. But Wayne looks between the two of you before he rolls his eyes and gets off the bed. 

“I’ll be ready in five.” 

And he was. 

The theme was Rave in a Cave, or whatever that meant. So you were inclined to wear neon clothes or something flashy. But you didn’t have anything of the sort. As such, a pair of shorts and a sweater will do. Wayne opts for a white T-shirt and black pants. 

“I won’t drink,” You offer as the four of you get into Frankie’s car. “You three can.” 

“I don’t partake in drinking,” Wayne adds as he puts on his seatbelt making you feel compelled to put yours on as well. “Especially in these settings.” He almost physically turns his nose up at the idea of drinking booze provided by people he doesn’t know, let alone trust. 

“Respect that, totally,” Frankie pulls out of his parking spot while Jaime plays some music on the speakers. He glances at the two of you but you’re busy on your phone and Wayne is making note of where the car goes to notice. Jaime smacks his arm and makes a motion that makes Frankie laugh. 

It’s not a long drive to the tunnel— but it does take a minute to find parking. 

“Why don’t you drink, if I might ask?” Wayne asks as the two of you trail behind Frankie and Jaime. They’re recording some videos and taking pictures that they’ll occasionally make the two of you join in. 

“I hate the taste,” You shrug. “And addiction isn’t something I’d want to fall into. You?” He moves to the side as a couple runs down the pavement wearing bright clothes and clearly already tipsy. 

“I’d prefer to be sober when I’m away from home.” He returns to his spot and his eyes flicker to the entrance of the tunnel. “So my actions aren’t due to an inebriated state of mind.” Humming, the four of you are allowed inside and there are a lot of people. 

Half of the student body must be inside the tunnel. It stretches for a couple of miles but gets blocked off by a wire gate. The walls are chipped and almost rotten looking with graffiti and posters messily placed along. There are color lights strung up along the walls and if they went out the place would be pitch black. 

The DJ is one of the music majors, you recognize him from one of the random people who followed you when your high school posted the school you were going to. He’s playing some loud ass music with extra bass that makes you cringe. 

“Here,” Wayne hands you one of the glow sticks turned into a necklace and you thank him, slipping it over your neck. He has one but it’s around his wrist instead. Frankie and Jaime went separate ways almost immediately— they asked first and you just nodded and went to a corner. 

How the fuck do you even act at parties. 

“Hi-hi!” A woman stands in front of you, dressed for a rave with a lot of Kandi bracelets running up her arms and those weed glasses. She’s in one of your classes. 

“Hey,” You offer a smile. 

“Saw you’re nervous! Rave virginity!!!” She laughs and looks along her arms. “Here, this is called a Kandi trade— but you don’t give anything.” She starts to pull off a large red and black cuff and motions for you to grab her hand. Against your better judgment, you do and she does some hand movements before she transfers the cuff to your arm. 

“That’s cool! Thank you!” She laughs again and nods, leaving you in the corner to do more trades. 

An hour or so passes and Wayne spots you in the sea of people. He sees you have a lot more jewelry on than when you first came and you’re enjoying yourself. Dancing and singing along to the music, jumping with others, and such. But he’s been keeping a close eye and knows you haven’t drunk anything. Not even the water bottle that was offered to you some time ago. 

He feels at ease with that and his eyes linger on Jaime. He’s impressed that… bug is keeping cool at the party and he sees Frankie laughing with some of the chem majors by the DJ, requesting songs. 

He’s been stuck to a wall for the entirety of the party, he didn’t even want to go in the first place. But he figured it would be best if he did, something in him told him that. And he understood why when he saw your face go from joyful to sour. 

His eyes scan the people around you and he sees something yelling at you. Their face was red from the alcohol and the anger they were feeling. He pushes himself from the wall and makes his way over to you. 

“Is there an issue?” He asks you, completely ignoring the loud guy. You give him a thank you look and shake your head. 

“Just some drunk idiot thinking I’m trying to hit on their date,” You snicker and he raises an eyebrow, seeing the drunk person now tongue-deep with their date. He looks away, almost embarrassed for them. 

“How fun,” He smiles and you laugh. He thinks that’s the first time he’s actually made you laugh from something that wasn’t you beating him. 

“Wayne, you dance?” You ask as the song changes to something made to move to. He shakes his head, unable to look away from you. “Me neither! But we should!” 

He agrees, forgetting his home training and dancing along with you. He’s sure at some point someone will hurt their ankle from the jumping and the very uncoordinated movements but he doesn’t care. Anything to relish in this moment. 

At some point the song changes and you're out of breath, dragging him to a wall to sit against. He wants to protest but he sees you’re sitting on fabric and not the ground directly and joins you. The little area is tucked into a divet in the wall, your backs to a cold, metal service door. So no one could step on either one of you. 

“Hey, Wayne.” You call and he looks over. His eyes trace over your face as you’re not smiling as hard but the excitement in your eyes hasn’t died out. Your forehead is covered in sweat and he has to stop himself from wiping it off. “I didn’t know you’d be such a nice party partner. We outta do this more often.” You look at him and admire his eyes. In truth, you’ve never given him a real look before. 

Sure, you know his eyes are green. But you never noticed how green, or how in this light you can see the rings of blue in them. Or how there’s tiny little white scars on the exposed skin of his neck. Or the scar above his right eyebrow. 

“We should,” He agrees and wow, you’re really close. You can feel his breath ghost over your lips. Tentatively, you look down at his lips as he licks them then back to his eyes. 

“Should we?” You grin, swiping your tongue over your lips. 

“Yes.” He nods and closes the gap. His hand holds your neck and you hold his collar. At that moment, as the butterflies are alive and well in your stomach, as his lips press to yours, as his grip pulls you tighter, you’re so glad he agreed to go to the party. Even happier than this action— that kissing him was a completely sober choice made by the both of you. 

This will either be the best or the worst decision of your life. 

—

A year after the party, Damian enters the dorm after finishing up his last class for the day. You’d been on your phone, checking up on your internship application before setting it down when he walked in. 

“I got a hundred on the fake final.” You grin, reaching over to pull him down onto your bed. He lets you, stopping his fall by planting his hands on either side of your head. He shifts his legs so one is between yours and the other is locking your left leg between his. You’ll never understand his upper body strength, but you’d definitely never complain about it. 

“Me too.” He smirks and kisses the corner of your mouth. You frown and grab his face, pulling him in for a proper kiss. He adjusts himself on the bed by moving one arm to slide underneath you and you love that feeling. Your hands slide from the sides of his face to his shoulders, pinching the fabric to try and get it off. 

“Lock the door next time,” Jaime groans as he walks into the room. Damian pulls away and glares at him. You roll your head to see him and not very discreetly try and wave him away. “Aye, I’m just here for your charger. Mine broke and you’re rich.” He holds his hands up, showing Damian’s charger and the two of you watch him leave. 

“I’m getting the higher score on the final,” You tell him once the door shuts. He looks at you, an eyebrow raised before he gets up to lock the door. 

“Doubtful,” He grins, returning to his previous spot on top of you. His eyes scanned all over your face and his hand traced along your hairline. “I’m still on top.” His eyes flicker to yours and you scoff. 

“Pretty sure you bottom,” 

“Just this once.”

[lupinsweater]

Through the Years We All Will Be Together

part two →

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader 🎁 1.9k words

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆ ꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The snow was falling gently on the Lupins’ small cottage, covering the garden in a soft quilt of white. Ten-year-old Remus sat by the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he watched the flurries dance in the glow of the streetlamp. He wasn’t expecting company—not on Christmas Eve, when most families were tucked away with their own traditions.

He hugged his knees to his chest, trying not to think about how Christmas felt different this year. His parents had done their best—there was a tree, strung with hand-me-down ornaments, and the scent of pine needles mixed with the faint aroma of his Mum’s cooking. But the lingering silence was heavy. It was the first Christmas since it happened—the full moon that had changed his life forever.

Remus jumped at the knock on the door. It was sharp and clear, echoing through the stillness. His parents exchanged a glance from the kitchen, but before either could move, Remus was already on his feet.

The cold air bit at his face as he swung the door open excitedly, sending a breeze into the house that made the fireplace flicker. You stood there on the porch, bundled in a too-big scarf and a wool coat that was so large that it reached your ankles, the hem covered in slushy snow. Snow clung to your hair and shoulders, and your cheeks were pink from the cold.

“You came,” Remus said, his voice soft but tinged with surprise.

“Of course I came,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a grin. “What else was I going to do, sit around while my mum and dad have their boring Christmas party?” You lifted a tin wrapped in a bow. “She sent these for you. Said you need fattening up.”

Remus laughed—a real laugh, not the polite one he’d been using all day. He stepped aside to let you in, and you stomped your boots on the welcome mat before slipping them off, followed by your coat, scarf, and mittens.

Inside, the warmth hit you instantly, and you rubbed your hands together. “Smells good in here,” you said, peeking toward the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin!”

His Mum poked her head out, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “Merry Christmas, dear! Oh, those must be your mum’s famous shortbread.” She glanced at Remus, her smile softening. “Why don’t you two come sit down at the table? I’m almost done in here, and then you two can start on the gingerbread.”

“Okay,” you said cheerfully, grabbing Remus’ hand with your free one and tugging him into the kitchen with you.

The Lupin kitchen smelled like cinnamon, nutmeg, and a little bit of something lemony. You sat down at the table while Remus walked up to one of the cabinets, squeezing around his Mum to get to the drawer where they kept the cookie cutters.

“I don’t think we need the snowman one,” he said, pulling out a bent star-shaped cutter.

“But the snowman’s a classic!” you argued, shooting him a glare. “You can’t have Christmas cookies without snowmen!”

Remus rolled his eyes but placed the star cutter on the table. “Fine, but you’re decorating it. And you’re the one who has to explain why it looks like a blob.”

“It’s not a blob!” you protested.

“Last year, it was definitely a blob,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, this year it won’t be,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly.

Remus’ Mum finished mixing her bowl, and she poured the batter inside into a cake pan that got covered with cling film. She set the pan into the fridge and grabbed out the ingredients the two of you would need, as well as the recipe card.

“Alright, you two, the kitchen’s all yours,” she said, ruffling Remus’ hair with a smile despite his protests.

Remus pulled out two aprons that seemed about the right size, tossing one over to you as he tied his own. He looked at the recipe card on the counter, beginning to grab the measuring cups and spoons until he heard your protests.

Your back was facing him, your small fingers fumbling to reach the apron ties. “A little help, maybe?” you said with annoyance.

Remus laughed, coming over to tie the apron for you as you huffed at him. When he finished, you turned around to look at him, seeing the smug grin on his face.

“You’re too smug for someone who almost burned the cookies last year,” you said, crossing your arms.

“That wasn’t my fault!” he protested. “You’re the one who distracted me with your ridiculous reindeer story.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous,” you said defensively. “It’s festive.”

He shook his head, still grinning, and slid the mixing bowl over to you as he measured the flour. “Alright, then. What’s next, master baker?”

You squinted at the recipe card propped up on the counter. It was written in the neat, looping handwriting that you knew was Remus’s mum’s.

“Okay,” you said, reading aloud. “We’ve got to add in the spices and the baking soda, and then we’ve got to get another bowl to mix the other stuff.”

“Why don’t you do the ‘other stuff’,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow at you as he grabbed the spices and began to measure them out. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you added the brown sugar and butter into the other, mixing it with a whisk until your arms grew tired and you were satisfied with the way it looked.

“Help me with this part, will you?” You called over to him. “My arms are just so tired.” He shook his head at you with mock exasperation as he came over to look at the recipe card.

“It’s just adding in the eggs, molasses, and vanilla,” he said with a laugh, measuring the syrup and vanilla out. You cracked the eggs into the mixture; and he began to stir it in as you washed your hands of the slimy eggs.

“Now what?” You said, walking back over to him and peering over his shoulder to see the instructions.

“We’re supposed to cut the cookies into shapes, bake them, and then—”

“Decorate them with our amazing artistic abilities?” you finished, smirking at him.

“Or with lots of icing,” he said, grinning back at you.

Half an hour later, the two of you were elbow-deep in cookie dough. The table was covered in flour, and there were far more “blobs” than actual shapes in your pile of cut-outs.

“Why does this star look like it’s been through a snowstorm?” Remus asked, holding up one of the cookies.

“Maybe it’s just sleepy,” you said, snatching it from his hand and placing it on the baking tray.

He shook his head but didn’t argue, instead grabbing another chunk of dough to roll out. “Do you think Santa likes stars, or is he more of a gingerbread man kind of guy?”

“Santa likes everything,” you said confidently. “Except raisins. No one likes raisins.”

Remus laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laugh was your favorite sound, especially when it came so easily, like now. He had been laughing less and less, these days.

“What do you think Santa does when Christmas is over?” you asked as you carefully placed another snowman on the tray.

Remus shrugged. “Probably sleeps for a year. That’s what I’d do if I were him.”

“You already do sleep for a year,” you teased.

“Not true!” he exclaimed, tossing a small handful of flour at you.

You gasped, staring at the white streak on your sleeve. “You did not just—”

Before you could finish, you grabbed your own handful of flour and flung it back at him.

“Hey!” he yelped, ducking.

Within seconds, the kitchen was a battleground, both of you laughing as clouds of flour filled the air. By the time you called a truce, you were both covered from head to toe in white powder, and the counter was even more of a disaster than before.

“You look like a ghost,” you said, giggling as you brushed flour off his hair.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back, but there was a softness in his eyes as he reached out and wiped a streak of icing from your cheek.

Once the cookies were finally in the oven, the two of you flopped down at the kitchen table, exhausted but victorious.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for the mess?” you asked nervously, glancing at the flour-covered counters.

Remus shrugged. “Maybe. But it was worth it.”

You grinned, grabbing one of the bowls of icing and dipping your finger into it. “Want some?”

He made a face. “That’s raw icing! You’re going to get sick.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s just sugar. Live a little.”

With a sigh, he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the icing, taking a small bite. His eyes widened in surprise. “Okay, fine. That’s actually pretty good.”

“Told you,” you said smugly.

As the two of you sat there, licking icing off your fingers and waiting for the cookies to bake, he felt a warmth settle in his chest. It wasn’t just the heat from the oven or the sugar rush from the icing—it was the simple, unshakable feeling that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

When the cookies were finally done, the two of you set to work decorating them. There were stars with crooked lines of icing, snowmen with lopsided scarves, and one particularly ambitious attempt at a Christmas tree that looked more like a green blob.

“This,” Remus said, holding up a star with way too many sprinkles, “is a masterpiece.”

“It’s a mess,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah, but we did them,” Remus said, his smile bright.

Neither of you could disagree, there.

“Hey, Remus?” you asked after a moment, your voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Do you think things will be like this forever?”

He frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you. “Like what?”

“You know. Us. Hanging out, telling stories, making gingerbread. Christmas.”

Remus paused, looking down at the cookie in his hand. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond, but then he looked up at you with a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think it will.”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made him feel like maybe things could be okay. Like maybe there were pieces of his life that hadn’t been taken away, that were still his to keep.

The clock chimed, and the sound startled you upright. “Midnight already?” you said, scrambling to your feet. “Mum’s going to kill me!”

You grabbed your coat, tugging it on in a flurry, and Remus helped you step into your boots before tying your scarf around your neck. You darted toward the door, but just before you stepped outside, you turned back, pausing in the soft glow of the tree lights.

“Merry Christmas, Remus,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He watched as you disappeared into the snow, your figure fading into the swirling white. For a long time after, he stood at the door, staring at the footprints you’d left behind.

Years later, when he was older and the world felt heavier, he would think back to this day. To the flour fight, the crooked snowmen, and the way you had smiled at him, like nothing else in the world mattered.

[what-eats-owls]

I've already gotten a couple nastygrams about this, so I want to address something since that post is breaking containment. (Also, anon asks are off for a bit, sorry not sorry.)

There's a post in my drafts from this morning. It's a reply to someone who brought up Palestine and Gaza. In it, I expressed admiration and respect for the Uncommitted Movement and what they've accomplished, as well as their current stance that while they cannot endorse Harris, Trump must not be allowed to return to power. I started to write about how 46% of registered Democrats in a recent AP poll opposed providing Israel with more weapons, but 30% were in favor, and 20% were neutral. I started to write about how that could be related to the significant generational divide in attitudes towards Israel and Palestine. And how, when 52% of all ballots in 2020 were cast by people over the age of 50, that's whose vote is gonna get courted, whether I like it or not.

I was gonna talk about my parents, two classic white liberal boomers who are appalled at the atrocities the government of Israel is openly and proudly committing. I was gonna talk about how bitter it is to get a female candidate who I cannot give my unrestrained, enthusiastic support to, because her boss's administration has enabled the murder of over 43,000 Gazans and even though I understand the rationale behind trying to please voters on both sides, it's always going to be a stain on this campaign.

And then I took a step back, and asked myself if any of that is going to matter to someone who can't find the correct configuration of buzzwords on the social media platform I use primarily for fandom shitposting, and decides that gives them moral ground to send self-gratifying abuse into my inbox. It wouldn't matter what I said, only that I had provided an opening. (I'm a veteran of YA twitter. I know how this game works.)

So that post stayed in the drafts. But here we are.

My post about voting doesn't mention Palestine because, in my direct experience, it doesn't matter what cause you're trying to help by withholding a vote, especially not during the general election. If I didn't care about Palestine, why the fuck would I open myself up for harassment to let y'all know that voting abstention doesn't have the effect you want it to? It would be so much easier to let you keep tilting at windmills, riding high on the fantasy that disengagement divorces you from complicity.

Unfortunately for all of us, I actually want more leftist voters engaged in national, state, and local-level civic decision-making, so the Democratic party doesn't win without you. This isn't 4D chess. They pander to the people who reliably show up. That's all.

[sturniozo]

Tutor

Chris x reader

Summary - Chris needs to get his grades up to be able to stay on his schools hockey team, and who better to tutor him than his brothers best friend, who he also has a little crush on.

AN: I want this to be a series but that all depends on how this first part goes over. I didn’t want to write something really long just for it to flop lol so that’s why this is so short lol. But please tell me if you like it so I know whether or not to put out more of it! Xoxo-Angel

masterlist

NOT PROOFREAD

Y/n’s pov

I’ve known Nick for 5 years, and Chris only 4. I never did hang around Chris one on one, I just mostly hung out with Nick. But I knew enough about Chris to know I liked him.

I was always too nervous to hang around Chris one on one. Just being in a room with him at all made my heart race. I could barely think around him sometimes.

I knew his grades weren’t the best either. So it came to no surprise to me when Nick was begging me to tutor Chris so he’d shut up about not being able to play hockey anymore. I still don’t know why I agreed.

I don’t want to sound conceded, but I understand why Nick went to me. I know I’m smart, I have perfect grades, I’m in AP classes, as well as having skipped a grade and I’m on track to graduate two years earlier than most people do. But I was still stupid enough to agree to tutor a guy I could barely even form words around. How am I supposed to tutor Chris if I can’t even breathe near him?

So here I am, pacing in my room. Going over my notes for the classes Chris is failing, which is basically all of them. He’s going to be here any minute. I made sure my bedroom was nice and neatly cleaned, and that my notes were organized and readable. Then I hear the dreaded knock on my door.

I walk down the stairs and to my front door. I open the door and am greeted by Chris. Butterflies flood my stomach. Chris smiles at me and holds up a flower. Butterflies part two.

“What’s this for?” I ask, trying to suppress the blush creeping up on my cheeks. Chris shrugs.

“It’s a thank you. For tutoring me.” He says. I step to the side so he can come into my home and I close the door behind him.

“It’s mostly for Nick. He kept begging me.” I reply and lead him upstairs to my bedroom. I sit down at my desk and motion him to sit in the seat next to me. Once he does I pull out the notes. “Okay, what class do you want to start with?” I ask. Chris shrugs. I look at him, and notice he didn’t bring any notes or textbooks of his own. “Where’s your stuff?” I ask.

“What stuff?”

“Your school stuff. Your notes, your textbooks.”

“I don’t have any.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “Why don’t you have any?”

Chris shrugs again. “I never needed them.”

“I think we just found out how you’re failing.” I pull out the notes from our algebra class. “Okay so the next algebra test is on Friday, which means we have about a week to get you prepared for- are you even listing?” I look over at Chris and he’s smiling at his phone. “Chris did you hear anything I said?”

Chris looks up at me. “Sorry I got distracted, what did you say?”

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t pay attention.”

“I’m trying to. This is just boring.”

“You aren’t trying very hard.”

“No, you’re right I’m not. Let’s blow this off and go do something else.” Chris looks at me and smiles, waiting for my answer.

“What, are you serious?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You want to leave?”

“Yeah. Can you drive? I walked here.” Chris starts to stand up.

“Chris you can’t go, you’re failing almost all your classes. You’ll be off the hockey team.” I remind him.

“I’ll get the test answers from a kid at school. C’mon let’s go. I want Subway.” He ushers me to get up.

“You can’t cheat, Chris!”

“Sure I can, let’s go! Isn’t subway your favorite?”

How did he know that? “Well… it is but Chris we-“

“How about, we go get subway, then we come back and study?”

“Subway, then you’ll definitely study?” I ask. Chris nods. I bite my lip and sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

[modernsapphicism]

Randomly thought of a "what if Regina is actually good at math but wasn't showy" and then I remembered Leighton. like, what if Regina took the same AP math class but just a year earlier for god knows why. Regina and Mrs. Norbury actually got along pretty well, not close, but is civil with each other especially that Regina actually pays attention in her class and gets decent to high marks. The mathletes have wanted to invite her to join, but they're all scared shitless of her. and so when Cady was purposefully failing the class to get Aaron's attention, what if she accepted Mrs. Norbury's tutor offer, the teacher telling the red head "I know someone who'd be right to be your tutor." and Cady begrudgingly accepts.

After school, Cady was asked to meet her tutor in the library and the girl complied, thinking she had nothing to lose since the plastics didn't have anything planned that day. to her surprise, no one was at the library yet. Cady settled in one of the tables, her bag and books sat on the chair beside her. She waited for five minutes, cutting this "tutor" some slack, while she browsed her phone. Cady was about to get up when she heard the door open, and to her surprise, she sees Regina striding in while looking around the library, trying to find who's the unlucky student she'll have to terrorize to not fail this damn math class.

When the two of them finally locked eyes, Regina stopped in her tracks, eyes wide in shock as she processed the information that Cady was the one she would be tutoring. Cady on the other hand, suddenly felt like a cat caught in the act. the young red-head felt like she was sweating rivers of cold sweats as she stared at the blonde. Regina knew she wasn't bad at the subject. In fact, she had been Regina's personal calculator for quite a number of occasions since joining the plastics. 

"Cady?" the blonde questioned, eyebrow raised. Slowly, she walked towards the younger girl, setting down her bag on the table then asked, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I.. uh," the shorter girl started, her hand settled at the back of her neck while looking anywhere but the person in front of her. "Mrs. Norbury told me I needed tutoring because I was failing math."

Regina didn't even bother to comment on Cady's reasoning. "Huh." was all that she replied, not wanting to push for more and moved to sit down. Cady wanted this session to be over as soon as possible and she guessed that the blonde also felt the same. Regina took a seat on the vacant chair and Cady took that signal to take a seat as well. The two of them took their books out and dived into their work. 

An hour into their session, Cady couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something off about Regina. She couldn't help but stare at the blonde from time to time, trying to figure out how she got put in this situation with Regina teaching her about calculus. The blonde had noticed, of course, especially when Cady took too long to answer a simple question. The blonde in front of her sighed, and then dropped the pen she was holding, the act snapped Cady out of her trance. Cady feared Regina was going to yell at her or storm out of the library when she suddenly spoke.

"Okay,” Regina spoke before she turned to Cady, eyes boring into the red-head’s own. Cady suddenly felt the need to gulp and prepared herself for whatever Regina's about to do. "Since it seems like you can't focus on this stupid question, tell me, what's wrong now?" 

Her question caught Cady off guard. Instead of spewing shit, Regina actually, genuinely, seemed like she wanted to know what's gotten the red-head distracted when she was doing fine a few questions ago. 

"Uh.." Cady didn't know what to answer. Her mind was going through hundreds of different scenarios how this conversation would lead to and none of them was good. 

Regina sighed. 

"Use your words, Heron. Spit it out." the blonde said sternly and her head tilted, waiting for an answer from the girl in front of her.

“I- I didn’t know you were good at math.” 

Regina’s perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. Her signature ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ look present the moment Cady finished speaking.

Shit, Cady thought.

A beat of silence fell between them and Cady couldn’t focus on the task at hand. The red-head was about to mutter her apologies when the blonde spoke.

Without looking up at the book in front of her, Regina says with a nonchalant voice, “Just because I don’t tell people, doesn’t mean I’m not good at something.” 

She turned to face Cady and continued, “I can’t let people know everything about me. I need to maintain an air of mystery afterall.” and winked. 

Regina winked. Honest to God winked and smirked. 

If Cady’s brain was already mush five minutes ago, after witnessing that her brain is puréed. She felt her cheeks heat up and as if on cue, Regina tried and failed to hold back a laugh. 

Regina looked back at the red-head. “If you’re done overanalyzing my whole being, sweetheart, let’s go back and focus on this part here so we can pack up early.” 

And with that said, Cady had to take a mental note to ask questions later before she turned her attention back to their lesson. She tried her best to steady her beating heart, making sure that the blonde beside her didn’t hear how her heart was practically drumming through her chest at the sight of the blonde flirting with her.

[gilverrwrites]

I love your sex dream hcs and was wondering if you could do Lucifer having an F!reader erotic dream, please? 😁 @tocastielandback

Lucifer/Reader, ≈800 words

Request Info | Masterlist | Ko-Fi

I must apologise that this is not as explicit as the previous ones, but this just felt right. Rated: M

>[TFW Version Here]<

CW: Body worship, (hints of) powerplay, Dom!Lucifer (if you squint)

Please remember: You are allowed to love yourself.

The feel of your body against his is simultaneously unsettling and highly pleasurable. Your soft lips pepper kisses up and down his chest, warming his cool skin with every touch. He bites at his lip, holding back shivers of appreciation as you work your way upward pressing your own lips against his collar, throat, and jaw. You’re almost at face level, and you incline upwards, pursing your lips, ready to connect them with his own. Instead, he places his hand against your collarbone, splaying his fingers to stretch either side. Forcing your body backwards, his lips spreading into an amused grin. “What’s so funny?” You peer at him quizzically through heavy lids. “You.” He teases, enjoying the way you pout in response. “What would your precious friends think if they saw you like this? Worshipping ‘the devil’?”  “I wouldn’t care.” Your voice, and especially your words, are music to his ears. He promptly releases his hold on your neck, sliding his hand around your back and pulling you in for your reward.

You’re sat, hunched over a desk, nose buried in some dusty old tome when he finds you. Without thinking or caring, he leans over you from behind, planting his hands against the table on either side of you, confining you as he breathes in your scene. He has no idea if it's au naturale or artificial, but it is intoxicating nonetheless, and completely synonymous with you. 

To your credit, you keep your composure, but he can sense the increase in your heart rate.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is slow, deliberate, guarded. He wants so badly to strip away your armour.

“Can’t I just want to see my favourite human?” He chimes.

You don’t respond, refocusing on your book. A pang of petty jealousy? Rejection? Some nonsense ape-like emotion hits him, and he huffs as he pulls away from you. He relocates to the chair beside you, smug at the side eye you shoot him when he haphazardly kicks his feet onto the table.

When your silence persists, he feels the need to fill it.

“Well, since you really want to know, I truly am here to see you.” Still nothing. “I wanted to tell you about a dream I had.”

“Angels don’t dream.” You reply matter-of-factly, and he relishes in knowing he’s about to school you.

“Actually, yes, we do. As an Archangel, I would know.” He enunciates his point with the wag of his finger. Your eyes follow his hand, and he can’t help but wiggle all four of them, knowing he’s caught your attention. “We just have no practical need to sleep, so we don’t do it often.”

“Right.” You sound sceptical, and your sweet, sweet, attention is short-lived as you refocus on the desk. “And what does this have to do with me?”

Keen to draw you back to him, he taps his finger on the desk beside you. When you look at it, he points to himself, guiding you.  You sigh and roll your eyes before you look to his face. He might have been offended, but there’s a playful glint in your eye and growing warmth in your aura that tells him you’re enjoying his company more than you’d like to let one.

“Because you…” He gestures back and forth between you both. “Were in it.”

You blink once, twice; processing. When it settles, you proceed to stare at him, waiting for him to go on. He pointedly stares back at you in silence, folding his arms to display his new authority in this little dynamic. He’s piqued your curiosity, but now you’ll have to ask him for satisfaction.

You’re undeniably cute. Watching your expressions and mannerisms play out as you process his statement, as you realise your predicament, amuses him greatly. You turn back to your work, then to him again, and back and forth as you deliberate between your primary two options. To ask or not to ask. Eventually, the temptation wins out.  

“And?” You raise your brows expectantly. “What happened?”

“If you want to know, you’ll have to ask nicer than that.” He’s pushing his luck, and he knows it, but he’s confident you’re already too hooked to back out now.

You purse your lip as you calculate your next move. The image is unintentionally charming to him. He wonders if you’ll bite now, or if you’ll take the hard-to-get route, pretending you don’t want to know. Either is equally appealing to him, because he’s certain he’ll win out in the end.

Dropping his feet to the floor, he places an elbow on the table just inches from your arm, he uses it for balance as he leans in closer, keeping his expression as straight as possible. “Well?”

The beat of your heart is picking up again; you’re on edge, and he loves it.

“Okay, fine.” You concede. He feels his face twist, like the cat that got the cream, as you continue. “Please, Lucifer?”